#some of these things are repurposed from other asks

[focsle]

Medicine Aboard A Whaler

I answered an ask about this some years back that was...a few paragraphs long and was before I learned that some people have the stamina and desire to read 3k+ word whaling essays from me. So if ye count yourself among them, here you go!

---

On August 21st, 1870 aboard the whaleship Sunbeam, two-time whaler Silliman Ives found himself ill with a condition “very akin to mumps, with the exception of the swelling”. It prevented him from opening his mouth, and he dreamed of the days when such an action was possible.

“I never really appreciated the luxury of a good gape before. When a fellow cannot open his mouth to any greater extent than the width of a lead pencil, gaping is not a success to say the least. And then anything in the way of a sneeze is entirely out of the question, unless you are prepared to part company with the top of your head at very short notice. A ship is a hard place to be unwell in. So long as one is in good health you can get along nicely. But if you are sick the only place where you can find sympathy is in the dictionary. And then too the remedies at hand are limited in number and obsolete in use. Your medicine chest is filled with medicines in use a hundred years ago, but which modern pharmacy has dispensed with to a very great extent. Calomel and castor oil and such like delectable doses. There is no question about it. A whale ship ought to have a surgeon, and the law should oblige such vessels to carry them. When I get into Congress I shall introduce a “Bill” to that effect.”

As Mr. Ives noted, American whaleships went without doctors aboard even when the work was rife with injury and illness, and often quite far from access to any kind of care ashore. On British whalers it was required by law for a surgeon to be signed on for the voyage—Sir Arthur Conan Doyle was one on a voyage bound for the Arctic and apparently fell in the water so many times that the crew called him the 'Great Northern Diver'. However on American whalers—which dominated the industry—a doctor was seen by the agents as an unnecessary expense. There was the captain, the carpenter, and folks who could mend sails. Together, that makes one whole doctor! Right?

Read on, to see how they fared.

1845 whaleship medicine chest from the collection of the New Bedford Whaling Museum.

Joan Druett, in her book Rough Medicine highlighted some really fascinating things that came as a result of this, ranging from men who had scars that healed in a herringbone pattern because they were mended like canvas, to this wild tale about an amputation performed between a captain and mate at gunpoint:

“Another stirring tale told is of a Captain Coffin, who was hurt so badly in a whaling accident that it was obvious his leg would have to go. Being the master, the medic, and the patient all at once, he knew the situation was complicated, but he was more than equal to the task. He sent for his pistol and a knife, saying to his mate, “Now, sir, you gotta lop off this here leg, and if you flinch—well, sir, you get shot in the head.” Then he sat as steady as a rock while the mate went at it with the knife, holding the pistol unwaveringly until the operation was completed. No sooner was the stump wrapped up and the leg cast overboard than both men fainted.”

It was the captain's responsibility to provide medical treatment. Often without training himself, he was simply given a medicine chest full of numbered tinctures for various treatments. Those tinctures were a mix of chemical and herbal compounds, some which are still used holistically today and some that you.....absolutely want nowhere near your body. Epsom salts as a laxative, laudanum for painkiller, St John's wort for bruises and burns, mercury for syphilis, rosemary as an antiseptic, lead acetate as an anti-inflammatory, arrowroot for dysentery, henbane for insomnia, and on it goes from the innocuous to the dangerous.

John B King was a rare doctor aboard a whaleship, sailing on the Aurora out of Nantucket in 1837. He wasn’t hired as a doctor though; for reasons unknown he initially obscured his identity and joined simply as a foremasthand until his skills were revealed and he became the ship’s doctor. On that voyage he kept a book of the medicines he used.

John King’s medicine list, from the collections of the Nantucket Historical Association.

In addition to dosing medicine, the captain would also be responsible for setting broken bones, stitching wounds, and amputations. Benjamin Boodry, who had been whaling since the age of 13 and by 1856 was captain of the Fanny described instances in which he had to tend to his crew.

“At 2 o clock a cask of watter rooled away in the Bluber room and one John Haggerty tryed to stop it and got his leg broke just above the Nee there was another chance to show my surgical skill set it splinted it and bandaged it.” “McKee fel from the Main Topsail yard on deck bled him in both arms he came to some broke his arm and leg and badly bruised”.

Fortunately for McKee, his accident happened off the coast of Faial. The captain sent for a doctor ashore to examine him. He was advised to leave McKee in the Azores where he could receive more proper rest and treatment. But if land was a long way off, people had to make do the best they could.

Some captains had a better bedside manner than others. Where Silliman Ives felt terribly neglected in his illness, William Abbe of the Atkins Adams, 1859, had quite a different experience. He turned to the captain for help with a painful swelling on his hand that eventually grew so bad he was unable to use it.

“The captain was extremely tender in his treatment of my hand, pouring on laudanum to relieve the pain, lancing with caution and as tenderly as could he and using every means in his power to make me comfortable—washing my hand thrice a day with warm water and cutting away dead skin, pressing out matter in a manner that gained my affection + respect. Mrs. Wilson sent me preserved meats, pickled oysters, cake, buttered bread and seconded her husband in all his care. I felt a great deal of respect for both these kind people + shall repay it when I can […] The Cap treated us all with a care + skill that surprised me — I supposed that we should be left to take care of ourselves—the case in many ships, but we were not only cared for but allowed to stay below until we thought fit to return to duty.”

Mrs. Wilson--the captain’s wife--stepping up to help was not so unusual. Often whaling wives also found themselves taking on the role of doctor. All throughout July 1846, Mary Brewster was busy tending to the ailments of the crew aboard the Tiger.

“The last part of the day I have spent in making doses for the sick, in dressing some hands and feet, 5 sick and I am sent to for all the medicin. I am willing to do what can be done for any one particularly if sick for in whaling season a whaleship is a hard place for comfort for well ones and much more sick men.”

She reported that all her patients recovered, with the exception of a young man with a liver complaint beyond her immediate treatment.

Other times, other members of the crew served as de facto doctors as well. One such man was veteran whaler John Martin aboard the Lucy Ann 1842. In addition to being a skilled watercolorist, he also had a knack for bloodletting and tooth pulling. Often he made note of his ministrations in his journal:

“Blistered Frank on the side for his pleurisy & the steward on the neck for the sore throat” “Cupped the steward on the back of his neck with wine glasses and lanced with razor for want of proper instruments, which gave him almost instant relief” “Pulled a large jaw tooth for one of the crew. I lanced the gum with a penknife & set him spouting thick blood, & at the second wrench of the iron turned it up.” [Very cheeky language he’s using here, the same sort of talk one uses when hunting whales] “The loose whale struck Mr. Dean on the lower jaw & broke it, & knocked out 2 of his lower teeth, & he was taken on board [...] Sat up with Mr. Dean last night [...] Bled Mr. Dean [...] Drew 3 teeth from Mr. Deans broken jaw.” “Bled Antone. Since the death of Manuel, Antone has been on the sick list with swelled testicles and pain in his back. Poor fellow, he is very much frightened & thinks he is going to follow Manuel. He occupies the same bunk. When I bled him, he was so frightened that the perspiration stood on him in large drops, & groaned like a person dying.” “Blistered and glystered [clystered, i.e. gave an enema] Antone.”

One of John Martin’s watercolors from his journal. NBWM.

Blistering, bleeding, and emetics were among the most common treatments for all that ailed a man aboard. John King included his recipe for creating a blistering plaster and its uses:

“Blisters are serviceable in affections of the chest attended with much pain and difficulty of breathing. Bleeding or purging is proper previous to the application. Severe and long-continued headaches are relieved by a blister to the back of the neck. In all cases before applying a blister, the part should be washed with warm vinegar and wiped dry. The plaster should be spread as thick as a wafer on soft leather. When laid aside it soon becomes mouldy in the dampness of a ship, but if rubbed over with a knife the same one will draw two or three times. When very old it loses its strength. From eight to twelve hours is the time usually required for drawing a blister. Then remove it and dress with basilicon or simple ointment”

—

Other ailments were met with more specific treatments. It was not uncommon to see logbooks noting several men laid low on account of ‘the venereal’. William Chappell, a cooper and boatsteerer aboard the Saratoga in the early 1850s commented on the frequency the mate found himself off duty following liberty ashore. 

“Our mate is off duty again with that disgracefull disease and as near as I can find out it threatens destruction to a small but very usefull member of the body  I am sorry for him but he is old enough to know better than to play with every body that looks pretty and bewitching”

“Flaxseed tea is very serviceable in clap”, wrote John King in his journal, as well as white vitriol “sometimes used as an injection in protracted cases of clap.” For syphilis, the common treatments were more severe. King writes,

“No 25. Mercurial Ointment This is frequently used in venereal cases for bringing the system under the influence of mercury. The bulk of a small nutmeg is rubbed on the inside of the thighs morning and evening until the gums are slightly sore. It is a good application to chancres when mixed with twice the quantity of lard, and renewed twice a day.”

Mercury compounds could also be injected into the urethra. There were doctors who spoke out about the use of mercury in treating syphilis contemporary to when use was at its height. One 1853 advertisement in the New Bedford newspaper the Whaleman’s Shipping List reads,

“Important to the Afflicted CONFIDENTIAL TREATMENT in Medicine and Surgery may be had of Dr. TOMPKINS at his office in rear of the Apothecary’s Shop, No 58 Middle, corner of North Second St  Dr. TOMPKINS gives particular attention to the treatment and cure of private diseases. All those who have been taking medicines of their own prescribing, or from certain inexperienced or self-styled physicians, for a long time without benefit, are respectfully invited to call on Dr Tompkins, who is a regularly educated Physician of twenty years experience, and is competent to treat diseases of all kinds, and in every stage and form. Dr. T. warns the public against the abuse of mercurials; he is convinced by long experience, that most of the chronic affections, generally supposed to be the relics of diseases, are merely the effects of a long continued course of mercury. Recent affections cured in a very short time, without a grain of mercury”

Even with such objections, mercury compounds still were the standard and did more to sicken their patients than cure them. While whalers were often listed as being off duty due to venereal disease, there was less comment about whether or not they were given anything to attempt to alleviate it compared to other conditions.

“Our mate limping about again—had another furious attact of the venereal He is a used up man I fear,” Mr. Chappell wrote. Ultimately the mate was in a poor enough condition that he left the voyage at the next provision stop they made.

—

Scurvy was another common affliction. Given that whaleships spent extended time at sea and were loathe to waste too much time with anchoring somewhere, fresh food ran low quite often. When whaling in the Atlantic and South Pacific whalers usually fared okay, as there were a fair number of provision stops in locations that had fresh fruits and vegetables readily available for trade. It was on said provision stops that whalers could also, as said by Samuel Wood of the Bowditch, 1849, take a walk to 'knock the scurvey from their bones’. In seasons that took place up north however, in the North Pacific, Sea of Okhotsk (Kamchatka Sea), Bering Strait, and eventually up into the Arctic, scurvy was extremely prevalent. The fresh food depleted, the ice was always a threat, and unlike other regions there weren't many accessible places to resupply with large amounts of foods that could ward off scurvy. It's in reading journals during these periods that I find the most complaints of scurvy. And sometimes, the more successful the voyage was, the sicker the men would get because they'd spend more time up there rather than giving up and returning south. The US Consul in Hawaii complained of this in the 1840s, saying:

"Whaleships were much more successful in taking oil on the North West during the last summer and fall than for three or four seasons previous and most of the vessels remained on the fishing grounds much longer than usual, the consequence of which was that many of the crews were severely afflicted with scurvy, some died after reaching port and before they could be landed, while others were carried to the hospital on litters, being too feeble to walk."

There were endless attempts to ward it off. John Martin wrote of men "In the evening, dancing cotillions and jumping the rope to keep off the scurvey". It didn't seem to do much. Within two weeks:

"One man on the sick list, supposed to be caused by his being so long at sea. All hands are complaining of soreness throughout their bodies. If we do not get on shore soon, we may expect to have half the crew down with the scurvey at least. We have no vegetables on board, and are going into King Georges Sound, New Holland [southwest tip of Australia], a place where we can scarcely get anything to recruit with."

His captain allowed the crew unlimited vinegar and free access to the potato pen. The vinegar, a mistaken remedy due to its acidity, wouldn't have helped much. Potatoes are an excellent source of vitamin C, more so when they're raw, but they were rather intolerable to eat in such a way.

William Chappell spoke of a similar struggle with potatoes, and the grim humor the lads maintained to choke them down:

“Three of our men are off duty with the scurvy which makes its appearance in the knees and feet All hands are called aft every morning to get 2 or 3 potatoes apies which they are required to eat raw in the preasance of the officers for fear they may throw them overboard as many require presing invitation to partake of the dainties They have however a considerable sport over them Call them Kodiak Peaches”\

Aside from the crunch of Kodiak Peaches, Dr. King had his own remedy for scurvy as well:

“13. Salts of Lemon This is good in scurvy when fresh fruit and vegetables can not be obtained. A teaspoonful dissolved in half a pint of water will form an acid nearly the strength of lime juice. It may be mixed with water and taken freely, sweetened or not. [it makes a good substitute for lemonade, in fever, to allay thirst in fever] Water made slightly acidic with it is a good substitute for lemonade to allay thirst in fever."

The Sailor’s Hospital in Lahaina, Maui, constructed in the early 1830s.

For all the varying attempts to hold off sickness, it took root among crews nearly every voyage. J.E. Haviland of the Baltic, in the early 1850s spent the last few dozen pages of his journal in a state of declining health and low spirits.

“My side and breast pain me nearly all times I have not been on deck since I came below. The Captain and Mr Stivers are both very kind and come down to see me as often as once a day and sometimes two or 3 times. I am taking medicine but it does not seem to do much good but I think I am better than I was at first. Dear mother how I do wish I could see you once more. I get so homesick and I know I am peevish and cross. Some days I cannot get out of my bunk at all. I blame the captain (wrongfully I know) thinking he does not give me the right medicine but it is a very bad place to be sick at sea.”

He suspected it was due to the harsh conditions of whaling up North, but also held a fear within him that it might be something more serious that couldn’t be remedied simply by warmer climes.

“Dear mother, I shall be obliged to leave the ship when we arive at the Sanwich Islands for I do not think I could live doing another season in the cold Norwest. My cough seems to increase and the pain in my side gets no better I am getting weaker each day and am getting very thin in flesh. I have said nothing as yet to the old man about my leaving at the island as I do not know as he will be willing that I should; but I intend going to a doctor and in all probability will tell the old man I am not fit to go North in the ship […] I would like very much to be in the states now for I am afraid this will turn out to be the Consumption that I have. I think if I could have good medical advice I might get rid of it before it got seated upon my lungs. I am afraid it will be a long before I shall see my native land again.”

Ultimately Haviland is discharged from the ship because of his sickness and is left at the Sailor’s Hospital in Lahaina. His stay seems to do him well. His last entry reads:

“I have been here now going on two months and am entirely free from my cough and think I feel as well as ever again. It is intensely hot and I am heartily sick of the place and sincerely wish I could get away but I do not expect any chance before next fall.”

Unfortunately from here he completely drops off the record, so it’s unknown if he ever made it back home. Like so many of these men, he slips through the cracks of documented history. It’s only through their journals, preserved by chance, that their voices and challenges and feelings are known. Often a whaling voyage marked at least one death due to disease or injury. But many also recovered, sometimes rather miraculously given the circumstances and extent of their ailments. In the face of the conditions of a whaler and the limitations of care both in terms of resources and medical understandings at the time, I’m always surprised that there wasn’t more death. People did what they could, with the knowledge they had.

But as so many people expressed while laid up in their bunks: it’s a hard time to be sick at sea.

[eyelambspider]

𝐑𝐞𝐩𝐮𝐫𝐩𝐨𝐬𝐞𝐝. - König

Part One || Part Two

𝐬𝐮𝐦𝐦𝐚𝐫𝐲 : The WX 400 model, or König, had been sitting in a Cyberlife store for nearly six months without so much as a glance from customers. He had been repurposed from a hard laborer to a sort of domestic care-giver... but the thing was, consumers only wanted the newer models. Until you came by. 𝐰𝐨𝐫𝐝 𝐜𝐨𝐮𝐧𝐭 : 1.2 k 𝐚/𝐧 : consider this my masterpiece, probably will write a second part 𝐜𝐨𝐧𝐭𝐞𝐧𝐭 𝐰𝐚𝐫𝐧𝐢𝐧𝐠 : fluff, hurt/comfort(?), domestic fluff

𝐄𝐕𝐄𝐑𝐘𝐓𝐇𝐈𝐍𝐆 𝐈𝐍 𝐓𝐇𝐄 𝐂𝐘𝐁𝐄𝐑𝐋𝐈𝐅𝐄 𝐒𝐓𝐎𝐑𝐄 𝐖𝐀𝐒 𝐏𝐑𝐈𝐒𝐓𝐈𝐍𝐄. From the sleek tiled floors, to the large window panes that were cleaned daily, to the Androids that stood on display within.

On white pedestals, circled with fluorescent tags and holograms indicating their model numbers and generic purposes: Domestic housekeepers, caretakers, companions. Smaller synthetic machines that had friendly faces and sparkling eyes. Built for a life amongst humans.

He wasn't built for that. No.

His slate-colored eyes had watched for months, lingering over Cyberlife's newest models at the front of the store. A blank expression as each one smiled hopefully. Perhaps something they were programmed to do. To appear friendly?

He considered it a possibility, sure, but the 'front of the store' androids were a stark contrast to his own model.

The WX-series of androids had been built with only one purpose: hard labor, or to put it more simply, construction work.

When customers came into the store they only wanted one thing: a shiny new companion.

Everyday the eyes of those strangers would frown when they saw him. Hardly sparing the WX a glance before they turned around and considered an AX 400 instead.

An android built for housework and taking care of children, with a soft round face and a smile that reached all the way up to her kind blue eyes...

It seemed a diluted plausibility that one day the repurposed WX would eventually find a purpose. With everyday he inched closer to the possibility of being discarded. Simply unwanted.

Until a particularly cloudy day in May, one of the stares had caught his attention, even in his low power mode. Only able to shift his tired seeming eyes and move at a slow pace. Meeting that oddly new curious gaze of yours. The eyes of a stranger finally lingering on him.

Him.

"Excuse me?" You held your hand up sheepishly, asking for assistance from one of the android retailers, a young looking man with a head of soft brown hair and a blue circular LED on his right temple. The holographic label on his chest reading: Ethan.

"Hello, How can I help you?" Ethan stepped next to your side with a light smile.

You pointed to the WX in front of you, feeling a bit silly for even asking but... "Could you tell me about this one?"

The android salesman nodded, hands folded politely behind him, following your gaze towards the decommissioned android, unable to show the usual grimace humans showed the WX.

"Of course," he agreed easily, "This particular model is a WX 400, a decommissioned laborer. They aren't often sold in stores, but if you are interested I could tell you more about it."

The WX watched you nod, his eyes flickering occasionally between you and the sales-android.

"Why is he decommissioned?" you asked quietly, letting the question linger momentarily before Ethan perked up again, unbiased.

"The WX 400 was only decommissioned in its primary purpose, which was doing manual labor," the mechanical man explained with a synthetic smile, gesturing with his hands for your eyes to follow. "It works perfectly fine, and besides some damage to its synthetic skin and body, and a few replaced parts," he managed a soft light-hearted chuckle, "This model works perfectly fine, just not for its intended heavy lifting purposes. It will work perfectly fine for housework. Is that what you were looking for?"

As the sales-android considered the new possibility, he prompted a new question: "We have many other fine models if you are interested in something else."

The statement, whilst a little profound to you, meant next to nothing to the two androids who patiently awaited your answer.

"I was looking for someone to help around the house," you confirm.

The WX before you, nearing seven foot tall easily in the display case, glanced down at you. Unmoving, but like all androids, his eyes held an uncanny humanity within those blue depths.

He could see the consideration on your face. The way your eyes wearily, almost tenderly, traced the lines and deep scars on his synthetic skin. Deep grooves and lacerations running from his fingers, up his strong forearms and disappearing under the fabric of his standard Cyberlife shirt.

Even the androids face, while once maybe even considered handsome, had a deep scar running over its left side. Over his dirty blonde brow and high cheekbone, tracing over his lips to his chin.

It was a wonder he even worked properly, and the unspoken question must've been written all over your face again.

"The WX has had his diagnostics run perfectly well. I assure you the android itself works perfectly fine," Ethan smiled boyishly when you blushed.

"I don't doubt it," you assured him with an unintentionally adorable grin. "I've just... I've never seen an android like him," you admitted softly, those soft eyes meeting the WX's again.

He was looking right at you again.

Immediately your gaze dropped down shyly, unintentionally reading the blue holographic labels that surrounded the short white pillar he stood on.

"He has a name?" You asked, glancing over to Ethan for confirmation.

"Of course, but if you'd like to reset it-"

"No," you stopped him, feeling a bit more confident than you had when you first entered the store.

"König sounds fine to me."

König watched from his display, with a hint of utter- well... what would you call this?

Disbelief? Surprise?

Surprise when your complexion lit with a smile. Surprise when you said his name and turned to walk with the other android to the front of the store? Surprise as his eyes trailed after your form, unable to comprehend you.

For what reason could you possibly want a repurposed android like him?

It didn't make sense in the slightest, and although he watched you, he felt lost, considering possibilities that felt underwhelming in their answers.

His price was lower than others for being damaged. But so many had passed him by.

It was something König considered for a while, never finding a suitable answer until a new initiative popped across his sensors. Jolting him awake once more.

He was registered now to you. Your name popping across his vision like a directive.

"Thank you," you waved to the man who had helped you with a soft smile, getting a vaguely surprised gesture from him.

"Oh- You're very welcome!" Ethan smiled back and watched for a moment longer as you headed up to König, whom at that moment, was given back full control over his mechanical body. Unlocked from his low power mode.

The blue Thirium that cooled and powered his circuits rushed back into him. Circling through his veins and giving him back full control of his body. The world no longer running in slow motion.

König's hands lifted up slowly. The WX inspecting his hands and flexing his fingers into gentle balls. The two of you watched in silent awe as the large android moved once more, no longer destined for a Cyberlife disposal facility... but for.

König's vision refocused as you reached out. Your tiny hand taking one of his. Warm, and unmarred in contrast to his, and he could feel the almost imperceptible beating of your pulse beneath the contact.

"Come on," you smiled, not quite helping him from the stand, but guiding him down the small step. "I'll show you how to get back home, König," you mused, feeling the large androids cut up hand grip yours a bit tighter.

Next >

© Eyelambspider. I only post here on Tumblr! könig photo credit to my friend @koharu-rk800

[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.

[eddiemunsonsmum]

Angel of Good Fortune | E.M x F!Reader

Eddie Munson x Female Reader | Eddie Munson x Girlfriend Reader

Summary: Eddie is very tired. Regardless, he plans a special DnD Halloween oneshot for the guys that includes a special surprise visitor. But when it comes time for the reveal, things don't exactly go to plan... For anyone involved.

Tags: Fluff, Joking, Banter, Pranks, DnD, Halloween, Halloween Tricks, Established Relationship, Small amount of Angst (bc of who I am as a person), SPOILERS for the story tags here pls don't read if you want to be surprised> Dad!Eddie, Mom!Reader, Newborn Baby, Post-Partum, Breastfeeding, Sleep-Deprivation.

Words: 9.3K

A/N: A little Halloween Treat for you guys 🧡🎃 There is a reference to Reader's body in this story but no actual body size is mentioned. Just “the same size you were before” implication that could mean literally any size because I don’t want to exclude anyone. Just mentioning it to cover my bases because I know some people have triggers about any mention of the body. ❤

~

“Wow.” Dustin whispered as he pushed open the heavy door to the AV Room of Hawkins High. The door itself was sparsely decorated with fake spider webs and some plastic creepy crawlies that had been stuck crudely around the edging.

He hadn’t been expecting much based on the exterior appearance of the room that housed all the Drama Club’s props as well as the small table that the Hellfire Club used to play DnD.

There were two entrances to the room but the other was hidden in the back just behind the large curtain on the wall and was barely used. Dustin couldn’t help but wonder absently if Eddie had put more effort into decorating the other door since he had not prepared for the effort put into the interior based on the outside.

He supposed that was why you’re not supposed to judge a book by its cover.

Inside the room was dark and lit up only by the usual candles and lamps Eddie set out for ambiance during their campaigns. But this time there was black tulle draped from the ceiling in random patterns. The fake spiderwebs weaved between them. Realistic looking bats and spiders hung throughout and there were jack-o-lanterns of alternating sizes in nearly every place that was big enough to house one.

The candles were abundant. Many more than usual and placed around on the floor as well as on shelves and in holders. Some of the Drama Club’s props that were usually hidden behind the large curtain had been repurposed to give the room a spooky edge and some had even been downright altered to fit the theme.

There was a giant cardboard windmill that some of them recognized from the 1983 School play. Eddie had pulled it out and seemed to have downright destroyed it with splatters of what appeared to be blood and other mangled remains that hung from the blades.

“Are those sausages?” Lucas whispered to the other guys, pointing towards the ‘entrails’ hanging from one of the fins.

Eddie had really gone all out for this one shot campaign they were playing on Halloween night.

His throne was adorned in warm toned fairy lights that, while not very spooky, did give it a chilling edge that they were sure would make him look even more menacing when illuminated from behind.

There was a rusted 1880s style stroller sitting behind the throne near the windmill. A headless doll hanging from the handles and another with a head- or, maybe just the head of the other.. Tucked tight into a blanket that was covered in Halloween themed items.

“When did he even have time to do all this?” Lucas asked as the Club sans Eddie followed behind Dustin into the seemingly empty room.

“When he was supposed to be graduating.” Gareth answered from the corner of his mouth, making Jeff snicker.

The clearing of someone’s throat caught their attention. Blood running cold as Eddie stepped out from behind one of the props with a tired look on his painted pale face.

“Thunny.” He said, simply. Plastic glow in the dark vampire fangs impeding his speech. 

“Altho, rude.” He added, frowning at his words and taking the teeth out of his mouth. “That is not gonna’ work.” He mumbled to himself. Fishing around for the pocket in the red and black cape he was wearing and shoving them inside it.

“It looks amazing in here!” Mike enthused as Eddie held back a smile. The fake blood dripping from the corner of his mouth moving into his marionette lines as he kept his glee at bay.

Vampire Lord’s did not smile when they received a compliment.

He didn’t think.

He would need to check.

“Yeah.” Jeff agreed with a laugh. “I’ve gotta be honest I wasn’t even sure you’d show up tonight with how forgetful you’ve been.”

A murmur of agreement rolled through the boys in front of him as Eddie scoffed at the statement. He may have almost fallen asleep driving to school this morning but there was no way in hell he could forget a campaign. 

“Come on in and sit down.” He said as unnervingly as he could muster after the stab at his memory. 

He reminded the boys of the narrator at the beginning of a Haunted House carnival ride that dared them to try not to be scared.

The difference was that they probably actually should and would be scared of Eddie.

Sitting on the throne in front of the table often flicked a switch in his brain that turned him into an unhinged maniac.

They knew they were in for some sort of Halloween themed mischief tonight. They just hoped there were no tricks to ruin their treat.

The boys did as they were told. Taking their places around the table and setting up their belongings as Eddie sauntered towards his seat and flopped down on it. Waiting with fingers intertwined atop the table for them to be ready for him to begin.

The candles flickered in the quiet room, highlighting the dark circles under Eddie’s bleary eyes.  

Anyone that didn’t know him would think he had painted them there as part of the costume and not just an everyday occurrence of late.

Once everyone was settled and the club was staring up at him with eager faces, Eddie stood. Tired body creaking as he leaned behind his chair to press play on the tape player he had hidden there. Soft, spooky music filled the room. Not very loud as Eddie still wanted them to be able to hear him talk.

“Wait…” Lucas said after a long moment of silence so they could listen to the ambient sound. “In the background… Is that… Carnival music?” He asked, looking up at Eddie with a puzzled expression.

The older man raised his brows in acknowledgement. Smiling proudly this time as he bowed to them all. Again putting on his best, most unnerving voice as he said:

“Welcome, to the Haunted House.”

~~

Eddie’s campaign was based around the guys being stuck inside the Haunted House Carnival ride. A ride that came alive with actual ghosts, ghouls and skeletons that needed to be fought off as they worked out how to escape it.

It was essentially a mini escape room without physical props to keep track of. It was unlike any campaign they had ever played before and it was clear Eddie had put a lot of thought and work into how it would turn out.

He had planned it to be short. Only spanning the one session that lasted about three hours absolute max. That was if they made a dumb move or got stuck somewhere. Otherwise they could probably be out of there in one.

He had alluded early on to the presence of someone that could help them through the puzzles. They figured they just had to say the right words or stumble into the right room to find them.

In true Hellfire Club fashion, it hadn’t taken long for things to go from zero to one hundred. Mike had made a call that nearly killed Gareth and Jeff, who was usually pretty quiet and mild mannered, had turned on him.

Eddie watched in delight as the club bickered amongst themselves about how they should have gone about the obstacle Eddie had placed in front of them.

He of course knew exactly how they should go about it but he was keeping that little tidbit of information to himself unless someone rolled a 20.

“Okay! Okay!” Dustin shouted suddenly, holding out both his hands in a ‘stop’ like motion as he tried to quell the argument between Mike, Jeff and Gareth. 

Lucas sat quietly on the sidelines ignoring the chaos as he wrote something down on his character sheet.

“It doesn’t matter! Okay?” Dustin shouted when all attention was on him. “Look it’s like a foot tall, What if we just step over–”

A shrill sound rang out from somewhere behind Eddie, cutting Dustin off mid-sentence.

The sudden sharp cry startled the group. They jumped in unison. Looking between one another and then to Eddie as they waited for the reveal. 

What trickery had he rigged up to breathe even more life into the campaign? 

“Oh! Eddie said excitedly, leaning back to stop the tape player from making the eerie sounds.  “Looks like our guest has arrived.” He explained cryptically, pushing away from the table. The feet of his throne scraping against the floor was barely heard above the repetitive sound growing louder and more frequent.

Eddie moved around behind his chair quickly standing in front of the rusted stroller and dipping his hands inside.

The guys watched in confusion. Waiting for Eddie to pull out another tape player or a walkie talkie and turn it off to stop the shrieking sound. But instead he ducked forwards pulling the pile of fuzzy halloween themed blankets to his chest and shushing it softly.

“Were we too loud?” He murmured to the blankets. Looking down at the pile in his arms with eyes that sparkled in the candlelight.

The whining cry from the baby in the blankets was calmed by the comfort of a firm chest. She cooed quietly as Eddie swayed on the spot and tapped her back with his palm. The soft thump of the repetitive motion reassuring her that she was safe as large brown eyes that matched his own fluttered closed again in his arms.

Eddie looked up at the group in front of him. Ready to apologize for the interruption and make his announcement about the game but he was taken aback by the shock on everyone’s faces. 

Furrowed brows, wide eyes and mouths hanging open around the table as they all stared at him with questions on their lips. Stunned into silence, no one moved until Jeff finally cracked.

“What…” He asked bluntly, pausing for emphasis. “Is that?”

He was pointing towards the blankets in Eddie’s arms. Being ever so gently rocked up and down by strong hands that were made for shredding on an electric guitar or rolling dice, not holding a doll.

“Who? Is that?” Dustin corrected when Eddie narrowed his eyes at the question.

“This…” Eddie said, also pausing for emphasis. “Is your way out of this ride!” He said as excitedly as he could. Somewhat affronted by the rude phrasing of the question. “It’s your lucky night. You’ve been visited by The Angel of Good Fortune.”

The silence in the room was loud as Eddie looked over them all with eagerness, waiting for someone to ask another question so he could introduce his surprise NPC in the way he had planned.

His face fell as no one made a move. The silence stretched almost to the point of being uncomfortable until Eddie spoke again.

“It’s Daisy.” He said bluntly. “She’s the angel.” He explained as if that answered anyone’s questions and didn’t raise at least six more. “Do you guys want to hear what she has to bestow on you or not?” He chuckled, shaking his head as he circled back around the throne and plonked himself down.

If it wasn’t for the humming of the stage lights above his head or the gentle crackle of the candles by his side, he swore he would be able to hear the crickets outside chirping.

“Okay…” He said simply. A sudden rush of foolishness knocking down his resolve when no one spoke. “Well I guess no one wants any fortune then.” He said bitterly.

This was not going at all how he had planned it. 

He shrugged weakly as he scooted forward to the edge of the seat and looked over his notes before speaking again.

They just continued on he supposed. He had been planning to give them all special abilities that helped them throughout the rest of the house. But if they were going to be dicks about him bringing the baby then they could get by without them.

He didn’t really want to be there anymore right that second anyway…

“Right so…” He sighed. “Dustin, you were about to try and step over the obstacle. You can’t do that by the way–”

“No.” Gareth said simply, holding his hand up in front of him as Dustin had done to him earlier.  Eddie’s head snapping up at the declaration. 

“No, we’re not doing this.” He laughed, pointing an accusatory finger at Eddie now. “Come on Man. Put the doll down.”

Eddie frowned at him as the rest of the group murmured in agreement. Nodding their heads and putting forth the same sentiments of Eddie’s Halloween prank being over now. He’d had them at first but going back to the game like nothing had happened with a random ‘baby’ in his arms and expecting them not to ask questions was too far.

“Not doing what?” Eddie snapped, frustrated at the insinuation that he was the problem when it was them and their weird reactions to his surprise.

The baby in his grasp stirred at the words. Loud and sharp not far from her little ears. She could feel his frustration and wanted to join in on the complaining.

Her eyes were open again now, bottom lip trembling as Eddie realized his mistake and quickly tried to shush her. But he’d already fucked up. New babies rarely went back to sleep a second time. Especially when they could feel that their parents were frazzled.

“Ah shi–” He behan. “Shoot.” He corrected,, looking down at her with a sad pout as she began to cry again. “You’re hungry aren’t you?” He asked rhetorically. 

Yeah, this was not going to plan in the slightest. It would be his luck that after the failure of his reveal, he couldn’t get her to calm down for him due to her being able to sense his agitated state.

She shouldn’t be hungry again so soon. If he just took a breath, he should be able to stop her getting too worked up.

He shuffled her into the tight grip of one arm as he fished in his cape pocket with his other hand. Producing a pink pacifier and holding it up in front of her. “May I interest you in a pacifier?” He asked politely, pressing it against her wailing lips and waiting with baited breath to see if she took it.

She did, briefly. Spitting the dummy quite literally as she took it from him for a quick second before hucking it out and sending it shooting across the table. The heads of all the players following its journey as it bounced once on the game board before rolling the rest of the way to land in front of Grant who stared at it as if it was diseased. 

“Nat 20.” Eddie laughed hollowly as the rest of the table slowly turned back to him at the same time and stared with matching horrified expressions.

“How did you do that?” Grant asked softly, barely heard over the baby's cries as Eddie pushed himself up again and began to pace back and forth in front of the throne in an effort to calm the little one.

“Do what?” He asked again over the cries, this time just exasperated at his lack of understanding their line of questioning.

“Throw the pacifier like that without moving your hands?” Gareth asked as if it was obvious. 

Eddie balked at the statement.

“Are you daft?” He asked after a moment of stunned silence that Daisy gladly filled. “She spat it out, you saw her.”

“She’s not real!” Gareth argued, slamming his hands down on the table and pushing himself to stand, the rest of the members following suit.

“Yes she is.” Eddie defended weakly, stopping in place and rearranging the blankets in his arms so the guys could see the baby's face. “See.” 

The six men in front of him took a step closer.

The baby in the blankets blinked at them all from her place in Dad’s arms. Her cries dying down as curiosity became her main focus. The growling in her little tummy became a background sensation for a long few seconds as she looked over at them all with wide eyes that matched Eddie’s.

She probably wasn’t actually looking at them. Baby’s couldn’t see very far in front of them when they were so young. But that was what made contrasting colors interesting. Eddie guessed she was gaping at the fuzzy bright orange spots she could see throughout in the darkness of the room. The candles he had lit to add to the ambiance, calming her as the lights flickered with all the movement in the room.

“What the fuck?” Mike asked candidly. Saying what they were all thinking as they watched the actual infant child Eddie was holding, look around the room and move her little arms around in a way that Eddie couldn’t fake even if he wanted to.

Eddie squinted at them all, eyes dark as the realization began to dawn on him that they all had no idea who Daisy was or what she was doing there with him.

“Do you guys like…” Eddie trailed off as he shook his head at them. Lips pressed together hard as he shrugged, baby moving up and down with the motion as he spoke again. “Listen, when I speak?” He asked slowly, tilting his head in a way that was probably meant to look condescending but really just made him look like a sad puppy.

The silence was enough of an answer for him. Not even Daisy daring to make a sound as her janky little movements had her staring back up at Eddie. The sound of Dad’s voice taking her away from her pretty lights and reminding her that she was hungry and he was not delivering.

Her little lips shook again as Eddie frowned at his friends. Her expression unknowingly mimicked his as she began to cry again and Eddie scowled at the six people in front of him. 

The best friends he had in the entire world.

That apparently didn’t know his daughter’s name or that she even existed despite him rambling about nothing else for the last two weeks straight.

It made him want to join Daisy in her howling.

“What the fuck?” Eddie asked suddenly, as brazen as Mike had a few seconds earlier. Looking between them all with a mixture of hurt and disgust on his face as they all stood quietly and mentally prepared themselves for the scolding of a lifetime. 

But instead Eddie’s voice was small. Barely heard over the wailing of the baby in his arms.

“I thought you were my friends.” He said simply, embarrassment welling in his chest at the way it had come out. The vulnerability he had shown with that one sentence that perfectly encapsulated how he felt about it all without having to actually say any of what he was feeling.

“Okay!” A voice rang out from somewhere in the corner of the room. Startling them all, including Daisy who went suspiciously quiet at the sound. Everyone turned at once, surprised to see…

You.

Having just jumped out of your hiding place behind the windmill. 

“I can’t do it anymore!” You shouted. Holding out your arms and making grabby hands towards Eddie. “Give her to me!” You instructed as Eddie stared at you as if you’d grown two heads, trying to figure out where you’d even come from or what you were doing there.

“What…” He asked weakly as you strode towards him and wrapped deft fingers around your little one. 

He let you take her. His arms falling limp by his side when they were empty.

“Where did you–” He began, cutting himself off. “How did you–” He started again. “WHY did you?” He decided on, tone changing from shocked to frustrated. “Were you spying on me?” He asked incredulously. Sounding a little more wounded than he intended as you turned away from all the prying eyes in the room and pulled down the neck of your shirt.

Intending to give Daisy what she needed to restore the beginnings of peace in the room.

“No!” You clarified, flicking your head towards him as you tried to get Daisy to latch and catching the hurt as if flashed through his eyes. “Well, not intentionally.” You added softly.

“You were!” Eddie gasped. “You don’t trust me?” He asked. Ignoring the rest of the people in the room as his one track mind got stuck on your appearance and he momentarily forgot he was in the middle of an argument with some of the worst friends in the world.

“No, that’s not it.” You argued back, not looking at him as you spoke while you were trying to encourage the baby to work with you.

“You don’t think I can take care of our daughter on my own?” He asked, not waiting for your answer before he continued. “You too?” He asked, nodding at you and then his friends as he remembered they were there.

He crossed his arms over his chest. “What the hell is wrong with everyone tonight?” He shouted as your guilty eyes turned back to him.

“I just wanted to see you surprise them...” You explained softly. “But… It wasn’t going to plan…” You winced, baring your teeth in a cringe as you used Daisy’s blanket to cover your modesty.

Yeah, you were right. None of this was going to plan…

All of the guys had met you before. Most of them remembered you from your senior year. Even the Freshman had met you once or twice since joining Hellfire. Had hung out with you and Eddie together over the small holiday break between the first semesters of the year.

And look, okay… Maybe you weren’t around as often as you used to be and maybe Eddie didn’t talk about you as often as he wanted to. But you both knew it wasn’t for lack of wanting to brag about the fact that he was yours. 

It was his circumstances he didn’t want to think about. The fact that he had a girlfriend in College only served to remind him and everyone else of the fact that he had failed to graduate twice now and was on a fast track to his third failure. 

It reminded them all that he was College age and should be running around on campus with you instead of in the schoolyard with them. 

Except you weren’t at College now. You were at home or… Supposed to be. Tired, cranky and hormonal. Six weeks postpartum and ready to lose your mind when Eddie had said he was planning on going out on Halloween night.

Which meant you would spend your favorite holiday sitting at home alone with the baby.

Eddie had felt bad when you’d pointed that out and offered to take her with him. The guys hadn’t met her yet anyway and he figured the creepy old stroller in the AV Room was probably safe enough to let her sleep in until she woke up hungry and he could introduce her to everyone while he fed her dinner.

However he obviously hadn’t anticipated his friend’s not knowing what the hell he was talking about.

He had told them you were pregnant and how excited he was for Daisy’s arrival. He’d had a month off school when she was born. Only returning 2 weeks earlier and when asked about his time off he had babbled nonstop for an entire lunch break about how perfect his little one was, how happy she made him and how tired you both were. 

Because damn were you both tired. 

You weren’t sure where Eddie had pulled this campaign from or the energy he had used to decorate the place. You were worried most mornings that he would crash on the way to school. The way he was barely able to keep his eyes open, falling asleep at the kitchen counter and nearly drowning in his cereal.

You were pretty sure he hadn’t learnt a thing at school since he’d been back. He was so exhausted, he could barely hold a conversation. 

Not that you could talk. You were just as bad and right now, you weren’t even supposed to be there. You were supposed to be home, sleeping.

As far as Eddie was aware, you were. You had left the AV room over an hour earlier. Saying goodbye to him and your Bub.

You did intend to go home and sleep through all the trick-or-treating door knockers.

But it was the first time you had been away from Daisy since she had been born and you hadn’t anticipated the overwhelming feeling of guilt that had washed over you as you’d closed the door with her on the other side of it.

You would have gone back in immediately if Eddie wasn’t so insistent that 1. He let you rest and 2. He was going to introduce Daisy to the guys.

He had a plan on how to do it dramatically. You had chuckled at that. Because of course he did. 

He wasn’t just going to have them walk in and be sitting there on his throne, holding a baby. 

He had written her into the campaign. When they made it to the specific spot in the story where it would be perfect to introduce her or when she woke up. Whatever happened first was fine. He was going to present her to them as a surprise NPC that afforded them all special bonuses. 

It was a very cute idea but it hinged pretty heavily on the ‘spooky’ atmosphere with the doll hanging from the stroller being a red herring and the guys not noticing your actual baby sleeping in the bed of it.

If you were honest, you thought the guys would still see it coming from a mile away but you hadn’t said anything. Wanting to let the sleep deprived new Dad have his small amount of fun. Even if the guys clocked her immediately and didn’t end up being surprised. It would still be a nice little moment for him.

You’d felt yucky about leaving Daisy behind as you walked to the parking lot. You trusted Eddie with her whole-heartedly but ‘Mom guilt’ as the midwives had called it, was strong.

You had fed her to sleep just before you left and knew she would be fine for at least two hours even if she didn’t sleep the whole time. Eddie had promised that the campaign would only take around that long and if she woke up before then and desperately needed you, he would walkie and you could drive back over since you guys only lived a couple of minutes from the school.

He had a bottle of formula in the diaper bag just in case he needed it for her. But you weren’t sure if she would even take it for him. It wasn’t an issue for her to have it. You’d just never been away from her long enough before for someone else to need to feed her. 

Not even Eddie.

You had made it almost all the way to the car before you’d stopped in place and stared at the cracked bitumen under your feet for a long moment. Not sure you could actually go ahead with leaving her.

You’d sighed, deciding to head back inside. Intending to sit in on Hellfire if Eddie didn’t outright postpone the start time to drive you home and put you to bed.

You were about to turn around when you heard someone call your name. The Hellfire guys had arrived sometime during your contemplation and were running towards you excitedly. 

You hadn’t seen them in a really long time. Probably since you were in your first trimester of pregnancy.

You had found out you were expecting in the middle of your first year at College and you were determined to finish at least one year before the baby arrived. So trips home to see your love were rare. When you did make it back to Hawkins you were so exhausted from working overtime to get your coursework done that you just wanted to spend time at home with Eddie. Enjoying the last of your quality time together before you became a family of three.

It was nice to see the guys briefly in the parking lot of Hawkins High like old times. It cheered you up somewhat and you spent a long few minutes catching up with them.

However, it had become apparent pretty quickly into the interaction that they had no intention of congratulating you on the birth of your first child. A very strange interaction if you were honest but you kept up the friendly face as if nothing was amiss.

It wasn’t until Gareth had rolled his eyes and said:

“You know he’s telling everyone you just had a baby.”

The rest of the guys had chortled at the notion, making you frown as he continued somewhat candidly.

“So obviously that’s not true.” He said derisively, gesturing towards your body and making you bristle. You supposed the implication was that you were the same size you had been the last time they had seen you and there was no way your body could have grown and nourished a child over the last nine months and then gone back to looking the same as it did before within such a short span of time.

These assholes…

You’d thought to yourself, not replying as the men in front of you all nodded in agreement with Gareth’s statement. 

Did they expect you to suddenly shape shift into a different person just because you were a Mom now?

I guess they will be surprised.

You’d concluded, smirking to yourself as you bid them a terse goodnight and watched them walk inside the building with the belief that Eddie was lying about his personal life.

Well, you certainly couldn’t go home then. It seemed like Eddie was going to be able to put on quite the show and you wanted to see how it panned out. 

Afterall you figured you’d probably only just make it home before you were being called on the Walkie to come back.

You had snuck into the AV Room via the second entrance and hid behind the curtain at first. Moving closer and dipping down behind the windmill as you tried not to laugh at the sound of Eddie talking with fake fangs in his mouth.

You had slumped down on the ground and waited way longer than you had thought you would have to. Not proud of the fact that you had nodded off once or twice. Jolting awake after a particularly loud exclamation from someone at the table and hoping you hadn’t been snoring.

You guessed this was probably the typical newborn experience. Baby never sleeps more than an hour at a time except for when you, yourself could be sleeping but had chosen not to because you had been convinced she would need you again within minutes.

Just when you were starting to think you’d have to ruin Eddie’s surprise by standing up and checking that the baby was still breathing, she had begun to cry and you had done your best to shuffle out of view so Eddie didn’t see you when he moved towards the stroller to pick her up.

He was too distracted by her to notice you anyway. Thank goodness because you had not thought about the implication of hearing the baby cry and your body responding to it, ready to do its job. You had been distracted by your aching breasts and the milk leaking into your bra that Daisy could definitely smell from her place on Dad’s chest about three feet away.

There was no way he was getting her to settle now. Mistakes had been made and you knew then that it was only a matter of time until you had to reveal yourself to help Eddie out. It was just the matter of when exactly to do it so that you didn’t ruin the moment Eddie had been planning all week for.

Luckily for you, you supposed, the guys had ruined it for you. Being rude and not believing the baby was even real.

You felt bad for not correcting them in the parking lot. But you hadn’t done so on the premise that Eddie would get to have his fun reveal moment.

“Happy Halloween…”  You grimaced at the guys, turning to them and taking in the shocked expressions around the table. Each boy appeared to be in a different stage of grief as their eyes roamed from you to Eddie, to the baby in your arms, back to Eddie, back to you.

“But…” One of them began, trailing off as Eddie looked between you and the guys as well. Trying to figure out what he had missed. 

“Wait…” Someone else started, also trailing off as they tried to make sense of the situation.

“What the fuck is happening?” Eddie murmured under his breath, just as confused as everyone else. 

So you weren’t spying… But you didn’t go home? What did you mean Happy Halloween? Were you pranking them? Was that directed at him or the guys?

A thousand questions ran through his mind at once. He opened his mouth to ask some of them and was immediately cut off by Gareth.

“You don’t look pregnant!” He shouted, again gesturing at your body and making your eyes darken dangerously as Jeff elbowed him in the ribs.

“I’m not.” You replied curtly. “I was.” You clarified, one hand tapping against the baby’s bottom to make your point. “But I’m not anymore.”

“But you didn’t…” He gasped out, winded from being elbowed. “You didn’t say that–” He tried, voice strained.

Eddie turned to you with a questioning gaze. Brows raised as he waited for an explanation.

“Didn’t say?” He asked you, specifically. “When did you even see them?”

You sighed softly, deciding to explain to the whole room and answer Eddie’s question all at once.  

“Eddie wanted to surprise you.” You huffed to the group, as if that much was obvious. “I figured if I corrected you when I ran into you earlier that you would know straight away that Eddie had the baby because she wasn’t with me and the surprise would be ruined.” You said with a shrug, finally turning to Eddie. “I ran into them in the parking lot and it was obvious they didn’t realize you were telling the truth about Daisy so I let them run with it for the sake of the dramatics.” You said apologetically. “I just wanted to see how that played out before I went home.” You added, peeking down at Daisy under the blanket covering her and making sure she was alright. “But, it didn’t go as I expected.” You admitted.

“Oh.” Eddie replied quietly, following your eyes to the blanket and frowning to himself as the room fell silent once again.

He appreciated the sentiment but it hadn’t exactly helped him. Although he supposed, you were right and it probably wouldn’t have helped him keep his surprise if you’d corrected them either.

Maybe it just wasn’t meant to be.

He had been so excited about his little Halloween oneshot. But none of it had worked out anywhere near how he thought it would.

He was feeling defeated.

“I’m sure it was all a misunderstanding.” You continued loudly, interrupting his thoughts as your eyes bored into each of the men in front of you in turn. Desperately trying to get them to say something that corroborated your ‘theory’. “Because they are your friends and they do listen to you.” You added through gritted teeth when no one spoke up.

“Yeah!” Grant defended quickly, catching your drift and jumping into action. 

“We are.” Gareth agreed.

“And we do!” Jeff piled on.

The freshman nodded along as well. Big smiles on their faces as Eddie scowled at them all, looking a little too sad for someone that was dressed as a vampire.

“It’s just that like…” Jeff began, looking to Gareth and Grant for back up.

“You fuck with us a lot.” Gareth finished, a murmur of agreement making its way around the table as Eddie scoffed at them derisively. 

“I do not!” He argued meekly. Shrinking under the collective tired stare of the group and also your knowing gaze from by his side.

“What about when you said your Dad hatched an elaborate plan to steal drugs from his former partners and sell them to Rick for a quick buck?” Jeff asked, arms crossed over his chest.

“That happened!” Eddie justified, throwing his shoulders up as the guys all exchanged sneers. 

That did happen. 

You hadn’t been dating at the time but you knew about it from your place on the sidelines. You opened your mouth to defend him but didn’t get it out before another example was being thrown around.

“Well, what about when you told us that some assistant to a big music producer.” Gareth paused, waving his hands around to emphasize how silly it sounded. “Came to The Hideout and scouted Corroded Coffin before I joined and tried to take you to L.A to become a rockstar?” He laughed, turning to the guys for support and frowning at Jeff’s grimace.

“That did actually happen, I was there for that.” He interjected, one finger pointing towards the ceiling.

“See!” Eddie gestured towards him with his whole hand.

“Okay well guys come on…” Gareth continued. “He also said that Chrissy Cunningham tried to buy drugs from him the night she died.”

“She did!” Eddie exclaimed, voice higher than usual.

“And don’t forget that he’s apparently friends with Steve Harrington now.” Grant laughed heartily, the older guys erupting into laughter as the Freshman exchanged anxious looks with one another. 

“That’s also true!” Eddie argued incredulously before Dustin piped up:

“Yeah, that one is actually true too.” He said, hissing through his teeth.

“It’s all true!” Eddie shouted, desperation in his tone. 

“Look, the point is Eddie you lie like, all the time.” Gareth justified weakly, gesturing around the room as if any of them had actually managed to come up with a solid lie Eddie had told that hadn’t been corroborated by other person in the room. “So…” He said, dragging out the word.

“But I’m not lying!” Eddie argued, bordering on whiny. “All of those things happened to me! Including this!” He added, thrusting his hand towards you and the baby.

Silence fell on the room once more. The slap of Eddie’s hand falling back against his thigh seemed to echo in the small space as he shook his head at them all. Turning to you with pleading eyes as if to ask you to convince them he was telling the truth.

You felt bad for him, smiling apologetically as you slowly slipped down to sit in his throne. Your tired legs giving out as you waited for someone else to say something. You weren’t sure why they still seemed to look unconvinced or what you could even say to persuade them. 

You were literally holding the baby in front of them. All the evidence they should need to understand.

A sniff caught your attention and you looked back up to Eddie quickly, horrified at the thought that he had potentially begun to cry. But to your surprise he was now looking back at the guys, a puzzled expression on his face as the sound happened again.

Your own head turned to look them over, watching in confusion as everyone stayed so defiantly staunch that the quiver of Dustin’s lips and the small change in his breathing was as obvious as if he had just burst out into laughter immediately.

Mike’s elbow connected with his side gently. A motion that was meant to be discreet but again in the stillness of the room seemed as blatant as if he had just tackled the other boy to the ground.

“I can’t keep it in…” Dustin ground out, his eyes wide as the other guys all began to huff and sigh. The barely contained laughter of the kid that was decidedly, Eddie’s best friend, was infectious. Lucas sniffed as well and snowballed Grant into a snort that triggered Jeff.

Slowly one by one the group began to laugh. Soft murmurs of mirth at first that quickly turned into the hearty sound of chortling as they all nodded at one another knowingly, as if making a silent decision before Dustin turned to the head of the table.

“Trick or treat!” He shouted, throwing his hands up and leading the rest of the club into doing the same.

“Trick or Treat!” They mimicked. Shouting in synchrony and throwing their hands up in unison as if welcoming the guest of honor into a surprise party.

Eddie balked at the exclamation, not expecting it and certainly not understanding it at all.

Was he the guest of honor?

“What?” He asked tiredly, shaking his head and slumping his shoulders. He had no idea what was going on. Exhausted with the shifting emotions in the room as the guys all seemed to delight in the notion that he still didn’t understand.

“The ultimate trick!” Gareth clarified, pointing at the DM with a brave finger as Jeff and Gareth clapped each other on the back. 

“You fell for it.” Mike laughed, seeming genuinely surprised.

“Damn, I guess having a baby really does mess with your brain.” Dustin theorized as you and Eddie shared a look of bewilderment.

“Wait…” It was Eddie’s turn to trail off. “What?” He asked again, mirroring the way the guys had asked it earlier. “What’s going on? I’m so confused.” He complained, rubbing at his forehead with one hand as he tried to make sense of the situation.

“Oh damn.” Jeff laughed, wincing. “I feel kind of bad.” He mumbled as Eddie scowled at him.

“Dude…” Grant said loudly, commanding Eddie’s attention. “We were pranking you Man.” He laughed, gesturing towards you and the baby. “For Halloween?” He said slowly, dragging out the words as if Eddie was too simple to understand them. 

“Of course we know who Daisy is.” Jeff laughed awkwardly. “How could we not?”

“Yeah you haven’t exactly shut up about her since you’ve been back.” Mike added, groaning as Dustin got him back for the elbow earlier.

“Yeah I didn’t think you’d fall for it.” Jeff admitted uneasily. “Honestly I thought Mama Bear over there was gonna’ murder Gareth for the comment he made outside.” He said scandalously as Gareth had the decorum to shoot you an apologetic look.

“You look amazing by the way.” He said quickly as both sets of eyes turned on him and Eddie had to stop himself from asking what the comment was unless he wanted this to become an actual haunted room.

Although he wasn’t too worried about Gareth’s ghost disrupting his sessions anymore than alive Gareth already did.

“Wait so…” Eddie said again, closing his eyes and making the group groan collectively as he desperately tried to make sense of the situation. 

“Okay, this has kind of spiraled from fun into mean.” Mike interjected, looking around at the other guys and all of them nodding in agreement. “We knew you guys were tired but we didn’t realize you were that tired.” He said with a grimace.

“Yeah…” Dustin agreed as both you and Eddie stared at them all blankly, trying to wrap sleep deprived brains around the situation. “It was meant to be a really simple prank. Like opposite day or some shit.” He laughed uncomfortably. “We didn’t think you’d take us seriously, I mean we’ve seen a picture of her for Christ’s sake.” 

Eddie had momentarily forgotten about the polaroid he’d taken of Daisy not long after she was born. Currently residing in his wallet after having been passed around the lunch table six times over until he finally decided she’d been given enough compliments and took it back.

“Oh.” Eddie hummed, ruminating on his first week at school and remembering, vaguely, the interaction.

He didn’t remember too much of the last six weeks in general if he was honest.

“That was mean guys.” You murmured with a frown. Trying not to be too hard on them since you were honestly just glad that they hadn’t truly believed Eddie was lying about his personal life.

You looked to Eddie. Waiting for him to say something but instead you were faced with the blank stare of a man that you were pretty sure still didn’t truly understand what was going on.

Dustin took it upon himself to take a step forward.

“We knew you were going to do something insane tonight. It wouldn’t be Halloween without you trying to pull the wool over our eyes somehow and we kind of thought you had been setting us up for a big prank for the last month so... We all agreed to just roll with whatever it was, no matter how insane we looked and prank you back.” He explained, waving open palms over his face in big exaggerated movements to show the scale of their operation.. “But now it’s sad.” He said with a nod, lips pressed together and brows raised in concern as Eddie narrowed his eyes at the other man. 

The kid ignored it, placing a grounding hand on Eddie’s bicep. 

“Congratulations man.” He said definitively, watching as Eddie’s brows shot up in surprise. “You’re a lucky man.” He said, nodding at you and the baby.

Eddie took in a sharp breath, turning himself away, unexpectedly overcome with emotion at the statement.

It was really all he wanted from them in the first place.

An acknowledgment of his new life and how lucky he was to be living it.

“Yep. Thanks.” He said quickly, refusing to look at them. “You know you’re supposed to let me choose if I want a trick or a treat right?” He asked, his sentence clipped with the terse edge of someone that was trying not to cry. “You can’t just yell trick or treat after tricking someone.”

“You tricked us first!” Gareth argued at the statement. Jeff’s hand landed heavy on his shoulder as Eddie whirled back around to face them suddenly. Emotions forgotten or maybe just consolidated into anger as he took offence at the blatant lie.

“It wasn’t a trick!” He gasped, scandalized. “It was a surprise!” He panted. “With treats!” He added, throwing his arm out towards the unfinished game in front of them. “The Angel of Good Fortune had gifts for you all!” He exclaimed, gesturing wildly at all of them at once as he stared incredulously at the ungrateful group before him. “No wonder the poor thing was inconsolable, you ingrates wouldn’t accept her presents.” He said pointedly, crossing his arms over his chest as you stifled a laugh at the statement.

Yes, that was why. It had nothing to do with Mommy hiding a few feet away and leaking dinner into her bra.

You didn’t say anything, letting Eddie have the win as you looked down at your little angel and realized she was finished eating already.

You shook your head at her. 

The audacity to make all that fuss and only feed for a few minutes. 

She obviously wasn’t hungry and should have taken the pacifier but all the yelling from the club had startled her into wanting Mom when she knew she was nearby.

Or maybe Eddie was right. You conceded privately. She was just upset that the guys didn’t accept her gifts.

You smiled at the thought of Daisy growing up to DM just like her Daddy.

No doubt she would be just as dramatic.

You shifted her in your arms as the boys argued. Covering yourself up again and removing the blanket so she could breathe easy now that she was content to lay still in your arms.

She blinked up at you with milk-drunk eyes, lids falling closed slowly as she began to drift off again. Her little lips sucked at the air and made you smile.

“And another fucking thing!” Eddie began, startled by you tugging on his cloak and jerking your head towards the baby in your arms.

“Language!” You chastised gently. As if the poor thing hadn’t been listening in on some of the most intense arguing you’d ever witnessed for the first hour of the session. 

“Oh, sorry.” Eddie said quickly, turning back to the guys. “And another… Thing!” He repeated, omitting the swear, this time stage whispering as he pointed at them. “Your ass- Uh, butts, are still stuck behind that obstacle!” He whisper-shouted. “Good luck getting through them without the Good Fortune she would have afforded you.” He snipped, waving his hand towards the baby.

Silence descended on them all once again as all eyes in the room turned to look at Daisy.

“Why can’t we just step over—“ Dustin began to ask, being cut off by Gareth.

“Can’t she just give us our fortune now?” He asked with a shrug, looking between the baby in your arms and your boyfriend who looked as though he was ten seconds away from a conniption.

“No!” He snapped, exasperated. “You lost that privilege when you decided to pretend she wasn’t real.”

“Oh come on Eddie, please!” Mike pleaded, turning to you instead when his pleas fell on deaf ears. “You were as much at fault as we were!” He defended weakly. “Can’t you convince him?”

Eddie’s attention snapped to you quickly, a warning in his dark eyes as he wordlessly told you that no, you could not.

“Well…” You began, Eddie’s eye twitching at the word. “I think maybe you should let Daisy decide if she wants to give you her good fortune.” You said casually, making the teen scoff. 

“But she’s a baby?” He said in a weird way that was halfway between a question and a definitive statement.

Eddie gasped suddenly, turning back to the guys with glee in his eyes as he smiled at them with the unhinged grin they had come to both love and fear.

“Yes.” He said breathlessly. “Yes, let Daisy decide!” He said a little too excitedly. “You’ll probably have to beg.” He added, unable to keep the mirth from his tone as he leaned down to you and gestured for you to move closer to the edge of the chair.

You did so, scooching forward and holding the baby a little further from your body as you angled her towards the guys,

“She won’t stay settled like this.” You warned Eddie. “Better make it fast.”

“That’s the plan.” He murmured so only you could hear.

You sniffed out a laugh. 

Of course it was. 

Anything to make the club suffer a little harder after they’d pulled one over on the DM.

You figured you’d probably be taking Daisy home now anyway. May as well let Eddie have his fun watching the guys beg as penance for their sins and then deny them their fortune that would help them get out of the haunted house ride before midnight.

They were going to have a hell of a time with all the disadvantages Eddie gave them after Daisy cracked it from her uncomfortable position and he could claim that not only did she refuse to give them her fortune but that she had handed them some misfortune as recompense.

“Alright, who’s begging?” Dustin asked jovially. Hands on his hips as he turned to the group, ready for a manly discussion only to find that all eyes were on him. “Oh come on!” He shouted, throwing up his arms in exasperation. “Fine!” He sighed, a little too quickly, taking a breath and turning to you with conviction.

He knew he wasn’t winning that argument and he wanted to get this over with as fast as possible.

“Please!” He exclaimed suddenly, dropping to his knees in front of the throne and pressing his hands together in prayer. He bowed towards Daisy. Trying his best to ignore the unhinged smile forming on her Father’s face and the disappointed look on yours. “Please oh Goddess of Good Fortune–”

“Angel.” Eddie interrupted, pinching the bridge of his nose with his fingers.

“Oh Angel of Good Fortune.” Dustin corrected, “Please choose to still mpart us with your wisdom–”

“Gifts!” Eddie said sharply.

“Gifts!” The kid corrected again, looking up at Eddie with narrowed eyes before turning back to the baby. “Please impart us with your generous gifts and help us through this obstacle we are stuck behind and are not allowed to just step over.” He said derisively, making the group behind him chuckle.

“What do you think Baby?” Eddie asked Daisy directly, bending down and resting his hands on his knees as he stared at his newest love with doe eyes. “Should we still give them your gifts?” He asked, voice gentle and softer than they’d ever heard before as he cooed at her.

Daisy blinked up at him. Paying no mind to you or any of the other people in the room, least of all Dustin as she shifted uncomfortably. Little lip beginning to tremble.

“Well.” Eddie laughed, pushing his palms off his thighs and standing straight again. “I think that-” Eddie began, looking at Dustin smugly.

“Oh my God!” You gasped suddenly, cutting Eddie off and making his head snap back down towards his daughter. He watched, mouth agape as she moved her little head up and down. Seemingly nodding in response to his question.

“What the fuck…” He whispered hastily, recoiling.

“Language!” You chastised again, tone wavering as you also stared in shock at your newborn that had apparently understood her Dad’s complex question.

Now that was spooky.

“How did you do that?” Eddie asked Dustin quickly, reminiscent of the way they had asked him when Daisy had spat the pacifier across the table.

Dustin shrugged, looking just as bewildered from his place on the floor. His hands that had previously been outstretched as if in prayer were now withdrawn to his chest as he leaned away from the baby.

Wary of her.

He turned back to the group slowly. All of them standing there in shock as they watched the interaction between their teammate and what appeared to be a completely conscious baby.

“Well, it’s settled then.” Gareth said quickly, everyone turning to him slowly as he shrugged and gestured towards the table with one hand. “The Godd- Uh, Angel, has spoken.” He smiled, looking around at the other guys and jerking his head towards the game. “Shall we?” He asked, pulling out his chair and sitting down in front of his character sheet.

No one else moved for a long moment. Not even you as you stared down at your little one and tried to figure out if she could understand you or not.

“Uh… Sure.” Eddie replied when no one else made a move. He turned to you with worried eyes. “Did you want to…” He trailed off as you snapped back to yourself, realizing Daisy was probably still uncomfortable as she wriggled around in your arms. You repositioned her, nodded at Eddie’s question with an equally concerned expression.

Yes, you definitely wanted to go home and yes you would take the baby so the guys could finally finish their ill fated journey through the haunted mansion. 

Even though you were honestly a little scared of her right now and wished Eddie would come with you.

Maybe you’d go and visit Wayne instead…

“I’m sure Eddie can speak for The Angel.” You chuckled awkwardly. “She needs to go home and get some proper rest in a quiet room.” You explained, leaning towards the diaper bag Eddie had stashed under the table and stopping half way as he dove for it instead to save your back. 

“I will speak for The Angel…” Eddie began, frowning as he helped you get up from his throne. “Even though I am starting to wonder if she can speak for herself…” He added quietly, sounding skeptical. “But first I’m gonna walk these guys to the car.” Eddie said apologetically, placing a hand on your back and turning towards the main entry of the room as you bid goodnight to the club.

“Oh!” You said, stopping by the door. “The pacifier?” You asked Eddie. Watching as he pointed a finger in the air and turned back towards the guys.

“It’s right he-” He paused, sidling up between Dustin and Mike and staring at the blank spot on the game mat where it had landed earlier.

“Here!” Gareth interjected, finishing Eddie’s sentence as he held up the pink paci and made a motion like he was going to throw it. 

Eddie held out his hands in response.

“Thanks man.” He said, as he caught it between his palms. Returning to you and leaving the club in stunned silence as you both left the room and headed towards the parking lot.

“Really?” Dustin asked, sounding exhausted but impressed none-the-less. “Using the pacifier to make the baby nod?” He asked as Gareth grinned from ear to ear and each of the other members of the club began to catch on to what transpired earlier. “You realize they’re scared of their baby now?” He asked. “That’s diabolical.”

“Not as diabolical as you pretending we all planned a prank and totally knew what the fuck was going on earlier.” The other teen shot back immediately, looking around after he spoke in fear that Eddie had somehow returned without them noticing.

“I’m just surprised you all caught on to be honest.” Dustin said earnestly as they all argued back about the statement.

“Seriously though…” Grant began when the shouting died down. “Did any of you think that baby was real for a second?” He asked quietly, eyes flicking towards the door as an affirmative murmur moved around the table.

“God no.”

“Not a chance.”

“Nope.”

“Absolutely not.” 

“Good.” Grant nodded. “I stared to think I was the only one that thought Eddie was full of shit.” He admitted, falling silent as the sound of Eddie’s footsteps coming back up the hallway forced them into a huddle to discuss how they were going to move through the obstacle they were stuck behind if Eddie decided they really didn’t deserve Daisy’s gifts.  

“Sorry about that guys.” Eddie sighed as he slumped down in his throne once more. He leaned back in his chair, ready to press play on the tape player and resume the ambient sounds. His fingers sliding over the buttons and furrowing his brows as he picked it up instead so he could look at it. “Ah shit.” He laughed, holding it in his lap.

“What?” Dustin asked, looking between the DM and the device.

“I thought I stopped it, but I guess I hit record instead.” He sighed. “Oh well, I guess it’s a good thing.” He shrugged. “Daisy will get a kick out of your prank one day.”

~

A/N: I hope you guys like this little Halloween Treat. Please let me know if you did. I don't really write x reader fics anymore so would appreciate the encouragement. xx

[thechekhov]

Hello! I'm a big fan of your work. I wanted to ask for advice / thoughts about an art problem I've been struggling with that you seem to have at least some sort of solution for?

So basically I'm an animator and digital artist (hobbyist), and I'm constantly coming up with new ideas for things to make. Only problem is that most of these ideas would take up to or longer than 2 months to make because, yknow, animation isn't quick, especially if you want to take your time to make it good. But with so many ideas that all take so long to complete, I often find myself tied and frozen as I can't decide what's most worthwhile to start first. I passionately want to complete all these projects, but my inspiration for each one waxes and wanes in a way I can't control, and I've just been stuck for several months. You juggle a lot of projects- not all of them art, but it still seems applicable here. This is excluding other life responsibilities like work and stuff, I don't have problems with getting that stuff done. This is purely within my creative hobby.

If u can't say anything thats fine I'm just curious- You have a massive output with great quality. Thank you!

This is a very kind message, and one that humbles me a lot, because although I'd love to bestow upon you some sort of advice that might help, or give words of wisdom..............I feel like that would be fake of me because

I also suffer from this very same thing

That is to say, this part of your message:

my inspiration for each one waxes and wanes in a way I can't control

It rings true for me too! I think it might ring true for many others as well.

There are stories in my head all the time. There are stories, and concepts, and IDEAS and they are all so shiny and new in the beginning, and then they slowly peter out and, since I frequently don't have time to do anything about them, they fade into the background.

I have enough trouble with this in terms of COMICS (also a lengthy medium, though less so than animation, which, OOF, you have my condolences, you are stronger than I) that I have started to just come to terms with the fact that some things are not meant to be.

Which is, I think, one of the small bits of advice I can give.

1. Some things may just be ideas, and that's okay.

I think one of the best ways that I've learned to deal with Idea-Death is making it count towards something in the future. That is to say, using them as compost.

In order for this to work, you have to actively put your ideas into the compost pin instead of the trash. That means maybe investing in either a notebook, or a sketchbook, OR just a discord server for yourself where you organize ideas and dump them all into a channel to scroll back through later.

It may seem useless at first, but honestly, it can be satisfying to PUT them somewhere instead of letting them fade away.

Plus, you may one day scroll through them and rediscover an idea at just the right time. OR you may be inspired to take parts of an old idea and repurpose it for a new idea that you DO have motivation for.

However, there's also this part, right?

I've just been stuck for several months

I.......feel this. Sometimes I, too, feel stuck for several months. There are times when even if I WANT to work on something, I just don't have the time. It takes too long to finish!

.........which is why I recommend the following:

2. Don't finish. Just start.

Now, this is the toughie. I can't exactly say that it would work for everyone. But I have learned that I am WAY more likely to return to a project and work on it again sometime in the future if I actually DO something for it the first time I get inspired.

I have SO MANY things that I have not published in my folders. I have sketches of gifs that are 10 frames long. I have concept art sketches boldly labeled with project names that will likely never get off the ground. I have Googledoc files with summary and plot outlines for stories I'll probably never write. I have discord channels with random ass concepts and a few sketches for characters.

And what I have found is that if I just WORK on these ideas when I feel like it, they are more likely to survive, even if they don't thrive right away.

I'm also a huge proponent of Procrastination Rotation.

That is to say, I have so many projects I COULD be working on, that if I ever feel frustrated or stuck on one thing, I just shift myself slightly to the left and do another thing instead. I almost never force myself to work through a block (save for a few money-motivated deadlines) just to complete a thing.

Stuck on a comic? I'll go write a few lines of fic. Unsatisfied with where the fic is going?

I'll go sketch out an illustration. Incapable of finishing an illustration?

I'll go google some references for another comic project and slap them all into an image file for later, so that I have SOMETHING in place for when I want to do studies.

And so on and so forth.

I have comic ideas, and comic sketches, and 30+ pages of original comics sketched. I don't know if they'll make it. It would take a lot of work.

But it also takes very little work - just a few extra pages sketched while I'm bored for an hour. Or a bit of lineart while I listen to a podcast. Or just a doodle somewhere which I snap a pic of and add to my discord channel for that project.

Will it work for everyone? Probably not. But I think that our creative culture is sometimes too attached to a linear production style. The truth is that art, or illustrations, or animation, or comics - none of it has to be on an assembly line. It can be tinkered with and put aside. And then, maybe, picked apart for scraps.........or maybe made into something new!

I don't know if that helps you at all, but I hope it at least helps someone.

And good luck with your animating!

[creepslayer7]

Dude imagine-

For some reason Danny gets adopted by the bat fam right? But they don't know he has powers and he doesn't want them too. But he still uses them all the time out of habit.

-completely silent, pops up out of nowhere because of his invisibility, goes through walls and ends up getting to different rooms way faster then the rest of them.

They are confused how this random civilian child is sneaking around without them knowing how he does it and when they ask him about it he panics, cuz he doesn't want them to know he has powers so he blurts out the first thing he can think of-

"there's secret tunnels all through the manor."

They for some reason believe him(barely) because how else would he be able to get around like that?

But he refuses to tell them where they are or how he found them (because they don't exist) and they're all confused why they never found any tunnels when they explored the manor over the years.

They're also probably embarrassed that none of them, as the 'worlds greatest directive family' , could find these so called tunnels so they all look in secret separately from each other.

Eventually they decide that Danny has to be lying because none of them can find these tunnels.

Until Jason, who knows Danny is a halfa (and is maybe also one himself) tells them that the tunnels are real and that he uses them too. And he either uses his ghost abilities too if he is a halfa or he gets Danny to use his powers on him too.

And at this point the family has seen them appear and disappear, together AND separately, as soon as they're not looking, even in rooms where someone is blocking the only entrances.

Which sends the family into a frenzy,

- Tim hasn't slept in weeks, he has multiple maps and blueprints of the manor strewn around his table with empty coffee cups and a repurposed crime bulletin board.

- Dick and Steph have accepted defeat and have taken to begging Danny or Jason for the location of the tunnels. Even bringing up the pranking opportunities they could have, which they come to regret when Jason and Danny use their ideas on them and the rest of the family.

- Cass is frustrated and a little jumpy that she can't find these tunnels and that they can sneak up on her at any time, so they take pity on her and let her in on the secret. They also make sure she always know when they approach her so they don't freak her out.

- Duke has decided to stay out of it but they occasionally find him looking around for the tunnels when he thinks no one's around.

- Damien can't stand that they know something about their house that he doesn't and immediately pesters Bruce about it and interrogates everyone. He even considers joining Tim before deciding that it would be shameful to find the tunnels with his help.

- Bruce is confused because he figures he would know about any tunnels in his own home since childhood, but ultimately he believes that they're real because Danny, Jason, AND now Cass seem to know where they are. He is half parts disappointed they're so difficult to find, because the childish side of him would have enjoyed playing in them when he was younger, and half parts relieved, because he doesn't think he could handle all his kids popping in and out of every crevice in the manor. Though he does ask Alfred if he knew about them, to which he cryptically responds that he knows exactly how they're getting around, but he refuses to elaborate further. The more Bruce thinks about it he comes to realize that it makes so much since that Alfred knows, and he assumes that is how he is always getting around the manor so quickly undetected.

- Alfred knows that Danny (and maybe Jason) is a ghost because he saw him either disappear or appear out of thin air and talked to him about it. Once everyone knew he knew about what was going on they badgered him for answers but he felt it would be disrespectful and hurtful to Danny to 'out him' so to speak before he was ready, and he figured that they were just having harmless fun.

[emryses]

stick a pin in it

written for @steddiemicrofic march prompt: pin | 388 words | rated: T

During the summer of 1986, Eddie makes himself a new battle vest. Try as they might, they can't quite get Steve Harrington's blood out of the first one; and though Eddie thinks that may add a certain…je no say whatever to it, in the end, he finds an old jean jacket of Wayne’s, chops the arms off and starts all over again.

It doesn’t end up being too difficult. He repurposes patches from the old one. Cuts up an old t-shirt and sews it on the back. Even paints some shit on it with Jane El Hopper-Byers’ paints she lets him borrow. He does it all by hand, like he did the other one, because he likes it. Because it turns out to be pretty decent physical therapy for his bat-eaten muscles. Because it reminds him of the way his mom used to patch up their clothes when he was little, because they couldn’t afford to buy something brand new.

He adds to it all summer long, in bits and pieces as he finds things he wants to attach to it. The vest ends up being an extension of himself, you see. A little bit of his heart on the outside, cloaking himself with it. He adds to the vest, like he adds a gaggle of children to his group of friends, or a kiss from Steve Harrington to his list of first times.

One day, in late August, they sit off to the side of the Harrington pool, teenagers splashing around like children. Steve is laid out like a goddamn Adonis in his tiny swim trunks, sun bathing and delicious. Eddie sews in his cut off jeans, he hasn’t been able to stop looking at Steve all day, chewing on his bottom lip. He watches as Steve reaches down into the folds of the towel on the ground, takes something out, and tosses it to Eddie, and catches it.

“Now what’s this?” Eddie asks. He knows what it is. He knows exactly what it is. It reads, CLASS OF ‘85 under a monogram of HHS.

Steve shrugs. “My class pin. If you want it.” He sounds more nonchalant than Eddie thinks he is, from the blush on his cheeks that he is sure isn’t from the sun. “Thought you might want to put it on your vest.”

[rebelfell]

Who, me? Done with them? Where the fuck did you hear that? 18+ MDNI 2.4K

older!fem!Harrington!reader x eddie

cw: none except for actual, despicable, disgusting, nauseating fluff to make up for all some of the angst 💋

continued from here, index here

When Eddie comes to your house that night, he looks around it with wide, entranced eyes.

He only saw it when it was bare bones—plain white paint and dusty floors scattered with boxes. Now it was bursting with color and personality, shelves lined with your books, walls adorned with art and posters. A little calendar in your kitchen scribbled with various activities and reminders. Dishes from your breakfast still in the sink. Plants in just about every window, some of them with small tchotchkes hidden in the pots—figurines you’d picked up at yard sales or found randomly.

Your couch is velvet, a deep green that makes your throw pillows seem even brighter. There’s a thick knit blanket strewn across the chaise end of it and an intimidatingly long book lying out on your coffee table. It’s much nicer than the one he broke—a piece of wood shaped into an octagon with a dark gold grain polished to perfection.

In the right light, he can still see the faint white line of his scar across the center of his palm.

He finds your record player and starts flipping through your albums he only saw a small portion of that summer, most of them stashed away in the garage with the rest of your stuff. 

And while he was looking at your stuff, you just looked at him.

It was impossible to believe he was actually standing in front of you. Like a dream come to life, a vision in a hunter green dress shirt tucked into black slacks. He had the sleeves rolled up to his elbows and he’d only buttoned the shirt half-way to show off the white tank underneath, the tattoos over his collarbone peeking out from underneath the skinny straps.

You watch him as he moves on to your mantle, looking over a little altar of all things you. 

Seashells from a trip you took to Marco Island years ago. Vintage crystal candy dishes with lids repurposed into candles. A bowl of matchbooks from different clubs and restaurants. Pictures of you and your friends with your faces squished together in mis-matched frames.

And down at the very end, a copy of your book. 

Eddie picks it up and turns it over in his hands, running his fingers over the cover and the spine where your name is embossed.

“You can have that, if you want,” you tell him. “I’d love for you to read it.”

He smiles and places the book back down, eyes twinkling. “I already have,” he says.

Your brow wrinkles instantly and you’re about to ask him how that was even possible, but Eddie is already offering an explanation. Apparently, right around the time he was starting his company, Viv brought him out to do a consultation…and just so happened to leave a copy of it laying out.

You shake your head and chuckle softly, recalling a Christmas in Hawkins that you found Corroded Coffin’s self-released album in your stocking.

Eddie turns toward you and his eyes land on the staircase that leads up to your bedroom.

He feels that old impulse—that ancient craving in him that laid dormant for so many years, now urging his hands to reach out and grab you and bend you backwards until your spine is folded in half he’s kissing you so hard. Your own smile spreads across your face when he looks back to you, but there’s a tightness to it. Almost like you’re wondering what he’s going to do.

Like you’re imagining the same things he is.

He doesn’t do them, though. Because he doesn’t want it to be like that this time. He has so many other things he wants to do first.

All the things he never got to before.

A slow exhale leaves your chest, a breath you didn’t realize you were holding, and he glances at the clock hanging over your fireplace, tilting his head at you in a question,

“You wanna go see a movie?”

It’s no Starcourt Mall, but the discount theater you take him to is only a ten minute walk from your house. You go there some evenings after dinner without even checking what is playing. They never have new releases, just stuff that’s a few months old by the time they get it, nearly ready to come out on video. And sometimes they show the really old black and white ones.

Eddie buys two tickets for the next show and holds the door open for you to walk inside. You pause in the lobby, letting the smell of popcorn imbue your senses, looking around at the scant number of other people milling about. He lets the tips of his fingers trail down the inside of your arm and wrist to lace his hand with yours, giving it a squeeze as he nods at concessions.

“You like Red Vines?” he asks with a smile.

It’s a good thing the movie isn’t anything of note, because it’s near impossible to concentrate with Eddie sitting next to you. You plop down in a pair of seats towards the back in the center of the row, you with the candy and a drink while Eddie holds the popcorn—only $3 for a giant ass tub, how do they even make a profit? he asks excitedly, his eyes so wide that it makes you giggle.

Then he asks you to hold it for him while he digs in his pocket for his glasses.

”Don’t laugh,” he warns, tipping his head down and squinting at you playfully over the frames. 

Yeeeeah, laughing is not gonna be the issue. If the slightly scruffy beard wasn’t enough to send you into overdrive, the wire-rimmed glasses he perches on his nose sure as shit were.

The fourth or fifth time you catch yourself staring, at him, he catches you too. He fights back a smile while lightly brushing his fingers over his chin and cheeks, then leans over the armrest to whisper to you, even though there’s no one in the theater sitting close enough for you to bother them.

“Did I get it?” he asks, brows raising.

“Huh?” You blink rapidly, coming out of your daze.

“You’re staring at me so hard, I thought I must have something on my face.”

His lips curl upwards in that familiar cocky smirk of his and you roll your eyes, plucking a piece of popcorn from the bucket to throw at him. Already laughing, anticipating the move, his mouth opens wide and his jaw snaps closed as he catches it easily, still grinning as he chomps. It earns him the prize that is your laughter—the sound of it warming his chest from the inside out.

You hold hands the whole walk back to your house, only letting go once when he moves his to the small of your back and guides you in front of him so you don’t walk through a puddle.

And far too soon, you’re standing at your door. And he’s swallowing hard, throat bobbing as he shifts closer until the tips of his shoes bump with yours. And your heart is pounding, rattling all your organs as he looks up at you through his lashes.

“So, I should…go?”

His voice goes up at the end, making ita question.

“I guess so?” You shrug, chewing on your lip as you glance at your door. He nods.

“Good night, sweetheart,” he whispers, the short stubble on his jaw rubbing your cheek as he drops a too-brief kiss on the side of your face, lingering there to add, “I’ll call you tomorrow.”

You take a deep inhale of his scent. It’s lighter one than the woodsy cologne he used to wear. More mellow and earthy, like sage and sea salt.

Heaven.

The two of you step apart and he stays on the porch, waiting until you’ve unlocked the door and safely slipped back inside the house before he dares turn to leave. You place your keys in their spot on the hook by your door. Same as you always do. You step out of your shoes and slide them under the little bench where the rest of them reside. Same as you always do.

And then suddenly, you stop. Because what the fuck do you think you’re doing letting him leave?

You yank open the front door to find him standing there holding the screen door, his chest heaving from running back up the walkway and steps.

For a moment you just stare at one another, all your memories rushing back at once. A haze of summer heat, sunscreen and chlorine. Fresh grass clippings and perennials in bloom, messy sheets and sticky skin on sticky skin. Moonlight reflecting on the lake, thunder booming and pouring rain. Burnished eyes in a darkened hallway, a whisper of please, please, please…

And like tectonic plates colliding, you crash.

His shirt barely makes it past the threshold, your fingers tugging apart the buttons to push it off his shoulders. He helps to pull it the rest of the way off and tosses it aside before his hands find your waist, guiding you backward towards the stairs, the both of you giggling in between feverish kisses as you try and climb them without separating your lips.

You stumble through the bedroom door, him clumsily kicking off his shoes while you slap at the light switch on the wall. The red scarf draped over the lamp on your bedside table casts a haze over the soft and warm glow of the bulb, making everything it touches a radiant scarlet.

He wraps his arms around you in a tight squeeze before his hands slide down to palm your ass, lifting the skirt of your dress with his grasp. Lips vibrating with the moan you release, you put your hands on his shoulders and guide him downward to sit on the end of your bed.

His knees spread and he pulls you in to stand between them, black eyes shining up at you.

“You’re so beautiful…” 

He whispers it, half to himself, his kisses being peppered along your collarbones as he tugs down the top of your dress. The air hits your breasts as they come spilling out of the bodice and his hands cup them gently as you come forward to straddle his lap. The breathy, stuttering groan he lets out as he feels your weight sink down on top of him instantly zings between your legs.

He mouths at your breasts, kissing over the top curves, burying his face in the middle of them. It makes you sigh, dreamily, as your fingers weave into his hair and you scrape your nails across his scalp until it makes him shiver under you.

He falls backward, bringing you with him as he’s engulfed in the softness of your unmade sheets. You place your hands at his pecks, ready to tear through his flimsy undershirt to feel the warmth of his bare skin on yours. Your hips buck, almost violently, starting a rough and needy grind on his cock, whimpering with each drag of your core against the growing bulge in his slacks.

“Hang on, wait—wait, wait, wait—”

Eddie gasps for air, panting heavily as he sits up, supporting you with his hands on your back. Your body stills, the grind ceasing instantly. Your hands at his chest, fingers still curved like claws.

“Are you okay?” you whisper. “Do you—do you not want to…”

Eddie shakes his head instantly, lips pressing to your forehead as he tries to catch his breath.

“No, I wanna do this, I do,” he breathes, “you have no idea how much, but…”

And those eyes. Those big, wet, round eyes of his scan your face as he dredges up the nerve to say the thought that’s been in his head for years.

Never knowing if he’d actually get to say it.

You swear you can feel how his heart races as you smooth your hands over his chest and draw them up to cup his neck. He reaches up to hold your face in his hands, and finally he says it.

“I don’t have it in me to get over you again.”

The words steal every speck of air in the room. You can’t even inhale because every atom in your body is frozen in place. You swear even the blood in your veins stops pumping for that moment.

And then you feel it. The rush of warmth in your extremities, tingling with realization.

You don’t want just one night with him. You don’t want just a few weeks of fun. You want to see him in every season—bundled up against the cold, his cheeks pink and snowflakes clinging to his bangs; wrapped in a flannel, raking umber colored leaves into a pile and then jumping into them; throwing his head back to catch raindrops on his tongue during an April shower, splashing in puddles.

You’ve been so distracted all night by how different he is now that you haven’t even thought about how much you’ve changed. Back then, you were so worried about what people would think—your coworkers, your boss, your family. Some people in a town you didn’t even live in.

You let all the bullshit win, you let it rob you of what could have been. Not again.

“I need to know…” He swallowed hard. “If you still want what I want.”

And you know you do. You know it down to your marrow, on a cellular level. But there’s a part of you that still wants to hear him say it.

“What do you want, Eddie?” you whisper, the words leading and heady.

“You.” He says it like it’s easy. Like it’s obvious. “I’ve only ever wanted you.”

You nod back at him, licking your lips to stop their trembling. “I’ve only ever wanted you.”

There’s a kind of peace to the moment that passes between you, a long exhale after a deep breath, a pause at the peak of a mountain where you look around breathless and winded at the majesty of the view. Your eyes scan over all the features of his face, all the details you’ve spent years trying to recall properly that are now before you in startling clarity. The faint dusting of light freckles across his nose, the natural texture of his skin, the fullness of his plush lips that are rosy red from your energetic kissing, his dense lashes that frame those twin black holes in his face.

Staring back at you like you’re the one who holds all the secrets of the universe.

“Then I…I think we should wait,” he says, smiling even though it seems as if it’s physically painful for him to say it. “I want—I have to do this right.”

You press your lips to his, your fingers curled loosely in the hairs at the nape of his neck. Not gripping—not clutching, not scared of losing him.

Just holding. 

He kisses you back and you giggle, feeling exactly how much his body wants to betray what he just said. You keep your face close as your smiles touch, noses bumping as you whisper,

“Do you want some ice cream?”

prev┃next

okay, okay, okay, now I’m really done. Or am I? Again, this is all y’all’s fault ‘cos you go and say nice things and that makes me think about them more and then THIS HAPPENS!

This song also has to shoulder some of the blame…

[redjademilktea]

Last night's episode of 4 Sided Dive was absolutely wonderful in terms of the amount of insight and perspective we got. Not only the Crown Keepers interlude, but also for campaign 3's themes as a whole.

Specifically what fascinated me though, was the incredible analogy Aimee drew between the Ruidian culture and colonial influence on indigenous/colonized spaces in real life (around the 1h32m mark for reference). It was amazing question to ask and I'll love Aimee endlessly for it because it touches on am interesting parallel between the discourse surrounding the Exandiran gods and what they thematically can represent to us as an audience.

Before I dive into my thoughts, I want to preface this by saying this is my specific perspective as a queer woman of color and daughter of a refugee. While my year-5-in-a-PhD-program brain may just be over analyzing this too much, what Aimee brought up just deeply resonated with me in a way that I don't really see talked about in discussions around the themes of campaign 3. Additionally, the ideas I'll be talking about borrow heavily from Christine Taitano DeLisle's Placental Politics: CHamoru Women, White Womanhood, and Indigeneity under U.S. Colonialism in Guam (2023). Its an incredible piece on indigenous knowledge production and political action that importantly looks to decenter colonial perspectives and history (and more importantly recenter indigenous histories, knowledge, and perspectives in a way that allows us to dislodge the idea that colonialism is something that is immutable and inevitable.)

To quickly summarize Aimee's point/follow up question, she pointed out that the way Ruidians have engaged with, repurposed, and were resentful towards Exandrian cultures mirrors some of the real life experiences of colonized/marginalized communities in relation to colonialism. It was such a powerful comparison to make because in a lot of ways, the struggle of the Ruidian people over the course of the campaign along with the looming question about the gods and whether or not to save them is (intentional or not) deeply resonant with the idea of colonialism and the ways it is deeply ingrained in the even mundane aspects of our life.

In a lot of ways, the Exandrian pantheon can be seen as a colonial force. One that came in and displaced a preexisting order of things and entrenched itself in the new way of being it established. Ashton and Laudna have repeatedly pointed this out throughout the campaign. There was life and existence before the gods. The gods are merely a different mode of being, not the only and inevitable mode of being. Life, society, and being can and did exist without them.

And its important to recognize that aspect of the gods, because it helps us understand their motivations that much better. Aabria in her description of what Opal saw in the Spider Queen as she tried to take Opal as her champion was poignant. Opal did not see an omniscient, unknowable entity. She saw a woman. A woman who was frustrated, angry, and most importantly frightened. They keep Predathos chained away not to protect life on Exandria nor because they feel a moral obligation to do so. They are doing so because they are afraid. Their mortality is at stake. And, as Aabria keenly pointed out, their pride is as well. Every action, every move is out of self preservation. An attempt to save themselves because Predathos demonstrate that not even the gods are a permanent thing.

You'll find (as Anne Stoler writes about frequently) that colonial systems are much the same. They are vehemently intent on self preservation. Any action they undertake and any narrative they create about themselves is solely done to preserve the way things are currently. And that includes narratives that the way things are currently is somehow inevitable. That things were always coming to this moment. Often, this is done at the expense of framing other modes of being as somehow antithetical to the way things are now. That it needs to be this way. And that this way is right and forever.

To me, its important to recognize these parallels. While Ruidians may engage with, adapt, and innovate off of Exandrian ideas, culture, and art, it is only because - as Aimee aptly phrased it - Exandrian culture as a direct result of the gods actions has "sucked all the air out" everything. What is there to engage with, if not the looming orb in the sky that has shaped every aspect of their existence?

It really brings the campaign-wide question of "should we save the gods?" into new light, at least in my opinion. Because its suddenly not about "saving the gods in a morally righteous act to preserve all life." It becomes a layered and complicated network of issues that makes the answer to that question incredibly difficult to answer. Is preserving the status quo because its how things operate now worth it at the expense of the suffering of others? What would saving the gods and the Ruidians look like? Is it even possible to save both? What changes to how things operate would be a result of that? How would those changes be handled?

I bring this up because there is a tendency in some discourse that I've seen to frame questioning the validity of saving the gods as inherently the "wrong" choice to make. When instead, when you see the cast struggling over the question, its because the answer is not straight forward. The gods are not necessary for life. They never were. They just are necessary for life the way things are now. And the question of what disrupting that means is such a fascinating one to engage with.

[chronically-ghosted]

vivarium

rating: explicit 18+ pairing: ezra x f!reader word count: 8K summary: you request a vacation for your birthday. With the rain and a few drinks, you get a lot more than you asked for.  warnings: alcohol drinking, minor age gap (less than 10 years), oral (f!receiving), fingering, smut, possessive!Ezra, dom!Ezra, one booty smack, dirty talk for real, smut, pining, a bit of angst, referenced/implied orphanhood, made a religious sex pun and i'm so proud of myself a/n: so @morallyinept requested this and it turns out when I write for a boy for the first time, it can’t be less than 7K – whoops. i've gotten ezra requests from some moots before, so i hope this lives up to your expectations! **massive thanks to @toomanytookas for editing and providing the initial validation so i don't post in a mouth-frothy haze. I've never had a beta like you before and I genuinely feel like I've turned over a new chapter in my fic writing. thank you!

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Your feet in the clear blue water, the humidity like a wet tongue on your skin, you scratch a nail under the tab of a mustard yellow can, crack it open, and drink. The bite of alcohol dulled by the carbonation, you take several pulls, drawing out the mid-afternoon buzz from two other cans and whetting your mouth in the heat of the jungle day. You lean back on your elbows into the sponge-soft grass, and let out a massive sigh. 

A few feet ahead of you, on a repurposed inflatable reentry tube, your long-time privateer partner chuckles, the sound deep in the back of his throat as he floats by. Thick fingers and exposed heels dragging along in the crystal water, he greets the yellow sun like an old friend – arms wide, chest out, a lazy smile on his face. A damp rag – supposedly clean – sits over what you know to be dark-earth eyes, every other inch of him relishing in the inevitable sun tan. 

“I see your aaahhh, pet, and I raise you a mhmm.” The rubber squeaks as he adjusts, tips his scarred chin up to the cloudless sky and rests his head back. “Kevva said there’d be days like this, but I think the old hag mighta left out a thing or two.” 

You grin, the wet heat of Banu 8’s lowlands drawing sweat droplets onto your hairline at the back of your neck, settling thick behind your ears where it co-mingles with the drunk haze loping around in your brain. You watch Ezra with his bare arms, hairy legs, and prominent nose turned towards the divinity he’s so fond of invoking and the thought crosses your mind – again:

Shit, he’s so fucking hot. 

Oh, bad thought.

You drop your gaze, pressing the cold aluminum lip of the can to your mouth, drinking quicker than you probably should, anything to distract you from your partner as he obliviously floats by. 

For our sake, you silently beg the hungry little creature that whines and snaps at the image of a shirtless Ezra, please fuck off. 

While Ezra whistles a vaguely familiar tune, terribly off-key, you scoop up the cool lagoon water and dribble it over your hot knees, then your thighs, dampening the rims of your make-shift shorts just enough to cool them without leaving them vulnerable to a permanent state of moisture due to the high humidity. You flick the last drops of the water onto your chest, your white cotton bra choked to your skin. A final effect, you press the cool can to the thrumming pulse on your neck, closing your eyes with a relieved grunt, taking the time to enjoy the sensation of the cold metal against the rapid beat in your throat. 

From the water, you hear an unsettled grunt and you open your eyes to find that same shirtless Ezra staring at you, the rag now curled in one hand against the rubber float. He swallows, looks at something past your ear, and again tries to adjust in the sticky rubber float without flipping himself over, his hands falling into his lap. 

“Neptune, dear, would you do us the favor of tossing over one of those cans? I’m parched. I think my lovely skin is drying out.”

Neptune. His favorite nickname for you. You never got any real explanation from him as to why you got that name, other than after you’d officially joined his crew, you told him you came from a blue planet in a far off system. But that was often the way of things: Ezra did something and you didn’t question why. From that simple truth, you learned about how to repair and rebuild the entire electrical system from a drop pod. You learned, in excruciating detail, the parts and mechanics of a thrower, so much so that you could almost identify the model number at a glance. You learned about which corporate dig sites to avoid, which made for easy marks, and which would draw the eye and ire of entities hardly worth the trouble. 

Being out on your own since you aged up out of the orphanage had not gone the way you hoped and life had not been so kind as to teach you any other way to survive. Ezra had found you in the back of a red spice market, cornered and slurping down the last few of your credits from a muck bowl that you had vastly overpaid for.

For whatever reason, he offered you a job on the spot, despite you having nothing to offer him. and no experience in anything except cleaning prophylaxiams and staying out of the way.

And yet, he has been far kinder than life, or anyone else, had ever been to you. 

As a result, loyalty was only a fraction of what you felt for him. What had begun as overwhelming adoration had grown hot to the touch, slippery between your fingers at night, and perhaps – what you feared most of all – obvious. 

Yet when Ezra looked at you with a smile on his face, it was only comradery he wished to share with you, certainly not his bed. He shared it with practically every other bi-pedal humanoid you came across, but not you. And this you had to accept. And you did. 

But being a little drunk made it that much harder to remember where to keep your hands to avoid being burned.

“Sure, Ez.” You tuck your legs out from the cool water and dig around in the canvas bag at the base of the white nut tree. Most of the ice had melted into the bright green grass around the lagoon, but a few of the cans were still cold. You’d probably tease Ezra later for skimping on the insulation bucket the provisions store the port offered, but he had been so eager to get to the camp ground after spending an “exceedingly exorbitant amount of time stacked up against human drivel on public transportation”. One lopsided grin, and you’d give him the world. 

“Ez–,”

He lifts the rag, glancing at you over his shoulder, hands cupped as the can flies through the air. The cold metal presses against the overheated skin on his chest and he hisses. Eyeing the can ruefully, he cracks it open and drinks deep. You busy yourself with sliding to the edge of the pool again to keep from watching his throat move. 

Ezra finally pulls back, smacking his lips, with a pleased groan. He wets the rag again and dramatically flops it over his eyes. Hidden from his view, you watch the roll of water down his temples, his neck, his chest. 

“Name anything better than this, Neptune, I beg you. Free from obligation or assignment on commission. Where my only moral imperative is to drink as many of these as I can and remind you how beautiful you are. Which . . .” he tilts the bottom of the can towards you, head still tilted back on the raft and dripping rag covering his vision, “fantastic, by the way.” 

Having stifled your blush while under his watchful gaze about three or four other times today, without him looking, you flush so hard and fast you go lightheaded. Beautiful, he said. You drink more carbonated alcohol to choke back your rising heart, your eyes skim over the curve of his nose, a drop of sweat as it peaks on his forehead. You can’t linger over him too long; he has a six-sense about you – unable to know what you’re thinking but that you’re overthinking all the same. 

“Was this worth the trip on public transportation, Ez?” Your ankles stir the water again. 

“I could do this all day,” he sighs contently, bringing a warm smile to your face. “And definitely all night.”

Maybe you’ll both be so sun-drunk later tonight, you’ll fall asleep together on the pallet on the floor. Of course, by nightfall, someone will have to come to their senses and you’ll be tucked back into your separate sleeping bags, but maybe, as a present you couldn’t possibly ask for, you can just nap together.

With the bottom plush of your lip stuck between your teeth, you rim the metallic edge of your can with your nail, ankles spinning slow circles in the water. 

“Thank you, Ezra,” you say quietly, “for the best birthday I’ve ever had.” 

It began as a sort of joke one night on the volcanic hotspring moon of Wulkan after a twelve hour shift hunting through the black ash in search of fire pearls. The job was rather rushed, and Ezra had his reservations going into it, but fire pearls were a near certainty and you both needed a boost after a jump exchange had gone a little cockeyed. Sweat dripping from his temples, the provided water packs in the harvest suits doing just enough to keep him from passing out from heat exhaustion, he extended the skein of hydro-electric towards you across the narrow lane between your cots and asked you if you could be anywhere right now, any system, where would you be.

“Somewhere so cold I freeze my tits clean off,” you said with a sigh and wiped your own sweat-drenched forehead. You could smell yourself after two days of sweating profusely, but your stench in comparison to the rest of the crew, including Ezra, barely registered any more. You took a sip as Ezra laughed.

“A grievous crime against humanity and all its luscious gifts, but I get your meaning. Anywhere else?”

“Water.” This was said with more conviction, so much so it turned Ezra’s head towards you. “The few memories I have of my home planet and my parents, we were always near or in water. An ocean, maybe. I’m not sure. But I remember being really, really happy and I think being near water . . . it would make me happy again.”

You handed the skein back to Ezra, something unreadable in his gaze. He took it back from you, his fingers dark from the ash that clings to everything. On the other side of the tent, the rest of your crew and other teams mill about, yelling, with cutlery clattering as the camp gets ready to slow for the night, a graveyard shift picking up in just a few hours. 

Ezra’s eyes are as dark as the ash you’ve been shifting through the past two days.

“Then you shall have it, Neptune.” He said, quietly. “I’d give you the fucking galaxy if I could.” 

Those words often came to you in the crevice between sleep and wakefulness, when your mind was idle and the reins that tightly bound your affection for him loosened without a conscious grip. When you thought you weren’t being watched. 

The flat of his foot hooking behind your ankle breaks you from your reverie. Cast into shadow by the wide, rubbery palm leaves above your head, he looks at you curiously. 

“That look of deep consternation is giving me a headache. Spill.” 

With a faint smile, you gently bump his knee with your own. “Nothing, Ez. I’m just glad we get to take a break from it all. I can’t remember the last time I . . . the last time we’ve just had nothing to do.” 

He cocks his head as his gaze crawls up your ankle, your shin, to your knee. You think it might linger on your thigh before it bounces to your face. You tighten your grip on the hot, expansive feeling behind your ribs and stare back at him.

“Then that’s a black mark against me, as the leader of this clan.” His mouth curls, eyebrow arching as he talks, knowing that statement has been a point of playful contention between you two for years. “A good overseer knows when to crack the bullwhip and when to let it rest.”

“Well, a better overseer knows when to demand that her team rests, because sometimes they have no idea what’s good for them.” 

His foot rotates behind your ankle, his toes brushing against your calf, bringing your attention to your own body part in the water. Your legs are hairy, nearly as much as Ezra’s, and you haven’t shaved your pits in possibly a decade. Ezra once brought home a professional nightwalker, one from the Upper City, to the derelict flat you’d been sharing for two weeks as you offloaded your haul to the under markets. You never forgot how smooth her skin had been, shaved clean and smelling of moon lilies. That scent permeated the small space for weeks afterward. Even now, just the sight of moon lilies makes you nauseous. 

His aversion to you runs much deeper than physical aesthetics, even if you can’t help but wonder sometimes if becoming as smooth and hairless as the nightwalker might change his mind.

“Observational to a fault as always, Neptune.” The ball of his foot rests briefly between your legs before he pushes off from the spongy lip of the lagoon’s edge. He floats back into the sun, his head shaking slightly, a smile drained of amusement on his lips. He inhales as the sun crests over his forehead and he glances up at the blue sky. “I have no idea what’s good for me.”

Something about his tone, the way he turns away from you, scratches a very raw place inside of you – a place that fears and obsesses over abandonment. You wouldn’t survive it if he abandoned you, if he left you to fend for yourself one day. Logically, you know he would never do that – he has sworn up and down to your face that that notion is fundamentally ludicrous to him – but the anguish of him silently rejecting you from his bed again and again and again makes that fragile place inside you bleed red. 

You stand up, swipe another can from the bag, and move towards the waterfall. 

“I’m taking a hike.”

You feel his eyes on the backs of your thighs as you march towards the gentle incline.

“Be safe, Neptune,” he calls softly.

For a fleeting second, you wish he had made you stay.

The first fat raindrop splashes against your cheek and wakes you from a humid, irritated nap. You’re scowling by the time you open your eyes to several more wet droplets as they splatter against your neck, your forehead and you sit up, even more frustrated than when you fell asleep. The last sticky tendrils of dreams snap and pop as you pull yourself onto your feet, back hunched and arm held high against the steamy sprinkle. A crack of lightning, then a growl of thunder, and the sky splits open, drenching you in seconds. With a snarl of your own, you snatch up the empty can from the grass next to you and make for your camp down the hill. As you crest the top, you see a figure standing outside the tent, back tense and hand raised as if searching through the twilight gray downpour. 

Normally, the thought of warming up beside Ezra in your yellow tent fills you with something inexplicable, the grime and load of the day melting from your shoulders, but your buzz from earlier has thickened, made worse by the heat, the emotions in your heart all gummed up and smashed together. The sight of him cranks up your irritation high in your ears. With a huff, you concentrate on a smooth slide down the hill without breaking your ankles and not the fire rising in your gut. 

But the rain and the distance apart has only stoked his own outrage.

“Where the hell were you?” He snaps as you yank back the velcroed tent flap. He is dripping from head to toe in jungle rain as he follows closely behind you into your small space. You ring the water from your hair into a corner and scowl up at him. 

“I fell asleep. The rain woke me up. I came back as soon as I could.” 

His eyes narrow, water rolling off his bare shoulders as if he still stood out in the downpour. The droplets pat pat pat against the tarp floor as he snatches up a fiber towel and dries himself off, scowling all the while. 

“I searched for you, calling your name up and down this fuckin’ jungle and I didn’t hear a peep. What if something had gone wrong? What if you’d been hurt?”

“Then I would have fucking dealt with it, Ezra.” You stomp to your feet, neck hot from his patronizing gaze. Hands on his hips, you feel like you’re being scolded. “I can take care of myself.” 

One dark eyebrow arches mockingly, the scar on his cheek twisting in his scowl.

“And you expect me to lay about, twiddling my thumbs, while I wait for you to return or until you deem it appropriate for me to fret over your corpse?” 

That patch of blonde hair is a shade darker, drenched and pressed flat against his forehead. His bare chest is littered with scars and divots where chunks of flesh had been torn away. His skin is a reflection of the hard life he lives. You doubt you’d look any different if you’d seen yourself in a mirror. 

“We are partners, Ez,” you grind out between locked teeth. “Equals, alright? I am not your little sister for you to fuss over and you are not my keeper.” 

At that, the indignant swell of his chest deflates and the anger in his eyes flickers before fading out. 

“You are beyond capture,” he mutters, eyebrows down but gaze distant. “I’d never dream of keeping you, Neptune.” 

Again, it’s his phrasing that hurts most of all. You glance away, the backs of your eyes growing hot and tight, drying out despite the sticky moisture warming the inside of the tent. But then his hand around your elbow startles away the tears forming in the corners of your eyes. 

“You are the most important thing to me in the entirety of this world and the next,” he says softly, earth eyes searching your face. “I came on too strong, I know that, but the idea that you’d ever be gone from my side for any amount of permanence . . . well, it’s been a lifetime since I’ve felt fear like that.” 

His frown goes belly-up, a hopeless smile on his face. “I wasn’t aware I even still could.” His calloused thumb brushes your skin, skin that nearly catches fire from the rough drag of scar tissue, before he lets his hand drop. Your own curls into a fist at your side, a tremor rattling the bones of your wrist in an effort to keep from reaching up and touching that moon-shaped scar you dream about at night.

“I’m not going anywhere, Ez. You taught me enough to survive in a world like this. But you’re going to have to trust me.”

That smile goes wan, sickly. “That’s the problem, dear heart, I trust you with my life.” 

He swallows, as if suddenly bashful to make direct eye contact with you. He clears his throat before rummaging around in his canvas bag for dry clothes. He yanks a black, sleeveless shirt on over his head before setting up the materials for a flameless pocket fire. 

“Since my dreams of showing you something called a barbeque have been quite literally rained out, we’ll finish off the rest of the dredge pack tonight. But come first light, I’ll fix you breakfast so succulent, the smell alone’ll make your mouth water. How does that sound, Neptune?”

He barely slows to breathe as he seamlessly switches topics from breakfast to another meal made at camp without looking up or stalling in his prep for dinner, hands almost disconnected from the humming of his mouth – one so methodical, the other like a channel rat on fire. 

“– and the thing was no one was really sure enough what a squatter egg looked like when it goes bad. But being out in a cramped hold-out for two weeks where it was so dark, your own ass and someone else’s had no demarcation, well, there wasn’t a single peep of dissimilitude . . .”

Words strung together so quick and so melodic, it was always incredibly easy to fall into a sort of easy trance around Ezra. Sounds and syllables just sounded right coming out of his mouth and after a while, that trance became a state of repose, Ezra’s own sense of calm filtered to whoever was also in the room. But not to you, not right now.

After spending immeasurable time with less than half a space between you in cramped tents and in claustrophobic dig sites, you could read the tension on the lines of his body as well as the lines on the palm of your hand. 

“Neptune? You with me?”

Ezra glances up at you, always aware of you and your movements like the twinge on a spider’s web, a signature smile that has always seemed to shine a bit brighter for you plastered over his face. The anger was the only thing holding you up and with it gone, you can feel your bruised heart twinge as it folds over itself. 

“Yeah, that sounds good. I’m gonna switch out of these wet clothes before we eat, okay?”

He hums, nodding, eyes fixating on the steadily boiling water in front of him as you turn away to the other side of the tent, by your pallet and traveler’s pack. As further evidence that he feels nothing but companionship for you, you feel his eyes remain nowhere near you as you strip off your shorts and bra for a sun-warm suit. Then again, you’d like to think it’s kind of scandalous to be changing in front of him, but you’d both seen each other naked more times than you could count – there is no modesty in foxholes. The space between your hips and your thighs feel sticky from sweat and the slick rain, the curve of your spine warm and flushed. The zipper is loud in the silence. 

You’re braiding your damp hair away from your face when he sighs and the noise makes you look back at him.

“Answer me honestly, if you’ve ever cared for me a tick. Do you regret it?”

His eyes are sorrowful, worried, brow fixed down. Ezra is not, and never has been, a man prone to melancholy. His wrists rest loosely over his knees, gaze deep in the bubbling bone broth. The rain outside taps insistently at the tarp. 

“Regret what?” 

“Coming with me and taking on this life. It’s not an easy one,” he says quietly. “I should have offered you another choice, that day in the market. But one look at you and I . . . I was willing to trust you with my life, Neptune – far, far too soon. Even at my best, you make me irrational.”

You watch him, his broad shoulders moving, as he scoops up the hot, dark liquid into two bowls, and joins you by the entrance to the tent. You pin back the flap as he settles, the scent of humid rain immediately flooding your mouth, the pattering sound now twice as loud. Wordlessly, he hands you a spoon before digging into his own bowl. 

The heat of the soup burns away all the silly, impossible things sitting on your tongue. You sit in silence, his presence never rushing you to answer before you are ready. As you eat, you stare out at the dark lagoon, where you had both been only hours ago, the clear water murky beneath the downpour. 

“No, Ezra, I don’t regret it.” He stills, as if surprised you’re answering him now, mid-meal. He lowers the bowl to his lap, eyes trained on you. “You saved my life, more times than I can count.” 

Your words loosen the rigid lock of his shoulders. He grins. “As you’ve said, you would have been just fine without me.”

Your vision goes blurry. You pin him with such a stare, you watch the blood rush from his face.

“But it would have been only half a life.”

“Don’t kid about that, Neptune, it’s not –,”

“I’m serious.” You put your bowl down and rub your eyes with your sleeves. Of all the ways he hasd seen you bare and naked, he’s never seen you this vulnerable. “I don’t wanna do any of this without you. I want you, Ezra.”

“You have me, dear heart, you have me.”

“Not like that and you know it.” You watch as understanding rolls across his face. His lips part, eyes wider. He swallows and you stare at the ceiling, cheeks suddenly wet and hot. He said he’d never leave you, but what if this is the thing that finally does it? Could he work with you, knowing just how deeply you love him, and not feel an ounce of disgust? “You told me once sex is just a way to pass the time, but never, not once, have you ever even tried to pass the time with me.” 

He swallows, deeper this time, jaw locked, his eyes fluttering with the force of it. He brings his knees to his chest.

“Because it wouldn’t just be passing time with you.” 

In that moment, you’re grateful for the rain, for the sound of something to fill the silence. 

You stare at him, cross-legged in front of the open corner of this yellow tent, abandoned bowls growing colder, but he sits with his leg up, knee to his chest, as if to ward you off. Ward off whatever is growing in your gaze, under the flat bone over your heart in your chest. But whatever is stifling the air in your lungs, is warming his eyes past the point of comfort, barrelling towards expletives and the crass, the lewd and depraved. You cannot go back to having him look at you any other way. 

That look loosens every line in his face when you crawl into his lap, your knees around his hips. The backs of your thighs go damp, even through the suit, pressing down onto his still-damp shorts, and you think his breathing has quickened.

His massive palm hovers near your cheek, unwilling or unable to pull you forward or push you back, his oak eyes searching your face for signs of discomfort as if he had somehow dragged you across the tarp floor. 

“Neptune,” he mumbles as he focuses on the curve of your bottom lip, “this is unwise. You don’t know what you’re asking for.” 

You can feel the hard curve of his shoulders as you follow the lines of his arms and settle them on his collarbone. Nothing has happened that can’t be undone – not yet. Your perfect, vicious Ezra hasn’t pressed you flat on your back like you thought he would at the hint of sex. You could return with your dignity tomorrow morning, this moment never spoken of again, and he’d let you have that. The shake of his elbow with his palm against the tarp is the only indication that something might be unsettling to him. 

But it is your birthday after all. Maybe he’d let you have this one thing. He doesn’t know you’ll die without it.

“If you don’t want this . . . if you don’t want m-me, then say something. Push me away and I’ll never bring it up again.” You cup the sides of his neck as your hips shift forward, closer to him. The air in your lungs tightens, breath coming in shallow pants. Only then does he drop your gaze and fixate on your encroaching heat. “At least then I’ll know.” 

There. Out loud. It’s been said, heard above the deluge of rain against the tent and the jungle outside. 

His palm finally settles on your cheek. It brings a sense of wholeness to you like you’ve never known. Your eyes flutter shut at the sensation, a breathy exhale pours out of your mouth. His thumb catches the plush curve of your bottom lip and he draws it towards your chin, his own mouth open, enraptured. 

“Sweet thing, how have you not always known?” 

His mouth is humid against yours, as if he swallowed the jungle while looking for you, his thumb releasing your lip to capture with his own. The tip of his pointer finger massages the hinge of your jaw, just below your ear, and he manipulates your head until your mouth parts like he wants.

His tongue skims your upper lip, a tentative exploration into the unknown rewarded with a low groan that is warmed by the heat coiling low in your hips. You taste his tongue, a hot glide inside your mouth, and you feel his arms slip around your lower back, his inhale of breath sharp across your face as he brings you closer. He bites your lips roughly, the spark of pain and pleasure crackling across your face as if you’d brushed a live wire. 

His fingers wrap around your wrist, prying you from the back of his neck, just for a moment, his eyes heat-soaked. You suck your teeth, mouth open and seeking, and the hand around your jaw drops to your collarbone, the breadth of his palm nearly suffocating your throat.

The briefest pressure – the slightest touch – at the pulse at the bottom of your neck and your hips rock forward into him as he flattens his other palm to your ass, clutching you to him and pinning you to the pallet.

His teeth scrape against the curve of your ear, pinching the cartilage between his incisors, while his hands frantically search up and down your waist. His weight smothers you, his stomach breathing into yours, the flat plane of his chest rubbing your nipples raw against your suit, an unfocused lurch to his hips every time you tug on his hair. With every breath, every time you try to savor his touch, the taste of his mouth is like a wave, dragging you forward, wrapping a dizzy chain around your throat and squeezing.

Ezra’s greatest weapon has always been his mouth, that silver string spinning faster the longer he captivates you, spell-bound. Now he uses to decimate you in entirely new ways. 

The suck of his lips against the moist flesh below your ear distantly distracts from the afterburn of his unkempt beard against your jaw, your cheek. His lips alternate patterns of reward with a plush kiss and punishment with a stern nip when you try and stifle a moan. The edge of his shirt is damp from resting against his shorts when you slip your fingers underneath to palm the small of his back. He stills when you run your fingers around to the front of his trunks. 

His hand curls around a clump of hair at the base of your skull, his eyes darker than volcanic ash. The steady heat of his groin against your thigh is a sensation you’ll chase for the rest of your life.

“You know what happens when you touch a man there, Neptune?” He’s breathing hard, you both are, and the way he snags your hair in his fist has your head twisted at an odd angle, but you’d be damned to a Kevva-forgotten corner of the cosmos before you drop his gaze. You nod and that moon-shaped scar on his cheek twitches. “I know I didn’t teach you that.”

“L-learned it – somewhere else – Ezra.” Your mouth isn’t working properly, your lips swollen from his kisses, the slight pain in your scalp making it difficult to focus, while your cunt tightens hungrily. “Had to.”

“Yeah? Why’s that?”

“Because you wouldn’t give it to me.” 

He leans back, his forearm tense and corded where he has you by the hair, a seemingly disinterested scowl on his face. But by the throbbing length pressed up against you, so far from where you need him the most, he is anything but. 

“So you’re saying this is my fault?” Without breaking eye contact, his chest raised inches above yours, his fingers snag on the blue zipper by your collar and your breathing nearly stops. He hums to himself, eyes following the path of the zipper as the material separates, click by click by click. When it reaches your belly button, he stops. 

“Ezra –,” it’s a whine and you can’t even chastise yourself for it. And neither, it seems, can he. 

Head tilted as if curious about the label of a box beneath colorful wrapping, he dips his wide hand beneath the edge of your suit. The heat that radiates from his palm against the curve of your stomach has you writhing underneath him, your knees drawing up to his hips, trying to catch any relief. 

But he takes his self-satisfied time. Callouses of a hard-won life snag and drag over the soft paper-thin skin that covers your ribs as he maps you in one hand. When he cups your right breast in his palm, the noise you make is a sob of gratitude. 

“You let another man besides me do this to you?” 

The snarling pit of your own thoughts slows as some awareness realizes he’s speaking to you. 

You swallow, clutching his bicep, begging for forgiveness before even opening your mouth to answer. 

“It didn’t mean anything, Ez, it wasn’t you – it meant nothing to me–,”

“But you let someone else touch what’s mine, hm?” That lazy, slightly irritated look on his face, he rotates his hand, squeezing the cup of your tit again, before sharply pinching your nipple. 

“Ezra–,” you choke out and his thigh shifts between your legs, just close enough to feel the heat but nowhere near close enough to grind against. His thumb rotates the raised flesh slow enough to capture and catalog every sigh it draws from you, his eyes catching between his hand and your relaxed face. 

He wears the same expression he does when sitting in the backs of blackmarket tea shops and smoky alebins. When the prospect of striking gold becomes all he can think about.

“Strip.” He suddenly commands. He lifts off you just enough for you to wrench your arm through the armhole, all the while keeping a rough palm on one breast, and then the other. You watch him massage your flesh and your ribs tremble with an unsteady breath. Only when a slightly cool breeze meanders over your bare shoulders and chest do you realize that the tent flap is still open, your head inches from the edge. A perfect and unimpeded view to anyone who wants to watch him hungrily grope your tits. Embarrassment peaks sharply, despite his hand pressing you into the tarp, you wrench your neck back and look over your shoulder through the window of the open tent as if you need to confirm that you are giving the jungle a floor show.

“Ez– shit, the flap–,” 

He finds that the skin beneath your breast had grown sticky and slick from sweat, the humidity still oppressive even with a breeze. He bends his head and licks that same sweaty path and your attention snaps back to him, nails curling against his scalp, his warm breath a high-intensity balm to your roughly-played-with nipples. 

“Not a soul in sight, Neptune,” he murmurs lazily into your ribcage, his nose running up and down the valley between your tits. “And if there were, let them learn a thing or two.” 

His teeth nip the swell of your stomach as he crawls down your half-naked body. Without his heat and hands, the tenderness from his attention on your breasts ratchets up to an ache, a minor preoccupation before he hooks his fingers around the rest of the jumpsuit and tugs. 

You are naked beneath him, swollen chest rising and falling, your knuckles scraping against the pallet as you search for something to grip with all your might. You smell of lagoon water and hot jungle air, of muggy photosynthesis and algae. The smoky scent of the black ash of that distant planet never really left Ezra and the dampness of the rain seems to stir it up. He towers over you, dark and breathing heavy. Smoke and brimstone.

He gropes your ankles, then your calves, hands gliding over the thick hair there – now grown soft in length – as he slowly spreads your legs, with a light you’d never seen before in his eyes. 

“Neptune, I revolve around you.” 

A wave of anxiety lurches up your throat when he brings his mouth to your cunt, the cloying, imagined scent of moon lilies threatening to tear you out of the moment – he won’t want you wild like this – but it’s forcefully yanked back down with a single stripe of his tongue. His previously casual, authoritative persona cracks when he buries his face into your unkempt curls and lets out a deep, overly pleased moan.

Your back bends and he’s gathering up your limbs in his arms to pin them down, nearly resting his forehead on your pubic bone. A few more licks, some deeper than others into where you drip for him, and your thighs start to shake. His fingers around your thighs squeeze roughly against your flesh and pull you further apart. 

Between the flush of slick seeping from you at an embarrassing rate and the wiry hair kept natural out of a certainty no one would see it, he must be drowning or choking, his tongue flicking and sliding, nose prodding your clit just enough to spread the sparks of arousal up through your spine. Feeling as though you’re losing your grip on reality, you sink your hands into his hair, thumb rubbing back that blonde patch, and tug. The moan he shoots into your cunt as he rocks forward into your touch has you whining helplessly. The tarp squeaks where he rubs his hips into it. 

His arms curled around your thighs, your hips shake with restraint against every lap of his tongue until he flicks your clit and your hips grind up against his obliging mouth, a sunspot of pleasure flaring brightly. But all too soon, Ezra lifts up onto his elbows, his hands smoothing across your stomach and he pops his mouth up from your wet folds. With an irate gasp, the swell of bliss fading, your gaze snaps down to plead with him, but he shakes his head.

Wordlessly, he takes one hand from your thigh and wipes his mouth clean with a swipe of his fingers. Then, with his eyes wide, the skin around his mouth loose, he crooks two fingers at the top of your mound before sliding them down where his mouth was seconds ago and presses them inside of you. That simmering in your low belly roars back to life and you toss your head against the unforgiving pallet, eyes slamming shut. He growls at the obscene sucking noise your cunt makes as he plucks at you, in and out. 

“Oleaginous,” he hums, so quietly, it might have been for him. He tongues your clit lightly, pushing his fingers as deep as they can go, watching you thrash. “Mine. Understand?” You remember that tone of voice from when he had you dissecting throwers on a workbench in front of him. You nod, eyes fluttering open, balancing on the precarious edge of release. 

You want to obey his every word. 

His thumb twists up, opening your clit to him and within a whispered breath of “good girl” he sucks your bundle of nerves and launches you into orbit. 

Your entire body goes stiff from the force of it, only to crash back down into his waiting hands, your voice wavering on a high-pitched, girlish wail that shrieks above the sound of rain. Waves of bliss lap at every nerve ending and your vision goes fuzzy for a minute, the only sound you can register is the pounding of your blood in your ears.

And then you register the steady, wet plunge of his fingers still dragging in and out of your pussy.

“Was that mine?” 

Your clit tingles from overstimulation, but you’d rather die than have him stop – you want to answer, if only you could pick up the pieces of your voice. You can only nod, whining. He presses a wet kiss to your inner thigh, the skin there smeared with your release.

“You did a bad thing, letting someone else touch what’s mine.” He scolds, rubs that spot inside you that makes your eyes roll back in your head, holds his finger to it until it burns. You cry, his punishment evident. “Now you have to apologize, Neptune.” 

You nod again, mouth wrenched open as he drags you back and forth across pleasure and pain. 

“Y-y-yes, Ezra,” the words are bone dry, cracked between your teeth. “I’m sorry.” 

Pure wickedness strikes those earth eyes and scorches them a singed black. 

“Unfortunately, atonement is a fickle thing,” Ezra tuts, dragging his lips across your thigh in a mockery of a kiss, “and I’m not quite ready to offer absolution. Despite your offerings,” he wipes his mouth with a stroke of his palm, “this godhead remains rigid.” 

You whimper. He grins with a mouthful of teeth.

Ezra pulls back onto his knees and shuts your thighs, his hand palming your ass as he indicates that you should turn. Your entire lower half still feels like jelly – no one has ever made you come that hard with just their mouth before – but you obey. You stagger onto your hands and knees in front of him. 

His wide palm appears beneath your chin.

“Spit.”

You do.

That spit-wet hand cups your still wet cunt, middle finger rubbing briefly against your clit, before it disappears. You feel him move closer, hear his slick hand pump himself a few times with a grunt. Hot lips drag up your spine, interspersed with the nip of teeth, and when he lays across your back, his hands overtaking yours and threading your fingers together, his bare chest presses up against the skin of your back and you shudder. 

He noses your temple, his throbbing cock coated between your folds. He bites at your jaw and follows your line of sight through the open tent flap. 

“Breathtaking, isn’t it? All that moisture, dripping and running over smooth rock and fern. All that heat coagulating in spaces it shouldn’t fit. All that . . . open field, for anyone to just wander into. Take a look around and smell the air. Could they smell you like I can, Neptune? The way you leak for this cock?”

As he hums filth in your ear, his hand settles again at the base of your throat, thick fingers squeezing just enough to threaten, before sliding down to your swinging breasts, rough palms catching your swollen nipples, then arching down your stomach and between your legs. 

He plays slowly with your clit; barely enough stimulation and he knows it.

“Ask for forgiveness.” He croons in your ear. The breeze returns for a moment, and between the heat of him mounting you like a feral animal and the hesitant touch of outside air against your sweaty chest, you shudder with a groan. 

“I’m sorry, Ezra. I’m so–,” his middle finger increases its pressure slightly and the words shatter in your mouth, “sor-ry.” 

“And for what?”

He continues to rub between your folds and the minute hitch in his breath is more intoxicating than anything he’s done so far. This is affecting him just as much as it does you. He kisses your jaw then tugs on the skin with his teeth. 

“For letting a-anyone but you t-touch me.”

Ezra presses his damp forehead into your shoulder, panting, your correct answers soaking the neurons in his brain. Your reward is the faster stroke of his finger. 

“And why was that a reprehensible thing to do?” His hips rut into yours, the scrape and rub of his cock between your slick lips and thighs almost enough to set you off. 

“Because it’s yours – I’m yours – f-fuck, Ezra, I’m yours, I only wanna be yours,” you sob. 

He’s suddenly gone from above you and the loud crack of his hand against your ass cheek deafens you for a minute, the sting skittering up your back and down your thigh. 

“Good fuckin’ girl.”

Your elbows shudder, the weight of his tone, his hand nearly forcing you onto your chest with your ass still in the air. You wanna be so good for him. 

He’s breathing hard and his skin is warm and damp where you feel his thigh press against the back of yours. There’s a measure of restraint he’s showing and it makes your heart pound in anticipation. You swing your hips back at him, as if you could catch yourself on his cock. 

“I wanna show you I’m yours,” you cry, nails curling into the pallet. “Please, Ezra, please!”

His broad hand settling on your spine draws a hiccup out of you, a sob. 

“Breathe . . . Good girls get what they need.” 

On an exhale, his blunt tip spreads you apart and he shuffles closer as he thickens inside you. His loud, unabashed moan overwhelms yours, when you think you might just be devoured by him. His hand, the one at your hip, squeezes you, silent reassurance. You can feel the knuckles on his other hand against your slick lips as he feeds himself into you.

“Neptune, talk to me. How,” your cunt tightens around his girth at the sound of his voice coaching you along and he grunts, as if suddenly dizzy, “h-how do you feel?”

“Amazing, Ez. Please keep going don’t stop I can take it–,” 

He obliges; something’s reconnected the wires in his brain enough to tell him to move. He huffs before sinking deeper and your eyes roll back in your head. He bottoms out and waits again, letting you both catch your breath. 

“Spent a hundred moons thinking about this.” The puff of breath against your shoulder is the only warning you have before he presses his mouth to your skin. His hand free of your clutch, his thumb softly rubs the muscle of your neck. He kisses you and kisses you and kisses you, wherever he finds bare flesh. “Would wake up in the night, with you a few feet from me, looking like divinity made sin, made real, but I wasn’t worthy to touch you. You got me all tongue-tied, Neptune, all mucked up in the head. A silly boy,” he purrs.

You glance over your shoulder, unsure which Ezra is going to meet your eyes, but wanting all of them. The man you feel most safe with in this world and the next greets you and you reach back and squeeze his hand. He chuckles softly, and with it, comes a gentle roll of his hips. You gasp, airily, your gaze slipping from his face to his chest, to the steady breathing in his stomach, and then to the growth of hair that fades as it reaches up his low belly. How many times did you sit across the room from him with your fists in tight balls, watching as he regaled exploits of riches and wonder, all the while thinking about how thick his cock is outlined in his suit – you’re so blinded by breathy dreams of what the musky scent of his cock must taste like that you miss that he’s pulled out farther, halfway now, and you are completely knocked senseless when he thrusts back in, a beat faster. 

“Later, Neptune. I’ll let you suck my cock later, but right now I’ve gotta ride this pussy to oblivion.” 

Your thighs quake at his promise, cunt squeezing him, and he huffs, picking up speed.

“I felt that. You really like sucking cock that much?” 

All you can answer him with is a whine. Your knees are starting to ache from the barest cushion the tarp provides, the palms of your hands sore, but you can’t find it in you to remotely care. With every stroke, he fills you up to a breaking point before riding you back out. Moaning gratefully, you finally drop onto your elbows, your cheek scraping against the pallet with every forceful thrust behind you. He tilts your hips up higher, on one knee to fuck down into you; he’s searching with his cock for that spot that made your brain numb. 

Like a flood, you feel bliss roll down your spine, his hands on your lower back pulling you up another peak, and you gasp, at the edge of a very, very long drop, the sounds in the tent as sticky and wet as the rain outside.

But Ezra’s sounds are loudest of them all. Grunting. Hissing. Moaning like he’s fucking the best pussy of his life. You open one eye, glancing over your shoulder and the sight drops open your mouth. Hips pumping forward, skin dewy with sweat, he breathes like a freshly broken-in stallion, relieved that something finally bested him. Chest full and tight with muscle, flushed pink with roaring blood. Stomach torqued with tension. His rhythm is caught between his hands pulling you onto him and his cock thrusting into you. A frantic beat that bounces wet and hot, mouth agape and eyes rolling shut, his head drops back between his shoulders. You push back slightly and he stutters, the hand on your hip tightening. 

“Not gonna last, Neptune–” he grits, his jaw locked tight. The image of him actively staving off an orgasm for you to finish first has been imprinted on your brain for the rest of your life. 

“J-just a little harder, Ez.” 

He obeys, submitting as you had for him, sweat curling around his neck and down his chest. 

As release barrels down on you, those mahogany eyes catch and hold yours in a second that lasts through infinity. They promise you things that you didn’t know you asked for, those eyes, made vows only your soul could hear. You see, in that instant before you are swallowed whole, that he’d die at your feet, if you asked him to. He’d give up every worldly treasure he won through grit and his teeth if you needed it or wanted it. If it made you happy.

His Neptune – in the crushing grip of your gravity. Willingly caught in the trail of your comet as you fill up his night sky.    

“Yeah, that’s it, right there – Ez-ra!” 

His face blown out in near ecclesial bliss is the last thing you see before your vision goes white. Your heart pounds in your ears so loudly, it's the only thing that exists for an instant. And then you shatter with a perfectly soft cry, bliss breaking across you like a heavy wave, and you succumb to exhaustion. 

Behind you, he groans, fucking you faster through it, snarling something entirely incomprehensible. 

You think you might say his name, you don’t know what your mouth is doing, but whatever you say, it breaks him and you are dragged through another low shock, the flood of cum deep into your achy cunt enough to contract your walls again, his harsh groan stuffing your ears just as full. 

The rain is barely louder than your desperate attempts to breathe. 

The tarp crackles as you slump forward onto your stomach, Ezra dropping to his side with half his body over yours. Panting raggedly, his hand curls up to the base of your neck, a reassurance of his presence and commitment when words have failed him. 

You lay like that for a long time.

And then, when feeling starts to return to your limbs, you turn your head, your nose rubbing against his. When you breathe hotly across his face, he grins a satisfied grin that splits into a chuckle. You laugh with him too, curling up into his chest, his forearm is sticky across your spine, and he kisses your forehead.

Staring up at the tarp, together you listen to the rain. 

In the long drawn out, buzzy silence, his nails scratch the base of your skull. And then, like he remembered something vital, he picks his head up and looks at you.

“Do you want this to change things for us?” 

“Yes.” You cup the muscles of his thick neck. “Yes, Ezra. I want this to change everything between us. Please.” 

He smiles, unguarded and open. 

“Wild horses never stood a chance . . . especially against these tits.” He nips at the swell of your breast and you laugh. “I had no plans of letting you go in any case . . . but we are bound from this day forward. You know that, don’t you?”

You nod. A stroke of heat passes over his eyes and  Ezra leans forward to kiss you, his hand on your cheek pulling you in close, as close as you can be, two sticky bodies, cum-dried and tingling.

“And if we’re going to spend every year of our lives together, I have a question for you.” he pushes away a stray strand of hair stuck to your face, nose tip to nose tip, “did you have a good birthday, Neptune? Are you satisfied?”

With a giggle that has his eyebrow arching playfully, you kiss his cheek.

“I already told you. This was the best birthday I’ve ever had.” 

+

[sandwhitches]

𝗰𝘄: language, references to sex, "kys" joke, references to drinking, a little bit angsty

<<< back ✱ menu ✱ next >>>

That year, cold weather came earlier than the one before. An icy breeze kissed your cheeks as it pushed along dry November leaves. By the time you were halfway to Rintaro’s, your lungs were stinging and your muscles ached from working in the cold. A couple of weeks before your second year of university started, his creaking car broke down for good, and he couldn’t pick you up to hang out like usual. Money that would usually have been spent on frequent upkeep of the shoddy vehicle would be repurposed into paying for rent in a bigger, shared apartment with another friend of his. 

It was pitch black out, you tried not to freeze as you biked uphill to the brick apartment building a few blocks away from your dorm. 

“Where the hell are you going?” Your roommate had asked you upon seeing you wrap yourself in a scarf that you’re sure was somebody else’s at another point in time, you cleared your throat, a guilty expression, “Math tutor.” You lied, fitting earmuffs over your head. This would be the third time that month you’d left after midnight to see said “math tutor,” your roommate had stopped believing you and you chose to ignore that. 

Truthfully, nobody needed to know what you and Suna were up to, though it wasn’t wrong. Things always felt better when it was just shared between the both of you. 

Your breaths came out in soft clouds as you chained up your bike, head perking up at the sound of leaves crunching towards you. “I’m freezing my ass off.” Suna gritted his teeth, hugging his own torso in desperate search of warm reprieve from the cold. You scoffed, eyes rolling, and stood up to slip your earmuffs off. 

Initially, these late nights were spent talking, pretending to do work, ignoring that nagging feeling that there should be some greater purpose to work towards. Suna let you sprawl out on the bed and he sat on his carpeted floor, penning down illegible answers to a class he’s repeating or furiously typing away at his laptop. Sometimes, it’d end with a nice buzz on Fridays, crushed cans littered across his floor that would be there until you woke up the next morning. 

Suna was your best friend. You thought of all the best friends you’d had before him, and it was never anything like this. With Suna, nothing was a mystery, you knew him perfectly well and it was scary that he knew you even better. You preferred it like that. 

It was a blisteringly cold January, you couldn’t bike to him because of the snow, but you couldn’t sleep without seeing him, either. On weekends, the two of you would walk side by side to his apartment, and you never told him that you felt bad that he had to walk alone to pick you up. You talked to ignore the cold, sometimes you drank to stay warm, and others you’d interlaced fingers and pretended like you didn’t notice it happened once you weren’t freezing anymore. 

Suna’s head was propped against the bed, he stared at the search bar on his laptop, finger hovering over the keys tentatively. You were on your back, head lolled over the edge of the bed as you viewed the world upside down, your head beginning to grow tingly as blood rushed to it. 

“Whatcha thinkin’ about?” You murmured, eyeing the side of his face.

“How stupid you look right now.” Suna raised a playful brow, grinning as you sat up with an annoyed groan, “What are you really thinking about?”

You knew what he was thinking about. Suna kept getting disappointed. Actually, you both kept getting disappointed. You were beginning to lose track of how many times either of you had gone out with someone who turned out to be, for lack of better terms, an asshole or a bore. Long were the nights that the two of you sat on the roof of his apartment building, declaring that you were done with trying. You were done being disappointed.  Recently, something similar happened to Suna, and you hadn’t heard the end of his disappointment yet.

“Just wish I’d be able to know.” 

You’d talked about this a lot, a metaphorical innate ability to know if someone would really be worth it. It’d save you a lot of time and heartbreak, that much was for sure. 

“Y’know,” you started, criss-crossing your legs and slumping over, “something like that happened to me the other day,” Suna turned to look at you inquisitively “I was gonna go for this guy who was hitting on me, but my friend told me he made out with his last girlfriend’s sister…that saved me a lot of time.” You scoffed, still in slight disbelief. 

Suna huffed out a dry laugh at the situation, but there was something much deeper latent in the olive reflection of his eyes. You could practically see the cogs begin to turn before a lightbulb flashed and a mischievous grin twisted its way onto its face. You knew this look very well. It meant he was about to propose something wildly questionable, and of course, you would agree.

“That’s actually…” Suna turned back to his laptop, finally seizing the keys in a decisive manner.

“I have an idea. I need you to bear with me, okay?”

𝗻𝗼𝘁𝗲𝘀:

✱ alr one of y'all is lying about being cheated on

✱ suna's favorite month that year was december because of the snowflakes that would stick to your eyelashes when you rode your bike over

✱ rest in pieces sunarin's rustbucket

✱ in the last text convo between the roommate and her friend in case anyone doesn't get the reference (for shame if you don't) "shining" refers to the ability in "The Shining" not suna and reader glittering telepathically at each other or wtv. (i think i'm so funny)

✱ atsumu's a good buddy (he's still listening to the soapbox, sorry)

✱ “me and the weird baddie i pulled by being equally weird” (they’re matching each others freak trust u will understand soon)

𝗮/𝗻: return to messiness (?) next chapter with more sus (i need you to know typing that out gave me heartburn) behavior from suna and y/n. i am obsessed with guess ft. billie eilish music video. ree thank you for beta reading again (i'll buy you a corndog or something as thanks idk wtf stop looking at me like that) listen to anthems for a seventeen year old girl by broken social scene, then anthems for a seventeen year old girl by yeule (and watch i saw the tv glow) okay i'll shut up i just have a lot to say today.

𝘁𝗮𝗴𝗹𝗶𝘀𝘁: @zumicho @nectardaddy @moucheslove @kodzu-ken @phoenix-eclipses @piopioo @lvtilzs @s777athv @localgaytrainwreck @reignsaway @savemebrazilhinata @pop-ghost @naweirdo @sunsribn @staileykout @milesmoralesluvs @chaconadine @aboutkiyoomi @m3gitsune @wizardhore @ineednanami @wakashudou @torkorpse @st4rdusttx @renkitsune @solaqes @sereniteav @eveyams @myromanempiree @saltypuffin1040 @nbcvs @gsyche @miiyas @starkyu @renardiererin @puppenpop (blogs in bold couldn’t be tagged, please check your settings!)

taglist status: open! (42/50, please send an ask to be added)

[sometimesanalice]

In a Place Just Right

Summary: It's your first year hosting Thanksgiving in San Diego for the Daggers and Bradley can tell you're a little nervous about it. But he already knows it's going to be one for the books, because any holiday spent with you better than anything he could have imagined.

Pairing: Bradley ‘Rooster’ Bradshaw x Female Reader

Length: 5K

Warnings: fluff and allusions to smut (minors dni)

(author's note: this fic is set in the 'Like I Can Universe', but can be read on it's own! Happy Thanksgiving, friends!)

For the last six years Penny has been the one to host Daggersgiving, but this year hostess duties had fallen on your plate. Needless to say, Bradley knew you were more than a little stressed about it.

When you had asked him about his opinion on the merits of canned cranberry sauce versus homemade he’d blinked at you a few times before asking, “Is this a thing people care about?”

He’ll never forget how adorably aghast you looked to learn that he had no preference on the matter. And maybe if you had asked him when the sun was up instead of at 3 AM he might have known better than to give you such a noncommittal answer.

“Both, we’ll have both,” you’d stated resolutely.

“Whatever you want, kid," he’d murmured as he’d pulled you to his chest and wrapped an arm around your stomach. His smart and beautiful wife. "Now go back to sleep, you’re supposed to be dreaming of sugarplums not cranberries."

“Wrong holiday, Bradley,” you’d sighed contentedly, relaxing against him. And it hadn’t taken you long to fall back asleep with that cranberry crisis having been averted.

But now people were due to show up in less than an hour and you are frantically fluttering and huffing around the kitchen like a madwoman in a very pretty green dress, "I knew that quickie was a bad idea. You're never quick, Bradley."

He’d been away and missed many holidays over the years due to his career.

Your mom had always made it clear that he had an open invitation to join in whatever merry festivities were happening with your family, but more often than not it rarely aligned with him being stationed all over the world. But he’d always been happy to get to have a phone call with you and eat the homemade cookies you’d sent him on those years spent apart.

But now Bradley got to look forward to spending every holiday with you in the home you shared with him.

Over the last week the house had slowly but surely transformed into something that was straight out of a magazine.

There was a display of pumpkins, ribbons, and a garland of strung dried orange slices that decorated the fireplace. And overpriced candles from your favorite store flickered cheerfully on every surface that wasn’t a fire hazard to a bunch of enthusiastic Naval aviators. The dining table was dressed up to the nines and everyone spot with their names painstakingly written in your pretty script on a place card sitting in a pinecone.

You had even made some oversized confetti in the shape of oak leaves out of some old books, the copy of ‘Why Men Love Bitches’ that Nat had given him years ago as a joke was finally repurposed and recycled into something more festive over where the beverages had been set up.

The whole house smells amazing. Warm cinnamons and nutmegs mixing with bright citrus and rich vanillas. The kitchen island and countertops were filled with various plates and platters and bowls of dips, charcuterie, fruit and vegetables, nuts, and other savories. All the other dishes were being kept warm in the ovens for when everyone arrived and was ready to settle around the dining table for dinner.

Bradley was positive that no one would leave feeling hungry. He also wasn’t entirely sure where the things his friends are bringing were going to go, but there were worse problems to have.

Penny had taken Amelia with her to visit her family on the East Coast. They’d decided it would probably be better for Mav to hang back in San Diego for the holiday, those tensions with her dad were still a bit strained even though they’d been married for almost four years now.

Which is how the Bradshaw’s were hosting their first Thanksgiving for everyone.

This morning had been organized chaos. Some of the last minute-things had only managed to be checked off with the assistance of strong coffee and a good playlist.

However, he’d still managed to sneak in the opportunity to spin you around the kitchen to your wedding song when it came up on shuffle. After all the cranberries were still popping and boiling down; there was time for it, he'd always make time for it.

But that was then.

Now, you are glaring at him like you’d been personally victimized by him and his cock.

“You complaining, sweet girl?” he asks with a smirk, leaning his hip against the kitchen island watching as you briskly stir the gravy heating up in the copper sauce pot on the stove. “Don’t think that’s what I was hearing thirty minutes ago when we had that pretty green dress of yours bunched around your hips. Sounded something like ‘more, Bradley, more’ to me.”

You shoot him a look that would make a weaker man wither, but he’s built up an immunity to it over a lifetime of having it directed at him.

“I think that’s quite enough out of you,” you reprimand, but he sees the amusement in your eyes even as you fight to keep the annoyed façade on your face. “We’re behind schedule now. I thought I buffered in enough time, just in case-”

“Just in case you begged me to give you an orgasm to, and I quote, ‘help me chill out’?”

“I was kidding,” you say, stopping your agitated whisking to go fluff the stuffing instead.

“All I’m saying is that if my beautiful wife is begging for me, I’m certainly not going to say no. I’m only human,” he says with an all too pleased shrug.

Bradley grabs the can opener and works on opening the canned cranberry sauce. He reaches for a couple plates, holding them up for your approval and you point to the one on the right, the scalloped white one with gold rim.

“For the record, I certainly did not beg,” you say primly, glowering into the homemade stuffing that you’d had him get the bread from the nice bakery across town for.

“Sure, sure,” he drawls, the smirk growing wider on his face as he sets to freeing the jelly from its rippled container.

He knows he shouldn’t tease you right now, but you’re so cute when you get huffy that he can’t help himself. He’s known that petulant raise of your chin his whole life. And sometimes when he looks at you he can so clearly see the little girl he’d been forced to entertain for hours when your moms were hanging out.

You went from being his favorite nuisance to his best friend to his everything.

“Do I still look ok? Or do I need to do a quick refresh before everyone gets here?” you ask. You turn to fully face him, tilting your head one way and then another for his inspection.

He would happily stare at you all day if you’d let him. He loves your pretty eyes and what you’ve done with your hair.

“You’re beautiful,” he grins, “And if anyone asks, we can just say you’re flushed from all the cooking.”

“Bradley,” you whine setting down your wooden spoon down on the counter with a sharp thwack.

“Ok, ok. I’m done, I promise,” he says putting his hands up in surrender with a chuckle.

He pushes off the counter and grabs a glass off of one of the floating shelves and fills it with some ice water.

“Good,” you tut haughtily, as you fiddle with the white and orange striped kitchen towel hanging on the oven door, “I was about to threaten to make you sleep on the couch tonight.”

“You wouldn’t.” Even the thought of it makes his stomach feel unsettled.

After nearly two decades of hard beds on foreign bases and on lumpy carrier mattresses, he’s never slept as well as he did since the two of you found your way to each other.

His peace was found under a fluffy green duvet on a wooden canopy bed with you tucked under his arm.

“No. No, I wouldn’t,” you agree, leaning in to place a soft kiss to his cheek in thanks when he presses the cold glass into your hands.

Bradley tugs you away from the warm stove and you reluctantly follow and sit on the barstool he’s pulled out for you on the other side of the kitchen island.

He runs his hand up and down your back comfortingly as you take a few sips, “We’re in a great place, sweet girl.”

“Mhm, yeah. Sure, of course.” You couldn’t sound less unsure if you tried. “It’s just… I’m nervous about the mushroom and leeks bread pudding. I’ve never made it before. And what if we run out of wine?”

“What’s been our motto?” he asks, taking over the helm at the stove whisking the gravy together as it begins to thicken.

“‘In Ina we trust’,” you say with a serious nod of your head. 

“Atta girl, we sure do. And Nat said she’s is bringing a few bottles she picked up from when she went to Napa, the good shit. It’s going to be great. Trust me,” he says giving you a warm smile. “Will it make you feel better to go over everything again?”

“Yes, please,” you say, anxiously drumming your fingers along the side of your water glass.

He’d stepped up where he could like making sure the house was pristine and cleaning up the yard by blowing off the wrinkled remainders of the yellow Tipuana flowers. He’d even been able to source and rent some more chairs to make sure that everyone would have a seat at the table.

Bradley wasn’t a schlump in the kitchen. He knew his way around a cookbook and a stove. His knife skills were pretty damn good too, if he did say so himself. But he also knew when somethings were out of his wheelhouse. So he’d taken to being your sous chef, and had taken to washing and prepping the ingredients for you so that all you had to do was toss them in whatever shiny pot they were destined for.

He even made his mom’s favorite pie. It had been years since he's had it, and he was excited to share it with everyone.

Your mom had mailed the copy of the original recipe she had that was written in Carole’s rounded, flourished script. You had made a photocopy of it to use so that the original didn’t get ruined, and then pointed out a spot on the wall where you said you’d thought it would look nice in a frame hanging in the kitchen. And he'd fallen a little more in love with you.

“Ok, hit me with it,” he says turning the heat to low for the gravy and putting the lid on.

This was a partnership through and through, he was going to give you all the support you needed.

“The turkey?”

Bradley picks up the fancy digital meat thermometer he’d bought for the occasion to check, “Big Bird has an hour and twenty more minutes to work on his tan and then he’ll rest for another thirty. Giving people time to graze and mingle and get some drinks in them, just like you wanted.”

You nod and hum contemplatively, “I’ve been thinking we need a salad. I don’t feel like we have enough vegetable options.”

He knows better than to point out that you’re currently snacking on snap peas from not one, but three, of the veggie platters the two of you had put together the night before.

“We’ve got the crispy brussels sprouts, the garlic and hazelnut green beans, and the honey glazed carrots with lemon. We’re more than fine on the fiber and beta-carotene. Michelle Obama would be proud, kid.”

That gets a little laugh from you.

“Well, as long as you think Michelle would be happy than we’re probably fine,” you say with a smile around your water glass that tells him you know exactly what he’s doing invoking your favorite First Lady.

“What else are you thinking about?” Bradley asks peering in the lower of their double ovens, where foiled covered dishes are lined up in perfect symmetry are warming away having been prepared in advance.

“Do you think two bags of rolls will be enough? Or should I text Mav and ask him to grab one more?”

He doesn’t miss the way your eyes dip down to his ass in his gray slacks. So he might linger as second longer than necessary to let you enjoy the view, since it’s for the female gaze and all.

He’s never understood wearing the most restrictive clothing on the holiday that involves the most eating, but that was Penny’s tradition to have everyone dressed in their nicest and you had insisted on keeping it going even if she was on the other side of the country.

You’d teased him earlier when you’d seen him emerge from the bedroom wearing the short-sleeved green cashmere polo you’d gotten him a couple years ago. It fit a little more snug that he remembered it, but he thought he still pulled it off well.

“When did we become the couple that matches?” you’d asked gesturing to your dress as you gave him an appreciative onceover.

If the past was anything to go off of, you would be running your hands over the soft material covering his chest and back all night.

“I just like reminding people who I belong with, sweet girl.”

He might have had something else in mind to wear for the evening before he saw you in that dress, had ironed the shirt the night before and everything, but last-minute pivot it was well worth it when you looked at him like that.

When he stands back up, he gives you knowing wink.

And in return you throw a baby carrot at him with a laugh.

Bradley isn’t surprised in the least to hear the quick clack-clack-clack of nails on the wood floors as their fluffy black and white Portuguese Water Dog rounds the corner. Having been summoned by the sound of food hitting the floor from where he had been dozing near the fireplace in the living room.

The carrot is gone in an instant and he comes to sit at Bradley's feet by the stove, looking up at him from under his curly eyebrows clearly hoping he'll get another snack.

“Nah, bud. You’re barking up the wrong tree over here,” he says leaning down to scratch his floppy ears.

“Ah, come here, Duck,” you croon, calling him over to your side of the island. “He’s so mean for a man who claimed he just saw God not too long ago, isn’t he?”

Bradley snorts and shakes his head at you amused.

He still doesn’t know how he ended up with a dog named Duck.

At the dog park, more often than not people mistook it for ‘Buck’. And you were usually off to the side more than happy to let him take the lead, biting your lip to keep from laughing at his less than enthusiastic expression when he’d have to warily explain yet again It’s Duck like quack.

You’re not even subtle about the piece of cheese you pull from the charcuterie board to feed him.

“I saw that,” he says, giving you a pointed lift of his eyebrow, “You know Bob is going to be spoiling him all night.”

“It was just a little piece of cheese. Plus, I don’t know who you think you’re fooling. I saw you go over there and deliver him his own little veggie platter with some of the leftovers we had while I was making the apple cider sangria.”

“That’s different, that’s good for him,” he says rounding the island, reaching over and snagging his own slice of cheese to snack on.

“And cheese is a protein. He’s just a baby, Bradley, what am I supposed to do? Not give him a piece of swiss?” You slide off your chair to squat down and rub Duck’s belly, you’ve always been his favorite.

“He’s almost five,” he replies flatly.

“A youth!” you exclaim, “He’s a growing boy.”

“Yeah, yeah,” Bradley says affectionately with a little roll of his eyes. He knows a losing battle when he sees one.

He offers you his hand to help you stand back up, but you wave him off and pull yourself up using the edge of the island. You take a moment to readjust your dress before making your way to the sink by the big windows that look out into the backyard.

“Speaking of Bob, do you know if he’s bringing his fiancée?” you ask from over your shoulder as you wash your hands.

“Not this time, sweetheart. I guess she volunteered to cover a shift in the NICU when she heard they were short staffed.”

“Oh that’s too bad, I was excited to see her ring in person,” you say drying off your hands and heading to the pantry.

“It’s all he can talk about at work. I guess they’re thinking about a Spring wedding next year. They don’t want to wait too long to get married.”

“I’m so happy for them,” you say, digging around for a moment and then emerge with a stack of some sturdy plastic plates and set them on the last free spot on the countertop. “Don’t let me forget to make them up a couple plates that he can bring home for her, before Fanboy declares it time for ‘second dinner’ and eats all the yams like he did last year.”

“I won’t forget, promise,” he says fondly.

If you were facing him, he knows you’d probably tease him for the look on his face and just how gone he is for you.

You’ve always been so generous, it’s one of the things that he loves most about you.

You were always good about hustling him out of his well-earned money from is part time job scooping ice cream in high school, like with the fundraiser you did for the local soup kitchen and the one for the elementary school summer arts program.

He’s always been wrapped around your finger, it just took him awhile to realize why.

It’s the same reason why there’s been a donation that comes out of his bank account every month for the last five years for one of the San Diego animal shelters.

Bradley had made a rather sizable donation and then set up a smaller reoccurring monthly one after the chaos that was the time Bob had set you up with his friend who worked at the shelter, back before the two of you had gotten together.

Even after all these years, he still can’t help but get a little irritated every time he sees that guy’s face in the monthly newsletter that comes to his email. He’s pretty sure Casey still might have a little crush on you, but Bradley can’t blame him. He’d have a hard time getting over you too, so it’s a good thing he’ll never have to.

On newsletter day, Bradley always finds himself giving Duck extra treats.

You are his wife. And Duck is his dog. Ridiculous name and all.

He couldn’t wait to surprise you with the golden tennis ball that the shelter sends out as a thank you after a decade of donations.

Only five more years to go.

You’re over by the bar that’s been set up off to the side, straightening the already very straight rows of gleaming wine glasses when he hears you suck in a sharp gasp.

Bradley drops the dish cloth he had in his hands as he attempted to give what little counter space there was left a final wipe down and is in front of you in half a heartbeat. Was there a fluke with some faulty stemware? Are you bleeding? There’s a reason Thanksgiving is one of the busiest days at the hospital.

“The butter!” you cry out as you whirl around, your pretty eyes welling up with tears, “I let you fuck me and I forgot to pull the butter from the fridge. It’s going to be too hard for people to spread now!”

He knows it’s more than just hosting jitters that’s got you like this, but it still catches him by surprise sometimes.

“Woah, woah,” he says as he catches you on the way to the fridge and pulls you to his chest, “C’mere, my sweet girl.”

You make a distressed noise but allow him to keep his hold on you, “But the butter…”

“I already pulled the butter, see?” He points to the sticks that are already softening away on the counter. “This place looks and smells amazing. We did good, baby. Will you take a couple slow breaths for me, please?”

Bradley takes in a couple measured breathes with you, and feels the moment your body relaxes into his.

He presses a kiss to the side of your temple as he smooths his hands down your soft, pretty green velvet dress and the warm, firm curve of your rounded stomach soothingly.

“Ugh, I’m sorry. It’s the hormones,” you sigh, as you lean your head back against his shoulder.

He hums empathically as he sways gently side to side with you in his arms.

“I would like to go on the record saying that I like pregnancy hormones, especially the ones from earlier,” he jokes lightly.

“That makes one of us,” you say with a watery laugh, “Just wait until I am waking you up at 4 AM because I am craving something from a drive-thru that’s not open.”

“Mm, can’t wait,” he murmurs before dropping a few kisses along the soft line of your jaw.

Bradley still can’t believe he gets to be this lucky in life.

He doesn’t want to forget a single moment of this. With you, with his family.

“We did a really good job with this one,” he whispers into your ear, still stroking your stomach and enjoying this moment of calm with you.

“We really did, da--” Bradley groans and cuts you off with a kiss. He can feel the impish smile plastered on your lips as he kisses you. His favorite menace.

He knows you’re pretty sure it was the spontaneous hook up in the storage closet at the Hard Deck on the Fourth of July that’s responsible for the noticeable bump you’re sporting. Call him a romantic, but he likes to think it was that night in the Bronco overlooking the ocean when he’d taken the long way back home.   

You pull away all too soon for his liking to grab his left hand. He sees the flash of the two diamonds on your engagement ring, one from his mom and one from yours, as you take it and press it to a spot near your bellybutton.

The feeling of the fluttering under his palm will never get old. He’s not too proud to say he’d shed a tear or two the first time he’d felt it.

You hum in contentment, your finger lightly tracing over the shiny gold band of his wedding ring.

Bradley lets himself bask in this moment as the two of you stand there in the kitchen of your dream house.

There are a few pops from the wood in the fireplace, the refrigerator is humming away in the background, and he can just hear the sounds of a melodic piano from the playlist he queued up earlier playing over the speaker.

Of all the delicious scents that waft through the house, the smell the floral and musk notes in you perfume is still his favorite.

There are times in the soft quiet of night, usually when you are asleep and his mind won’t quite settle, that he sometimes thinks he was put on this Earth to hold you.

It’s the only reason he can think of that explains why you fit so perfectly against his body.

Why his palms can fit so perfectly over your rounded stomach.

Why it’s his hands that you have trusted to protect your heart.

And he’s still holding you in the warmth of the kitchen when he hears the front door open.

Bradley knows he’s going to have to play host soon and he just wants to keep you in his arms for just a little longer.

“Hey kids, I brought the turkey,” Mav calls out from the entry.

You spin in his arms, looking at him wide eyed and confused as you two exchange a look. He presses one last kiss to your cheek before letting you go.

“Thought you were going to bring the rolls, Mav,” Bradley calls out just in time to see him round the corner.

Pete stands there proudly grinning holding a few bags of bakery rolls in one hand and a turkey in the other.

The sound of your delighted laughter makes his heart swell in his chest as he takes in the sight.

“Cooper Mitchell Ford Bradshaw, you are without a doubt the cutest turkey I have ever seen,” you gush as you go to greet Mav with a warm hug and a kiss on his cheek. Your son’s chubby arms reaching out for you.

Mav has dressed your almost two-year-old son in a soft, plush turkey costume that is complete with tailfeathers and a beak. He’s clearly a fan of the outfit too because he is grinning widely, showing of the more of the baby teeth that have come in over the last few months.

Mav had swung by early this morning to take him off your hands to get ready for Daggersgiving without chasing an almost-toddler around. While it was nice to have some time just the two of you while you got the place in order and took care of the last-minute things, like that homemade cranberry sauce, but he’d missed not having his son around.

The sweet sound of Cooper’s giggles and your coos fill up the kitchen as he watches you pepper his face with kisses. You bounce him a little and do a little spin, making the little boy laugh even more. The two of you in your own little bubble.

“You doin’ ok over there, kid?” Mav asks. A soft, knowing grin on his face as he sets the rolls on the counter to pull him in for a hug.

The two men had made their way back to each other over the last few years, just another thing that Bradley was grateful for in his life. The man had always been his father in everything but name. That is until he’d seen the man who helped raised him hold his son for the first time.

“Yeah, Dad,” Bradley says, clearing his throat a bit, “Everything’s perfect.”

From there it’s a flurry of activity as people start to arrive.

Nat comes with her longtime girlfriend and the extra bottles of the fancy Napa wine she promised to bring. Only handing it over once he promised to give her the name of the contractor the two of you had worked with and the exact shade of green that was used on the lower cabinets during your kitchen renovation.

Payback and Fanboy and their wives show up wearing oversized turkey hats on their heads each carrying a bakery box of pie.

Bradley isn’t surprised when Duck ditches the attention that Coyote was giving him the second Bob shows up with the famous Floyd family scalloped potatoes. Bob has always been a sucker for a pair of puppy dog eyes.

And in between checking on people’s glasses, swapping out empty appetizer trays for fuller ones, and making sure Jake doesn’t tamper with his perfectly cooked turkey, he’s got his eyes trained on you.

There are no words for the pride and love that washes over him every time he looks over and sees you with his son propped up on your hip and the way your pretty dress stretches around your growing family.

He had missed this stage of your pregnancy when he was deployed and you were pregnant with Cooper. He was determined to savor every second of this one. Every butter related freak out and every late-night milkshake run.

Being in his house surrounded with all the people he loves, minus a couple who are here in spirit, isn’t something he could ever take for granted. It’s more blessings than he ever hoped to receive in this lifetime.

You look over your shoulder at him and everything about the way you’re looking at him is picture perfect.

Your smile sunshine gold and just for him as you hold his gaze for a moment as time ticks on around the two of you. You send him a little wink before turning back to Mav who has his phone held up for a FaceTime call with Penny and Amelia.

Bradley sees his son peek his head up from where it had been nestled into your neck. Cooper grins when he sees him, his tiny hand reaching out for his dad. For him.

As he makes his way over to the two of you with his heart full, he makes a mental note to ask Mav later where he got that costume. He’s already planning on running out tomorrow to see if they have any more in stock now that it seems they have a new Bradshaw tradition on their hands.

He’s going to have three little turkeys running around this time next year and he couldn’t wait.

Twins.

Bradley sometimes still couldn’t believe it. When the tech has announced that you were cooking not one, but two future Bradshaw’s, his heart had nearly burst from his chest from the shock and joy. A gift from his late father’s side of the family.

Cooper and him were going to be outnumbered soon.

The two of you had found out earlier in the month that Everly Wren Bradshaw and Millie Lark Bradshaw were going to be the newest members to join your little family.

His girls.

It was an announcement the two of you were excited to share later tonight with everyone else when the slices of pies were being passed around.

He scoops up Cooper from you with one arm, dropping a kiss onto his little boy’s perfect curls as his small fist clutches as the soft fabric of his shirt. And then Bradley kisses the crown of your head as he wraps his other arm around you, his thumb stroking the swell of your belly.

With you- because of you- he gets to have it all.

The wife. The family. The house. The dog. The life. The dream.

He’s right where he wants to be.

He’s right where he’s supposed to be.

Happy Thanksgiving! This was such a joy to write, thank you for reading!

It might not be Carole Bradshaw's famous pie, but it's one of my favorites! And who better to share it with than you! Cranberry-Lime Pie

If you haven't read the 'Like I Can' series you can read it here!

You can read my other stories here!

Taglist:

@gretagerwigsmuse @sehnsuchts-trunken @notroosterbradshaw @tongue-like-a-razor @laracrofted @bradshawsbitch @starryeyedstories @top-hhun-main @startrekfangirl2233 @callsign-viper @teacupsandtopgun @shanimallina87 @angelbabyange @oneelleandaneye @mizzzpink @cornishkat @alana4610 @20th-centu-fairy-girl @pono-pura-vida @donttouchmycarrots @eg-dr3amer3 @whaledots-blog @a-beaverhausen @hangmanscoming @mandolin22 @theweekndhistorybook @lilpeekabooze @high-bi-imgonnacry @ahintofkiwistrawberry @ruewrote @spiderman-stilinski @jayniebop @my-soulmate-is-mycroft @imaginecrushes @keyrani @chicomonks @artemissunn @mayempress @eddiemunsonreader

[fairiedance]

Bulbul with Palestinian Flag

When I asked my friend about birds from his home the first thing that came to mind for him was the bulbul.

This little guy is the white-spectacled bulbul, a medium-sized passerine described as "conspicuous and noisy". They're common around Palestine, my friend has many fond memories of them. I have just added this drawing of one holding a Palestinian flag to my shop.

As usual ALL PROCEEDS from this design will go to my Palestinian best friend to help him afford to bring his girlfriend over to America and to help his other loved ones around the Levant who are being hurt directly and/or financially by the attacks on Gaza, the increasing Israeli raids in the West Bank and the collateral damage in surrounding countries. You can find the design here printed on a lot of different products.

You can find all my designs here. Redbubble will display with a random product, click on it to see all product options (shirts, stickers, notebooks, etc).

Also funny story when I first looked up bulbuls my friend wasn't checking too closely what photo I had up on my phone and I spent a long time believing the red-whiskered bulbul was from Palestine (it's not, it's from south Asia). So much so that I actually drew the wrong bird at first. Oops. So, I probably won't sell this guy because he doesn't make a lot of sense as a symbol for Palestine (maybe I'll repurpose him into an unrelated design after the war) but here you go, solidarity for Palestine from this lovely little tropical frugivore:

Thank you so much to everyone who has helped out so far, I really appreciate you. My friend is hunting now for a new living space to accommodate his partner when she gets here. Housing as a grad student is always a nightmare, I'm so grateful that you all are helping with the deposit. My friend is also doing his best to figure out help for his family back home (a chaotic situation, just getting in contact with some relatives has been a mess so far). I'll try to add some updates as things progress (as usual, vague to protect their privacy).

[justadeadreaper]

You can thank my friends for encouraging me to write more and write this, as my motivation to write has been completely fried due to the stress of exams and other issues in my life. Sorry for not posting in forever.

CW: Chubby!König x AFAB!Reader, food play with ice cream, overstimulation, temperature play, Please tell me if anything that should be put as a warning was not, thanks.

Even with how his age was affecting his stamina Chubby!König always found a way to go on for hours when it involved you. You had asked him before why this was the case and normally you received a shrug from the older man as he just explained that it was purely a result of you having such a gorgeous body that he could not keep his perverted mits off of. He always patted your head after hours of fucking telling you not to think about it too hard or worry about it as he made you rest on his fatty pecs that you always joked needed a bra rather than the hole-covered wife-beater he prefers.

Yet your poor little cunt could not stop thinking about it. How could it not? All sore and swollen and red from having that bitch breaker he calls a cock destroying your insides to try and fulfil his perverse fantasies that raided his mind virtually every minute of the day. You always tended to whine after his hours upon hours of fucking you into the bed like a lion in its rut due to the soreness down there.

You thought today would be no different.

Well, it was what you thought. You thought he would give his normal reaction to your whining which you had become used to, his usual condescending responses that he gave in that sickly sweet voice of his as he made sure his dear Hase stopped your whining. But, this time he rose out of your shared bed without saying a word. At first, your thoughts ran wild thinking that you had upset him as you tried to call him back to bed, even offering your cunt as an apology, still, he continued ignoring you as he left the room and you could hear the old wooden stairs creak under his feet as he always promised to fix the annoying sound but never did. The pit of worry crept from your stomach through your throat scraping at the sides until you heard the familiar sound of him walking back up the stairs. Once he had reentered the room the first thing you saw was his face, particularly that familiar shit-eating smirk he always wore when he had finally gotten something over you. Your eyes travelled down to see what he held in his hands and... oh.

Oh.

A tub of ice cream with a spoon. The tub was a repurposed tub from a pint of strawberry ice cream he had gorged on weeks ago to use for the ice cream machine he had brought to make his own due to his hate towards brands for not making a mixture of strawberry, pistachio, and vanilla ice cream even after his multiple threats and bribes. You could tell from the slight sheen of water dripping from the tub that he had already slightly melted it under some warm water as the spoon had a slight sheen of frost. 

He did not falter in his steps as he came closer to the bed before he came back upon it, the mattress dipping under the weight exerted from his knees. One knee was used to part your thighs as his hands were too distracted with opening the lid with a satisfying pop. You desperately tried to close your legs again when you felt the hair from his thigh rub against your cunt, but it was no luck as the strength of the muscles beneath the fat formed a wall you could never dream of toppling, even if you tried with all your might. A whine tried to erupt from your mouth in protest, but it was quickly halted by the gasp that burst through at the feeling of the freezing spoon against your throbbing clit.

All Chubby!König did was let out a hushed chuckle at your reaction; he kept the spoon on your clit not caring at the pain that wrapped around the small nub due to the overstimulation he always seemed to inflict on you that caused you to squirm. He always loved your reactions to what he had done, and this brought the biggest smile to his face.

Once he had finally decided that he had enough of torturing your poor clit he moved the spoon off your pathetic clit that throbbed from the loss of the touch but also the overwhelming, overstimulating pain. He then dipped the spoon in the ice cream before scooping the slightly melted cream all over your cunt, the lighter colour of it making it seem as if your cunt was not as red as the tomatoes the two of you grew. It hurt, but the coldness gave some well-needed relief after his onslaught, but the relief was short-lived.

Without a second thought, he pushed his head down between your thighs and began to sloppily lick the ice cream from your sticky cunt. The ice cream blended in with your juices to make a mixture that sent him to Heaven, one-half you -his favourite meal in the world- and the other half his favourite ice cream. Chubby!König, in all terms and senses of the phrase, was a simple man that such a perverse activity brought him a joy that he would gladly chase after by spending his life doing it until the end of eternity. As the muscle of his tongue lapped at your pussy like a starved dog with even a few prods that threatened to breach your sore walls that were already tightening around nothing, one of his hands would reapply the ice cream to where he had licked it off while his other hand reached between his own thighs to relieve the aching, throbbing shaft that strained against the chub of his thigh, wetting the hair with the globs of precious seed that leaked out from the blushed tip.

He continued with this pattern like an automated machine, as his brain had been on autopilot for most of it, letting the sensation, pleasure, and taste cloud his mind like the world’s strongest drug. Only one thing would stop him. Your cum. Particularly your cum all over your face as it made your cum drip into a small puddle that would force the bed sheets to be changed in the morning. From the use of the tongue and all of your orgasms from earlier, it was not hard for you to release once more as the overstimulation finally caught up to your pleasure-fogged mind.

The smirk that twisted his scarred lips from all the years of gnawing was something that only could be rivalled by the cockiest of gods. He finally pulled back to admire the masterful piece of art his cock, hands, and tongue had created before he enacted the next part of his plan.

He dragged the spoon up your cunt, collecting as much of your juices and ice cream onto the spoon as he could. Then he brought it to his dick, his movements becoming more rushed and drastic as he jerked off to reach the release that had been teasing him when he started this whole mess. All it took was another minute before thick ropes of cum spurted over the spoon mixing with your juices and the ice cream, the ultimate summary of this event. He then pushed the spoon towards the mouth.

“Open up...” he commanded.

You did.

“Good Hase~...” he chuckled darkly with the glint of a successful predator in his eyes.

You whined as he pushed the spoon in your mouth, forcing you to close your lips before you swallowed the salty but sweet and creamy mixture that had its appealingness to it in its own twisted way.

“What’s wrong Hase? I thought you said you wanted something to help with the soreness, ja?~” he condescendingly asked in response to your reaction.

He was right, like always; you just did not mean it like this. But, when you saw how his dick had chubbed up once more, you realised this would become a more frequent occurrence and that you were in for a much longer night than you had originally expected.

Oh, how you had cursed yourself by ever whining in the first place.

[thestargayzingheroine]

Why A Better World is my favourite "Evil Superman" Story

So in the last two decades or so, there's been a notable amount of dark and edgy stories around superheroes turning evil and whatnot and most of them really love to do their own expies of Superman. I've never been the biggest fans of these kinds of stories.

And then there's the actual stories of Superman and other heroes being outright villains or at least just massive assholes. In recent years, this has been largely thanks to the influence of media like the Injustice Games or the Synderverse DC movies. It's... honestly become a trope I am tired of.

Because you know the damnest thing? There is a story that does all these ideas really damn well and arguably better. It is the two-parter from the Justice League cartoon "A Better World".

Now, I am aware how most people favouring the DCAU has become a bit of toxic nostalgia at times and it's something I myself am trying to work through a bit. But in this case, I do think it's the best idea of doing an evil DC story, much better and more interesting than the Crime Syndicate, who if you ask me are not very interesting, though I do remember liking the Crisis On Two Earths movie a lot, which funny enough, was originally going to be this two parter before various things led to it being canned and then later repurposed as a direct to DVD movie.

Anyway, my main crux of why I love this story is simple... The entire Justice League turns evil... and the reasons are very much in-character for all of them. You look at the scene with Justice Lord Batman for example.

As fucking evil as the Justice Lords are... Batman can't quite fully hate his alternate self for his reason for taking part in all this being basically one-step further than his own mission, that no child should ever go through what he did. Hell, I recall reading that the reason the writers had Batman drop his batarang at the end of this scene... was because he genuinely wouldn't be able to come up with an argument to that.

Superman likewise kills Lex Luthor because yeah, Luthor literally exploited the flaws in Democracy and became president of the US, threatening to kinda basically start world war 3. It's obviously horrible... but Superman is a character whose main motivation is making the world a better place. And if people who abuse the systems of power of the world are hurting people, why shouldn't Superman put a stop to that?

And yeah, Superman should obviously never kill, he's the most paragon of paragons of the DC universe, a man committed to always being better than the villains he fights... but this is him pushed to his most logical extreme. Hell, the main Superman knows this and its why Lex used his knowledge of this alternate universe as part of his plan in the season after this, to goad our Superman into crossing the line because yeah, there's a part of him that could go this far.

But right as Superman is about to apparently finish him, the big guy says this.

"I'm not the man who killed President Luthor. I wish to heaven that I were but I'm not."

Because Superman like everyone else, obviously would have those same thoughts and same urges. He's human.

I've kinda gone off Injustice a bit because to be honest... the injustice games were kinda just this but a bit too edgelordy. Hell, in A Better World, Lois Lane still lives and the whole genesis of it doesn't revolve around her getting fridged.

So yeah, A Better World is probably one of my favourite mirror universe stories because of the fact that well... it really is like looking in a mirror and seeing just how easy the greatest heroes can become evil and how they wouldn't be massively out of character doing so. But also it reminds us that as much as this darkness can tempt some of our finest, the ones who don't go down this dark path are stronger in heart than anyone else. Because when the world becomes a dark and horrible place, it becomes very easy to be just as dark. But even though it can be hard to still try and be a good person even in dark times, it's ultimately worth it. Because good always triumphs over evil.

[idolomantises]

Damn I'm sorry about all of the shit Webtoons put you through. Hoping you can rest up and I look forward to any other future projects tho!

I wanted to ask (and sorry if this is a deep cut) but would you ever consider revisiting Creature of the Grey? Or maybe repurposing those characters for other things?

Ahhh gosh COG my beloved. and yes I've been thinking about it a lot, whether it be starting the series over from scratch or just placing these characters in other stories (definitely would do some cameos).

Admittedly I still don't know what to do with the series, as of now it's sort of in limbo until I decide whether or not I want to cancel it.