#some of these things are repurposed from other asks

[dyspunktional-leviathan]

Raistlin Majere from Dragonlance, specifically in Dragonlance Chronicles as his disability has been repeatedly erased in later installments, the newer the worse. He is a mage with limited mobility and a lot of other health problems who is not very morally good! He uses his magic staff as a mobility aid; it is not always enough for him. His disabilities aren't specified though, we just know some of the symptoms. They match mine a lot and I like to headcanon my own disabilities for him, but there might also be another thing plausible for at least one of them. I think it's fine to not specify, but it's also good if you specify and commit. If you specify and don't commit, though, would be definitely less good than the other way around.

I like to headcanon Raistlin as a powerchair (or a magical equivalent) user in the settings and circumstances that is possible for him. Otherwise, he uses his staff and/or forearm crutches. He does *not* use a cane, signed someone who's ditched its own because it offers way too little support. I don't know, though, what kind of support does your character need, but I also suspect that a cane would not be enough, although my acquaintance with dyspraxia (not ataxia) uses a cane for it. I've seen people talk about canes being specifically a balance aid, and if the user needs to support their *body weight* they need something more.

Note that Dragonlance has a lot of problems. Racism is one of the most major ones, also fatmisia. There is ableism (I honestly consider Chronicles!Raistlin outstanding representation, but it is still flawed (and yeah, he is certainly singled out by the narrative while being the most disabled character around), and there are also other disabled characters to whom the narrative is variously ableist as well), gender politics are certainly not the best, sexual politics are probably worse, the general conduct not that good too.

Back to the ask, those powers would not be erasure. They would be disability aids. Disability aids are not erasure.

@everythingandanything I'm not familiar with SoC, and I don't know your disabilities, but I honestly don't fully like what you wrote about Kaz. Particularly, cane weapons are not an "omg they even did this cool disability representation thing!", often they are a ground on which ableists can compromise with giving characters a mobility aid. And disabled people who *cannot* use their mobility aids as weapons deserve to be represented too! Note: yeah, I just talked about a character who uses his wizard staff as a mobility aid, but he does not use it as a melee weapon, he can cast spells and use it as an aid simultaneously, and that's more him repurposing something else into a mobility aid rather than mobility aid into something else (while staves have originally been mobility aids..)

And also, it looks to me that he is pretty mildly disabled from what you've wrote, and the asker's character seems more majorly disabled. As a severely disabled person myself, I feel uncomfortable with the recommendation of a mildly disabled character for reference to one more majorly disabled as a "top tier disability rep" with no note that'd go something like "but yeah, he's less disabled."

I have this mage character who's disabled with limited mobility (I'm planning for her to have severe ataxia, but the exact disability I give her might still change). I have a couple questions/thoughts about how I should portray her. It's a medieval fantasy setting.

She's… not very morally good. She's currently with a group of bandits (AKA: she robs people). She hasn't got some "I want to kill people because the disability makes me miserable" thing going on though, and most of the other bandits are abled, so her being evil/morally grey is not unique to her. Also, if I ever end up actually writing the story, it would be from her perspective. Does this make it ok, or does it fall under the "disabled villain" trope?

Mobility aids? She would definitely need one, probably a wheelchair, since she can't walk unassisted at all. The thing is, her family is a bunch of ableists who kept her in her room all day because they found her disability "shameful", so she doesn't have a mobility aid (except maybe a clunky wheelchair that needs to be pushed around by someone else). And she definitely isn't going to have a mobility aid around when she gets semi-kidnapped by the bandits (as mentioned before, she ends up joining them). When they're actively robbing people, she'd ride a horse, but what about when they're in the bandit hideout? Making a wheelchair seems hard and time-consuming. I could make her magic powers be telekinesis or (short-distance) teleportation, but that might also be erasure and I don't want that. Any suggestions?

Hi asker,

For the first half of your ask, that sounds perfectly fine, because disabled people don't have to be morally perfect! Especially if the story is written from her perspective, it's actually pretty important that she's not just a 0 flaws character. It's perfectly fine that she's morally grey, an anti-hero, whatever, as long as she isn't the only one that is these things as a disabled person.

The "disabled villain" trope is more like, the disability is what makes them evil, or they're the only disabled character and they're evil, basically equating disability to moral failure and to villainy. Other bandits being of similar morality to her but abled is a huge deal in terms of sidestepping the disabled villain trope. As long as she's not the 'most evil' in her bandit group and the only or the most disabled one, this works just fine.

For the second half of your ask:

If the bandits let her join after kidnapping her, they presumably want her there. This means that they would probably willing to help her get or do things that she needs to do in order to continue to be there with them, and that can include them helping source a wheelchair or a walker or a rollator. Maybe they make it themselves, maybe they steal one, maybe they kidnap someone who can make it for her, maybe something else. But if they're something like her friends or found family, they'd probably want her to participate in things, and they could help her get what she needs to do so.

As to the powers, they could be erasure. They don't have to be erasure, but they could be. But to be honest you don't necessarily seem attached to those as her powers, so you could choose something else instead.

As to ataxia, since you mention not being fully decided on this yet, make sure you research how ataxia, particularly severe ataxia, would affect her. I don't say this to say she wouldn't be able to ride a horse — paralympic athlete Mari Durward-Akhurst has ataxia and participtes in paralympic — but I mean that you'd want to look at what she needs to do that and how it affects her daily.

As to mobility aids (sorry for saying as to so much), many people with ataxia use wheelchairs or walkers or rollators. Rollators are wheeled walkers, basically. If she'd be able to use one of these in the hideout definitely depends on the hideout's layout and access. But maybe they could have a hideout with ramps, or on a single level or something, as opposed to like... a treehouse hideout. But magic exists in your world, so maybe her aid could have some sort of enchantment. Like, maybe the aid itself can do very limited teleportation and this gets her into the door, for example? That could be a pretty cool and useful enchantment to put on a wheelchair. But mostly, since you have magic, you have more leeway than in real life as to what the limits of mobility aids are within a space. Or even within a space itself; maybe the entrance steps have a button that can turn them into a ramp. Things like that!

Hope this helps,

mod sparrow

[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

[nostalgebraist]

Anthropic's stated "AI timelines" seem wildly aggressive to me.

As far as I can tell, they are now saying that by 2028 – and possibly even by 2027, or late 2026 – something they call "powerful AI" will exist.

And by "powerful AI," they mean... this (source, emphasis mine):

In terms of pure intelligence, it is smarter than a Nobel Prize winner across most relevant fields – biology, programming, math, engineering, writing, etc. This means it can prove unsolved mathematical theorems, write extremely good novels, write difficult codebases from scratch, etc. In addition to just being a “smart thing you talk to”, it has all the “interfaces” available to a human working virtually, including text, audio, video, mouse and keyboard control, and internet access. It can engage in any actions, communications, or remote operations enabled by this interface, including taking actions on the internet, taking or giving directions to humans, ordering materials, directing experiments, watching videos, making videos, and so on. It does all of these tasks with, again, a skill exceeding that of the most capable humans in the world. It does not just passively answer questions; instead, it can be given tasks that take hours, days, or weeks to complete, and then goes off and does those tasks autonomously, in the way a smart employee would, asking for clarification as necessary. It does not have a physical embodiment (other than living on a computer screen), but it can control existing physical tools, robots, or laboratory equipment through a computer; in theory it could even design robots or equipment for itself to use. The resources used to train the model can be repurposed to run millions of instances of it (this matches projected cluster sizes by ~2027), and the model can absorb information and generate actions at roughly 10x-100x human speed. It may however be limited by the response time of the physical world or of software it interacts with. Each of these million copies can act independently on unrelated tasks, or if needed can all work together in the same way humans would collaborate, perhaps with different subpopulations fine-tuned to be especially good at particular tasks.

In the post I'm quoting, Amodei is coy about the timeline for this stuff, saying only that

I think it could come as early as 2026, though there are also ways it could take much longer. But for the purposes of this essay, I’d like to put these issues aside [...]

However, other official communications from Anthropic have been more specific. Most notable is their recent OSTP submission, which states (emphasis in original):

Based on current research trajectories, we anticipate that powerful AI systems could emerge as soon as late 2026 or 2027 [...] Powerful AI technology will be built during this Administration. [i.e. the current Trump administration -nost]

See also here, where Jack Clark says (my emphasis):

People underrate how significant and fast-moving AI progress is. We have this notion that in late 2026, or early 2027, powerful AI systems will be built that will have intellectual capabilities that match or exceed Nobel Prize winners. They’ll have the ability to navigate all of the interfaces… [Clark goes on, mentioning some of the other tenets of "powerful AI" as in other Anthropic communications -nost]

----

To be clear, extremely short timelines like these are not unique to Anthropic.

Miles Brundage (ex-OpenAI) says something similar, albeit less specific, in this post. And Daniel Kokotajlo (also ex-OpenAI) has held views like this for a long time now.

Even Sam Altman himself has said similar things (though in much, much vaguer terms, both on the content of the deliverable and the timeline).

Still, Anthropic's statements are unique in being

official positions of the company

extremely specific and ambitious about the details

extremely aggressive about the timing, even by the standards of "short timelines" AI prognosticators in the same social cluster

Re: ambition, note that the definition of "powerful AI" seems almost the opposite of what you'd come up with if you were trying to make a confident forecast of something.

Often people will talk about "AI capable of transforming the world economy" or something more like that, leaving room for the AI in question to do that in one of several ways, or to do so while still failing at some important things.

But instead, Anthropic's definition is a big conjunctive list of "it'll be able to do this and that and this other thing and...", and each individual capability is defined in the most aggressive possible way, too! Not just "good enough at science to be extremely useful for scientists," but "smarter than a Nobel Prize winner," across "most relevant fields" (whatever that means). And not just good at science but also able to "write extremely good novels" (note that we have a long way to go on that front, and I get the feeling that people at AI labs don't appreciate the extent of the gap [cf]). Not only can it use a computer interface, it can use every computer interface; not only can it use them competently, but it can do so better than the best humans in the world. And all of that is in the first two paragraphs – there's four more paragraphs I haven't even touched in this little summary!

Re: timing, they have even shorter timelines than Kokotajlo these days, which is remarkable since he's historically been considered "the guy with the really short timelines." (See here where Kokotajlo states a median prediction of 2028 for "AGI," by which he means something less impressive than "powerful AI"; he expects something close to the "powerful AI" vision ["ASI"] ~1 year or so after "AGI" arrives.)

----

I, uh, really do not think this is going to happen in "late 2026 or 2027."

Or even by the end of this presidential administration, for that matter.

I can imagine it happening within my lifetime – which is wild and scary and marvelous. But in 1.5 years?!

The confusing thing is, I am very familiar with the kinds of arguments that "short timelines" people make, and I still find the Anthropic's timelines hard to fathom.

Above, I mentioned that Anthropic has shorter timelines than Daniel Kokotajlo, who "merely" expects the same sort of thing in 2029 or so. This probably seems like hairsplitting – from the perspective of your average person not in these circles, both of these predictions look basically identical, "absurdly good godlike sci-fi AI coming absurdly soon." What difference does an extra year or two make, right?

But it's salient to me, because I've been reading Kokotajlo for years now, and I feel like I basically get understand his case. And people, including me, tend to push back on him in the "no, that's too soon" direction. I've read many many blog posts and discussions over the years about this sort of thing, I feel like I should have a handle on what the short-timelines case is.

But even if you accept all the arguments evinced over the years by Daniel "Short Timelines" Kokotajlo, even if you grant all the premises he assumes and some people don't – that still doesn't get you all the way to the Anthropic timeline!

To give a very brief, very inadequate summary, the standard "short timelines argument" right now is like:

Over the next few years we will see a "growth spurt" in the amount of computing power ("compute") used for the largest LLM training runs. This factor of production has been largely stagnant since GPT-4 in 2023, for various reasons, but new clusters are getting built and the metaphorical car will get moving again soon. (See here)

By convention, each "GPT number" uses ~100x as much training compute as the last one. GPT-3 used ~100x as much as GPT-2, and GPT-4 used ~100x as much as GPT-3 (i.e. ~10,000x as much as GPT-2).

We are just now starting to see "~10x GPT-4 compute" models (like Grok 3 and GPT-4.5). In the next few years we will get to "~100x GPT-4 compute" models, and by 2030 will will reach ~10,000x GPT-4 compute.

If you think intuitively about "how much GPT-4 improved upon GPT-3 (100x less) or GPT-2 (10,000x less)," you can maybe convince yourself that these near-future models will be super-smart in ways that are difficult to precisely state/imagine from our vantage point. (GPT-4 was way smarter than GPT-2; it's hard to know what "projecting that forward" would mean, concretely, but it sure does sound like something pretty special)

Meanwhile, all kinds of (arguably) complementary research is going on, like allowing models to "think" for longer amounts of time, giving them GUI interfaces, etc.

All that being said, there's still a big intuitive gap between "ChatGPT, but it's much smarter under the hood" and anything like "powerful AI." But...

...the LLMs are getting good enough that they can write pretty good code, and they're getting better over time. And depending on how you interpret the evidence, you may be able to convince yourself that they're also swiftly getting better at other tasks involved in AI development, like "research engineering." So maybe you don't need to get all the way yourself, you just need to build an AI that's a good enough AI developer that it improves your AIs faster than you can, and then those AIs are even better developers, etc. etc. (People in this social cluster are really keen on the importance of exponential growth, which is generally a good trait to have but IMO it shades into "we need to kick off exponential growth and it'll somehow do the rest because it's all-powerful" in this case.)

And like, I have various disagreements with this picture.

For one thing, the "10x" models we're getting now don't seem especially impressive – there has been a lot of debate over this of course, but reportedly these models were disappointing to their own developers, who expected scaling to work wonders (using the kind of intuitive reasoning mentioned above) and got less than they hoped for.

And (in light of that) I think it's double-counting to talk about the wonders of scaling and then talk about reasoning, computer GUI use, etc. as complementary accelerating factors – those things are just table stakes at this point, the models are already maxing out the tasks you had defined previously, you've gotta give them something new to do or else they'll just sit there wasting GPUs when a smaller model would have sufficed.

And I think we're already at a point where nuances of UX and "character writing" and so forth are more of a limiting factor than intelligence. It's not a lack of "intelligence" that gives us superficially dazzling but vapid "eyeball kick" prose, or voice assistants that are deeply uncomfortable to actually talk to, or (I claim) "AI agents" that get stuck in loops and confuse themselves, or any of that.

We are still stuck in the "Helpful, Harmless, Honest Assistant" chatbot paradigm – no one has seriously broke with it since that Anthropic introduced it in a paper in 2021 – and now that paradigm is showing its limits. ("Reasoning" was strapped onto this paradigm in a simple and fairly awkward way, the new "reasoning" models are still chatbots like this, no one is actually doing anything else.) And instead of "okay, let's invent something better," the plan seems to be "let's just scale up these assistant chatbots and try to get them to self-improve, and they'll figure it out." I won't try to explain why in this post (IYI I kind of tried to here) but I really doubt these helpful/harmless guys can bootstrap their way into winning all the Nobel Prizes.

----

All that stuff I just said – that's where I differ from the usual "short timelines" people, from Kokotajlo and co.

But OK, let's say that for the sake of argument, I'm wrong and they're right. It still seems like a pretty tough squeeze to get to "powerful AI" on time, doesn't it?

In the OSTP submission, Anthropic presents their latest release as evidence of their authority to speak on the topic:

In February 2025, we released Claude 3.7 Sonnet, which is by many performance benchmarks the most powerful and capable commercially-available AI system in the world.

I've used Claude 3.7 Sonnet quite a bit. It is indeed really good, by the standards of these sorts of things!

But it is, of course, very very far from "powerful AI." So like, what is the fine-grained timeline even supposed to look like? When do the many, many milestones get crossed? If they're going to have "powerful AI" in early 2027, where exactly are they in mid-2026? At end-of-year 2025?

If I assume that absolutely everything goes splendidly well with no unexpected obstacles – and remember, we are talking about automating all human intellectual labor and all tasks done by humans on computers, but sure, whatever – then maybe we get the really impressive next-gen models later this year or early next year... and maybe they're suddenly good at all the stuff that has been tough for LLMs thus far (the "10x" models already released show little sign of this but sure, whatever)... and then we finally get into the self-improvement loop in earnest, and then... what?

They figure out to squeeze even more performance out of the GPUs? They think of really smart experiments to run on the cluster? Where are they going to get all the missing information about how to do every single job on earth, the tacit knowledge, the stuff that's not in any web scrape anywhere but locked up in human minds and inaccessible private data stores? Is an experiment designed by a helpful-chatbot AI going to finally crack the problem of giving chatbots the taste to "write extremely good novels," when that taste is precisely what "helpful-chatbot AIs" lack?

I guess the boring answer is that this is all just hype – tech CEO acts like tech CEO, news at 11. (But I don't feel like that can be the full story here, somehow.)

And the scary answer is that there's some secret Anthropic private info that makes this all more plausible. (But I doubt that too – cf. Brundage's claim that there are no more secrets like that now, the short-timelines cards are all on the table.)

It just does not make sense to me. And (as you can probably tell) I find it very frustrating that these guys are out there talking about how human thought will basically be obsolete in a few years, and pontificating about how to find new sources of meaning in life and stuff, without actually laying out an argument that their vision – which would be the common concern of all of us, if it were indeed on the horizon – is actually likely to occur on the timescale they propose.

It would be less frustrating if I were being asked to simply take it on faith, or explicitly on the basis of corporate secret knowledge. But no, the claim is not that, it's something more like "now, now, I know this must sound far-fetched to the layman, but if you really understand 'scaling laws' and 'exponential growth,' and you appreciate the way that pretraining will be scaled up soon, then it's simply obvious that –"

No! Fuck that! I've read the papers you're talking about, I know all the arguments you're handwaving-in-the-direction-of! It still doesn't add up!

[kiwriteswords]

Won't you please arrange it? Cause I love you. [Aaron Hotchner x Florist!Reader]

Florist!Reader Masterlist|| Main Masterlist [I need to update this, sorry!]|| Ao3||Word Count: 3.8k|| AN:  Weddings were always SO fun and so romantic when I worked as a florist. The chaos was unruly, but the excitement always outweighed that! Tags/Warnings: Female!Reader, Florist!Reader, Non-BAU!Reader, established-relationship, Sassy!Reader, Flirty!Reader, weddings, marriage, alluding to fear of commitment (sorta), romance, fluff, healing!reader, hotch and florist have been dating for some time, Grant Anderson wedding!! Summary: While preparing the wedding flowers for a BAU colleague, you find yourself imagining a future you never let yourself believe in: one where the man who sees every part of you, Aaron Hotchner, might just be the one waiting at the end of the aisle.

It was well past seven, the shop long closed to customers, but you were still inside, apron smudged with pollen and eucalyptus sap, hands deep in a box of ivory roses that had been overnighted from a grower you trusted with your life. 

The backroom smelled like heaven--

Fresh lilac, white ranunculus, garden roses, blush sweet pea, trailing jasmine. It was organized chaos: half-filled vases, open ribbon spools…small cards scribbled with table seventeen: soft mauve and sage green--no baby’s breath. Bride’s orders. Mother of Groom allergic to lilies. Bride said that using quotations.

The wedding was in two days.

Agent Anderson and his fiancée had come in sheepish and sweet, asking if--maybe, if it wasn’t too much trouble--you’d consider doing the flowers for their wedding.

Hotch had just smirked behind them, arms crossed like he’d known it was coming all along.

And honestly? You’d loved the idea. Weddings were your groove. Stressful? Sure. But magical? Always. 

Something about crafting the very things someone would hold as they said forever just…filled you.

Every rose. Every ribbon. Every goddamn petal.

You were all in.

Which is why, when the bell over the door chimed and you heard the lock click behind it, you didn’t even look up from your bouquet-in-progress.

“You’re technically breaking and entering,” you called out, voice teasing, fingers still weaving stems into the bouquet holder.

Hotch’s voice answered, dry but warm, “I have a key. And probable cause.”

You grinned. “What’s the probable cause?”

“Suspicious activity,” he said, appearing in the doorway to your workroom. “Owner hasn’t texted in hours. Lights still on. No sign of food or hydration. Floral debris everywhere.”

You turned around, bouquet in one hand, clippers in the other, arching a brow. “Sounds like someone’s just really good at their job.”

His eyes swept the room, the table, you.

To many, the place would have looked like utter chaos. But Hotch? He knew you well enough now. Too well, you’d argue some days. There was a madness to your craziness. There was order in the mess. The pile to your left was clippings that could be repurposed: the flower girl’s petals, a groomsmen’s boutonniere, the mother of the bride’s corsage…

Then he stepped closer, tilting his head slightly as he looked at the bouquet. “That the bride’s?”

You nodded, turning it slightly to show him the cascade of white and blush peonies, spirea, and pale mauve lisianthus spilling from the center like a waterfall.

Hotch blinked slowly. Taking in the talent���but more so taking in you, “It’s beautiful.”

You smiled, brushing a thumb over one of the petals. “It has to be. It’s the one she’s going to hold when she walks down the aisle. When she sees him. I want her to look at it and remember that exact second forever. Every time she looks at a peony, I want her to remember this day.”

You thought about the few good men out there. The ones that came into your shop for an anniversary purchased bouquets of pale white roses with Queen Anne’s lace instead of baby’s breath because those were the exact flowers the two of them had on their wedding day. 

Flowers made a lasting impression.

They were the friend that accompanied you on some of your biggest days. Weddings, funerals, birthdays, recitals, graduations…they were always--always--a friend.

Hotch watched you for a moment, quietly.

The way your hands moved. The way your mouth softened when you looked at your work. The joy that practically radiated from your skin, even with circles under your eyes and flower bits in your hair.

He had no idea how he got this lucky.

“You know,” he said, stepping up behind you and wrapping his arms around your waist, “I don’t think I’ve ever met someone who works more unpredictable hours than I do.”

You leaned back into his chest. “You’re not the only overachiever in this relationship, Hotchner.”

“I’m aware.”

You turned in his arms, still holding the bouquet awkwardly between you. “Have I told you how glad I am you agreed to be my date?”

He smirked. “Anderson made it very clear I didn’t have a choice. Something about needing to show off the power couple.” Hotch cringed at his own use of the word: power couple. 

You laughed, mock moving the clippers in your hands, wiggling your eyebrows, “We are kind of intimidating, huh?” You placed the clippers back on your workbench and took in the mixed aroma of the powdery peonies and Hotch’s cologne now filling the stuffy space.

Hotch leaned down, brushing a kiss against your temple. “You, yes. Me? Only when I’m holding a gun.”

You tilted your head. “You’re very intimidating with a boutonnière, too.”

“That so?”

You held up one of the finished ones from the tray near the sink. “Try me.”

Hotch smirked, taking it and gently pinning it to the lapel of his blazer. He pinned it with such ease. When you first became a florist, you were baffled by how many men began to need assistance with a pin and a petite bouquet. But Hotch? He made it look easy. He made everything look easy.

“How do I look?”

You stepped back, fake-swooning. “Like I should marry you on the spot.”

That made him pause.

Almost took the breath from his lungs--

Knocked the wind from his sails. 

Something you…you had a habit of doing, but it was as if realization flooded over him. How he just could marry you on the spot. If you’d let him, of course. 

You’d probably put up a bit of a fuss. Act like you didn’t want it. Share some slightly cynical statistics about weddings and marriage. Yet, deep down, he knew you well enough to know that you did want it. 

You wouldn’t be working here and surrounding yourself with it if you didn’t fully believe or want it wholeheartedly.

You didn’t notice. You were already turning back to your arrangement. A few more sprigs and you were close to being finished. 

He reached for your wrist gently. “Hey.”

You looked up.

His expression had softened, all the teasing tucked behind something a little deeper.

“I love watching you do this,” he said simply. “I know how hard it is to care about something this much and still do it well. You make it look easy.”

You felt that one in your chest.

You felt that one in your soul. 

To be loved, is to be seen.

To be loved…is to be seen.

TO BE LOVED. IS TO BE SEEN. 

To. Be. Loved. Is. To. Be. Seen.

That quote played like a broken record in your brain. You could have stared at him for a minuscule second or maybe five minutes. But you felt so…so seen. 

He was staring right through you.

Right at you.

“Thank you,” you said, quieter now.

“You ready to go home?”

You shook your head. “Not yet. I’ve got three more centerpieces, and the aisle markers haven’t even started.” You looked around at your organized mess, “Oh, and the mother of the bride and groom’s corsages, ugh,” you groaned, “I have to wait until the last second to do those because they’re so damn fragile.” You got back into your rhythm, “They’ll wither to pieces if I don’t.”

“You’re going to wither to pieces if you don’t eat something sustainable soon,” Hotch checked his watch. “I can give you an hour. After that, I’m carrying you out.”

You grinned. “You say that like it’s a threat.”

He leaned in, kissed the side of your neck. “It’s a promise.”

You exhaled a soft laugh, and he just held you there for a second--his arms wrapped around your middle, the smell of lilacs and coffee clinging to your skin.

Somehow, amidst the chaos of your workshop, covered in thorns and tape and half-finished beauty, it felt like the most romantic place in the world.

It always was with him. 

You lost track of time completely in the two days leading up to the wedding.

Your shop transformed into a full-blown production zone: tables covered with rows of centerpieces in progress, glass vases waiting to be packed, crates of blooms stacked in the walk-in cooler, ribbons fluttering from every knob and handle. 

You moved in a rhythm--focused, deliberate, elbows deep in roses and ranunculus and fern--and still somehow chasing the clock.

Hotch had started showing up every night after work.

Always the same.

Loosened tie. Rolled sleeves. Low voice. Calm presence.

That first night, he offered to help.

You handed him the floral preservative spray.

He lasted five minutes before he set the bottle down and said, “This smells like a hospital hallway, and a meadow hd a toxic lovechild.”

You tried not to laugh.

“I think I’ll be more useful handling food,” he muttered, disappearing into the backroom.

After that, he became your unofficial project manager.

He made sure you were eating. Made you drink water. Pressed coffee into your hands without being asked. He sat at the edge of the worktable and asked about table layout and runner colors, like he understood any of it. He didn’t--

But he cared.

And when you finally packed the last bouquet into its cooler, stood back, and let out a slow, shaky breath, he came up behind you, wrapped his arms around your waist, and said, “You crushed it.”

And you did.

The wedding day arrived in a blur of sunlight and music.

Anderson looked nervous in a sweet, fumbling kind of way. His bride glowed. The venue--draped in warm light and blush-toned blooms--was picture perfect. The centerpieces were crisp, the aisle markers held beautifully, and the bouquet? 

The one you’d trimmed and retied and fluffed four separate times?

Perfect.

You wore a floral dress.

Flowy, soft, romantic.

A little on-the-nose? Sure. But so you.

Hotch wore a dark navy suit with a tie that matched one of the floral hues of your dress. A subtle pocket square peeked from his lapel--

Same shade. 

He didn’t say a word when you complimented him. Just reached for your hand like it was the most natural thing in the world.

And as the ceremony began, you sat beside him--close, impossibly close, thighs brushing, shoulders aligned--and for once, you didn’t look at the florals.

You didn’t scan for wilting petals or crooked vases. You didn’t worry about whether the arbor garland was holding or if the corsages had been pinned correctly.

Your hand was in his. His thumb was brushing soft circles against your skin. His cologne--warm, clean, him--curled into your lungs like it belonged there.

And he was looking at you.

Not at the bride.

Not at the aisle.

Definitely not at Anderson, who was a puddle of tears at the alter.

You.

Like he already knew what you were thinking.

Like he was thinking it too.

And you couldn’t stop the wave that hit you then--not nerves, not fear.

Just clarity.

You'd never been the girl who let herself imagine a wedding of her own. You knew too well how expectations led to disappointment. You’d spent years scoffing at that brand of fantasy--

Keeping your heart safe by staying realistic.

But now?

With him?

With the weight of his hand in yours and the warmth of his love so constant, so quietly fierce, you didn’t even realize how deeply you’d sunk into it?

You couldn’t not imagine it.

Dreams did not seem too far out of reach when you were dating Aaron Hotchner. 

Not a venue. Not a dress.

Just him.

The man who came to your shop every night without being asked.

The man who didn’t flinch at your mess or your stress or your silence.

The man who wore a tie to match your flowers, and who--right now--was looking at you like he knew every secret you weren’t saying.

You turned your head slightly, and he leaned in.

“I love you,” he whispered, low and reverent.

Your breath caught.

Your fingers curled tighter into his.

And when you whispered it back, something in his eyes softened like he’d been holding that hope for far too long.

God, you loved him.

So much it bloomed in your chest like wildflowers--

Unruly and full.

Because maybe that’s what you were. All of this time, you tried to put yourself into the category of traditional. Yet, you couldn’t be tamed. You were not some neat rose bouquet or dainty sprig of carnation. You were a coneflower…or a poppy…or an aster. Something…something wayward and lawless. 

Wandering and oftentimes chaotic. 

You’d spent your whole life trying to find someone to hold you. You’d been looking at people who only knew how to hold traditional. Safe. Calm.

Yet Hotch? He could hold the wild, untethered, ethereal person you were. 

And for the first time ever, you let yourself picture the walk. The vows. The bouquet you’d never have to design--

Because someone else would make it for you.

And you’d walk toward him.

And he’d look at you just like this.

Because he was already yours.

After, the sun dipped low over the reception tent, casting everything in a warm, dusky glow. The fairy lights strung overhead began to flicker to life, one by one, like fireflies waking up. There was a hum of soft conversation, champagne fizzing in glasses, the faint scent of peonies and greenery weaving through the air.

The dance floor had just opened. Music floated in--

Something romantic but timeless, instrumental and slow, the kind of song that didn’t need lyrics to get its point across.

You stood off to the side with a glass of prosecco in hand, still glowing from compliments on the florals.

Hotch appeared behind you, sliding his hand low against your back, voice close to your ear.

“You know there’s a whole tent of people talking about the flowers instead of the bride.”

You grinned, eyes scanning the candlelit tables. “That’s because the bride didn’t come in four hours before the ceremony to personally reposition the arbor installation.”

“She didn’t have to,” he said. “She had you.”

You turned to him slowly, raising a brow. “Are you flirting with me, Agent Hotchner?”

His mouth tilted in that unfairly attractive, knowing smile. “Wouldn’t dream of it.”

“Uh-huh,” you said, sipping your drink. “You only flirt with your eyes.”

“That’s not true,” he said, stepping closer. “Sometimes I flirt with my hands.”

He let one of them slide down your bare arm--slow, feather-light, possessive in the gentlest way.

You laughed, but it came out a little shaky. “You should probably dance with me before I combust.”

“Can’t have that, can we?” He took the glass from your hand and set it on a nearby table. “Then let’s save your life.”

The two of you stepped onto the dance floor.

He pulled you close, hand resting respectfully at your waist, your other hand finding its way to his shoulder.

You weren’t the most graceful dancer--not in heels, not in long dresses--but somehow, with him, you moved like you were born for it. He guided you effortlessly, his hand gentle, his body strong and sure. You could feel every breath he took. Every inch of warmth between you.

“I’ve seen you knee-deep in buckets of blooms, hair a mess, hands full of wire and tape--and you’ve always taken my breath away. But tonight, I think you might’ve just finished me off.”

Your lips curled. “Don’t say that. You’ll ruin your image.”

“I’ll survive,” he murmured.

You leaned your head against his shoulder, heart full.

You’d never been a pristine bouquet kind of girl. 

You were a wildflower by nature--

Soft in the middle, a little unruly, a little overgrown, impossible to contain.

You knew how to thrive in the dirt, in the chaos, in the sun and the storm.

And somehow--somehow--you’d found the one person who didn’t try to trim you back.

He just held you like you bloomed just fine the way you were.

Hotch didn’t say much for the next few minutes. He just held you like the world outside the tent didn’t exist. And every now and then, you caught him looking at you with that quiet, reverent gaze--

The one that said more than I love you. 

The one that said I choose you.

Even when you’re messy. Even when you’re loud. Even when you don’t think you’re easy to love.

Especially then.

The song faded into another, more upbeat number, but neither of you moved.

You looked up at him, cheeks a little flushed from the prosecco and the moment. Maybe this wasn’t the right time. Was there a right time? You’d never brought up the topic with him before. 

Despite having worked on…handfuls of weddings since dating him. Yet…yet this? It was so different. 

“Can I ask you something?”

His brow lifted slightly. “Always.”

You swallowed, “Do you ever think about getting married again?”

He didn’t pause.

He didn’t blink.

He just looked at you like he’d already been waiting for the question. 

Like maybe if you didn’t ask it, he would have.

“I haven’t stopped thinking about it,” he said, “since you held that bridal bouquet the other day.”

Your breath hitched. “Seriously?”

He nodded. Confident. “You looked like the future. My future.”

You stared at him--caught somewhere between awe and something close to panic--and then laughed, light and breathless.

“Well,” you said, “maybe we should just rip the band-aid off and get married right now.”

Hotch glanced around the floral-filled tent--

Then back at you. 

Dry and devastatingly sincere.

“There are far too many calla lilies here for your liking.”

You froze.

And your whole heart twisted in your chest, full and fast and certain.

Because he remembered.

Of course, he did.

Every preference. Every offhand comment. Every flower you adored and every one you couldn't stand. He saw every version of you--thorned and blooming--and loved you with his whole chest anyway.

You stared at him, suddenly breathless.

And in that moment, with the laughter still warm between you, the stars coming out above, and the scent of garden roses all around…

You knew.

You were going to marry this man.

Someday.

Hotch’s fingers curled a little tighter around yours as the music picked up again, but neither of you moved to leave the dance floor.

You were still caught in the moment, in him, in the warmth of what he’d just said. The idea of forever no longer something abstract or intimidating—

But real. 

Tangible.

Safe.

You rested your forehead against his chest for a beat, grounding yourself.

“Calla lilies,” you murmured with a small smile.

You felt his chest rumble softly as he replied, “Unforgivable.”

You leaned back just enough to look up at him. “You really do know me.”

“I pay attention,” he murmured.

You turned your head slightly, looking up at him.

“To what?”

He smiled—

Not the public kind. 

The private one. 

The one that came with soft eyes and that quiet tilt of his head that said he saw you.

“To everything,” he said simply. “The way you laugh when you’re tired. How your shoulders drop when you’re proud of something you made. What flowers you hate. The way you hum when you work without realizing it.”

He kissed your temple, the gesture feather-light.

“Every part of you.”

You tried to keep breathing, but it was unfair, really, how easily he could undo you—how being loved like that, seen like that, turned your chest inside out in the best possible way.

You let your forehead rest against his for a beat before the chatter of the reception pulled you back.

“Come on,” you whispered. “They’ll start teasing if we stay out here too long.”

He offered you his hand like you were still in a ballroom, and he was your formal escort. You took it anyway.

The team was exactly how you left them: lively, halfway through their drinks, and already halfway into the next round of commentary.

As you and Hotch reached the table, Garcia let out a delighted gasp. “Finally. I was about to send out a search party. Possibly with glitter.”

“You looked good out there,” Prentiss said with a smirk, swirling the last of her wine. “A little too good. Hotch, you trying to make the rest of us look bad?”

Hotch pulled out your chair for you before answering, casually slipping into the seat beside you.

“I’m just dancing with the love of my life,” he said, like it was the simplest truth in the world.

You froze for half a second—

But no one else did.

“Oh no,” Morgan said, setting his drink down dramatically. “See, that right there? That’s the tone of a man ready to drop to one knee.”

“Seriously,” JJ added with a knowing smile. “Maybe we should start vetting florists now—because the way he looks at her? We’re definitely attending another wedding soon.”

Hotch didn’t even blink.

He just looked at you.

Dead serious. Still a little soft.

“I wouldn’t rule it out,” he said.

Your heart jumped.

But not in a bad way, jumped? Which was weird for you because your avoidant personality typically would be running for the hills about now.

Garcia gasped. “Oh my God. Can I officiate? I’ll cry. I’ll sob. But I’ll do it.”

“Can we not propose at Anderson’s wedding?” you managed to say, grinning even as you reached for your drink to cool off your entire existence.

“You’re right,” Hotch said, sipping his half-forgotten drink, “What I’d have planned wouldn’t be half as tacky.”

“Fair,” Emily said, raising her glass. “But just saying—might want to start thinking about who’s going to do your flowers.”

You opened your mouth, probably to make a snarky comeback—

But Hotch leaned closer again, voice low, meant for you alone.

“I already know what I’d pick,” he said. “And I’d help. But only if you’d let me.”

You stared at him, caught somewhere between a laugh and a breath and a dream that was getting a little too close to real.

God, you were going to marry this man.

Maybe not today. Maybe not tomorrow.

But it was going to happen.

And when it did—

There wouldn’t be a single calla lily in sight.

Tag List: @zaddyhotch @estragos @todorokishoe24 @looking1016  @khxna @rousethemouse @averyhotchner @reidfile @bernelflo @lover-of-books-and-tea @frickin-bats @sleepysongbirdsings @justyourusualash @person-005 @iyskgd @hiireadstuff @kcch-ns @alexxavicry @Sweethotchlogy @softtdaisy @stilestotherescue @midnghtprentiss @superlegend216

[raven-at-the-writing-desk]

Do you have any crack headcannons like you did with Ace with hitting on Jamil?

I have one of Grim knowing how to use a toilet like a person would but not how to open doors. So during book 5. Guys would see Grim using the toilet, in the dark, in the middle of the night if they have to. They see two bright circles in the bathroom until they turn on the light.

[Referencing this post!]

👆 This scene from Puss in Boots 2 except it’s Grim and Yuu—

I have a lot of silly personal headcanons (probably way too many to contain in a post)! Off the top of my head:

A frequent topic among the first years is romance. It's mostly because Ace instigates (usually to brag about how much experience + game he has and how everyone else is a LOSER). Deuce and Epel are flustered, Jack tries to be mature and call out Ace's childish behavior + views, Sebek loudly compares what Ace says to the things he has read in his romance novels + advice from Lilia, and Ortho--shockingly--is the most level-headed and logical of the group. (He'll take one look at Ace's vital signs and declare the guy is actually lying about having rizz.)

(PREFACING THIS ONE WITH THE CONTEXT THAT I WAS SUFFERING REALLY BADLY FROM MONTHLY CRAMPS AND CAME UP WITH THIS TO COMFORT MYSELF) Due to their heightened senses, fae and/or beastmen are able to sense very subtle changes, such as shifts in weather (ie a storm is rolling in) and changes in the body. For example, local feminist king L*ona can somehow sense when "that time" of month is coming and will show up on some poor woman's doorstep a few days before it starts with a plastic bag of [feminine hygiene products], snacks, pain relief medicine, and a heating pad in it. He gives NO explanation, just unceremoniously tosses it on the floor before he turns around and peaces tf out.

Mostro Lounge staff are granted paid lunch breaks, but if they choose to eat from the lounge then they still need to pay for 50% of it. They once tried to unionize, but Azul sent in the twins to shut it down real fast.

Jade and Trey love really bad puns and dad jokes.

The Magic Carpet is Scarabia's unofficial mascot. The mobs generally like it and act like it's the dorm's collective pet dog. Sometimes they drop scraps of food for it from banquets/parties (... D-Does it eat? If so, how...?).

Crewel and Vil heard about the time the Ramshackle Ghosts designed and made Yuu + Grim Halloween costumes. They decided to work with the ghosts to make a fashion line using repurposed old fabrics for a charity fashion show. Proceeds went to an environmental conversation organization.

Lilia hates milk substitutes. He finds them offensive and it breaks his heart to see others ask for the "fake stuff". Insists that those are not "true milk", "It's just nut or grain water!! NUT OR GRAIN WATER!!"

Lilia goes on dating apps just to see who he can bag, then he kicks down the door to the Diasomnia lounge to brag that he’s “still got it”.

Malleus learned about swear words from Leona. (He asked Lilia what a “flying fuck” was because Leona said it in front of him 😭)

Crowley has a 20-step beauty routine. Also sings (terribly) while he engages in self care.

Fellow goes on dates just to scam women of their valuables and/or to leech off their resources for a little while. His ideal targets are lonely wealthy widows and/or lonely wives whose spouses are often busy with work or traveling. Usually ends with him getting smacked by the woman, chased off by an angry spouse, or him pathetically groveling for mercy at their feet.

[orangeocelotmartyn]

Martyn and Ren's collaboration for Rats In Paris, including how they decided on Pirates, and the improv that comes from it

Martyn: Uh--"by the way, how did you and Ren end up teaming together on Rats?" Um, I think that came about because... Owen... kept adding people to the Discord for Rats--cause we made a new Discord for Rats2, uh, instead of repurposing the old Rats1 one, um, and then I saw Ren get added, and that was the first that I learned, um, that was the first that I learned about it. (aside) "Use a hook in your overclock--"

Martyn: But yeah, that was the first that I'd seen it, and I messaged Ren being like, "oh my god, yes, you're in Rats," like, so excited. And then that's when he asked, like, "should we do something together?" Like, you know, do we want to link up. And I was like, "uh, yes. That'll be cool, that'll be really fun." Um. And then we--I--we were actually quite slow on deciding what our characters were gonna be, and how they were going to be linked together. We basically had like, one phone call ahead of the SMP. We'd written most of it out, like, written notes, um...a lot of it was me having to rein in some of the ideas, just so it works with like, my-my Vtuber lore and stuff? I was trying not to like, dampen his, like...his ideas too much, but. If he did want to collaborate with me, there was just some teensy changes--(aside) "still go stable rod, though--"

Martyn: Uh--"so a lot of it was improv, that's so cool, you both flow off--flow off each other so well." Oh yeah, I mean, so, literally...we decided--the only thing we decided prior is that. This is how we met. We met, y'know, with you fishing me out of the ocean or whatever, and, um, sailing me into Paris, but. Anything said in world, like, you know, the whole "Ren telling loads of stories" and stuff like that--I think we--I think we had established that we be kind of, like, bored of each other's stories, but. There's no script whatsoever in terms of like...y'know, him talking about Her Ratesty and stuff like that. I sort of said to him, I was like, "I would prefer if you don't tell me too much, cause then I can almost learn it for the first time?" Umm...so yeah, so a lot of it was like, y'know, a lot of it is improv. The majority of it is improv.

[604to647]

✨Anniversary and Follower Milestone Celebration and Giveaway!✨

A little over a year ago, I returned to my old photography blog and repurposed it to what you see today - purging all my old followers (including the sex bots 🥹) and started from scratch and now... OMIGOD?! 😭😭😭 I've recently passed a follower milestone that seems unbelievable to 1 year ago Emily who screenshot when her post got 11 notes and sent it to Mr. 604 so excited (oblivious that one of those likes was me liking on accident 😂). I love you all so dearly for visiting me and reading my silly stories - every interaction and follow has been treasured. Sometimes I still can’t believe y’alls kindness towards me 🫣🥰

At this time last year, I also started writing my first fic, which has turned into my longest running series: Safest with You. Some of you have been with me and this series since the very beginning and I couldn’t be more grateful - the first one shot, Carnival Fright Night, was posted Oct. 13/2023 and Ch. 1 followed on Nov. 10/2023. Now one full year later, we've wrapped it up with the Epilogue😭😭😭

To celebrate, I would love to do two things:

1) A Giveaway! Everything in the first pic (full description below the cut) will be sent to one lucky winner! You don’t have to follow me or have read any of my fics - all you have to do to enter is say something nice about someone in our community. You can leave it in a comment or a reblog of this post, or send me an ask (with 🎁) - BAM! You’re entered 😁. No one needs to follow me - I just love it when people hype each other up and spread positivity 💕

2) Nonsense Outros. The first piece of writing I ever posted wasn’t actually a fic but song lyrics 😂🤭 specifically, Sabrina Carpenter Nonsense Outros inspired by Pedro characters 😂 They are silly and challenging to write and I want to do some more! If you want, please send me an Ask with 🎶 for a character or a link to a fic (it can be yours, someone else’s if they’re ok with it, or you can request one of mine even!) - I will read it (if I haven’t already!) and write you an Outro for the PBoi in the fic/character (or try, anyways! 😁)

You can do both if you want! And as many times as you want 🥰 until Monday, December 2, 2024.

Thank you thank you all again! 💋

It’s been a great year here with you all 🥹🥂🥂

Giveaway prize includes: Din Djarin magnet, postcard and washi tape, Barón Tovar Takes a Wife holographic keychain, Safest with You washi tape, one (1) copy of Pedro fan magazine, one (1) copy of Vanity Fair 30th Hollywood Issue, one (1) customized Pedro photocard holder (I will make you one based on your fave colours/themes and I also have a bunch of photocards for you to choose from or I can make you one from a photo you send!).

I am happy to pay for shipping and will ship internationally from Canada (when the strike is over), but yes it means you have to provide me an address. I am active in a collectibles trading community on IG and can provide references if it makes you feel more comfortable in doing so👍🏻.

Winner will be selected randomly via the Excel random number generator in the first week of December 2024. This giveaway isn't administered, sponsored, endorsed by, or associated with Tumblr.

Tagging a few lovely people to help spread the word and/or may be interested 🥰😘:

@aurorawritestoescape @milla-frenchy @yopossum @almostfoxglove @sawymredfox

@inept-the-magnificent @jeewrites @jessthebaker @nerdieforpedro @joelalorian

@magpiepills @secretelephanttattoo @joelmillerisapunk @holacia3 @galaxyedging

@tuquoquebrute @whirlwindrider29 @pedroswife69 @pedges-world @ghotifishreads

@penvisions @jobean12-blog @auteurdelabre @angiewatson @morallyinept

@mermaidgirl30 @arcanefox207 @baronessvonglitter @grogusmum @ace-turned-confused

@furiousmushroom @cheekychaos28 @72scsuze @toobsessedsstuff @mellymbee

@that1nerd-20 @alltheotps @evolnoomym @greenwitchfromthewoods @maievdenoir

@hipabbster23 @bitccchmood @bigbutchenergee @rainbowcat164 @the-strawberrythief

@johnssherlock221 @misstokyo7love @vivian-pascal @florxdexcerezo @fanficlover1414

@rarachelchel @heartbrokenlilbitch-nef @sunnytuliptime @kulekehe @guelyury

@rav3n-pascal22 @sjc7542 @kilamonster @mandoshoney @syd-djarin

@moonlessnight14 @lucienofthelakes @heareball @lillaydee @yorksgirl

@sheepdogchick3 @desert-fern

[hwalovs]

The Apprentice 1/?

Chapter One; Deer, Fox, or Rabbit?

Pairing; Viktor x Vampire!Reader Warnings; none too extreme? Blood drinking (animal), mainly just yappers yapping about things. it’s a little twilight coded, so what?? sue me! Word Count; 7.8k

Summary; Finding an Apprentice should be easy. You have a simple task, one that cannot be handled lightly. Yet, the mind is a unique thing, and each one you've come across don't seem to meet your specific qualifications. Until your dear friend and confidant, Heimerdinger, brings forth a man with a bright ambition and a determination that could rival anyone.

A/n; oh god,, another series?? this one ahs been cooking for the last few days, and after finishing arcane and igniting my LOVE for Viktor, i decided it was time to try my hand at writing him :>> my darling friend @disturbyn beta read this so I’m no longer liable for financial instability!

THIS IS NOT EDITED!

DO NOT COPY, REPOST ON OTHER SITES, OR TRANSLATE MY WORK WITHOUT PERMISSION!

“My dear friend,” a voice chimes, and you smile. Dropping to a knee, you open your arms to greet him with a brief hug. He was warm, fur soft as it touched your cheek. He pulls away, and with bright eyes he says your name. He was dressed in his usual councilman attire, blue fabric complimented with gold. 

“Councilor Heimerdinger, what a pleasant sight to see.”

He waves you off, stepping away to give you a glare “drop the formalities, would you?”

Shrugging, you rise to your full height, tipping your head to your driver who opened your door. The streets of Piltover were bustling with life, people walking in and out of the building. The sun was shining brightly, no cloud in the sky, the buildings of Piltover glimmering and dazzling. On the rare occasions that you visit, the city never fails to amaze you with its beauty. More innovations included, more steps into the future. 

Even with your jacket on, it was cold outside. The air was biting at your cheeks as you walked the stairs, body shivering as the wind wrapped your body. Heimerdinger couldn’t tell the difference, his thick fur protecting his small body from the elements. 

Unless it was raining, then you would see him running for any kind of shelter. 

“I find it customary, dear friend,” you jest, beginning to climb the steps of the building. It was large, almost doubling the size of the one from the last Inventors Competition you attended. It was hosted in Piltover this year, situated right between the heart of the city, and the bridge that leads to Zaun. The building was a museum, repurposed for the day. Three sets of double doors were propped open, allowing people to freely go in and out. Marble steps lead the way up, the chains on your boots clinking with each step you take. 

“Yet, you’ve arrived late,” Heimerdinger says, “not very customary of you, my dear.”

“Eh,” you shrug, “I doubt my presence was missed.”

He shakes his head, “most have already asked for an audience with you. You’re going to come across many disappointed faces, I fear.”

“Aw, poor babies,” you kiss your teeth, stopping in the doorway to look around the room. Multitudes of tables were set up to hold different inventions. Most of the crowd had already moved on, the aisles free to roam comfortably. 

Although you’d have rather stayed home, there was a nagging that stayed consistent in your mind. It whispered to you during the night, while you tried to work, while you roamed the empty halls of your estate. 

Oh, sweet death. It would sing, a symphony without the strings. 

Heimerdinger's letters on the subject once brought you annoyance, but this year, you decided to indulge him. Months of writing, planning your short visit, tell you what to expect from some of his students. You tried to keep an open mind, but as you survey the room from your standing point, you find mirrors of what you’ve seen before. 

He chuckles, and you nod to the enforcers that stand beside the doors. They barely glance your way, all zoned in your own worlds as they try to stay awake. 

“Tell me,” you muse, “anything promising?”

“That all depends on what you’re looking for,” he smiles, “the entries this year are very promising, I should add.”

Finally making your way into the building, you start down one of the rows, briefly reading off the small cards that line the table. It was intriguing, seeing what the human mind can create. Each one was different, promising innovation and change for the ones who needed it the most. Some were simple, a new irrigation method, a new tool to help with surgery. Others were more intricate, a way to heal broken bones faster, a way to grow taller or thinner in a matter of days. 

Heimerdinger continued to talk at your side, keeping with your slow pace. His voice was bright and joyous, a singing tone that contrasted to yours. He spoke enough for the both of you, and as time passed you’d grown accustomed to his hyperactive personality. Always easy to pick out of the crowd, various voices meshing together in one large mass that you tried to ignore. 

“The last time I was here,” you break the silence, glancing down at bright blue eyes, “you told me I’d be impressed with the entries.”

He pauses, looking at you with narrowed eyes and a twitching lip, “I was correct then, just as I am correct now-”

“Eh,” you wince, scrunching your face up and rocking a hand side to side, “I’d say-”

He cuts you off, speaking over you, it makes you laugh. Holding your hands in surrender at his stern tone, “New minds bring new innovations, different outlooks that we haven’t thought of. It’s brilliant, what the mind can do without restrictions.”

Stopping at the end of the table, you reach out to grab a small device, painted an array of blues and pinks that resemble a chomping shark. On the side was a pin, your thumb brushing over it, nodding your head once and setting it back down. Next to it was a small card, the dimensions, components, and its purpose all messily written.

“Brilliant. Yet, the council never seizes what can excel the cities.”

Heimerdinger huffs, “Many trials can take years to complete, and other items do not get chosen.”

Humming, you choose not to argue. It was something that would always come up between you both. With him on the council, you liked to poke fun. Liked to make jabbing remarks that would cause his fur to bristle, his foot to stomp. He didn’t pick up on it until years later, and stopped indulging your antics. Tonight, you suppose he forgot. The excitement of young minds filled the air, cheerful laughter and jittering tones that spoke too fast. 

The back of the crowd was already making their way into the main ballroom, where all inventors and potential patrons would speak of partnerships and opportunities. Sometimes you wouldn’t even make it to that room, instead heading home after surveying the array of inventions. 

“Has the ranking already been released?” You ask, turning down another aisle. Boots tapping against the tiled floor, you brush down the front of your jacket before continuing. Most things mirrored each other, mostly the same except for a slight difference. It makes you smile, seeing the small things added. A simple touch of a difference that brought out the mind of the inventor. A different paint, a different metal, a different bolt or screw. It was all intentional to them, all things different that make them human. 

“Ah! Indeed! Announced just before your arrival-” He jumps, reaching into his jacket to bring out a piece of paper. It was pristine, decorated with gold and black ink. He handed it to you with a smile, and you looked over it with a raised eyebrow. From left to right, was the ranking, name, age, and small description of each entry. In tiny numbers besides that, was where each person could be found. You briefly look over each description, coming up empty handed on what you were interested in. 

Fourth Place, Ekko ---, 13, ---

Third Place, Powder ---- , 12, ---

Second Place, Jayce ---, 23, ---

First Place, Viktor ---, 24, ---

Your step falters, hand quickly grabbing the edge of the table beside you to right yourself, and you glare at the bolt that slides across the floor. It was a gear, its notches broken and chipped. Heimerdinger hums a light tune under his breath, continuing on his way. He didn’t see you almost fall, didn’t see your eyes narrow and glare at the page in hand before cursing under your breath.

 Shivering, you tilt your head to the side and turn the paper over. The back was filled with an array of the named Patrons, Investors, Mages, anyone who could take a beneficiary. 

In italicised gold ink, was your name.  

Frowning, you glare at Heimerdinger, who continued to make his way to the main room. Perhaps he thought only two rows was enough to look at, he knew what you were here for, after all. 

“I’m done here,” you grumble, turning to leave before Heimerdinger shouts your name, walking quickly down the aisle to meet you once more. Gaze stern, he regards you with a frown, “you just got here, I refuse to let you leave.”

“That’s called kidnapping,” you scoff, trying to walk past, but the Yordle stands in your way. 

“You’re hardly a child, yet with the way you’re acting right now- I can hardly tell the difference.”

You fake a gasp, placing your free hand onto your chest. 

“Heimerdinger, you insult me.”

He ignores you, “you must meet some of the candidates before you leave, who knows- you might find who you’re looking for!”

Sighing deeply, you refuse to look at him, instead turning back around and to stare at the open doors that await you on the other side of the room. You could faintly hear the music that floods through, glasses clinking together as connections are made.

Dropping onto your haunches, you feel your jacket fold behind your knees, puddling around you. His eyes briefly widen, before his hands rest on his hips, beginning to tap against the tiles. 

Holding out the paper, you tap the front, finger brushing along the parchment right next to each name. 

“See these? The names, small descriptions of what they’ve brought?” His eyes flicker, and you can see the gears turning, before he sighs.

“I do, my dear.”

“What is here that will thrive under my apprenticeship?” Heimerdinger's eyebrows relax, the fur atop his lip drooping slightly. He seems to fully deflate for a moment, and then a spark ignites, and he's set alight with a new vigor. 

“If you give a plant no water, will it grow? If you simply look at an unfinished project, how will it come to fruition? You must work for it,” your name is softly spoken, a hand gently placed onto yours. 

“Ha,” you laugh, sarcastic, shaking your head and dropping your arms to rest on bent knees. 

“If I wanted to water a plant, I wouldn’t be here.”

Sighing, he steps closer to grab your free hand once more, his other coming to gently pat the top. 

He was so kind, so gentle with the people around him. All bright colors and curious nature, a mirror to you. Dark colors, disinterested eyes and almost permanent frown.

“Each human is different from the next, you simply have to talk to them. Gage what they want to pursue, and go from there. You’ll find what you’re looking for faster that way, you know.”

Grumbling, you throw him a glare. Standing, you brush off the front of your pants, and turn towards the room once more. Some of the attendees regarded you with curious looks, whispering to their partner while making room for you and Heimerdinger. Others stared with wide eyes, clutching their drink to their chest. 

The room itself was beautiful, an open space once used to present statues and large art pieces. They were moved away, replaced with small tables full of small, bite sized, foods and flutes of champagne. Large windows covered the wall to your right, letting in the sun. Thick, red velvet curtains framed them, golden tassels holding the fabric open. Some were cracked, letting in the clean city air. 

There was a brief moment you hoped you wouldn’t be recognized, but your attire and companion gave you away entirely. 

Piltover was the city of progress, its people dressing as such. With bright colors of gold and white, displaying their house sigils proudly on their own attire, all sparkling and proudly presenting themselves. You didn’t have a house here, didn’t have a name, you didn’t wear Piltover's colors. Keeping your gaze forwards, you try to ignore their intrusive gazes. 

The room itself was chilly, and you reached to pull your jacket tighter around you. It was a deep blue, silver threading and embellishments decorating the front and back. It reached down to your boots, the material slightly billowing behind you as you walked. 

You make your way to the edge of the room, and politely smile at a few young faces who continue to stare. Wearing the academy uniform, you wonder if Heimerdinger would recognize them, but the student body was much too vast now to remember each new face. They each blush, quickly turning back to whoever they were talking to while walking away. Soon, it was only you and Heimerdinger, who continued to smile like nothing was wrong. 

“Why are they looking at me like that?” You ask softly, hands clasping behind your back, paper still in hand. 

Heimerdinger chuckles, “you’re rarely seen in the city, and you wonder why everyone is so curious?”

“I hate being a spectacle,” grumbling, you turn to look at anything else. Trying to ignore the lingering gazes, the whispers that include your name. 

“Maybe,” he gasps, “you should visit more! Oh, now wouldn’t that just be lovely?”

Scowling, you glare, shifting your stance to hiss under your breath, “oh, you’d like that wouldn't you? You little demon.”

He laughs to himself, waving you off, “you just might come to adore the city the longer you frequent. The City of Progress is ever changing, my dear.”

Ignoring him, you try and make out the faces from one another. Some councilors were present, all with a champagne flute in hand as they talked to academy students, other investors, even potential partners that could benefit for their own gain.

One boy, though, all smiling and bright eyed, continued to talk with a small group of students. The one who caught your eye, though, wore the silver medal of second place around his neck. He had a small device in hand, twisting and maneuvering it around to explain to the others how it functioned. Dark hair pushed back haphazardly, tan skin that seemed to glow under the light, he was a handsome young man. 

“What of Jayce-“ you squint, “Jayce Talis?”

Heimerdinger makes a questioning sound, following your line of sight before whistling, the end trailing off, “The beneficiary of House Kiramman, I’m afraid.”

“Hm, not swayable, then?”

He only waves you off, “he seems to be prospering under their care- what of Ekko and Powder?” he’s pointing to a young duo opposite Jayces' group. Sitting at one of the small tables, drinks untouched. They were consumed in a hushed conversation, both staring inquisitively down at an open notebook. Short blue hair stopping just under her shoulders, the young girl bites at her nails. The dress she wore was violet, flowing just past her knees. It matched the pink stripe in her hair perfectly. 

The boy, though, was in an academy uniform, white hair pulled away from his face. Dark skin, kind eyes, his leg tapping anxiously. 

“Ekko and Powder?” You parrot, and Heimerdinger makes a noise in the back of his throat. 

“Best not to separate them,” he stops short, quickly recovering “They work well in tandem, bouncing off each other as if they were small balls of energy. You’d find most progress with both.”

That wouldn’t do; you sigh. Looking back to Jayce’s group, you briefly meet his eyes. A bright hazel that shimmered with energy. He falters in what he was saying, eyes darting between you and Heimerdinger before he frantically looks back to one of his friends. Sighing, you kiss along your teeth. There was no shaking the eyes you would spot in the crowd, clinging to you. They would quickly disappear, blushing and whispering. This part, you hated the most. All the people, staring and whispering. It made you feel small, scrutinized under them. Were some of them judging you for arriving late? Were they wondering when you’d accept a new apprentice? Closing your eyes, you try to level yourself. It wouldn’t do you any good to drag yourself through turmoil. 

“You mentioned a number of them requested an audience?”

“Ah!” he jumps, clapping his hands once, before scurrying away and into the crowd.

You tried to keep yourself steady as student after student was brought to you. Some were smiling, blushing as they offered you their hand politely. The conversations were dragging, them speaking of their ambitions and dreams before being silenced by your raised hand. Some would grow teary, words dying off like the light in their eyes. 

“I’m sorry,” you’d smile, a sympathetic tone wrapping your rejection, “Your ambitions, although bright, do not align with what I’m looking for.”

Some took it better than others, shaking your hand once before departing with disappointed faces and sagging shoulders. Heimerdinger would throw you a glare, ask what was wrong with them, if you were doing it just for spite. Each time, you’d shrug, “they cannot give me what I need, Heimerdinger.”

One girl was promising, Sky Young. She dazzled you with her beauty, crossing her arms and smiling brightly. She had freckles that covered her full cheeks when she spoke, glasses that reflected a dreary image of you. Life danced across her face with each word she spoke, a desire to discover, to create. She offered to show you her ideas, what she had brought as her entry. Her smile didn’t falter when you declined, and for once, you could feel hope dance its way between your ribs. 

Until she mentioned her schooling, and how she’d want to continue innovating and creating. 

With a heavy heart, you reluctantly rejected her. She took it respectfully, dipping her head. 

“I have one more idea, although he did not request an audience,” he sighed, before he departed once more. For, hopefully, the final time tonight. 

Towards the two hour mark, you find yourself standing with your eyes closed, listening to your own breathing and the chatter of conversation around you. The windows had been closed, the sun shining directly through and casting shadows of people along the floor. The music was a repeat of around ten songs, you discovered, and on the seventh song you heard Heimerdinger approaching, the distinctive tapping of a cane following. 

My dear!” Heimerdinger sings, stopping to stand between you both. Smiling forcefully, you ignore the onsetting headache as you look over the man in front of you. Loose pants on long slender legs, a vest that clung to a lithe waist. Fingers that gripped a golden medal, and the pommel of a cane. The ladder made your skin prickle. 

Eyes scanning higher, gliding over the grey tie that fits his throat, brown hair that almost curls around his ears, and dazzling honey gold eyes that stare back at you with unwavering certainty. Shoulders relaxed, the man seemed to be studying you as well. 

“This is Viktor-“ drowning out his voice, you bite down on your tongue. Heat builds across your back, sharp claws digging into your skin to drag its way over your shoulders. Fatigue deep within your bones, you clasp your hands behind your back. 

“A pleasure, truly. Madam?” He smiles, it doesn't reach his eyes. 

Speaking your name plainly, you tilt your head, eyes narrowed, “congratulations on first place. I don’t remember seeing you in attendance last time I was here, are you a new student?”

“Viktor has been my assistant for some time, working under my watchful eye while he completes his studies. Though, he’s one of my top students!”

A hum, and you decide to look at anything but the man in front of you. Stomach turning, you wished for a drink. No doubt, if you could drink the bubbling champagne, you would’ve had five glasses by now. Your head moves towards the windows and when your eyes catch the light, Viktor catches a flash of red tint. He almost shivers, smile wavering and as quickly as you look away, you’re back to watching him intently. 

“Your patron must be proud, working under Heimerdinger personally.”

He waves you off, and Heimerdinger gives you a curious look, gloved hands clasping in front of him, “Viktor has no patron, dear friend.”

Eyebrows rising, you look back at the younger, who was glancing at the painting behind you. Pushing the wings of your coat open, you slide your cold hands into your pockets, paper still in hand. It was folded, now hidden away. You skim your finger over one of four points, pressing it into the pad of your index before retreating.

 “You’ve no patron? Can I ask why?”

It was a first, seeing someone so young without the guidance of a Patron. Every one you had met, were almost all students. They each were vying for one, asking for guidance to help with their research. Viktor, though, had seemingly made it far enough by himself. 

Hands boxing his vest, he only shrugs, “Eh,” he hums, “I find it more fulfilling to work by myself. I simply assist the professor with miniscule tasks when needed.”

You wince, “I apologize on his behalf, then.”

“You insult me! Viktor works diligently and without complaint, thank you,” Heimerdinger gasps, crossing his arms. 

The pair of you chuckle, and before you stop yourself, you find a smile curling around your features, “I commend you, I can barely stay around him for too long before i get a headache.”

“Have you known the Professor long? You speak as if you’re close?”

Your smile falls, and Viktor wonders if he’s spoken out of line. A melancholy look floods your features, and you look to Heimerdinger, “I’ve known him almost my whole life. He’s been a close confidant to me in my times of need, surely as his assistant, you can agree?”

“I can, his guidance has helped me with my personal work.”

“Any success?” You can feel the answer already swelling between you both, and with a disappointed shake of his head, Viktor tenses his shoulders, “Only on paper, the council deems experimentation ‘too soon’”

A small bout of anger pools in your chest, such a brilliant mind, condemned to a rigorous routine of theory after theory, faux solution; one after the other to show a group of councillors, not even proficient in the field of study, what they deem to be ‘safe’. How has such a promising city made so much progress, if minds such as his were forced to sit patiently?

“Isn’t the city of progress supposed to encourage, I don’t know- progress?” Rolling your shoulders back, you give Heimerdinger a pointed look.

“Safety must always come first, dear friend! Not everyone can go into their back yard and ignite an explosion.” He shoots an equally devious expression your way. Viktor clears his throat, shooting Heimerdinger a warning glance. You smirk, and with a tilt of your head you ask teasingly, “have you blown something up, Viktor?”

“My work can sometimes cause an unwanted chain reaction, It’s not as if I want to cause an explosion.”

“‘Sometimes’? Do you regularly almost blow up buildings? What does your work entail for you, hm?”

Cheeks burning, Viktor avoids your eyes, silently cursing the professor for bringing up the select few times an experiment went awry. 

“I want to help the people who need it most, and end the suffering of the common person. My work includes basic machines and tools that could make everyday life more simple, like mine-workers. Why let outdated, faulty machines cause more suffering, when something more reliable and simple can help?”

You're smiling, looking down quickly to slide the toe of your boot across the tiles. It's brief, but it allows you to gather your thoughts, “that’s certainly an ambition.”

“Reminds me of someone, no?” Heimerdinger nudges your leg, and you wave him away. Viktor’s eyes roam your features, “You’re also a scientist?”

“I… used to be, when I was young. Now, I simply provide the necessary equipment for the work to continue. Of course, I oversee it, but I refrain from interfering.” Sliding your hands from your pockets, you flip the now crumpled piece of paper through your fingers. 

“Her apprentices thrive, my boy. You should see the work others have accomplished with the tools she offers!.”

“An apprenticeship?” Viktor looked slightly confused, nose scrunching as he shifted his footing to settle more comfortably. Silent, you nod. Knowingly, you refrained from saying anything else. Your neck was starting to hurt, back aching from standing in one place for so long. 

You could have walked around, mingled with others. Yet, what good would it do? Talking with polite faces that would only speak willfully of you behind your back, fake laughter and fake bonding that would, truly, get you nowhere in this society.

You’d much rather suffer the consequences of stagnation when Viktor looked at you with unhidden emotion. He didn’t try to cover them up with indifference. He bares his emotions without vulnerability, how his eyes narrow and eyebrows furrow, how his nose scrunches in annoyance, how his lips tilt in barely-hidden amusement. You can see it all flicker across his face, moments in time captured by another person’s eyes. It's familiar, you realize, how simple humans truly could be. 

“Mm,” you scrunch your face, not liking the term so carelessly thrown around, “I call it a beneficial agreement.”

“Have you found any success?” Viktor retorts, smiling softly at the way you soften in disappointment. Much like his own, you yearn for a solution.

“I have not, my previous apprentice made great advances in his research. He had a great mind, I wish to find one similar.”

Your friend, though, deemed it a perfect time to raise his own voice, “Would something like that interest you, my boy? I theorize your research would thrive much more with her, rather than me.”

Ice water, poured directly over your head.

“Heimerdinger-“

“Professor-“

Honey gold meets yours, and you promptly raise a hand. It’s familiar how you both regard each other. Too comfortable, you were the one who had to cut it here. 

“While I appreciate the gesture,” a warning issued within the group, blaring red, “I cannot find it within myself to consider someone who isn’t interested in the slightest.”

Viktor bites his cheek. Was he interested? He was secure with his position as Heimerdinger's assistant, yet the idea of being able to thrive in his field without watchful eyes sounded very appealing. Even Heimerdinger himself seemed thrilled at the idea of such a position for him. 

“Who said I wasn’t interested?”

Kissing your teeth, taking a small step backwards, hand settling itself back at your side. 

“Even if you were, I’d have to politely decline.”

Viktor, for once, finds himself at a loss for words. It’s like you’ve completely changed within the second Heimerdinger mentioned the possibility of him working under you.

“Decline? Miss,“ Heimerdinger steps closer, but you send a glare his way. It doesn’t hinder his stubbornness, “Viktor is more than qualified to take on the responsibility!”

“He isn’t-“ you stop short, head tilting as you look him over; Mulling over words that could express how against this you truly were. You look at his shoes, his cane, his chest, and finally his eyes. Curious and inviting, so alive with ambition and determination. 

“He isn’t the right fit.”

Heimerdinger almost laughs, “Right fit? Viktor is my assistant, he has enough determination and willpower to climb the ranks of Piltover! Where others would falter, Viktor thrives. Even with his first time attending, the boy has won first place!”

A sense of pride, Viktor smiles, but your huff of annoyance at the statement makes the emotion fade.

“You’re correct, He’s the assistant to the dean of the academy, doing just fine for himself, as you say.”

“He could be much more, and you know this just as well as I do.”

The beginning of an argument is swelling, both Heimerdinger and you sharing glares and scowls. You’ve taken to crossing your arms, all but ignoring Viktor to turn your attention to the Yordle. Top lip twitching, Heimerdinger almost stomps his foot, “must you make things so difficult?”

You laugh, hands rubbing harshly at your eyes, sarcastically smiling, “first place doesn’t really mean anything, his ambition is too straight forward-”

“My ambition has gotten me this far, miss. If I was willing, I could get farther.”

“So you agree?” gaze narrow, you turn to him with sternness, “you choose to stay stagnant in your current position?”

It's his turn to flare with annoyance, and his eyebrows furrow, “No, I choose to benefit from my current position.”

“The boy is learning, absorbing the information that he gets his hands on. Working under you, he would be exposed to a plethora of material- he would rise higher than he ever could working under me.”

You raise a hand, and suddenly Heimerdinger breathes a heavy sigh, “Viktor, you have a brilliant mind, and a unique outlook. Yet, you do not fit the qualification I’ve set for the position.”

“My dear-” you pointedly glared, and he fell silent, “I wish you the best of luck in your research, now if you’ll excuse me gentleman, I have overstayed my welcome.”

Ignoring the calls of your name, you make your way back to the front of the building. Someone tries to step in your path, but with a tilt of your shoulder you easily slide past them, shortly turning them down with a not-so-pleasant glare. 

You had lost yourself in how easy-going it was to converse with Viktor, almost forgetting why you were there in the first place. In reality, he was the most promising individual you’ve come across. Yet, you couldn’t find it within yourself to take him from the place he thrives most. He wanted to change the city for the better, pursuing actual innovation. How could Heimerdinger cast upon you the decision to ask him to leave his home? To cast aside his well earned position?

Your carriage was still waiting patiently among the others. The sun was starting to set, casting golden rays through the trees that lined the street. There was a man on stilts slowly walking down the street, lighting the lamps that stood tall.  The footman smiles when seeing you, opening the door and offering you his hand. 

Settling yourself down in the uncomfortable seating, you look over the paper, crumpled and folded one to many times. The edges were worn with your fiddling, and slowly you unfold it to look over the seemingly never ending list of names. 

First place, Viktor —-

There's a small sliding door that sits between you and the coachman, a little bigger than the size of your hand. Silver hinges with small ornate detailing, and a matching silver latch that swung side to side during the bumpy rides. It slides open smoothly, green eyes and white bushy eyebrows gaze back with a softness akin to a grandfather.

“Where to, my lady?”

Clearing your throat, swallowing thickly, you toss the paper onto the seat beside you. Relaxing, you breathe deeply and take one final look at the museum, “take me home.”

“As you wish, my lady”

------

Your home was large enough to house a great family, yet only you remained. The halls were dark, two wings once occupied with life. Now, only a few rooms from each were used. The library was full of unread books, your laboratory untouched by your hands for years. Your office was where you mainly resided. In front of the windows that climbed up to your ceiling, filling the room with dimmed light that cascaded over the misty hills. The estate's walls were cold, its occupants bundling with layers to defend themselves from sickness. You’ve grown used to it, but your staff still wandered around with pink noses and thick shawls. 

One member of the staff, Miss Aleena, was one of the few who remained. Her grey eyes regarded you with warmth, wrinkles and tired smile showing her years. She was slower, yet still refused to rest. She continued with her work day after day, and sometimes kept you company during her downtime. She made her way around your office easily, stepping over thrown books and crumpled pieces of paper. All to set a wine glass on your desk, though what filled it was not wine. 

“Three animals today, my lady. Deer, fox, or rabbit?”

You hum, still gazing at the rolling hills. The glass was held together with silver framing, a thick set of curtains hanging from the ceiling and pooling on the carpeted floor. Holding out your hand, you wait until she picks the glass back up to set it into your hand. The surface was painted with flowers, all faded. You lift it to your nose, sniffing once before grimacing. 

“Rabbit.”

She chuckles, reaching out to tap your cheek. You almost wave her away, but these were moments you rarely receive. To have another person touch you, human warmth was like no other. 

Spinning in your chair, you set the glass back down and slouch, rubbing harshly at your eyes. Miss Aleena makes her way to the chair that sits in front of your desk, slowly descending with a huff. She doesn’t say anything, rarely does. Instead, she lets you fill the silence with whatever words you want. Her hair, salt and pepper, was pulled back from her slim face. Grey eyes comforting as they watch you, never judging. 

“I’m not thirsty.”

You were lying, of course. The churning of your stomach was the dead give away, and she raises an eyebrow at you in retort. Slowly, you reach out to grab the glass once more, raising it to take a small sip. 

Blood tastes different with each animal. Rabbit, for example, was sweeter than deer, yet more tart than fox. It starts as a treat, warm and inviting, until you swallow and are greeted with the kick at the end. Wincing, you groan. Shivering at the taste, you take another small drink. It was never good to drink too much at a time, you’ve learned the hard way. 

“I don’t know why the gods forsake me,” you grumble, “I ask for a simple thing. One thing, yet time and time again I’m rejected and turned away. Something is always blocking this path, and for whatever reason, I cannot get past it.”

“Maybe it’s something you shouldn't pursue,” her timid voice responds, and you shake your head. Center of your lips stained red, you cross your legs. 

“Do you know what it's like to live for 800 years?”

She smiles, “I know what it’s like for 73.”

“Its a living torture,” you smirk, and she hums. “I cannot sleep, cannot eat or drink what you do. I cannot fall in love, I cannot feel happiness-”

“And why is that, my lady?”

You huff, chest squeezing, “it is a fleeting thing, happiness, love. A human can love their entire life, and feel fulfilled by the end. Humans have the pleasure of an ending, while I live in a purgatory specifically designed for me. No matter how hard I try, I simply cannot die.”

You take another drink, looking over the small pile of papers still left on your desk. Requests and letters signed with black ink mock you, the dates in the top corners taunting. 

“Tell me, then,” she requests, “when you’ve fallen in love.”

The question makes your shoulders tense, flashes of memories blinking past your eyes. Years upon years of memories, yet they all boil down to moments in your life. 

“I-” you clear your throat, “I can’t remember what love feels like. I suppose feelings fade with time,” you look down into your glass, your reflection staring back. 

Miss Aleena sighs, “my dear, I may not be as old as you, but I am still old. I know what love looks like,” she stands from her chair, brushing off the front of her dress. 

“Indulge me, what does it look like?”

“It looked like that gleam in your eyes, my lady.”

Head tilting, you watch a smile creep across her face. Chuckling, you rub your thumb along the top of your hand, cold as always. Miss Aleena reached out, gesturing to your almost empty cup, “would you like a refill?”

You shake your head, and watch as she turns to make your way back to the door. Spinning, you turn your gaze back to the misty hills, how the sun tries to break through, and tries to wrap a golden blanket around the trees that border your land. 

“Maybe I should just have you find me someone.”

Miss Aileena laughed, old and tired, she sounded like her mother, “I think that’s a terrible idea.”

“How so? You’re a great observer, and you follow my instructions without retort!” 

“I don’t know much about science, my lady. If I were to bring someone in, you would find something inadequate.”

She was right, and you knew it. 

The door opens, and a male voice clears his throat. You almost groan, instead you rest your elbow on the arm of your chair, supporting your head on a clenched fist. 

“My lady?” It was Benedict, who’s voice matched his appearance. Silky and smooth, all fine cursive lines that dance across his body. You can hear his smile as he looks at Miss Aleena.

“Ah, hello nana,” he says softly, before the door creaks and he coughs. 

“What is it, Benedict?” Nails tapping, your head rolls to rest against the chair. His body straightens, green eyes roaming over your desk. His cheeks were pink, and he sniffled before speaking.

“You have a visitor- I told him you didn’t take guests, but he was very adamant on seeing you.”

Your tongue lightly grazes your canines, feeling the sharp points. You can barely remember the last time you used them, opting for your kitchen to hunt and gather your drinks. 

They, your hunter, would leave in the morning when the dew still clung to the grass. They’d gather enough animals to last the following week, put them in the freezer, and then go back to their home in the village. Of course, you offered housing here, but it only took them one look at the vine covered rocks to politely decline. 

“How adamant?” You tease, hearing Benedict huff, his clothes rustling.

“He said he wouldn’t leave until he had an audience with you.”

“Hm,” you muse, using your foot to sway the chair back and forth slightly. 

“Let him in, then”

Benedict nods, shaggy hair falling in front of his eyes as he backs from the room, heavy steps receding down the hallway. Miss Aileen’s heels click across the wood as she crosses the room, picking books up from the floor and setting them gently back onto your desk. 

It takes a moment, but soon you can hear the incoming tap of a cane, and the hushed voices from beyond your closed door. 

Hair raising, you refuse to turn in your chair as the door opens once more. Tensing, you can feel your chest clench until his voice tears through the room- assertive and commanding. 

“You have to have a certain kind of nerve to accuse me of not being qualified enough to work under you.”

Your hand drops from your chin, hanging over the arm. Finger running across the tips of your nails, you refrain from sighing.

“What are you doing here, Viktor?”

“I simply find it unacceptable to push me aside and call me unqualified to work under you simply because of my status and ability to do what is required,” his tone is accusatory, anger surrounding him. Slowly, you find your eyebrows furrowing. Your head drops to the side, and you look at him from over your shoulder, chair slightly turned as to not hurt your neck. 

His cheeks are flushed, eyebrows pinched together in anger as he leans against his cane. Miss Aileen stands to the side, eyes wide as she looks at him. His golden eyes falter when they meet yours, flickering between your dazzling gaze. When you turn the chair more, the sun that barely peaks through the clouds catches them, red shining through briefly. 

It makes him shiver, how predatory your gaze was. 

“Miss Aileen, please give us the room,” you don’t break eye contact, instead turning the chair so you face him fully. It gives him the charm to look you over, from your relaxed attire to the red tint that stains your lips. 

Makeup? No, he thinks, your attire betrays the need for makeup. You were home, relaxed enough to not find the need for it. Eyes flicker to the desk, landing on the almost empty glass. 

Ah, the wine. 

“Say again?”

He huffs, feeling that anger flare in his stomach and he stands tall once more, why was he here? He didn’t quite know, following that gut instinct to follow you and prove that he was right for the role he still knew nothing about. 

 “I have worked too hard to get where I am today to simply be pushed aside due to prejudice from a person whom I’ve never even met-“

“You think prejudice is the reason for my rejection?” There’s a flicker of disappointment, a sadness that festers behind it. You sigh, rubbing at your eyes before sitting up in your chair, “Viktor, listen,” your voice is softer this time, sharp edge dulled. 

“You want to create things, bring goodness to the world. My task is the complete opposite-“

“How can you come to that conclusion when you haven’t even asked me for my opinion on the matter? For a scientist, you come to conclusions rather abruptly.”

Shoulders sagging, you reach out and grasp your wine glass, the thick liquid-

Thick liquid?

Viktor watches as you take a sip, the sides of the glass stained a deep ruby red as it settles back at the bottom. It’s crimson, shining in the light and the true answer to what sits in the glass whispers itself in his ear softly. 

“Is that blood?”

You smile, a sad tilt of lips, raising the glass in a congratulation before setting it back down. You push yourself from the chair, silk gown dancing around you like a breeze, it makes it seem like you are floating, gliding your way around the desk to lean against it. 

“If it is? What would you do, Viktor?”

His breath catches in his throat, and he mulls over what he could possibly say. 

“If I told you, my life goes against the natural order, would you believe me?”

Your hands brace behind you, feet crossing at the ankles as you regard him with a glint in your eyes. You're assessing him. Watching as his eyes flicker around you, watch as he tenses, jaw clenching. Watch as his hand grips the pommel of his cane just a little tighter, how he leans away from you. 

“Since you think yourself qualified, I’ll give you my symptoms and you come up with a theory as to what I am cursed with,” you spit the words. Viktor finds himself nodding, going against his own natural order as you push away from the desk. Making your way to the tall book shelf that lined the walls, your fingers skin across the fabric spines of book after book. Shoes muted by the carpet, you move silently. 

“I cannot sleep, I cannot get sick, from what you’ve just noticed; I drink blood.” Slowing, you curl your finger around the top of a book, pulling it gently from its place. It was almost fully black, silver edging flaking off. A red piece of ribbon, frayed at the end, was hanging from the top edge. A book mark ready for use, he guessed. 

“I live longer than normal humans, and I cannot die.”

Silence, and you refrain from moving from the wall of books. You seem to fit in perfectly, a timeless beauty. Yet, as he looks away to gaze back at the cup of blood, he sighs. 

“Common, Viktor,” you whisper, teasing, “you were so vocal earlier. What happened?”

“I shouldn’t have come here,” he murmurs, taking a step back because now you’re right in front of him. Holding that book out for him to take, “no, you shouldn’t have. Now, you have to face the consequences of your own pride.”

Hesitant, he takes the book, looking over the cover and when he registers the words sewn into the fabric he almost laughs.

“A vampire?”

“Mm,” you hum, crossing your arms as you make your way back to your desk, leaning back. He tilts the book, letting it fall open to a random page. He briefly reads over it, pictures hand drawn, cursive words in a foreign language underneath. The paper was tinged yellow, wrinkled on the edges like it’d been thrown into a bath of water and then dried again. 

“An immortal scientist passing down knowledge through their apprentices, what an ambition,” he mocks your words, snapping the book shut and looking back up. You’re frowning, and after turning your upper body to grab the glass, you twist it to allow the little remaining liquid to coat the sides. Faded blue flowers in front of a wave of blood, you don't look at him anymore, shoulders slumped. 

“I don’t teach them, I simply have a task for them to complete. In return, they’re given access to my abundance of gathered knowledge.”

“And what is this task I’m so unqualified for, exactly?”

“Viktor,” you sigh, eyes closing. He can feel his chest squeeze, and he breathes deeply before continuing, “how do you know I’m unwilling to help you?”

“Help me? Viktor, if you had the opportunity to create death, would you?”

“Death?” His eyebrows furrow, and when you nod he can slowly see the pieces falling into place. The book feels heavy in hand, his thumb gently rubbing across the indented words that title the front. 

The Known Ways Of Vanquishing A Vampire

“I want to die, and I cannot touch the tools that will create it. I need someone to do it for me, so I’ll ask again; if you had the opportunity to create death, would you?”

His brain tells him to decline. His whole life, he’s sworn to help people survive. To bring them longer life, to cure them of the hindrance that plagues them. Yet, his gut urges him to look at you. To see what you truly looked like, he can see your fatigue. He can see how your shoulders slouch, how slow you really move. To others, you were a monster. A demon who comes at night to drink their bodies dry. To him, in the moment, he simply saw a woman cursed. Forever to wander, never to truly rest. 

“Are you suffering?” His voice is quiet. Lips lifting, you nod once, “yes, Viktor.”

Fingers tapping once against his cane, his gut overrides his brain, and he speaks his decision into the air with a stern voice. 

“Then I will help you.” 

Although there’s hesitation clinging to you, you speak with a soft voice, “let’s get started then, shall we?”

Want to be tagged? comment or send a message! ill gladly tag you <3

[xelbleedsglitter]

@look-back-month-challenge asks: Do you have any playsets?

I have 4 things I count as playsets and I fucking LOVE all 4.

Dream Castle, my absolute obsession from age 5, which I obtained my sophmore year in college, rode home with on public transit, and kept in my tiny dorm. When I finally got to live on my own years and years later I made sure that Dream Castle had a permanent on display position as a rebellion against many things. It is very important.

Esmeralda's Festival Tent from The Hunchback of Notre Dame, which I was so consumed with when I was 9 or 10. Didn't get one until I was 30, maybe? It usually hosts my Esmeralda dolls, but I cleared them out for this. The accessories in here came with the tent (and include a KNIFE :D) but are actually the items in Quasimodo's sanctuary. Seems they were quickly repurposed when the marketing for this movie was like holy shit let's just pivot to the festival no one can know that this is grim as hell haha

PARADISE ESTATE, the playset of playsets. Currently lives with all of its pieces in its original box in my closet because it is too large to display fully out like it is in the other photo on the regular, but I dream of a day where I can just have it on display. It's enormous, it's absurd, it doesn't make sense at all as a playset for My Little Pony, I got a deal on it that I still sometimes think might not be real and it will get taken away, it is magnificent.

1967 World of Barbie House, which I bought from some lady from Facebook Marketplace in a mall parking lot. I frequently take pictures of my new dolls in here. I lovingly and adoringly call it my psychedelic dream house, it is filled with retina searing Joy.

My Beloveds 🥲

[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

[loveanddeephistory]

Rafayel with a Witchy MC

I sent @poisonf0rest an ask talking about this but as someone who's on the spiritual side, I can't stop thinking about how funny it would be for someone who works with different deities to find out their boyfriend was one. So this is incredibly self indulgent and niche.

Not proofread, this is specifically for shits and giggles.

WC: 1.2k

divider by @thecutestgrotto

Everyone's got their beliefs and little practices. Tara does tarot readings without anyone batting an eye, Xavier will pray at a shrine with others, and you have a full practice. As accepting as Linkon is, you know outright witchcraft was a little out of the norm

You keep it chill. You have an altar and keep it clean, honor your ancestors where appropriate, visit shrines, leave offerings. You have your main patron but you're not stingy with your respect.

You keep it on the down low, though. You discuss how sassy your tarot deck is getting with you around Tara in public leave it at that.

When you get into a relationship with Rafayel? You know you have to come out of the (broom) closet eventually, but you start slow.

You discuss some tarot readings where he showed up, to which Rafayel expresses interest. Unless it's bad, then he scoffs.

"What would a stack of cards know about us >:("

You add in some herbal knowledge, maybe drop hints about deity work

But then Ebb and Flow happens. Finding out your boyfriend is basically a merman makes you feel a looooot less guilty about dabbling in magic and not telling him.

Shortly after you just come out and say it, he isn't surprised, but you can't help but catch a weird glint in his eye. Like a fleeting glimpse of deja vu.

Things smooth out from there. With these big secrets off both your chests you move on. You're pleasantly surprised to find him showing off his own knowledge of magic over time, teasingly cursing you in Lemurian, showing his knowledge of tarot during an abyssal chaos commission, and eventually revealing he, too, is a god.

As shocked as you are, it makes sense. He makes your hair stand on end the same way other presences do during a prayer or ritual. At first you chalked it up to how he always made your heart flutter, but look at him. Look at him and say you aren't surprised he's divine.

The first time he visits your place is what surprises both of you the most.

Your altar is in a private space and he doesn't go out of his way to snoop (to your knowledge), but you do catch him staring at the statue of your patron deity.

"Y/N." His voice, melodic as always, was tense. "Tell me that isn't what I think it is." You turned, peering into the corner of the room where your small altar lay. It was humble, a couple of dried flower petals, a bowl for offerings, and the statue. You shrug.

"It's an altar."

"Yeah. And it isn't for me." He turned to you, a look akin to absolute betrayal on his face. You poked his cheek.

"Yeah, well, last I checked you're my boyfriend. What are you first? My boyfriend, or my god?" He immediately opened his mouth, ready to answer. But he paused. He lifted a finger to his chin, breaking eye contact. The silence hung in the air for a few moments as he attempted to puzzle the answer for himself.

"Both...?"

"I'm not gonna lie, wouldn't that make us have a huge power imbalance?" You kept teasing him, even as that bottom lip jutted out.

"No, you still have the bond, it's not like I'm gonna force you to do anything." There's the pouty fishie you know and love. He seemed almost genuinely distraught that you were paying attention to other gods. "But isn't this, like... cheating? Or something?"

"If that were true, I started working with these gods long before I knew who you were." You chastised right back. He was immediately ready to argue with you, but caught himself before he could. He groaned.

"Okay. Whatever. Just- make me one, too. I wanna be included."

And thus, the hunt for proper tools for a sea themed new altar began. The first part was easy, repurposing some of Rafayel's gifts. The jar full of sand and seashells was first to go on, along with a beautiful blue scarf he got you for an altar cloth. A little ceramic bowl he made became the offering bowl. Rafayel gifted you seashells with the expectation that they be placed on his altar, and you were happy to oblige. You found out his favorite scents for designated candles.

You were tempted to get a designated oracle deck for him, but he talked you out of it.

"If you want my advice on something, just call me, cutie." He was quick to flick your forehead as well. While you'd received the spiritual equivalent of a Gibbs slap from ancestors and deities before, this was a new ride in and of itself.

Oh, but it was wholeheartedly mutual. You couldn't just date a god and not banter back. You couldn't just sever the relationships you did have, nor did you want to, so you still spent time with your patron deity. A prayer here, a reading there, an offering where appropriate.

Every. Single. Time. Without fail. Rafayel would call or text you.

You had just lit some incense, leaving a bowl full of fruit for the deity, clasping your hands and murmuring your prayer before your phone loudly began to ring. You recognized the song you had set up for your beloved, so you answer your phone.

"I know that isn't for who I think it's for, is it?" There was no greeting. No 'hello love of my life', no 'hi cutie', just straight to sharply asking about the offering.

"I was just about to get to yours! I light incense for you, you know, if you want fruit I'll buy you some and come by Whitesand."

"Cutieeeee, I should be your patron, not them! I'm your boyfriend and your god!"

"Well technically since I'm not a Lemurian-"

"No. It counts." He came off a little sharper than intended, you could tell by his immediate sigh. "It counts." His voice softened. "You're still my follower."

"I am, yes, I am your follower. I am also your partner and beloved bodyguard. If you really want my prayers, I can just call or text you. If you want offerings, I can swing by with some takeout for dinner?" You glanced at the incense burning, the scented smoke filling the room in the most satisfying way. The smoke began to curl and shift. It seemed aquatic.

And from that alone you knew why you felt the air shift. You smiled, speaking gently into your receiver. "I got that oceanic incense you recommended the other day, baby. Want me to burn it while I place the order?"

"... yes, please."

Your other deities were rarely so polite. Though, of course, you weren't dating them. Your dynamics were different. They could be sassy through tarot cards, or the flame of a candle spitting back at you when you went to extinguish it. Rafayel could just be sassy to your face. That perfect bottom lip jutting out as his ears turned red.

Rafayel was unlike any god you had every worked with. But something about him felt familiar anyway. So you lit his incense, put it in his incense holder, on his altar. Pictures of the two of you decorating it, his gifts littered about, signs of his affection for you everywhere.

And as you stood in awe at the altar of his devotion, the air stilled. You would be in his arms soon enough, with an offering of takeout and your prayers of devotion spoken directly into his ears, trailed down his bare chest, wrapping around his body in the devotion of a darling devotee. But for now, you could still feel the air shift. You could practically feel his arms around you already.

[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.”

[deadlysoupy]

tfe bee before realizing he had a crush just kinda. instinctively wing fluttering and hanging around starscream the few times they see each other. it's so funny bc bee isn't even conscious of it and starscream is staring at bee's wings just barely flickering back and forth and is having an intense mental argument with himself over whether bee is flirting or not

little does starscream know that, a little while in and before he realizes he has a crush, his own wings are doing the same thing

this one was sooooo nice to write <3 thank you for the request!!!

for clarification i placed this somewhere loosely after s2/s3 (after star gets out of prison) and fits into my starbee fic... somewhere. after a while. anyway don't worry about continuity :) all is well in the world :)

(Read here on AO3)

Scrap, these are way heavier than I thought they would be, a thought quickly passes in Bumblebee's processor before he's fighting his own frame for balance — his pedes stumble a few steps as he scoops up a stack of about three dozen storage-free datapads. They just got a new shipment, and Bumblebee needs to deliver these to the library before anyone searches for them.

When Bee makes his way through the corridors of their HQ, — repurposed from G.H.O.S.T., because why would they keep it around gathering dust? — he only catches a glimpse of Starscream before the mech turns to him from the lab. Upon seeing him, the flier's lip plates curve in delight.

"Bumblebee," he sings, his own servos full of datapads and hastily written notes. Wheeljack is muttering something in the lab still, but now Bumblebee's full attention is on Starscream. He seems much happier these days, but who even knows why. Though Bumblebee doubts he's pretending.

"Hi," he smiles, too, because frag if Star's grin isn't contagious. "Going somewhere?"

"I might be," Starscream's optics sparkle under this light, "Might even accompany you, as it were."

Bee readjusts his grip on the datapads slipping from his grasp. "Read me like a book, huh?"

And there it is — the subtle twitching of Starscream's wings when Bee makes a stupid joke, ones Star sometimes calls "right out of Prime's mouth", and, yeah, Bumblebee can't really argue with that. The movement of Star's wings, particularly their tips, is very hard to notice unless one's actively looking for it.

Luckily, Bumblebee is good at noticing hidden details. Comes with the job.

If he's more prone to paying attention to Starscream, more than some other mechs, he doesn't mule it over. Starscream is just one of those bots who's nice to look at. For no reason. 

Despite the Seeker's groan and wing fluttering, the smile on his faceplate doesn't leave for a second. "The energon isn't far from the mine after all."

Bumblebee has to do processor gymnastics to catch Starscream's mannerisms. "You mean "the apple doesn't fall far from the tree"?"

Starscream shrugs. "Ours is better. What's an "apple", anyway?"

"It's— you've never seen an apple before?"

"I just… haven't been outside for very long! You know I've been busy!"

"Trying to terraform Earth into Cybertron, yeah, I know, I've been there. I should take you outside more."

"…perhaps you should."

~~

In the end, he and Bumblebee stay at the library for longer than they anticipated.

After Bumblebee drops off the new datapads, he joins Starscream at the table where he laid out all his recent research on space travel. He and Wheeljack have been trying to figure out how to restore the Cyberbridge to its original state, their now two heads working better than one.

The Autobots are clearly understaffed — at this point they should probably take in the brainy green one from the Terrans, as an intern. Starscream has the feeling they'd be rather excited about the idea.

"So, how's the tech work coming along?" Bumblebee leans on the table with a servo cupping his cheek. Starscream can't deny: it's rather cute.

"Not fast enough, if you ask me," he says with full honesty. It's pointless to keep secrets from a bot like Bumblebee: he's either going to fish them out himself, or the others share willingly. He just has that superpower.

Bee taps a digit on his cheek and hums. "I guess you can't rush these things. We all want to go back to Cybertron as soon as possible, but science takes time," the Autobot gives Starscream a dazzling grin, and Starscream's spark pumps energon two times faster. "Just gotta be patient. You can do it, Star, I know you can."

Words of affirmation don't sit right with Starscream. It has taken him years to beat into his system, — sometimes literally, — that the one making a positive comment is being pretentious or trying to snake their way into his space for benefits, to use him.

It took Bumblebee just a few weeks to make Starscream utterly blush at kindness and compliments. These days, the reaction is immediate.

So Starscream covers his hot faceplate with a servo to save at least some of his dignity. "Y-yes, of course, Wheeljack is an excellent lab partner, even if he's… eccentric at times."

"Oh, I'm sure he is," Bumblebee smirks as if he didn't just attempt to blow up Starscream's entire processor. "I, for one, am glad you're keeping him occupied. The walking "crazy scientist" cliche got me out of many tight spots, but some of those tight spots have been caused by him, so," the Autobot shrugs, and turns his attention to Starscream again. "What are you working on right now?"

Seeing as Bumblebee was the one to wonder it first, Starscream goes all out on explanations and technical details, for a brief moment forgetting Bumblebee's oblivion to it.

But it gives Starscream an opportunity to see Bee's latest change. Starscream isn't sure if he's the one causing it, but Bumblebee's wings move more frequently when he and Starscream are talking. The grounder has a soft expression on his face, optics half-shut, a smile that could almost be described as "loopy", his wings tilted to the ground. On the occasional new sentence, they flutter ever so, like the ears of a turbofox.

Neither of them draw attention to it, and Starscream tries to be extra careful not to glance at them when he sees movement behind Bee's back.

It could just be their little secret. One Starscream might not share with Bumblebee, if he's lucky. And lucky he could be.