#not me capitalizing on this tragic day

[midnightwind]

remembering the dumbest discussion about A/I I ever had and wanting to walk towards the guy with a bat in a definitely not menacing way

[pmpmyread]

Title: Crimson Vows Pairing: Nanami Kento x f!reader Genre: Vampire AU Summary: An ocean, a tragic death, and a plethora of unanswered questions. For over a decade, these are the things that keep you separated from Nanami Kento. When presented with the opportunity to support the efforts in Tokyo to investigate and stymie the latest surge of Special Grade vampires, you're compelled to leave your life overseas and rejoin the Tokyo Hunter Academy's ranks as a vampire Hunter, only to find yourself paired on a mission with Nanami, a reunion that sets you both onto life-altering paths. Content warnings: 18+/MDNI, blood/blood drinking, biting, violence, language, mature themes, graphic sexual content. Content tags: Vampire AU, romance, vampire hunting, investigation missions, action sequences, angsty/hurt/comfort plot with smut, mentions of death, processing of grief, power dynamics, brief allusions to mind control, POC!reader. A/N: This fic is part of the Spookinky event. Thanks to @tsukimefuku for hosting! Thank you @espace--positif for helping me with reviewing and for the banner! [Also on AO3]

“Can you show me the one with incendiary rounds again?” you asked the staff armorer. 

“Of course. Let me bring it for you,” he politely replied as he disappeared into the backroom for the third time.

Less than forty-eight hours ago, you were turning in the keys to your apartment and placing your few remaining life belongings into a storage facility. Now here you were, halfway across the world, in a repurposed classroom that served as the Tokyo Hunter Academy armory, evaluating what would be the best weapon of choice for killing a vampire in your upcoming mission.

It was quite the displacement, and yet you did not particularly feel out of place. 

The existence of vampires had been a well-kept secret until the early 2000s, when the Internet and the era of social media democratized news, and the spread of information rendered global governments and their covert agencies incapable of containing such an enormous secret.

Along with the revelation of the existence of vampires came the one of the existence of vampire Hunters, those humans with innate skills allowing them to detect, neutralize, and kill vampires with ease. As the daughter of two vampire Hunters, you were not unfamiliar with the inner workings of this world. 

The armorer returned with what you reluctantly settled on, being the closest thing to the beloved piece you were forced to leave back home, unable to board the plane until you were formally re-certified as a Hunter.

This would have to do. 

“I’ll take this one.”

As soon as the armorer registered the weapon to your name and gave you the corresponding ammo, you set out for your rendezvous point at the school’s gate.

A configuration of mixed sentiments swirled through you as you walked through the halls of the school you’d spent a year attending over a decade ago.

Some things felt the same, others were vastly different.

You walked past an old classroom repurposed into what was now a press room, where the Hunter association higher-ups would sit and give regular briefings, pretending that all things were under control and taking the credit away from the tireless Hunters that were perishing on the front lines. Every once in a while, they would begrudgingly trot out a prolific Hunter like Gojo Satoru, who was popular with the media for his blunt honesty and with the people for his affability. But not even he could lift the somber atmosphere that loomed over the city these days. 

Tokyo was living through its worst surge of vampire-related crimes yet. Several deaths and disappearances were reported daily now, some people were assumed to have been turned into vampires, and some were confirmed to have been.

The lack of support to combat these attackers did not help. As soon as it had become public, vampire hunting as a field of work, much like any other highly specialized training, had fallen victim to human capital flight, with the top Western countries benefiting from the best training and talent by sitting at the top of the global capitalism food chain, resulting in other countries and regions being grossly understaffed.

It was partly what had compelled you to leave your equally important position as a World Health Organization researcher specialized in studying the effects of vampirism and to come support your old alma mater on the front lines.

But it wasn’t the full reason. There was something else, a restlessness that stirred within you for years now, a certain dissatisfaction with life, a sense that you were meant to do something else, and deep down, buried under these sentiments, a desire to live a life that could have been.

In hindsight, perhaps it was that rumination alone that pushed you to drop the life you were reluctantly settling into and rejoin the ranks of vampire hunting, straight to the perilous field.

The same force that fuelled the blooming feeling of nostalgia that hit you right now as you spotted the vending machine that sat by the exit you were just approaching, along with the cherry soda flavor you hadn’t had in years, compelling you to stop to purchase a can.

The same feeling that enveloped you as the first tinges of sugary carbonation hit your tongue, bringing a welcomed, familiar stinging sensation to your nose.

Perhaps it was that silent wish that you could never fully verbalize, as you closed your eyes and let yourself be transported by memories of simpler times. 

In hindsight, you wondered, if perhaps it was this deep-held sentiment that somehow made the universe conspire for this moment to happen, in the exact way it happened, when you opened your eyes and turned around in time to see a foreign yet familiar figure turn the corner, heading towards the exit, heading towards you.

He was different, much different from what you remembered, taller, older, more built. He wore a suit now, you’d never quite imagined he would. He looked different, but it was unmistakably him. You recognized him first, but only by a mere few seconds. He stopped in his steps when he did.

Knowing what you knew now, you wondered perhaps if it was not something you’d somehow willed on your own. 

Your mouth went dry as his eyes anchored yours. Your breath hitched, and for a moment, you wondered if you’d ever remember how to inhale again.

You stood in awe as you witnessed a decades-old forgotten wish, uttered in your deepest sorrows, granted in the most unexpected way, as a juxtaposition that no amount of fantasizing could have prepared you for; standing before Nanami Kento, with the sweet taste of synthetic cherry blossom soda on your lips as your name escaped his in a low rumble.

And suddenly, it was 2006 again.

September 2006, Tokyo

Changing leaves signaled a new beginning; a new season, a new semester.

For you, it also meant a move to a new school, a new country, and a new language, courtesy of the latest Tokyo-based assignment taken on by your vampire Hunter parents.

This wasn’t your first rodeo, having gone through half a dozen similar moves since your early school years. You’d grown somewhat accustomed to the instability concomitant with this lifestyle of traveling Hunters, had developed small coping mechanisms, and tried not to grow too attached to your classmates and your teachers, always keeping in mind that this would likely be temporary. It got easier, as you got older, and over time.

But it didn’t make it any less painful.

While you were raised in an era where Hunters were newly revered for their innate powers, this admiration didn’t translate well on the school playground. 

Following you was a perceived air of superiority and prestige that you’d never wished to carry. Even in the most diverse of environments, it was easy for you to stick out. Being alone was one thing. Feeling lonely while surrounded by people was the worst.

This year would be different, you told yourself. You would attend one institution dedicated to training the next generation of Hunters. Even if it was in a new country, you’d at least have that in common with them, right?

Wrong.

For starters, you started in September, which was the second semester of the Japanese school year. What you found instead were friend groups already formed, and after the novelty of having a new student wore off, you were quickly relegated to your own corner.

There were still some things that made you different, like your darker complexion, your textured hair, and the slight language barrier. So for the next couple of weeks, you began mentally bringing yourself down from the high hopes you’d created for yourself and attempted a soft landing at the reality that this year would be more of the same. 

One day, you were eating lunch on the school’s rooftop. You heard their conversation before you saw them, and could immediately identify their voices. Your two inseparable classmates, Haibara Yu, and Nanami Kento.

Haibara’s voice grew more animated as he seemed to be recounting the exciting twist from a movie he’d seen. Haibara paused when your eyes met and you heard him say something indistinguishable to Nanami, then he waved at you and they both made their way towards you. 

Haibara was the one who spoke first. “Have you seen it? Human Earthworm? I think it has the potential to become a series.”

You sat quietly, for a moment, watching Haibara open his bento box. You looked at him and then you locked eyes with Nanami briefly, before he returned his attention to unwrapping his lunch, what looked like a sandwich he’d just purchased at the convenience store.

“Haibara, you shouldn’t assume that everyone has the same weird taste in movies as you,” he said with a sigh.

You were so caught off-guard by the casual way by which they’d included you in their conversation, without preamble, without the awkward introduction, as though it was the most normal thing in the world. 

“I have seen it, actually,” you finally replied. “I think it was good, but they left things too open at the end. Perhaps they’re saving it for a sequel?”

“Exactly! That’s what I keep saying. People say it’s a cult classic, but they underestimate this franchise. I think it has the potential to go mainstream. See, Nanami, I’m not crazy after all!” he said, elbowing his friend.

The conversation continued until you’d all finished your lunch and walked back to class together. It all happened suddenly and organically. You shared every single one of your lunches together for the rest of your time there. Soon enough, you did everything together, from studying to training to group projects.

The dynamic between the three of you remained the same.

With Haibara, it was an instant connection. He was so easy to talk to, especially since you had similar tastes in movies and games. It was like connecting with a long-lost brother.

With Nanami, it was a slower, more subtle connection, manifested in moments of understanding exchanged in quiet pauses between classes when it was just you two together. Or the one you had one day, after school, while you were studying for one of your theoretical tests. 

“Okay Haibara, rapid-fire questions this time. Focus!”

“Hit me!”

“What are the two types of vampires?”

“Bloodborn and Turned vampires!”

“Good. How do the two types of vampires come to be?”

“Bloodborn are vampires by lineage, Turned vampires are turned by Bloodborns.”

“Correct. And how do you neutralize them? ���

“A Hunter of equal level can kill turned vampires or above. Special Grade vampires are significantly stronger than graded vampires and must be killed by a Special Grade Hunter. Bloodborn vampires are even stronger and are rarely killed by anyone other than fellow Bloodborns.”

Nanami, who had disappeared to fetch you all some drinks from the vending machine, reappeared in your peripheral vision with two cans. He lightly tapped Haibara’s face with one of them.

“You forgot one thing,” he said, handing you the other can, a cherry blossom soda. 

“Bloodborns can temporarily cure Special Grade vampires,” he added, in his usual impassive tone.

“That is statistically so rare that it’s practically technicality. I don’t think that will be a question on the exam,” you said as you reached to take the can. 

“Why not?” he asked, pulling back on the can.

“Tell me, Nanami, what kind of Bloodborn would willingly cure a lowly Special Grade vampire?” You tugged on the can, finally snatching it out of his hands.

“I don’t know. Perhaps they have a pact or something. But there’s a non-zero possibility it could happen.” He took his seat on the bench on the other side of Haibara.

“That is way too specific. Haibara, I wouldn’t worry about it, Nanami’s just being pedantic. Again.”

“So you don’t think it could be a trick question?”

You rolled your eyes. Haibara, who sat between you and had watched the scene unfold quietly up to that point, let out a giggle. You could almost feel the inevitable teasing comment he was going to make melt onto his tongue as you watched his eyes focus on something ahead of him, glowing in recognition.

“Ah, Ieri-san. I have a question for you!” He jumped up, briskly walking towards Shoko, who was heading towards the vending machines.

“God, they never stock these machines, I swear,” Shoko lamented.

Her comment brought your attention to the vending machine, and it was only then that you spotted the glaring gap right where the cherry blossom soda was usually stocked.

Your attention turned to Nanami, who had since returned his attention to his textbook. Notably missing from his hand was his own drink, the one he’d expressed craving just a few minutes earlier. His favorite flavor. You knew this because he was the one who had introduced it to you. 

The one he’d let you have the last can of.

Nanami Kento was too altruistic for his own good sometimes. It was something that both frustrated you and endeared you to him. You opened what you now knew to be the last cherry soda, making a show of it. 

“Nanami, I don’t know if I can drink all of this. Split it with me?”

You got up and walked up to him to minimize his chances of refusing. You shoved the can into his field of view, forcing him to interrupt his reading. When he met your gaze, it was initially with an annoyed scowl he schooled back to neutrality as his eyes narrowed in realization.

“You don’t have to share with me,” he said as he averted his gaze and attempted to return to his textbook.

You acted oblivious. “I’m still full from lunch. I can’t drink all this.” When you noticed he wouldn’t bite, you added, “Come on, you know Haibara doesn’t like this flavor. If you don’t take it, I will literally spill the rest and it will go to waste. How tragic would that be?”

“Alright, fine,” he finally relented and accepted your offering, downing half of it in one shot. Just as he was about to grab his sleeve to wipe down the rim, you nabbed the can back and directly took a slow, deliberate sip from the can where his lips were a mere few seconds ago. You watched as his cheeks took a crimsoned tinge, your eyes anchoring his in playful challenge.

“I see you, Nanami.” It was all you said before Haibara returned and you retook your seat, savoring the saccharine taste of cherry blossom soda, and one of many silent, unspoken sparks that traveled between you and Nanami.

The end of the school year arrived in what seemed to be the blink of an eye, as did the end of your parents’ assignment. What you’d spent weeks convincing yourself to be a practiced indifference to the tension invoked by the separation from who you considered to be your two closest friends ever quickly proved itself to be a complete mirage on the last day of classes. Try as you might, you could not mask your melancholy.

On one of those last days, you were traveling back to campus from a rough Hunter mission.

“Geez, these missions are getting more and more intense, don’t you think?”

“They’re not only intense, but some of these are also borderline mis-leveled,” said Nanami. He seemed even more irritated than usual.

“Yes, but we’re the dream team! Together, we can handle anything!” Then looking at you, “Ahh, we’re going to miss this so much. These missions won’t be the same without you around!”

“Nanami won’t miss me.” The words spilled out before you could stop yourself. And you felt a thrill when his eyes finally shot up at you, the first reaction you’d gotten out of him today.

“What makes you say that?”

“He doesn’t sound like he will. He didn’t even acknowledge our final mission together. In fact, I think I was a pain for him more than anything else.” You replied.

“You sure enjoy making these snap judgments about me. Have you ever considered I’m still recovering from this brutal mission we were just on?” Nanami said.

“You couldn’t be more wrong. Nanamin will miss you the most! He’s just not good with goodbyes.” Haibara cut in.

“Yeah? Is that true Nanamin?” you asked, parroting Haibara’s nickname for him, feigning indifference to a question that suddenly meant so much to you. As you sat there at the mercy of his response, you felt everything inside you balancing on the edge of some invisible cliff. You wondered when exactly it was that this boy grew this much in importance to you.

“More importantly, we should get Haibara to the infirmary as soon as possible,” Nanami said, referring to the minor scratches sustained by your friend in an attempt to change the topic.

But you knew, in the way Nanami’s eyes averted yours, in the fact that he did not address let alone reproach you from calling him by the affectionate nickname that bothered him, in the way he deliberately evaded confirming the incriminating portion of Haibara’s declaration. You knew, later that month, when you stood at the school’s gate for the last time, and you embraced him in a hug, in the way he squeezed you for longer than necessary, in the way he tilted his head an angle so that this moment could stay between you two, you just knew that he meant every word when he finally whispered in your ear. “I do hate goodbyes.”

Haibara’s rambling cut into the moment: “… and besides, we’ve got online chat now! So there’s no excuse not to stay in touch, okay?”

It technically wasn’t your final conversation together, but it might as well have been because it ended up being the one you replayed in your mind the most in the years that followed.

You did stay in touch, even after you moved back overseas. Despite the time zone differences, despite the varying busy schedules, not a single forty-eight-hour cycle passed without your hearing from one or both of them.

Until one day.

Three days passed without action in reply to your last message, which was composed of you venting about the harsh winter you were dealing with in your current city.

Three days turned into a week, and a week into two.

Part of you assumed that your two friends were unusually busy, while the other couldn’t help but wonder if this was the point at which all your long-distance friendships seemed to inevitably taper off.

Only when your last message timestamp showed “17 days ago” did you finally get a message. It was from Nanami, asking if he could voice call you. You were thankful that it was a Friday and that you were uncharacteristically staying up and happened to be online at your computer at the time. You quickly typed your reply:

Yes, of course, is everything okay?

You kept your eye on the typing indicator as it appeared and disappeared repeatedly as you fumbled into your drawers, fishing for your old headset. When you connected to the call, your blooming giddiness lasted only for the short time it took you to detect the pain in Nanami’s voice as he confirmed he could, in fact, hear you.

Almost a year and an ocean separated you from the last time you’d heard it and yet it was something like no other. You didn’t get to ask what was wrong before he engaged in a retelling of the worst news you could have ever received. 

Your friend Haibara. Gone.

A mission gone viciously wrong, mis-leveled, a Bloodborn of all things. 

What the fuck.

The shock immobilized you in your seat, and until this day, you didn’t understand how you’d managed to commit every single word Nanami said to your memory, a conversation you would mentally revisit over and over again years later. Perhaps it was in the substance of what he was saying, the incisiveness of his words, or the unusually heavy emotion with which he uttered them that made the entire call painfully memorable. 

You didn’t realize how uncontrollably you were crying until you reflexively sniffled and heard it unceremoniously echo on Nanami’s side. A reminder that you were here on earth, that this was not a nightmare, that you were on this call, on the other side of the world, with Nanami.

Nanami, who had barely escaped with his life, who had witnessed the entire ordeal.

Who had watched your friend die.

You desperately tried to calm yourself down, taking deep breaths, preparing to break the silence you were only now noticing had settled between you, punctuated only by your sniffles.

“Nanami, what about yo-”

“I have to go now.”

“Wait! Let’s chat tomorrow? Or I guess later tonight, your time. If you can?”

“If I can.”

“Nanami, you’ll talk to me? This is all so fucked, but I’m here if you want to talk.” You tried to keep your composure, because how could you offer to help you didn’t seem to have “I know I’m not there but I’m here for you.”

A pause and what sounded like a sharp exhale from his end. 

“I have to go.”

“Okay. Talk later.” Your intonation was more akin to a question rather than a statement.

The call disconnected, and its summary added itself to the bottom of your group chat, a string of text, showing that the call had lasted just under ten minutes and that only two out of three group members had attended. This screen, these words would be the only thing that held your company the next day, and the one after that, and the one after that, as you spent nearly all of your free time not spent in classes or getting what little sleep your mind would allow you to, staring at the screen in the hopes to catch a message or call that would never come. 

You waited, and you worried, and you wondered.

You pinged him. Every day, for weeks. Every week, for months.

Your worry grew into sadness, then frustration, then numbness.

It took you a few months to come to the reality that you should stop waiting, that you shouldn’t expect anything, that the circumstances would not change. 

That you had had your final conversation with Nanami Kento, and that you were alone again, mourning simultaneously the death of a friend and the loss of a friendship.

Current day, Tokyo

It was under a caliginous sky that you embarked on what would be your first mission back with Nanami. You learned Ijichi was the name of the driver who was escorting you to your mission location. You had barely caught it, in his unceremonious introduction, a welcomed interruption of whatever was going to happen after Nanami uttered your name.

By the time you turned your attention from Ijichi back to Nanami, he was already headed towards the exit. It took a moment for your mind to make the mental migration back to reality and connect the dots on what was occurring. 

You were going on your Hunter recertification mission. Nanami. He was your mission supervisor.

Your mind still couldn’t reconcile what you were seeing with your eyes. You hardly felt ready to tackle a real hunting mission. But you would have to. Your recertification now hinged on it.

Years of imagining out how this moment, which you never believed would happen, could play out, and never did you imagine sharing the backseat of a Tokyo Hunter Academy issued car with Nanami on the way to a hunting mission. It was the closest you’d been to him in years, and yet somehow, the most distant you’ve ever felt.

The tension in the car was palpable. It had been a quiet ride so far. A glance at the GPS indicated you were still 20 minutes out from the mission’s location. You were growing restless. Nanami had not stopped tapping on his phone since the beginning of the trip.

“Have you been briefed?”

“What?”

“For this mission, has anyone briefed you yet?”

“No, not yet. At orientation, they told me I’d be briefed by my re-cert supervisor.”

“This process is so inconsistent,” you barely heard him mumble.

“What?” You said for the second time, feeling a little silly as you did.

He put away his phone and turned to face you. The moonlight filtered through the car window, perfectly hitting at an angle that highlighted his chiseled jaw. 

Even in the car’s darkness, there was no mistake; he was too handsome. His eyes levelled with yours and for a moment, you felt time stop. You averted your gaze for a bit to collect yourself, your eyes catching Ijichi’s in the rearview mirror in surprise, and he, in turn, also averted his. The reminder of another observer in the car was enough to school you back to reality.

“I apologize for the disorganization. The recent crises have completely destabilized the onboarding process. I’ll be your recertification supervisor. My task is to evaluate whether you’re fit for field missions, and to recommend a level for you. Seeing as you already have extensive field experience, this will mainly be a levelling evaluation.” He paused, as though to leave room for any interjection.

“Okay,” was all you could say.

“We’re heading to the lake shore forest at the edge of the city. The latest surge of Special Grade vampires points to a deliberate effort from a Bloodborn to create them. The intel collected over the last few weeks points towards this area s being a prime location for disappearances.”

“I’ve read about this. It seems to have seriously picked up in the last month or so.

“Yes. The entrance we’re surveying is opposite the one that was red taped. The goal is to retrace where specifically these Turned vampires seem to come from.”

He moved the tablet to the center seat to allow you a better view. You both inadvertently leaned in at the same time, meeting in the middle. You tried to pay attention to the indicators he was drawing on the digital map he was showing you, but your focus was elsewhere. His clean smell, a mix of leather and cedar sent you on a tailspin that somehow had you imagining what he looked like when he applied whatever cologne he had on. You desperately pulled yourself together, an attempt to prove to yourself that you were not so far gone that simple smells could make you lose control.

Until he spoke.

His voice was low, rumbling, baritone. 

“Ours is a recon assignment. Two, maybe three dozen Turned vampires are the most I’d expect, based on the reports from the previous teams who were recently there.”

And then he added, “Your first few missions back might feel daunting at first, but I’m certain that you’ll get quickly accustomed.”

You felt him lift his eyes to look at you.

Were those words of encouragement?

He was being so overly formal and professional to you. It would have driven you insane if he wasn’t also so kind and caring. It was reminiscent of the high school days where he took on the role of unofficial tutor in your friend’s group.

You recalled how your classmates gravitated towards Nanami around exam season, valuing his ability to break down concepts into their simplest forms, and to capstone his explanation with a few encouraging words. He was well suited for this kind of role, that much was undeniable. For a second, it was like no time had elapsed between the days he would pep talk you and Haibara before a big test.

It almost made you forget about the elephant in the room. 

Almost.

You wondered what this conversation would sound like, were you not on this mission, were Ijichi not in the car, were your Hunter license recertification not hinging on Nanami Kento’s sign-off.

It was not lost on you that he had, so far, successfully used professionalism as a shield against the major topic at hand. For now, you would respect this unspoken armistice, you told yourself.

But only for now.

You clipped your flashlight to your holster as the two of you advanced into the forest. You had already taken out two hordes of Turned vampires, already more than the three dozen Nanami had expected. You’d successfully taken them out.

“Something’s off tonight,” he mumbled.

Just as you were going to ask him to expand on his statement, you felt it before you saw it. It first came as a rapid movement from the corner of your eye, and you knew Nanami did too, based on his sudden alertness.

“Special Grade,” he said. “Two… No, three of them.”

“I don’t think so.”

Nanami raised an eyebrow at you.

“Care to elaborate?”

“The signature is too strong.”

“Which is why I count three…”

“No, I think it’s more than that. I think it might be-”

You felt its presence and signature for a moment before you spotted it in the darkness ahead of you. A colossal figure interrupted you, emerging just a few meters in front of you.

The atmosphere crackled with an electric charge. The energy shifted dangerously. A sudden wind picked up. A blend of foreign and familiar energy surrounded you, akin to a suffocating embrace.

Years of hunting, studying, and researching, along with an unmistakable gut feeling, helped you identify it to be a Bloodborn vampire. 

“Shit. Bloodborn,” you muttered in Nanami’s general direction.

With a practiced motion, you popped your weapon’s magazine free and counted five remaining bullet rounds. You might have been informed, but you certainly were not prepared. 

“Retreat plan?” you spoke again, your mind running through the protocols drilled into you by hours of training as your eyes searched the tree behind which Nanami had ducked a short moment ago. 

You found him standing a few meters ahead instead, out in the open. His usual composed countenance, the caution you’d known him to exhibit since the start of this mission, since forever, appeared to have long diminished.

What little light emanating from the moon above was enough for you to perceive brows furrowed in calculation, jaw tightened in concentration, determination manifest. It took you a few seconds to realize what he was plotting.

“Wait, are you-”

Nanami suddenly charged at the figure. 

What the hell?

As you watched him run and pick up an incredible speed, you fumbled with your weapon, looking to aim at something, anything, as you prepared to lay unexpected cover fire for your seemingly possessed partner. 

It was difficult to see anything in the dark, but thankfully you were able to get a surprisingly solid read on the vampire’s signature and could track its whereabouts with utmost precision. You’d have to track Nanami mostly through sound, you thought to yourself.

As if on cue, you heard the sound of metal against flesh, signaling a direct hit by Nanami on his target. 

“Left arm,” you heard Nanami’s steady voice call out from somewhere in the close distance. You moved closer, aiming down sights, and you saw what appeared to be its right arm for a brief second. It was the first and only shot you’d seen so far, so you took it. 

Another direct hit.

You watched as the figure staggered its steps, both limbs now affected, your closer proximity allowing you to distinguish the monstrous features it exhibited. Pointy ears, long limbs, and an extremely tall stature. 

You heard hit after hit, Nanami using the opening you’d created to his advantage, landing as many hits as possible. You lined up your shot as you moved closer, deducing you’d have at least one more good go at it before the beast recovered.

“Left a-”

A powerful surge of energy preceded a sound so rambunctious that you could feel it in your own body. Your eyes had gotten accustomed to the dark by now, at least enough to see Nanami’s limp body shoot off into the distance and land several meters away with a bouncing thud. 

Between being paralyzed at the prospect of the worst-case scenario, and the shock of having a Bloodborn vampire, in its most feral form, now fully set its attention on you, your attempt at calling out for Nanami wound up getting caught in your throat. 

You quickly started backing up, mentally mapping out the quickest way to back your way toward where you’d watch Nanami land and then back out through the nearest exit. You weaved off the beaten path to put both distance and some foliage density between yourself and your threat. 

What you had in heightened senses, the vampire seemed to counter with speed. You watched as the figure weaved between the trees, rapidly closing the distance between you two.

You took a shot. It landed on a neighboring tree trunk. 

Four bullets left.

You emerged from the wooded area and stumbled onto a fork in the road. 

You could sense but not see the beast closing in on you. You turned around and shot in its general direction. It completely whiffed.

Three.

You chose the direction you judged would lead you closest to Nanami. The closer the vampire got to you, the more you felt an uncanny draw to it. It was as though it was trying to communicate with you. 

It was gaining ground. You had to change strategies. You aimed and shot two bullets in a double-tap succession. One of them grazed the Bloodborn, and the other one missed.

One.

You turned around and broke into a sprint, hoping that the speed gained by running facing forward would make up for the fact that you wouldn’t be shooting at your target anymore. 

Your mind quickly flitted to a bird’s-eye view of your current predicament, about how quickly this had all gone wrong, about the domino chain that started at your dissatisfaction with life and would potentially end with an abrupt, violent ending of it, about Nanami Kento, the old friend you’d just reunited with and who likely needed your help now more than ever.  

Something snapped in you with that last thought, and for a brief second, you empathized with the way Nanami had thrown himself at his adversary a few minutes ago. Weaponizing your desperation, you stopped in your tracks and turned around. You pointed your gun at the approaching figure. You aimed down sight and you took your last shot.

The sound of your final incendiary round crossing into the air echoed through your ears and your mind as both your vision and sound faded out. In your suddenly weakened state, you felt the distinct stifling presence of a vampire closing in on you. Shortly after, you felt limbs around you, decidedly not human, grabbing you and slinging you over its shoulder. 

And the world faded to black.

1870s, Atlantic coast, Northern West Africa

The setting sun casts a warm hue of crimson red into the sky, carrying an uncanny air of peacefulness and tranquility; the energy that occupies the beach below is anything but.

Two figures scurry towards the coastline. The Bloodborn vampire reaches it first, and she waddles her way into the water until its level hits her midsection. She frantically unsheathes her dagger from her waist belt; it glows amber, both heat and light emanating from it.

She turns around just in time to watch the Hunter who accompanies her catch up to her, halting just at the coastline. Her eyes meet his just in time to watch him school his worried countenance back to fervent determination. 

Without further preamble, she chants an incantation that predates humanity itself, a mother’s plea, to both the forces of Light and of Darkness. The surrounding air shimmers as she slices her palm open with her knife, only slightly wincing at the sensation of the action that will seal her fate.

She watches as the drops of blood drip from her hand, coagulating on impact with the sea water below her and forming into a carmine coloured bead, which she picks up into her hand and brings to her lips. The next words she utters are whispered, a caveat, a Bloodborn’s insurance. The bright glow of her knife disappears, replaced by a wraith-like texture.

She feels her life force weakening as she waddles her way back to the coast. She knows she’s on the clock. The Hunter takes notice of her struggle, furrowing his eyebrows as he makes the trek as if to meet her halfway. She lifts her hand up to signal him to stop. He reluctantly does.

When the vampire finally reaches the Hunter, he opens his arm, revealing the small baby girl he is protectively holding, wide eyes blinking up at her parents. The woman bends down and kisses her forehead. Throughout this entire ordeal, this is the only time the mother truly feels emotive, the only time her tears form at the corners of her eyes.

She brings the crimson bead up to the child and slips it under the thin garment she is wearing, placing it just over her heart, and presses down. She watches as the blood turns back into its sanguine form and gets completely absorbed into the child, illuminating her small body for a brief second before she returns to normal, an action that seals the fate of the child and of their lineage. 

Only then does the woman bring up her attention to the man, who has been watching her intently the entire time, with love and reverence but also worry. 

“Don’t look so glum, Mr. Hunter. By the beach, together, for the rest of our lives. You lived up to your promise.”

On the beach, in the distance behind them, the distinct sound of Dongola horse hooves hitting the sand can be heard.

“For eternity,” he corrects.

“What’s that?” She asks, playfully feigning ignorance for one final time.

“By the beach, together, for eternity. That was the promise.”

“That will come too. But not before you complete your task.”

“The curse ends here.”

A promise to a Bloodborn from her consort, sealed with a final kiss on her forehead.

The woman walks towards a rocky structure by the coastline, leaning her back against it before she impales herself with the knife.

The Hunter turns his attention to the approaching delegation of his peers.

He raises one arm in surrender. He tells them he won’t resist. His only ask:

“Spare the child! She’s human.”

The Hunters don’t trust their betrayer and take the child from his arms. He holds back for a second and this is the only time he shows the slightest bit of resistance.

One of the Hunters brings a talisman to the child’s face. To the Hunter’s relief, it glows the right color. Now reassured that his child will be spared, he lets himself be taken prisoner by his former allies.

Now he could accept his fate.

Current day, Tokyo

Your eyelids fluttered open to fluorescent lights and the low hum of a heartbeat monitor. It took you a moment to remember that you were in fact, not visiting your grandmother in her village, nor were you waking up in your apartment at home, but you were in a school infirmary, on the other side of the world, in Tokyo.

Memories of the night’s events rushed back to you, like a wave washing back to the shore. The sensation of being carried by arms you knew could only belong to a vampire was indelible. The pain you’d felt before you lost consciousness. In fact, you felt surprisingly energized now, all things considered. Only once she spoke did you notice Shoko in your peripheral vision. 

“Welcome back,” she said in the flat tone you fondly remembered her by.

“How long was I out?”

Shoko glanced at the clock after glancing at the clock hanging on the wall. 

“Almost an hour now. Nanami was quick to bring you here. I do wonder how many traffic laws he violated to get you here so quickly. Poor Ijichi got relegated to the backseat and got carsick.”

You raised yourself on the bed and sat down, noticing the IV still hooked to you. 

“Is he okay?”

“It’s carsickness. I think he’ll be okay.”

“I meant Nanami.”

“Oh, Nanami seemed completely fine.”

“Seemed? As in, you didn’t examine him?”

“I didn’t have to. He said you were the only one injured out there. Okay, now I have to ask, are you feeling okay?”

Shoko’s question had you wondering for a second. Last you remembered, Nanami had launched across quite a distance. Surely, he must have sustained more than a few scratches. 

“Where is he?” you asked, evading her question. 

“He was here a moment ago. I think he went-”

Shoko never finished her sentence. Appearing in the doorframe at that exact moment was Nanami, holding a stack of papers in one hand and a soda in the other.

Cherry blossom.

He’d taken off his glasses, and you could see the marks where they usually sat on his nose. His eyes lingered on yours for a second. It was the first time you’d made actual eye contact since your reunion. This time his thick glasses were not there to hide his micro-expressions. He looked neatly disheveled, his hair was slightly out of place, and his tie was loosened. Was it a hint of relief that you caught in his hazel eyes?

“You’re up.” A statement rather than a question. Whatever it was, you watched it disappear just as quickly as it had appeared before he made his way inside the room, moving around Shoko who had stopped what she was doing and was quietly observing the interaction. You had almost forgotten that she was in the room. 

“I am,” you replied cautiously.

“How are you feeling?” he asked.

You turned and looked at him for a moment before turning to Shoko.

“I’m fine, right? Please tell me you’ll discharge me right now.”

Shoko stared at you for a second, as though she was evaluating her response. 

“Only if you promise to show up to a follow-up tomorrow.”

“I will, promise.”

 “I need you to sign a few things, protocol, since it’s your first time here. I’ll be right back.” Shoko’s eyes moved between you and Nanami, as though she was hesitating to leave you two alone.

When she was finally out of the room, you quietly watched as Nanami approached you, and placed the soda can on your table side, his silent offering, before sitting on the visitor’s seat across the room.

“How are you feeling?” He repeated his question, and it somewhat irritated you.

“I don’t know, Nanami. Physically I’m feeling okay,” you said, as you attempted to cross your arms but got restricted by the IV drip still hooked to you. Without thinking, you swiftly ripped it off in frustration.

Nanami watched you impassively.

“And otherwise? Do you remember what happened?” He pushed.

“Do you?” you asked, your tone coming out more accusatory than you’d intended.

“I do, but also, I wasn’t the one who passed out.”

“Really? I guess you’ll have to teach me your ways, then. I watched you fly a good distance and heard the way you landed behind those bushes. I’m surprised to see you without a scratch.” 

“You sound disappointed.”

You stared at each other for a few seconds. You always found Nanami to be relatively harder to read. But now he was decidedly a shut book. 

“We should get our stories straight.”

“Excuse me?”

He gestured to the stack of papers he was holding and handed you a copy. Mission report was the heading.

“We were split off. We should align our reports so they match. What was the last thing you remember?”

You narrowed your eyes at him, and you thought he must have felt it judging by the uncharacteristic manner by which he was evading your glare, choosing to fix the report he was holding instead, as though it carried the answer to his question.

“Why would we need to line up our stories? We should just report the truth.”

“If our stories differ too much, or if there are gaps in the sequence of events, it will raise questions and it could affect your recertification status.”

If the circumstances of this entire mission didn’t feel sketchy enough so far, this bit definitely sounded off. He was speaking so casually about such a critical mission. His apparent indifference was driving you insane. You felt like a pot about to boil over. 

“If I didn’t know you better, I’d think that you’re holding my recertification over my head and that you’re asking me to forge my report.”

His head snapped at you, irritation now visible in his knitted brows. Finally, a chink in his armor.

“Your next sentence better be that you do know me better,” he said, sounding annoyed. Finally, some emotion.

“Why should it be? The truth is, I really don’t know you, Nanami. A decade ago, I thought I did. But now?”

You felt yourself slowly losing control over your voice. The heart rate monitor started beeping, signaling your increasing heart rate. 

His eyes narrowed at the monitor and you could have sworn that they softened when they returned to yours. When your name left his lips in a low whisper, you felt the first tears stinging your eyes. 

“You should try to remain calm.”

And you lost it. A decade’s worth of frustration spilled before you could process the words.

“I was calm for over ten years, Nanami. A decade without a single sign of life from you. Do you know I got extremely sick and couldn’t eat for over a month after that last call? Do you know the number of sleepless nights I spent wondering what exactly happened? Worrying about you and your well-being? How long does it take to send a brief chat message? ”

“I got logged out and could not log back in.”

“You got logged… You’re telling me that the reason I never heard from you again was because you conveniently got logged out of a messaging app a mere few hours after you called me to deliver the most devastating news? I call bullshit.” 

“I did get logged out, eventually. But you’re right. I was dealing with the most brutal and gruesome loss imaginable, so you’ll have to excuse me if I didn’t drop everything to get back to you right away.” His voice was growing in a frustration that increasingly mirrored yours.

Each sentence was a new arrow in your quiver. Your tears were freely flowing now, the sentiment of scorn rising to your head as you lined up the next words.

“You gave up, Nanami. You didn’t get back to me at all. He was my friend too, and you robbed me of a proper mourning. I couldn’t even get his address to send proper condolences. What you did was completely fucked up, and you know it.”

In the past, in the rare moments you’d been able to suspend disbelief and delude yourself into imagining ever crossing paths with Nanami again, you’d played out the different directions this conversation could take. In your hazy enactments, you’d imagined this scenario to be a lot less confrontational and always believed you’d be able to approach discussing this tragedy with sympathy and a certain level-headedness. 

You told yourself that normally, you would. And while there was nothing normal about the last twenty-four hours you’d lived through, it didn’t make you feel any less guilty for the reproachful tone you’d slipped into and wielded against him.

Nanami got up and handed you a box of tissues from the counter. You expected him to return to his seat, but he stayed where he stood just by you.

“The Bloodborn we ran into today. I’ve been tailing it for the last ten years. Today’s confrontation was the first time I’d gotten this close since…”

Nanami did not need to complete that sentence for you to put two and two together. If you thought your guilt couldn’t get worse, you were proved wrong at that moment.

“Lately it’s grown an army of Turned and Special Grade vampires at his beck and call. He’s the source of the latest surge. It seems to be going for numbers over strength at the moment. They’ve formed a perimeter around what I suspect to be his base of operations. I left my life behind once, but I haven’t halted my hunt. And I certainly haven’t given up on anything, or anyone.

“I came back to the school because they happen to have the resources and intel that will be useful to stopping this menace, particularly now that there is public pressure and internal interest in actually stopping this threat. This is the closest I’ve come to bringing justice for Haibara…” he paused, his breath hitching ever so slightly, and only then did you realize that this was the first time either of you had uttered your dear friend’s name. 

He returned to your side. “But none of this happens without weakening the Bloodborn. And with public scrutiny and the recent emphasis on protocol…” 

“Okay, I understand,” you said, cutting him. “I’ll line up my report with yours, to avoid scrutiny, but only on one condition. And it’s non-negotiable.”

“And what is that?”

“I get to go on all missions related to this matter too. 

“I don’t-”

“Non-negotiable, Nanami, I insist on this.”

You saw him glance at the heart rate monitor before he finally relented with a nod.

“Are you sure you’re feeling alright?” That this was his third time asking you was not lost on you. He seemed hellbent on closing out the conversation with you with more gentleness than he’d opened it.

It made you question if you were imagining it.

“Sign this, then you’re discharged,” Shoko said as she returned to the room with visibly more urgency than she’d left it.

“A sudden eagerness to get rid of me, Dr. Ieri?” You chirped in your best attempt to engage in a tone that you hoped would draw her attention away from what you could only imagine was still very much a teary countenance.

“As much as I’d love to keep you with me, I’ll need the room.” Her voice was grave as she absentmindedly handed you your discharge documents before adding, “There’s just been another major attack.”

An air of gloom hovered over the school for the following days. You learned, both through hearing firsthand accounts of your surviving colleagues, and through their reports, of the gruesome details of the latest attack. All indications pointed towards the same Bloodborn’s elusive hideout as being ground zero for the crisis at hand.

You’d sat in the briefing room the day following your first mission, listening as one of the squad leaders detailed the way by which the turned vampires had prioritized Hunters as their targets, and had successfully done so, based on the death count. He’d vocalized the odd configuration of the two conclusions drawn from this latest failure. That the number of human casualties might be lessened with this shift in strategy and newfound sophistication from the vampires, but that Hunters would be the ones to pay the ultimate price. 

“Hey, what are your thoughts on all this?” You caught Nanami at the end of the briefing just as he was about to slip away.

“On what, specifically?”

“This latest attack, it almost feels retaliatory.”

“All vampire attacks against Hunters are retaliatory by definition.”

You rolled your eyes at his pedantry. Some things never changed.

“I know that, but you’ve read the reports, yeah? There were cases where they literally walked past human targets and spared them. I don’t think I’ve ever seen that before. Have you?”

“So by retaliatory, you mean…”

“I mean against us, you know, considering how our last mission went.”

“We shouldn’t talk about this here,” he said, in a lowered voice.

“But we will talk about it right, Nanami? It’s already been a couple of days. I know what we put in the report doesn’t tell the full story.”

“Nanami-san!”

A younger fellow Hunter had just turned the corner and called out to him. You only recalled Ino’s name by the way he stood out from the other hunters with his energetic demeanor. Without knowing him beyond that, you found that he bore an uncanny resemblance to… 

“Have you been assigned the stakeout mission yet?” Nanami turned back to you, cutting into your thoughts.

“I have. In two days… with you.”

“Good. So we’ll talk then.”

With that, he broke away from you and began walking towards Ino. Judging by the handful of interactions you’d observed between the two, the younger Hunter seemed to have taken a great respect towards Nanami. This didn’t surprise you one bit, but it made you wonder who was the other version of Nanami Kento, the elusive man beneath the thick mask he’d put on over the last decade?

You knew he had the answers. But you would not wait on him to discover them.

It was Nanami himself who’d sparked the idea within you, by his revelation both about the Bloodborn’s connection to Haibara’s death and his intention of leveraging the school’s resources. Thus you found yourself, later that afternoon, in the school library, digging through the Tokyo Hunter Academy archives.

With the budgeting issues the school had gone through, the digitization of hard-copy reports was at the bottom of the list of what was being prioritized. You figured that perhaps there was something that was missed, anything that could help shed some light on the motivations of this old new adversary. 

Your hopes were dashed after a couple of hours of tallying the hard copies of what was available in the school portal, as you realized that all the digital versions of the reports surrounding this particular Bloodborn vampire were accounted for.

You raised yourself, perhaps a bit too abruptly, from the crouched position you’d held for the better part of the last half hour, sifting through the bottom shelf that covered the year 2006, feeling a bit lightheaded and disoriented, and dropping the file you were holding as a result.

“Shit,” you muttered to yourself as you picked it up and mindlessly opened it. 

Having read these countless times, you instantly identified the words that comprised the report from one of the first responding hunters, the one that had found the two young student Hunters who had encountered a new, underestimated foe; Nanami in critical condition, and Haibara deceased.

You recalled that one day, a couple of years following the incident, you had been so desperate to find out everything you could about it that you’d managed to connect to the Global Vampire Hunting database, and with the help of stolen credentials from your mother, successfully pulling the files related to this mission gone wrong and sneakily printed them out. You’d since committed every line to your memory.

Which is why the discrepancy stood out immediately to you, like a sore thumb.

Your heart rate sped up as you fumbled with your phone, not wanting to waste time making the trek out to the computer room to sign in to the network. A few authentication clicks and you were in.

You pulled out the digital version of the same report and quickly scrolled down to the section you needed, the line that began with “number of vampire signatures detected at the time of arrival”. You couldn’t help the gasp that came out of your mouth as you read your phone, then the paper report, then your phone again.

The number on your phone was the one you’d always believed it to be: one. It made sense, as it was the signature that matched the Bloodborn.

And yet, in the hard copy version, the number shown was two. One signature belonging to the Bloodborn. The second one was unidentified. The paper report also mentioned that the signature was only detected momentarily before fading away.

Even more shocking than this revelation was the very presence of this discrepancy.

What was the truth, and who was trying to hide it?

Your second mission with Nanami kicked off on an overcast mid-January day. Having had the privilege of sampling the delicacies that were North-East American winters, this climate, by comparison, was rather mild to you. That said, there was not much to like about cold and dry weather, icy roads, and shorter days that translated into shorter periods of daylight and more time for vampires to be out and about.

The mission comprised a stakeout and mapping out the comings and goings of one particular area of the forest whose specific configuration eluded the school’s records. It marked one of the few unmapped areas of the forest, making it a prime suspected location for the Bloodborn vampire’s hideout.

The school had lent you two sets of keys, one for a car, and one to a literal cabin in the woods, to serve as your base of operation for the upcoming days. This was supposed to be a solo mission, and you imagined that his request to have you accompany him had raised a few eyebrows and God knows how he managed to make it happen, but none of that was not your concern.

No, your concern was to solve the enigma that was the connection between Nanami Kento and this Bloodborn vampire, and this mission would serve as the perfect stage for your investigation.

You decided that your best bet would be to ease Nanami into becoming comfortable around you. Anything less and he would revert back to shutting you out. 

This endeavor proved to be a difficult feat, at first.

The cabin was one of those chalet-style units, its layout symmetrical, barring one difference. It contained one primary bedroom at one end and a guest bedroom on the opposite. From the moment you arrived, Nanami dropped his duffel bag into the guest bedroom, marking the end of whatever debate you were going to have about the decision before it even started. From there, a mental border was drawn, separating both sides of the house, one that was only crossed on rare occasions, when you were using the central kitchen. 

You knew he couldn’t avoid you forever, especially not in this predicament. So on the first night, you bode your time. 

You both decided to begin your patrols as close to sunset as possible, to maximize the chance of catching prime-time vampire activity.

On the first night, the patrol began quietly, the sound of your trudging steps in the fresh snow your only companion. After a while, he finally broke the silence and started sharing his findings about the Bloodborn. It was the most you’d heard him talk since your reunion so you actively listened as he recounted in chronological order, all of his encounters with the wretched beast.

It was not lost on you, that he’d begun at his first encounter with the Bloodborn following the initial incident, which would have been years later. But you took what he gave you, and you interjected with clarifying questions that helped paint a better picture of the years you’d spent apart. By the end of that patrol, you’d managed to pinpoint a perimeter around which the hideout was most likely located.

The second night began with him asking you questions that you would have gladly welcomed just a few days prior. Now that you were on the clock, you were not fond of the idea of spending your limited one-on-one time discussing yourself rather than him. But you took the bite and tried to steer the conversation with your answers.

You talked about your experience studying public health, about your research around vampirism, and your work at the World Health Organization to find a cure for people who were recently turned.

When Nanami admitted to having followed and read your research and gave praise to the specific advancements you’d contributed to the cause, you felt conflicted. Part of you felt flattered, no, your heart soared at the fact that he’d meticulously read and understood your work, at the idea that he’d even been thinking of you in any way, even all those years later.

The other part of you wondered why he hadn’t reached out and resented the fact that he had found a way to stay connected to you while severing any type of access to him.

This dilemma dampened your mood as you almost found it hard to match Nanami’s tempered optimism after you’d stumbled upon a cavernous opening from which you’d observed several Turned vampires stumble out, indicators of an entrance point to the Bloodborn’s hideout.

You’d all but written off the evening as a failure until the end, when you returned home and you were ready to split off for the rest of the night, but saw Nanami waiting for you at the door as you took off your boots.

“I want to apologize for not reaching you out for all those years. I went through it after… Haibara’s death. But it was no excuse to inflict more suffering on you. Nothing can change those years, and that time, but if you ever want to talk about it, about him, about the past, about the memories, know that my door will always be open for you.”

You were speechless. This truly came out of left field, and though you’d always wondered what this apology from Nanami could sound like, you found yourself more than unprepared for it when it finally came. So you simply stared at him.

“Good job out there today. Have a good rest of the night,” he said after a moment, as he turned away and closed his bedroom door behind him.

That encounter left you so agitated that you’d barely caught a wink of sleep, a factor which more than likely played a role in the events of the next day. 

The day had already started differently from the previous ones. Nanami had woken up earlier than usual and had gone for a walk, something you learned when you woke up much later through the text message he’d left you.

When he came back, the sun had already set, and you were already running behind your planned schedule, which comprised placing inconspicuous trackers into the ground surrounding the suspected hideout location. When you questioned him about it, he’d been uncharacteristically short and vague about his absence, something that only added to your fatigue-induced irritability.

The previous day had brought along with it some milder-than-usual temperatures, which had caused large puddles of melted snow which was now turning into ice under the freezing night temperature. It made the trek down to the hideout even more treacherous. You’d both slipped a few times, further slowing your advance. 

But the night quickly and drastically shifted tones when you found yourself confronted with a fully transformed Special Grade vampire. It looked just as monstrous as the Bloodborn you were chasing, except it was smaller in stature and still retained some of its humanoid features.

This one was a strong one, and had somehow slipped your senses until the last possible second, when it came up behind you and slashed at you, its sharp claws cutting through your thick coat clean through the skin of your left arm. 

“Behind you!” you called out to warn Nanami, who was just a few steps ahead of you, seemingly as oblivious as you were. 

He turned around, engaged in a flail more than a slash, only in the general direction of the vampire, missing his target and quickly turning back away from you. 

You had never seen him miss. Ever.

Only then did you realize just how bad of a shape he was in. You had half a mind to equip your gun, before realizing that you may have to take the close quarter fight yourself. You watched as Nanami bent over his knees, seemingly on the brink of collapsing.

You could almost hear the mental calculation the vampire had made in its head, as it charged for who it now understood to be the weaker target. Your aim was unsteady, the vampire’s movements too erratic. As much as you trusted yourself with a gun, you refused to risk the sliver of a chance at harming Nanami. 

You charged behind the vampire, who was now closing in on Nanami. You failed to see the vast patch of ice ahead of you. Your slip sent you on a trajectory that would have found first into the ground. 

But in yet another intense moment of desperation, you refused to yield to gravity. You twisted your body upwards, tapping into a kinetic force that surprised even yourself, and launched yourself upwards into the air.

When you saw the ground rapidly approaching you this time, you redirected your movement to target the vampire who had yanked up Nanami by the collar and landed squarely on him. Without thinking, you nabbed your partner’s cleaver from his loose grip and dove the blade into the vampire beneath you, putting a definitive end to the attack.

When Nanami dropped to his knees beside you, still catching his breath, you climbed off the vampire and kneeled next to him, bringing your face down to his level. He closed his eyes and tilted his head down, and you just knew he was hiding something.

“Nanami,” you said, as calmly as your adrenaline would allow you. You unzipped your coat and took out your right arm, pushing up the sleeve of the right arm of your sweatshirt.

“Nanami,” you called out again, a warning this time, as you prepared to vocalize what you’d known deep down for days now and had refused to acknowledge on the surface. 

“I see you, Nanami. I know what you are. You need to drink. Here’s my arm. Please. Enough with the games.” 

When the figure before you finally anchored your eyes with his now bright red pupils, you told yourself that it was the beast within that was in control when it forcefully yanked your other arm out of your coat instead, the left one, the injured one; when it swiftly pulled back the sleeve of that arm, revealing flawless golden brown skin and that had, in fact, fully and very much unnaturally healed. You told yourself it was the beast that spoke when it finally uttered these words in a voice you barely recognized, before biting down on your arm.

“Shouldn’t I be saying the same to you, Miss Bloodborn?”

A jolt coursed through your veins as his fangs pierced your flesh. Your face was heated, and you felt yourself transform.

The realization that hit you at the moment felt like a reversion to a mean, like a final puzzle piece finding its place, like order being restored.

You were falling backwards, losing your balance. Everything felt both slow and quick at the same time. You desperately clung to consciousness as you grabbed onto the presence before you. It was calling out to you, repeatedly so. Was it saying your name? Familiar safety wrapped in a foreign host, ruby orbs reverting to a recognizable hazel color, hints of the man that once was fighting to regain surface.

Nanami…

His name melted on the tip of your tongue, a silent prayer as darkness enveloped you.

You awoke with a start and immediately felt the difference. You were back at the cabin, lying in your bed, but it felt different. The surrounding colors were more vibrant, the sounds louder, the scents stronger. You felt like a new firmware was downloaded into your brain, and you were armed with newfound knowledge, an instinctual drive.

You were awakened.

You felt him before you saw him, by the heat that radiated from him, the steady but fervent tempo of his heartbeat, the pureness of his soul.

He carried with him an aura, an unmistakable signature so familiar to you, one that you now realized you’d felt from the moment you met him all those years ago, faint and unidentifiable as it had been to you at the time.

A Special Grade vampire.

But a good one?

And when you finally turned your head to face him, sitting in the chaise that bordered the opposite wall, he must have felt your movement because he raised his to face you at the exact moment. 

Trying to get a read on Nanami had never been easy. And despite your newfound ability to read his vitals so clearly, you still were left playing the usual deciphering game.

“How long have you known? And how did you know before me?” you finally asked.

“I had my suspicions… The first mission we went on. You were right in your recollection that the Bloodborn launched me back. What you failed to remember is that we both were, you even more so after he’d chased you. The state I found you in… I thought I had lost you…” he paused, and you watched the pain cross his features as recalled the moment.

“I intended to carry you back to the car, but then you healed on your own. It was both strange and familiar. By the time we got you to Shoko, you were exhausted but fully healed.”

You sat up on the bed, suddenly feeling restless. He stood to stand at the feet of your bed to stay in your view. You patted the spot in front of you, inviting him to sit.

Only then did you realize that he’d long since crossed your unspoken border for the first time and that he was in your space now, in your room.

The first of many breaches to occur that night.

In your shared silence, bridges were being built. In your curious glance, an unspoken question hung.

Nanami took a deep breath and began telling the story of the day his life changed.

He recounted how the mission had started, how Haibara had been optimistic as he always was, how everything had escalated so quickly, so badly. He spoke of the Bloodborn looming over him and how he was ready to accept his death. He recalled when he awakened, first from unconsciousness as he realized in horror that he had survived and that Haibara hadn’t. He spoke of the second agonizing awakening as the beast he was trained all his life to destroy.

You listened as he spoke of the moments when the despair was too overwhelming, when he contemplated ending it all, only to read about another attack, another victim somewhere in the world, and the sheer determination of ending this curse took precedence over the sweet release of succumbing to it. You noticed how he instinctively reached for his neck as he recounted this part.

You asked about his transformation and his symptoms, and he described patterns that you could now retrace in your own life. You asked about how he sustained himself, and he described depending mostly on blood banks nearing the end of their shelf life, occasionally animals when times were dire. The infirmaries had been running low on blood lately, due to the increased number of injuries caused by the surge in incidents, he told you. He’d been rationing what he had left but had run out during the stakeout mission. He’d tried to go hunt but was stalled by the hazardous patches of ice.

After a moment, you came to a realization.

“You’re still in Bloodthirst,” you said.

“I’m fine.”

“No, you’re not fine, and I know it. How long had you gone without?”

You shoved his hair out of his eyes, fingers brushing against his forehead. Suddenly you felt yourself gain access to him, to his mind. You dug deeper, deeper still, and like your other abilities, it was desperation that powered your attempt to convince him to let you ease his suffering if only for a little, driving you deeper and deeper.

Until you hit a wall.

Nanami grabbed your hand by the wrist and abruptly pulled it away from his forehead, his eyes flashing red momentarily. The beast was surfacing. 

“Don’t...”

“Nanami, you’re too deficient. I can feel it.”

“Don’t try to get into my head.”

“I’m not trying to. Not deliberately. And, I don’t need to be in your head to feel your suffering. How long have you been holding back?” You pushed.

The conflict of his instincts warred within him, clear in his eyes, which flicked between bright red and their usual sweet honey. 

“You won’t hurt me, so please, Nanami, let me help you.”

You bit your lip out of nervousness, and your sharp fang clumsily pierced through the corner of your lower lip. You were still unused to it. You winced at the sharp pain. You felt its scent before you felt the drop of blood slowly slide down and you knew that Nanami felt it, too. You could feel it in the quickening pace of his heartbeat, in the hitching of his breath, in the way he met your gaze, in an electrifying moment. 

And yet he didn’t move. It was hard to pinpoint the exact moment when breaking down Nanami’s barriers became synonymous with breaking his resolve. All you knew is that your body was now moving of its own accord, your mission becoming singular. 

You engaged your newfound strength to push him down, and you were, surprisingly, met with little resistance. His back hit the mattress harder than you intended. You straddled him at his hips and placed your hands on the bed on either side of his face. Your disposition made it look like you were the one in control. But the truth was that you were at the mercy of his expression, unreadable as always, desperate to bring relief to the man who’d suffered alone for over a decade.

Your arms wobbled as you lowered your face to his. His expression remained impassive, but his vitals betrayed it. Pulse quickened, pupils dilated, rapidly switching on and off red and amber. Your eyes fixed his. You had half a mind to offer your arm again, bravery had brought you this far, but you wondered whether it would take you all the way. Your eyes moved back to Nanami’s, an attempt to decipher what calculation he appeared to be making. 

The decision was made for you both, when the drop of blood, which had been sliding back from your lips, trickled down to your chin unbeknownst to you, falling to the whims of gravity, and landing directly on his own lower lip.

And then his tongue darted out to lick it.

And something snapped.

You couldn’t tell whether you moved first, or he did. The exact sequence of events would remain unclear, discarded to the back of your mind as you felt the acerbic taste of your own blood on Nanami’s lips.

You felt the restraint melt away with the growl that emanated from Nanami’s chest. You squeezed your eyes shut as though it would help mute the moan that remained captive in your mouth, escaping only when he forced yours to open by ensconcing his tongue between your lips, as he lapped up the remaining blood and proceeded to suck on the spot on your lip where the incision was made. 

Your eyes opened to a squint only to meet piercing red eyes. They told a story, one whose ending you’d successfully deducted earlier, one that Nanami still now appeared to be unable to accept. 

This wouldn’t be enough for him.

You felt the world tilt suddenly, and it took you a few seconds to realize that he had flipped your positions, his eyes never leaving yours. When you felt his arms carefully cushion your fall, you knew that he was still more man than beast.

You could not say the same for yourself.

Years of studying vampires, of hunting them down as a Hunter, could only help you label what was happening, not control it.

You used your right hand to pull the box braids that had bunched around your neck aside, tilting your head to the side to give him access to your neck. 

Under your observation, he hesitated, ever the paragon of self-control.

You reached your hand up and placed it on his, and slid it up his arm, then to the back of his head, right at his undercut. When you pulled him down, it was again without resistance. His eye color flickered faster as he got closer.

“Forgive me,” you heard him whisper, a warm breath that went into your ear and straight to your core. 

Your mind was hazy and you couldn’t tell what he was apologizing for. Either way, your answer would be the same.

“Don’t hold back,” you whispered so softly that you didn’t know if he’d heard it. 

The act didn’t shock you as much as the first time; it came in a brief sting and a sensation of soft lips that contrasted the sharp fangs that already established punctures. You gasped, and he stilled; you felt him reverse, but you stopped him before he could, pushing his head back down onto your neck. After a brief pause, he picked up where he left off and you heard the rest more than you felt it. His quick rhythmic breaths and inaudible gasps evened out as he sated himself. 

“Why would a Bloodborn feed a lowly Special Grade vampire?” 

It was a genuine question you’d asked, what felt like several lifetimes ago. Back then, it was unfathomable. Right now, it was blatantly obvious.

“Shouldn’t I be saying the same to you, Miss Bloodborn?”

You tried not to think too hard about the contempt that dripped in Nanami's tone when he’d referred to your identity, at the reality that your feelings would likely never be reciprocated.

You could have sworn that Nanami detected your disquiet, because as if on cue, he brought up his right hand, tracing soothing small circles around your exposed shoulder.

In your confused haze, you tried to tell yourself not to read too much into this sudden attuned gentleness. You didn’t realize that you too had started scratching circles with your nails into his undercut until you felt the perceptible shudder that ran through his body right as you did.

He shifted his position slightly as you felt drops trickle down your neck, and you held your breath as he chased them with his tongue, moving lower down, over your collarbone, getting dangerously close to your chest. When he closed in on the drop of blood, he sucked a little harder at the fleshy skin just above your chest, eliciting a small moan from you. The heat that was slowly forming in your core ignited like a solar flare. He stopped his movements and when his eyes shot up to yours through his disheveled hair; they had reverted to their natural hazel hue again. 

A pang of arousal shot through you violently. Centuries of dormancy came roaring back to life. The lines between human and vampiric urges were now thoroughly blurred. 

Nanami straightened up, and you watched a second conflict cloud his eyes, primal but very much human. 

The sight of your red blood over his skin should not have been doing this much to you. But it did.

“You’re going through Bloodthirst.”

A statement more than a question. He wiped his mouth with his sleeve before he started rolling it back, exposing a veiny arm.

“The first waves after transforming will be brutal. I imagine yours will be intense since you’re-”

“Bloodborn.” You completed his sentence for him. “You must really hate me right now.” Even as you identified the self-destructive mental pattern you were sliding into, it’s not like you could stop it. Anything to get him to change his mind. Anything to have him push you away. 

“I don’t hate you,” he simply said.

“You hate Bloodborns.”

“Still quick to make snap judgments, I see.” 

You sensed a reversing shift in your dynamic; his invitation, your resistance.

You said nothing in response, and he simply extended his arm. You kept your eyes locked on his as you sank your fangs into his arm. 

Nothing could have prepared you for the taste of Nanami Kento’s blood.

You were a lot less gracious than he was, a lot less controlled. It was like being catapulted through a range of vivid emotions, colors associated with feelings, sounds associated with sentiment.

You were lost in the sensations. You ached with him and you raged with him; you felt his sorrow and his devotion. Overwhelmed by the sentiments he was telegraphing, you opened your eyes to Nanami quietly observing you, his usually unreadable face twisted into a perceptible sadness. Only once you were finally sated, once the intense pang of thirst subsided to a low baseline hum did you finally pull back, your eyes still trained on his.

“I could never hate you,” he added, as though to emphasize what he’d just undeniably showed through his blood, the corners of his lips tugging into the tiniest, sad smile that brought tears to your eyes.

Nanami brought two fingers up to your chin, pushing the rest of the dripping blood into your mouth. You closed your lips over his fingers, maintaining eye contact as you brought your face closer to his, emboldened by the combination of your awakening, of his words, and of the little glint in his eye. He didn’t move until you released him, like he was awaiting for permission.

“I don’t hate you either,” you managed to whisper against his lips, before closing the distance.

When you did kiss this time, it was in earnest. It was fervent and urgent, all tongues and teeth. There was a moment you were both clinging to, both determined to not let escape. You’d never felt so attuned to someone, it was as though tasting his blood had opened a new dimension within your mind. 

His tongue snagged onto your sharpened fang, and he hissed at the contact, sending a shiver down your spine. You tasted his blood and this time it wobbled with treacherous exhilaration. The first signal that he, too, was unraveling.

When Nanami’s mouth moved downward, it was in a mix of kisses and nips and bites. He was gentle but left marks. In his onslaught, he paused just above your breast and gave the area a sly lick before he continued. He finally tugged on the corners of your shirt and gently pulled it over your head, finally able to grant attention to your left side, starting at your neck, peppering every inch of your body with his kisses from your collarbone to your breast to your abdomen. He pulled your pants down, your underwear followed. His movements were optimized, precise.  

When he stopped and called out to you, you almost did not hear over the now overwhelmingly loud sound of your blood coursing through your veins and your pants as you tried to keep yourself tethered to reality. You raised your head in time to see him hovering over your core, stormy eyes telegraphing a question. 

“Please, Nanami,” you breathed out.

It was all he needed to hear. With the two fingers that were between your lips just a moment ago, he slid between your legs and began to work you.

The gasp that escaped your lips was one of both shock and pleasure. You moaned as he played you, like a musician would his instrument, first with his fingers, then with his tongue, then with both. Your heightened senses made you feel every brush, every knead, every minute variation in movement as he found alternating rhythms.

“Hah…fuck!” you cried out.

“My good girl. Don’t hold back on me,” he said, echoing a markedly less tame version of the coaxing you’d whispered into his ear earlier, and only then did you realize how utterly flipped this script had become. Your mind spun at the swiftness by which the tables had turned, at the polarity, at the juxtaposition of his controlled passion and your erratic unraveling.

The vibration of his voiced praise rumbled into your core and tingled up into your brain, and that was enough to push you over the edge. You couldn’t coherently voice your pleasure if you tried. Only words of gibberish ran through your mind as you slowly came undone on his fingers, exhaling expletives punctuated by open-mouthed gasps of his name.

He continued lapping at you, cleaning off every inch of your surface area, until you grabbed the back of his head, right at his undercut again, your new favorite place. You brought him up to find the remnants of your blood on his chin, now newly covered with a sheer layer.

He looked so alluring.

“Nanami…” you murmured.

In a manifestation of your newfound ability for quick recovery, you raised yourself up and straddled him for the second time that night. You grabbed his face into your hands and kissed him, intoxicated by the taste of all versions of yourself in his mouth. This time it was slower, more careful, tongues caressing each other in a reluctant fight for domination, a battle you both dragged out, not wanting it to end. You found a back-and-forth rhythm that you emulated with your hips, grinding against his, chasing any form of friction, realizing only now how bothersome of a barrier his clothes were between you two.

You pulled back, working your way down to undo the buttons of his shirt, and he watched you. You couldn’t help but trace your fingers against his muscles as you did, working your way up from his stomach, up his chest, to his shoulder. He let out a soft and low groan as your cold finger traced his heated skin.

You had already grabbed his belt, eager to pull more of those sweet sounds out of him by returning the favor he’d so graciously done for you, when you spotted it, at the juncture of his neck and shoulder, a prominent scar denoting two incisions, unmistakably from a vampire bite. 

“Is this from…?” You trailed off, still struggling to label the horrific event that nearly destroyed his life.

“It is.”

You glanced at him as he averted his eyes, but not quick enough for you not to catch the expression on his face. It did not belong to the vampire, not even to the man, but to the young boy who bore the misplaced burden of not being able to protect his dear friend, and who came out of that incident less human than he went in.

You’d never known Nanami to be emotionally expressive. Even throughout this passionate encounter, his countenance carried a control that paradoxically garnered both your admiration and your frustration. But right now, as you traced a finger over the reminder of that painful memory, you watched his face twist beyond its usual air of melancholy, his features betraying the sorrow that still festered beneath his surface.

The thought of another Bloodborn being the source of the torment of the sweet man before you triggered something violent within you. You were ruled by extreme emotion, by an unharnessed urge to make things right, driven by a desperate powerlessness at what should have been the height of your powers.

How you longed to go back in time and undo the calamity inflicted by this beast.

How you wished you could absorb all of his pain, if only for a moment. 

How you desperately wanted to overwrite the damage caused by this destructive bite.

Logic said that you couldn’t do any of these things. But you were a far ways from being anything within the realm of logical right now. 

You were not thinking clearly when you sunk your teeth right where the faded scars were, in an untenable attempt to draw out pain more than blood. Your mind was a haze when your hot tears mixed with the blood you were drawing. You were disoriented when you finally relented, burying your face into the side of his neck and squeezing him into a tight hug. But you were very much in your right mind when you uttered your next words.

“I’m here for you, Nanami,” you said in his ear.

“I know,” he whispered back, after a moment. 

This wouldn’t be enough.

He shifted his weight over you, bringing you back down. Your hands flew to his pants as soon as he freed you from his embrace and for a moment, you wondered what you looked like: tear struck face, bloody mouth, disheveled hair, fumbling with his belt like your life depended on it. You wondered how it was, that after he placed his hands over yours to help you remove the last barrier of clothing that separated you and you finally looked up at him, that you found him gazing down at you in quiet reverence. 

“Can I-”

“Yes, please, yes,” you said in a low whimper as you buzzed with anticipation.

His lips found your forehead just as you felt him notch into you, and you squirmed and gasped into his chest at the sudden but welcome invasion. 

“Fuck,” he hissed. “Did I-”

“No, hah, don’t stop!” you sighed, grabbing his arms to brace yourself.

He kept going until he filled you completely. 

And then again. 

And again. 

Your bodies moved in tandem, a decade of longing that took classmates to fire-forged partners to blood-bound lovers, manifested in the most tender dance you’d engage in that night, pure affection finally triumphing over ferality, even as you exchanged the most breathless words and the most salacious sounds, even as you vigorously met each other at each thrust, each trying to prove an unspoken point, even as your bodies violently thrummed with the need for release. And when your flashing eyes met as you both barrelled towards your climax, a wordless plea floated between you two.

Don’t hold back.

And neither of you did.

It was early afternoon now. You were lying on your side, facing Nanami, who was lying on his back. You were in a mesmerized trance, tracing over his taut muscles, accustoming yourself to your newfound heightened senses of his vitals. You basked in this warm cocoon of comfort, stretching out what you both knew to be a mirage of a moment of peace.

“What am I thinking now?” he asked. You traced over where you saw his chest rumble from his voice.

“I told you, it doesn’t work that way. So far, it’s only been sensations at given times. And it seems to be in moments of intense emotion. I still have a lot to learn about… all of this.”

“It will be an adjustment. Your case is rare but not unheard of. And you won’t have to face it alone,” he said, after a moment.

“I’m not even sure I could reliably trace far enough to find my Bloodborn ancestor. Both sides of my family are from old Hunter clans, as far as I know. A Hunter breaking ranks to get with a vampire must have been considered to be the ultimate act of treason, especially in that time.”

“I might be biased, but I could see how treason can be relative,” he said playfully as he took your hand in his. You pondered on the weight of his words, on the uncanny parallels to your current disposition, on history rhyming.

“We should have Shoko check you out. We can trust her.”

“No. We’re closing in on the hideout and that beast. This is our chance. I’m not leaving until we finish this. There’s a reason you haven’t told anyone either. We have to do this our way.”

Nanami’s reservations were palpable, but you both knew that he couldn’t counter that argument. You attempted to change the topic.

“So… you heal quickly, and have heightened senses, though not as good as mine. You’re also a weakling to sunlight and you sometimes eat for two.”

“That’s certainly one way to put it.”

“This is like that video game. You remember the one with the convoluted stats, that one RPG Haibara kept trying to get us to play?”

Nanami hummed. Silence. Then a scoff.

“What is it?” you asked.

“He was hellbent on you and I getting together. Even after you moved away. He said that it was inevitable and that if we couldn’t make it work, then he would. I was just thinking that in a twisted way, he did.”

It was your turn to scoff.

He raised a curious eyebrow at you.

“You just implied that we ended up getting together. I don’t remember that happening.”

“Oh, you don’t think so? We’ll have to rectify that. After the mission.” He grabbed your hand in his.

“After the mission,” you echoed. A silence. You fidgeted with his hand.

After a moment, you pulled away from him, and turned on your back, mirroring his position as you faced the ceiling.

“We’ll avenge him, Nanami.” Your words fluted upwards, a crimson vow, binding a Bloodborn and her consort.

“We will.”

You felt the cocoon of warmth dismantle as you both made the mental migration back to the task at hand.

Two nights later, you set out to execute an assault.

You’d composed a message to the school, detailing your plan of attack and strategically scheduled it to send for the last possible moment, right before your planned incursion. It was the best compromise you and Nanami had settled on, as you looked to minimize any detection that could be triggered by the other Hunters in order to maximize your chances of success.

You’d found the entrance, combatted the weak forces that grew stronger as you approached their leader and had found yourself facing your ultimate target.

The plan had gone as anticipated, until this moment, which found you contending with the one thing you’d both failed to plan for: a mental hold the vampire revealed itself to have on Nanami, drawing from the tethering connection a Bloodborn could exploit with their victim.

At first Nanami’s movements were simply slowed, then stalled, then stopped. For the moment, it seemed to have incapacitated him.

You’d continued to dodge the vampire’s attacks as you evaluated Nanami’s condition, and for the moment that was all you could do. Your current plan of attack relied on both your dexterous movements and Nanami’s close-range combat to land incisive blows on the beast.

You’d prepared to take a defensive stance until you noticed that the Bloodborn was no longer attacking Nanami. And was instead fixing you.

Your eyes moved to Nanami’s just in time for you to watch them flicker to those crimson irises, markers of the vampire within.

The Bloodborn growled out an order in a language you did not need to understand in order to decipher its message, the validity of your interpretation confirmed as Nanami turned to you in what appeared to be a sudden, combative stance. You backed up as he trudged towards you, his cleaver wielded, his vampiric eyes fixing you in calculation. A cackle emanated from the Bloodborn, visibly pleased at the scene unfolding in front of it.

Nanami was now a few meters away from you, and you had half a mind to catapult yourself off the back wall to dodge what was obviously an imminent attack. If you could just dodge the attacks coming from both and hold off until the reinforcements arrived…

Instead, you stayed in place, opting to call out his name, an attempt to appeal to the human you hoped could still hear you, to the man you cherished.

You watched his eyes flicker ever so slightly, so subtly that you wondered if you’d imagined it.

Finally, he reached you, and you heard the distinctive shot of one of your incendiary rounds traveling through the air before you registered that, in a swift movement, exploiting a moment of arrogance on the part of the Bloodborn, Nanami had grabbed your weapon from your holster and fired a direct shot clean through its heart.

When the Hunter’s eyes flickered back to normal, showing a definitive break from his mental captivity, you knew you were back on track. He leaned against the wall for support, likely having used up all of his energy into executing his gambit.

Out of the corner of your eye, you saw the Bloodborn struggle in attempting to get back to its feet. Without a word, you took Nanami’s cleaver and used the back wall to launch yourself towards your weakened target.

You flew through the air and landed an incisive blow, cutting the vampire in half, ending his torment over the region and its inhabitants, once and for all.

You detected a large amount of familiar signatures approaching. A group of Hunters.

You rushed back to Nanami’s side, who was still leaning on the wall but on his back, having watched the final scene unfold. You gently grabbed his hand from his side and raised it up, and placed the handle of his cleaver into it. You brought your other hand to cup his cheek and his eyes finally met yours.

In the moment, it was not joy, nor sadness, nor relief that ruled his expression, but a wordless acknowledgment of a vow kept.

[aestariiwilderness]

Abortion is Murder & Unbiblical

The Bible does not use the word abortion. How could it? The term itself as a procedure wasn't invented yet! However, the Bible does cover: 

Humanity's inherent value and rights as (uniquely among creation) made in the image of God

Murder

Child/infant murder as something abhorrent to God

Life's beginnings, indirectly (although that also has biological support) 

Legal ramifications of killing a child in the womb 

How God sees and interacts with children in the womb 

How we as His followers are meant to treat children 

What He expects us to do for the defenseless and vulnerable (i.e., the most defenseless and vulnerable human imaginable is the one in the womb) 

And how the question of following Him and His Word is what makes or breaks the difference between a Christian and someone who claims the name but is tragically unsaved  Below are some verses and some additional explication (partial credit: @glowsticks-and-jesus)  

Proverbs 31:8 

Luke 1:44 

2nd Kings 17:17 

Jeremiah 19:5 

Genesis 9:6 

Exodus 21:22-25 

Matthew 7:20 - 23 

John 15:14 

1st John 1:5-10, 2:3-6 

Exodus 20:13 

Mark 10:13-15 Leviticus 20:3-5 (https://biblehub.com/hebrew/mizzaro_2233.htm) 

Matthew 18:10, 14

Psalm 22:10

Jacob & Esau, John the Baptist, Samson, etc. 

Judges 16:17  Glowsticks-and-Jesus Collection:

"Now the word of the Lord came to me, saying, 'Before I formed you in the womb, I knew you, and before you were born, I consecrated you; I appointed you a prophet to the nations.'"Jeremiah 1:4-5

"The Lord called me from the womb, from the body of my mother he named my name."Isaiah 49:1

John the Baptist leaped in Elizabeth’s womb when Mary greeted her cousin (Luke 1:39-45), an example that babies in utero are responsive human beings already aware of the outside world.

The righteous Hebrew midwives at the time of Moses pleased God by saving babies deemed unworthy of life by the authorities of their day (Ex. 1:15-21).

 As an additional note -- these references are included above, but worth a second mention -- it's plain that child sacrifice - child murder - is something that God abhors and explicitly does not command. I'd look here (https://biblehub.com/jeremiah/19-5.htm) and here (https://biblehub.com/2_kings/17-17.htm) and check out the cross-references as well. Likewise, there is direct support for laws against murder and the protection of the unborn (up to capital punishment) in the Bible (Genesis 9:6; Exodus 21:22-25  -- an additional reference here included about the common misunderstanding of the latter verses: https://www.str.org/w/what-exodus-21-22-says-about-abortion).

In summary -- it's possible (although, I believe, it does deprive its proponents of a foundational basis for the value of life) to be both secular and anti-abortion. But it is not possible for a Christian who truly understands their faith, their God, and His Word to be pro-abortion.

[abbyfmc]

Yanderetober 7/10

Yandere Scientific Abomination! x Female Scientist! Reader:

TW: Mention of torture, stalking and murder. MDNI +18!!

It's been some time since you left the abandoned premises of the old psychiatric hospital.

You were one of the low-level scientists who bragged about how they experimented on people, mostly men and women of different ages, who were criminals sentenced to life imprisonment or capital punishment, or who were mentally ill.

You saw how cold and sometimes cruel they were with the "patients" (experiment subjects), but your superiors forced you to keep quiet about what happened there in exchange for paying you very well and giving you good future recommendations. You tolerated it to a certain extent because of the needs you faced at that time.

Among all the subjects, there was him.

His name was Alan, and he was a psychiatric patient who developed amnesia and post-traumatic stress disorder after the heartbreaking loss of his family, leaving him alone as a survivor.

Of all of them, you were the one who treated everyone the best, including Alan. You once stopped him from attempting suicide with pills, something he deeply admired about you.

You felt sorry for what they did to him, and more than once you tried to help him, but your superiors had you under threat and surveillance, which limited your options. This, added to the fact that Alan tragically lost his family; his loneliness, depression, the guilt he felt, the torture he faced day after day and the little affection you gave him; made him fall madly in love with you. At first he developed simple emotional dependence, but ended up becoming obsessed with you.

Sooner or later you started to notice changes in his appearance.

-What… happened to you?- You asked him in bewilderment, watching strange lumps form on his face, neck, and back.

-Oh, (Y/n)!, nice to see you again!- He sat on the bed, smiling at you like a happy lover. -I don't really know what these bumps are, but they bother me a lot.- They looked like early stages of a fungus or skin cyst formations, leaving visible veins and arteries and taking on a fleshy red hue. This was just the beginning.

He grew hungrier and hungrier as his appearance grew worse and bigger. Every time you went to see him, you swore he barely let you leave the room until you ran away or escaped.

His mental state also worsened, and with it his obsession with you. You were practically the only thing that kept him sane until that fateful day.

Alan had completely mutated and turned into a complete monster, becoming the yandere scientific abomination that he eventually became. He brutally murdered the vast majority of the staff, including some subjects of future experiments who had tried to escape.

You were one of the only people who managed to save themselves.

Local authorities tried hard for years to cover up this event, but other survivors (apart from you), speculation, myths, legends and the internet itself made this impossible and slowly the history of the place and what may have caused its closure began to be revealed.

But what they didn't know was that there was a monster on the loose; or they didn't know that at first.

You, on the other hand, were looking for a way to continue with your life despite your traumas from that place. After your superiors died in that massacre, you made an anonymous report on the internet telling EVERYTHING that happened within the walls of that center, and then you moved to another city. Despite all the therapy you took, you never returned to normal.

-(Y/n)! Where are you?!- He wondered as he searched for you in and out of that facility. No matter how much he screamed your name or how much he trashed the rooms and furniture in the place, he just couldn't find you anywhere.

While you tried to continue with your life, Alan was looking for you after escaping from abandoned facilities, which made several of their sightings noticed.

The scientific/Alan abomination was looking for you everywhere. It was hidden in forests, alleys, warehouses or abandoned/lonely or forest sites; He hunted wild animals, unsuspecting domestic animals, rodents, plants and human beings that was on his way.

You were no stranger to these sightings, having come across photos and videos online, which made you even more paranoid. The photos showed a humanoid mass of reddish flesh, with multiple eyes in what were once "cysts"; living roots sprouted from several limbs, and it also had sharp teeth. What terrified you the most was that this thing was looking for you.

-"That creature often asks for a certain (Y/n)"-.

-"Yes, he usually calls her out loud, but why?"- And that's how your name came up again on those internet forums. You were afraid people would find out, especially now that you had a decent job.

Time passed and Alan didn't find you until he managed to move to your current city thanks to the lush forests between cities; taking a while to locate you.

One night, you woke up at 3:00 AM to strange noises outside your house. Frightened, you grabbed your phone and a bat and headed to your living room.

There is nothing to be heard but the clumsy footsteps of whoever was outside; the rain and your own footsteps, as well as your nervous breathing. Suddenly, there is a soft knock on the door.

You looked through the small hole in the front door and your body froze at the sight of Alan on the other side, making you jump in fear.

-<No... It can't be...>- You said in your thoughts in a terrified way, feeling your breathing accelerate at the appearance of his macabre smile.

-(Y/n), darling, i know you're there- He whispered in his guttural voice, then slammed the door and entered.

-I found you- Before you can do anything, he lunges at you and forces you to throw the bat and your phone away, breaking both objects.

-Let me go! I didn't mean to hurt you! My superiors…- You tried to excuse yourself with fear, but he only replied:

-They forced you, I know. What matters now is that you are with me again, as it should always have been.- With his long tongue he tasted your face as he held you motionless on the ground. You didn't know what he planned to do to you; whether to eat you whole, simply kill you, or spread any spores he could on you.

But one thing was certain, and that was that Alan would never let you go again.

-The End.

[vorthosjay]

Hi Jay. Not wanting to sound mean, but I really think it must be commented and that there's no softer way of doing that: the company's statement of Thunder Junction being an inhabitated plane prior to MoM is not a honest way of capitalizing on a sellable trope without touching its uncomfortable issues. It's even disrespectful. They have done it in a less flagrant way with Kaladesh and both Ixalan iterations, but now they've gotten too far with Thunder Junction. Colonialism is too big an issue to simply being put under the carpet as it never existed and we could just enjoy the sunny part of the history. I really hope Hasbro as a company acknowledges this and changes its way of dealing with the theme. Thanks for letting me pointing this.

Look, you caught me on a bad day, so I'm going to be as polite as possible but let's start with the foundation that this is not a complaint to direct at me. I have no control over any of this. Mark Rosewater exists and takes feedback on Tumblr.

But, let's talk about it, because I've seen some folks take this to extremes.

First off, I've seen a lot of well meaning folks speaking up on behalf of hypothetical indigenous americans, but I'd love to get takes from folks this actually impacts. I'd love for Wizards to post something about their work with cultural consultants, for sure. But the only actual thing I've seen so far is a great story from Magic's first indigenous american author. And when you're speaking on someone else's behalf, you tend to miss things. Like, Kaladesh is not the great representation of south asian culture that you might think when you jumped to it, and it's okay if you didn't know that, but it sort of proves the point that it's very difficult to actually protest on someone else's behalf. And I just haven't heard from anyone who has also mentioned they speak from authority or are impacted by this. That doesn't mean you're wrong, necessarily.

But here's the thing. Thunder Junction isn't history. It takes cues from the American West, sure, but it's a fake world. And sometimes it's okay for a fake world to ignore the bad things that happens in real life and create something more aspirational. Magic does this all the time. Magic doesn't have homophobia, but that isn't really realistic or representative of the real world, is it?

No one, and I mean literally no one, came to me and said that people of color needed to be ostracized and not allowed to work alongside the white people in the demon mob families of New Capenna. That racism was real, it was systemic, and it was violent. But did it need to be tackled in a fantasy crime drama based on america in the 20s? Should it have been? I don't think anyone would have enjoyed it as much. Sometimes it's just fun to play gangster.

Similarly, the colonization and manifest destiny that was the reality of the American West was tragic, but does that need to be our only depiction of indigenous peoples - being colonized? If they were erased completely from the narrative, that would be awful, but can't they just have fun being cool thunder slingers? The Atiin were developed with a consultant, and if you want answers ask Wizards to talk about it.

There's a reason the Oltec were depicted as being sealed off from the Immortal Sun drama that had happened on the surface. To have an aspirational mesoamerican culture that wasn't affected by the Dusk Legion and Azor and all that.

To put it in another perspective, does every period piece featuring black americans need to feature systemic racism to be respectful? Is Bridgerton disrespectful (I mean probably but not for that reason)?

The reason I've framed a lot of this as questions is because I don't necessarily think I know the right answer, especially not for a fantasy card game. I've worked with tribal governments in my emergency management career and spent a week on the Navajo Nation, and talked a lot about perspective on things, and I would not presume to know what the right answer to all of this is.

Edit: to be clear, Could it have been handled better? Probably. I will never deny that. But also it’s a complicated and fraught topic and I’d love to hear from the people wizards contracted who actually know what they’re talking about.

[medievalandfantasymelee]

THE HOT MEDIEVAL & FANTASY MEN MELEE

FIRST ROUND: 36th Tilt

Xenk Yendar, Dungeons & Dragons: Honor Among Thieves (2023) VS. Thraxus Boorman, Willow (2022)

Propaganda

Xenk Yendar, Dungeons & Dragons: Honor Among Thieves (2023) Portrayed by: Regé-Jean Page Defeated Opponents: - Eamon Valda [Abdul Salis], The Wheel of Time (2021-)

“He's a knight (paladin) so pure he'll make you sick. The goodest good guy to ever pick up a blade and swear to protect those who can't protect themselves. His autistic rizz has captured me body and soul. We meet him saving a child/cat (a twofer in ways to make you like a guy) and giving gold to a beggar. He kicks ass, he gives good advice, 'Neither virtue nor blade shall break' is on his sword. He's got gods most tragic backstory He's tooth-rotting perfect and it's glorious to watch.”

Thraxus Boorman, Willow (2022) Portrayed by: Amar Chadha-Patel Defeated Opponents: - Tyrion Lannister [Peter Dinklage], Game of Thrones (2011-2019)

“A lovable rogue and warrior, Boorman is sure to make an impression. He's not only a pretty face, he's also funny, brave, and just a little bit sad as any remorse-wracked thief with doe eyes ought to be!”

Additional Propaganda Under the Cut

Additional Propaganda

For Xenk Yendar:

“It's basically a running joke through the movie how stupidly gorgeous and perfect he is. Because he is. He's so sexy in the confident, effortless way he approaches everything.”

(+ Edgin photobomb)

“A lawful good paladin who has seen so much destruction and yet is noble and sweet. If he had been around in the early tumblr days there would be a million flower crown edits of him. He literally saves a baby kitty. Also, extremely good with a blade and has too much faith in a sarcastic rogue.”

"the epitome of autism swag. kind and righteous and capital “S” Sexy. also him and chris pine are really gay in this one which adds to the hotness imo"

“He's the only person who has ever properly made me wonder if I was actually asexual after realizing that, but like dang, dunno if I'd still want him if he was real and in the room with me but I think I might be Xenksexual not ace. God I wish he'd force me to swear something on his book.”

“The autistic rizz is off the fucking charts, man”

For Thraxus Boorman:

[theladyragnell]

Exchanging gifts for the first time: E/R

(This one Fought Me for no reason I can discern, but hopefully it does the trick!)

It’s taken them several years to invent what Joly dramatically calls The Birthday Party, with the capital letters every time even though he’s a slow texter anyway. Five of them have birthdays in the baking-hot months of June and July, and there was a year or two full of bar crawls and restaurant meals and rooftop parties where they all reached August exhausted and a little sick of each other’s company, so when Jehan, whose birthday is last in the sequence, suggested they just have a joint party in July, everyone was relieved to agree.

And then everybody wanted to give gifts and it felt weird for half of them to be opening gifts and the other half not, and then they all looked at each other at their half-hearted Christmas gathering, a holiday none of them feels quite easy celebrating, and then The Birthday Party became what it is, a chance for everyone to pass things around. Nobody gets special gifts for everyone, with that many to buy, but they pass around fancy chocolate bars and bottles of craft cider and handmade cards and it’s good. It’s better than awkward parties focused around one person.

Grantaire loves The Birthday Party. It’s one of his favorite nights of the year, and he spends the weeks before it closeted in his apartment, soberer and happier than he usually is, making matched sets of little paintings of the Musain or caricatures of everyone or handcarved soap dishes.

It’s just that this year, he and Enjolras are dating.

He’s very happy about that, to be clear, happy enough that he feels a little drugged most days, happy enough to embarrass himself if he examines it too closely, but it means he doesn’t have to restrain his foolish desires to give Enjolras lavish personal gifts anymore, and the consequence of that is that he no longer has any ideas for lavish personal gifts.

And Enjolras won’t care about that, obviously he won’t. Enjolras’s gift to The Birthday Party every year is a pot of something delicious to eat and a handwritten card each about how much he loves them, something Grantaire was unable to deal with when the notes for him were grudging and doesn’t know how he’s going to deal with now that they’re sincere. Enjolras doesn’t care about gifts and lives in a tragically spartan apartment largely because he’s too lazy to hang anything, and Grantaire isn’t expecting anything out of the ordinary at The Birthday Party except maybe a kiss.

But he still wants to, and his friends are not helpful when he tries to subtly ask them what to do, so he finally caves in, makes a terrible choice, and asks Enjolras.

“I could tell you what I’m giving you,” Enjolras suggests in a meditative tone, propping his chin up on his hands where he’s laying on his stomach in Grantaire’s bed. Grantaire gets the urge to paint him in lush oils, but he gets that urge at least once a day, so it’s pretty easy to ignore. “If that would be easier.”

Grantaire doesn’t particularly care about surprises, but he has his pride. “Don’t do that, that’s one of those things that nobody says is bad luck but which really ought to be bad luck. Shaking one’s presents, of course, is a time-honored tradition, but hearing what they are from the giver? Unthinkable.”

“I’ll like anything,” says Enjolras. “It doesn’t matter to me what you give me, or if you give me anything at all. I’ll still be here.” And then, after some silence and one of his penetrating stares, “I made yours.”

“Noted, I’ll leave the diamonds at home and will only do a string of pearls if I dive for them myself.”

Enjolras rolls his eyes and encourages Grantaire to go to sleep, but it does, much as Grantaire hates to admit it, help.

He doesn’t wake the next morning overcome with inspiration, but he finds his way to it, taking time away from his gifts for everyone else to work on Enjolras’s.

The Birthday Party is as rowdy as ever, when it comes. Grantaire’s block prints impress everyone, and Enjolras’s curry is, as ever, delicious. As the night starts breaking apart, people admitting they have to go home, the more personal gifts come out, the ones they all put off so nobody feels left out or pressured. Grantaire, who finds sharing his feelings with Enjolras more embarrassing now that they’re reciprocated than he did before, waits until Enjolras is finished with Combeferre and Courfeyrac, until Joly has draped a new scarf far too hot for the season around Grantaire’s shoulders, to take Enjolras aside.

“You settled on something,” Enjolras says, and smiles.

Grantaire, flustered more than he cares to admit that he is by the smile and the situation and his stupid idea, produces the envelope that’s been weighting down his pocket all day, four pages densely written in his horrible handwriting that alternates between crabbed and flourishing, his own version of Enjolras’s yearly letters, only he’s never said in one paragraph what he could say in twenty. “I’ll do better next year, when I’m less nervous, but I thought—people give gifts they’d appreciate themselves, right? So this is me trying that out.”

Enjolras takes the envelope and opens it, breaking the wax seal Grantaire put on because he does have some standards, and only makes it a sentence or two again before he stops, which is good, because Grantaire might combust if he’s forced to watch Enjolras read that letter. “I do appreciate it, and I’ll read it when I won’t embarrass both of us,” he says, and produces a small package. “And we had the same thought, I think.”

Inside the package, of course, is a small canvas, maybe ten centimeters on a side if Grantaire were to care to measure it, with a very careful painting of Grantaire’s couch painted on it, every bit as earnest and every bit as unskilled as Grantaire’s letter. “Definitely the same thought,” says Grantaire, and has to swallow several times before he can say anything else. Even then, he has to seize on poor Feuilly as he walks by, knowing Enjolras will have something for him to give them both a break.

They both go back to Grantaire’s apartment when The Birthday Party is over and Grantaire puts his new canvas in pride of place next to his bed while Enjolras is brushing his teeth and then falls asleep before Enjolras ever makes it to bed.

When he wakes up in the morning, Enjolras is still in bed, a rare late morning, with all the pages of Grantaire’s letter arrayed on his lap and his stupidly beautiful nose a little red with leftover tears. “I love you too,” he says when he sees Grantaire is awake.

Grantaire didn’t write the words in the letter, they felt too soon, but of course Enjolras knew what he meant. He’s made a study of getting to the heart of Grantaire’s torrents of words. “I love you,” he says, belated but no less true, and lets Enjolras carefully fold the pages of the letter up and put them to the side before he presses him back into the pillows.

[dcdreamblog]

Seeing you talk about the Crimson Avenger reminded me, what can you tell us about the Seven Soldiers of Victory? I’ve seen different article talk about different members and the number don’t always add up. I’ve seen something about a guy named the Spider, one article even says TNT and Dyna-Mite were members!

And sometimes there’s eight of them?

Oh you will regret this. I actually did my thesis on the 7 Soldiers (Specifically ABOUT the historical mysteries of their membership), you can see on the selfie they posted that I have a decal for them on my phone. This question is a big one. So let's cover what we know...

(Group Photo of the 7 Soldiers from the Squadron's '43 Yearbook. I have cut out the members on the left for rhetorical purposes) This is what I would call the 5 core, inarguable members of the 7 Soldiers.

Crimson Avenger: Lee Travis, newspaper publisher, the first mystery man (Fun fact, because of the drastic difference in costuming. It wasn't until after Travis' death that it was confirmed this Avenger and the original Avenger were the same person) Shining Knight: Sir Justin, displaced knight from the Arthurian era Vigilante: The rider of the purple sage. Frontier mystery man secretly country-western artist Greg Saunders Star-Spangled Kid and Stripesy: Industrial heir Sylvester Pemberton and his bodyguard/chauffeur Patrick Dugan. This is the easy part. Below is the hard part.

Two core team members weren't counted for unfortunately obvious reasons for the era...

(Crimson Avenger and Wing at a Squadron Function in 1942) Wing How, the Crimson Avenger's chauffeur and later confidante/sidekick. A Chinese immigrant to Travis' native New York

(Vigilante and Stuff riding down the streets of Independence, MI. 1940) Stuff, The Chinatown Kid. AKA Danny Leong. Another Chinese immigrant this time adopted by country western star Greg Saunders, secretly The Vigilante How and Leong, being Chinese "tag alongs" which was already a loaded trope by the 1940s were often treated more like accessories than real members of the team by media and the public. If you want to know the other 2 soldiers that were on the team when it was founded to lend it that name. Its those two. But it got more complicated than that. 2. The 7 Soldiers gained new members during the War but their name never changed

(TNT and Dyna-Mite at the DC Courthouse after receiving a medal from the city) TNT and Dyna-Mite, DC natives and perhaps the most personally popular superheroes who were not members of the Justice Society during the War years. Owing to their personal popularity in the nation's capital. WHEN they became members of the Soldiers is unknown but they were inducted by December of 1941 at the latest as they partcipated in the "Black Star" case It is unknown whether or not Dyna-Mite remained associated with the team after TNT's tragic death in the line of duty in early 1942. And then there's..him...

(The Spider, glimpsed on the edge of a billboard in his native St Louis) The Spider, AKA Thomas Hallaway. For fairly obvious reasons is no longer concerned part of the superhero community. He was, in fact, an unrepentant criminal who used the cover of a superhero persona as an alibi. It wasn't until post war that his treachery was discovered when he attempted to assassinate both Jay and Joan Garrick, losing his life in the attempt under mysterious circumstances. In the modern day it was discovered that The Spider himself was responsible for the 7 Soldiers' disappearance post war, having been in cahoots with perennial enemy The Iron Hand. The Soldiers were scattered through time and only recovered during one of the early cases of the Justice League, leading to the heroic sacrifice of Wing How to save the lives of his teammates When he became associated with the Soldiers is unknown and he is retroactively cast out from his membership in the Soldiers specifically and the All Star Squadron in general save for the most dry of historical perspectives. Conclusion: If you want me to answer who the "7 Soldiers" were. To me (noting that this is a personal opinion, not a historical fact). It's The Crimson Avenger, Wing, Vigilante, Stuff, Shining Knight, Star Spangled-Kid and Stripesy. With knowledge that TNT and Dyna-Mite were also members because what's in a name anyway? The Spider, by his own action has been stricken from any claim to any membership of any heroic organization.

[stressfulsloth]

Harry and his relationship with his own disability is so tragic to me. Because you have this man who is disabled in *so* many different ways, he's physically paralysed in his jaw, he's got severe nerve damage and internally his organs are going into shutdown due to the alcohol/drug use, but then on top of that you have the mental illness, the depression, the potential schizophrenia, the adhd/autism and you end up with this man who is in So Much Pain all the time from every imaginable angle. He's overstimulated every second of every day. Everything hurts him, including light and sounds. The world screams at him. He can't emote in a way that others relate to. Every inch of him physically hurts and he's one insult away from death. He can't get better- chronic illness is chronic illness, he's just going to be *like that* forever- so what is there left to do but get worse?

And then he's trapped in a system that values capital above human life. Capitalism treats disabled people like burdens but that won't stop them from wringing every last drop of life out of you. Empathy isn't profitable. The only percieved worth he has to the society around him is his productivity, his work for the RCM maintaining the status quo for capitalist interests, and its so entwined with *who he is* that it's impossible to separate him out from it. He is the Law. A force, not a human. He has to dehumanise himself to keep going. And really he does have to keep going, like a shark dying if they stop moving; there is no other option for him. What chance is there for him if he stops working? He's institutionalised- the RCM quite literally lives in his brain as esprit de corps. He can't escape them. He is the infernal engine. He will never stop. But his body, his health, are collateral damage. And to Harry, all that is inconsequential as long as he's doing his job.

[puhpandas]

MCR kill all your friends is soo beckory/gregory & tony

"well you can hide a lot about yourself" rab lying to tony (and ellis) about everything basically. being a normal kid and having parents and caring at all. especially in tonys case just lying and stringing him along

"cause you can sleep in a coffin but the past aint through with you" basically just like, everything with tonys dad being old news and the coffin line being about everyone putting it to rest, & "the past aint through with you" being tony never letting it go and letting it constantly affect him in the present and fuel him to solve mysteries

"cause its tragic with a capital T" just eveyrthing about Tony fr lmao. even in this scenario where he doesnt die the line fits his canon story. every single part of his character is tragic. can also apply to Gregory in this situation bc hes tragic af too

"cause we all wanna party when the funeral ends + and we all te together when we bury our friends" rab and vanny and the glamrocks and stuff after successfully stopping another person from getting too close to the truth by killing tony, his friend

"its been eight bitter years since ive been seeing your face" tony surviving the attack and spending a lot of time searching for gregory and ggy afterwards with no luck & it taking a long time to get leads & all that turmoil

"and youre walking away, and i will die in this place" tony in present time dying in the pizzaplex with gregory walking away

"sometimes you scrape and sink so low" can apply to both tony and rab with tony being in like the worst mental state ever and rabs reputation in tonys eyes being ruined by rab sinking so low as to kill to in tonys eyes just not get in trouble for hacking the plex

"im shocked of what youre capable of" the betrayal between tony and gregory with tony being shocked of what he did to him

"So, tell me all about your problems, I was killing before killing was cool" rab stringing tony along and listening to what he has to say and learning to understand him better than anyone else to keep him interested in him for cover, and rab also having been killing the entire time he was doing it + before tonys big ggy obsession

"You're so cool, you're so cool, so cool" tony liking gregory more than ellis and viewing him as higher above other ppl (because of the traits he shares with tony)

first half being a repeat of the era of tony searching for gregory with another year being added showing how long its taking and how crazy tony is. "youre walking away and i will die in this place" remembering the day gregory walked away from him and holding onto the memory with both hands to fuel him to search + nightmares and trauma, hes still mentally stuck in the pizzaplex experiencing gregorys betrayal

second half being tonys determination after surviving + escaping to get to the bottom of rab after he failed to take him down, PLUS gregory during SB after being freed at this point surviving his night at the pizzaplex

another repeat showing that tony is still in the trenches, with frustration being shown in the curse. pre meeting where they finally reunite after everuthing when tony is in the worst mental state of his life and gregory is traumatized from the pizzaplex. them metaphorically walking away in opposite directions from eachother but eventally finding their way back to eachother what would be post-song

[sombredancer]

Recent visually beautiful and generally watchable Russian fantasy movies

(because I start forgetting they exist at all) Ironically, all of them are adaptations of books/comics.

I Am Dragon / Он — дракон (2015) This movie is a very free adaptation of the novel "The Rite" / "Ритуал" by Maryna and Serhiy Dyachenko (Марина и Сергей Дяченко). It's a reinterpreting of an ancient tale about a maiden, a hero and a dragon. I don`t like the novel because it's very postmodern, wracks the typical fairytale plot and hurts my escapist feelings by ugly reality, but the movie is pretty fairytale-ish and nice. Firstly, it is visually beautiful and represent Slavic pseudo-medieval lore the way it should have always been in Slavic fantasy.

Secondly, as a love story between a monster and a maiden, it has got A PLENTY of tropes I'm usually looking for in Chinese dramas, so I understand very well why it was pretty popular in Asia.

Thirdly, when I said it's visually beautiful I wasn't joking. The main hero is played not by an actor, but by a male model, who is shirtless all the time (and sometimes pantless) and has a very fit and good-looking body. It's something unbelievable that someone in Russia made a movie to please women's eyes! Really, it's insane!

The folk-rock band Мельница wrote an insanely beautiful song "Обряд" (The Rite) for this movie (more matched to the book plot, though), but it was never used as OST, which is a shame. The song is about a black sheep girl, who is denied by society and asks a dragon to come for her and to take her away, because the dragon is denied by this world just like her. You can listen to it here. The band also has a song "Змей" (The Wyrm) (based on Lev Gumilev's poem), which is more accurate to the plot of the movie: the wyrm kidnaps maidens to make them its wives, but they are all dying during the flight; at the end of the song a hero-knight is ready to shoot it in order to stop it. Listen to it here.

It ends with HE, which is better than the book's obscure ending, so it is pleasure for me to rewatch it till these days.

Major Grom: Plague Doctor / Майор Гром: Чумной Доктор (2021)

It is an adaptation of Russian comic series "Major Grom" by Bubble comics. I am traditionally not very happy with the source material, but it is very good reworked to be the screen play of this movie.

It's very beautifully made in terms of director's, cameraman's and screenwriter's work, which is a rare thing for Russian movies. Also, the actors are young and handsome, especially the villain, which is a rare thing not only for Russian movies, but for the current Western movies, too. It has got a lot of allusions to Russian reality and a lot of beautiful views of Saint Petersburg, the second capital of Russia and one of the most beautiful Russian cities. And it has got some unusual visual solutions that turn it into a comic it should be.

The plot revolves around a mysterious serial killer (kinda bad Batman), a black sheep police officer and Russian Mark Zuckerberg (kind of). Mark Zuckerberg is the best guy of this movie and I like him a lot! Серёёёёжа! 🧡🧡🧡

This movie wasn't popular in Russia because of political situation in the country by the moment of its release (the both sides found out in there something insulting for them and banned it), but even if it has something like that, I honestly didn't pay attention to it. It's just a nice blockbuster with a tragic and handsome villain. The villain also has got his own BL-drama (in the comics they are really lovers, it`s as obvious as it could be shown in a Russian comic).

By the way, the villain is hot, insane, ruthless, sensitive and suffering. How does he contain all of this character treats in one personality? you may ask. He doesn`t. He has dissociative identity disorder, I would answer.

I don`t know if it works by now, but some time ago you could watch this lovely movie on Netflix.

The Master and Margarita / Мастер и Маргарита (2024) This is a loose adaptation of Russian classical novel "The Master and Margarita" by Mikhail Bulgakov. I genuinely hate this book, but the adaptation reinterprets it, divides it into very interesting layers and makes it understandable and beautiful.

It`s layered, so it will probably be hard to understand what layer are we currently on if you are not familiar with the original story. The first layer is an ugly Soviet reality, the second layer is a plot of the novel that the main hero is writing, a story within a story. The third layer is the insane intertwining of the first two layers. On the reality layer the Master loses his job and freedom because of friend's denunciation and becomes star-crossed lovers with a married woman. On the novel level he meets devil, who visits Moscow by chance, and the devil gives him and his woman opportunity to live their lives being free from everything that usually tortures people IRL. Somewhere among those layers is a little plot about Jesus and Pontius Pilate.

The movie is visually beautiful. Although it feels pretty anti-Soviet, Soviet visuals of the movie are gorgeous. There were used the Stalin-times concepts of Moscow of the Future, the CGI buildings in frame came from the real architecture projects of those times. The Stalin Empire architecture style and views are typical for Moscow (but as I know, ironically, this all was shot in Saint Petersburg). It seems to me that this movie is heavily stuffed with visual allusions to the Western works: devil's escort looks like bunch of Pennywises, Margarita is Enchantress from Suicide Squad I, the scene of blood dripping is from Blade I etc. Usually, when I see it in Russian movies, it feels like plagiarism because I can recognize the reference but there is nothing except for these references . But here we have got the plot, so the allusions work as allusions and don`t irritate me.

The movie is dark, disturbing, uncomfortable. It really makes you feel as if you watch devil and his escort marching around you; they ravage, kill and destroy everything and you can only breathlessly, helplessly and in fear watch them. The German actor playing devil is insanely good. He stole the movie and I understand why it should have been named Woland (the devil's name) instead of the current movie's name. You may want to watch it, because it's very unusual in terms of plot and visuals experience, especially when you are not familiar with the book.

[unholly-reader]

So long, my Dragon

Daemon Targaryen x f! OC

Hello lovely people!

Yes, once again Daemon has struck my heart. It probably has something to do with the first two episodes of HOTD, so here it is. Another outside of the plot line scenario with our favorite Rogue Prince.

Enjoy! (and keep in mind English is NOT my first language so please - HAVE MERCY!)

*****************************************************

Alanna was as frightened as anyone would be in her situation. Trapped in the Capital with her sister and father demanding she declare for the new King, while her loyalties and heart lied with Rhaenyra and her own husband. More so upon hearing about a tragic event that took place in Storm's End where apparently the war has truly begun. Aemond killed the royal envoy sent by Rhaenyra, that was the information that Alanna could gather but she felt more grim news would follow. By the end of the day she finally heard someone knocking on her chamber's door and upon opening them, she saw Aemond with tears in the brink of spilling from his eye and the most sorrowful look on his face she has ever witnessed her young nephew display. Without hesitation she walked towards him, gently taking the young prince in her arms like a mother should. She caressed his back, holding him close to her as he let his fear out, crying into his aunt's shoulder like when he used to do as a very young boy. 

- I killed him, Aunt Alanna. I killed him. Vhagar killed him but didn't mean to. I really didn't mean to. I lost control. He was just a boy.

Alanna felt her heart stop at her nephew's words but did not stop her actions. Gently she led Aemond to a nearby armchair and sat him upon it, sitting on the armrest while still holding the crying prince. 

- Shh, hush now. You need to calm down, my sweet prince. Just breathe with me, Aemond. Just breathe. 

The boy didn't speak but he kept holding onto his aunt’s arms like a baby in distress. Meanwhile, Alanna's thoughts started racing as if she was running with the wind. "He was just a boy". It could have been anyone, especially on dragon back. It could have been Jaecerys, Rhaenyra's eldest boy. It could have been Lucerys, the middle son of the Queen. Or worst of all it could have been one of her boys gallivanting through the skies on their dragons. She was terrified she could have lost a child, but she tried not to frighten the trembling prince currently residing in her embrace. She knew that in his current condition she would not get much information out of him, but she had to know. Above all she was a mother who desperate to know whether she has just lost a child or not. 

- Aemond, look at me. Look at me, my sweet prince.

Gently Alanna lifted Aemond's chin to meet his one lilac eye overflowing with fresh tears. She wiped the trace of salty streams off his cheek, holding his face with both her hand as if he was a glass figure ready to fall apart at any given moment. He was not shaking as much but she could still see the terror in his gaze, as if one of his worst nightmares came to life. 

- I need to know, Aemond. Who was it? 

There was a sombre silence that befell the prince and his aunt as the woman anticipated the worst. Aemond loved her as if he was his true mother and he could not bear to look her in the eyes if he ever hurt one of her kin. He took a shaky breath and finally spoke up, still grasping her arms tightly. 

- Rhaenyra's son. He was Rhaenyra's son, aunt Alanna. I...

He could not finish as he broke into tears again. Without a second thought Alanna cradled him once again, smoothing his withered silver hair. Silently she thanked the Gods for her children’s safety, but at the same time her heart cried for Rhaenyra and her boy. No matter which one, she knew losing a child is every mother's greatest fear.  But for now, she had to deal with the child in her embrace. For all she knew Alicent simply scolded her younger son for what happened, not considering that Vhagar was a creature of habit and over a hundred-year-old dragon with years of battle and fighting behind her. Aemond, despite being a seasoned dragon rider of a few years was still just a boy in comparison to his dragon. Vhagar was ancient and even though she allowed Aemond to become her rider, she would never surrender to him in full. It was true that Aemond never harboured any love for his nephews as his mother and grandsire made sure of that, but he wasn't a killer. At least not the boy Alanna raised in the shadows of the Red Keep. 

Suddenly Aemond shook awake from his cries, and he looked at his aunt as if he saw her for the first time. There was something different in his gaze, a newfound force Alanna could not decipher.

- You must go. 

At first, she thought she misheard him. 

- We're in my chambers, Aemond. I don't think there is elsewhere for me to go to.

- I mean you need to leave King's Landing. You need to leave tonight. Mother is furious. Aegon is laughing but he does not grasp the severity of the situation. Grandfather is not as angry as my mother, but I know his silence is a foul sign. Gods know what might happen now. You and I both know you're not safe in here. You're Daemon's wife and mother to his children. You renounced the Hightower name and now there is no love between you and Otto. I may not agree with Rhaenyra's claim and her actions, but you were nothing but kind to me my entire life. You raised me while my mother was too busy planning to sit my brother upon the Iron Throne. If there is one thing I do right in my whole life, I want to do right by you, Aunt Alanna. 

Alanna was at a loss for words. She never knew her nephew held her in such a high regard. She smiled kindly kissing his forehead at the same time. 

- Aemond, my darling boy. You mean well but there is no way your mother will let me leave the Red Keep, let alone King's Landing. Besides, any ship I could sail to Dragonstone would sink faster than I could leave the Blackwater Bay. 

- You don't understand. You are leaving King's Landing tonight. I will make sure of that. 

***

Night fell quickly casting a deep shadow over the Capital while most of its citizens succumbed to peaceful slumber. It was barely midnight as Alanna awaited Aemond's signal in the closed space of her chamber, still wondering how her young nephew intended to help her leave this hellhole. she had no reason to doubt his intentions, but nevertheless she knew how risky and dangerous it was to escape the most guarded place in all of King's Landing. Clad in her travelling clothes and a black cloak with a hood over her shoulders she awaited her rescue. She was not quite sure as to how she was to outrun the royal guards and every single one of the soldiers guarding her sister and the royal family, but Aemond was right. She was not safe within the walls of the Red Keep and so long as she stayed there, her life remained in danger. The truth was plain and simple. The day she married Daemon and renounced her family name, her life amongst her own kin was doomed. 

Suddenly a quiet knock was heard but it did not come from the door of her chambers. Silently Alanna turned her head and looked to the eastern wall as it opened like a hidden passage carved in stone. At first nobody came in but a second later a familiar set of white hair peeked out of the dark grey hood. 

- We don't have much time. Hurry. 

Without hesitation Alanna grabbed her small travelling bag and flung it over her arm as she followed her nephew into the darkness of the hidden corridors. Aemond held a small torch in his hand, lighting the way while his other hand tightly gripped his aunt's palm. They moved swiftly and silently as if they were mere shadows in the darkness of the secret pathways. Alanna could feel her heart beating out of her chest as she feared every next step she took, but she was determined to get back to her family. The moment her feet stepped out of her chamber she knew there was no turning back. Aemond guided her through the intricate designs of the hidden halls, up and down crooked stone stairs until they reached a point, where Alanna could make out a faint light before her eyes. The lights of King's Landing at night. 

- How do you know these pathways? 

- As much as I don't want to admit it, Aegon's curiosity sometimes pays off - said Aemond almost scoffing his brother's names - These corridors helped us out of trouble on more than one occasion. 

Alanna did not question her nephew any further as they neared the exit leading straight into the city. The lights of the torches were dim from up above but she could easily make out the entire outline of the Capital. Keeping her head down she followed Aemond's footsteps as they descended into the dark alleys of King's Landing. 

- Where to now?

- I have two horses waiting just around the corner. I will take you past the city limits and from there you will have to make your own way through the country. The Velaryon fleet will soon have the Bay surrounded, so it's better if you travel on horseback. 

Alanna only nodded as they made their way towards a back street cloaked in the darkness of the night. As the prince made sure they were not being followed, his aunt realised she would have to make her escape on her own. Taking her hand in his own the King's brother pulled the woman behind him, hiding both of them in the shadows of the Keep. Just as he said, there were two grey horses waiting around the corner, neighing quietly as they stood with their reigns attached to a nearby stool. Alanna quickly made her way to the animal closest to her, swiftly getting on its back with a grace of a seasoned rider. When her nephew reached for the other horse's reigns, she urged her stallion to move in his way.

- I should go alone, Aemond. 

Aemond turned around, looking at his aunt baffled.

- What are you saying?

- You already helped me plenty getting me out of the Keep. If you remain absent from your chambers for too long when they realise I'm gone, they will know you aided my escape. From here I must travel on my own, my sweet prince. 

- But aunt, I...

- I know you didn't mean to kill him - said Alanna, watching as his expression turned sour - but you cannot change the fact, that it happened. Anything that follows this tragic event will prove even more destructive however it is out of your hands. I will forever be grateful for your help tonight Aemond, I swear to you I will never forget your kindness, but now our paths must part. 

The longer the prince looked at his aunt, the more he understood her words and the meaning behind them. They were still on the opposing sides of this war. Alanna would support Rhaenyra and he would support his brother. Family against family. Finally he stepped away from the horse as his lips quirked into a crooked smile. 

- Why must you always be right, Aunt?

- 'Tis because I am older, my darling boy. When you reach my age, you will be just as wise if not wiser. 

The young prince smirked sadly, holding out his hand to grasp his aunt's palm. Lightly he kissed her hand, squeezing it gently as though he was already saying goodbye. 

- Tell Viserra I...

He found himself at a loss for words. During this whole escape planning he almost forgot that Alanna was going back to her family, but at the same time she would be reunited with his love. He knew that upon hearing about his deed Viserra would despise him, but he could not bear that thought alone. Alanna could see on his face how he ached to say all the thing he wished he could tell his lover but couldn't open his mouth to say it. Instead of asking, she just said:

- I will tell her. I promise. 

Aemond smiled sadly, remembering his darling flower. He bowed his head slightly as a sign of gratitude.

- Thank you for loving me when nobody else would. 

- Thank you for letting me love you, my darling boy. 

With those final words Alanna made sure her hood was covering her auburn hair neatly braided to one side as she urged her horse to move out of the shadows of the alley. Aemond silently watched as she rode away into the dimly lit streets of the Capital. 

- I hope I will see you again. 

With his final words the young prince turned around to follow the path they came here back to his rooms. He hoped his aunt would leave the City and find her way back to her family, but he also knew the dangers lurking in the streets. The uncertainty of her escape was killing him from the inside, knowing she was the closest person he could call his mother as his own birth mother decided he was a reckless boy unable to hold his own anger. Maybe Alicent was right, but nevertheless he knew that is Alanna could show him compassion, her sister should be able to do the same for her own child. All there was left to do for the prince is go back to his rooms and hope his plan works out. 

Meanwhile Alanna rode through the empty streets of King's Landing, trying not to capture any attention from the patrolling guards of City Watch or any civilian bystanders. She moved as swiftly as she could guiding the horse through the cobblestoned alleys, keeping a watchful eye out for any member of the royal guard. The first few turns she found herself passing unnoticed by anyone, smoothly riding her hooved companion towards the City's limits. Silence of the night almost undisturbed seemed to be the only witness to her escape or so she thought. 

- Stop in the name of the King!

Out of the blue a group of City Watch men emerged from one of the brothels, their gold cloaks shining in the light of the torches lit over the entrance. Alanna panicked. when she looked back, she saw a familiar face of the knight who tried to force himself upon her one fateful day. Without thinking she spurred the horse, urging him into a gallop just to get away from the guards. Unfortunately for her they were not drunk enough so that they forgot how to ride horseback and a few moments later she heard their screaming behind her as they followed her trace. In the frenzy of her escape attempt she lost her way towards the City gates as she reached a crossroad. behind her she could hear the angry men of the City Watch ready to bring her before their King. In front of her there were two paths. One she did not know where it would lead the, the other had its end at the Dragon Pit. She knew that choosing the second path meant getting further away from the city's limits but choosing the first one meant getting lost and most likely getting caught. In the heat of the moment the princess chose the road she and her husband would follow on many occasions to take Caraxes for a ride, only this time she was riding for her life. She knew there was little chance she would find refuge within the walls of the Dragon Pit, especially with Sunfyre in there, but she had to at least try. She could almost feel her hunter's breath on her neck as she strode through the familiar streets. In the horizon she could almost make out the shape of the Pit, lit brightly all over its majestic walls and sculptures. Time was not her friend as she found herself panting desperately trying to get as far away from her hunters as it was possible. It was the most difficult ride of hr life but when she pictured her family, her darling children, her beloved husband, she knew she had to fight to get back to them. 

Somehow the distance between her and the Dragon Pit started to decrease in size and finally she reached the gates of the dragons' keep. So close and yet so far. She got so distracted with her little victory she did not notice the men of City Watch gaining on her. When she came in sight, on of them pulled out a bow and arrow and aimed at the rider in front of him. Alanna realised she was being shot at the moment the first arrow flew just by her head. She hurried her horse, bowing closer to its neck to avoid the arrows so desperately clinging onto the reigns in her palms. She could almost feel the dragon stench in her nostrils when she crossed the first gate separating the City and the space before the Pit, where dragons landed upon returning to the Capital. Before she could ride any further, she heard her horse whine in agony and then she felt its legs give up, throwing her off its back in the process. One of the arrows reached the poor animal's back leg and it crumbled under the pain, while Alanna was cast aside like a doll. She could feel the scratches on her cheeks and palms begin to ache as she heard the men approaching her from afar. With great effort she stood on her own feet and ran towards the entrance of the Dragon Pit even though she knew she could not outrun the highly trained men of the City Watch. Though her legs wanted to give in, her spirit was too strong to let her give up when she was this close to going back to her family. 

She saw the dragon caretakers emerge from the depth of the Pit shouting random words in High Valyrian, but she could not hear them from afar. Her hair was flowing out of her braid in every direction as she ran desperate to reach the gates, but it seemed too far for her to reach. Alanna was terrified but she did not fear death. That foe she would face with honour and courage the moment she comes for her, but her biggest fear was to never see her family again. To live out her days knowing that out there somewhere her children are growing up motherless and her husband falls back into his rogue ways. Tears brimmed in her blue eyes as she slowly gave up, feeling all her strength leave her exhausted body. She felt the end coming. Next thing she knew she tripped on the rocky road, falling to her knees and screaming in pain. She looked up in the sky, staring into its darkness as the half-moon dimly lit the night. She felt her tears fall down her cheeks as her soon to be captors approached with vile words coming out of their mouths. Alanna closed her eyes and awaited her doom.

- So long, my Dragon. 

She thought those would be her last words ever, for she was ready to welcome death like an old friend, but it never came. Instead, a deafening sound rung in her ears and a loud thud that shook the ground beneath her feet. When she opened her eyes, there was no starry sky above her, only silver scales and giant wings spread wide like a shield from those who wished to harm her. It was a dragon. A great, big silver dragon with snow-like scales and claws sharp as spears who was lashing out at her attackers, swatting them away from the princess the way human would do flies. At first Alanna was too stunned to speak, let alone move in any capacity, but quickly she regained her composure getting back up on her feet. Looking at the majestic beast above her suddenly she recognized the creature protecting her so fiercely. 

- Silverwing. 

Upon hearing its name, the beast turned her majestic head towards Alanna, turning its snout so that she could look at her with her bright blue dragon eye. Alanna wasn't frightened anymore. She felt almost at ease as she reached her hand to touch the pearly white scales of the creature before her. Silverwing did not move an inch waiting for the woman's next move. Alanna wasn't sure as to why she was so calm facing the fearsome dragon of the late Queen Alysanne, but she felt a strange tug tempting her to get closer. She saw Silverwing only once before as a little girl when the Good Queen brought her and her sister to the Dragon Pit, but it was enough for little Alanna to remember the silver gaze of Her Grace's dragon. For just a brief moment she forgot she was being chased, only focusing on the moment shared with the creature. Unfortunately, her attackers got back on their feet, at least those whose life wasn't taken by the dragon standing in the middle of the square and Alanna had to think of a way to get out of the situation she found herself in. It was only a moment when she decided to take the greatest risk of her entire life. Without hesitation she ran towards the dragon's back, putting her hands on its body. Silverwing snapped her head at the woman, eyeing her suspiciously but eventually her gaze seemed to have softened and with a gentle nod she gave her permission. Alanna took a deep breath and just like she did every time she mounted Caraxes with Daemon's help she pushed herself up atop the beast's back, settling in the space where Silverwing's neck and body met. The second she grabbed two spikes growing out of the dragon's neck so that she had something to hold onto Silverwing roared angrily and took off, throwing the men of the City Watch off their feet. The sheer force of winds surrounding the beast almost blew Alanna off dragon back but she held on tightly as if her life depended on it, which it did. So long Silverwing was climbing the air Alanna kept her grip firm and steady but the moment the dragon levelled her flight, the princess let out her breath she did not realise she was holding back. She looked back at the Capital and the lights of the Red Keep slowly becoming smaller in the distance as she felt Silverwing purr almost like a cat beneath her palms. Slowly Alanna bent down as if to hug the dragon, putting her cheek to the creature's warm scaly skin. 

- Kirimvose.

Silverwing hummed again like she was trying to reply, and her unlikely rider just stayed close to her body, hoping the dragon would take her where she wished to be more than anything in the world. 

Home.

***

Daemon Targaryen was fuming with rage. First the Greens imprisoned his wife in the Capital where he could not reach her and now Aemond murdered little Lucerys Velaryon in cold blood and here too there would be no retribution. With Rhaenyra off with Syrax searching for proof of her son's death there was nobody to keep those remaining loyal to the Queen in check as they all felt for her loss and seemed to have forgotten there is a war to win. Without his wife his children were in complete disarray, especially his youngest sons who treated the Queen's children like their own kin. Baelon seemed to have taken the news a little bit better than his sibling but nevertheless Daemon knew this tragedy would take its toll on his eldest son the moment Jaecerys came back from the North. Over the years the two princes became quite close friends, and they felt each other's pain as if it was their own. The second Jaecerys came back to Dragonstone Baelon would stand by his side and be the shoulder he would cry into mourning his younger brother. Meanwhile Daemon could not stand the inaction, the silence slowly killing the morale of Rhaenyra's supporters and her family. He needed to take action, avenge Lucerys and if only just try to rescue his lady wife. 

Walking towards the caves where dragons took their respite within the deep caverns of Dragonstone, he was met with Rhaenys dismounting the Red Queen straight from patrol. 

- Get back. We're going to King's Landing. 

His cousin raised her gaze upon the Rogue Prince as he strutted towards her not stopping for a second. she sighed heavily, shaking her head as she chose to ignore his demands.

- Need I remind you, cousin, I am the only one patrolling the gullet and both Meleys and I need our respite. We're not going anywhere. 

Daemon disregarded Rhaenys's answer, holding out a hand to stop her from going back into the castle. 

- We must act and I need your help. I can't take on that old bitch dragon by myself. 

- Is this the Queen's order?

- The Queen is gone! Flying off Gods know where!

- She needs to see with her own eyes, Daemon. 

- And what if Aemond is still waiting around?

- Then I would pity Aemond.

Daemon slowed down, still breathing heavily with his frustration. He felt helpless against enemy strikes one by one weaking their position. For him it wasn't so much about the fight to retrieve the Iron Throne for Rhaenyra as the rightful heir, as it was about taking revenge on those who would dare harm his family. Without Alanna by his side he was like a child, lost and clueless as to how life could go on. It wasn't hard for Rhaenys to figure out that her cousin missed his wife more than words could tell, but she also knew that if Alanna were there, she would have told him the same thing. 

- I know you miss her. And I know you fear for her life, but you must have faith, cousin. Alanna is strong. She married you after all, if that does not speak to her strength, I would not know what does. She's a Targaryen now. 

- And she's also alone in a keep filled with vicious green vipers circling around her - spat out Daemon feeling his heavy heart take control over his words. 

The prince felt his emotions take over him. He knew he had to remain strong and stern but there wasn't much he could do when the light of life was locked away behind enemy lines. Rhaenys saw it clearly as day that her cousin was terrified for his wife's life, and she could not blame him as Alanna meant for him just as much as Corlys meant to her. 

- She will persevere, Daemon - said Rhaenys gently, putting a hand on the man’s shoulder - But your grief cannot blind your judgement. Rhaenyra is Queen. We are her councillors. It is our duty to wait for her return and further orders for what is to come. 

Before Daemon could reply, one the guards came running from behind panting as if he just ran from the other side of the island. 

- My Prince, we need you outside the castle. There is a dragon sat outside the keep. 

Daemon turned around swiftly, walking to the guard. 

- What do you mean "there is a dragon"? Is it one of our own? Is it the Queen? Sunfyre?

The soldier shook his head adamantly, regaining his breath slowly. 

- No, my Prince. It's white and silver with icy wings. And its rider is neither the Usurper nor prince Aemond. It's a woman. 

Both Rhaenys and Daemon glanced at one another, thinking about only one other possible rider, but the sheer idea of it seemed impossible. 

- What would Helaena be doing here? And since when Dreamfyre had silver scales?

- Only one way to find out, cousin. 

Rhaenys walked past the prince and the guard, heading for the gates of the castle to take a look at the new arrival. Daemon followed suit and right behind him ran the guard who brought the news. all three of them strode quickly through the corridors of Dragonstone, eager to find out what the fuss was all about. Upon reaching the gates and walking outside Rhaenys felt a smile creep on her face as she saw the creature standing vigilant on the rocks near the grand entrance. When Daemon caught up with her, he felt his heart stop. 

- It's Silverwing - said Rhaenys with a childlike tone, reminiscing on the fond memories of her lady grandmother. 

No matter how much of a delight it was for Daemon to see the Good Queen's dragon grace them with their presence, he was much more interested with its rider who was just about to try and dismount the majestic beast. 

- Impossible. 

***

The second Silverwing's claws grazed the rocky shores of Dragonstone, Alanna knew she was home. She was exhausted from the journey and she could feel all her muscles fighting not to give up but she made it and that was all that mattered. Gently she rubbed the dragon's neck, whispering all those little words she heard Daemon speak to Caraxes when he wished to calm his mount. 

- Lykiri, Silverwing. Ilon issi lenton.

Calm down, Silverwing. We are home. 

She saw the guards gathering around them, swords at the ready, but that wasn't the greatest of her concerns. Completely disregarding the Queen's soldiers standing before them Alanna decided to try and figure out how on earth would she get down from Silverwing's back. Somehow the gravity of her situation in King's Landing made the mounting of the dragon much easier than dismounting it seemed to be at that moment. Clumsily Alanna swung her leg back to one side of Silverwing's body, holding on to the spikes sticking out of the creature's shoulder. Fortunately, the dragon noticed her rider's troubles and crouching her massive legs she leaned to one side, making it fairly easy for Alanna to slip down her wing. Having done just that the princess smoothly glided down the silver skin stretched between the creature's bones and landed on the ground, stumbling a little at the end. Quickly Alanna turned around and walked towards Silverwing's snout, holding out both her hands as a sign of gratitude. The dragon gently lowered her head so that Alanna's palms rested flat atop her white and silver scales and her forehead touched her skin. 

- Kirimvose, ñuha raqiros.

Silverwing hummed quietly lightly nuzzling her snout into the princess's hands like a satisfied cat. Meanwhile, three people approached the scene, one looking particularly relieved seeing who came atop that dragon. 

- My love?

No matter where she found herself, Alanna knew she would always recognise that voice.

His voice. 

Quickly, she turned around and there he stood. Proud and gallant in his armour but even from the distance she could see the tears brimming in his eyes. She could barely hold her own as she took a step forward, closing the space between them.

- Daemon.

Her sweet voice was all he needed to hear to know that she was not just another daydream tormenting him once again. In two long strides the Rogue Prince defeated the remaining distance between him and his lady wife and wrapped his arms around her body, burying his face in her shoulder. The second his hands touched her body, Alana cried out in joy, sneaking her arms around his neck and softly weeping into his hair. It has been weeks since she last saw her husband and standing there in his arms she finally felt like home. Missing him turned out to be her worst nightmare but the reunion was cure enough to ease the ache troubling her heart. 

For Daemon being apart from Alanna meant utter torture. Not knowing whether she was safe, dead or alive hunted his dreams since the day they left King's Landing and she stayed behind for her sister. He clawed at her cloaked body, tightly holding her as close as humanly possible as if to make sure that she would not disappear. 

- My love. My light. My life. 

His words were like honey for her ears, sweetly coating the rattled nerves of the princess. She was barely standing on her own feet, not used to such long distances on dragon back and alone, but it was all worth it. Their embrace Rhaenys stood by kindly smiling at the happy couple. she turned her head towards the guard who brought them the news and whispered in his ear. 

- Bring the Prince and Princess's children. They will be glad to see their mother. 

Both Daemon and Alanna barely noticed their surroundings. All they could really see was each other and their arms around one another. Their hearts beat in the same rhythm, breath united in the same pace, once again they became one. Daemon could not hold back as he back away only far enough so he could look at his wife's face, cupping her scratched cheek in hi palm. Taking a better look at her face he felt his blood boiling at the thought of his precious princess going through any sort of pain. Before he could even ask who was responsible for the bloody marks on her cheeks, Alanna grabbed his face in her own hands and smashed her lips against his own, moaning quietly in turn. In that moment Daemon lost all control once he felt the sweetness of her lips, one hand desperately grabbing at her waist, the other holding her neck uncharacteristically gently for him. The kiss they shared after months of separation was like taking the first breath after emerging from wild waters of the raging sea. Feeling Alanna's body tremble under his touch drove Daemon crazy as he relished in the taste of he sweet lips and she was not staying behind. Kissing him just as fervently as her husband, the princess weaved her fingers through his hair, trying to bring him even closer than he already was. It was no secret that Daemon and Alanna shared a passionate love, one that grew stronger over the years they longed for each other and every time their lips met it was like that first kiss, they shared upon his return from the Stepstones. Much like that reunion this one was even more emotional seeing as this time it was Daemon fearing for his beloved wife's life. They would have stayed tangled in each other’s arms forever if it wasn't for the familiar voices screaming at them from afar.

- Mother!

- Mama! Mama is back!

- Come Viserys, it's Mother!

Alanna instinctively pulled away from the kiss looking over Daemon's shoulder and behind her husband she saw all five of her children running towards her from the grand gate of Dragonstone.  Seeing her darling sons and daughter she felt like a stone was removed from her shoulders. While she flew atop Silverwing's back she kept praying and hoping the boy Aemond mentioned was not one of her sons. She prayed that the Gods save her children and keep them safe from any foul acts. For a moment she looked at her beloved husband, running her hand over his cheek which he gently took in his palms and kissed it gazing at her with such devotion she could crumble right there in his arms. Despite the longing she felt for her husband, Alanna turned her head towards her children crouching down with open arms witing to greet them properly.

- Mother!

The first ones to get to her were the younger twins, Viserys and Alyssa, both equally tearful and grateful to see their mother safe and sound and most importantly back home. Both children wrapped their small arms around her form, hugging her as tightly as they could with their twelve years old strength. 

- Oh, my darlings, how I've missed you! I've missed so, so much. My sweet Alyssa! My precious Viserys! Oh, my loves!

Alanna's voice was breaking with each word, but she could not care less. She felt more alive than she ever remembered holding her youngest children in her embrace. Daemon kneeled next to his wife and their youngest twins, gently prying Viserys and Alyssa from their mother, so that their siblings could get the chance to greet her properly. The moment he took them in his arms, Aerys and Aenar got to Alanna, falling to their knees before her and throwing their arms around her neck. 

- Mama, we thought you were gone for good - said Aerys inhaling the familiar scent of Alanna's hair as both him and his brother hugged her tightly.

- We were so worried, Mother. We thought they hurt you or...

- I am right here, my darling boys. I am right here and I'm not going anywhere - replied Alanna interrupting Aenar's sentiment and just saying a silent grace in her mind, thanking the Gods for keeping her boys safe and alive. 

The elder twins kept tugging at their mother's arms, grasping at her as if she would disappear again but then Daemon intervened again, knowing that there was one more person dying to see his beloved wife. With one arm over his youngest shoulders and his daughter sitting in his lap he reached his ither hand to bring the older boys to his side while he watched his wife stand to her feet looking at the young dashing man in before her. 

- Mother. 

Prince Baelon tried holding back the tears threatening to spill from his blue eyes, the same ones he inherited from his beloved mother as he stood in front of her unable to move a muscle. He was trying to remain strong and steady for his siblings but even Prince Daemon's heir had his limits. And clearly, so had Alanna. Slowly she opened her arms, looking at her firstborn son with tears streaming down her cheeks freely. 

- My brave Prince. 

Baelon broke down crying like a little boy when he ran to his mother, wrapping his strong arms around her body and burying his face in her neck. Alanna wept with her eldest son, clawing at him as to make sure that she was not imagining. He was right there with her safe and sound, unharmed, no wounds and no scratches in his perfect face. Baelon could not hold his own, shaking in his mother's arms like a lost infant but he could not care less. All that mattered was that his mother was safe and back where she belonged. Both his and Alanna's legs gave up beneath them and they kneeled remaining in the tight embrace, crying into each other's shoulders. Soon enough they both felt five pairs of arms wrapping around them as the rest of their family joined them. The youngest, Viserys and Alyssa found their way between Baelon and their mother, squeezing in just so they could get closer to Alanna's body. The middle twins, Aerys and Aenar threw their arms over their older brother and mother almost like a circle of protection and Daemon followed suit, taking his entire family in his embrace. Somehow between his firstborn clutching Alanna's body the prince managed to touch his forehead with his wife's, that small gesture meaning more to them than any other touch. 

Finally, they were back together, safe and away from harm. 

Little Alyssa was safe. 

Curious Viserys was safe. 

Daring Aerys was safe. 

Dashing Aenar was safe. 

Brave Baelon was safe. 

And her darling Daemon was safe too. 

Now, Alanna Targaryen could finally rest.

[holy-puckslibrary]

━ 𝐍𝐄𝐖 𝐏𝐄𝐑𝐒𝐏𝐄𝐂𝐓𝐈𝐕𝐄

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recommended viewing — sorority row (2009)

bingo squares and additional content warnings under the cut.

bingo squares —orgasm control, non-consensual voyeurism (+ pictures taken) and implied past mutual masturbation (dubcon — you’ll see) additional content warnings — dom!reader + subby-as-hell!quinn (ngl he’s kind of a pathetic loser here, but that’s why we love him), m!receiving oral (perhaps too much idk you tell me) + cum play x2, quinn rendered dumb and speechless by his raging humiliation kink and his need for degradation (and an itty bitty bit of praise — quinn: new kink unlocked), i have been plagued w ball play as of late so im subjecting yall to it, mention of edging and orgasm denial, oh and just some pheromone kink bits and a cute lil oral fixation moment or two, nothing to see here!

QUINN HUGHES WAS ENAMORED the moment he saw you.

Three rows from the front. Laptop cracked, but more for show than anything. All your glittery, coveted attention fixed on the cellphone resting in your palm while you tapped away, your lips loosely draped over the pen you were gnawing on. 

You were positively mesmerizing.

He briefly contemplated sliding into one of the open seats beside yours, but a gaggle of your insipid "sisters" beat him to the punch.

As if he would’ve been able to capitalize on the golden opportunity anyway; it took half the semester for him to form a full, coherent sentence in your vicinity.

Ironically, Quinn was far more comfortable when you weren’t looking.

Or, rather, Quinn was more comfortable when you didn’t know he was looking.

He didn’t interact much with anyone outside of his coding cohort and the club team—athletic prowess only garners state-school clout when your sport is top dog, and this was a football school, through and through. As such, and at the hands of his tragic awkwardness, he rarely spoke to women, if ever.

And he never got face time with any as effortlessly beautiful and interesting as you.

Discovering that your large bedroom window faced the secluded side street he took to get home from practice each night felt like a sign. He’d struck gold, and it would be a shame not to put the knowledge to good use.

In his own shadowy domain, he could be whatever and whoever he wanted; he could be the guy who got the girl.

It was exhilarating, really. 

Quinn supposed some of that rush should be attributed to the feeling of unbridled control his daily routine sorely and consistently lacked. He hardly, if ever, felt like an active participant in his own life.

But in the privacy of his own head—and the safety of the very curb he’s stood on now—there were no alpha douche-canoes to eat up your finite attention or loud airheads to crave your tutelage. 

Between sundown and sun-up, you were his and his alone.

— Even if you were none the wiser.

As benevolent as you may appear, he knew you would never give a guy like him the time of day. Quinn was a lot of things, but stupid's never been one of them.

You wouldn’t even acknowledge his existence if it weren’t for your shared smaller sessions on Thursday mornings. Just you and him… and ten other students, with the occasional appearance of your slacker TA—how romantic.

And if he couldn’t even get a moment alone with you, he definitely wouldn’t get a night inside of you, either. 

So, he settles.

Quinn puts up with the bugs and tolerates the bushes, swallowing his pride (and his mortification), and takes what he can get.

He's accustomed to maneuvering in the dark—this stretch of pavement in particular—but he stumbles through the dimly lit street like he’s got two left feet that only grew in yesterday. 

If you were privy to his impromptu audition for Bambi, you don’t mention it.

And if you clocked the obnoxious bulge tenting his jeans, you don’t acknowledge that, either.

Quinn isn’t entirely sure this is happening in his real, waking life; it’s far too good to be true. 

This is not at all where he thought the night would go when your name flashed across the screen.

When he hesitantly clicked ‘accept’ and brought the phone to his ear, all while still palming himself to the memory of your head tossed back in ecstasy—the way it was before the lights went out abruptly —Quinn assumed he’d soon be gripping steel bars.

“H-How’d you get this number?” he asked after hearing his name.

You whispered it so ardently he could almost feel your breath on his cheek. It made him shiver and, momentarily, forget he’d likely been caught red-handed—literally.

“You made the group chat for our section, silly.”

Instinct compelled Quinn to chastise himself, but knowing you remembered that minute detail—a nothing of a fact, really—was enough to override the urge entirely.

And the complete lack of ire in your voice lured him into a false sense of security yet to be disproven.

He gulped and willed his hand to stop moving. “Oh, right. Uh, is there something you need? Did the outline for next week not go through? Because if not, I can just re-send it ri—”

“Meet me at the same door as last time,” you sliced through his rambling with a tone that was neither foreboding nor comforting.

Then, the line went dead.

For once, Quinn was grateful to be so eager to please. If not for that zeal, he couldn't have walked up to the service door of Delta Nu.

Risking the wrath of your underlings was never a goal of his, but considering how quickly they turned up their plastic noses at him when he came by to drop off notes from the class you missed, Quinn couldn’t imagine worse circumstances for Round Two. 

When the backdoor swung in, you spoiled him in all your glory and the assurance of an empty house.

Out of pure exhaustion—and in his excitement to resume his ritual after a long week away—it slipped his mind; tonight is the best and biggest Kappa Tau rager.

Hence the ghost town

“Do you stand out there all night, stalker?”

Quinn’s head bobbed despite the apt insult. Then, he remembered you couldn’t see his reply, given that you were leading him up a staircase.

“M-Most nights, yeah.”

At that, you spun on your heel. Quinn shook like a leaf as you stepped forward. Gripping the railing, a hand on either side of his shrunken form, you invaded his personal space for the sole purpose of degrading him further.

The sneer hadn’t reached your eyes, but it speared him just the same. “God, you’re fucking pathetic.”

Quinn launched into an attempt at groveling, but his own verbal clumsiness rendered the effort futile.

However, his sputtered half-thoughts and litany of sentences that went nowhere were brought to a screeching halt by a single, manicured finger. Unable to process the touch and the wicked grin on your otherwise cherubic face concurrently, he froze.

His predicament worsened when you gently breached the tight seam of his lips to rest your interruption against his tongue.

You stepped closer; he saw stars. “I like that.”

It was at that moment Quinn realized you came straight down to the side-yard...because he could taste you. As you massaged his tongue with the pad of your finger, effectively rubbing your essence into his body, it took every ounce of strength to keep himself from busting right there in your foyer.

Still, he managed the mortification he sought to avoid.

“Are you… Are you humping me?” you barked with an incredulous snort.

Humiliation blurred his vision as you backed away from him; it wasn’t his fault your perfume elicited a Pavlovian bodily reaction. 

You kept your finger in his mouth as you bit back genuine laughter, but that just made him harder.

“Y’know,” you hummed, contemplative. You paused to watch your pointer finger slowly thrust in and out of his needy mouth. Your smirk was noticeably wider when you spoke again. “My last boyfriend couldn’t even text me back—or remember that he was in a monogamous relationship.”

Quinn blinked. “Your last boyfriend?”

The question was garbled by your finger—and his own sucking. It didn’t matter, though. His reply wasn’t necessary.

At least, not yet.

“Mhmm, my last one.”

You repeated yourself as if you were speaking to a child and not to the grown man whose boner was digging into your skin. 

It made him whimper. Your condescension was his kryptonite, apparently.

“But...I know my next one will be different; you’re too devoted to hurt me.”

He wasn’t given time to respond because as soon as you got your desired reaction—mewling akin to a bleating lamb and the whites of his eyes—you were dragging him up the remaining stairs and into the president’s suite.

Quinn’s spent countless hours wondering what your bedroom looked like, and even more fantasizing about what might happen if he ever saw it firsthand. His mouth splits after working up the nerve to compare the reality of your space to his mental notes, but before he can shove out any words, you’re backing him across the room with a devious glint in your eyes.

“W-What are you doing?” he asks when his back hits glass.

Right now, he’s pressed against his standing window into your most private moments. It feels wrong to be on this side of the wall.

Quinn gets none of the bubbly warmth he assumed he would if he ever found himself here. Instead, he feels unbelievably small as he drowns in a sea of poor choices.

“I think a little exhibitionism would be good for you, Hughes.”

"I-I don’t understand…”

You smile. His stupid heart flutters.

God, love’s fucking embarrassing.

Again, you crowd his space. This time, though, until there’s barely enough room between the window pane and your body for his wilted one. You press a single, fleeting kiss to his pulse point, your breath fanning over his clammy skin. His hitches in his throat.

“I want you to see things from my point of view.”

The words seep into his neck. Your intentions slam into him like a semi-truck going full speed. Anyone walking on the path—his path— would need only to venture a peek at your window to know exactly what was happening.

It would be too easy to watch him the way he’s watched you for weeks. 

A taste of his own medicine.

The candy-coated threat shouldn’t have the effect that it does. Given how emotionally charged the air’s become—for him, at least—it makes sense for his body to get some wires crossed; the same sticky emotion causing him to wither in fear should not be making him harder than ever.

He isn’t expecting you to kiss him, so it takes Quinn’s mind a beat to catch up. Still, he melts into the affection like it's the only thing keeping him alive. Though, as soon as Quinn regains enough composure to actually participate, you kill the kiss as swiftly as you brought it to fruition.

He chases after your mouth, much to your amusement.

“What, sad there was no tongue?” you tease as if you weren't the one to ruined the moment. 

Quinn doesn’t find you very funny right now.

“We’re going to play a little game.” 

Your lips brush his as your hushed words march out, but he remains still. He knows better now than to ask questions prematurely. You hum in acknowledgment, satisfied. 

Quinn beams. He's always been a quick study.

You take him by the wrist and guide him into the space you just vacated.

Physically, he knows he’s stronger. It wouldn’t take much to overpower you, but that means nothing in the face of your mental sway. Quinn can’t move because you don’t want him to—because you haven’t told him he can.

And any hope of gaining the upper hand crashes out onto the concrete the moment your bare knees hit the carpet.

Quinn knows he’s a dead man when your hands coast up his thighs.

“Put your hands on the window sill.” He does without hesitation. “Keep them there. You move, I stop. Understand?”

“Yes, I-I understand.”

“Good boy,” you say.

It’s more of a taunt than true praise, but his bulge twitches all the same before your eyes. The slight betrayal announces the internal chaos in the wake of the unexpected praise.

Quinn knew he liked that, but he didn’t want you to know it, too. What little control he managed to horde dissipates.

The delight on your face confirms the worst; you plan to do with that information what he hoped you wouldn’t. “God, I am going to have so much fun with you.”

It's an uphill battle, trying to keep his eyes open and his hands where they are supposed to be.

Quinn tastes nirvana when you finally flick the tip of your tongue over his cherry-red tip, the skin having adopted a luminous intensity courtesy of the few street lamps nearby. Glowing, after too much teasing.

Normally, he veered toward edging and denial JOI content, especially if the voice actor sounded anything like you. Tonight, he’s never hated a concept more. Still, he's making sure he behaves because he knows you’ll reward him handsomely.

You can be sweet when you want to be.

Like right now, for instance. You’re snuggling your face into his body, generously nuzzling his painfully stiff length with your cheeks. Whenever the friction mounts to anything substantial, you pull back to decorate his hips and inner thighs with little pecks.

They're reminiscent of the chaste parting kisses you’ve given his cheek in the past just to make him squirm.

You lap up what you can of the escaping arousal, hungrily drinking down all he has to offer. You do your best, you really do, but there’s just too much. The successor to each puddle arrives faster than you expect, and quicker than you can keep up with.

So, you stop trying.

You’re both so desperate, anyway.

Quinn bites back a scream when your dominant hand loops around the base of his cock; the cruel, beautiful beast only settling once the middle finger finally reaches the accompanying thumb. The pressure is light, but encompassing enough to make him dizzy.

So dizzy, in fact, that he actually appreciates your one rule.

However, nothing could have prepared him for what torture you enact next.

Blinking up at him, you rub the leaking tip over and between your lips. With one hand braced against his bare thigh and the other unchanged, you gently tug downward as you suckle the bulbous head.

The sensation is unlike anything Quinn has felt in his limited experience, which he wears like a scarlet letter. The little huffs that make him feel like a dog panting in mid-July remind him that while he's gotten a blowjob or two before, they were nothing like this one. They weren't from you. It might be unfair to lump those instances in with the magic of your mouth.

You can’t compete where you don’t compare.

So, Quinn showers you in soft, airy whispers. Even when you pull back until only the ridge preceding the tip rests past your spit-stained lips, he goes on and on about how good your mouth feels and how much he adores you. 

And, if he were slightly more coherent, maybe he would’ve caught the obvious squeeze of your thighs at his flushed cheeks and the reciprocal effect your lazy teasing.

His hips go rogue when you try to swallow him a little deeper, jerking forward and sending the firm tip to the back of your throat. Naturally, you lose your grip and gag around him, your eyes watering more and more with each subsequent unintended impact.

Quinn is bashfully apologetic, but you’re quick to remove him from your mouth.

“Shouldn’t you already know I like to choke on it?” your raspy voice goads.

You shoot him a wink before hollowing your cheeks to accommodate his wide girth, your tongue flattened and pressed tautly to the underside.

The shallow movement triggers images he shouldn’t have, bright and flashing through his head: of you, on your knees like this for that jerk-off ex-boyfriend of yours—of you, from a distance and fuzzy, forever immortalized in a single film unit pinned to the back wall of his closet.

Quinn does know you like to choke on it. He knows you like to be choked, too.Quinn knows a lot of things about you—likes, dislikes, sleep patterns, study habits… sexual preferences.

Your bizarre reaction to his Peeping Tom antics makes him wonder what you might know about him…

He’s given no time to fall down that rabbit hole on account of your nose brushing his public bone once more. Quinn cannot fathom how his length disappeared down your throat so smoothly, and it's useless to try, given how thoroughly muddied his head’s become with your tongue gently petting the delicate skin of his sack.

With your lips stretched around the base—and your thumb tucked into your palm to subdue innate reflex—you begin massaging what you can. Until you realize quinn has absolutely zero volume control. As crazy as his loud and breathy moans make you, you’ve come too far only to get this far.

Viscous, glasslike threads hang between your withheld mouth and his anguished cock in the lower fringe of your vision. Above you, Quinn is struggling, whimpering like a lost puppy caught in a storm. 

Lips parted ever-so-slightly, his forehead rests against the frame, limp. He's white-knuckling the historic, but recently refurbished wood, trembling in your barely-there hold because he’s that aroused. Mindlessly teetering on the border of “too much” and “not enough," all the while mumbling unintelligibly between choppy breaths.

You could get drunk on those pretty sounds; you’re sure of it. 

Maybe next time, you will.

“I know I said everyone was out, but I don’t think you want Ms. Patty busting through the door before you have a chance to.”

The thought of your sixty-year-old, strict-as-fuck house mother catching him with his pants around his ankles is just horrific enough to coax him a bit closer to the ground.

Quinn bites his lip in a show of good faith.

“Good boy,” you hum your approval while stroking him. “Now, tell me what you want. Tell me what you need to cum in my mouth, Quinn.”

“I need—f-fuck!” he grumbles, at war with himself. Ultimately, primal need overpowers the fickle social invention that is a shame: “I need you to play with… with my b-balls again—please.”

Delaying his wish, you wrap your mouth around him one last time. You need to elicit that one-of-one sudden, uneven intake of air—the giveaway gasp, the tremor of truth. Insatiable, you fill your throat to the brink. The distinct, thick scent of the day’s natural musk swirling with the sheen of hard work on the ice keeps you there until your vision blurs and drool pools under your tongue.

Motivated by a sticky, overdue reward and a whine bursting from deep in Quinn’s throat—the sweet sound of total surrender—you succumb to your own desire to make him feel the best he’s ever felt.

You lick at them gingerly at first, and with a doughy, flattened tongue. You meant to test the waters, to take things slow and drag out his orgasm, but a string of colorful language tumbles from his pretty, pink mouth to derail your plans.

With the dam crumbling, you have to suck one into your hot, wet mouth.

His reaction does not disappoint.

Your spit-soaked hands rise to his recently abandoned length as you devote equal attention to the pair with your mouth. Quinn swells and heavies on your tongue and everything is throbbing.

Including the tight heat between your knees, pulsing around the mere thought of him fucking you there instead.

“S’close, ‘m gonna c-cum soon—Shit!”

Amidst the drawn-out expletive, you detach in order to aim his release on his behalf (though very reluctantly), knowing full-well Quinn is far too gone to be capable of anything.

His eyelids flutter seconds before snapping open, intent to watch you watch him fall apart.

Oh, and fall apart he does…

Crude and ear-piercing, and over faster than either of you would’ve preferred, you’d be lying if you said you weren’t a little flattered by it. You enjoy how easy he is—how pliable.

His hips jerk too easily and his hands wander aimlessly, and you can’t bring yourself to chastise him, entirely consumed by the show unfolding at your hand. It's like he can’t help himself; can’t help but twitch and drip, can’t help but whimper and beg for anything and everything.

He won’t even let you pull away to catch your breath without whining. At one point, whether by accident or designed to keep you from retreating, Quinn’s knees squeezed together, effectively caging you in from both sides.

A messy concoction of cum, spit, and tears paints the lower half of your face. Quinn’s chest heaves as he watches it collect and drip down your neck and into the valley of your chest, soiling your delicate pajamas beyond repair.

Unfazed, you leave the emotionality to him while you lick your fingers clean. Once you’ve finished, you mop up the dissenter spray on your cheeks, chin, and décolletage, and greedily swallow it down, too. It's when you delve between your tits to scoop out the remainder of his spill that Quinn just about keels over.

He falls back against the window, and you shift back into your heels.

He rights his pants, and you wipe your mouth with the corner of your bathrobe. 

For a while, you observe one another, having not been this close—or alone—together before.

That’s not to say you didn’t notice him, though.

You actually struggled not to, and it drove your now-ex insane. His enmity toward Quinn came to a head this afternoon. Unable to deny your raging, juvenile crush, you finally pulled the trigger on something that was a long time coming—and for reasons beyond that not-so-unfounded jealousy.

“C-Can I have a head-start before you call the c-cops?” Quinn asks.

He’s so timid, you can’t help but laugh. He blinks down, and you can practically see the gears turning in his head as he rifles through yours, searching for malicious intent or knotted strings—fury behind an unspoken threat.

You let him look; this is a conclusion he needs to reach without you holding his hand.

When the investigation runs its course having turned up nothing dubious, he slides down to the floor beside you. He’s reverted to avoiding eye contact, unfortunately. Quinn watches the tremor in his fingers instead.

“I am sorry, y'know, about… Well, uh, you know.”

You find the way he dances around committing a felony (repeatedly) weirdly endearing.

While you very well could put him out of his palpable misery—you can actually smell it on him—there's no fun to be found in that. As such, you force Quinn to wrestle with his words a bit longer.

Eventually, you offer him a shrug that isn’t the least bit pacifying.

“You’re going to make it up to me, don’t worry.”

His eyes snap to yours just as you knew they would. His throat quivers in the wake of a sharp gulp.

The nervous tick cracks your nonchalant demeanor. You roll your eyes. “If you’re going to keep watching, you might as well make yourself useful.”

Quinn’s eyes narrow, perplexed. You grin in anticipation.

“My vibrator’s dead, and I can’t find the right charger. Time to get your ass off the bench, Hughes.”

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[clubdionysus]

[BAD DECISION #12] An Agreement

warnings: THE BALL IS ROLLING! solo masturbation that is, on a technicality, mutual masturbation (soulmate behaviour!). plot is also plotting! artist!tae is doing thingggssss. jk is getting bold! and sexy!

soundtrack: fuxxin’ love (2019) - OoOo

wc: 7.4k

bd total wc: 540k (ongoing)

minors dni | AO3 | series masterlist 

There's a lingering silence as Jeongguk sits across from you on his bed. You're both crossed-legged, looking at the unfolded bird between you. His back is perfectly straight, posture pristine as always, but yours is a little more slumped. In all honesty, you just want to stop looking at the words written down on the paper, but it's like watching a car crash in slow motion. You can't look away.

His curtains are drawn shut. It's a change to his normal set-up - but the sun has already risen. If either of you stand any chance of sleeping, they need to be closed. The lamp on his bedside table currently illuminates you both, a warm glow only adding to the intoxicated haze you're still looking at the world through.

"Okay, so I think our birds are quite different," Jeongguk finally says. His voice is contemplative, but then he laughs. The lamplight catches in his eyes. He's serene. "Byeol, what the fuck?"

You groan and flop down onto his bed, nose nestling into his ever-freshly laundered sheets. "I didn't know we'd ever be reading them!"

Since the first bird fell, you've known that agreeing to share them was a mistake, but you had also forgotten just how many of your birds had been plagued by your desire for a sex life that didn't feel so tragic these days. 

Jeongguk leans a little forward, outstretching his arm to ruffle at your freshly bleached hair. He still hasn't mentioned it, and you find it odd. Had expected at least a remark regarding the fact it had changed, but instead he's simply acting as if that's how it's always been.

Anyone who does mention it has their compliments dismissed, with you insisting on pointing out just how patchy it is, so at least it saves making even more self-deprecating comments.

"I think we should veto it," you mumble into his duvet.

Frankly, Jeongguk is amused by it all.  He's also still got some of those tequila slammers in his bloodstream, which makes him throw caution to the wind a little more than usual. "Your choice, Byeol."

You huff, forcing yourself back up to face him. The origami paper stares at you. Is screaming. 

It's partially your fault for choosing to write your birds in full capital letters. Jeongguk had written his like a normal human being, and they feel far less confrontational. 

"It's an interesting one," he notes, before reading it out loud: "Mutual masturbation. The four exclamation points really add a certain... je ne sais quoi."

"Oh my god, shut up," you whine. "I was just thinking of the most intimate things you could do with a person, yanno?"

"And you chose mutual masturbation?" Jeongguk holds back a laugh. Doesn't hold it very well. Splutters one out regardless.

"Well, yeah?" You furrow your brows together, confused by the fact he doesn't deem it to be the height of intimacy. You think it's potentially the most vulnerable you can be with another person. "Getting off is so... personal. Doing exactly what you like... I don't think anyone's ever seen me... yanno?"

"No, I don't know," Jeongguk taunts, a cocky smirk gracing his pretty lips. You decide that alcohol is the worst thing to have ever happened to him. "No one has ever seen you what, Byeol?"

"You know what."

"No, I don't," he shrugs. "I don't know how you touch yourself."

You bury your head back into his duvet. "Oh my god, shut the fuck up. This one - this bird - is vetoed. We're not doing it. You never saw it."

Your ears are as pink as your cheeks, embarrassment taking hold of your features. It's really not like you to be bothered about such things, but the fact that Jeongguk's birds are all so.... innocent has you feeling a little mortified.

"Since when have you been such a prude, Byeol?!"

"I'm not! You're just... you." The way you say it - with such disgust - is exactly why he's winding you up. He doesn't expect the bird to be carried out. It's just funny to watch you squirm. "I'm not discussing my vagina with you."

"Is that not what friends are for?"

"No."

"Bet you'd discuss it with Danbi."

"Yeah, because I can trust her not to get a boner," you huff, sitting back up to face him. He's got the stupidest grin on his face, and even though you're trying to seem annoyed, he can tell that you're fighting one too. It's in the way your lips are twitching ever so slightly, brows easing from their furrowed state.

"I'm very capable of not getting a boner," he protests, but you don't care.  Just tell him to go to bed. You've got shit to do in the morning after you've slept the alcohol off. A job to get to in the afternoon. Can't be up all night.

He laughs to himself for a little while in the sanctuary of his pillow swamp. You tell him to shut up, and throw one of his pillows at him. Jeongguk just simply tosses it back up to you. Tells you goodnight and settles into a comfortable position. 

'Because I can trust her not to get a boner'.

Now that he's thinking about it, he's a little offended. He quite literally showered with you earlier and showed not even a hint of getting a hard-on. 

Then again, he wasn't actually facing you. Had refused to let himself think of what you'd look like half-naked under a stream of running water. Had focused his mind entirely on the grout between the tiles, considering whether or not it would look better grey instead of white.

Truth be told, he probably wouldn't have gotten hard anyways. Was too nervous. Scared of doing or saying the wrong thing. Scared that you'd reject his offer. It's not like he was getting anything out of it - it really had been to help ease you into the idea of sharing a shower not being absolutely terrifying to you - but rejection is never nice in any capacity. 

You shuffle beneath his sheets and sigh in such a way that he's almost positive you're asleep. Strange enigma of a woman, he thinks as he smiles to himself. You're so mild-mannered and peaceful in one moment, then causing chaos in the next.

He's glad to have you around. Glad that Jimin was a little crap in bed. Glad that you didn't want to hang out with Jimin all the time instead of him. Glad. Just glad.

But then his mind starts to wander. Starts thinking about what could have happened if he had gotten a boner. Would you really be that repulsed?

He shakes his head. Tries to rid himself of the thought. It's completely inappropriate. The time spent together beneath the cascading water of his shower had been such a vulnerable moment for you. He's thinking about it as his cock is getting hard. It's so wrong. He feels like a shitty friend. 

Palming at his crotch, Jeongguk tries to stop the chain reaction that is happening. It's fruitless though.  The contact only makes it worse.

Jeongguk says nothing as he gets to his feet and excuses himself from his room. He can't think straight. Decides the alcohol is at fault - but as he looks in his bathroom mirror, he can't help but curse.

There's no denying how hard he is. Not even a little firm. He's solid.

"Fuck," he groans, resting his palms on the counter, hanging his head between his shoulders. He shakes it. Knows that his current predicament is just circumstantial.

It's not that he actively thinks about you in that capacity, but the conversation you'd been engaged in has his mind wondering. Has him thinking about what the realities of the vetoed bird could look like. The way you'd close your eyes. The way you'd moan. The movements of your body; the squirm of your hips. The scent. The taste.

One of his hands drops from the counter. Palms at his crotch. Dips into the waistband of his boxers. "Shit."

He can't picture anything. Not really. He's never seen you in that capacity, so it's a little hard to imagine it - but he can seem to imagine the sensation seeing it would make him feel. How he'd get a little breathless. How he'd watch you as you watched him. He thinks about your eyes. Thinks about your glitter. Thinks about how it would shine with every movement of your body.

He untucks from his boxers, and strokes gently. Once, twice. "Fuck." Three times. A fourth.

There's a tightening in his chest, as if his logical mind is trying to make him stop. He pulls at his cock, bringing himself closer and closer to release. Once he cums, it will be fine. Just pent-up frustration. He wouldn't even be thinking about you like this if he wasn't clearly horny. He probably could have gotten laid tonight had he not drawn himself away from the girl in the club. 

That's it, he decides. That's what this is. Just a misplaced need for release.

It's a shame he doesn't know how restless you are beneath his sheets. How your hand crept down your body the moment he left the room; mind plagued with the idea of getting off with him. How you toy with your exposed pussy, wearing only his shirt.

You know you shouldn't. You're in Jeongguk's bed. He has to sleep in here. His sheets smell like him. 

Yet as you tell yourself no, it's the reasons why you should stop that seem to spur you on more. It does smell like Jeongguk. Smells like safety. If that isn't the best environment to get yourself off in, then what is?

You think about his back, and then you think about his arms wrapped around you and - "fuck" - it's not even the idea of him that's getting you wet; it's the idea of safety. Yes, it was his arms, but it's not the fact they're his which have you feeling this way; it's the fact you know they wouldn't drop you. And even if they did? You'd not be falling from some great height.

Realigning your mind, you let your mind wander to where it usually does in the early hours of the morning; Seokjin's kitchen, and the time he took you from behind when you'd been making dinner. 

It's your failsafe. Always gets you off remembering it. You think of his hands - strong, wide - and how they'd gripped at your waist. You think of his lips - soft, plump - against your throat. You're thinking of the view across the city from his apartment. Thinking about the way he'd turned you around; carried you to it. 

His apartment had been in a high-rise in the heart of the city. Not too far from Jeongguk's, actually. The windows spanned the entire wall, and you'd always been envious of the fact he got to wake up to it on the daily. 

He'd put you down; turned you back around to face it. Had stripped you of your clothes. Pressed you against the window. Fucked his cock into you with such aggression that it almost seemed as if he wanted the glass to break. Fucked you so well that when you came, it felt like you were freefalling, even with the glass intact.

It's thinking about that orgasm that always gets your pussy clenching around your toys at home - but you're without them, and your hands just aren't doing the trick. Your brain jumps from thought to thought. Lands on the reason why you don't have your toys: you're at Jeongguk's place. And then, because it's just as annoying as you are,  your head is just ribbiting his name at you. 

"Go away," you whine, but continue to play with your clit regardless. You're so close.. "Just let me finish."

And it's funny, 'cause Jeongguk's in his bathroom looking at the mess in the sink with a face of pure disgust. It's not the fact he got himself off that bothers him. Not the fact he whined a little too loud when he did so. Nothing like that at all.

It's that he'd been trying to think about the kiss he'd had that evening - the smell of her perfume, the softness of her lips - wanting it to be in his head when he came. He grew closer, and closer, and then - "oh, fuck" - why are you there? Why is he thinking about your gaze from the bar? And why is it that his brain always locks into one singular thought whenever he cums?

He just really hopes you didn't hear him curse out your name as he did so.

But you didn't. Were too busy having your own dilemma - one of which you're only just coming back down from when Jeongguk re-enters the room. You wonder if he'll know. Wonder if he'll be able to smell your arousal. Wonder if he'll even figure out that's what the scent is.

Neither of you greets the other. He just gets back into his little pile of pillows. It's kind of funny. If weren't so paranoid about him knowing, you'd make a joke of it. Doesn't feel very funny, now.

Silence consumes the room. You don't even know if he knows you're awake. It's so awkward you quite literally wanted to shrivel up and die.

Okay, so you're being dramatic, but it really does feel that catastrophic to you. As if irrevocable damage has been done. As if you've ruined the friendship all by yourself - but then it has you thinking. He'd been gone for just the right amount of time for you to draw a release from yourself. It wasn't long, but it wasn't entirely speedy, either.

Jeongguk shuffles. Lies on his back. Hands linked over his stomach.

"Gguk..." Your voice whispers into the darkness.

"Mhmm?"

He sounds sleepy. Sounds well spent. You know you'll regret it, but you just kind of have to know.

"Did you... just..."

He pauses. Takes a deep breath. Finishes your sentence for you. "Get myself off?"

"Mhmm."

There's silence. It lasts no longer than a few seconds, but it feels like a lifetime to you.

"You want me to lie?" He asks, clearly wanting to avoid the truth.

"Depends on what the lie would be."

Silence resumes. Is broken with a sigh.

"No," he says - and then he clarifies. "'No' would be the lie."

You nod, understanding exactly what he means, crown of your head patting against his pillow.

And yet still, you push. You want a clear answer.

"In that case," you say a little shakily. "I'd like the truth."

"Okay," he replies, voice much stronger than yours. " Ask me again. Full-sentence. None of that trailing-off bullshit you do. If you want a direct answer, give me a direct question."

And so you do.

"Did you just get yourself off?"

"Yes."

Fuck.

"Me too."

He laughs. Feels a weight ease. Can't fight the smile that's beaming even in a dark room. What a fucking relief. "Did we just... do your bird?"

And then you're laughing too at how fucking ridiculous the situation is. "In a way."

A peaceful quietness settles over the pair of you. Calmness. Contentedness. You're on a level playing field.

"Hey Gguk," you say after a moment.

"What now?" He moans, but you know he's smiling.

"What were you thinking about?"

And then rather suddenly he decides, "That's enough of this conversation. Night, Byeol."

"Oh my god, no," you protest, sitting up in his bed to look in his direction. The low-light level obscures him, but it doesn't matter. "What were you thinking about?"

"Byeol," he scolds. 

Although, in a way, it's kind of the answer.

"Jeongguk," you scold right back.

"Wasn't thinking about anything. Go to sleep."

His denial is a silent scream. You think you know. Think it's fucking hilarious.

"Were you thinking about me?"

"No," he lies. "It'd make me go soft - hey!" Jeongguk laughs as one of the pillows from his bed smacks against his face. "Well, were you thinking about me?" He banters back.

You laugh. "You forget I've fucked your housemate."

"OUCH."

You smile, all rather pleased with yourself, knowing it will play on his mind. Good. Serve him right for being a petulant little shit. "Night, Gguk."

"Have nightmares," he says, and you just continue grinning as you snuggle up in his sheets.

"Already living one."

You don't discuss the night before when you're getting ready to leave a few hours later. You've work in the afternoon, and really want a proper shower at your own place before you rock up with blue poster paint still down your neck.

Jeongguk feigns a hangover worse than it actually is. Says shit like, "I barely remember it," just so that you won't ask questions about why exactly he felt the need to excuse himself to the bathroom. 

He's not even really entirely sure why he did it. Obviously, he knows it's because he got himself too excited, just not why he got so excited. Just knows that he needs to figure out what's going on himself before he can breach the topic of conversation with you again.

You tell him you had a good night, and he says the same. It was nice for him to be out with you for once, instead of being an outsider looking in.

When you arrive at work that afternoon, Hoseok is tapping at his wrist. "What time do you call this?"

You roll your eyes, but your smile is warm. "Time you got a watch. How many painters we got in?"

"Full house," he says. "Only a few more prebooks for the rest of the day, though. No one booked in after eight, at least."

You ask him about his day, and let him babble on as you set about cleaning up the palettes he left for you to clear. He's been in work since midday, so has had to work through the heavy flow of customers coming in and out. Still wet, the chalky alkaline scent of the paint takes you back to the night before.

Has you thinking about Jeongguk; his toned back, and the rivulet of green-tainted water you'd watched run down it. Funny, how he'd been hues of blue - cerulean strands of hair, emerald caught under the ridge of his jaw - whereas you'd been a peachy daydream, pinks on your skin to match your lips.

The palettes turn the sink water a murky brown. Looks a little like dirt. You wonder if that's what the hues of you and Jeongguk would make together. Decide it's a good job you'll never find out.

But daisies push through dirt, you consider. There could be growth there. 

You let the water drain out, and rinse the boards off a final time, before you get to work on the brushes. Hosoek is greeting customers - "I love it. That shade of blue? Perfect. Come again soon!" - leaving you to your own devices, until a deep voice pulls your attention from the canvases you're organising. 

"I'm actually here to enquire about using the gallery space for a sho- oh. Hey," the owner of the voice says as he spots your eyes on him. 

Talk, dark and handsome, Kim Taehyung looks even better in the daylight. 

Dressed down in a white shirt and a pair of slacks, he's unassuming, but a frame like his commands attention. How Danbi is able to resist, you'll never know. Half think that maybe it would've been better if he'd been the one to have first caught your eye in Dionysus - but you're sure if Jimin was here instead, you'd be marvelling at how you'd landed someone as ethereal as him. The curse of attractive boys.

"Hey," you smile as you wipe your hands on a slightly paint-stained cloth. You whip it over your shoulder, and Taheyung smiles back. He wonders if that was something you did before you met Jeongguk, or if he's rubbing off on you. "Watcha doin' here?"

"Bit of a strange request, actually," he prefaces. "I'm looking for gallery space."

"Gallery space?" You question, reaching over for the thick diary kept behind the desk. You keep your eyes on his as he awkwardly begins to explain, pulling the diary pencil from the pages it's currently lodged between.

"Yeah. I'm looking to exhibit some of my work - a few artist's works, actually. All local." He holds up a black folder and taps it. You reach out your hand to receive it, and pass the diary over to Hoseok. "It's all in here. Concepts, artists, pieces. Even pre-written a press release for you."

You flick through the pages of the folder. It's typical of artists who request to use the space to provide you with something like this, but you can really see the care put into it. It's a collection he's curated, with the intent of finally getting his name out there in the art world.

The title page is a singular word: Requited.

"It's a study on the conflicting meanings of the word," Taehyung explains, and you can see what he means instantly. Many of the pieces photographed in the exhibition pre-guide are dark - reds, deep browns. Passionate. "To avenge; to love."

You nod, flicking through the pages, still. It's an impressive collection, and you recognise one of the art styles from an account you follow on Instagram. "Why here?"

Taehyung grits his teeth together in a way that you just know means a lie is coming. "We want our work to be shown in a place that emulates the feeling of creation - we could host workshops during the exhibition period. Runs promotions with you, help-"

"Cut the bullshit," you grin. "C'mon. This is a solid collection. Solid pitch. The folder, at least, your delivery could use a little work-"

"Hey, I'm only acting relaxed 'cause I know what you look like after one too many drinks."

"You want to exhibit here or not?" You tease.

"I'm sorry, I'm sorry!" He laughs, holding his hands out, but not reaching over to touch you. "Honestly? The bigger galleries have dismissed us. I think they're holding out for bigger collections, and the smaller galleries are booked up till Christmas."

"You're trying to get in before the end of the year?"

"Ideally, yeah," Taehyung nods, a little apprehensively as Hoseok hands you back the diary. You swap, and he flicks through Taehyung's folder, nodding in appreciation. "End of October, start of November."

"Hoping for holiday sales?" You ask, to which he nods again.

"If we're at the start of the season, hopefully we'll be the one that buyers come back to," he explains. "And I meant what I said about the workshops. Your peak must be the winter months, right? People looking for something to do indoors?"

You nod. You've actively been enjoying the summer lull. Aren't looking forward to the upcoming season - at work, at least. You love autumn in your own time.

"We could host events," Taheyung suggests. "Charge a little more than usual for guided workshops. You could get a nice Christmas bonus."

It's not a bad idea by any stretch of the imagination, and if the boss agrees to it, it could actually make the upcoming busy season a lot more bearable for you if it's more structured. 

"If it were up to me, I'd say yes," you tell him. His eyes light up like embers from a smoking fire, but they simmer quickly. He knows it isn't up to you. "Is it okay if we hold onto your folder? See what the boss says?"

He nods like one of those dog figurines your grandfather used to keep on his windowsills. His enthusiasm is sweet, and you hope that your boss is just as keen as you are.

"How long until you know, do you think?"

"Give us a week, maybe?" You say. "There's space in the diary between events at the start of November. Hopefully, if I structure a plan, make it easy for my boss, there'll be no reason to say no."

"You're a legend," he beams.

"Don't speak too soon," you remind him. "Still gotta get approval first."

"I know, I know," he nods. "You guys are the first place that's actually given us a look in, though. When Jeongguk suggested here, I kind-"

"He suggested this place?" You smile a little bemused.

"Yeah," Tae confirms. "Didn't say you worked here, though."

"Well," you say with a scrunch of your nose. "I do. Surprise."

The biggest surprise, you think, is that Jeongguk remembers.

"I'm glad you do, though. Feels like the collection will be in safe hands."

You know that he's mostly glad because it means the chances of Danbi coming to the exhibition will rise quite significantly, but you're not well-acquainted enough yet to tease him like that, so you just smile.

"I'll let you know, okay? I can give the folder back to Jeongguk for him to pass on if I don't see you before the end of next week."

Taehyung doesn't question it, but Hoseok glances over, eyes a little narrow. He knows there's something going on there. Just isn't sure what.

"Legend," Taehyung says again despite your previous protests. "You're the best, Disco Ball."

"Stop calling me that!" You call after him to no avail. 

He just waves back and heads out the door, into the afternoon sun. You tuck the folder beneath the diary and put it into the desk organiser that the boss always checks, before scribbling out a post-it note to explain. 

Their presence in the cafe is so infrequent that you never know when they'll next be in, and you worry that you'll miss it. Sure, you could just leave it in the hands of Hoseok, but you don't entirely trust him to relay all the important information.

He clocks out just after seven, leaving you to deal with the wind-down of the day shift. It's been quiet, only a handful of customers coming in throughout the evening. The last couple in - teenagers on a first date, by the look of things - leave at nine. It's perfect timing, as the last entry is also at nine, meaning you don't have to worry about any latecomers staying till eleven. You can close up early, which is always a dream - especially on the shifts after a night out. The sooner you can snuggle into your own bed, the better.

It's not that you don't like Jeongguk's bed. His mattress is perfectly firm, and his pillows really are to die for. It's just that nothing compares to home.

The closing routine is more work than you really care for. Restocking, cleaning, making sure everything is operational for an easy opening in the morning. 

Occasionally, you'll work a morning shift and spend the entire time finishing off jobs that staff from the night before neglected to do. It pisses you off. You've been known to leave passive-aggressive post-it notes on occasion. Always signed with a  smiley face and a kiss. Hoseok tells you that one of the other girls is gonna bitch slap you one day. You tell him good - would like to see her try. But what's a shitty job without a little drama?

It's as you're thinking about this potential conflict that your very real source of contention shows up at the door. He's dressed down, wearing a jacket that looks big enough to fit his entire friendship group within it, and a black baseball cap to hide the fact he hasn't styled his hair. 

There's something nice about seeing him like this - you so often get him in the gym, or at work - that it's pleasant to see Jeon Jeongguk as a normal person. See him as other people do.

You won't clue him in on this, though.

"Last entry was twenty minutes ago, Jeon."

The grin on his face as he leans against the door frame is something he's unable to hide - and why would he? There's no need to play games. Not here. Not with you. "Ouch, last name basis? What have I done?"

"Nothing," you say and smile back. He really hasn't - you're just trying to create distance. Reinstate boundaries that had been made a little blurry. "What brings you here?"

As he walks into the room - uninvited, you may add - he looks thoughtful, eyes all wide and inquisitive. He's never visited your place of work before. You've seen his workplace what feels like a hundred times over, so it's nice for him to finally have a visual of yours. 

He won't mention that Taehyung talking about your workplace had made him curious.

It's not what he expected. For starters, he imagined there'd be far more mess - though he does notice the cleaning cloth in your hand, and how it's saturated in all shades of acrylic, so perhaps you're just diligent. 

Up two flights of stairs, the cafe occupies the top unit of a commercial building. There's a hairdresser on the floor below and a deli on the floor below that, so the entryway normally either smells like peroxide or pepperoni - no in between. Occasionally it smells like paint, too, but it's a far less intrusive scent. 

The walls are covered in canvases - ones left by customers, prints of famous works, offerings by local artists. Easels are scattered around the room, set up in pairs with small tables for the art supplies between them. Jeongguk decides very quickly which spot he likes most - the easels by the window in the far corner. Thinks if he ever took a girl here on a date, that's where he'd like to sit.

Then again, he won't be doing that anytime soon - not unless one of those damn birds tells him to.

You follow his gaze to the window seats and smile. 

It's your favourite spot. S'why there's a cushion on the chair. It's for you. You sit there on your break with a book when it's quiet.

"Nothing," he says, but pulls a piece of carefully folded paper from his back pocket and tosses it down onto the counter. You glance down at it. Another fucking bird. Can see the wings don't line up. Say nothing, but slowly look back up at him. "Well, this has something to do with it. Fell while I was at the gym. Was waiting for me when I got home."

You nod. Run your tongue along your teeth as your lips purse. It's barely been half a day since the last. Hardly fair.

"Have you read it?" You ask, moving behind the counter. You're creating distance all over again. Jeongguk notices. Creates his own by retreating to one of the waiting room stools, where he takes a perch.

It's gotta be a big one. He wouldn't be here if he wasn't.

He sits, hands between his legs. Seems a little agitated. Doesn't seem quite himself. "One of yours." 

But then his posture eases. He sighs. Pulls a second bird from his jacket pocket, and holds it up. "One of mine..." he opens it. Bites his bottom lip as a laugh exhales, his eyes skimming over it. With a shake of his head, he reads it aloud: "Suggest an idea you know will get rejected."

He lingers on the final syllable, but then casts his eyes up to yours. The way he stares, so piercing and domineering is an absolute head fuck. He can be so soft and gentle in one moment, then completely unrecognisable in the next. It's what has your voice so quiet as you finally give a reply.

"And have you?"

Wouldn't be here if he had, you think. Stupid question.

He confirms this.

"I'm about to."

And for some reason, it has you smirking. Heartbeat racing. 

That's the thing about Jeongguk: he's unpredictable. 

You had heard from Yoongi the night before that he's started acting out of character, though in a way, it's apparently reminiscent of his 'old self'. You can't say definitely because you never knew him before he was broken, but it feels like perhaps he's healing.

"I'm intrigued," you tell him, which doesn't earn the smile you think it will.

In fact, he looks deadly serious as he says, "Promise me something?"

You're tepid as you nod. It's a no-brainer - of course you'll make a promise with him - but you can't help but be fearful of why you'd need to promise anything ahead of time. Does he not trust you?

He looks to his feet, where the toes of his right foot are perched up on the toes of his left. He's in his hightops again following a stint at the laundrette to tumble dry them. Behind the counter, so are you. "You'll hear me out first?"

"Of course I will."

"You and I..." he begins slowly. "Our friendship is good, right?"

You nod. Stupid question. "Right."

"And it's just friendship, isn't it?"

"Well, yeah?" You half-laugh. Still haven't discussed the events of last night yet.

And then almost out of the blue, Jeongguk decides to really reinforce the broken boundaries.

"You fucked Jimin."

The way you cringe is borderline insane; face all scrunched up, cheeks flaming red. It was just sex. You don't know why Jeongguk mentioning it seems to bother you so much. 

"Thanks for the reminder, yep," you say through gritted teeth. "I did fuck Jimin."

Still, it's not like it's the worst fuck you've ever had. There's just room for improvement. Maybe he'll redeem himself one day.

"And we're both completely emotionally unavailable?"

"Speak for yourself."

"Byeol," he smirks, amused by how often you seem to talk out of your ass. Conversations are never straightforward with you. Not entirely.

"Okay, okay!" You relent with a firm roll of your eyes. "I'm a little emotionally unavailable."

"Thanks for admitting it," he says, choosing not the question the 'a little'. You both know it should be 'completely'. "I have a question. A question before I make my suggestion."

"Go on.." you hesitate. 

"The birds. Are the birds helping?"

"With?"

"Your intimacy issues. Like say you hooked up with a randomer tomorrow, would you be able to think clearly if they suggested a shower?"

It's a good question. One that you really don't know the answer to. 

"Maybe?" you say, voice a little higher than typical. "My heart rate definitely feels a lot lower than it normally does when I consider it."

It's not a lie. Normally your hands would feel a little itchy, but you've barely broken a sweat.  You are, admittedly, thinking about the shower with Jeongguk, and how platonic it had been - but maybe that's exactly it. Maybe equating these big moments to nothing scarier than friendship is what helped.

"Okay, that's good," he replies before taking a second to gather his thoughts. "The birds... They're helping me. I never would have gotten that girl's number without them. Without you."

"You're welcome, Cassanova."

"And I'm thankful," he smiles, and you can almost feel his sincerity. "I really am. Been chasing my tail for far too long."

This admission silently delights you. It's rewarding to help someone through their healing process, no matter how large or small. To be included at all is an honour.

"So?" You lean your elbows on the counter. "Your suggestion?"

He sighs. As uncomplicated as he finds your company, he still doesn't find any of this easy. There's a massive mental hurdle for him to overcome.

You get it. You really do. Even though your troubles are different, they still come from the same place. They're matters of the heart, and they're by far the hardest things to untangle yourself from. Seokjin's still got a grasp on your puppet strings, and Jeongguk's former fling still has a hold on his, it would seem.

"Hey," you smile. Jeongguk thinks you look warm. Homely. "Nothing to be scared of. Just me. Just us."

His brows furrow and ease all within the same second. He knows those words. Knows he used similar ones on you the night before. Perhaps he really should start listening to his own advice, because it's just what he needed to hear.

"I think... I think maybe we should just...," he pauses. Looks to his hands and then back up to you. "Say fuck it?"

You grin, bemused. "Fuck it?"

It's not an instant yes. Jeongguk can't blame you for it - but it just reminds him that he has to be specific. He'd grated you about that last night, too. He can't be a hypocrite now.

"Okay, so... The birds, right?" He asks, but he isn't really asking anything. Just forming his words. Still, you nod. Encourage him to go on. "Whenever they fall, we're always like 'oh fuck,' right?"

 Again, you nod. 

"I just... I think the only reason we're hesitant to do your birds is 'cause we think we shouldn't do them. Like we think it will be a recipe for disaster... But... why? It's not like there are any confused feelings or ulterior motives. If I did your birds with you, I wouldn't be doing anything for like... my own gain? Just like you aren't with mine."

You stop yourself from interrupting. He's clearly struggling to form the words, eyes darting to his hands every time he catches your gaze.

"I know, I know," he rambles on. "You shouldn't fuck your friends. Shouldn't shit where you eat. But it's not fucking for the sake of fucking - and like, honestly, I don't actually know if any of your birds include fucking-"

"They do."

"Okay, brilliant, so they do," he laughs. Somehow a weight seems to ease. If anything, that admission should add more pressure. "It doesn't matter. Look all I'm saying is that I'm okay to do your birds, no matter how obscure they get. If that means me getting you used to sharing a shower with someone, so be it. It doesn't have to be sexual, even if the end goal will be used in that capacity."

You understand the sentiment, but there's one undeniable; your birds are all about sex.

"Gguk, I wrote some pretty..." You pause. It's your turn to struggle, now. "How do I say this? ...Intimate things on my birds."

"Fear of intimacy," he nods, and then he smirks. "I know. I'm not naive to what that entails. I know I'm a boy, but give me some credit, Byeol."

"Sorry."

The smiles you exchange are delightfully insolent, just like the make-believe fairies you imagine are dancing around you right now, tickling at your skin with miniature wee pinches just to get you giggling. So childish of the pair of you to behave this way in such a serious conversation.

"What I mean is that it's being done with a purpose. It's not just sex for the sake of sex, or whatever it may be," he says. "Like if I'm fucking you, it's not fucking. It'd be like... therapy?"

"I think you'd get fired if you were my therapist," you grin. "It's so weird hearing you talk about sex knowing that you're talking about having sex with me." 

It really is all a bit strange.

"But that's the beauty of it. The stakes are at zero. There's no worry of disappointment, no worry of getting heartbroken, no worry of anything that could go wrong - the birds tell us what to do, we do it," he explains, finally able to get his words out. "And look - I won't lie - I've been out of practice for a while, so it'd probably help with my confidence, too."

You scrunch your nose a little. "That doesn't fill me with hope for your skills."

He rolls his eyes. "It's not about my skill level, Byeol. That's beyond the point. It's about your association with sex and intimacy. If we can separate your association with certain sexual acts from intimacy, then they'll seem a lot less daunting in future relationships. Like, call me crazy, but I really think this could work."

"Okay, so you are crazy... but," you begin. He laughs, knowing that you're never able to resist the role of devil's advocate. "Hypothetically speaking- we get you a date. We get you a girl you're really interested in, but there are still a fuck tonne of birds? Then what?"

"Well, by that point hopefully we'll have worked through enough of our respective issues. I'm not gonna magically become a lothario overnight, am I? It will take time," he emphasises. "By the time I'm ready for that, I'm pretty sure you'll also be ready to explore this shit with someone you actually care about."

It's funny. You do care about him. Wouldn't even be considering this if you didn't.

"I'm not convinced," you say. It's a nice idea, but there's no way your timelines will be linear. Your breakup is far fresher - but you don't realise just how deep his wounds go. Perhaps it will take him just as much time.

He nods. Appreciates your honesty. Rereads his bird. "Suggest an idea you know will be rejected. I didn't come here thinking you'd agree, Byeol, but I also don't think it's a bad idea."

"And if I do agree?"

"There's a bird already waiting," he gestures towards the one on the countertop. It's sitting, untouched by you, in a very sorry state. You really are terrible at origami. 

"Can I... have some time to think?"

His proposition is a big ask. Jeongguk knows this. So far, you've been dancing around the notion of a somewhat unconventional friendship, but escalating things will really cement it. There'll likely be no going back.

And so he says, "I have a lot of trust in our friendship, Byeol. I wouldn't suggest it if I didn't think we could handle it. I know it's a lot though, and I've already wasted enough of your time tonight, so I'll leave you be, okay?" He gets to his feet, and places his bird down on the counter. It's yours now. He's set it free. "Text me when you get home? Not for like, anything in particular, I don't need an answer now. Just so that I know you're home safe."

"Okay," you nod as he walks to the door. "Bye, Gguk."

He glances over his shoulder and presses his lips together, his silver lip ring flipping ever so slightly. "Bye, Byeol."

There's a shift as he leaves. The air feels colder; the light dimmer. You're left with your thought and nothing but a little regret simmering in your stomach. The feeling of safety that comes with Jeongguk leaves when he does. You don't like it. Want it back.

"Shit," you curse, tossing your own bird down onto the counter. Running for the door, You call after him. "Hey! Gguk, wait!

By the foot of the stairs, Jeongguk turns. Take a single step back up. Stops himself from walking the full distance. 

"You gotta promise me one thing," you say, but it's posed more as a question.

He'll promise you whatever you ask - within reason. "What?"

"If we do this, it won't fuck up your friendship with Jimin?"

"Why would- Ohhh," he snorts. "'Cause you fucked him."

"Yes, again, thank you for the reminder. I'm sure the entire building needs to know that."

"Shut up, there's like no one else here."

"It's the principle."

"The Jimin thing is fine," he says. He wouldn't have suggested this if he thought it would impact anything within his existing friendships. He cares about Jimin probably more than he cares for you. It's in slightly different capacities, admittedly, but that doesn't matter. "No offence, but he doesn't sit there lamenting the way you left him that night."

"Yes, he does," you challenge, knowing Jeongguk is absolutely correct. "Don't lie."

"Will it make you feel better if I pretend he does?"

"Yes."

"Okay, fine, he stares and the door and pines for your return like a lovesick puppy - happy?"

It's funny, 'cause it's probably what Jimin would actually say about Jeongguk instead. Always a little mopier after his time spent with you is finished.

"Much happier," you grin. "But I'm serious. I don't wanna cause you issues."

"I'd be causing myself issues," he insists. "It wouldn't be your fault. But no, it'll be fine."

You take a second to breathe. Let your cheeks plumpen as air exhales from your lips. "Alright. Let's try it. The bird that fell today, let's try it, and see how it goes? If it's too weird-"

"We can back out," he nods. "No harm, no foul."

"You got anywhere to be? Wanna wait with me while I finish up and then..."

The beat of your heart is so rapid that you think you might have a heart attack - but as Jeongguk makes his way up the stairs, it seems to settle. This is fine.

"And then?"

"Then we'll do the damn bird."

 AO3 | MASTERLIST | NEXT

[dumbistsmartass]

Every Hatchetfield song explained badly in ten words or less

spoilers and also this is only the main trilogy not nightmare time.

The Guy Who Didn't Like Musicals - Yeah, he didn't like musicals

La Dee Dah Dah Day - "the dogs are my meal"

What Do You Want, Paul? - "please god have an I want song"

Cup of Roasted Coffee - If I had to sing working retail I'd kill someone

Cup of Poisoned Coffee - oh hey, they killed someone

Show Me Your Hands - this is what cops think 24/7

You Tied up My Heart - gaslight, gatekeep, girl bossing your way to mariticide

Join Us (And Die) - Guts Magee and Brainiac explain why you should KYS

Not Your Seed - "it's your fault your daughter is dead bitch"

Show Stoppin Number - He had a point but like no

America Is Great Again - you know what it's a joke about

Let Him Come - they know he's the main character

Let It Out - Is it an identify crisis or possession

Inevitable - a beautifully haunting ending

Tickle-Me Wiggly Jingle - what the actual fuck is this?

What Tim Wants - what can I say, it's sad

Califor.M.I.A. - they really want you to bond with these characters

What Do You Say? - everyone is too invested in these twos relationship

Our Doors Are Open - "shopping will fill the hole in your heart"

Feast Or Famine - this is real footage when the new iPhone comes out

Monsters and Men - He's fucking back!

Deck The Halls - we got a full working boys, we could get this

Take Me Back - I'll be real I skipped this one on rewatch

Adore Me - haunting when you don't say the shit part

Do You Want To Play? - a reversal of who you're told to trust

Made In America - we let him in via consumerism, amazing capitalism critique

Black Friday - me singing a musical as I'm being choked out

Monsters and Men (Reprise) - This guy is so cool

If I Fail You - "are we the baddies?"

Wiggle - Wiggle Wiggle Wiggle Wiggle Wiggle Wiggle Wiggle Wiggle Wiggle Wiggle

What If Tomorrow Comes? - So she is seeing the other Hatchetfields right?

High School Is Killing Me - they really spoil the people who die first song huh?

Literal Monster - shove yourself in your locker

Cool As I Think I Am - you think you're cooler then you think you are

Dirty Girl - makes me genuinely uncomfortable, skip it

Bully The Bully - interesting plan, let's see how It plays out

Bury The Bully - oh... that got dark fast

Go Go Nighthawks! - everyone is happier now that this bitch is gone

Nerdy Prudes Must Die - to be fair, you did kill him

Hatchet Town - mass panic is so hip

Just For Once - we all though the light was gonna fall on her

If I Loved You - they are in so much denial

The Summoning - Wiggly want you to kill your crush

Cool As I Think I Am (Reprise) - really tragic, trying to convince the other to sacrifice them

The Best Of You - I'm so glad it didn't end with everyone dead again

Dirty Dudes Must Die - When you give a Christian a little dark magic

[medievalandfantasymelee]

THE HOT MEDIEVAL & FANTASY MEN MELEE

QUALIFYING ROUND: 147th Tilt

Xenk Yendar, Dungeons & Dragons: Honor Among Thieves (2023) VS. Eamon Valda, The Wheel of Time (2021-)

Propaganda

Xenk Yendar, Dungeons & Dragons: Honor Among Thieves (2023) Portrayed by: Regé-Jean Page

“He's a knight (paladin) so pure he'll make you sick. The goodest good guy to ever pick up a blade and swear to protect those who can't protect themselves. His autistic rizz has captured me body and soul. We meet him saving a child/cat (a twofer in ways to make you like a guy) and giving gold to a beggar. He kicks ass, he gives good advice, 'Neither virtue nor blade shall break' is on his sword. He's got gods most tragic backstory He's tooth-rotting perfect and it's glorious to watch.”

Eamon Valda, The Wheel of Time (2021-) Portrayed by: Abdul Salis

“He's an evil asshole but he has the most gorgeous perfect face and sexy voice.”

Additional Propaganda Under the Cut

Additional Propaganda

For Xenk Yendar:

“It's basically a running joke through the movie how stupidly gorgeous and perfect he is. Because he is. He's so sexy in the confident, effortless way he approaches everything.”

“A lawful good paladin who has seen so much destruction and yet is noble and sweet. If he had been around in the early tumblr days there would be a million flower crown edits of him. He literally saves a baby kitty. Also, extremely good with a blade and has too much faith in a sarcastic rogue.”

[Gifset]

"the epitome of autism swag. kind and righteous and capital “S” Sexy. also him and chris pine are really gay in this one which adds to the hotness imo"

“He's the only person who has ever properly made me wonder if I was actually asexual after realizing that, but like dang, dunno if I'd still want him if he was real and in the room with me but I think I might be Xenksexual not ace. God I wish he'd force me to swear something on his book.”

[Gifset]

“The autistic rizz is off the fucking charts, man”

For Eamon Valda:

[Gifset]