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hitlikehammers · 2 days ago

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ignis obscura (dragon-sacrifice!Steve falls for random-man-in-the-woods(?)!Eddie before Steve goes to get eaten) (???)

feat. lots of love-at-first-sight, soul-deep devotion sorta shit

When a dragon arrives within telling-distance, the town nearest the lair it claims must send the sacrifice; their most valued possession. Everyone knows this.

It was just that no one in Hawkins had ever imagined—never really believed—that of all the villages, a dragon would come to them.

Steve had imagined it, though. As a boy, he’d thought it an adventure. As a teenager, he’d fancied it something of an escape.

Now, when it happens? As a young man, Steve Harrington mostly just thinks of course it goes like this.

Because he’s the disappointing-but-only son of the mayor, in a town where mayoral wealth rivals the coffers of the crown, and if the dragon wants value? Steve’s the gateway to whatever riches have been hoarded, whatever small power may be marshaled to command more, to rule, to gather up virgins if Steve himself proved insufficient to that fabled task—though he was renowned as the most comely of his people, having just dipped his toe into his prime while keeping the rosy flush to his cheeks alongside the strength in his arms: perfect timing, really. It helped pad the argument for him as the tribute.

As if maybe the dragon had waited, had watched. Had known what it wanted, and swooped in with intent.

Steve couldn’t give two rats’ asses what the dragon did or didn’t do, as he made his way through the woods and up the mountain. The stories of sacrifice always paired with the same end: no matter how you pleased the dragon, the tribute did not live to descend to their home again.

So really, at this point, it was merely a question of how Steve would meet his end. At the dragon’s mercy, of course, but: more like details.

Steve distracts himself with arguments for whether it’s wiser, or more efficient, to carve human flesh with claws or teeth, and it’s a job done so well that he not only finds himself wholly turned around on this trek, far too close to nightfall, and not nearly as near to the cave he’s aiming for as he need be, but more than that:

He fails to notice he’s no longer alone.

“Are you lost?”

There is a honey-smooth quality to the voice that rings out but…deeper. Darker even, though it doesn’t strike warning between Steve’s lungs. It’s…caramelized, and slow slip of thick…almost comfort. Steve fights to keep a clear head: not all dangers are apparent. Enchantment and faerie mischief, even, could have found him in his mindless wandering.

“Lost?” Steve tries to scoff at the right tone of haughty; “I’ve lived here my entire life—“

“In these deserted woods?” the voice, and now there’s a figure that draws nearer, closer in the growing claim of the moon for light but still more silhouette than anything as it—he, the voice is male, Steve is near-certain—turns and assesses their immediate surroundings before tutting thrice:

“Strange choice of domicile.”

And it’s mocking, of course it is: but the honey-caramel of the voice is a molten thing. It warms Steve deep and he cannot even be cross.

“I,” he starts, but sees not point to finishing before he sighs and admits, to himself as much as to the stranger:

“Yes, I am lost.”

“But you’ve lived here your whole life!” the stranger slaps a palm to his own cheek, mouth dropped in faux-horror but he looks so…earnest. And maybe adorable with it, so much so that Steve can’t help but chuckle a little helplessly for it all.

“Hush,” he chides, half-heartedly at best. “I was supposed to get to the caves by nightfall.”

“Ooo,” the stranger leans in, as if to prepare for a secret; Steve didn’t realize he was so close; “scintillating dinner date?”

Steve can’t help it but to snort.

“By a measure,” Steve deadpans, before clearing his throat; “I need to present myself to the dragon.” When the strange man stares at him unblinking Steve deflates a little.

“You know, hot, fire,” he gestures broadly; everyone knows what comes at the end of a sacrifice: “dinner…”

“Why are you looking for a dragon?” the other man asks, his lips pulling down a bit in just-shy-of-a-frown. Steve doesn’t like the look on him, so he tries to put on a bit of a show, match the stranger’s teasing energy from before as best he can in the given circumstances:

“I just so happen to be the village sacrifice,” Steve announces, chest puffed a bit, but he fails to do anything but deepen the frown he’d been aiming to wipe clean from the other man’s face; now Steve’s frowning, too, as he deflates a little, but hardens a little too, crossing his arms and leaning back where the other man’s not even bothered to stop leaning in, despite his apparently displeasure.

“What?” Steve challenges, but it’s brittle, he knows it. “It’s a,” he vacillates, unsure how exactly to describe the…ritual of it. The way it’s cast as a, as a…

“It is a high,” Steve’s voice wavers a bit, like finally saying it aloud makes it all the less believable: “honor.”

The other man eyes him silently until Steve feels it in his very skin, before finally he speaks:

“Hmm,” he tips his head, considering just a little before he seems less to come to a conclusion, and more to a conclusion on how to best voice the things he wanted to say already, at that:

“Well, I know these woods very well, better than any hailing from the village I suspect you’re speaking of,” his gaze flicks Steve top to toes, something warm in it, no, something hot in it, that simmers through Steve’s veins: “and so I can get you to the caves, at the very least for shelter before moonrise-full,” he glances skyward, seeming to doublecheck his words before he nods decisively and reaches out a hand:

“Think you can trust someone you only just stumbled upon in the forest to steer you straight?”

And Steve doesn’t know for sure what he’d have done, what his answer and actions may have been if death-by-some-draconic-means weren’t imminent. But it is, and so he takes the hand offered, and grasps more than shakes, holds more than strikes accord and lets himself notice and relish how smooth and warm it feels against his skin:

“Lead the way.”

He doesn’t know what he’d do in lesser circumstances.

But for the grin on the man’s face, the way it shines brighter than moonlight, than sunrays even, he suspects: for the way it makes of the man a star on his own somehow?

Steve wants very much to believe he’d trust the man anyway, regardless of sense, just for the breadth of that smile.

~~~~~~~~~~

“Looks like the dragon’s out for the night.”

Steve makes an extra survey of the den nestled a good bit into the cave when his mysterious guide comments on the undeniable silence of their surroundings, the telling echo of their footsteps in the empty space.

“Curses,” Steve huffs, both frustrated and dismayed because: “I’ll have angered him, what if he doesn’t think I’m enough for—“

“One,” Steve’s beguiling guide ticks the point off with a finger raised on a strangely elegant hand; “you think dragons to be too irritable.” Steve rolls his eyes to himself—this Man who knows so much of the temperaments of dragons, the ego to presume—

“They can be quite pleasant so long as they have sufficient treasure. And they’re long-lived, so they’re patient,” the man continues on, which: it seems his ego’s well-reasoned out at the very least, Steve supposes.

“Which brings us to point number two,” and of course there’s a number two, a pair of fingers now waving almost accusingly to the side of Steve’s face:

“You’re more than enough to be worth waiting for.”

Steve blushes furiously and thanks the sparse cracks of nearly enchanted—quite possibly enchanted, actually—light for very little chance to be seen for it.

His companion grins with a glimmer of that sparse glow catching his eyes, glittering in it like enchantment themselves, and Steve thinks both that yes, he’s likely been seen and caught so that likewise yes, he needs to move out of the shaft of light that betrays him and with haste, because to think such a thing about this strange and beguiling man—beguiling, good gods—says far to much about what Steve feels about him, and far too soon, even by his standards.

Which are lightning quick already on a day in which he knows restraint.

“Sparse for a horde,” Steve surprises himself for how steady his voice is, given how obvious his bid to change the subject lands, not matter his tone.

His companion is gracious enough to allow the shift without comment:

“You think mortal eyes can see such things without a dragon’s explicit permission?”

But not gracious enough to abandon that ego.

“How do you know so much of dragons?” Steve finally just asks; subtlety’s never been his strongest characteristic, and in honesty, it’s past time to have asked it.

The other man smirks, scoffs a little.

“This may be your village’s first encounter with them,” and it’s said not quite in censure, and not unkindly, but Steve is cowed a bit nonetheless—the man had never named but has more than once referenced where he thinks Steve’s from, and Steve suspects if his vestments and the crests embroidered to them weren’t enough, his lack of knowledge would be—his people have been blessed in many ways, and live privileged lives on the whole, most especially his family, in comparison to their neighbors.

“But here is the only perch for the span of tens of villages,” the man points out; “and they’ve not been left untouched for so long.”

Right. Of course.

“You’re from a neighboring town?”

“One word for it,” the man shrugs, in such a way now that it shivers through his unruly curls; “and you’re from Hawkins, I gather.”

Right. Unsubtle to the bone it seems, indeed.

“For the whole of my life I can say I know only one thing about your home,” the man takes Steve grimace as the confirmation that it is; “and it’s how they share notoriously little to know.”

Steve chews at his lip, knows the failings his family’s rule has had for the people without and without their borders. Has tried to find ways to help without power of his own in the order of things.

“I always wished to see other lands, even the nearest of them,” Steve finally lands on something to say; “I tried to convince my parents, but—”

“Parents?”

It might be the first time his new…friend? Looks properly halted.

“Son and heir,” Steve points to himself with a weary sort of smirk, the whole thing laughable, really; “the tribute has to be valuable, right? I thought upon seeing so little here, I could offer from our own troves before the end, as appeasement but,” Steve sighs, suddenly drained, only now realizing, now that the option eludes him, just how heavily he was counting on the option of at least trying to bargain with the dragon, appealing to its intellect and far more, its love of treasure.

“But if it’s as you say, I may have much less by way of offering at all.”

There’s an instant sort of chill that fills him as he starts to acclimate to the reality that he’s going to die, and soon, and there truly is not hope for an escape. He—

“Let me assure you,” the man’s hand startles Steve, battles and swiftly overcomes the chill in him as it wraps tight around Steve’s wrist, his voice following Steve’s own almost without break, a cutting finality to it, definitiveness in his tone and his eyes alike once Steve meets them—and once Steve meets them, the not-quite-stranger doesn’t let him look away.

Magnetic.

“Based on what I have seen?” and the words could be casual, but the low rumble they’re spoken with is anything but:

“You could walk here wholly empty handed, and no dragon worth their flame would turn you away as unworthy.”

Steve feels less his cheeks, and more his whole body, inside and out, flush bright and there’s no light to hide from, save from the one shimmering in the gaze locked into his own.

And Steve, for all his postures of pride: this time?

He has no desire to hide the way he flushes, never mind the way he shivers, if it means trying to evade those eyes.

~~~~~~~~~~

Incidentally, it’s too late for the other man to turn back, though he clearly knows these woods so well. Steve insists that he stays.

Not for any ulterior motives, of course.

The man argues, if almost for show alone, but agrees on one condition: they neither of them have bedding. The other man apparently hadn’t planned to be out past the hour for rest, is only stuck because of Steve and Steve—

Steve has a pack but he…he presumed he’d either be dead and his offerings deemed fitting, or the dragon would keep him as the dragon desired, bedding or clothing or neither, until the dragon was satisfied.

And then, again: he’d be dead.

It is unthinkable to take the meager blankets Steve can see in a corner, not without permission; not from a dragon, so. The other man is asking to…lie close.

And Steve is not opposed. The man is almost…surreally exquisite, especially in the passing moonlight. His angles are…particular. Alluring. They steal the breath in Steve’s chest a little, long before they’ve earned the right.

“It feels more than overdue now to ask your name,” Steve whispers, not that it’s necessary. Not that there’s anyone to hear.

“Eddie,” the man whispers back, his voice so warm and almost enveloping, like an embrace in itself and Steve feels less absurd for speaking so soft, so privately.

Nearly intimate.

Good gods, now Steve is being absurd and should feel it to his bones. He deserves to suffer the uncomfortable twist of embarrassment it leaves in stomach, at this rate.

“Steve,” he manages to say low enough that his mortification isn’t audible.

But then:

“That is a beautiful name, sweetheart,” Eddie breathes, and he’s shimmied closer somehow while Steve was stuck in his shame-spiral for being the too quick to show his cards, even to himself in his own head.

“Nothing special to it,” Steve mutters, demurs a little but in a coquettish way, doesn’t even mean to. Just…there’s an energy between them now, and Steve’s primed to match it.

“Isn’t there?” Eddie asks, heated and near in a way that dances up Steve’s spine:

“I would hesitate to be so sure.”

Again, Steve doesn’t mean to, or plan to, when he rolls further into Eddie’s frame where they’re laid together, already so close, now nearly in each other’s arms.

He doesn’t mean to, and yet: his arms are gathered close against the chest of a man he doesn’t know, and yet feels…more comfortable next to than any body he’s pressed against in his life.

And there have been fair few.

“You’re so warm,” Steve mouths more than anything, lips dragging on this half-stranger’s neck by accident, because it could be nothing save an accident that Steve now knows that Eddie’s skin tastes of salt and smoked cinnamon sticks and the air in the forrest at night: elemental, somehow. Necessary.

Only by accident would Steve torture himself this way.

“I’d keep you warm always,” Steve hears as the world blurs soft to black, the phantom sensation of arms curling around him, welcoming him to sleep—the whole of it odd in every way because he hadn’t spoken loud enough to be heard, really, even so close, and to read his words from the drag of his mouth to flesh was of course impossible.

“To the end of the Age and beyond if I could,” the words drift blissful, wistful like an invitation into sleep: “if you’d let me.”

So of course: it must have been a dream.

~~~~~~~~~~

Daybreak finds them entangled.

Steve…freezes, as if he didn’t feel snug and perfectly warm wrapped up so close. He weighs the merits of bolting, and making apologies after the fact, against trying to extricate himself without rousing his companion, versus—

“Good morning, sweetness.”

Steve stills somehow further, feels his face heat yet again and yet this time, despite the dark of the cave, he’s…crushed ever so pleasantly against the bare smooth planes of a chest that…shouldn’t be bare, should it, because they moved together close for heat against the chill and for certain it is past dawn but it is still nowhere near warm enough for—

“Did you sleep well?”

Steve groans, which only leads him to burrowing further into the unavoidably welcoming give of Eddie’s chest, lean but strong, Steve can tell, much like he can feel as much as hear the rumbling laughter that cascades through that chest: so much like an invitation to sink into the chest and the sound alike, to never be singular, to never be cold.

What a ridiculous notion.

But then lips are unmistakably pressed to the crown of Steve’s head, not even in passing, no: they linger. They…feel right.

Steve wants for them to be right until the day he dies—

Well. That might actually be possible, or close enough for what he’s earned in this world.

The irony.

Eddie takes to the hunt—the reason he was in the woods to find Steve in the first place, apparently; he says his bow and knives are just down toward the ravine, which Steve vaguely knows but not well, too close to the borders of other lands.

“Don’t fret, though,” and this time the lips press to the low half of Steve’s cheek, affection that does not press its advantage but makes it desires clear, too close to Steve mouth to be anything less.

Steve…is unsure what to make of that. Because he cannot make what he thinks of first; he cannot possibly follow that thread in his own mind—increasingly in his own chest.

“I’ll find you, if you get lost again.”

As if Steve will wander, would risk missing his dragon captor’s return, to even consider one misstep to unintentionally enrage his looming executioner, to even consider missing a single instant in the meantime with this man—

But the glinting smile that man shoots Steve’s way as he strides out the yawning opening in the rocks, its glinting like stardust and warm radiance that fills Steve’s veins then spills over and seeps into his marrow:

Steve doesn’t think that man actually meant getting lost that way.

And what on earth is he supposed to make of that, save everything that he can’t have; that cannot be?

Though, in fairness: it would be on brand. Steven Harrington of Hawkins.

Falling hard and fast and more real than ever before, mere hours before he leaves the mortal coil.

~~~~~~~~~~

“You’re anxious.”

Steve knows now that his dreams were realty, last night. The words, the arms.

He is awake in them now after they eat what Eddie’s secured for them, cooked over a fire perfectly pitched outside the mouth of the cave, its warmth not insufficient as they’d eaten in pleasant company together.

Not insufficient at all. Just not this chest; these arms.

And now they are both of them bare to the waist, knowingly and happily curled into one another, and Steve feels on one hand boneless, weightless, inexplicably held and kept beyond the physical in the embrace of a man he barely knows and yet feels…close to. Something-he-cannot-bring-himself-to-say-at-first sight, like in the fairy stories.

But that man’s palm is splayed across Steve’s chest; can feel the birds’ wings of his heartbeat at first stroke.

For the first time in Steve’s life, it doesn’t feel like a weakness he’s caught out on; with Eddie nuzzling at his hair, Steve doesn’t hesitate to speak his fear with a heavy sigh:

“You said you’ve dealt with dragons.”

“Time to time,” Eddie hums, presses his lips to Steve’s scalp like reassurance.

“How will it happen?” Steve whispers shakily, but for the first time in his entire life, he shakes into someone who seems to care, against all reason; who holds tighter to him for needing rather than casting him away.

“I mean, I know,” Steve licks his lips; “I know what will happen, just,” and he can’t quite finish, chokes around his words. Eddie moves closer against him, under the weight of Steve’s frame, maneuvers them so that he can tilt his head just so to kiss down Steve’s jaw while still holding him close; ever closer.

“Well,” Eddie pecks against the peak of Steve’s cheekbone before moving down, all the while massaging circles against Steve’s chest; “a town sends their most valued,” and he sucks a little the, against Steve’s jawline; “but some towns have less to pick from,” and then he finds Steve’s pulse point and suckles there with real feeling until Steve may be terrified, but he’s simultaneously soft clay in a beautiful man’s hands, under a beautiful man’s mouth.

“A dragon is not a mindless beast,” Eddie adds after Steve can feel he’s been well and thoroughly bruised.

“I’ve always heard they’re very smart,” Steve breathes, maybe nods, mostly just savors Eddie’s heat, his nearness, how he touches Steve like he has value; like Steve has value to him, and what a thing to feel, to want, to possibly hold, even for these stolen moments; “it’s how they tell if you send them less than they’re owed.”

Because of course Steve knows the stories. Steve can remember countless tales of horrific ends for villages, towns, whole kingdoms even, razed for being so haughty and foolish as to try and swindle a dragon—perhaps embellished to encourage children’s behavior, but. The bones of the narrative fit the oft-smoldering evidence often enough, so far as Steve could tell in the proper histories.

“Not owed,” Eddie corrects, firmly but somehow also gently, his capacity for dynamism an oddly comforting thing, so human and forgiving of overstepping boundaries so freely as to maybe not even draw any to begin with, at complete odds with Steve’s entire life; “not how most people think, at least.”

Eddie flip Steve over gently, firmly again, settles them chest to chest, one atop the other as Steve looks down at him, feels his heartbeat crash against Eddie’s own closer than ought to be felt, like their ribs clear way for the two of them, for whatever they could be, and Steve wonders if part of why his heart is racing so is for the loss of the possibility that rushes through him, that swells between them in every moment—something that grows in every moment, every look and touch and blink, that expands effervescent and filled with so much without any knowledge that there is not space to hold it, that what time they have is borrowed at best.

Steve thinks maybe; his sick heart for it could be railing where the rest of him is fixated on etching every one of those looks and blinks and touches into his bones so that they may be among the last parts of him to leave the earth.

“A dragon, above most things, has a particularly keen sense to know precisely where value lies,” Eddie’s explaining again, his hand now still, pressed against Steve’s heart akin to a shield, or a safe-hold. “And how.”

Steve ponder that for a moment before he meets Eddie’s eyes, having felt them heavy and molten upon him with new fire before taking them in for all that they are: brilliance.

Blinding.

Steve leans as Eddie arches and they meet in between to press their lips together after what feels an eternity and an instant of living in a world where they didn’t taste one another in such a way as to drink their fill. As to breathe each other’s breath.

So as to tease and cherish deep, to tongue against the very heart.

And there Steve makes certain, before he loses himself wholly to sensation:

Looks. Touches. Blinks. Carved into his bones, but first.

First he’ll gild them in every single kiss.

~~~~~~~~~~

They transition fully into lovers in a seamless fashion, insatiable like Steve’s never known it. Eddie never keeps him wanting, gives selflessly and Steve does all that he can to reciprocate and more, because Eddie is everything, of that Steve is certain, and therefore he deserves no less.

He also seems dead set on making sure that they are posed as equals. That to lavish one another with affections as much as to ravish each other endless never unbalances one way or the other. Wherever Steve seeks to give more where Eddie should have it, Eddie turns the tables to takes Steve apart so that all he knows is tingly euphoria. A happiness he’s never felt, didn’t quite believe could exist.

Yet here he is. Here they are.

Steve smiles more than he remembers, playful and ravenous and overflowing with feeling, and Eddie doesn’t rise to meet his enthusiasm: he’s already there, matched with him and ecstatic to entwine. It’s a heady thing, addictive and overwhelming and a gift, Steve thinks: maybe the universe forgive him for doing less to stop harm and deprivation in his home, for wishing to help more and acting where he could even if it wasn’t enough. Maybe he gets this sliver of heaven out of pity for what’s to come.

He will take it with open arms. He will welcome it. He will make himself of it until there is not Steve that exists outside of it.

But it cannot overcome the inevitable, in its impending, suffocating weight.

Come the sixth day like this—the sixth night like this—something in Steve gives way. Existing on the precipice of life and death with no telling of when the hammer with strike finally takes too much of a toll, and his nerves betray him.

“Likely they are hunting, it can take many days, weeks even I’m told,” Eddie tries to console him as he shakes, can’t even sob, like his body can’t coordinate even that much to work properly, too distraught are pieces of him he’s flooded with pleasure but finally could no longer be denied, fed on his wonderment and picked until it cracked enough for his fears to bleed through. “But if you are still so anxious we could, or, I could try and look for some clue as to where it’s gone?” Eddie offers carefully, holding Steve together as he does his utmost to shudder out of his skin. “And you can stay here, in case it returns?”

The only thing Steve can do then is shake his head until it hurts, until he’s dizzy with his own vehement denial: it’s the first things that’s properly matched, body to feeling.

It’s fitting that way.

“I,” Steve starts, just voice barely a scratch as Eddie reaches, tips his chin upward and cups his face so delicate:

“What, angel?”

Steve blinks at him—takes him in, presses down to pain as he draws it, brands it onto his skeleton to be remembered, all the tangled but powerfulfeelings he has for this man so fast, so strong.

For this man, for all he feels: Steve makes himself speak what’s heavy and true and real in his galloping heart:

“I have no intention of reneging my duties,” he rasps, holds on to Eddie as tightly as he can, as if maybe their bones could brand one’s another and fuse into one.

“But until no choice is left, I,” Steve chokes, and his eyes burn as he holds Eddie’s gaze, lifts Eddie’s hand away from his cheek and over to his lips to press all his hopeless hopes against Eddie’s palms:

“I don’t want to be out of your sight, nor you taken from mine.”

The tear that escapes him then is caught by Eddie’s thumb. Adoringly.

Each that follows is lost between Eddie’s lips; might belong to them both.

Steve thinks he can believe that much—in these fleeting, sacred moment—to be true.

~~~~~~~~~~

The dragon has still not appeared, and Steve has since collected himself for the most part, with Eddie ready to brace him steady when he starts to falter. It’s a wild novel thing, to be supported this way. To be cared for.

With such care, comes perception. For better or worse.

“What troubles you, beloved?” Eddie eyes him knowingly, a level of sight straight through to Steve’s soul that should not be fathomable in a lifetime, let alone a week’s time.

“My own mind,” Steve admits freely, unwilling any longer—if he ever had been—to hide from Eddie, unsure what the point would be even if he desired to: “it is cowardly, and selfish.”

“I doubt that,” Eddie catches Steve’s jawbone with a single finger, playful, endearing: but clear in its pointed redirection of Steve’s gaze, and his disparagement of his own thoughts:

“I would doubt that quite strongly, in fact.”

Steve lets Eddie touch prompt him to a kiss, as if he needs coaxing before he leans into the crook of Eddie’s neck and breathes him in: the best savours of the ground and sky.

“I would not run from my fate, here,” Steve says, not wholly to remind himself but, not without that purpose at hand; “save that it feels like my fate is…”

And he slides his hand to Eddie’s chest, hopes it speaks for him where he doesn’t know words for the depth and breadth and weight of these feelings; Eddie’s hand covers his, automatic, and he knows he’s understood.

“I wish not to be parted from you, now that I’ve found you,” Steve whispers, swallows hard, then looks Eddie in the eyes, speaks straight to the soul in them so that he is not misread, or underestimated in the weight of his own words, now:

“I think that I may be in love with you.”

And he’s never been before. He’s believed it may be love, but: no. No, it was never love before.

If ever it was love: it is this.

“Oh my precious one,” Eddie pets his hair and kisses after his own touch: “I don’t think that I’m in love with you,” and Steve stiffens only for the instant Eddie leaves between those words, and dipping down to Steve’s ear to exhale with feeling:

“I know it.”

How it is possible to die brokenhearted and happier than he’d ever dreamed, Steve doesn’t know.

But he’s about to serve as object lesson, in just days.

Maybe less.

~~~~~~~~~~

“Know that when,” Steve is speaking to the cracks in the rock that peek at the night sky as he speaks, Eddie on his chest like a blanket, save so much better; “when it happens,mwhen it devours me whole or takes me in pieces,” and his voice catches, but he remains resolute; “it will know you in every inch of me,” and he cups Eddie closer to him then, holds him against the thunderous roar of his pulse.

“My heart is full of you, and it will taste only of devotion,” Steve near-hisses for the fervor in him. “You’ll be the last bit of me known to the world.”

“Never.”

The growl that comes from the body that curls around him, protective, possessive, beloved in a way and to a magnitude Steve didn’t know he could feel before now: the venom in it makes it clear that it’s not a refutation of Steve’s declaration for the sentiment.

It’s a refutation to the cosmos itself.

“I would never allow it,” Eddie bites out, pressing closer to Steve, to his heart: “you will not be forfeit to some dragon,” and oh, but this man Steve loves is wild with his passion, foolhardy and yet all the more lovable for it.

“I would fight with all that I am to protect you,” he vows, presses his lips to Steve’s chest and speaks there like he means well and truly to means to tell Steve to the heart of him this sole, unshakeable truth: “and should somehow I lose the battle, it could only be because there is nothing of me left to fight.”

And for the first time, in all his life: Steve clings to something, someone, he’d happily rip his beating heart out to protect.

And that—he realizes in a single world-rewriting instant—he fears the loss of more than any other thing.

Any. Other. Thing.

~~~~~~~~~~

They don’t speak of it, or of a choice to be made when the time does come: Steve thinks maybe that’s the only way they manage at all, really, is to simply hold it between them in those last days. Known. Seen.

Loved.

And feared.

But always together. Always so close, in every way.

Until the stasis breaks.

“Steve,” Eddie breathes into the afternoon, innocuous. Steve’s stopped counting how many days they’ve stolen together.

“I must leave, my darling.”

Steve narrows his eyes, trying to understand him. He watches as Eddie hurries to gather both of Steve’s hands, to bring them to his lips.

“Only for a short while,” he murmurs between Steve’s fingers, kisses at his knuckles with apology, and with heartsickness thick between his breaths: “barely a moment,” and his breath is short, thin, like the thought of leaving hurts.

And Steve…Steve has been in love for the first time, with the perfect match to his very soul. Unthinkable, but undeniable.

But it hasn’t made him wholly blind.

He means to press, to see if the slight little inklings he’s had every so often hold any weight, point in any direction of significance, means to ask just a simple thing, but then Eddie’s expression breaks open, a miasma of emotion spilling forth as his breath catches, monumental on a sob and he takes the hands at his lips and instead uses them to bury his face.

“Oh, my Steve,” he breathes, and all Steve can really see are the heaving lifts of his shoulders, and the way his curls fall a little like a monsoon.

“I am sorry,” Eddie whispers into Steve hands and Steve feels dampness there, and oh. No.

Not from Eddie. Not for whatever this is. Steve can think of nothing, save Eddie leaving for good before the end, that he should be moved to apologize for. And even that Steve would forgive.

Because Steve loves him.

“Why?” Steve asks, incredulous, his own half-formed ideas to seek to know gone at the sight of his beloved in distress. “What reason on earth do you have to be sorry, you said,” and Steve halts, wonders if that’s the catch, and tries not to falter without reason, tries to stand tall: “only a moment,” and that is what Eddie said, he said only a—

“I lied.”

Steve does to falter.

He starts to fracture and fall entirely. Because what, what all was a lie, was it all a lie, he—

He doesn’t know if he can breathe. He’s never lost his heart before. But he imagines that if death is still waiting for him, and he’ll face it alone: it’s what he’d planed for. What he’s prepared for from the start.

He knows how to be alone. It has to hurt less, than losing his heart now.

It will have to hurt less, at the very end, if it comes to him without a heart in his breast.

“It was worth every second, no matter that it must end, in joy or heartbreak,” Steve finds himself saying, and if his tone rings hollow, it’s only because his heart’s already leaking from him, already half-gone: he means it with every bit he has left, nonetheless.

“You are the moon, pulling me close,” he turns his hands so his palms line to Eddie’s; “the sun wrapping me in warmth,” and he folds their fingers together, clutches tight one last time, greedy as anything:

“You have been the greatest gift at the end of all I’ll ever know.” And that is the truth, that is the last words and final rites written on his bones. “Because of you, I will die fulfilled in ways I didn’t realize I was lacking.”

And then there’s just one thing, because Steve, Steve needs to say this part, he doesn’t think he’s said this part yet:

“Thank you.”

He means it.

But Eddie only holds onto him harder, painfully but it’s perfection; only shakes his head over and over before he finally rasps, barely audible:

“You misunderstand.”

Steve leans closer to hear him, to feel him, to know his warmth in the lat moments that might be left. He wants to understand. He doesn’t want the end to be anything but clear.

Even if it hurts.

“I have lied,” Eddie swallows hard; “but you misunderstand for what.”

Steve…still misunderstands.

“You have been my moon,” Eddie nearly moans, his head nuzzling into Steve’s hands, his hold, with nothing short of desperation:“you have been the sun since the first revelation when I was taught as barely a hatchling that my kind were born of suns, made from fire.”

And that. It’s been those small things: some dragon. Not owed. No dragon would find him unworthy.

The ego to presume.

This is no longer a small thing, spoken now.

“You stole my heart straight away, and I gave it freely but,” Eddie hiccups the slightest bit; “I only grow in relishing that of all the souls in all the worlds, yours has welcomed mine,” and he sniffles, by every god and power in all the worlds—

“You are a privilege.”

And oh, oh, but by every god and power: Steve loves him.

“And you have a dragon’s heart now, no matter how you choose to use it, to keep or reject it,” foolish words Eddie speaks so messy, so rushed and ragged, so ripped out from him visceral and slick with feeling: “and your end will be my end,” and his lips brush Steve’s hands, kiss the pulse on both his wrists:

“And either that will be unmeasurable ages hence,” and his breath catches, and Steve only wants for him to look up, just look up, because he’s said it without saying now, hasn’t he, muddled and frantic and so human, to say he’s anything but as he admits to the thing he thinks he needs to offer apology for.

“Or,” he trips over the next words, but they’re so sodden with candor, the blood in his veins:

“Or my heart may turn ash if you leave but,” and he brings the heels of both Steve’s hands to his mouth and kisses, speaks into them worshipfully:

“Your life will go on as a mortal’s, once I’ve—”

“You’ve given your heart?”

Because Steve had suspicions. Of why Eddie said certain things, certain ways. How warm he was. How strong and even and…ancient the beating of his heart resonated beneath Steve’s ear, his touch, like it radiated heat as a sun in itself.

“Of course,” Eddie’s head snaps up, like he’s offended at any suggestion to the contrary; “almost immediately.”

He blinks; he forgets himself. There’s a lid to his starburst eyes that closes unlike Steve’s, the opposite direction, almost invisible.

But Steve’s watching. Steve doesn’t blink once, cannot miss this.

Cannot pause what he writes into his bones because even if he plans for nothing less than ages unmeasurable, now, he wants this written on the bones that come in the end.

Whenever the end stretches out to.

“And if it’s ill received,” Steve asks slowly, his brows pinching as he picks through the implications of this part: “you—”

“Wither, slowly,” Eddie says, far too matter-of-fact for Steve’s liking, or willingness to stand: “but the end comes, yes.”

“Eddie,” Steve scolds, and Eddie flinches, thinks he’s been caught, been known and revealed now and in so being is anything but wanted with all of Steve’s being.

There is a tiny part of Steve that’s grateful for his foolishness: it makes Steve feel less alone, to be swept so by a love this vast.

“You are the dearest treasure I’ve ever known,” Eddie whispers, but it’s a pleading thing, something even Steve can tell doesn’t feel as if it had a hope to grasp; “if you let me keep you I would hold you closer than all things. To give a dragon’s heart means to place whatever holds it closer than the heart itself ever learned to rest on its own,” and Eddie gathers Steve’s hands again to his chest, stacks them, presses so very hard.

The life in him is a sobering thing. The idea that Steve holds this power somehow in his hands, literally and otherwise, is…staggering.

No less then amazing.

“You are my single desire, but more,” Eddie breathes; “you are my single care, my sole concern,” “my only.”

“Why do you leave, then?”

And Eddie stills. Pulls back only so much as to weigh what he sees in Steve’s face, Steve’s eyes—what Steve sees in his is clear: Eddie didn’t think he’d get to this part. He thought Steve would balk at learning his lover was something more than mere human.

Specifics aside, Steve could have told anyone that from the night that they met.

And so Eddie, bowled over by the shock of the fact that Steve still holds to him, does not waver, seems to speak unvarnished when he answers:

“The things you have shared,” and Steve knows without expansion what Eddie means: tales of home, of his family, of his parents, of how he came to be here, pledged as sacrifice for the good of his town, whispered in the dark as they watched the stars move slow; “I can bear it no longer, my darling.”

And Eddie straightens further then, and Steve sees what he dismissed as the play of the light: the glow in Eddie’s eyes unmistakable as something other, something from within.

“I demand the most valued,” Eddie’s words come out in a hiss, shape even as he hesitates, leaves every moment for Steve to pull away should his touch be unwanted as he reaches to brush Steve’s hair from his face.

“You are that and more to me and yet,” and he shakes his head, and it’s so strange still to be marveled at this way: unbridled and unashamed.

“You said it yourself, valuable,” Eddie nearly spits the word, like a poison he seeks to eke out; “and yet I believe that I said something different.”

Steve frowns, tries to put together the pieces but then his face is framed in long fingers that span the whole of him, fittingly so, as Eddie looks deed in his eyes and says with force and feeling:

“Valued,” he emphasizes with a kiss; “beloved,” and another, and Steve cannot help but smile into it just the slightest bit, his heart soaring as the other pieces—borrowed time and impending ends and forevers in view all at once rearranging into what he thinks might be an always with this man who’s more than a man when he speaks against Steve’s mouth:

“Precious beyond all else and others.”

He pulls back, and marvels more, then narrows his eyes in a way Steve’s never seen, pupils contracting inward from the sides into slits.

“You are mine,” Eddie growls; “but the demands we make are not idle, and they did not value you as you deserved,” Eddie scowls, and Steve sees it now, where he’s going, what he’s doing:

“And they thought it acceptable to send you to me as their most valued, believing they sent you to your death?” Eddie seethes:

“It cannot go unpunished.”

Steve…sees it. Understands, now.

It does not hurt, the idea of losing people who were family only in name, especially not to the man before him, who is all that family should mean, could mean, will mean.

Always, now.

“The villagers are innocents, please,” Steve whispers, and Eddie cups his cheek, so lovingly it aches.

“Fret not,” he says with that warmth that Steve’s melted in from the very start; “I know who deserves my ire.” His expression sours, hardens:

“And they will know their hard-earned consequences.”

Eddie kisses Steve with a kind of devotion bigger than the sky somehow, and it’s only because Steve’s reeling to get his footing back that he trails behind Eddie and not at his side as he makes to depart.

“Please do not follow me, beloved,” he calls over his shoulder, not breaking his pace; “I do not wish you to see-“

“I will stay,” Steve answers, like the words were waiting on this tongue of this very moment: “if.”

Eddie stills; turns.

“If?”

“You promise to return with all haste,” Steve reaches him quick and is the one who kisses with all that he knows, all that he can imagine, all that he holds inside of himself and shares already with Eddie uninhibited; “I will be cold without you.”

And that makes Eddie soften; smile as he promises:

“Done.”

“And,” Steve adds, pulling away from Eddie’s lips to look him straight on as Eddie’s brow quirks in question:

“And?”

“Change for me.”

And Eddie, for once, is wholly dumbfounded. Speechless.

It’s quite a feat to behold.

“You,” he stammers; “you wish to see,” he shakes his head, disbelieving; “beloved, it is not, I am,” and oh, oh: Steve did not expect this part: “we are cast as fearsome creatures for good reason.”

He is wary. He is cautious. He thinks himself the monster. He wants to hide this part from Steve.

But Steve will have nothing hidden between them, least of all this: the whole of who his love is.

“I do not fear you, I could not,” Steve pledges in truth; “and any creature with your heart, who has captured my soul,” Steve grabs Eddie’s shoulders and draws him in, bows those foreheads into one another:

“You could never be anything short of exquisite. Breathtakingly so.”

Eddies breathing is hitched, stuttering. Steve wants to cry for the way he is surprised. Wants to mourn for whatever hurt him to make him this cautious, this stunned by Steve’s love: unconditional.

Undying, now that it’s possible to give as such, and in truth.

And Steve waits, watches him, stares patient until Eddie sighs deeply, steps back far and then closes his eyes and…becomes.

Larger, of course. The wings are a feat. The talons are less a surprise from his spindly fingers.

He’s, he is…

“You are,” Steve reaches, waits until Eddie comes to him, welcomes his touch this way and to feel him, smooth scale not so unlike the chest bare against him in the night—warmth and safety and all that is right:

“Magnificent. And I would know you,” Steve tells him, seeks his gaze as he speaks from the very core of his being: “even if I hadn’t seen it for myself.”

He steps closer, waits for Eddie to be curious enough to bow his head low so Steve can mimic how they’d stood, forehead pressed just moments before.

“These unfathomable eyes,” he whispers between them, and smiles at how those eyes fall closed in something like relief, like comfort after laying down a heavy burden as Steve reaches for the soft underbelly in lighter scales against the charcoal of the rest of his beloved’s form:

“The might of this heart,” and he presses, and yes, exactly as he knew he’d find: thunderous. Could part seas, reshape the globe, stir the stars.

And it’s Steve’s. So he doesn’t hesitate to press his lips above the breathing and breathe out:

“Unmistakable, my darling.”

When he pulls back those eyes truly are just the same: they wonder. They marvel.

At Steve. Just Steve.

It’s intoxicating.

“Do what must be done,” Steve nuzzles at the side of Eddie’s face, pulls his snout to his shoulder so he can kiss at what he supposes is something of a cheek, and then he pulls back, lets go.

But only their bodies. Nothing more. Never anything more. Not ever again.

“Then come home to me.”

Steve could be wrong, or just wishful, but he thinks Eddie glows from within through the whole of himself, and not just his eyes, as he takes flight and shoots like the star Steve always saw inside him, up into the night.

~~~~~~~~~~

It’s not long. It’s just as Eddie promised.

After everything, Steve hadn’t worried at all that it would be anything else.

“It was painless,” is what Eddie says as he walks back into the cave, a man again; “and it was for the sake of justice overdue,” as if he must explain. Or seek forgiveness.

Steve pulls him in and kisses him until he’s breathless as an answer for both concerns.

“What now?” he can’t help but ask. He is still more in love than he can breathe through. Will live and die exactly that way for time innumerable.

“You wish to be here, with me?” Eddie asks, almost hesitant; seeking.“You do not feel indebted, or, or coerced? Or tricked or held by force or—”

Steve grins at the babbling, the nervous rambles. To think they’re because of him.

It might just give him an absolutely unbearable ego of his own if it’s to be the norm forevermore.

“Love,” Steve presses a single raised finger to the missile of Eddie’s lips, watches as he adorable crosses his eyes to follow its trajectory.

“You are all that I have imagined and never thought to find.” And it really is as simple and as unthinkable as that, in the end. Or the beginning. “The only way I would be anywhere but your side is to be torn from it, or sent away.”

Eddie growls at the first suggestion, and huffs in pure offense at the suggestion of the second as he reaches and pulls Steve flush to his body: warm, warm, warm.

Steve’s heart flutters against him, reminding him that he owns it wholly.

Eddie’s drums in protective answer, welcoming as much as seeking to leap into Steve’s chest on the same promise, the same pledge as he murmurs into Steve’s lips:

“You still misestimate what it means to be loved by a dragon,” and drags his mouth against Steve’s bottom lips, a little wanton even as his words carry the weight of the universe entire:

“This,” and he clutches Steve’s closer still, so as to not be mistaken; “is for as much of eternity as is for us to grasp.”

It is not sacrifice at all to kiss the man, to love the dragon, in front of him, now.

And for the rest of time ahead.

For @a-little-unsteddie, who requested the quote 'Magic' at my HOBBIT-STYLE BIRTHDAY MONTH PROMPT FEST

✨permanent tag list: OPEN (lmk if you want to be added/removed): @pearynice @hbyrde36 @slashify @finntheehumaneater @wxrmland @dreamwatch @perseus-notjackson @estrellami-1 @bookworm0690 @imhereforthelolzdontyellatme @nerdyglassescheeseychick @swimmingbirdrunningrock @goodolefashionedloverboi @sanctumdemunson @theheadlessphilosopher

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weaselandfriends · 3 days ago

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The Making Of: When I Win the World Ends

(For my previous Making Of post, see The Making Of: Cleveland Quixotic.)

I. 1999

It was the year of the cubicle movie. It was the year of Fight Club, of Office Space, of Being John Malkovich, of Three Kings, of The Matrix, and of American Beauty. It was the year of suburban malaise, of eternal sunshine, of ceaseless normality. A year of United States hegemony; a year whose chief terror was that THIS WAS IT.

Before the millennium turned and the towers fell, there was an initial challenge to this order, a completely inconsequential one made consequential by a newly minted 24/7 news media machine running out of noise to fill dead air now that people were sick to bursting of the Clinton impeachment. This challenge came not through war, revolution, or violence, but through entertainment. Children's entertainment.

And I was a child. Unaware of any cultural context, I knew only one thing: I loved Pokémon. I really, really loved Pokémon.

I owned Red Version, Blue Version, Yellow Version, Pokémon Pinball, Pokémon Stadium, Pokémon Snap, Hey You Pikachu, a Pokémon Tetris sort of puzzle game, even the Pokémon TCG game for Gameboy. I had ten to fifteen strategy guides for the games, an encyclopedia of the 151 Pokémon, a choose your own adventure book, an I Spy-style book. I had Pokémon figurines, Pokémon plushies, toy Poké Balls, toy Pokédexes. I had Pokémon stamps and Pokémon stickers and a deck of Pokémon cards. Not trading cards, just a standard 52-card deck with Pokémon pictures on it. Of course I also had the trading cards. A complete set of the first three runs, plus a special Mew card you could get from I dunno Toys R Us or something as part of some promotion. I had a guide for the card game that explained which cards were good or bad even though I didn't even play the card game. I had a Pokémon Tamagotchi and Pokémon pencils and Pokémon erasers and Ash Ketchum's hat and I dressed up as Ash Ketchum for Halloween. Of course I watched every episode of the anime, and in notebooks I drew doodles of existing Pokémon and came up with names for new Pokémon. My father had died that year.

My father was a sports fanatic. Traditional sports. He, too, collected. Sports memorabilia, baseball cards, figures of famous stars. When I was an infant, he drove me on a cross country road trip to Lambeau Field in Green Bay, Wisconsin, where I became a part owner of the Green Bay Packers. He had always wanted me to grow up and pursue professional sports. When I was born, the doctor apparently said to start looking for football colleges, a quote he saved in a scrapbook of baby photos. He had played sports himself, in college; he was a baseball catcher, until a hitter accidentally struck him in the head with a full force swing.

Almost everything I personally remember about him involves him dying. He was sick for a long time, and I remember hospitals and hospital beds and strange smells and gauze. And then one day my mother told me he died.

He was a charismatic man, very social and very popular. He had many friends and a lot of family, all of whom had constantly been around our house. Once he was gone, they stopped coming around. Then it was just me and my mother, who was not a fanatic for anything, except maybe her job as an elementary school teacher, which consumed her time as she assiduously prepared lesson plans and graded tests until late at night. When my father died, she got into some argument with his side of the family, the details of which I still don't fully understand, and afterward they no longer spoke. Her own family lived far away, out-of-state, seen only at Christmas. The house became quiet.

And I… played… Pokémon.

II. The Electric Tale of Pikachu

Toshihiro Ono was a mangaka primarily known for shotacon and futanari hentai. His credits such as Innyou Megami and Anal Justice made him a no-brainer pick for the officially licensed Pokémon manga, Electric Tale of Pikachu, as it too would feature a 10-year-old boy as the protagonist.

This manga would be the foundation for my conception of what Pokémon was, narratively. Though I also had the Pokémon Adventures manga that ran concurrently and which has by now long outlasted it, Electric Tale left a significantly deeper imprint on my memory.

In summary, Electric Tale is a retelling of the first two seasons of the anime. Ash Ketchum is the main character, he's accompanied by Misty and later Brock, his rival is Gary, and Team Rocket harangues him.

What sets Electric Tale apart is its tone, which is far more adult than Adventures and the anime. Obviously, part of this comes from the author's primary area of expertise being hentai. Even in the censored English version, there is a sense of sexual playfulness in how every single female character is an older woman who likes to tease Ash about his romantic interests.

But there are other elements that creep in unrelated to sex, due to the perspective of someone only used to speaking to adults who suddenly has to speak to children. Ono doesn't really get the childish fantasy of leaving at 10 being normal in society, so he introduces an element where Ash can only get a one year deferment from school and will have to return unless he hits it big. Team Rocket are former competitive hopefuls who flamed out and then, with no education or work experience to speak of, had no choice but to turn to crime. The Pokémon are depicted more realistically, often eschewing the toyetic mascot elements of their designs.

And the landscapes are often wistful, even apocalyptic in their presentation:

This more sedate, mature, realistic depiction of Pokémon became what I wanted Pokémon to be, what I projected onto an original Red and Blue version that left everything open to interpretation, and what would increasingly frustrate me with the series as it deviated more toward bombastic villain groups with goofy destroy-the-world plots. (Which was what put me off Pokémon Adventures.)

Amid all this, one panel stuck with me in particular. One panel I would think about ever since I first saw it as a child, that would turn around in my head and keep coming back. That panel would eventually—over two decades later—become the basis for When I Win the World Ends, the seed from which an entire story grew:

III. The Unkillable Demon King

But in the interim, the seed remained dormant. 1999 fell away. I grew up. I played later Pokémon games and increasingly lost interest by around Gen 4 and 5. Then I went to college.

That's when I started playing League of Legends.

I was something of a psychopath in college. I operated on a strict schedule and did not deviate. Wake up, read 50 pages of classic literature, write 2,000 words, go to classes, study, and then by about four in the afternoon all my obligations were done and it was League of Legends until midnight.

I wasn't actually interested in the League of Legends esports scene in its infancy. In 2012, I was actually invited to attend its World Championship in Los Angeles and refused. (When I received this invitation, I had just finished reading Homestuck for the first time, and was caught in a month-long haze in which I could do little but bask within what I considered the greatest artistic achievement I'd seen in my life. It was this month that inspired Modern Cannibals.) I only liked playing the game and watching Dunkey videos.

It wasn't until the next year, when a girl I was interested in recommended I watch, that I tuned in to my first professional League of Legends game, at the 2013 World Championship. It was there that I got to watch this new, hyped, upcoming Korean player who had apparently taken the pro scene by storm that season. That player was Faker.

It has seemingly become essential to the narrative of any sport that there is "the man who always wins." American football has Tom Brady, and the moment Brady retired, he was replaced by Patrick Mahomes. Basketball has LeBron James, picking up the mantle from Michael Jordan. It's as if someone being "the best" validates the skill-based promise of the sport, the fundamental top-down fairness of its premise, the idea that the person who wins is the best and deserved it. Faker would become the backbone of League of Legends esports and his ascendance correlated to that of the sport itself, from its humble roots at small-scale tournaments in places like Jönköping, Sweden, to max capacity arenas in the biggest cities in the world.

It's surprising, though, how the legend of Faker had already begun even before he won his first World Championship. League of Legends was designed as a clone of Defense of the Ancients (DotA), a popular mod for Warcraft III that emphasized competitive play. In its infancy, the competitive scene was mostly dominated by players who had migrated from DotA to League. They were older, winning thanks to a fundamental conceptual understanding of the game that was superior to everyone else, and frankly not very good in the aggregate. As League of Legends esports exploded in popularity from 2013 to 2015, these old pros would get filtered out swiftly, with even the biggest and most popular names retiring after only a couple of years in the scene.

Even once the new generation of League-grown talent ascended, though, careers were nasty, brutish, and short. The best players only remained on top for a season, as game patches dramatically changed viable strategies. Internationally the sport was dominated by Koreans, with the Korean regional league sometimes being seen as more difficult to win than the World Championship, where Koreans often breezed through uncompetitive Chinese, European, and North American squads.

This possibly affected the demographics of the professional scene. South Korea has mandatory military service, and leaving the pro scene to join the military was basically the end of a Korean player's career. This meant that it was rare to see a Korean player older than 25. Retiring in your early 20s was and remains common. Korean organizations, which had an infrastructural leg up on other regions due to the popularity of StarCraft 2 esports in the country, became adept at scouting promising players at 15 or 16, building them into top level competitive pros, wringing them dry for a few seasons with brutal training regimens, and spitting them out.

Faker was the exception. Though he had been discovered young by SK Telecom, a major Korean telecommunications company that did esports on the side, and gone through the training regimen, he refused to be spit out. He simply didn't stop. He won in 2013, then with a completely new four-man squad around him won again in 2015 and 2016 before narrowly losing the 2017 finals in a nail biter. Given League of Legends esports had only existed since 2011, he basically accounted for half of the championships up until that point. Nobody else, except for his teammates, had won more than once. And it was like it was known he would be this juggernaut the instant he manifested ex nihilo. Like it was known, even in 2013, that he would always win.

Then, Faker stopped winning.

By 2017, League of Legends esports was a titan. Venture capital firms, seeing the millions of eyeballs, thought that this was the next NBA in its infancy, and decided to get in on the ground floor. Multiple millions of dollars were pumped into the scene as even mediocre players in weak regions like North America pulled seven-digit salaries. In China, where League of Legends had become the national pastime, the nation's richest oligarchs ran teams for fun and vanity, outbidding Korean organizations for top Korean players in pursuit of a trophy that had gone to Korea every year since 2013. Riot, the studio developing the game, pumped tons of money into creating a professional sports product, with skilled announcers, dedicated arenas for regional leagues, live performances by musicians like Imagine Dragons and Lil Nas X, and all the other bells and whistles one might expect from a program watched on ESPN.

In this milieu, it seemed like Faker had finally reached his limit. He was still good, but not the best. Even as an individual, while everyone still considered him the "greatest of all time," he was considered outmatched by newer pros like Chovy and ShowMaker. 2018, 2019, 2020, and 2021 passed with no championships. In 2022, on a team of mostly rookies, he reached the world finals, but was ultimately beaten. Korea's stranglehold over the sport had been shaken by China, which had finally strung together some championships. People wondered if Faker would retire, although he had managed to avoid mandatory military service by representing Korea in the Olympics-esque Asian Games. He'd dealt with wrist injuries and his level of play dropped year over year. He just didn't seem to be that good anymore, potentially holding back his team of talented young players rather than leading them to victory.

Then, in 2023—

youtube

And in 2024—

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In the end, never count out Touchdown Tom. 11 years of professional play, 5 world championships.

From this longwinded explanation, you might have realized that after watching that game in 2013, I became a League of Legends esports fanatic, fulfilling the prophecy set before me by my father though perhaps in not the way he would have expected.

And the things I become a fanatic about, I want to write a story about.

IV. Modern Cannibals

There's a deleted scene in Modern Cannibals, as Maximillion is driving Z. and her friends through the Utah desert. He starts to talk about Pokémon.

"I bring it up because my university thesis was about Pokemon in particular how Pokemon has basically trained an entire generation of children to think in a completely different way than preceding generations my generation for instance our fad was Teenage Mutant Ninja Turtles now I don't know how much you know about Teenage Mutant Ninja Turtles but from an educational standpoint we're talking absolute bankrupt complete and utter goose egg but Pokemon now Pokemon you see it's more like there's some substance to it you know that refrain Gotta Catch Em All right?" "..." "Well to most parents it looks like a marketing gimmick you make one hundred fifty-one characters and structure a game around collecting them the merchandising potential is astronomical kids buy one hundred fifty-one trading cards stickers coloring books figurines uh collectable lunchable toys I'm sure you've got some yourself."

He continues:

"But really you look at the game itself before the big toy explosion the game itself the focus is placed less on the collection and more on the catalogue you're given a blank encyclopedia to fill and you fill it by capturing one hundred fifty-one Pokemon but the goal is to create a complete database of each and every one and this is what I argue is the educational core of the Pokemon series." His hands left the wheel to conceive of his idea in the cool air of the car, which remained steady on its ever-forward path. "Our modern era is no longer one of singular isolated knowledge it is one of the catalogue the database which is most clearly personified in the advent of the internet because now all knowledge can be at the fingertips of any one human being all that is needed is someone to go and put the catalogue together and presto whiz bang it's there think about it Z. when you catch a bunch of Pokemon where do you store them?" Z. didn't need to think long to remember the game's mechanics. "In the PC." "Exactly now isn't that odd consider it in real life terms you have real life creatures made assumedly of flesh and bone and yet you store them in a computer how does that make sense you'd expect a farm or a holding pen but no it's the computer and that too prepares the budding portion of the millennial generation to become cognizant of the linkage between the computer the encyclopedia and the database structure of knowledge in a new era." "So," said Z. "So you're saying Pokemon taught kids how to think in the digital age?"

There's also a deleted character in Modern Cannibals. Well, mostly deleted—he still shows up, unnamed, in a couple of pages. He is Cole Coulter, Z.'s older brother, a popular League of Legends streamer. Before I deleted him, his role was to accompany Mrs. Roddlevan and Frederick in an attempt to bring Z. back home. He had POV scenes that gave insight into the weirdness of his cotravelers, but ultimately, I decided he didn't add anything to the story and removed him almost entirely.

Even then, though, I was already considering the future of Cole Coulter as the protagonist of a story about League of Legends esports. Playing under the ID MadKing, he would be a North American professional top laner, once known for his aggressive duelist style but recently forced into playing boring tanks as the esports metagame became more sophisticated and tactics-based.

The story would be simple, something I envisioned as a "sports story" only about esports instead of regular sports. It would start with Cole's team being relegated from the league, only for Cole to get a last chance signing to a new team with two promising Korean imports. One import, the mid laner, would be a charismatic and eccentric player in the mold of Doinb/Ganked By Mom/Huhi, while the other, an AD carry, would be introverted and pissy and elitist, in the mold of Piglet. The team would initially struggle, cultures would clash, then a mid-season replacement to sign a psychopathic Tyler1/Tarzaned style streamer as jungler would revitalize the team, put them on a major run, and get them to the World Championship. Though they would eventually fall after a miracle run, Cole would get a moment to truly shine on the biggest stage when he won a pivotal game by aggressive split pushing rather than tank play.

Thematically, the story would be about two things. First, a counterpoint to the idea of American exceptionalism, featuring a league where Americans are particularly bad compared to Korean or Chinese players. Second, an exploration of what it means to be exceptional at all. Cole would be an all-around mediocre person. Middling at school, at (real) sports, at the various popularity contests of being a teenager. League of Legends, this niche sub-sport, is the one thing he truly excelled at, the one place where he was good, better than 99.9 percent of all players, and yet even within that statistical greatness he wound up, ultimately, in a professional scene where he was once again mediocre, relegated to "tank duty," to facilitating other players to carry.

What does it mean to be the best? How can someone be so, so good, only to reach a level where they were still nothing special? Is there any way to win if you're not "the man who always wins"?

I remembered that panel from Electric Tale of Pikachu. The last people filtered before the final champion. It's certainly no walk in the zoo!

This idea was pretty detailed for a story I never wound up writing, something I mostly blame on the years 2018 and 2019, when a lot of bad things happened to me and in retrospect I consider it a minor miracle I managed to finish Chicago at all. As a human being, I would be decimated for the next three years, and so a lot of stories I might have written in that time never came to fruition.

Meanwhile, League of Legends esports reached a peak, then the venture capital bubble burst as investors realized there was no monetization scheme in place for any interested party except Riot Games. Money hemorrhaged out, Riot shifted resources to Valorant, and a sport that had been overinflated based on projected exponential growth in perpetuity fell back down to earth.

Also, Players came out.

Players was a 2022 mockumentary about a fictional League of Legends team competing in the North American league. Conceptually, it was doing a lot of what I had planned for my story: following a single team on a rags-to-riches run, focusing on the interpersonal drama of the team members, asking questions about greatness and its pursuit. It's a pretty good show if you're familiar with League of Legends esports at all, with a lot of on-the-ground fidelity that gives it an authentic feel, which is exactly what I had been hoping to use my esports fanaticism to accomplish. It completely took the wind out of my sails; it was like my idea had already been done.

So by 2022, the idea of a League of Legends esports story was dead. But there was still a drive to create something with that spirit, that would delve into those themes.

What remained after all these years of sifting the sieve, letting sand slip through, was that one panel from the manga. The number of people pursuing greatness slowly filtering until only one remained. And if I wasn't going to pursue that idea through League of Legends, maybe I could pursue it through another vehicle. Maybe the vehicle through which the idea had originally been exposed to me. Pokémon. It all came back to Pokémon.

V. Everything Evolving Into Crabs

I knew immediately that if I were to write a Pokémon fic, it would be a tournament arc. This was the natural evolution of my esports story idea. Also, if I were to write Pokémon, I wanted it to be a story about utopia, immersed within Pokémon's near-future ideal world, where everything is clean and healthy, where society is neat and ordered.

This idea caused me to remember the novel Eyeless in Gaza by Aldous Huxley, which I had read a few years back. A mostly autobiographical bildungsroman written on the precipice of World War II, the novel ends with the young protagonist on a journey to Central America, where he meets an idealistic doctor who believes sport to be a proper substitution for war. He tells the story of two tribes locked in internecine conflict through generations, able to replace that violence with soccer matches.

And wasn't that what the world of Pokémon was, a utopia revolving around neutralizing weapons of war by using them for competitive sport?

This tournament, I envisioned, would not simply be about deciding who was best, but an ideological battle for the future of the Pokémon world. To that end, I imagined a war between an entrenched trainer class, who competed as philosopher-warriors, intense individuals with deep connections to their Pokémon, and an upstart commercialization that sought to replace the ideological underpinnings that made their society so safe and prosperous with economic accumulation. It was from this kernel that the character who would become Aracely Sosa arose: charismatic, appealing, human-empathic, and propped up by a support staff who did all the hard work of teambuilding for her.

I imagined the story having an ensemble cast, focusing on nearly every competitor equally, with the Aracely character not having any especial focus until her improbable rise to the top. I imagined a final round where she faced off against "the man who always wins," and though she would lose to him, she would seem to have won the ideological battle, altering the course of society as major corporations scrambled to employ her formula for success at a much grander scale. The story would end with this realization of the earth-shattering importance behind her run, only for Aracely to sink in disappointment. Because in the end, all she really wanted was to win.

The more I thought about it, though, the less I liked the idea of an ensemble cast. The ensemble cast element of Chicago hadn't gone over very well (though I like it), and I figured it would wind up inflating the length of the story considerably. I was coming to the end of Cleveland Quixotic, after all, and once more wanted to write something smaller, tighter, and denser.

So I oriented my thinking to instead have the story revolve around Aracely and one major rival, to give an interpersonal mirror to the ideological war being waged. Thus, Toril came about as an antithesis to everything I had imagined Aracely to be: gruff, antisocial, independent. Their rivalry would culminate in a semifinals battle, before Aracely went on to fight "the man who always wins" in the finals.

I forget exactly when the gender theme came into the equation, but it evolved as an outgrowth of (once again) my competitive League of Legends expertise, where women are essentially nonexistent despite there seemingly being no biological blocks against them. This dovetailed nicely with Pokémon, a world where women seemingly could be powerful competitors, but where—in the anime at least—none ever are. For instance, look at this chart of every major tournament in the anime:

Every known winner is male. Every known finalist and semifinalist is male. Only a handful of female characters have reached the quarterfinals. What possible in-universe justification could there be for that?

This question was actually far more prominent in early planning and drafting than it wound up being in the final work. Initially, I had Aracely's personal motivation revolve around a drive to be the first female trainer to win; this would increase the ideological conflict between her and Toril, who attempted to ignore that she was female altogether. Over time, this theme would see diminished importance in face of the last piece of the thematic puzzle: cults.

It came from reading Underground by Haruki Murakami, a nonfiction journalistic account of the 1995 Tokyo sarin gas attacks carried out by the cult Aum Shinrikyo under the direction of its leader Shoko Asahara. Japan in the 90s was experiencing its own End of History, one taken literally by those disaffected with modern society's grand narrative. The prophecies of Nostradamus became fashionable among the young, who believed that 1999 would be the final year before the world was destroyed. Murakami interviewed both survivors of the gas attack and members of Aum Shinrikyo, collecting worldviews of people who simply thought they were "different" and who were willing to give everything in their lives to the one place that seemed to accept that difference.

The 1995 attacks were a watershed moment in Japanese culture. In their wake would come pivotal works of Japanese pop media, like the titan of otaku culture, Neon Genesis Evangelion:

(What's scary about Nostradamus' prophecy is that it might not come true. A year whose chief terror was that THIS WAS IT.)

Pokémon, whose first games released in Japan in 1996, also emerged within this post-Aum world where fixation on the minutiae of pop media was becoming a primary pillar of meaning for the youth, and it's hard not to see echoes of cultism in the evil teams that dot the series' landscape. Even Team Rocket, originally more modeled on organized crime than occultism, veers that direction in Gold and Silver, and afterward the organizations and their world-ending plots become increasingly absurd, to the point where it starts to become unclear why anyone would ever follow, say, Lysandre.

As I mentioned earlier, my personal interest in Pokémon was at odds with these clownish, Saturday morning cartoon villain organizations, but Murakami's account of the Aum attacks recontextualized them for me, made them make sense even within the framework of a "realistic" utopian world. The last elements snapped into place, and I knew my main character would be the member of one of these cults. A cult dedicated to, what else? Evolution. A core element of the Pokémon series, a perfect metaphor for the frustrating lack of movement of the End of History 90s. I imagined a cult leader as a surrogate mother figure for Aracely, who would have a strained relationship with both of her own parents, and deciding on that, the idea of making Pokémon's canon evil mother Lusamine the villain was a no-brainer. I imagined a post-SuMo Lusamine, unable to move on from her experience merged with Nihilego, languishing in Kanto after being sent there to consult with Bill, who had his own experience being merged with a Pokémon... It didn't take long to figure out how all these pieces connected.

The full form of the story had taken shape.

VI. Showdown

I knew immediately I would be following Showdown rules for the battles. No alternative even crossed my mind. I had dabbled in Showdown a few times over the years, first in Gen 3 OUs, then later in Gen 7 OUs, and I knew from experience that Pokémon is a monumentally more interesting competitive game when operating at a high level compared to either its depiction in the anime (shounen logic, mid-fight evolutions) or the general playing experience (spam your best move on your overleveled starter). I knew I would use competitive rulesets before I even considered the thematic or worldbuilding aspect I would eventually take in the story itself (i.e., that the specific rulesets prevent battles from becoming bloodsport and enforce order on the world). I simply thought doing battles this way would be far more entertaining.

To prepare, I started playing Gen 9 OUs under the guidance of a few friends who were into the competitive scene. I grinded the ladder for months, eventually getting a good enough grasp on the metagame to reach 1500 Elo on the Showdown ladder, which is not very good but generally higher than someone can reach with dumb luck.

Crafting the tournament format and rulesets used in the story wasn't difficult. I modeled the tournament format on the League of Legends World Championship, with region-based seeds (having been selected due to performance in regional tournaments) competing in four groups before the highest performers advanced to a single elimination bracket. Initially, I envisioned a 32-competitor bracket instead of the 16-competitor bracket that would appear in the final draft, but otherwise the format came quickly and easily.

In terms of the rulesets and available Pokémon, my considerations were made primarily in terms of what would be most entertaining to read. I decided to include Mega Evolutions and not include Z Moves, Dynamax, or Terastallization, because Mega Evolutions are cool and those other gimmicks are not. The bring-9-pick-6 format, while unusual in Showdown rulesets, is similar to the rules in Pokémon Stadium and VGC tournaments, and also adds a level of intrigue to which Pokémon each competitor uses. (It also enabled Red's Zapdos at the climax of the story, which was something I knew I would bring out from very early on.)

With the help of one of my friends who knew competitive Pokémon, I scripted out each battle assiduously before I wrote them. Every battle was tested using Showdown itself, with only a few turns mocked up to account for luck. For instance, in Aracely versus Jinjiao, Slowking is meant to stay asleep for three turns. Rather than rely on luck to ensure Slowking actually slept that long during the test, I could give Slowking a useless move and have him use that instead to simulate being asleep.

The only thing that couldn't be tested in Showdown was the 7 PP Kingambit trick Red uses at the end of the story, because it's impossible to set a Pokémon to have fewer than max PP in Showdown. This led to one of the bigger mistakes of the story, as it turns out that Encore would simply wear off if Kingambit ran out of PP, rather than forcing him to use Struggle like I assumed. Luckily, even if this were the case, it wouldn't change the outcome of the battle, so it's not an error I lose too much sleep over.

Character teams were chosen to thread the needle between a few considerations. The team needed to be competitively viable, reflect the character's personality in some way, and be distinct from other teams for the sake of variety. (Variety is somewhat unrealistic in real top-level competitive Pokémon, where you'll often see many almost identical teams in the top ranks. But that would be boring.) Some lack of optimization was allowed under the conceit that actually training these Pokémon to peak form would take a lot of time in the real world, compared to Showdown were optimization can be determined quickly due to the ability to immediately adjust stats and builds.

I also tried to give some preference for Pokémon that would be more familiar to layman fans, though this was difficult because Gen 8 and 9 have outrageous power creep and many popular early generation Pokémon have been completely phased out. (Using Megas helped with this issue.) It was this consideration that led to Azumarill being Aracely's ace. There was also an innate challenge to imagining what the competitive scene would look like without legendary Pokémon. Zapdos and Landorus-Therian have been inexorable staples of the competitive scene for generations. What happens in a world where they aren't used at all?

In the original 32-person bracket, I imagined Aracely competing against Jinjiao in the first round, then minor characters Adrian da Cunha and Jacq Ray Johnson in the next two rounds, before facing Toril in semifinals. I imagined Adrian da Cunha as a "hometown hero" whose team wasn't great but he was plucky with a lot of grit, and Jacq Ray Johnson as a self-aware heel who liked to use cheesy strategies and gimmicky Pokémon like Smeargle and Ditto. Condensing from 32 to 16 occurred around the same time I had settled on Lusamine as my villain/cult leader, which led to replacing those two with Gladion. I developed full brackets for both the 32-man and 16-man iterations, with character names and regions, just in case I ever needed to mention them.

All that was left to do was write the story.

VII. Unbroken Line of History

I began writing in September 2023 under the tentative title Unbroken Line of History, which I would later change to simply Lines. In the original drafts, I opened the story with a modified version of the panel from Electric Tale of Pikachu detailing how people are filtered over time in their pursuit of being the best, this time starting with all 8 billion people in the world until only one remains. The story then cut to Aracely's perspective in the restroom as she mentally prepared for her final group stage match.

At this point I was more set on Aracely being the clear protagonist of the story, so she had a few facets of her personality designed around that. First, as I mentioned before, there was a feminist angle where she was motivated specifically to be the first female trainer to win the championship. Secondly, I threw in some more generic nervousness/fear of failure. The other major difference is that I did not lead with the cult prophecy of the world ending. I originally envisioned the cult reveal to be a mid-story twist, and only obliquely hinted at it.

The scene still played out with Toril appearing and the two getting off to a bad start. Then, Cely's father tried to talk strategy with her while she ignored him, before the battle transpired in much the same form as it does in the final draft.

I showed this early draft to my friends and most disliked it. My girlfriend at the time told me Cely sounded like an edgy 13-year-old boy, while my neuroscientist friend whose aspirational idol is Bondrewd from Made in Abyss wanted to know more about the oblique hints of a cult, finding everything else boring. Another friend said it was stupid that there were 30 seconds between turns during the battle and that the Pokémon should just go at each other; nobody would actually want to watch a battle that was paced so slowly. (I vehemently disagreed with that take. Basically every popular sport balances between slow-paced moments of strategy and fast-paced moments of action and execution.) Some people I showed it to did enjoy it, though. Gazemaize, the author of Chili and the Chocolate Factory, was especially enamored by the Brittany/Gardevoir reveal and the Bud Light Analyst Desk, and implored me to keep both of those elements at all costs. 7th, one of my friends who helped me with the Showdown stuff, was so into it she drew fan art of all the characters (which I've posted before) and also wrote eight pornographic short stories about them.

I rewrote the same opening scene several times across October and November, though these were minor iterations without significant adjustments. Frustrated with the lack of progress, I decided to take a break from writing to simply think about the story for a few months.

During this time, to fix Aracely's edgy 13-year-old voice, I decided to lean into her being from Pokémon Los Angeles (with her native region, Visia, being a play on "visual" as a reference to Hollywood) and gave her a Valley Girl accent. To prepare for this, I listened to hours and hours of ASMR videos of people speaking like Valley Girls and took notes on their inflection and syntax. It was here where I decided on Aracely's underlining quirk, as a way of capturing the unique style of emphasis Valley Girls used.

This also made me realize I needed to adjust Aracely's personality. Despite the tone of her voice, she was still acting antisocially. She didn't want to talk to her father, she didn't want to talk to Lachlan Nguyen, she didn't even really want to talk to Toril. Toril herself was a lump of coal. My own misanthropy kept leaking into the characters, even when I conceptually didn't want them to have it. I thought back to Cleveland Quixotic, and how what made the Jay and Viviendre romance work was that they actually both liked each other, and figured—even though I didn't have explicitly romantic plans for Aracely and Toril—that I needed to do something similar to make their rivalry truly pop. Rather than avoid people, Aracely would lean into talking to them, even if they were annoying. Although Toril remained frigid, there would be a part of her yearning for emotional contact, a way to coax her out of her shell.

I also thought deeply about the structure of my stories in general, and my inability to come up with good hooks. It was around this time that someone I knew was reading Chicago. They pointed out that the plot of Chicago doesn't really start until Chapter 26; that I was "burying the lede." I considered this. My logic, when writing Chicago, was that the Empire moving to take over Washington would be a twist, something that would shock and excite people and change their perception of the entire story.

But did that make sense, when really the story was "about" that twist? Didn't that just make everything before the twist harder to get into for a reader? Chicago might look radically different if I revealed the Empire's goals immediately, but it would also probably be a more immediately engaging work. I'm a big fan of delayed gratification in storytelling, but had I taken it too far?

This was a major revelation for me, and immediately I understood what I needed to do for my Pokémon story: move up the cult plotline. Place it front and center. Name the whole story after it even. I decided on framing the opening scene from Toril's perspective, depicting Aracely initially more as an alien other, emphasizing the fact that she was in a cult rather than hide it behind foreshadowing. This could also lead to Aracely and Toril having more of a dual protagonist setup, which would make my planned two-half finale (one half where Aracely battled "the man who always wins," one half where Toril got involved in stopping the cult's doomsday plot) work even better.

Confidence resurged. At the end of January 2024, my girlfriend of seven years and I broke up. A few days later, I started writing the sixth—and ultimately final—draft of When I Win the World Ends.

VIII. When I Win the World Ends

Now it's the part of the Making Of where I actually make the thing I'm supposed to be making, but there's a lot less to say about it. Once I have a plan, the actual writing of the story is the easy part, and most of what I wrote—with a few exceptions—looks similar to the story as it exists now.

There were some oddities. I wrote the first seven chapters (everything up to the end of the Jinjiao battle) and then had to take a two week break to write a short piece for a writing contest I had entered in December as part of an effort to stop overthinking WIW. After this interruption, I returned to WIW writing perhaps a bit more perfunctorily than I usually would, leading to an original version of Chapter 8 (the chapter where MOTHER makes her first real appearance) that was short and abbreviated. Later, in editing, I would rewrite most of this chapter.

A few ideas emerged while writing, like the motif of serendipity/Logos, which I felt tied nicely to the ideas of evolution and history. It was also in this draft that I introduced Cely's friends Haydn and Charlie, as a nod to an earlier work of mine also featuring a fashion-obsessed girl from Los Angeles. (Speaking of nods to earlier works, in the original 32-man bracket, Cole Coulter featured as one of the competitors, but he didn't make the 16-man cut.)

The process went smoothly. I finished the draft at the end of May, a little under four months after I started it. I had envisioned the full story as being about 70,000 words, but the draft ended up closer to 115,000. Underestimating story length is just an essential element of the trade, though.

A few days after finishing the draft I went on a four-day Oklahoma Darkness Retreat where I had access to zero electronics. The goal was to think about my story deeply and how it could be improved in the editing process.

In this time chamber, where I did nothing except complete crossword puzzles and read The Recognitions by William Gaddis, I came to a realization. There was one element the story needed that wasn't already there.

That element was Sabrina. In the original draft, Sabrina was not present during the scene where Aracely meets the Old Man. She was mentioned obliquely a couple of times in conjunction with Aracely's "psychic powers," but it never really built to anything. There was still a scene where Aracely was interrogated due to her relationship with MOTHER, but only by nameless goons, and the scene lacked tension as it was clear Aracely could talk circles around them.

When I returned from Oklahoma, I prepared for my conception of Sabrina as a character by writing an 8,000 word short story from her perspective, which hashed out an entire backstory for her. Then, I started editing the draft.

For me, a lot of editing is just polish. Usually, cutting out needless sentences and fixing clunky ones, as well as emphasizing a few of the more understated themes and motifs. For instance, during editing, I made slight additions to emphasize the thematic connection between Aracely's suicide attempt and the global war that almost destroyed the world, as well as the connection between the moon and cyclical insanity (lunacy, etymologically, being related to the moon). I made the Old Man more of a Walt Disney-esque figure (from my notes: "a dying Disney"), rewriting much of his dialogue to either be direct quotes or to evoke his ideals. I also expanded on several of the scenes where Toril and Aracely interact to make their relationship more complex and nuanced. I gave MOTHER some new dialogue, including her speech in Chapter 18 about loving a child for the potential it promises, while also paradoxically wanting it to remain a child forever.

The largest changes were in the three chapters I almost fully rewrote. The first was Chapter 8, which as I mentioned earlier was overly terse. In the original draft, it depicted MOTHER as more pathetic, more dependent on Aracely. I decided to make her a more threatening figure, and incorporated a few references to the Moloch sacrifice scene from Valle Verde to make her seem more like a false idol. Similarly, I rewrote Chapter 12, which was originally a very short chapter that focused solely on a conversation between MOTHER and Nilufer that ended with the order to kidnap Aracely. In rewriting the chapter to include Fiorella, I gave myself more opportunity to flesh out the respective philosophies of her and MOTHER (including some of the story's most salient discussions about why cults exist), as well as give more of an insight into the inner workings of RISE as an organization. And lastly, I fully rewrote Chapter 19 to include Sabrina.

The last changes I made in editing were to the final chapter. When I finished the final draft of the story, I sent it to several readers, many of whom had looked at the original drafts of the first chapter, as well as julirites, the author of a Fargo fan fiction called London. There was an immediate and minor backlash to the final chapter, which was originally much more pessimistic, from most people who read it. In the original version, Aracely and Toril were not still in communication. (Fiorella was also dying of cancer instead of jockeying to replace the Old Man.) The finale had a much more somber, sedate, tragic note. Juli and 7th disliked this sad ending, while Gazemaize wanted me to cut the final chapter altogether. I felt confident that the final chapter was necessary, though, and revised it to its current version, which was much better liked.

And then... the story was finished, near the end of July. I crunched the numbers and realized that if I posted two chapters to start and then did a twice-weekly posting schedule, I could end the story serendipitously on October 12. So I did.

IX. Names and Special Thanks

In my Making Of post for Cleveland Quixotic, I had a fairly extensive list of where I got all the character and place names from. The list is a lot less extensive here; most names I constructed for the purpose of sounding evocative, rather than taking them from someplace specific. For instance, I chose the name Aracely Sosa because it sounds like whistling with its repeated S sounds, compared to Toril Lund which is a lot harsher with its consonants. You can see a similar rationale behind names like Fiorella Fiorina, Yui Matsui, and even some of the background characters, like Jacq Ray Johnson, Jr., where there is a lot of emphasis on alliteration and rhyme.

There are a couple of exceptions. Jinjiao is the in-game ID of a longtime Chinese League of Legends pro of middling notability. He picked the name (which means "Golden Horn") as a reference to the Golden Horned King, a villain from Journey to the West.

Lutz, Fiorella's cameraman, was named after an extremely minor character from Fire Emblem: Path of Radiance, who is not playable and only appears in a singular cutscene before being killed. They are so irrelevant that despite naming a character after them, I actually forgot their name, which is Lotz, not Lutz.

Haydn is named after the famous classical composer.

Special thanks to 7th and Elick320 for helping me with the teams and battles. Thanks to Gazemaize and julirites, among others unnamed, for reading and providing feedback. And thank you all for enjoying the story.

#when i win the world ends #wiw #bavitz #the making of #writing #pokemon #fanfic #fan fiction #league of legends #faker #the electric tale of pikachu #Youtube

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harmoonix · 4 hours ago

Text

💙Solar Return

observations💙

Part III

ATTENTION: 60+ OBSERVATIONS SO LONG POST!!💙💙💙

💙 Chiron in your solar return chart, will show the area you'll need to heal the most in that specific year:

7h: your relationships

3h: your social skills

4h: your family

8h: traumas

10h: your public image

12h: your sleep

1h: yourself

6h: your health

5h: your inner child

2h: your finances

11h: your friendships

9h: your faith

💙 Moon or Mercury in the 3rd house can indicate a year where you may socialize way more, being more open in talks, sharing things about yourself

💙 Venus in the 1H is a year where you have to prioritize yourself, take care of your body, do skin - routines, relief baths, cleaning

💙 Saturn in the 10H can indicate success at your work/job/career in that year or something big happening with your job

💙 Scorpio Rising in your Solar Return may indicate a year where you gonna evolve more/transform yourself

💙 Moon in the 8H/12H may indicate a sorrowful year on the emotions/feelings, you may get hurt easier, more emotional and more needy that year

💙 Uranus in your 6H/10H can indicate changing jobs, changing something at your job. Maybe a boss, co-workers etc..

💙 Jupiter or Venus in the 9H may be a good year to travel somewhere but also you may have good luck with the school/high-school that year

💙 Venus aspecting Saturn can indicate setting new standards for your love relationship/partner in that year or being more strict with whom you share your love

💙 Earth Rising indicates a year where you need to be more stable, with Capricorn Rising with your career, with Virgo Rising your health, with Taurus Rising your finances/money

💙 Pluto in the 11H may attract a lot of people who may give 'frenemies' vibes that year, take care at your surroundings

💙 Venus in the 5H/7H may give a new romantic interest but not all the time, I had Venus in the 7H in the SR chart last year and I focused more on my views of a relationship rather than an romantic interest

💙 Pluto aspecting your Ascendant can indicate gaining more popularity in that specific year or people being more interested in you

💙 Pluto or Saturn in the 6H can indicate issues with your health in that year. It is a good time to focus on your health and go more frequently at the doctor during this time

💙 Pluto in the 4H may indicate changing in your homelife, maybe moving, your family members changing in better or worse

💙 Pisces Rising can be a year where you may be more dreamy or may have lots of daydreaming episodes, also being more artistic

💙 Sun in the 11H can be a good indicator of making new friends in that year, even making close - bounding with people

💙 Saturn aspecting the North Node may indicate new life paths that imply challenges, a hard path leads to success

💙 Jupiter in the 1H is a good year to put yourself in a good light. You can be lucky in that year with certain things happening in your life

💙 I swear, every time I do a solar return chart, VENUS AND SATURN are always close to each other in my chart. I literally wanna explode.

💙 Saturn in the 12H can indicate a year where you can feel more depressed or pessimistic, or even lazy

💙 You may adopt a pet if you have Venus or Sun in the 6H in that specific year, one or more pets

💙 Mars in your 7H can bring fights/jealousy/arguments in your relationships in that specific year

💙 9h Venus can talk about finding a lover from another ethnicity or culture around that year or maybe a lover during school/ high school or while traveling

💙 Neptune or Lilith in the 12H may be a time when you will feel a lot more introverted, more lonely, more peaceful time with your subconscious

💙 Sun in the 3rd house in the Solar Return will open a lot/being more social in that time, talking more, being more extroverted

💙 Capricorn Venus/Moon will indicate being more mature with your relationships and maybe finding a mature love matching your love life

💙 Mars in the 12H can indicate a subconscious fear or a phobia to an extent. Maybe you'll develop a new fear for something in that year

💙 Pluto in the 8H can indicate secrets, hiding things, but also some issues with feeling yourself, draining and powerful energy

💙 Mercury or Mars in Sagittarius can indicate learning a new language or studying about it

💙 Chiron aspecting Moon may indicate some issues with your mother during that year or your grandmother, but also healing your inner child

💙 Virgo Placements may join in big projects during that year, especially Virgo Rising, Sun, Moon, or Venus, it also can be something profitable for you

💙 Venus close your MC = receiving more compliments in that year/people appreciating you more

💙 Mars in the 3h/Aries Mars may indicate issues with your siblings (if you have), also joining in fights with others

💙 Aries Rising can boost your confidence that year in the Solar Return chart but also attract the same type of people

💙 Uranus in the 7H can indicate an 'unexpected' love interest, meeting someone randomly in that year (can be anyone)

💙 Indicators of being more recognized in the Solar Return chart:

Leo/Aries/Aquarius/Libra Rising

Venus - Asc aspects

Venus - Midheaven aspects

Sun - Midheaven aspects

Sun aspecting Mercury

Mercury in Leo

Gemini Moon/Mercury

💙 A year where you'll have water rising in your chart can indicate a year where you will be more introverted

💙Mars/Saturn or Pluto in the 4th house can bring tension at home during that year, changing homes, discovering something about your family

💙Jupiter in the 8th house may indicate a good time with your finances/money, but also you may find yourself being more sexual

💙 Retrogade planets in the solar return will show areas where you will need the most focus on depending on the house you have retrogade planets (if you have)

💙 Chiron, aspecting the ascendant in the solar return, can indicate lots of healing or wounds to yourself in that year.

💙 Pluto or Scorpio over the 7th house can indicate meeting toxic people or toxic situations in that year

💙 Moon in your 1st house can make you more emotional than you usually are. Can reflect a lot on your personality

💙 Mercury in the 11th house can bring new friends in your life. Is a social placement for that specific year

💙 You may start a job in the year you'll have uranus/saturn in the 6th house or switch to another job

💙 Mars in the 2nd house can spend more money on yourself or others during that year

💙 North Node will indicate a new path for you in that specific year depending on the house you have the NN in

💙 Virgo in the 2nd house may spend money on their health or medical care or vitamins in that year, or even on your diet/aliments

💙 Pluto in the 11th house is usually a year where you will feel that people are more cold with you, or mean, or you'll feel that ppl have something against you

💙 12th house sun can be a year where you will focus more on your subconscious and self - peace rather than other things

💙 Chiron - Venus aspects may have wound related to love topics or relationships in that year, even a possible breakup

💙 Sun or Venus in the 5th house can indicate discovering a new hobby during that year, can be something related with arts

💙 Moon in the 6th house can be a good year to reflect on your mental health, especially if you previously had depression, anxiety, and stress

💙 Mars in the 1st house can indicate a year where you will be more competitive, can be more harsh on yourself, more stubborn

💙 Venus in the 10th house can be a year where you will find love during your work/job, can fall in love with a co-worker, drama about your love life

💙 Lilith in Gemini/3rd house can indicate a year where people can gossip or talk behind your back, despite these you'll be more social and bold

💙 Lilith - Chiron aspects may show a year where you will struggle with your sexual desires, can end up with sexual frustration

💙 Sun or Mars in the 3rd house can indicate getting a car or driving license (of course, if you are close in age for these things)

💙 Mars, Saturn, or Sun in the 1st in the Solar return chart is a good time to focus on gym if you like it. Because your body matters a lot

💙 Since we are soon to end the year, here are some observations. Hope you love some new observations!! Enjoy and take care!!

Harm♡♡nix 💙 2024●

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peppermintquartz · 4 hours ago

Note

Hi! If you're still taking prompts: Buck/Tommy, "You're the love of my life"

As the sun paints the clouds of Los Angeles a garish orange and pink, Tommy sits next to Evan on their bench on the front porch. Neither of them speak.

It's late enough in the season that it gets a little chilly once the sun goes down - chilly for LA anyway - and Tommy holds out the extra hoodie he brought out with him earlier. Evan takes it with bad grace, but he takes it and puts it on, so Tommy counts that as a step taken in the right direction.

There isn't much traffic in this cul-de-sac. A red Toyota drives past, its LED headlights glaring. Then they hear the eerie calls of coyotes floating in the air.

"I'd still do it," Tommy finally says. "Knowing everything, I'd still go in there to look for him."

Evan snorts. "Of course."

"You'd have done it too."

"Maybe." Evan folds his arms more tightly over his chest. "But I would have had Eddie watching my back when I do so. Not charge in solo like an action hero in a, a movie or something."

Tommy grits his teeth and stuffs his hands into his pockets. "There wasn't time. I'd have thought that you of all people would understand... You used to-"

"Don't you dare accuse me of being reckless now," Evan bites out. "I learned my lesson. You know I have. You could've died. For a pet turtle."

"Evan." Tommy takes a deep breath, blows it out. It's the same old argument since he got home three hours ago, and he is sick of it. "Chandra said the structure was still stable. I assessed the scene as well, I knew I would be safe enough, and Gus was not that far from me either. No one expected the tree to fall and the roof to cave in, but we got out of the way quickly enough. I got the turtle, I got out. Can we please stop fighting?"

He reaches for the hem of Evan's hoodie and tugs it lightly.

Evan sniffs. "I'd have hated writing your eulogy. A goddamn turtle."

"The turtle's name was Mr Speedy, if that helps with the eulogy." Tommy smiles and then yelps when Evan punches him on the shoulder. "Ow!"

Though he is still pouting, Evan's expression softens slightly. "Mr Speedy. That's so stupid."

Tommy grabs his husband's hand. "I won't ask my crew to take a risk that I can't take myself. And I will always, always try my damndest best to come home to you. You're the love of my life, after all."

"Liar," Evan says with a small smile. "The love of your life is asleep in his bed right now."

"I'm not lying, I love you both equally," says Tommy, kissing the back of Evan's hand. He nibbles on a knuckle and adds, "Make-up sex for tired parents?"

"I'm not that tired," Evan murmurs, leaning in for a kiss.

#tommy kinard #evan buckley #bucktommy #tevan

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joemama-2 · 1 day ago

Text

ten reasons i love you

pairing: gojo x fem reader tags/warnings: angst, angst, angst, light fluff, smut, death, divider by @cafekitsune

word count: 2459

Reason #1: you’re patient

Sometimes, I get a little jealous. I wish I were like you, and I try to be, but no one could ever be like you. You handled every situation, every wrongdoing, every argument, every fight, with grace. A simple and natural elegance.

Every time, it proved why I fell in love with you.

But, I love when you’re patient with me. I know I can be hard to handle sometimes, annoying, or an “ass”, whichever name you decided to grace me with that day. You stayed with me, even when sometimes I wished you hadn’t. Because I knew you deserved, deserve, better.

“Can’t you just tell me all the reasons now?”

“Nope, that would ruin the surprise. You get your next reason next week.”

A gentle kiss to the forehead, followed by one to your cheeks, nose, and then lips.

Reason #2: the way you laugh

I know it’s getting hard to do that now, but when you finally do, it’s the most pleasant sound my ears have ever heard, that my body has ever felt when you giggle against my neck. It sounds like a sweet melody, one that makes you warm. One that makes you smile, without noticing.

I don’t think anyone could ever have as beautiful as laugh as you do. Even then, it wouldn’t compete.

The way you laugh sounds so natural like you don’t care who hears. I miss your laughs so much. Whenever I hear it, in that moment, everything is okay. Everything is perfect. Because you’re perfect.

It’s the sound of joy that fills up a room and my heart. I wish I could listen to it forever.

“I didn’t take you for a poet.”

Satoru laughs, dimple more prominent. “I can be cute when I want to.”

You smile, followed by your oh-so-precious laugh. He practically melts on the spot. He can hear the rattling in your chest he’s unfortunately become familiar with. But his face doesn’t fall, instead, he holds you closer and presses a kiss to your hairline.

It feels like just yesterday when you both got the news, when your lives changed. It’s the second week, but he just prays for time to slow down. For he’s not ready for the future.

Reason #3: your determination

It’s so beautiful to see. The way you try and try, even after failure. The way you never give up. Maybe it’s because you’re a bit stubborn, but you never back down. It’s a quiet strength about you that I hope you can make loud one day.

You’re fierce, but quiet. Determinated, but timid. I’ve never seen those combinations before, but now that I have, I love it.

“I wish I was still strong enough.”

His heart breaks at the sight before him, along with your resigned tone of voice. Pushing some strands of hair out of your eyes. “Listen,” he murmurs, head titling. “You are strong, then and now. You will always be strong. Do you want to know why?”

“Why?”

“Because I know you. And I know you’re not ready to give up, just like I’m not giving up on you. We’ll both fight this. In the end, I’ll buy you that ice cream you really like.”

Tears fill your eyes, a sad smile playing on your lips. “Okay, I can’t wait.”

Reason #4: your creativity

I know you’re trying to find ways to take your mind off the now, I am too. I didn’t think someone was capable of picking up on hobbies so fast, but the gloves you knitted me say otherwise. Oh, and the cute little crotchet animals that now take residency on my side of the bed. But I’ll let that slide, just for you. (The little gray bunny is my enemy, btw.)

I wish I was as creative as you. It’s like your juices just get flowing and once you start, you don’t stop. I love seeing it happen in real-time. It makes you happy, I know that. So it makes me happy too.

I’ve been getting more yarn now when I’m out, it’s kind of just like second nature now, I guess. They’re starting to pile up, but I hope one day they’ll all be gone.

“Keep her off her feet more.” The doctor tells Satoru, who currently stands with a pensive expression, fingers curling around your own. “Your wife needs all the rest she can get, so if you can, keep her on bedrest with less strenuous activities.”

Bedrest.

That word alone shakes you to your core, a prime example of your deteriorating condition. You can hear your weakened heart pound in your ears, tears threatening to fall from your eyes. If you’re being advised to be put on bed rest, what hope is left for you?

Almost none.

Reason #5: how you care about people

“That’s ironic, isn’t it?” You huff out, a wince soon taking over.

Satoru’s comforting hand places itself on your pale one, smiling. “Just keep reading.”

With one final breath out, your eyes travel down to the small journal, reading today’s entry.

You have a certain way of making people feel seen. Including others in conversation, making sure no one is left out. You listen when needed, comfort when needed, and give advice when needed. Even if you’re not doing the best yourself.

You make people feel important, make me feel important. You look beyond titles and hierarchies and just see…me.

If someone’s at their lowest, you make them feel seen. I’ve seen it, I’ve experienced it, and I love it.

You don’t even know you’re reaching out for him until his arms wrap securely around your waist. Careful not to drop his full weight onto your frail body. But god do you wish he did, you missed how things were before.

Hot tears stain his shirt and Satoru feels his own set begin to let loose. He’s always been good at comforting you when you’re crying, but that doesn’t mean he doesn’t cry with you.

Reason #6: the way you make the mundane beautiful

“Mundane.” You repeat, coughing.

“Mundane.” Satoru confirms, holding your hands. “Do you think mundane is bad?”

“I feel like I can’t even do mundane things now.”

His head shakes. “You can, and you do. Life is mundane with you, but it’s also exciting, beautiful.”

With a jut of his chin towards the journal, you take the hint and continue reading.

How you can turn something so ordinary into something magical is still beyond me. Maybe you’re a secret witch (I would like that). You look for the beauty in things.

The way the sun hits the leaves, the sound of rain, or the way our hands fit together. You see the world in a way no one else does.

I see the beauty in you too. When your nose crinkles because of my “smelly” socks, your head tilting when you’re confused, or even that look you give me when I say something stupid or funny. I like admiring you, and I like the way you admire.

Reason #7: how you make me a better person

There’s a resounding thump noise as you throw the journal into the wall. Health slowly failing along with your own mental stability. Satoru holds back a frown, feeling himself uncomfortably shift beside you.

“What’s wrong, baby?” He gently asks.

“I don’t wanna read anymore.” Your voice is bordering on unrecognizable, the rattling in your chest more prominent.

He heaves a small sigh, walking over to pick the book up and back to you. Sitting on the edge of the bed and carefully regarding you with an examining gaze. “Why not?”

Many reasons. “I-It just makes me emotional, Satoru.”

“What’s wrong with that?”

“Everything!” You shout, looking at him with a pitiful expression. “I’m already fucked up as it is, I don’t wanna cry anymore!”

God, is this really testing his emotional resilience. But that’s not what you need right now. “I know, I know you don’t, baby. But look at it like this,” he scoots closer, fingers intertwining with yours. “There’s nothing wrong with crying, it means we’re still human, it makes us feel….complete sometimes. And I know you’re trying hard to hold everything in, I see it. But please, just let everything out, don’t worry about the mess. Because I’m here.”

Your hands tremble, no longer fighting back your tears as you hesitantly reach for the outstretched journal and read, tears wetting the page. He holds you close.

You challenge me, in the best way. You push me to be more rational, logical, to be more punctual and caring. You push me to be the best me, you encourage my beliefs and ideas, and you’re there for me when something doesn’t fall through.

Without you, I can’t be who I am today. Without you, I’m not me.

You’ve made me the best me, by just being yourself.

Next week, you’re saying bye to your forever home. Being forced to spend your last days in an uncomfortable hospital with a scent that you hate. This is the last time you’ll walk these halls, use that stove, watch that TV, sleep in that bed.

You cling to him like a lifeline, sometimes you wish he was.

Soft cries fill the otherwise dim and quiet room, his arms wrapped around your body. Your arms are around his neck, legs opened wide enough so he can fully accommodate his body between them. The way he deliciously slides in and out, in the slowest and gentlest manner, all for your sake. Small moans and grunts fall from your guys’ lips.

The last time he’ll ever make love to you.

“Reason #8: the way you love me.”

You almost break down even more at the sound of his cracking voice, noticing the shaky inhale he does as he looks down at you, hips moving in a steady motion.

“You love me so fully, so unconditionally.” he starts off, grunting quietly as your walls squeeze around him. “It’s not about perfection with you. It’s about the way you choose me. Every day, even when we’re not at our best. I know I’m loved because you show it, every moment, in a thousand little ways.”

His lips kiss and gently suck on your pulse point, tongue darting out to lick and savor your sweaty skin. The tip of his cock hits your g-spot in a rhythm that has you whimpering out, nails digging into his shoulders. Your head tilts back slightly, he guides it back with one free hand and kisses you passionately.

He swallows your moans and tastes your tears. His tears fall onto your cheeks, mixing in with everything.

This isn’t just about sex, but it’s about being one with each other. It’s about savoring each other like it’s your last breath, melting into each other’s bodies, and loving you in the most intimate way.

He commits this to memory.

Satoru stays by your side every day and every night. He doesn’t leave, even when he’s prompted by you to eat and sleep. But he can’t, not when this could be the last time he’ll ever talk to you.

You look so fragile, so out of place in the hospital bed. The gown one size too big and he just wanted to take you in his arms and into a far-away place. Away from the hospital, away from this heart condition, and just with him.

You can barely even keep your eyes fully open, multiple wires running through your body to keep you conscious. But you still hold onto his hand, tightly, as if you never want to let go.

And you don’t. Neither does Satoru,

Pale skin and dry lips. Everything about you screams illness. No matter that, you force yourself to stay coherent while he reads.

“Reason #:9”, he looks at you, “the way you feel like home.”

Satoru forces his voice to remain steady, smiling at you. “Being with you is a safe place, a shelter from this cruel and dirty world. No matter where I am, where you are, where we are, I’m exactly where I’m supposed to be. You make me feel seen, understood, loved. Nothing else matters but us. Your touch, your voice, your presence, that’s all home to me, and I’m so happy I finally found my home.”

Warm tears slowly trickle down your cheeks, your smile feeling like it’s too hard to handle. “You’re my home too, Satoru. I….I don’t wanna leave home.”

A shaky breath. “You won’t.” His hand squeezes you tighter, planting a chaste kiss on your cracked lips. “I’ll always be here, I’ll always follow you. Just keep holding onto me, okay?”

“O-okay.” You croak out, sniffling.

That night, he falls asleep with you. Holding you like he always does. Whispering sweet nothings into your ear, thumb tracing lazy circles on your knuckles. Your warmth keeps him going, but it also makes him sleepy.

It’s only then does he realizes something.

He’s happy. He’s so, so happy. He’s with you, you’re with him, and everything else fades away. Because it’s just you two. As much as it hurts, he wants you to go peacefully, and with him.

So, as the hours pass and when he opens his eyes. He’s met with a cold body, an unmoving form in his arms. And tears mixing in with your hair as he hugs you tight one last time.

“Reason #10.”

He sets the bouquet of white roses down on the cold stone, kneeling down before it. Your name stares back at him.

“The best one, in my opinion. You know….I really hate how I couldn’t tell you this last one in person. But you’re still listening, aren’t you?” He places his hand above your name and a small gust of wind replies back. He smiles.

“The way you taught me to live.”

“You taught me to how to live, not just in ‘big moments’, but in the small ones too. The moments that matter. The times we spent together, the quiet talks, the laughter, the shared silences. You’ve shown me that life isn’t about counting days—it’s about making days count.”

After leaving, he can’t help but cry. Fingers twitching by his sides, ears ringing. He blocks out the world. Until there’s a small rustling in the bushes beside him. He stops and looks.

He laughs.

“Guess you’re still keeping an eye on me, huh?”

Staring back, a cute little gray bunny. Its ears twitch, as if acknowledging him.

He takes a step closer, then kneels down, his voice softening. "Don’t worry. I’ll be okay. I promise."

He looks at the bunny one last time before standing up and walking away, feeling an inexplicable sense of comfort.

#gojo satoru x reader #gojo x reader #gojo satoru x you #gojo satoru #gojou satoru #gojo satoru angst #gojou satoru x reader #gojou satoru x you #jjk x reader #jjk x you #jjk angst #jujutsu kaisen x reader #jujutsu kaisen #jjk #gojo x you

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a-chaotically-small-lunta · 2 days ago

Text

Oh! I actually love this idea and thought about it way too much. And you NAILED some important points. Cause the only borrowers that wouldn’t be affected by this apocalypse would be those deep in the wilderness, like in super dangerous parts of the jungle or even deep into caverns that human’s hubris can’t reach.

Also I’ve always thought about when borrowers would be found cause time periods could impact that. Like ancient centuries would see them as a status symbol among humans. If you caught one that would mean great luck or fortune, or perhaps it meant you were smart enough to catch them. Go a little further into closer centuries and you have borrowers being sold as pets or slaves or even worse possibilities.

But then you get to this century, today, and everything you said would most likely be true. However, I can hear the debates over them. How one side would say they are humans and deserve human rights, while the other would say they are less than human and don’t deserve respect because they can’t do Real work, or something. Then there would be an argument about what makes something a human. Is it DNA? Size? Looks? Etc? Which that opens a whole new can of worms where ethics, ancestral history, eugenics, morals, religious contexts, and so many other things would get involved and that would be one hell of a shitstorm.

However if borrowers were found, we know there would be a whole community of people wanting to protect them and their way of life. It wouldn’t be the same as before, like you said their world would be gone and completely different, but they do have a small group of people who would, at least I hope so, fight for every borrower out there. I’m just saying that the g/t community would probably go and steal from places keeping borrowers prisoners. I would at least. I’ll go into a petsmart and break all the borrowers out of there. They can arrest me but that won’t stop me from doing it again when I get out!

*ahem* probably shouldn’t ramble too much eheheheh, anywho I have really thought about this concept a lot and I really like it cause it’s so complicated!

G/t Concept: Borrower Apocalypse

Borrowers are revealed to the entire world. Everyone, everywhere suddenly knows about them.

There are a lot more than the Humans expected.

A cheap, reliable "Borrower Detector" hits the market almost overnight.

In less than a month about 80% of domestic Borrowers have been found by homeowners, completely at their mercy.

Now, a decade later, The species has been scattered to the winds...

Borrowers got their rights far too late. And they're nothing but empty words on a piece of paper.

Kidnapping a Borrower is laughably easy. Anyone can do it. And the police response is mostly dependent on whether or not they gave a shit. The laws are basically unenforced.

So, half the species has fucked off into the wilderness, and the other half takes their chances with Humans. As 'equals', as pets, or as one of the lucky few who were able to stay hidden.

The Humans live another day in a changed world.

But Borrowers? Their 'world' ended a long time ago…

Basically: What if Humans suddenly gained an ability / technology that makes it impossible for Borrowers to hide? And what if they all get found at the same time with no real warning?

(Also trying a new format here. Less fluff / theatrics. I'm hoping a simple bullet-pointed list will make the concept more adaptable and open-ended. Please let me know your thoughts)

#g/t #g/t concept #mmmh yes 10/10 idea very angst and anxiety inducing tbh

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middlingmay · 1 day ago

Note

Hello 😌 for the late night call prompt:

"i know you didn't just hang up on me without saying 'i love you'."

This could be so sweet (or not). Would love to see your take on it!

Hello! I'm feeling the fluff today, so I hope you like it. Thanks for the ask :) <3

John's mouth had served him both well and ill in his life.

He was funny and he was charming. He was able to spin a story and keep a table entertained. He could cheer someone up easy, diffuse arguments if he chose to. And because he could read people quick sharp, he could either make fast friends with a few choice words, or could provoke or end a fight depending on which of his more mercurial moods he was looking to feed that night.

But his favourite thing, he'd come to find over the years, was talking in a constant, rhythmic roll and lulling Gale, a notoriously poor sleeper, to a good night's sleep.

John wasn't even going to let state lines keep him from that privilege.

Work had sent him away for a couple of nights to deal with an issue and another officer. It's what he got with his reputation for being able to influence and mediate with the best of them. And of course, just two days before he was due to go, Gale fell sick. Not sick enough to warrant John calling it off; but just sick enough to worry and stress him all the way out because he wouldn't be here to take care of his Gale.

Gale who had no sympathy for his plight whatsoever.

"It's two days. I can take care of myself; I'm a big boy."

John leered without intent and moseyed into Gale's personal space. "Oh, I know."

Gale spluttered a dry cough into John's chest and struggled to get his breath back and John whined.

"Come on, Gale. Just say the word and I'll cancel. You won't have to lift a finger until you're better."

Gale pushed him off and tugged the cover he had draped around him like a cape in tighter. "No, thank you," he grimaced. "You'll hover, you'll get sick, then I'll be taking care of the two of us. Get to stepping, John. Quicker you get there, quicker you get back."

So they'd said goodbye, Gale tolerating John's too-many long looks back with barely a roll of his eyes (and John knew that was just because even his eyes were hurting). But he could kick him out the house and force him to go to work and make fun of him as much as he liked, but Gale couldn't stop John from calling him for their regular night time chatterbox sessions.

"I thought you were working," Gale drawled raspy into the phone.

"At nine pm? Not enough overtime pay in the world, sweets. How you feeling?"

Gale's answers were brief and perfunctory, but John could hear the ever-present affection even through the brevity. And John was always happy to pick up the slack. He murmured to Gale about the trip, the shit show at the office, and the gossip he entirely made up about his colleagues in another state just to keep himself entertained. He spoke about the town and the hotel, and what he had to eat. He told him every tiny detail he could think of, until he heard Gale's breaths even out and the soft snore of the congested drift across the line.

Chuckling low so as not to wake Gale, he finally hung up, proud of himself for being able to fulfil his duties even if he wasn't there in person.

But it only lasted a few seconds before his phone screen lit up, and Doll flashed across the screen. John swiped and lifted the phone to his ear to hear Gale's thick, sleepy reprimand.

"I know you didn't just hang up on me without saying I love you."

John grinned wide and dimpled and all teeth and gum at Gale's grumpy complaint. "I'm sorry, sweetheart. How rude."

"Mmph." Offended. Like a puffed up cat. John could practically see the displeased frown in the centre of Gale's brow.

"I love you. Now go to sleep."

"Mmph." Contented. Pleased. Maybe with that tiny little smile Gale had that pulled his apple cheeks up.

John stayed on the phone long past Gale's return to sleep. Just in case.

#fic requests #asks #ask me anything #clegan #buck x bucky #mini fic #my writing #mota

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firstkanaphans · 1 day ago

Note

I've noticed this (as a majorly JD fan) that most people like to complain about fixed cps when it comes to FirstKhao only! It's more apparent when there are mostly no (or less) talk about it when long term CPs keep doing shows together (I mean OG are having their 7th show as a pair coming this gmmtv 2025 and they will be very much welcomed).

There is even demand for CPs that are no longer together to come back (like MaxTul -btw I love them and would love them to so another show together although I know Tul is retired from acting and so that's not gonna happen).

In short- why is there demand for FirstKhao to do works separately and not as a pair? (They have only 2 shows as a pair til now. THK is going to be their 3rd.) Is it because The Eclipse or Only Friends were not that well received?

The Eclipse and Only Friends were both incredibly well-received and were two of the most popular BLs GMMTV has put out in years, so it’s definitely not that. I’m hesitant to tell you what I really think because I’m worried I’ll get canceled for it, but I’ve already blocked everyone who disagrees with me and I’ve now reached the anger stage of my election grief so hey, what the hell.

If you want my honest opinion about why FirstKhaotung seem to be the primary target for this War on CPs, we need to go back to the Only Friends era. It’s important to note that this particular argument against CPs seems to be entirely isolated to Tumblr. Plenty of people dislike CPs or think there should be more mixing and matching of pairs, but that’s not the argument I’m talking about. What you see people saying on Tumblr is that CPs are actively ruining the industry and that writers and directors are going so far as to obstruct themselves creatively just so CPs can end up together. The first time I ever heard rumblings of this was during Only Friends.

Here’s the thing about Only Friends. Before it aired—and even in the beginning stages of it airing—a bunch of the more, ahem, “intellectual” fans seemed to have some very grand delusions about what it was and what it wasn’t. Delusions that were never supported by the canon or anyone involved in the creative process. Throughout this, a bunch of us “fangirls” (gender neutral) tried to fight back and tell them they were misreading the text, but the general consensus was that obviously we didn’t know what we were talking about because we were just fangirls.

But then guess who turned out to have interpreted the text correctly all along?

All of our predictions came true while none of theirs did and instead of admitting that maybe they weren’t engaging with this particular piece of media the way it was meant to be engaged with, they started inventing conspiracy theories about how the series would have ended differently if only it weren’t for those meddling CPs! The FK fandom has a huge faction here on Tumblr and I fear FK took most of the brunt of their anger—and is still taking it even now.

I just…imagine thinking Jojo Tichakorn secretly hates CPs and is being forced to use them against his will. Jojo Tichakorn? The same Jojo Tichakorn that’s been tweeting about SkyNani nonstop for the past month?! This man is inventing CPs that don’t even exist yet! He is one of us.

My truth is that most of this anger at CPs is actually just thinly veiled misogyny because it revs up anytime a true romance starts getting attention (such as We Are). Romances have always been overlooked and seen as “less than” simply because it is a genre enjoyed by women, but romances have just as much value as any other genre of media and despite popular belief, fangirls are capable of critical thought.

My advice? Just go on a blocking spree before THK airs because it’s only going to get worse. People hate to see women enjoying things.

#asks

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snowysosturn · 2 days ago

Text

Allies or Affiliates? - Chris Sturniolo Part 10

Part 1 Part 2 Part 3 Part 4 Part 5 Part 6 Part 7 Part 8 Part 9 Part 10

Pairing : Y/n x Chris Sturniolo

Summary : Law student Y/n’s life takes a turn when she reconnects with Chris, her brief teenage flame who is now a dealer for a dangerous Boston drug gang. As their bond reignites, Y/n is drawn into Chris’s tumultuous world, where rival gangs clash and loyalty is everything. Balancing her love for Chris with her own ambitions, can their connection survive the chaos that threatens to pull them apart?

Warnings : MDNI, mentions of drugs, mentions of selling drugs, angst, cursing, smoking weed, suggestive

Chris's POV

The adrenaline from the fight with Y/n still coursed through my veins as I stumbled into my room, slamming the door behind me. The echo of our argument replayed in my mind like a broken record. I felt like I’d been hit by a truck, every part of me ached, not just from the physical exertion but from the emotional turmoil. How had it escalated so quickly? One minute, we were joking around, and the next, I was standing there, revealing my darkest secrets, while she looked at me like I was a stranger. It crushed me.

Dropping onto my bed, the weight of the world hit me in my chest. I needed to take the edge off, needed something to help me forget the angry words and the hurt in her eyes. I reached for my stash on my bed side table, my hands trembling slightly as I rolled a joint. The familiar motions were supposed to soothe me, but all I could think about was Y/n’s face when I told her the truth about my life. The way she’d looked at me when I mentioned the cartel, like I was some sort of monster.

I walked out to my backyard and took a long drag, inhaling deeply, hoping the smoke would clear the fog of confusion and regret, but it only served to intensify my thoughts. I paced in the grass, the smoke curling around me, and I couldn't shake the feeling of impending doom that settled in my stomach. Y/n was the last person I wanted to hurt, but here I was, tangled up in a life I never wanted her to be a part of. I’d cut her out for her safety, convinced it was the right choice. But now, standing on the line of losing her forever, I wasn’t so sure.

My mind drifted back to the memories we shared, the laughter, the innocent joy of a portion of our teenage years. I remembered the promises we made to always be there for each other, but I’d shattered those promises. It was killing me, and I felt more trapped than ever.

By the time I finally collapsed onto my bed, it was midday. Sleep came slowly, and when it did, it was filled with restless dreams of Y/n, my heart aching with every turn. I woke up to the sun hanging low in the sky, filtering through my curtains, and grabbed my phone, my heart leaping as I saw a message from her that just came in.

"Hey, I’d like to talk. Can we meet up?"

It was like a lifeline thrown into turbulent waters. I jumped out of bed, adrenaline kicking in again, and quickly replied, my fingers flying over the screen.

"Of course. I can come pick you up if you like?”

Y/N's POV

I paced the living room, my mind still swirling with everything that had happened after the party. My parents were back from their weekend away, and I could already feel the questions piling up. I didn’t want to deal with their prying. Not now. Not when I was about to meet Chris, the guy who’d just opened up a whole new level of chaos in my life.

Their laughter filtered in from the kitchen, my dad’s booming voice mingling with my mom’s soft giggles. It was a comforting sound, but it also reminded me of how out of place I felt. They’re a far cry from the situationship I’m placed in right now. How could I tell them I was meeting Chris? The guy I’d just found out was a drug dealer? I shook my head, feeling the anxiety creep up my spine.

I couldn't tell them at all. I walked into the kitchen to greet them, and had a small catch up before they decided to go to bed after being tired from all their travelling. “Good night, I might head out for a walk in a bit..” I called out as I headed towards my room, gunning toward my balcony, hoping to slip away unnoticed.

I climbed over the railing through the tree house window and climbed down onto the grass, making my way around the side of the house. The air was cooler outside, as the sun was fully set and my heart raced with anticipation and uncertainty. I couldn’t shake the feeling that this conversation would change everything.

When Chris arrived, I could see the tension in his shoulders, the way he rubbed the back of his neck like he was trying to ease the burden of the world off it. I felt a bit of sympathy for him. He had his demons, and now, he was standing in front of me, ready to confront them.

“Hey” he said softly, his voice hoarse.

“Hey.” I smiled faintly, trying to push aside the heaviness of our last encounter. “Let’s go.”

We climbed into his car, the silence stretching between us as he drove toward an empty parking lot a few blocks away. He parked and I turned to him, feeling the weight of everything hanging in the air.

“Okay, so..” I started searching for the right words. “We need to talk about what happened.. About you.”

Chris took a deep breath, his eyes meeting mine. “I know I should’ve told you sooner. I just.. I didn’t want to drag you into this mess. I thought I was protecting you.”

“By lying to me?” I shot back, feeling a mix of frustration and sadness. “You’re involved in something dangerous, Chris. I don’t want you to end up in jail.. or worse.”

“I know. And I’m sorry. I’m trying to figure it out.” he replied, running a hand through his hair. “Nate got pulled into it, and I thought I could stay away, but it wasn’t that easy. Once I was in, it was like a trap. But seeing you again, it felt right. I didn’t want to lose you again.”

My heart softened a little. “So, what are you going to do about it? I can’t just sit back and watch you get deeper into this. If you want this to work, you have to make an effort to get out.”

“I’ll do anything for you, Y/n.” he said, his voice steady and serious. “I promise I’ll try. I want to find a way out of this life.”

I studied his face, searching for any sign of deception, but all I saw was sincerity. “Do you.. do you take drugs yourself?”

He hesitated, looking down for a moment. “I smoke weed. That’s it. I don’t do anything harder, I swear. I just sell it.”

I sighed, the tension in my chest easing slightly. “Okay. I just need to know you’re not in over your head.”

“I’m not. I want to make things right.” he assured me. “Let’s figure this out together.”

“Alright..” I said slowly, feeling a spark of hope. “But this isn’t just a one time thing. You need to be committed to making changes.”

"You might need to give me some time.. You know to figure out how to go about it."

"Well that's a start I guess."

He smiled, and it was like a weight had lifted from my shoulders. We talked and laughed a bit, the earlier heaviness fading away as we settled into an easy rhythm, the way it used to be.

As we drove back toward my place, I glanced at him, a playful idea popping into my mind. “Do you have any weed on you?”

Chris raised an eyebrow, “Uh..yeah I do.. Why?”

I took a breath, choosing my words carefully. “Would you.. let me try some weed? Just once?”

His face shifted immediately from relaxed to slightly shocked, his brows knitting together in concern. “Wait, you want to smoke weed? Now?”

I bit my lip, feeling a bit self conscious. “I mean, yeah. Just once. I’ve never tried it before, and.. well, I want to understand your world a little better.”

He looked at me, searching my face, like he was trying to make sure I was serious. “Y/n.. it’s not really a big deal, you know. I don’t even smoke that often myself.”

“I get that” I replied, leaning a little closer to him, “but I’ve been curious about it for a while. And if I’m going to try it, I’d rather do it with you. Just this once. It’s not like I’m planning to make it a habit.”

Chris sighed, looking away for a moment, clearly torn. “I don’t know. You don’t have to do this to understand me. You don’t have to be a part of everything I do.”

I put a hand on his arm, squeezing gently. “I know. But tonight, it feels.. right. It’s just one little thing. Besides, we’ll be safe. We can go up to the treehouse where no one will bother us.”

He let out a soft chuckle, a trace of amusement in his eyes. “You’re really serious about this, huh?”

“Completely” I said with a grin. “So? Are you going to let me in on the secret, or do I have to ask someone else?”

He sighed again, but I could see him slowly relenting, the protective hesitation softening in his gaze. “Fine” he finally said. “But just this once. And only because you’re way too stubborn for your own good.”

I beamed, feeling a mix of excitement and nerves. “Promise.”

Together, we got out of the car and made our way toward the treehouse tucked away in the backyard, its old wooden steps creaking slightly under our weight. The fairy lights were still hung up from our date a few days ago, so I switched them on to create a bit of atmosphere, before arranging the blanket and pillows.

Once we were settled in the small, cosy space, Chris pulled a small pouch and rolling papers out of his jacket pocket. I watched, fascinated, as he carefully rolled the joint, his hands working with practised ease.

“This feels so.. surreal” I admitted, leaning back against the treehouse wall.

He gave me a teasing look. “You’re not getting scared, are you?”

“Me? No way.” I smirked, hiding the nervous energy bubbling up inside.

Once the joint was ready, he held it between his fingers, lighting it and taking a slow drag before passing it to me.

“Alright, so here’s the deal” he said, his voice low, calm, almost instructional. “Take a small inhale, but don’t try to pull it too deep your first time. Just let the smoke fill your mouth, then breathe it in slowly and exhale. Don’t rush it.”

I nodded, holding the joint carefully, feeling its warmth between my fingers. I took a small breath, the smoke tasting strange, earthy as it hit my throat. Almost immediately, I started coughing, my eyes watering as the harshness of it caught me off guard. Chris chuckled softly, watching me with a mix of amusement and sympathy.

“Yeah, that first hit always catches people by surprise” he said, patting my back gently. “Just take it slow. It’s not a competition.”

I laughed, still coughing a bit but determined. “Okay, okay. I’ll go easy.”

This time, I took a gentler pull, letting the smoke settle in my mouth before breathing it in, feeling a warmth unravel in my chest. I handed it back to him, trying to keep a straight face as I resisted another cough.

“See?” he said, his gaze softer, more relaxed. “Not so bad.”

“Not bad at all” I replied, feeling the first gentle waves of calm starting to spread through me.

We passed it back and forth, the silence between us comfortable, the flicker of his lighter illuminating the space between drags. I watched him, noticing the way his shoulders relaxed, his posture easy, the usual weight he carried seemed a little lighter here, away from the world’s eyes.

As the joint burned down, I couldn’t help but feel a new kind of connection with him, one that was less about the past or the future, and more about this shared, simple moment in the present.

I looked over at him, catching his gaze, and for a moment, everything felt like it was supposed to. Just us, like we used to be, but with a little more understanding, a little more honesty. The night air was still, the stars just beginning to peek through the branches above, and I couldn’t help but feel that maybe, just maybe, this was the start of something new for us.

The warmth of the weed had settled deep into my skin, making everything feel more alive, more intense. My senses were heightened, every little touch sending a thrill through me. I could feel his warmth, see every detail in his eyes, and I couldn’t help but let my gaze linger on his lips.

I shifted a little closer, feeling bolder, more curious. “So, are you going to let me in on more, or are you keeping all the secrets to yourself?” I teased, my voice a low murmur.

Chris’s mouth curved into a smirk as he looked at me, his gaze flicking to my lips before meeting my eyes again. “What else do you want to know?” His tone was smooth, with a hint of mischief that only drew me in more.

“Hmm” I said, leaning in a bit closer, my fingers lightly tracing the edge of his arm. “Maybe everything.”

The intensity in his eyes deepened, and I felt his fingers tighten slightly on my knee, the warmth of his touch spreading through me like a spark catching fire. His other hand reached up to brush a strand of hair behind my ear, lingering just a moment too long, his fingers trailing along my cheek. It was such a simple touch, but it felt electrifying, sending a pulse of warmth straight to my core.

“Careful” he murmured, his voice dropping low, almost a whisper, as his thumb brushed over my cheek. “You might get more than you’re bargaining for.”

I held his gaze, feeling the pull between us. “Maybe that’s exactly what I want” I replied softly, my voice steady but filled with a new intensity I hadn’t realised I had. I was aware of every inch of him, every movement, every breath.

He leaned in closer, so close that his breath brushed against my skin, and I felt my heart race, anticipation building between us. His hand moved up, fingers lightly tracing the side of my face, his touch soft but sure. I felt myself instinctively leaning into him, our faces inches apart, his gaze locked on mine with an intensity that made my pulse quicken.

“I don’t think I can hold back much longer if you keep looking at me like that.” he murmured, his voice rough around the edges.

“Maybe I don’t want you to.” I whispered, a smile playing on my lips.

With that, the space between us disappeared, and his lips met mine in a kiss that was slow, warm, and filled with a fire that felt like it had been building for ages. His hands found my waist, pulling me closer as I wrapped my arms around his neck, sinking into the kiss, feeling like I was falling and floating all at once.

The treehouse felt like it was spinning, but I didn’t care. All I wanted was this moment, this connection, as I kissed him back, letting the night and all my worries fade away.

Chris pulled back just slightly, his face close enough that our breaths mingled in the cool night air. His eyes searched mine, serious yet soft, as if he were weighing something deeply important. I could feel his hesitation, the way he was holding back despite everything between us.

He brushed his thumb along my cheek, his hand warm and steady. "Are you sure about this?" he asked quietly, his voice barely above a whisper. "I don’t want you to feel.. pushed or anything."

I looked up at him, my heart racing but my thoughts perfectly clear. He was giving me an out, a chance to step back, and I knew he’d respect it if I did. But there was no doubt in my mind. I wanted to be here, I wanted him. Every inch of him.,

"Chris" I said, my hand gently resting over his. "I’m sure. This is what I want."

He let out a slow breath, relief flickering across his face, and his shoulders relaxed as he held my gaze. The intensity between us deepened, something unspoken passing as he studied me, seeming to memorise every detail. His thumb traced a small circle on my cheek, a gesture that felt both grounding and electrifying.

"Good" he murmured, a small smile tugging at the corner of his mouth. "Because I don't think I could pull away even if I tried."

I leaned into him, feeling the warmth of his touch, and for the first time, any lingering fear or hesitation melted away completely. I

"Then don't pull away" I whispered, smiling up at him, inviting him closer.

He closed the small distance between us again, his lips finding mine in a kiss that was deep, slow, and filled with everything unspoken between us.

The next thing I knew, I was on top of him.

a/n : everything is just going so well atm!!!

taglist: @mattybearnard @sturn-33 @ncm9696 @yourfavsturniologirl @crazy4jewel @sodakid1234 @stupendoustreewinner @lovealwayssturniolos @matthewsturniolosss @m4ttsmunch @loveexxx @ilusa @starkeyszn @wonnieeluvvr @dylnblue @valxrieq @maggot3647 @cigarettecemetary @ribread03 @chrisstvrns @bandasaruswrx @noplaceissafeanymore @amexiass @witchofthehour @mattssgf @jetaimevous @v33angel @ivysturnss @urmom69lol @ashlishes @watercolorskyy @sturnioloshottiekay @amelia-sturniolo3 @imjusthereforthesturniolosmut @pvssychicken @alizestvrnss @lvrsturniolo @bernardsbunny @spaghetti835928383 @marrykisskilled @sturnsxplr-25 @bxtchboy69 @vickytaa @anikaistg @matts-girlfriend @lvrsturniolo

#snowy speaks #allies or affiliates?#dealer!chris #chris sturniolo #christopher sturniolo #chris sturniolo x reader #matt sturniolo #sturniolo triplets #the sturniolo triplets #nicolas sturniolo #nick sturniolo #matt sturniolo x reader #sturniolo series

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futuremrscameron · 2 days ago

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Parents Rafe and Bahamas reader, please! 😭

a/n: i ended chronicling their journey through/post pregnancy i hope you mind

bahamian!reader and rafe as parents🧑‍🧑‍🧒🧑‍🧑‍🧒‍🧒

first trimester (1-3 months)

bahamian!reader and rafe do not use condoms, just lube, prep, and vibes so it wasn’t a huge surprise when they saw those two pink lines

it’s hard to say who was more excited, he’s always wanted a family of his own and she loves kids and rafe so that’s literally her dream come true

rafe is worried he’ll be just like his dad or he’ll screw up and no matter how many times bahamian!reader reassures him he can’t shake the feeling that it’s inevitable

bahamian!reader and rafe having arguments over baby names. he thinks he should choose the name if it’s a boy and she should choose if it’s a girl. she tells him to shove it which leads to more arguing. they eventually decide to brainstorm together and pick a name they both agree on

bahamian!reader's morning sickness comes in waves, she'll be fine for three to five says and suddenly she's vomiting for days on end. during these times rafe stays home and watches over her, cooking, rubbing her back as she spews acid, tying her hair back/up, and running a washcloth under the water before placing it on her head

the first person that finds out is wheezie. they didn’t tell her, she was eavesdropping overheard them talking about the baby. she was every excited to be an aunt and asked if the baby has kicked yet. rafe calls her an idiot and bahamian!reader slaps his shaved head

bahamian!reader’s siblings are the next to find out. she calls her siblings over zoom to give them the big news and their reactions range from shocked, confused, and excited. the call turns into two hours of parenting advice that she did eyes because she basically raise them all, making plans for a baby shower, and trying to book tickets to obx

bahamian!reader and rafe buy all the parenting beginner books they can get their hands on. they wanna be ready for anything even though they know that’s impossible they’re excited but scared they don’t wanna fuck the kid up

rafe wants to know the gender but she doesn’t care which causes another argument that ends in them sitting down and having a mini therapy session

rafe tells bahamian!reader he wants a son to undo what his father did to him and to be a better father than he was. she assures him that won’t happen and that he’s a different man

rafe takes so many notes during doctor visits and side eyes the doctors every time they touch her stomach or she winced at the cold jelly

bahamian!reader and rafe cried when they saw their baby on the sonogram. rafe took a picture and sent it to the gc named ‘operation boss baby/storks’ by bahamian!reader

topper and kelce are the next people to find out because rafe is very proud of himself and his hard work like they weren’t fucking raw. they’re shocked but excited to be uncles and congratulate him and bahamian!reader. they argue over who’s going to be the godfather. rafe likes watching them fight so he doesn’t immediately tell them it’ll be probably be both of them and bahamian!reader’s brothers

sarah finds out after bumping into bahamian!reader at a flea market and sees her bargaining with the vendor for a box of fruits and veggies. she talks about needing to eat healthy while subconsciously rubbing her belly and sarah puts two and two together. she asks sooooo many questions, how long have the known, who was the first person they told, how could wheezie keep this from her, have they been to a doctor, how far along is she, do they know the gender?

bahamian!reader shows sarah the sonogram and she sobs because it’s so tiny and she can’t believe that’s her niece? nephew? she doesn’t care she loves it already

bahamian!reader tells rafe that sarah knows but before he can spiral she tells him they need to figure their shit out before the baby comes cause she wants all its aunts to be part of their life. when he calms down she tells him that sarah’s been added to the group chat

bahamian!reader's stops at barry's to make sure he hasn't been selling to rafe and vomits in his toilet while trying to intimidate him. he immediately knows she's pregnant and makes her some tea that helped his sister when she was pregnant. rafe sees her location and freaks out expecting the worst but when he kicks in the door he sees the two eating ice cream and watching old telenovelas

bahamian!reader makes him apologize and promise to replace barry's door

bahamian!reader and rafe agree that staying at tanneyhill is not optimal

rose is the last of the camerons to find out. she overheard wheezie talking to someone on the phone and thought it was sarah but it was actually bahamian!reader who was telling her about their recent doctor visit

bahamian!reader and rafe house hunting every night, determined to find a place for their growing family. the night they finally find the one that fits all their wants and needs is one for the history books

bahamian!reader who’s excited to be a mother but knows there’s a chance she might not survive the birth and writes a letter to rafe expressing her love form him and asking him to stay strong for their child and to keep a strong community around him and their child

second trimester (4-6 months)

bahamian!reader and rafe who move into their new house in the winter right when the second trimester starts

bahamian!reader's food cravings are bahamian delicacies which aren't common in obx so rafe calls her siblings so they can walk him through it. she cries when he makes her conch fritters because they taste exactly the ones from the street vendor by her school

bahamian!reader and rafe start to discuss birthing options which surprises rafe because he thought they were just going to the mainland, he'd been researching all the best hospitals, researching their doctors, and scrolling through reviews.

bahamian!reader wants a home birth and like rafe, already has a plan and has done her research

bahamian!reader who talks to rafe about the possibility of her dying during childbirth and has to explain to him that the mortality rate for black women is high so they have to prepare for the worst possible scenario. he understands but he doesn't wanna think about it and doubles down on their need to give birth in a hospital

bahamian!reader who is excited to be a mother but knows there’s a chance she might not survive the birth and writes a letter to rafe expressing her love for him and asking him to stay strong for their child and to keep a strong community around him and their child. she also writes twenty three letters for her unborn child for every birthday so she can give her advice for most of her life

rafe finally agrees to a homebirth after finding the letters after bahamian!reader fell asleep at his desk while writing letter twenty four. bahamian!reader already has a doula in mind, the woman that helped birth most of her siblings, rafe thinks she's too old to still be in her prime and bahamian!reader says he'll eat his words when he sees her work

bahamian!reader and rafe hire a team of midwives from the mainland to help with the birth and buy a ticket to obx for the doula in the bahamas

rafe hasn't touched coke in almost a year and plans on staying clean for his family. he takes up social drinking which bahamian!reader can already see becoming a problem

bahamian!reader and rafe miss partying sometimes but nothing beats staying home and getting a belly massage while watching reality tv. rafe massages her belly with oils recommended by doctors (and kiara) to help with stomach cramps

they feel the baby kick during one of these late night routines and they both freeze. they look at each other, communicating everything with their eyes, waiting for it to happen again and praying it wasn't a fluke. when it happens again they laugh, cry, and kiss

the pogues of course end up finding out one by one. john b’s first cause he saw sarah buying diapers and thought she was pregnant and sarah had to tell him she wasn’t and that bahamian!reader was the pregnant one. kiara sells bahamian!reader some oils that are often used by pregnant women, jj sees her baby bump while she's at the country club, and pope automatically knows shes pregnant when he sees her house a double burger supreme at the wreck.

rafe is at the country club with kelce and offhandedly mentions a baby shower which kelce takes rafe wanting one. he enlists the help of sarah to throw this baby shower and they go all out

bahamian!reader and rafe find elaborate gender reveals lame so they just go back to the doctor's to figure out the sex

it's a girl! rafe is nervous but happy and bahamian reader is excited. they also find out the due date, bahmian!reader is so glad that their baby's gonna be a summer baby

rafe knows kelce and sarah are planning the baby shower but they refuse to let him in on any of their plans outside of asking him vague questions about due dates and

bahamian!reader who spends time with wheezie when rafe is out with barry doing "business". they get along great, wheezie reminds bahamian!reader of her little sister and bahamian!reader reminds wheezie of sarah

rafe really wants to legitimize his business and break away from his father's shadow but it's easier said than done

bahamian!reader occasionally hangs out with barry when he comes over to discuss business and they just chop it up. rafe is only slightly jealous but he's happy they get along

bahamian!reader and rafe who can't wait to meet their baby girl

third trimester (7-9 months)

rafe gets super protective around this time and bahamian!reader's weakening state does nothing to ease his worries

the doula and midwives land in obx and immediately get to work, putting bahamian!reader on bedrest, setting up shop around their house, and prepping the birthing room

bahamian!reader's boobs are sore more often than not these days. rafe feels so bad because on one hand his baby is in pain but on the other hand mommy milkers

rafe definitely has questionable thoughts about her being a mother like it's doing crazy things to his brain he really hasn't thought of it til now and he can't stop

bahamian!reader and rafe come down to two names but refuse to tell when anyone asks because they don’t want to “ruin the surprise”

kelce and sarah are running the baby shower organizing party like the goddamn navy. they sit the parents to be down and show them the baby shower invitations and try to choose a theme but bahamian!reader is too busy watching rafe make johnny cake and how good he looks shirtless

bahamian!reader gets very homesick the closer her due date gets. she's worried that their daughter will never get to see her home and her family

rafe notices she's feeling down and puts two and two together when she cries into her plate of fried plantains

bahamian!reader and rafe come back home from a spa day booked by kelce and sarah to their house covered in decorations and their closest friends screaming 'surprise'. they knew.

rafe tells bahamian!reader he's got a surprise for her and tells her to answer the door when someone knocks. she opens the door and sees her siblings which causes a ten-minute reunion hug and cry

bahamian!reader kisses rafe all over his face until all of her lipgloss is on him and gets really emotional about him doing this for her and is overcome with love and affection she feels like she's gonna burst

wheezie is a welcomed surprise and rafe wants to ask how she got past rose before seeing her not to far from them. wheezie tells him not to let that stop them from having a great time and to remember this day is about them

kelce and sarah are very proud of their hard work and can be found talking to their guests about how hard it was to put all this together but how they wouldn't trade it for the world

bahamian!reader is the guest of honor so of course she gets a crown, a throne, a scepter and a beaded necklace, she feels like the queen of carnival

bahamian!reader catches up with her siblings, asks them about school, work, romances, old friends, how home is and they ask her what it's like living in a mansion

rafe does not like being away from bahamian!reader for long periods of time so he tries to stay close by as he's bombarded with questions about fatherhood and his relationship from kooks and pogues alike

bahamian!reader squeals when she sees barry and runs to hug him. she's glad that he can still spin her around despite her recent weight gain. he apologizes but she brushes him off, tells him everyone else is just early

rafe tells his drug dealer turned ally and business partner that he's late but barry tells him he's operating on "the white man's" time

the party ends with the "reveal", bahamian!reader hits a piñata and pink candy falls out. her siblings and friends wish them congratulations but bahamian!reader is too tired to continue the festivities so rafe being the good man he is kicks everyone out

bahmian!reader convinces her siblings to stay in obx until she gives birth but can't convince them to stay in the house even after going back and forth about how they wouldn't be burdening them at all

rafe and bahamian!reader spend the rest of the next day opening up the rest of the presents

birth/early year

bahamian!reader wants to go to the beach but not just any beach, one in the bahamas. flying is not an option at this point so rafe promises to take her and the baby to the bahamas when they’re ready

rafe is planning the hell out of the labor from what time contractions are gonna start to charging every device that has a camera so they can remember it

bahamian!reader goes into labor a week early and rafe freaks the fuck out while she's calm as a cucumber. he's worried what this could mean no matter how much the midwives assure him that she's fine and that it's perfectly normal especially considering her family history

bahamian!reader is walking around to help with the pain with rafe following closely behind her. she jokes about going up the stairs and his face going pale is equally hilarious and adorable

bahamian!reader falls to her knees after an excruciatingly painful contraction. rafe is panicking and decides that's enough walking around, lifts her up bridal style, and takes her back to the birthing room

the pool is ready and the midwives tell rafe to put her inside but she grabs his arm with a crushing grip, meets his eyes, and tells him to get her siblings. he reassures her he'll call them but she tells him to go pick them up and while he doesn't wanna argue with her especially at a time like this he doesn't wanna leave her alone and he's certain they'll answer and be on their way before they even hang up but she doesn't wanna risk it and now she's crying so he'll do it

he's pretty sure he's breaking every speeding law and passed many red lights but he can afford it. he doesn't even get to finish telling them she's in labor they're already in the car. he breaks some more laws on his way back but it's worth it because he gets to hold his girl's hand and tell her she's doing great as she pushes

bahamian!reader is happy to be surrounded by family at a time like this although she does threaten rafe with the camera while also telling him to get her good side

she's in labor for fifteen hours and rafe never leaves her side once. he needs coffee? the adults send one of the children to get them some (rafe's not sure about it at first but bahamian!reader's younger brother assures him that they've all been drinking and making coffee since they were five)

at the fifteenth hour, bahamian!reader brings her sisters in close and tells them to always wear condoms as she pushes one last time and the baby's head appears. she cries happy tears and feels rafe kiss her sweaty forehead, the doula and midwives tell her to push five more times

bahamian!reader and rafe cry tears of joy and disbelief at the sight of their little girl. she's taken out of the water by a midlife and cleaned up before being passed to her mother and father

rafe cries when he holds her. he can't believe something so tiny and soft and pure is half of him. he's overwhelmed with so much love and affection already he knows he'll do anything for her, for both of them. he promises her he'll be better than his father

bahamian!reader rests for two hours after delivery giving rafe and her siblings ample time to get to know the baby. her youngest siblings were made to wait outside during the delivery finally get to see their niece and the youngest, lil john, is happy he's no longer the baby (he's still a baby just not thee baby)

everyone wants to know her name but rafe refuses to tell them until bahamian!reader is up

bahamian!reader wakes up to rafe at her side with their baby and feels her heart squeeze at the sight of them. he tells her how proud he is of her and thanks her for giving him this bundle of joy which of course makes her cry

their intimate moment is interrupted by wheezie bursting in and asking where the baby is. rose apologizes for her and is followed by all of bahamian!reader's siblings screaming about "a white lady and her baby"

everyone's happy to see that bahamian!reader's up and alive but they all know the real star is the baby

rafe is very warry of anyone else holding her but when he side eyes bahamian!reader's siblings and wheezie she tells him to knock it off

wheezie wants to hold her but is scared of hurting her. bahamian!reader reassures her that it's not hard and she'll be fine. the baby is the spitting image of rafe but like if rafe was biracial

"what's her name?"

rafe and bahamian!reader smile at each other

“wheezie, meet louise.” she sobs.

she's very honored that they named her after her but worries that she'll be bullied in school for having an "old lady name". bahamian!reader cracks up rafe does not find this funny and takes his baby back

after everyone's gotten a chance to hold and look at the baby rafe kicks them all out because "his girl needs rest"

bahamian!reader says she's not tired but rafe doesn't believe it, he lets her have that lie though and tells her it's just so they can spend time with the baby themselves

bahamian!reader and her siblings say goodbye for what feels like two hours but is shockingly only one. rafe has to remind them that they'll see each other again tomorrow because their hotel is max thirty minutes away

sarah comes to visit and comes with a truckload of gifts and is automatically cooing over the newborn. she's talking about wanting to pinch her little cheeks and eat her up when rafe decides to take his baby back. she pouts and says she was just joking but he's not taking any chances

bahamian!reader was worried that louise wouldn't latch but she was proven wrong when she fed her the first time and she latched on immediately. it was more of a struggle to get her to let go

bahamian!reader is worried about the baby weight and what rafe will think and turns to her sisters for advice which was the wrong idea because they tell her to leave him if he says anything and that they'll take care of him

unsurprisingly, rafe has no problem with the change in her figure and says "onlys cucks and virgins have an issue with that". he's very into it actually, constantly grabbing her stomach and thighs and kissing up and down her neck. constantly being told "don't start something you can't finish bey"

bahamian!reader has a tearful goodbye with her siblings after the first month, she's scared that they won't be able to do it without their help but knows they have lives to return to. they promise her that she'll do great and that they'll see her when she visits

the first couple of doctor visits are easier than either thought until the vaccinations. rafe wants to wring the neck of the doctor giving louise her shots and making her cry. bahamian!reader has to remind him that it's temporary and her health

louise is a daddy's girl to her core thanks to rafe spoiling her rotten. when she's not with her mama she's definitely with her daddy, in his arms, behind his back, on his hip, in a stroller, a carrier, or in a pouch

her first social outing post birth is at the country club with rafe. kelce and topper see her and automatically start gushing about how cute she is. kelce talks in a baby voice and topper plays peek-a-boo with her, rafe would mock them if it was anyone else's brat but he knows his daughter is the cutest girl in the world so he understands

topper says she looks exactly like him down to his cold stare and kelce jokes that she's thankfully got her mother's melanin

first time barry sees baby louise is when he makes a surprise visit. he finds rafe on his balcony and is shocked when he turns around and has a baby strapped to his chest

louise loves barry. she's immediately intrigued by him, reaching for him from her pouch surprising rafe and bahamian!reader when she walks in on louise giggling as she pushes her tiny fingers into the dealer's mouth and pulls at his nose

barry says she's lucky she's cute and jokes that she got all her looks from bahamian!reader. rafe says he's lucky he's holding his baby or he'd knock his lights out

rafe and bahamian!reader go all out for her first christmas even though they know she probably won't remember any of it. winter photoshoots, pictures with mall santas, big family dinners, and loads of gifts. rafe promises her that when she's old enough to remember christmas he'll take her somewhere with snow for christmas

rafe gets bahamian!reader a snow globe of her bar in the bahamas and she gets him a new bike, both are left speechless by the accuracy of the gifts and the care that went into getting them they definitely fuck nasty after louise is asleep

bahamian!reader and rafe have no trouble with getting up in the middle of the night to look after a screaming baby because both their sleep schedules were kind of fucked beforehand

bahamian!reader wants louise baptized and while rafe is not against it he's surprised to hear that bahamian!reader is religious

"so what'd you think the cross necklace was for?"

"aesthetic reasons? i don't know."

"that brain of yours for 'aesthetic reasons'?"

they both agree that sarah should be the godmother only because they agree she's the most mature albeit not the oldest. rafe doesn't want wheezy to have all that pressure and power and bhamian!reader doesn't want the twins, two of her younger sister diana and donna, to fight over who gets to be godmother

bahmaian!reader's siblings watch the baptism through zoom but are still somehow the loudest there. sarah sobs at being named the godmother and while rafe looks disgusted at her snot and blubbering they both know he's happy she's there

louise says her first words a few weeks after the baptism. it's 'mama' which rafe says isn't fair because bahamian!reader has been "conditioning her to say it" they both know he's just jealous she said mama before daddy

he gets his lick back when she takes her first steps and wobble runs into his arms. bahamian!reader calls him a smug asshole and takes her baby from his arms

louise's first birthday is a grand occasion and this time they're all hands on deck. bahamian!reader flew out her siblings once again and they help with the party supplies, gifts, invites, and catering

rafe gets a little choked up during the planning cause he's never had a family like this, not since his mother. bahamian!reader and her siblings pinch his cheeks and cheer him up letting him know that he's family now

louise is dressed up in a big pink dress with a tiara to match because she is a princess. the three-layered cake is a castle and there's a bouncy house, she's having a ball

the girls of the family can't get enough of her from the twins, to fourteen year old mia and wheezie, and of course sarah. bahamian!reader find them moment too cute not to take a picture

bahamian!reader taking pictures of the birthday girl, the party, and all of the attendees, her favorite is the one where louise is messily feeding rafe cake

the baby is tired so rafe puts her down for a nap and stays by her side so bahamian!reader and keep talking to friends and family

bahamian!reader does not believe in the 'terrible twos' and even if she did that's something that happens to other peoples' kids not hers. rafe tells her he was a terror at two and she's like "oh i'm sure". if louise is ever extra bratty she blames it on rafe spoiling her and being her father which he knows is fair but does bring up that she is her mother. he sleeps on the couch that night.

bahamian!reader is so excited cause they can finally take their daughter to the motherland. they take the jet of course because it's the fastest and rafe has to hear 'are we there yet?' from a two year old and a twenty four year old

when they touch down in the bahamas they immediately book it to her childhood home where all her siblings still live and it's like she's been given a second wind. she's zooming everywhere from the beach to street vendors to her bar because she wants to show louise everything. rafe has to remind her that they're spending the summer so there's no need to squeeze everything into one day

bahamian!reader is very excited to take louise to the beach because there's nothing like it. she has to explain to rafe that obx's water is nothing like the bahamas

"bey you should know this, you seen it. ya stood in it!"

"wasn't really thinking about how beautiful the sea was at the time babe."

they of course brought a floatie for louise to sit in and get the full experience despite her pouting and telling them she could swim just fine

bahamian!reader pushes a strand of hair behind louise's ear as she speaks in a soft tone. "we know baby we just want you to be safe because the ocean can get really big. bigger than daddy sometimes."

louise's mouth is agape at the thought of something taller than her daddy. "woah. okay mama."

bahamian!reader's new bikini she bought just for the trip get a lot of attention from non-rafes. rafe comes over and kisses bahamian!reader silly in front of them like they're not there and passes louise to her before strutting off to get a beer. the message is loud and clear

louis is very sad when it's time to leave but they promise the beach is still gonna be there tomorrow. she immediately falls asleep in the ride back to the house

bahamian!reader's siblings offer to teach rafe how to play dominoes. she tries to save him but he tells her he can handle it, and in the beginning he does, he wins a round. the next few rounds are a massacre, he doesn't realize he's being swindled until the last round's over and he's lost five thousand dollars

bahamian!reader scolds her siblings for swindling him and rafe for not listening to her

bahamian!reader and rafe having date nights in the bahamas. she takes him out dancing one night which leads to a hot and heavy make out sesh in the alley. the next week they go skinny dipping and their last week in the bahamas they eat from several street vendors

you already know she's got him trained in taking photos like he has a master in cuntology and minored in photography

exhibit a

exhibit b

exhibit c

as the night comes to an end, they stop at a convenience store before heading home.

"you've never tried jarritos!?"

is it really that hard to believe?"

"a little yeah. nah we're fixing that."

that's how he found himself being dragged through the aisles of a 24/7 convenience store. they stop in front of the horizontal fridges, she grins at the endless options. "well, here it is."

"here it is." he parrots back. she looks back at him and rolls her eyes but the smile tells him everything he needs to know. "what flavor you want?"

"you're the expert, what do you recommend?"

"mango."

"mango it is." he watches her open the fridge and grab two mango bottles. there's something about the flickering dying white light above them, the blue dim light in the freezer, the condensation on the mirror and the hum of the fridge. he's already pulling out his camera when she turns and smiles. click!

she grins, ""okay big man! mr. professional! i see you!" she closes the fridge and faces him, one hand on her hip "was it good?"

"with you? always."

she halfheartedly shoves him and walks past him. "thank you." she stops and looks back at him, "i just wanted good photos."

he shrugs and reaches her in three strides. he wraps one arm around her waist, "yeah but i wouldn't have done it without you."

she smiles, "maybe. maybe not. let's go, my baby's waiting for me." he chuckles as they walk up to the cashier, manned by an old skinny dark skinned man with an unbuttoned shirt and a hat. he's looking down at his phone watching what sounds like a soccer game when she clears her throat.

the old man looks up and does a double take. rafe knows that look well.

he turns off his phone and attempts to straighten himself up, "good evening ma'am. little late to be out by yourself no?"

she glares, "don't try it old man."

the man frowns but squints, "hol'on oh my lord gal i didn't recognize you? how you been?"

"i straight, where's your glasses wilson thomas?"

he shrugs, "ah you know those doctors just tryin' to make money." he swipes the drinks and puts them in bags. "last i heard ya moved to north carolina and had a baby? i said "no way" thought it was just sip sip."

she grins, "yeah, i'm a taken woman now." the man finally acknowledges rafe who gives him a cold menacing smile.

wilson maintains his chivalrous act but the couple sees right through him "oh that's good!"

she chuckles as she swipes her card, "uh huh. goodnight thomas." she grabs rafe's hand and leaves the store as wilson calls after them. "hey stop by any time ya hear! i always got a discount for ya!"

they stop a good distance away from the store, she pulls out both bottles, "sorry 'bout him."

"what's his deal?" rafe asks as he accepts the drink from her hand.

she takes a sip and shakes her head, "old perv."

"oh?"

she shrugs, "always got everything in that shack of his though." she says it like it's no big deal but he notices the way her hand balls into a fist.

he looks down at the drink in his hand and taps the cap before biting the bullet. "do you miss living here?"

she stops drinking and looks at him. she swallows, "what's this?"

he wants to find the right words so it takes him a little longer to reply. "you're- you seem... happier here? do- would you wanna stay here?" she looks out to the direction of the ocean and closes her eyes, taking in the smell and the sound.

"i miss it."

he feels like he's been sucker punched in the gut.

"but i love living with you. and yeah i miss my family but you're my family, you and louise. doesn't matter where we are."

how did he get so lucky? "i love you."

she smiles, "i love you."

bahamian!reader and louise are disappointed when they have to head back to outer banks but bahamian!reader promises to visit when they can and tells her siblings their home is always open to them. they apologize to rafe for swindling him but he tells them it's fine cause he did worse at their ages

louise cries until they're at the airport and she falls asleep and doesn't wake up until they're in the sky

louise may be a daddy's girl but she loves her mama. it only becomes a problem on the first day of pre-k

louise stomps her foot and cries, "i don't wanna go mama!"

bahamian!reader squats down to her level and wipes her tears, "oh i know baby but you wanna get smarter and bigger right."

she shrugs, pouting and refusing to look her in the eye. bahamian!reader feel her heart break, seeing her baby sad is one thing but knowing she's the cause of that pain is another.

"okay. no lies, it's hard. it's gonna be hard for me and your daddy to watch you go through the doors and it's gonna be hard for you to be without us for a while. but i promise you, we wouldn't be doing this if we didn't know it would help you. i can't promise you'll have fun but i promise you'll learn something and the hours will go by faster than you think?"

louise rubs at her eyes and her come to a stop, “really?"

"really. and before you know it me and daddy will be here to pick you up and give you a million kisses and biiiiig hugs." she lightly squeezes her to give her an example of the hugs.

louise giggles. "you're silly mama."

she smiles, "i know." she wipes her daughters tears and gives her one last hug. "i love you baby."

"i love you more mama."

"impossible." she smiles and kisses her forehead signaling for the homeroom teacher to take over.

she grabs louise's hand and tells her to wave bye to bahamian!reader, she does and bahamian!reader waves back as she watches the two disappear into the classroom.

louise is already the next kook princess, only three years old and she has everyone wrapped around her cute little finger

second pregnancy

about 3 years after louise bahamian!reader gets pregnant again. they ecstatic but are worried that louise won't be since she's used to getting all their attention. they both know what it's like to have all the love and spotlight on you and suddenly having to share it with another kid

louise is very happy to hear that she's gonna be a big sister and puts her ear against bahamian!reader's stomach trying to hear them. they tell her she won't be able to hear or feel them for a while

they both agree that the second pregnancy was easier because they know all the tricks and hacks and have made a plan A-Z for the birth. what they weren't prepared for were twins

rafe’s shocked when they find out there having twins but bahamian!reader isn’t. she forgot to tell him that twins run in her family

rafe is officially freaking the fuck out, he doesn't know how he can replicate what he did with louise with twins!

bahamian!reader is surprisingly calm for most of her pregnancy, seeing twins as a challenge that she can take on

louise helps keep her stress as low as she can; she cleans up her toys, helps set the table, and keeps bahamian!reader company when she goes on bedrest later in her pregnancy

rafe and bahamian!reader stick to online shopping for baby materials this time

bahamian!reader's cravings have involved from bahamian food to triple cheese totinos pizza and cans of cool whip

jj jokingly calls her huge one time and makes her cry and rafe would’ve beaten the shit out of him if he wasn’t held back by barry and bahamian!reader forgives him

bahamian!reader and rafe agree to make charles, her younger brother, and barry the twins' godfathers because they are the most qualified despite some of their shadier pasts

bahamian!reader wants to have the twins at a high class fancy mainland hospital because she doesn't risk either of the twins. they find a place that's the combination of a high end hotel and a medical facility/hospital and book their stay

it's not a surprise when they put bahamian!reader on bedrest and while she understands she is still pouty

"i'm not pouting." she pouts from what she's started calling "a fluffy prison".

rafe looks up from massaging her feet and chuckles. "looks like pouting. what do you think lou?"

louise nods and points accusingly, "stop pouting mama?"

"louise!?"

the labor is eighteen excruciating hours but it's all worth it when she sees her babies joel and alice, named after billy joel and rafe's mom. he cries when he hears her name and can't stop kissing her and baby alice as he thanks her for everything

the twins give them a run for their money, not literally of course they could afford the diapers but sleep-wise. when one is down the other is awake which sometimes leads to the other twin being woken up, this goes on for a while until they find a good strategy

louise is a great big sister, always playing with the twins and holding thier hands when they cross the street, cheering them up when they're sad, and sharing her toys

both parents can't believe their lives but they wouldn't trade it for the world

#asks <3 #°❀⋆.ೃ࿔*:･bahamian!reader°❀⋆.ೃ࿔*:･#rafe cameron x black reader #obx fic #bahamian!reader #rafe cameron x black!reader #outer banks fic #°❀⋆.ೃ࿔*:･bahamian reader°❀⋆.ೃ࿔*:･#rafe cameron x black oc #bahamian reader #rafe cameron x reader #outer banks #obx

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