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nothing to say when heaven falls | Drew Starkey x black!reader
summary: what can you do when the person that’s supposed to understand and be on your side chooses to doubt your fears?
Word count: 1388
a/n: not edited, we die like soldiers!!!!! pls let me know if you wish to be added to my taglist
"How can't you see how disrespectful this is to me, Drew?" You ask with a strained voice and teary eyes. "Everywhere you go she's looming like a shadow."
"She's my friend, what do you want me to do?" Exasperated, he asks.
"I don't know. Maybe tell her that your fiancé doesn't feel comfortable with her following you around, traveling abroad to see you or fuck, being all fucking touchy and handsy with you in public."
My throat was burning as the words slipped my mouth but I simply couldn't avoid it any longer. I am so tired of this whole situation and it has been going on for far too long. I just can't hold it back anymore.
"Can't exactly tell her what to do," he rolled his eyes this time.
"Really? Am I really asking for that much?" I look at the man in front of me with disbelief, "I just want to feel like I'm not invisible in my own goddamn relationship. She sees you more than I do and I am the one with a ring on my finger. How is this fair?"
"Babe, listen, there's nothing going on between me and her. You have to believe me," he pleads as he runs his hands through his hair.
"You don't think I'm trying to believe you? I'm in the trenches everyday telling myself this over and over again, but how can I turn a blind eye to it when the first thing I see whenever I'm online is that you're both coincidently in the same city. For the millionth time."
I know that pulling this out in the open this way isn't the best option. But how could I keep bottling all of this up when it's causing such a heavy pain in my chest every time I see their names together?
It was always clear the perks of dating a public figure and I never backed out on it. Now seeing the man who asked me to spend the rest of my life with him and have his babies walking around with the woman everyone swears he was romantically involved with is messed up.
“I don’t know what you want me to do,” he admits as he walks away from me.
That felt like a punch. Because how could I make it anymore obvious? Do I have to draw it to a thirty year old why he should respect the woman he chose to propose to?
“Are you for real right now?” I asked as I follow him into the kitchen of our shared apartment. “Did you really just said that to me, Joseph?”
At this point it felt like there was no going back anymore, either this was going to be totally fixed here or it wouldn’t at all. The bandaid was ripped and the wound was open and burning.
“How can you be so dull? You really can’t see what the problem here is?”
I watch as he fills a glass with water and turns his back to me. He did it twice already. The off white walls of the kitchen lacked the warm they always brought when we were in it together. It felt claustrophobic and like the roof was going to fall over our heads at any given minute.
“You’re acting like I’m cheating on you. Like this is some major fuck up. It isn’t, you’re turning it into something it isn’t.” His tone was cold but looking at his posture it was clear that he was trying to maintain his calm.
The condescending tone in his voice made me want to shrink into myself and hide away from the world.
“Oh, right. Yeah, blame it on me for thinking that my fiancé going out of his way to be with his ex fuck buddy isn’t normal.”
“Careful,” he warns once finally looks at me.
“Or what, Drew? What else could you possibly do that will make me feel worse than I already do?” I challenge, my gaze locked on him as I wait.
After a few minutes of us staring down at each other, he shakes his head and sighs.
“I’m not doing whatever this is. I’m done entertaining this,” he declares and he leans against the countertop.
Drew and I met around two years ago through a mutual friend. We instantly hit off and after a few dates, he officially asked me to be his girlfriend - which I obviously accepted. We had this instant connection that isn’t common. At first I was terrified of it, I knew who he was and the fact that his life was always being scrutinized by thousands of people. I knew what people said online about him and as we got closer and closer I couldn’t help but lose myself in the speculations about him even more.
Our relationship was great and we always made sure that each others boundaries were respected, so color me stoked to be in this situation right now. I am not dumb and every single day there is a needle pinching me making me think of stuff and situations like the one we find ourselves right now just indulge those thoughts.
In the early days of our relationship we made sure there were no secrets between us and past relationships. I knew I was his first black girlfriend, I knew he was born and raised in the South too. So joining that and the fact that I am an immigrant did make me scared of a lot of things, the main of them being the fact that it isn’t uncommon at all for men to always find their way back to that they are used to.
So seeing her upon him all the time while people online barely know about our relationship feels like hell. Because even though I’m in family pictures that his sisters post online, and the very visible ring on my finger I am never considered the option of being his significant other. She is. Every single time. And he never did anything about it - hell, he never even set boundaries with her and she knows that we’re together. Am I really reading too much into things?
Being three months away from our wedding day, this isn’t the kind of thought or conversations I would like to be having. I should be fucking excited and dress hunting, but lately the only thing that I feel like doing is swallowing lumps and holding back tears, faking smiles and pretending I’m fine. I’m not, I’m fucking falling apart and I’m so tired of begging to be seen.
“I don’t know how else to tell you that I am not comfortable with this and that you shouldn’t be either,” I point out as the first tear cross the edges of my cheeks. “I don’t know how else to ask you to respect our relationship.”
“I respect our relationship, I always did. I just don’t think that what you’re saying right now makes any sense. Whatever I had with her in the past is over.” He says as he runs one of his hands through his face.
“Drew, honey, you’re not seeing things from my point of view. Imagine if it was me catching planes every other day to be with someone that I was involved in with in the past. And all of our friends know that you and I are together. How would that make you feel?”
At that he says nothing but silence can mean many things, and in this case it means consent.
Tired of this back in forth conversation, I reach for my phone that was besides his on the counter and as if the timing couldn’t be more right, the screen of his phone lights up with an incoming call. No surprise flashes through my features as I see the picture on the caller id, both of them in a mirror picture as they brush their teeth.
“I can’t do this anymore,” I confess watching as he reaches for his phone quickly declining the call. “Not when you’re up to your eyeballs into whatever this is. I’ll make the calls tomorrow and cancel the dates with the venue.”
I grab my phone and my purse and I walk towards the front door before he can say anything else, I’m closing it behind me.
#drew starkey#drew starkey x black reader#drew starkey x female reader#drew starkey x reader#drew starkey x y/n#drew starkey x you#obx#rafe smut#rafe x you#rafe imagine#rafe cameron x you#rafe cameron x reader#rafe cameron#x black reader#x black fem reader#obx fanfiction#obx s4
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Threesome with male reader being spitroasted
Just some Halloween spit roasting thoughts with ghost and König~! ૮꒰⸝⸝> ̫ <⸝⸝꒱ა
WC:. 1.1k
This is just a short little rant and I couldn’t think of any better characters than these giants! @lazyenthusiastbear-blog <33
Thinking bout a small Halloween party at the base, just a few task force members nothing big but soon you find yourself sitting between The ghost and König whilst wearing some slutty vampire costume oh grabbed last minute from the nearest Halloween store, your chest practically exposed with you having in a pair of cheap fangs looking back between the two men seeing them both rock hard in their cargo pants letting you know just what they wanted.
You don’t even have time to get those plastic fangs out of your mouth before you have ghost in front of you jumping his crotch to your jaw while König works you from the back by slipping down your costume pants leaving your ass exposed to the both of them, König just anxiously grabbing your ass cheeks and pinching them extra tight before giving little smacks, not using hardly any force out of fear of not wanting to hurt you.
Ghost just pulling out his cock slapping you against your cheek almost egging you on while muttering words like “come on take what I give you [name]” while pushing his fat tip to your lip and making you make out with it before he pushes it inside your mouth, ghost will have you in the men’s dorms making you beg to suck him off while König rubs you soothingly from behind before prepping you up enough to get himself buried inside your rim, König being the gentle giant he is whispers out in a whiny tone “can I please enter you?~”
König fucking you like a bear laying on your back squishing you to the crappy bunk beneath making you gag and choke on Simon the whole time, swallowing down the salty pre come that Simon gave you while your stomach bulges and bloats from the little bulge König gives you making you feel like you’re being torn apart and impaled, rolling your eyes back with your fangs grazing ghosts cock. Making a slick mess of your face ruining your makeup and getting fake blood from your lips all over Simon’s cock but he couldn’t care less.
König holding your hips pulling you backwards instead of thrusting into you he lazily pulls you back and forth onto his cock with the occasional rock of his hips moaning on and on to ghost “es geht ihm so gut” in his native tongue, spitting words incoherently all drunk off the way your rim puckers around him and milks out load after load leaving come oozing down your thighs onto the army green sheets trying to shut you up so none of the other task force members walk in, specially not price.
Ghost holding your chin up looking down through his skull mask watching the copious amounts of spit coming from your ruined mouth, watching how you scrunch your nose up nice and tight when his seed shoots across your face sticking to your lashes while you hold your mouth open getting a generous amount on your tongue and fangs, not even bothering complaining about the lieutenant ruining your makeup, how could you when you’re too focused on König railing and plowing you from behind while one large hand holds your balls and palms them the whole time rearranging your guts.
König swapping places with ghost having you on your back with your throat bulging from the outline of the German man’s cock, your cheeks full like a chipmunk while ghost pulverizes your already gaping hole, König being gentle with your face barely rocking his hips back and forth while ghost lets out silent grunts like a animal in heat. Both their masks still on using you like their own boy-toy while ghost looks down whispering hazy degrading comments “one cock ain’t enough for you is it? What a Greedy little fucking boy we have here don’t we König”
ghost holding your hips half off the bunk angle ohh your hips upwards while he fucks you making sure every spot inside your ass gets assaulted by his cock, making you listen to how you squelch from the other man’s come, making sure you feel every little groove and ridge in his dick when he pulls out slowly and slams back inside you holding you on your back with your knees to your chest in a mating press nearly in salty tears when König finishes in your mouth making you gulp down the hot liquid while looking upwards at König, watching his eyes while he groans and ruffles your hair saying “that’s it, my Babyjunge is doing so good”
Their stamina seemingly endless when they rotate over and over at one point having both cocks nudging your mouth and tearing the corners of your mouth to fit their tips while you lay in your back dazed out weakly using one hand on each of their cocks jerking at their bases til Ghost comes first shooting all over your muscular chest getting on the V neck snapped opening of your vampire costume while König contributes to the sticky mess on your face only coating and caking the cum up more Turing you into a come dump for them.
By the end of the night you end up on your back with the whole bunk bed frame creaking about to crack and bend under the weight of the muscular men, your hole stuffed and gaping wide being double penetrated with your fangs covered in semen and spit laying on the bed next to you with König holding one thigh to the bed and Simon holding the other leaving your cock untouched while they fuck you. Using König’s past loads as lube for ghost to slide inside you and keep going making you a blubbering mess unable to form coherent sentences, just the occasional “m-ore~”
your whole body on fire and spasming and trembling coated in more loads than you’ve released, your cock soft and red like a fire hydrant with your balls having no more come to give, every orgasm pulled from you by now I’d dry and painful leaving you a shaking mess gripping the handles of the bed post, once finished with you they have you sandwiched between the two of them during the night after sneaking your wrecked body back into Simon’s private quarters, oh the wreck you’ll be in the next morning will be a site for them to enjoy.
When you do finally wake up you feel a burn between your cheeks and a sore throat, your mouth hurting from being torn leaving your lips cracked and your thighs dried stuck together from all the crusted come, and on top of all that you feel König’s cock hard again pressing to your thigh with ghost having morning wood behind you leaving you already knowing they were going again with you before you even made it to training.
#sleep 0 deprived#sleep-0-deprived#cod x male reader#kinktober 2024#cod mw2#cw size kink#size difference#spit roast#x male reader#x male reader smut#bottom male reader#sub male reader#simon riley x male reader#simon ghost riley x male reader#simon ghost riley#ghost x male reader#ghost x male reader smut#konig x male reader#konig cod#konig call of duty#konig x reader#könig x male reader smut#könig x male reader#könig x reader#mlm thoughts#mlm yearning#call of duty x male reader#call of duty x reader#x dom bottom male reader#sub top character
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The Ghost of You
Banner by my dear @commonmisery
Ghost!Joel Miller x fem!reader
TLOU 2 SPOILERS AHEAD! YOU"VE BEEN WARNED!
Join my taglist: Masterlist
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Summary: After moving into Jackson, you're put up in a house that hasn't been lived in for years. Soon, you realize you aren't alone. Can you help Joel move on to the next life to be with his daughter? Or will you keep him here selfishly with you?
Warnings: TLOU 2 SPOILERS, ghost!sex, mentions of violence and the things Joels done and what happened to him. bittersweet ending. Body marking and blood but it v consensual. It's loving.
A/N: This is my goodbye to writing Joel. I've made a few statements on thi before and if you've followed me for a while you know why. I won't rehash it. But I wanted to write this idea I had talking to @multiversed-daydreamer as my goodbye. i won't say it my last joel forever but it is for along time. all other series are cancelled. I am also just largely essening my writing for p-boys but I'll still be around witing frankie and javi and marcus sometimes. You never know. My main focus rn is logan howlett, triple frontier, and my original content
This is my love letter to the Joel fandom that has given me so much love and friendship
Looking for something similar? Brother by @macfrog is Tommy saying goodbye, and The Devil's Wife is devil!Joel, similar theme of halloween by @noxturnalnymph
8.5 words
It was cold. That was annoying. How you’d wandered your fucking way out to Wyoming, you’ll never understand. One minute you were in Florida complaining about the heat, now you were being treated for frostbite in your toes.
You’d arrived in Jackson last afternoon, nearly frozen to death and had been crashing in the clinic bed ever since. The doctor, a nice older man, took care of you and a few nurses checked in overnight, and today you were cleared to get settled. Word of mouth had told you Jackson was the place to go, a safe haven, a community where people actually take care of each other. Maria Miller, the town founder, had just left your room saying she’d be outside doing paperwork whenever you were ready for the short tour. You’d get the full spiel eventually, but right now the frostbite made walking a little hard. She'd just show you her office, the mess hall, a few quick essentials and then take your to your new home.
That was when you heard shouting outside the door. One voice was Maria, the other you didn’t recognize. It was hard to hear, but you listened in with your ear pressed to the door.
“It’s been 3 years Tommy. I know this is difficult for you but-”
“You don’t know shit!”
“Excuse me? Who was there for you when you drowned your feelings in moonshine for years? Who took care of Walker while you went off on pointless revenge missions!”
“Don’t you bring him into this. Don’t fucking do that shit, Maria, you know I had too.”
A beat of silence. “You had to do whatever you had to do to deal with what happened. We forgive you, we took you back here and the whole town in glad for it. But Tommy… Jackson is growing. We need the space-”
“You never fucking liked him! You never wanted him around! I bet you’re glad-”
The shouting began to overlap each other, voices raising until you were uncomfortable enough with the man’s temper you grabbed your gun and opened the door, pointing it at him.
“Settle down there, cowboy. Ain’t nice to yell at a lady.”
*
The next few minutes were embarrassing, to say the least. Maria explained that Tommy was her ex-husband. She didn’t go into the argument, but she assured you, not without gratitude, that firstly she could handle herself, and second that Tommy wasn’t a threat.
After Tommy left with a pointed ‘fuck you’ in your direction, you turn back to find Maria rolling her eyes.
“He’s a good man. I promise. Good dad, works hard, takes care of his people. He just gets… well, there’s some sore spots. C’mon let’s get you home. I bet you’re tired.”
Settled into the house that felt way too big for just you, your thoughts drift to the man. He was older, 50’s maybe? Dark brown hair with a few streaks of gray and tired lines around his eyes, but handsome. He was so angry, and angry at you. What the hell did you do? You hadn’t even been here a day! Fucking unreal. Men were men no matter where you went, but their temper tantrums never ceased to amaze you.
The house was pretty empty. You’d been given a few furnishings, but the house was stripped of all character, certainly taking apart everything the previous owner had. Had the place been occupied since the world fell apart? Or had someone who lived here died? You wondered how. You wondered if they had family, or if the town was their family.
The kitchen had kindly been stocked up pretty well, and you’d been given some toiletries so after eating, you enjoyed your first warm bath in a long time. Running water, and it was warm? Fantestic. You boiled a pan of water and tossed it into the tub for some extra heat just how you liked it.
In bed that night, that’s when things got weird. You felt a coldness wash over your body, a shiver you didn’t expect under the warm blankets. Then the window unlatched and flew open. You gasp, fearful at first, but then justify that since it’s on springs, the latch must’ve been not done right and just sprung open. No big deal. But then you felt a hand on your cheek and you froze.
It didn’t linger more than a second. The touch was fluid, but not wind, not air. There was a roughness to it, the distinct feeling of a large hand cupping your face… but you weren’t scared. Instead, you felt calmed. Relaxed.
It became routine, after a few weeks, you refused to go to sleep until you felt it, the touch of warmth on your face, and you felt safe. It didn’t take long for you to believe you had a ghost; after the cordyceps, ghosts were never far from disbelief, something you’d always been open to, but the question was who.
That would be answered soon enough. You could just ask, yeah, but you wanted to find out, in their own words. As the days progressed, you’d been given time to recover and adjust before working, so you spent a lot of time settling into your house. This was not without its encounters with the ghost. More and more, they seemed to get stronger, able to do more, communicate more. There were items shuffled around, bigger and bigger until the couch was moved.
“I don’t like it there.” You said out loud, pushing it back a few feet.
They moved it again.
“Come on, you’re being annoying.” You move, just for it to get moved back again.
You throw your hands up in the air. “Fine! At least be useful and carry the chair upstairs.” No response, no movement. “Dick.” A gust of wind through your hair and you giggle.
You scribble together a make-shift ouija board, a circle tied from some guitar string you found in a box the ghost knocked off a shelf that must’ve not been cleaned.
Candles lit, you cross legged on the floor, you try to get information. Requests for the name came up empty, but the string moved to “yes” when asked if they were a man.
“How old are you? Or- were you?”
5. 6.
“Old man.” You chuckle when wind brushes your hair. You’d learned this was his way of teasing.
“How did you die?”
D-o-n-t-g-o-g-o-l-f-i-n-g
“Don’t go golfing? What does that mean?”
No response.
“Was that a joke?”
Yes.
“Well, I don’t get it. You know that, right?”
Yes.
“Fine, don’t wanna talk about death I see. Fair enough, never been there myself but I heard it’s not fun. Uhhhhhh got any kids?”
2
“Go on.”
2 g-i-r-l-s. 1 d-e-a-d.
“Oh, I’m sorry to hear that… where is the other?”
I-d-o-n-t-k-n-o-w
“Shit, i’m sorry about that too. Must be confusing.” Not knowing where your daughter is must be hard. “Is your other daughter with you? In the afterlife I mean?”
e-v-e-r-y-t-h-i-n-g-i-s-d-a-r-k
That broke your heart. “Must be scary.”
Yes
Then, the string moved again.
N-e-w-t-o-p-i-c
a-b-o-u-t-y-o-u
For whatever reason, this makes you blush. You spend the evening telling him about yourself, sharing details and asking him the same. He didn’t like talking about his family, refused to answer any more questions. Wouldn’t say his name.
But it was the first time you’d been called beautiful over ouija board, you knew that much.
Even after you began working, every evening you’d run home to spend time with this ghost of a man. The most people saw of you outside your day labor was a pop into the mess hall to take food home or the clinic as they checked you were recovering okay.
“Don’t see much of you.” The doctor commented. “You adjusting okay? I know it’s a lot to get used to.”
You blink in confusion. You were fine. Happy, even. Sure, you didn’t get to know anyone… but why would you? You did your part for the community, then you went home. Hell, you volunteered extra hours sometimes, picking up more than your fair share. You just didn’t want to get close, that’s all. People died, you’d learned that hard lesson early in life, and learned it over and over and over again. There was no point in making friends, falling in love. Not when it was all so fragile.
But you had your ghost man. He had already crossed that barrier, so there was nothing to fear. Nothing to lose.That night, you talked out loud to him about your day as you always did, he made little sounds knocking cabinets together or brushing a breeze on your skin to let you know he was listening. Sometimes winds rustled your hair when he thought you were funny. Then, the wind turned into a gust, and two firm hands pressed you down the hall, the message clear.
“Jesus! I’m going I’m going!” You follow the breeze bushing you. Fuck he was getting more powerful every day. Pushed to the kitchen, you’re face to face with the fridge.
“If this is a fat joke- hey!” Two distinct fingers pinched your cheek and you laughed. “Okay, tell me what you want!” A breeze, and you hear a fluttering between the fridge. When you bend down and dig around the dust bunnies, you find a piece of distinct photograph paper, and pull it out. On it was a picture of a man, 30’s, maybe 40’s if you were pushing it, his arm wrapped around a hung girl holding a trophy. They looked happy.
“Is this you?”
The picture ruffled in your hand.
“And the girl, that your daughter?”
The pictures motion was repeated. This looked like it was from before, from long ago�� you assumed the girl was the daughter that died.
“It’s so cute…” You traced the picture of your ghost, having a face but no name still. Your feel warm, a blush creeping around your skin and a deep heat settling in your stomach. He was handsome. You’d never really pictured him,, besides a few wandering thoughts here and there, but nothing stuck. You put his picture on your fridge.
At night, the image of his face danced in your head, unable to sleep. It was weird, this friendship you had with the ghost in your house, but you didn’t really care. There were worse things in this world, darker ways to cope. So what if a dead man made you happy, made you blush and grin and giggle. So what if he was the reason your hand was currently being shoved into your PJ’s.
You’d be lying if you hadn’t touched yourself that first night, but this was the first night you pictured his body on your, his face, that beard…
“Are you watching me?” You asked, panting. That was a first too. You knew there was a possibility he watched, but you didn’t really care. Never had. Now, you hoped he did.
A pause.
Then, the liquid touch of a hand on your face. He was here. He was watching.
“Good.” You assure him, hoping he stays. “Want you to watch.” Your fingers begin to pump in your cunt, and you kick off the covers. So what if it was cold, you wanted him to see you. You thought about what it would be like to feel his face buried between your legs, what his voice sounds like, how he’d touch you-
“You can touch me, if you want. Not just my face.” It was a bold statement. Things with you and him had been friendly, close, a little flirty… but nothing so far had suggested more. For a moment, you thought he wouldn’t. Maybe he just watched to watch. Maybe you embarrassed him and he left.
Then his touch landed on your face, slowly trailing down, down, until you could feel hands on your breasts. The slightest brush on lips ghost the shell of your ear, your cheek, and your heart swells. He wants to kiss you.
“You can kiss me. It’s okay.” It wasn’t as strong a touch a his hands, but he ridgid texture of chapped lips touch yours, and ripples of pleasure flow throughout the erogenous zones on your body, far ore reach than two hands ever could. It tickles, and it feels fucking good.
“Wish you were here….” You mumble, still fucking yourself as hips bucked against yoru fingers, sopping wet sounds fill the quiet bedroom. “Never connected to anyone the way I have you.” A squeeze on your leg reassured you, and soon your tits were being messaged in a way clumsy human hands couldn’t do. It was like the rolling ocean crashing and waving and peaking on the tender flesh, a surreal experience to your touch-starved body.
“I’m gonna cum, I’m f-fuck, you’re gonna make me cum-”
Then you hear it, clear as day, sharp and quick against your ear.
“Joel.”
His name. You cry it out as your pussy clenches down on your fingers.
*
After that, ghost sex was something you and Joel regularly engaged in. He couldn’t really speak much still, usually only getting out one word. Generally it was ordering you to cum, sometimes a single word compliment slipped through with a southern accent.
“Beautiful.” He whispered as you lay in bed, satiated and panting.
He thought you were beautiful when you came.
There was never another reason to go anywhere outside of your home other than to work or get food, and more and more you just got groceries and worked with what you had. You liked cooking with him ,you didn’t want to be away.
Today, as you tried to make soup, you couldn’t help laugh as he managed to speak “More seasoning” and lift a fuck ton of herbs up and into the pot. At least he was a helpful ghost.
“You can just make it next time!”
You expect to feel your hair rustle, but instead his voice speaks.
“Tommy.”
Then a knock on the door. You were so startled (people never visited you) you almost didn’t answer. No one outside that door could be worth time away from Joel, but he pushed you to answer, a desperation in his actions that matched the tone he spoke the name.
When you answered, you would have shut the door if you weren’t curious about Joel’s reaction.
There stood the man who got in a shouting match with Maria. Oh, yeah, Tommy, that’s right. But why was he here? Tommy was tall, but his posture at the moment was sunken, sheepish. When he looked at you, pink dusted his tan skin. “Can I talk t’yuh?”
You narrow your eyes. “Sorry, but the last time we spoke you weren’t exactly polite enough for me to feel like welcoming you inside, and every time I’ve seen you, you give me dirty looks.”
He nods. “I understand, that’s why I uh… wanted t’explain myself. I shouldn’t’ve done that, but I was angry. Ain’t right, still…”
“What could I have possibly done to you?”
His eyes were large, brown, and wet. “This was uh… my brother’s house. He died 3 years ago.”
*
5 Minutes later, Tommy was sitting on the couch with you, cup of soup in hand. You hadn’t felt or heard Joel, but this was your chance. Some answers.
“Funny.” He pats the couch. “This was his. Was right here for years, never moved it.”
“It’s uh… a good stop. Now, I think you had some explaining to do?”
“Right…“ Tommy rubbed the back of his neck. “The house has been empty since he died. My wi- ex wife, I guess, kept it empty out of courtesy but she was right. It was time to move on.”
“Did he die in here?”
He shook his head. “No.”
Tommy explained it to you. The revenge that was enacted on his brother for saving the girl, Ellie. You wondered if that was his daughter he mentioned, but Tommy just referred to her as his kid. How the woman and their group killed him, Tommy saw his brother's head bashed in, brain matter on the walls.
The gold joke still didn’t make sense, but you’d figure it out. You learned more about Joel too, that he was from Texas, that his daughter, Tommy niece, died on outbreak day. Joel’s birthday. Joel played the guitar, he liked to swim, was an overbearing brother and loving dad. He was married once. He learned to cook to get Sarah to eat veggies so he was pretty good at it. Was a good man. The best, the way Tommy spoke.
“I know it ain’t right the way I’ve treat’n yuh. And I know it’s not your fault. I just hadn’t been handling his death well, you know? Lost my wife, almost lost my son… I ain’t been the man he raised me to be. I now you don’t… do anything. In town. That’s probably my fault and I’m so-”
“You think I stay home because I’m avoiding you?” You nearly bark out a laugh, his eyes growing in confusion. “Man, I ain’t scared of no man, if I wanted to go to the movie nights I would have!”
Tommy processes this information, sipping on the last of the soup broth. “Oh… I guess I just assumed...”
“Well, you know what they say about assuming. Make’s an ass out of you and me. Here, gimmie.” You take his mug, walking to the kitchen to rinse it and still giggling.
Tommy follows you. “Well I’m sorry! I guess I just figured, the time’n ‘n all.”
You throw a look over your shoulder. “I stay home because I like it here. Because I’ve been alone for years, so I’m fine with it.”
“But why not-” He stops in his tracks. “Where did you get that?”
You follow his line of view and realize your mistake. “Uh. I uh. I found that while cleaning the kitchen, by the fridge. I guess I thought it was nice, so I hung it up… why? Who is it?”
You knew the answer before he even spoke Joel’s name. You had to pretend to be surprised, but even worse, you knew what you needed to do.
“Keep it.” You say, pushing the picture closer to him, breaking you a bit. You had to hide ever emotion, because there was no reason for you to have any attachment to it. He didn’t know what you and Joel shared with each other. Who he was to you. It didn’t matter, because Joel was his brother. The girl was his niece. He deserved the picture.
“That’s here. That’s Sarah.” Tommy continued, confirming your suspicions as his finger trailed over the girl.
“She’s adorable.”
“Yeah… she was. Great kid too.”
Tommy helped you wash up the dishes from making soup, you and him talking more. He was nice when he wasn’t yelling. You could understand why he was so upset at the time, and you forgave it.
You told as much as he stood in your doorway. “I don’t hold it against you. I promise.”
He nods, smiling and looking more at ease. “Promise you’ll come to the next movie night, it’s tomorrow. It’ll be good for you, I promise.”
“What’s playing?‘
“Scream 2!”
You roll your eyes. “Not the first one?”
“Oh, I’m sorry,” Tommy says with a tease. “Is fucking scream 2 at the end of the world not enough for you?”
You shove him out of your door, laughing. “Fine! I’ll fucking come. But only to see Timothy Olyphant.”
You shut the door, and turn around still laughing. But what you see shocks you so bad, you’d have screamed if you didn’t cover your mouth.
It was Joel. Faint. Barely there. A dead eyed stare. Much older than the picture and his hair was longer. But it was him.
“Joel?” You say, tentatively walking towards him. He wasn’t looking at you, instead, he was looking at the door, unmoving, unblinking, unbreathing. Your hand passes through him and when his form dissipates, you fall to the ground and cry.
*
“Are you mad at me?” You ask. He was strangely quiet the rest of the day, only a few little touches here and there. No ghost sex that night. When you are getting out of work clothes and putting something warm on for the movie, you bring it up.
“No.”
“Well, you’ve hardly talked to me. Is it because I asked Tommy as those questions about you? I;m sorry, it’s just easier that way and I wanted to know what happened to you-”
“I miss him.”
Three whole words.
“You’re getting stronger. Did you mean to appear to me yesterday?”
“You saw me?”
“Yeah, and I hear you really good now.” You grin. “I can’t believe you’re talking this much. Maybe I’ll skip the movie, I don’t wanna lose-”
“No. Go.” a brief pause. “Please.”
“Joel Miller,” You tease him. “Are you having me check on your baby brother?” He rustles your hair.
*
So, you started hanging around Tommy more. It started as filling Joel in on his life, but really, you liked being around Tommy. He was easy to talk to.
You lay on your side in bed, trying to picture his face as you’d done every night for months as you talk to him. Joel’s voice was clear, fully communicating with you now. Every now and then you could see a glimpse of him in a mirror or the faint frozen picture of him standing somewhere, usually after Tommy was over.
“Walker is doing really well.” You tell him about his nephew you’ve met a few times. For a few years, Tommy was barely around after Joel’s death, most of the time he was drunk. There was an incident several months ago whereTommy passed out of the couch and Walker tried to start the stove, resulting in a small kitchen fire, and Tommy effectively lost custody of his son. Not that family court existed here, but Tommy knew he couldn’t be there. This was shortly after you moved in, and was the reason Tommy finally got sober. Things were going better now, and he’s repairing that relationship.
“You met him?”
“Yeah, he’s quiet. But he’s very polite.” Tommy said he takes after Joel. Walker and Joel had been very close before he died, Tommy adored the little boy. The little boy in question was now 8, growing up.
He sighs. “Yeah, he was a good kid. I never had a son, figured raise’n Tommy was close enough. But when I was with him… Sometimes I think back to when Sarah died, how hard Tommy fought to keep her alive… yuh know, after she died I was just, I was drowning in my sadness. There was no room for Tommy’s grief, I guess. He’s stronger than I gave him credit for, because he was always there for me. If I had lost Walker… I dunno if I could have been that strong.”
A few days later, you invite Tommy and his son over for dinner, and as you stare at Walker eating his food and laughing you can see Joel. He’s no longer a still picture, he’s moving, and smiling, and laughing too. No one else can see or hear him.
But he looks right at you.
*
You can see him now, laying on the pillow beside you as the pair of you talk. Sometimes he’s tangible, hands touching your face and you can see his tan skin through your peripheral. Sometimes it’s more faint, like he’s using all his strength to be see and he can’t materialize his touch. You don’t know how it works, but you’re happy to see his face. Joel has kind eyes, a softness in a world of blood and violence.
“You're beautiful.” And it’s your voice whispering it to him, because he is. Every line on his face, the scar on his forehead, the tired darkness under his eyes as if an eternity to sleep wasn’t enough. Every little freckle you could map on his face on days he was more clear. It was perfect. It was him.
A sadness crosses over those pools of brown. “I really don’t deserve you…” When you open your mouth to protest, he continues. “I’ve killed people.”
That wasn’t a shock. Who hasn’t? “I have too.”
But Joel shakes his head, curls staying in place as if gravity is now inconsequential, as if he’s frozen in time with a single lock on his forehead. “No, I’ve killed innocents. A lot. Me ‘n Tommy, before… and protect’n Ellie…”
You thought about this for a while, a chill of cold reminiscent of when he first came to you makes you shiver, but when you look at him, you don’t feel the repulsion you know he expects. “You kill children?”
“No.” He says firmly, a glimmer of sadness crossing his eyes. You didn’t think so, knowing he knew what that loss was. “But that don’t make it much better.”
“Did rape anyone? Kill people for fun? Get off on it?”
Disgust mares his features. “No, never.”
You nod. “You kill any innocent people since coming to Jackson? Settling here?”
Again, a shake of his head doesn’t knock loose a single hair. “No, but before-”
“I’m not worried about before.” You voice is soft, and you tentatively reach a hand out to caress his face. His skin was soft, softer than a man in his 50’s would be, but that’s what happens when you aren’t fully there. “I don’t care about that. Really, I don’t. You deserve a second chance just as much as anyone does. The world out there-” You vaguely whisk your hand around. “Does things to us. As far as I’m concerned, as long as you’re not a rapist, didn’t kill kids, not one of those really, really bad people… I think you deserve to leave that all outside the gates of Jackson.”
His eyes soften, affection pooling with something more. “Thank you, darl’n I mean it. I wasn’t always forgiven in that life. Nice to know someone does in this one,”
Your heart aches for him, so you try to ease his pain. “Tommy forgives you, I know it. You heard how he talks about you.”
But he;s still distant. “Maybe. But maybe he just misses me. That’s different. Besides, there’s someone I know hasn’t.”
“Ellie?”
He nods. “She…. well, we just started talk’n, right before I died. Didn’t have the chance to find out if she ever would, you know? Now I never will.”
“She does, Joel. It’s been years, I know she does.”
But he didn’t beleive you.
*
Joel’s words stuck with you, simmering in your head like the soups he helps you make. Today you were on patrol with a fairly quiet partner, so you had nothing left to do but think, thnk, think. Why did his words affect you so much? He was so stuck on forgiveness, even though hed never know-
Oh.
That’s why he was trapped here, wasn’t it? Joel’s ghost remained behind because he didn’t have the closure he needed. Tommy and him had made up, but Joel died not knowing if Ellie ever did. Years of estrangement for taking her from the hospital, for saving her, for lying, and he wasn’t sorry, he told you himself. But he needed Ellie’s forgiveness. He needed to know Tommy didn’y hold resentment. He needed to know they were safe, that they were okay.
Joel couldn’t talk to Tommy. For some reason, you could hear him speak when Tommy was around, see him, but Tommy never reacted. Joel couldn’t even move things or create a breeze when he was around…
If Joel got what he needed, the forgiveness, the resolution he longed for, he could move on. You knew it. He was getting stronger every day, his appearance crystal clear, his touch more and more solid, less fluid than before. You wanted little more than to have him like that, as close to a real person as he could get, at your home you shared with him every single day, every hour, sleeping next to him, cooking with him, fucking him… part of your mind told you that you could do it.
But that wasn’t right. He’d be little more than a housewife, a sex doll, a captive. You could keep him there, to be your only friend outside of occasionally seeing his brother, the person who knew you best, someone always there to talk because what other options did he have?
That wasn’t you. The rational part won out, and your knew what you had to do.
*
Tommy’s face was one of worry when you told him you’d seen the ghost of his brother. You’d spilled it all out, sparing the ghost sex details, but instead of shock, he just asked you if you ere okay.
“Yes! Tommy I’m fine-”
“I dunno, you’re kinda a weird person to begin with, see’n shit wouldn’t be that new-”
“Tommy!” You stand abruptly from his couch, pulling at your hair. “I’m not seeing- I’m not hallucinating him! You don’t understand, I see him, I see him every fucking day that’s why I don’t go anywhere!”
A sympathetic look crossed his face. “Honey, maybe you’re seeing him because you’re alone every day.”
“I’M NOT CRAZY!!” You shout at him, and he softens.
“I know, I know.” Tommy stands. “Maybe… maybe you should stay here a few days, maybe this is a yellow wallpaper situation, you gotta get fresh air, a new environment-” he reaches for your arm but you yank it away.
“Does the term ‘don’t go golf’n mean anything to you?”
Confusion crosses his face. “Not really, why?”
A deep breath. “He… I asked how he died, with a ouija board i made and he just said don’t go golfing. Never explained.”
Tommy’s skin paled, the freckles on his face a stark contrast against him. His face a deadly calm. “How did you know that.”
You can’t help but groan. “I told you, he-”
“ENOUGH GAMES!” The sudden shout shocks you, and you step back. Tommy must’ve realized he was scaring you, so he calmed down just a bit. “I’m serious. This isn’t fucking funny.”
Tears of frustration and sadness filled your heart, begging him to believe you. You didn’t think Tommy would hurt you, but the distress he was in was clear. “I wouldn’t joke about this… he- he said it was a joke I wouldn’t get, and I don’t. Tommy please, I’m being serious…”
Then, the realization dawned on him, clear as day. He believed you. “Holy shit. You’re telling the truth…”
“I am.” You sob. “Tommy I swear I’m telling the truth. He needs help, he’s trapped here… we need to help him…”
He was shaking. “C-can I see him?”
It broke your heart to say no. He can only appear to me, I think…He’s tired when you are over…“
Dizzy, Tommy sits down. “He was round… whenever I was over, wasn’t he? That’s why I always feel so calm there…”
You nod. “He calms me too. I don’t know how.” You join him on the couch again. “Tommy, what does don't go golfing mean?”
His face is buried in his hands, and you think he’s crying. It’s a lot, you know, it’ a lot to spring on someone, especially that he can’t hear or see him still, his own brother so close and yet so far. But you were doing this for him, so that he could move on, so that he could see his Sarah in the afterlife.
When Tommy finally looked up, his face and hands were soaking wet.
“He was killed with a golf club. We never told anyone about that.”
*
Joel stood behind you, clear and crystalline, his body practically human. He was cold, but he brought you comfort. “Something on your mind, darl’n?”
You don’t wanna lie to him, but you can’t tell him what’s happening, not yet. You want a few more days without this hanging over you both.
“Tommy left for a few weeks. Just worried.” You didn’t tell him he went to find Ellie, to go back to the farmhouse she lived in with Dina and see if she’s there, if Dina knows where she lives kows anything. To try and convince Ellie that this woman she’s never met his eeing her dad as a ghost and they need to help him move on. But hes gonna try.
A week later, the town was in a ruckus, Tommy returning to Jackson with the prodigal daughter, her girlfriend, and a little boy.
Turns out Ellie went back to Dina, begged for her back on hands and knees, and they’d been living alone out in the country for years raising JJ. They all looked good, healthy, happy… Ellie was skeptical but she agreed to come as a favor to Tommy. Everything was planned for tomorrow, but as you lay in bed with Joel for the last time, you can’t bring yourself to tell him.
You wanted one last night.
Joel kissed you, languid and soft, his hands roamed your naked and prone body and for the first time, you noticed something. A tent in his pants. A ghost had gotten an erection for you.
“Joel…” You moan, feeling him rutt against you.
“I know, I feel it too.” His voice is husky against your ear, and chills flow throughout your body as you realize what this means. Joel was firm, his body fully here and he was hard. Joel could fuck you.
He went feral after that, yanking down your PJ shorts so fast your barely had time to lift your hips, but it didn’t matter. You spread your legs to welcome to fingers the plumged into your body, absolutly dripping for the man laid beside you. Joel’s breath was hot, growling and grunting as e finger fucks you open, preparing you to take his cock for the first time.
“You’re always s’fucking wet.” He says between sucking kisses on your neck. You didn’t care if he left hickies on you, you were just beyond ecstatic that he was strong enough to leave marks. You wanted him to be with you in some way permanently. “Been wish’n I could feel you since that first day, so sweet, so beautiful, always so ready for my touch.”
You paw at him, groping his body and trying to just get his massive form on top of you. “Need you.” You beg like a needy young thing, like you’d never been fucked properly before, like you needed to be filled and taken and ravaged.
“I got yuh, darl’n…” Joel murmur, rolling over on top of you, his cock heavy- when had his clothes come off?
Knelt before your body, Joel was magnificent. His body was broad, thick, not quick as barrel chested as his brother, he held it more in the shoulders. Down his chest and stomach held scares, fat, and a trail of hair leading down, down, down to where his cock hung thick and leaking and cut. You forgot he was a ghost; he didn’t feel like one, he felt real. He felt here. Tears filled up in your eyes, and Joel leans over, his body covering yours in his cool skin.
“What’s wrong, baby?” He asks in a gentle voice, thumbing away a stray tear. “I hope yuh ain’t scared’a me? Are yuh?”
You’ve never been more sure of saying no in your life. “Ain’t scared.” You whisper. “I just… I love you so much…” It wasn’t necessarily a lie. You did love him. But that wasn’t why you were crying, not really anyway. No, you cried because this was goodbye.
Joel’s eyes, black pupils swallowing the beautiful brown with lust, grew wet themselves as he smiles down at you. “I love you too. So damn much.”
Your nails did into his back, relishing in the firm, solid feel of him. This was real. He was real. “Fuck me, please. Make love to me. I want to feel you, really feel you…”
Plush lips kissed you as he slid inside, a wave of calm relaxed your body, allowing you to take his considerable length inside you. He was big, stretching you open slowly while you accommodate him.
“Fuck, it’s like you’re made for me…” He moans in your ear, desperate like he’s falling apart at one stroke. But he doesn’t. When he fucks you, it’s with more vigor, more energy than you’ve ever felt from a living person, a slap of skin from his hips meeting your thighs, his balls heavy and slapping against your ass, his fingers digging, digging digging so deep inside as you wished he’d bruise you, wished he’d cut you open and crawl inside so he could never leave you, two souls as one. To know and to be known at the deepest level. Souls and bodies barred to each other. Nothing left to hide.
He couldn’t do that, so as Joel slammed his cock into you, you begged for something else. “Mark me.” You whimper, getting a reaction of confusion from your lover, so you take his hand and dig his nails into your tender hips. “I need to know this is real. All of it.” The tears come again when you can see him want to deny you. “This isn’t forever, you know this can’t before but I- Joel I need something to be forever! We can’t get married, you can’t leave me pictures or presents or- or kids, Joel, I need to be able to remember you.”
His movements slow. “Oh, pretty baby…” He murmurs lowly. “I’ll give anything if it means you can’t forget me.” he kisses you deeply, sucking in your tongue and before he pulls away he nips your lip. “Tell me to stop if it’s too much.”
But nothing of Joel could be too much.
A shape gasp as he dug into you, left hand bracing himself on the bed as he never stopped fucking you, rolls of pleasure coured your body like it had tha first night, swirling over your clit and dragging you screaming to the edge. And screaming you were.
“Don’t stop! Don’t stop!” You shout so loud you don’t care who hears you. Half the town thinks you’re fucking Tommy anyway. Don’t stop fucking you, don’t stop marking you, don’t, don’t, don’t go.
You could keep him to yourself. Tell Ellie and Tommy you lied, or that he went away and you can’t see him any more. Anything so that he doesn’t get what he needs, that he stays with you forever.
He’s impossibly deep inside, but in your leaking, dripping channel and into your hip. The cut of his nails goes further than they should go, but you don’t question it. Instead, you focus on the feeling of him marking your flesh, of him making your insides as his as he cums deep in your stomach. Your cunt pulses around him as your draw out whatever he’s filling you with, you don’t care. It’s him.
“More, more” You cry into his shoulder, but he’s already slowing his thrusts.
“I’m as deep as I can go, baby…” He stays bottomed out inside you, but his hands withdrawal from your side as you come down. His bloody hand cups your face, dripping with your own warmth.
You sob against his cold skin, Joel wrapping you into a hug as the overwhelming emotion of what happened floods you, and it’s too much. You need more, but it’s not him deeper, not him scaring you, and not him filling you up.
It’s more time.
*
You wake up with blood on your face and your wounds cleaned and bandaged, with Joel’s body gone, as it usually is in the morning. It took until the afternoon for him to appear again.
“Sorry baby.” He apoligized, hugging you. “I dunno why I can’t control coming better.” He poked your side, and you knew he meant a double entendre but you didn’t have it in you to laugh.
“It’s okay. Last night used a lot. You probably needed to rest.”
“Yeah…” He touched the bandage he’d put on your hip with soft intent. “How you feel’n bout this?”
You smile. “Great. But Joel…” You turn around to face him, his face frowning with worry. “I gotta tell you something… I told Tommy about you…” Before he has a chance to ask questions, you spill it out. “And he went and found Ellie, she’s hear. I think… I think if you reconcile with her, with Tommy, once the air is cleared… you can move on.”
For a long moment, he stares at you, unmoving, unblinking, frozen as the picture that used to hang on your door. Then he speaks. “You know… that means I can’t see you again, right.”
Damn the tears the spring forth, damn the well of emotions overflowing your body, a trickle of a leak in the damn, then it cracks, and it all breaks. You begin to sob in his arms. “I know, I know… but it’s not right for me to keep you here! You- you said it’s dark, and you’re scared.”
“I ain’t scared when I’m with you…”
“But you won’t always be with me! I need to help you move on! It’s unnatural, it’s wrong, you need to be with Sarah, you need to be at peace knowing Sarah and Tommy love you, that they forgive you!”
He lets you cry, holding you close in strong arms as he realized what was happening. He’d see Ellie again. You were willing to give him up just so he could get his happy end.
His voice in your ear.
“Ellie.”
*
She was skeptical, understandingly. Pretty, short, in her 20’s with brown hair cropped into a pixie and looking annoyed. She sat next to Tommy with her arms crossed and practically glaring at you.
“I’m gonna need more proof than some golf joke.”
“It was enough to get you here, wasn’t it?”
She rolled her eyes. “I owed Tommy for every fucking time he saved my damn life, that’s why I’m here.” She turned to her uncle. “We’re even, by the way.”
“Sure as shit are.” He sighs, then looks at you. “He here?”
You gesture to the couch. “Yeah he’s sitting right- hey!”
Ellie swung her hand over where you said Joel was sitting, doing nothing but annoying Joel who tried in vein to smack her away, telling her to cut the shit.
“I don’t fucking feel anything.”
“That’s not how it works Ellie!” Tommy flicked her arm. “Relax.”
With a huff, she crossed her arms again. “Fine.”
Tommy looked to you, then to Joel, then back to you. “Tell her something only Joel would know.”
When you turn to Joel, he’s looking at Ellie with sadness. She looks different, a lot older, yet she’s still Ellie to him. He doesn’t turn to you. ‘David.’ He instructs, and you turn to her.
“Do you know a David?” And suddenly her skin blanches. Ever so slightly, she’s shaking, but then she turns to Tommy. “Did Joel fucking telling you that!?”
From beyond Tommy’s protests that he doesn’t know who Daivid is, did she mean David Turner, who was a local here, or David Sanchez, who died last month in a raid? Joel insists he’d never tell that to anyone, but Ellie can’t hear him.
You try to calm them. “He says he was someone you met after leaving Jackson the first time, that you did the right thing by killing him.”
“Yeah! I fucking did!”
“He says if he goes to hell, David is the first person he’s finding.”
She stops, information processing in her head that there was no way Joel wold have told whoever David was to Tommy. “David tried to rape me when I was 14.” She grits out. “I stabbed him to death and let his body burn up.”
Tommy turns to her, horrified but doesn’t speak.
You nod. “Good.”
And then, she sinks into the couch. “Whenever I had nightmares… Joel always told me David was the first person he’d find in hell. He was convinced he was going there.”
You chuckle. Yeah that sounds like Joel. “He loves you both very, very much… and the uncertainty is what’s keeping him here. I need to help him move on.”
“So what? You’re some sort of fucking medium?”
“No, I’ve never had anything like this happen before but… He started appearing to me. Little touches, cold spots, breezes… then he started moving things, hearing his voice…. Now I can see him, he’s as clear as you are, honestly.”
Tommy speaks now. “He’s gotta know-” He tries to turn to where you said Joel was, but you can tell he’s struggling to talk to a brown cushion. “You gotta know we love you, don’t know? How can you doubt that?”
‘Tell him I do. But tell him… I don’t know if he forgives me.’
“Joel knows you both love him, but that’s not why he’s stuck. He needs to know you forgive him.”
Ellie is staring sone faced at a wall, but Tommy is looking down at his hands now, this seems easier. “Joel… those things we did… it’s been a long time. I was angry, yeah, I fucking hated you for a while but…” He shakes his head, silver streaks shimmering in the deep brown of his hair. “I got Walker now and… after he was born man, I think I got it. The things we did to survive… you were willing to do some of the worst shit out there, damning your own soul to save me. I’d do the same for my kid, if I needed to.”
‘But I shouldn’t have made you do any of it, Tommy.’
“Joel feels bad that he made you participate.”
“You didn’t make me do fuck’n shit, brother. I was a grown ass man, even if you still thought of me as a reckless teenager. I made my choices, and I understand why you made yours. You lost your baby, I know damn well you couldn’t take lose’n your brother either. I forgive you, but you also gotta forgive yourself, brother.”
Ellie pipes up. “I get it too, Joel. I told you that night, I didn’t know if I could forgive you… telling you I couldn’t… but… UUGHHHH!” She slumps down, covering her face. “Joel I was angry! I was angry and I was stupid but I was a teenager! I was just- just a kid who had these grand schemes of changing the world! But we don’t know if it could’ve worked. But I forgive you, Joel. I was always gonna forgive you, even before you went and fucking left me! I don’t know why I had to do that, why i treated you the way I did-”
‘You were a teenager, that’s normal-’
“But I think about it, every single day I think about it and what I should've said and done better but I get it now. I don’t know what you’ve been told but I got my kid now. I know you’re old man brain is probably trying to work out how two women had a baby-”
Joel laughs, and so does Ellie.
“But it’s Jesse’s. Dina got pregnant before Jesse and her broke up and he… he died. But I’ve been raising him with her the last few years… She took me back… You ask me on the porch that night if she treats me good and Joel…” Ellie sighs, smiling. “She really does.”
‘Tell ‘er I’m glad. That I always liked her, and I wanna know the kids name.’
“Joel says he doesn’t blame you for being mad at him, or how you talked to him. He says he’s glad Dina and you are happy. What’s the babies name?”
Ellie grins, pride in her eyes. “The baby is almost 4 now. His name is JJ. Jesse Joel.”
Tear fill up Joel’s eyes, fatherly love overwhelming him and for a moment, you think how sweet this is, how nice. Then you notice he’s not as clear as he was before.
“Joel!” You rush to his side and take his hand, kneeling at the couch. “Joel, I think it worked… you’re fading…” You try to grip his hand, as if holding on tighter would keep him here with you, keep him ground in this world. Without him, you weren’t sure what you’d do with your life, who you’d talk to or confide in…. But you knew, you knew above all you’d miss him. There would never be another Joel.
‘Please-’ He sounds desperate now, scared even. ‘One more time, tell them I love them, I just- I love them so much fucking much.’
Through your sobs, you relay the message. “He needs you to know how much he loves you guys. He talks about you all the time, he- you’re everything to him.” You see Ellie and Tommy holding hands, Ellie crying and Tommy looking close.
“We love you, Joel. All of us.” Ellie says, to nowhere in particular.
‘And the kids. Walker and- fuck I ain’t never met JJ but I love him too. If, if there’s a heaven I’m gonna…’ His words start to fade, but you know what he’s saying. His strength is going fast, Joel letting go and passing on, but even still his body shook. He was scared. If there was a heaven, Joel was going, but he wasn’t sure about that.
“He says he loves Walker and JJ, he’s gonna watch over them in heaven”
That breaks Tommy, who lets the tears come now as he takes your hand too, squeezing it tight.
You look up at your lover. “I love you, Joel. I’m always gonna love you, always gonna remember you. It’s gonna be okay, I promise you. We’re gonna be alright, we’re doing okay. You can let go now. It’s okay to let go. There’s no one left you need to protect.. we’re safe.”
Even though he’s fading away Joel looks into your eyes. He can’t speak, his strength fading, but it’s all communicated through those eyes that say so much. One last time, he cups your cheek, and the hand that isn’t holding Tommy’s brushes over the cold fingers, feeling liquid and unstable again. There’s fear in his eyes, mixed with that tender love, but then something changes in him.
Joel looks forward, past you, Tommy and Ellie and onto something else, something more. He smiles. ‘I see her’
All his fear his gone, and his face is peaceful.
For the final time, a breeze rustles your hair, and Tommy and Ellie see it.
Joel is gone, and all you can do is sob into his couch.
*
When it finally subsides you feel numb. Ellie and Tommy have joined you on the floor, the three of you talking about the experience you shared together, something no one will ever believe.
“His last words were, ‘’I see her’....”
Tommy whispers Sarah’s name, and you nod.
“He’s with her now. He’s a peace. I know a better place is a cliche, but…” Ellie wipes her tears. “We all know how much he missed her.”
Everyone nods solemnly, and for a while, you stay there, talking about Joel, memories and his jokes and his cooking. It was nice to share this secret with other, and suddenly you felt less alone in it. They believed your stories of the ghost in your walls, and they liked hearing the knew things he told you. You liked learning more of his past.
Eventually, everyone had to get back to their families. You were alone, but you didn’t feel lovely. Something had shifted, a closeness to Ellie and Tommy that didn’t scare you the way human connection used to. Maybe you would go to the mess hall, see some movies. Your patrol partner was quiet, but nice. Tommy was still around, and Ellie and Dina decided to pack up their things and return, wanting JJ to have friends. It was going to be okay, and as the sun set on the day, somehow you felt it rise on your life. A new, beautiful world of opportunities for friendship and love was out there.
You stared in the mirror, butt naked, feeling strangely open and vulnerable despite being alone for the first time in months.
It all felt surreal, something that seemed impossible, that went against every logical explanation.
But when you took off the bandage on your hip to change it, there they were, clear as day. 4 crescent fingernail cuts deep into your skin, something that would scar forever.
No matter what happened, you’d always carry these with you, proof that Joel and your love for him was real.
I cried pretty good writing tht end, knowing its my goodbye. I want yall to know I love each and every reader so so so so much. You mean the world to me. every kind word lives on in me forever. I hope you'll stay for my other writing, but if not, thats okay! I wih all of you the best.
Please be kinder to each other. the fanfic writers do this for free, they do not deserve the things they've experienced here. It is a beautiful world out there.
Trust me, it feels way better to send anon love rather than anon hate. I wont be writing tlou for a minute but ill return with a tommy series !!!!
follow @romana-after-dark for dark content and @riley-blue-byron for upcoming original works!
So long, and thanks for all the fish <3
reblogs are greatly appriciated, would make a nice send off <3
@princessanglophile @missladym1981 @goodwithcheese @dancinglotusbud @glitterymanboy @koshkaj-blog @sixhours @my-secret-shame-but-fanfiction @fandxmslxt69 @miraclesabound
#joel miller#joel miller x reader#joel miller smut#joel miller x you#tlou fanfiction#the last of us hbo#tlou 2#tlou 2 spoilers#tlou spoilers#ghost joel#joel#joel and ellie#ellie williams#joel and tommy#tommy miller#joel smut#joel miller tlou#joel miller fanfiction#joel x reader#joel miller fanfic#post tlou#jackson joel#ghost!joel#joel miller one shit#halloween#halloween fic#joel miller halloween
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[ AU / Speculation for me ] [ I CAN FIX IT .... NOT FOR YOU ]
Okay so because I am a man who hates to see things end badly Im here writing a sort of... fanfiction for myself that cleanse up the mess of Mouthwashing. No disrespect to the whole game but this is my thoughts Some warning for mature subjects and obviously possible spoilers for Mouthwashing!
Basically I thought about the idea of Jimmy being dealt with before he could complete his plan against the crew and it all stems from the idea that there's actually a secret cryopod on the ship. We see only 4 in the main part but there's 5 people on board, which even if you want to argue Pony Express doesn't give a shit, I think its somewhat reasonable to assume that should there be an emergency there would in fact be enough cryopods for everyone to get into so that a potential crew can be saved. This secret cryopod is obviously ONLY used in the case of an emergency and is ONLY known to exist by the captain. Aka Curly. Curly realizes that Jimmy is getting too unhinged and crossing far more lines than hes ever seen him do before. Though Curly fears and cares for his unfortunately stupidly manipulative friend, he realizes he has to take action against Jimmy to ensure no harm comes to the remaining crew. So Curly basically tricks Jimmy into thinking that he's going to be revealing a secret to Jimmy, something only "a captain and his co-pilot can know" before taking Jimmy to this secret cryopod. Since technically having a "potential psychological unsound person" on board DOES class as an emergency and with no "brig" available for holding, Jimmy is put in there. His last moments is Curly's well deserved "betrayal." Thus now Jimmy is a festering sleeping mess inside the cryo-chamber, grinding thru a horrific nightmare where he gets his revenge on Curly, where he gets control of the ship while spiralling further and further into outright INSANITY in some jacob's ladder style purgatory as his mental state is forever stuck "coping" with his anger, his guilt, his fear, his hatred, his selfishness and so on and so forth. Basically everything that happens in the events of Mouthwashing is a already crazy's man nightmare-ish delusion as he awaits judgement day, aka the time when he leaves the pod and has to face the justice he deserves. Meanwhile with Jimmy put away in hold, the crew get a chance to breath. Jimmy overbearing nature eases everyone tension and though it was a hard decision it was a well made one. Its not all perfect however because Anya takes all of this quite hard feeling guilty that it got this far. She does attempt to end her life which she is luckily saved from by Curly and the rest of the crew. Since Anya is now sick, Daisuke has to take over acting as Nurse, following Curly and Anya instructions on how to make this all easier. Anya is safe around Daisuke and his bright optimistic personality is really fitting for a nurse, never once does she feel ashamed or scared and for once feels a sense of relief and freedom. Her commenting that Daisuke would make a good nurse which Daisuke takes to heart since he still obviously struggling to find "what hes good at" Curly temporarily takes up the role of being an engineer with Swansea since, Curly as the lovely captain SHOULD know his ship inside and out too and hey, even as a bonus, he may even show Swansea how to steer a ship. This ends up with Curly and Swansea having a good man to man bond. In the end, Anya recovered free from her abuse and regains her personality and happiness, Daisuke discovers his passion for medical work happily taking college recommendation from Anya, Swansea learns a bit about riding a ship and thinks "hey I could probably do good as a space trucker" and Curly also detached himself from the parasite that is Jimmy who constantly been trying to drag him down! So there, I fixed it. But not for him.
#artists on tumblr#nvrarts#art#mouthwashing#mouthwashing game#mouthwashing fanart#captain curly#jimmy mouthwashing#curly mouthwashing#anya mouthwashing#swansea mouthwashing#daisuke mouthwashing#Its completely a fanfic of my own creation but i dont care#this is my attempt to make it okay#im allowed to be happy fuck it
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Because I'm procrastinating on writing about the history of RPGs, I'm going to actually do a little analysis on that "accidental mind control" scene. Specifically, I want to look at it critically as a text and not as a bit. Why? Well, because I can, but also because it's a really interesting moment that somehow actually fits wonderfully into the narrative.
When it comes to who got mind controlled by Sam, it was just Evan and Jammer that got hit with it, whereas K managed to dodge it fully. And here's why that's so interesting to me, narratively; K is the only one of the three hit by the spell who has refused to let go of their burden. Whilst K has had it pointed out to them that they cannot do everything by themselves, they have still refused so see that possibility. They still end up taking things on by themselves, which has only been further proven by their experience in the hospital. Yes, it was fun for them to live in a fantasy for a moment, but isn't it very interesting that K chose to be a doctor and to specialise in the field they had earlier horrifically failed? Yes, it was partially a gag by Erika, but goddamn does it not fit K's character. In a world where K can be a saviour, a healer, a fixer, they decided to be specialised in a field in which their previous mistake had cost them their friend's life. Erika is excellent when it comes to subtle character traits and flaws peeking through, and this "gag" is proof of that; K feels an incredible amount of guilt, but they try to handwave it off when it's brought into the light - "Just messing around in a hot tub!" - because they cannot process their failure. Because if they failed, then what is their point? If they cannot help people, then what are they even doing?
A thing that will never leave my thoughts when it comes to K, is how we were first introduced to them; with Erika describing K as being "chronically online", fighting with people on social media and engaging in social justice. And I have no idea about you all, but I remember being very much the same as a teenager. Of thinking that every problem in the world was mine to shoulder, and thus piling on issues that were never mine to hold. I see the same happening with K, but K hasn't let that mentality go. They have only gotten worse. They have an Atlas Complex: they take the whole world on their shoulders, convinced that they alone can save it. They cannot let go of that desire to help, that desire to fix, that need for control. They were always like this, since the moment we first saw them; they just channelled that into the rest of the Misfits during the events of the first season.
But in this season? They've been alone for a while, with only Teddy for company and as a voice of reason. K has spiralled into thinking only they can save magic, and it's causing fractures that we - the audience - are only just starting to see the consequences of. Their attempt of healing Evan - which I discussed here - was a natural progression of their guilt at what happened to Magic and the Magic World, as well as their guilt for Evan and themself splitting up where the former clearly got into a lot of trouble without them. K falling into the fantasy of the hospital was them, for a moment, experiencing success, instead of the ever-present guilt that is their current adventure. K could exist within that world, not because they let up on their need for control, but because they embraced the need for control in a world that was familiar and predictable.
Which then leads into Sam's incredible feat of magic, and K's ability to sidestep being controlled. Whilst yes, it was the roll of the dice that decided their fate, I also think any other option would have maybe been less impactful: both Evan and Jammer have begun to realise they can depend on others and let go of their need to control everything, but K hasn't yet. K has begun to admit that it is a problem, but has yet to admit that it is something they must change. That they should not be carrying this burden for themselves. They started to open up to Jammer, but they still have not talked about Itsy and what their work truly entailed. They're still hiding some parts of themself, not allowing others to help with their problems. They don't know how to let others in - at least, not anymore - and so they end up refusing to let up control. They cannot give themselves in to Sam's spell, because they have to solve everything on their own. They're slowly opening up to letting others help, though; Sam was not only able to get K out of the hospital, but K also included Sam in their plan to find the source of the amplification magic. They're just not completely ready to surrender fully to letting others help. Not yet.
But hopefully, soon.
Anyway. This episode was so fun, and I loved the look into everybody's character as they were faced with the challenges of The Trope Hospital. I can't help but want to dig my teeth into what all of these islands brings out of the characters, and how the narrative unfolds. I could go on and on about Aabria's worldbuilding, and about the cast and how they play their characters. Just. Ugh. Misfits is so good, y'all.
#text_loke#meta from loke#Misfits and Magic#Mismag#Mismag 2#Misfits and Magic 2#Misfits and Magic Spoilers#Mismag Spoilers#K Tanaka#Dimension 20#D20#D20 Misfits and Magic#D20 Mismag#anyway. i love these characters and the way they interact#also sorry if this is incomprehensible. i am StrugglingTM with doing my research and uh. brain gone
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Saw this trend on twitter and my first thought was — I need to do this with the gang so here we go
Deja and Cam join Juniper (my winter!mc) doodling all over her notes!
I don’t have much time to draw my MC and do her profile properly yet (blame my college quiz and assignments), I will tho, someday.
But, I did write down some basic facts and some random things about her :3
Starting w/ the basics — Juniper Clarke (she/her), 20 (DOB : 12 September/Virgo). Law major and Theatre minor. Korean.
and fun facts below the cut
12 Fun (?) Facts about Juniper Clarke
Is adopted by a gay couple, her pa is a lawyer and her dad works as a screenwriter.
The middle child; has an older brother (23) and a younger sister (8).
Got a Korean name from her pa (who is also Korean) that no one other than her family knows, even Deja and Cam.
Low spice tolerance. She once ate the buldak ramen and added a whole pack of the sauce, then ended up crying so hard that Deja started to feel sorry for her and got her some bobas.
Former child actress! (only got the supporting roles tho)
A mother of 3 children cats; Aurora (F), Apollo (M), and Anneliese (F)
Dyed her hair calico color to match Aurora because she is her first pet and raised by herself since 15. (yep she has her favorite but still loves all of them anyway)
No dating experience, nor has she ever felt any attraction to anyone in particular. However, she doesn’t mind dating and thinks about having a partner sometimes. There were some who tried to approach her but their approaches are ALWAYS either annoying or disgusting.
Musically gifted; has an angelic voice and plays many instruments (guitar, bass, piano, violin — the list goes on). Oh! She also likes dancing.
Learned foreign languages just to sing songs in that language perfectly.
Black belt in Taekwondo. It’s best to not mess with her or touch her without consent ;)
Dislikes bugs, but not as afraid of them as Deja is, she only avoids encounters as much as possible — Funny story; she accidentally stepped on a cockroach without noticing, but her two best friends saw everything (panicking even) and hesitated whether they should tell her or not. (they did, and Juniper almost fainted)
Juniper is my one and only MC for keyframes and I have no plans to create more. I ALSO can't choose which LIs I want to pursue but I'd like to see how things go and let future Juniper and the cast decide themselves (even though I kinda drew a meme about her and Jamie in a relationship *cough*). I'm a sucker for slow burn anyway! (Still, I like her chemistry with Percy and Jamie the most lol)
#keyframes vn#keyframes mc#keyframes fanart#deja lamarre#cameron molinares#keyframes cameron#keyframes deja#OC : Juniper#secretlyshippingjunipercyandjunijamie
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Okay I finished the episode and I have um. Thoughts. Warning I am angry and confused. And sad too wtf zzg
First off? Fuck Moby. I hate that guy. Oh my god. He treats the ghouls like they're trash as if he isn't a GOONER that only thinks abt an idol group.
Yes, I'm way more pissed off than I should be. Yes, it's because of the ending that absolutely wrecked me. But he's still behind it all. All for what?? Some tickets to see your idols? Fuck you Moby 🖕 I hope all your idols start dating.
Second. I'm having extremely conflicting thoughts about Ed. I like him as a character. He's unique and funny, but I don't understand him. What the fuck do you want, my guy. What was that whole thing in the balcony? Why do you want to turn mc? Is it for funsies? Are you bored? Do you even LIKE her? Because like. When he came to "protect" her, he said, "Those two would be so sad if you died," so he's not including himself. I'm so confused.
Also?????? Using his mind manipulation was SO out of pocket!! Trying to force her to accept getting turn into a vampire?? WHAT DO YOU GET FROM THAT!!
Then that whole speech while MC is being strangled by the anomaly. My guy I am literally dying here 🧍🏻♀️ can we leave the degradation kink for later. Maybe tell the spirit that they're weak AFTER you stopped it from killing me how about that
And I said that to Mel but like if he just fucking ACTED none of that mess would have happened. Lyca wouldn't need to attack and no one would come and see that mess. HE WOULDNT HAVE TO GO THROUGH THAT
SPEAKING OF IT ????????????????? HELLO ZZG? I WILL BREAK YOUR LEGS
WHY WOULD YOU DO THIS TO HIM. THE FIRST HUMAN (BESIDES MC) THAT HE ACTUALLY TRUSTED BETRAYING HIM LIKE THAT WITH THE WEAPON HE GAVE TO HIM?
BRO.
Zzg is sadistic. Like. Hello. No words. Even Rui was traumatized. Can we maybe let Obscuary live a little happier!!! Except Ed because apparently he needs to be put in his place
And him with Towa. It's so funny that we got so much info abt Jabberwock lore in this episode because ❓️ Oh so the fields will die if TOWA isn't there???
Meanwhile Haru is there just to keep some people alive?? Probably inhuman people, btw since he was so shaken when Hyde mentioned mermaids in the 7th episode. Anyway. So he's slaving away everyday, giving his blood sweat and tears, but the core of that place is Towa? Is that it? Idk I'm not good with theories and also idc.
BIG SIGH. Now I get why people were so conflicted by this episode. I finished it heartbroken and with more questions than before. Ed you're on thin ice. But also can you please stop trying so hard to be mysterious and just spill the information for once thank you
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𝐈𝐍𝐂𝐀𝐍𝐓𝐀𝐓𝐈𝐎𝐍𝐒 — part one
nonidol!ji changmin x f!reader
messing around with demonic rituals isn't exactly how you imagined getting bound to changmin's soul. (note to self: salt circles don't work when you draw the pentagram inside it...)
▷ genre, warnings. f2l, technically a college au, demon au (it's different from night terrors i swear. also it's not as intense lol), comedy, suspense/mystery, swearing (a lot... sorry 😭), drinking, low fantasy/supernatural elements, mentions of chronic illness, mentions of rituals and pentagrams, self induced soulmates? 🤔 but ofc 😂, kissing, mentions of blood, very small amount of violence (like one scene), what is a mfking slow burn like who needs to take their time w falling in love i sure don't 🤷🏻♂️, one allusion to death
▷ part word count. 16.3k out of 34.8k / read part two here
▷ inspired by. incantations (composed by richard meyer) it's not like,,, the fic's "soundtrack" or anything. i just think it sounds cool lol
this is my submission for deoboyznet's boyz who bite event! HAPPY HALLOWEEN!!!
a/n: i'm telling u that i resisted the idea of another demon changmin au for ONE WHOLE MONTH. i went through THREE OTHER IDEAS BEFORE FALLING BACK ON THIS DRAFT. I SWEAR. so pls reblog + comment + enjoy! :') and thank u to @justalildumpling as usual for reading this for me 😭💖
PART I: THE CATALYST
THERE WERE WORSE WAYS TO GO OUT, you supposed. However, the paranormal wasn't often a subject you frequented, so sitting atop an ashy-white pentagram wasn't exactly how you expected to be spending a Friday night.
“Changmin, you're always hooting about this shit,” Juyeon said as he peered over his shoulder at the boy lurking in the far corner of the living room. “Are you seriously all bark and no bite?”
No one really paid attention to Changmin's response besides you and Juyeon (kind of—he was busy lighting the candles). Technically, it was a new behavior; Changmin was usually the one obsessed with horror movies and the paranormal, constantly getting you all to participate in Halloween horror nights and haunted houses, and bringing his beloved (cursed) Chucky doll to any and every group movie night. But now that you were finally acting on his demonic big talk, all of that stuff and nonsense dissipated like the snuffing out of a candle.
A shadow fell across his face. “I already warned you guys. This isn't something you should be toying around with.”
“It's a Ouija board—what could go wrong?” Shuhua wrinkled her nose as she began tapping out a circle of salt around your body and the pentagram on the floor. “I saw them on sale at Toys R Us for half off.”
Because you were the last one to arrive tonight, you were chosen as the sacrifice. It wasn't really fair because this was literally Juyeon and Changmin's apartment, but it didn't matter much in the end. You didn't believe in this stuff and it wasn't your salt being wasted. (You were also exempt from venmoing Hyunjae a portion of the paycheck he spent buying candles and chalk. Save fifteen bucks and sit on a pentagram in a salt circle? Why the fuck not.)
“Don't we need to draw blood or something?” you asked, half joking.
“No.” Changmin's expression somehow grew even darker. Your eyes widened slightly; you'd never seen him so serious. “Absolutely not. Do you want this to turn out worse?”
“Changmin, dude, you gotta chill, man.” Hyunjae dumped the Ouija board he'd dug out of his parents’ attic onto the floor next to you, just outside the salt circle.
Shuahua squawked. “Oy! You're ruining my perfect circle!”
“Just redo it, dumbass!”
“You redo it, asshat,” she growled back, tapping out some salt to finish it.
Juyeon, as if to placate your friend, said to Changmin, “The salt will protect her.”
You blinked. “Oh, that's what it's for?” You could've sworn that was what the candles were for, but again, you didn't believe in this, so why would you know a thing about it?
Changmin's face hit the palms of his hands with a resounding slap. “Absolutely not. You can't have Yn in the circle if she doesn't even know what the Hell is going on.”
“So do you wanna be in the circle?”
His left eye seemed to twitch as he cocked his head to the side. Something about that movement made a shiver crawl down your spine. The sensation was akin to watching a predator consider its prey from the brush… but that wasn't right. Changmin was all dimpled smiles and goofy shenanigans and twinning with his horror doll child. There wasn't anything remotely scary about him, unless you made him mad (you hadn't yet). So why were your inner alarms screaming for you to run? “That's actually not a bad idea—”
“Okay!” Hyunjae called his hands together. “Let's get started, shall we?”
The thoughts were brushed beneath the dusty rug in your head. You shrugged at Changmin. “Too late, I guess.”
You thought you heard him mutter out something under his breath in frustration, but you didn't understand the language.
All of your other friends began to gather on the side of the circle where the Ouija board was. You weren't even sure what all the pomp and circumstance was for, but Changmin didn't seem up to correct anything. He continued to sulk in the corner with his arms folded over his chest, eyes shaded by the brim of his cap as he stared onward.
Hyunjae's eyes fluttered closed as he, Juyeon, and Shuhua placed their fingers upon the planchette. “To the spirits who may be here in this room with us—”
“And demons,” Shuhua murmured.
A choked sound came from Changmin's side of the room.
Your eyes flickered open and saw him rub a hand down his face as if he was stressed.
“We are opening the veil between your world and ours,” Hyunjae continued. “My name is Hyunjae, and with me are Shuhua, Yn, Juyeon, and Changmin.”
Shuhua inhaled shallowly. “Is there someone here with us?”
The apartment was consumed in a dead silence as the five of you waited. You sat cross-legged in your ring of salt, cheek resting against your fist. Your eyes were drifting to half-mast—it’d been a long day for you, and considering it was approaching midnight already, it was about time you went to bed.
“We brought you a sacrifice,” Hyunjae said. “We were wondering if you could tell us your name.”
A chilling breeze brushed past your cheeks and you glanced up, expecting the air conditioning to have caused it. There was no vent above you, however. Strange.
You wrung your hands in your lap. “You could possess me if you'd like.”
Your eyes joined your friends’ as you all pinned your gazes to the Ouija board. The planchette remained still.
After a beat, your patience ran thin, and you sat up to lean back on your hands—wasn't something supposed to happen?
The amber glow from the candles in the living room wavered violently. In your surprise, your fingers grated against the salt and hardwood as you nearly fell backward. You yanked your hand back to you at the sting.
The bodies in the room went taut, speechless.
A gust of wind—something impossible in this enclosed space—whipped past you in a wide circle. The salt circle was no more, the candle flames were snuffed.
You sat stiff as a board. For a moment, you could swear you felt some invisible, foreign weight rest upon your chest. It sank deep into you, a phantom hand reaching into your body as if to latch onto your very soul.
Ba bump ba bump ba bump, your heart drummed wildly in your chest.
Howls and gasps of delight were drowned out by the blood in your ears; they were sounds of awe from your friends. You placed your hand over your sternum in the dark to feel for that unseen force, but there was nothing.
The room flooded with warm light. It chased away the shadows to the furthest corners.
You glanced up and saw Juyeon at the light switch with a boyish grin stretched across his lips. “That was crazy! Yn, how do you feel?”
Eyes darted to you.
The pentagram beneath you was smudged, the white chalk staining your pants and your hands. You managed a smile, and then a slow nod. What you felt earlier was probably nothing.
“I'm good,” you chirped. You glanced over at Changmin in the corner, his eyes still shaded by the brim of his cap, but with the muscle in his jaw clenched. Why? Why did you look at him? You couldn't fathom why survival instinct had you encoded to turn toward that which was capable of your demise. “Yeah, I'm good.”
A yawn tore through you as you stepped into your darkened apartment. Your hand fumbled for the light switch and you tucked your shoes away on the rack, before depositing your keys onto the table with a noisy clatter. The remainder of your time spent at Juyeon and Changmin's had been spent cleaning up the failed ritual, and you hit the road as soon as it was over.
Your roommates were all out for the night, so the apartment was cold and quiet as you stumbled down the hall to your bedroom. Compared to your friends, you'd left rather quickly because of a text you'd received from Lee Chan, a good friend of yours and former neighbor from childhood. His home life hadn't been the most spectacular, so you and he became fast friends during the moments after school when you hung out on your front lawn.
He'd swung by your apartment earlier to drop off banana muffins, but you hadn't been home. I'm home now! But you can totally come by in the morning instead, you texted him after setting your backpack down and peeling off your jacket.
As you sat in the dim gold illuminating from your desk lamp, the pressure in your chest returned. You could feel your heart pick up speed in your ribcage and you lifted your finger up to your mouth to suck on the dollop of blood that had welled to the surface. It was a small scratch from when the candles went out—your own clumsiness—but it was nothing a My Little Pony bandaid couldn't fix.
A featherweight sensation drifted over your arm, and you slapped your palm over it as if to catch whatever invisible insect crawled atop your skin.
There was nothing though.
You glanced over at the window to your right. The sky outside was an unpeculiar ebony riddled with the white speckles of distant stars. No breeze drifted in from outdoors and you double-checked that the window was closed.
You startled as your phone vibrated on top of your desk.
dino!!: oh it's okay! i have dance practice early in the morning, so i'd rather bother you while ur still awake haha dino!!: i'll be by in about 10ish min if that's cool? your phone: sounds good lol and tysm :’)) love mingyu's banana muffins
You smiled to yourself at the thought of those delicious pastries. Chan's friend Mingyu baked whenever he was stressed, and he usually gave out the results of his stress-bakes to friends. The first time you'd tasted his banana chip muffins was the closest you would ever get to heaven on Earth.
“I'm glad he makes you smile at least.”
Your phone clattered to the floor, your physical body leaping five feet in the air as your soul flew out of its encasing. Everything in you jolted like one, big heart palpitation, and your wide eyes took in the sight of a person standing by your window.
Ji fucking Changmin had nary an apology on his lips for scaring the everloving Hell out of you. It was as if he hadn't even moved out of his position at his apartment: the crossed arms, the tense posture, the clenched jaw.
Except, his eyebrow was cocked this time, unamused by your very valid fear.
“Oh, fuck you.” You braced your palms against your bed as you stood opposite from him. “Fuck you, fuck you, and fuck you.”
“I got it the first time.”
You could have blown steam out of your ears. “What the fuck are you doing in my room, you creep?”
He raised his palms up, finally breaking pose. “I know what this looks like—”
“You know what this looks like?” You let out a scoff, throwing your arm out in wild gesticulation to match the throttle of your heartbeat. “This looks like Edward Cullen in Twilight, except this isn't a movie, you're not Robert Parkinson, and you just climbed up a five story building!”
Changmin stepped forward, and you took a very obvious step back. He exhaled, pressing his lips together. “Okay, I deserve that,” he muttered.
“No shit. I should call the cops on you, friend or not. What is the matter with you?” You had known Changmin for as long as your college career thus far. The five of you had met in the freshman dorms and stuck together like a package deal since. You were all quite close, and you'd spent more than your fair share of quality time with Changmin.
But this—nothing could warrant this behavior.
“I need to talk to you about something important.”
You enclosed your palms around your arms, defensive. “Then you call or text or use the front door. My window was locked—”
“The lock on your window should be the least of your concerns,” he huffed. There was a firmness in his voice and behind his words, and a matching gleam of desperation in his face. He pressed his fingers against your bedspread and the air seemed to still.
That phantom breeze had returned and it drifted against your arm. It came accompanied by the weight in your chest. “What,” you stammered, “do you mean?”
He glanced away then, that tension seizing his shoulders again. He scratched his jaw seemingly at odds with words. “The ritual that happened tonight… that was real.”
You paused. “You have got to be shitting me.”
“I'm not.”
“Changmin, I'm way too exhausted to deal with your pranks right now. If tonight was all an elaborate thing you guys did to get back at me for waking you up at 4AM—”
“Yn.” The tone of his voice made you stop. It made you think. You considered the graveness of his expression differently; you had never seen him so serious. It was jarring. “I am being incredibly serious. The thing that happened to you tonight? That was a summoning ritual, and you were actually put into contact with Hell.”
You remained quiet, unknowing of how to answer. All logic in your brain was countering his statements profusely—it wasn't possible. There was no way something as little as chalk, salt, and candles could open up a portal to Hell.
At your lack of response, Changmin continued, “Tonight, a line to Hell was opened. The ritual was meant to contact a demonic entity. Usually, ritualists use it to make deals and bargains with whoever answers the call. The human link—the 'sacrifice’” —he looked at you pointedly— “is one half of the signing party responsible for fulfilling whatever the bargain is.”
A shudder rattled down your spine at what he revealed to you. This had to be a joke, you thought. This could not be real. But every time you looked at Changmin, the expression on his face did not change and his voice did not waver.
You swallowed, hard. “So,” you said finally, your voice barely a whisper, “you're saying…”
A lone nod. “You made contact with a demon tonight.” He paused for a beat, something warring behind his eyes. “You made contact with me.”
What. You sputtered out a laugh.
Changmin released a small, but sharp exhale, patiently waiting for you to let your giggles out. There were undoubtedly better ways to reveal it, but any way would still evoke such a reaction from you.
“Okay, now I know you're fucking with me,” you said with the lingering curl of a smile on your face. “You're saying that you're a demon?”
He seemed to weigh an idea in his head for a millisecond before caving. He flicked his chin out toward you. “You cut yourself tonight?”
You flinched and instinctively curled your right hand, your other fingers running over the small slice in your index finger. “What?”
“Come on. Let me see.” At your balking, he lifted up his hand. “I bet you I have a matching mark.”
Your eyes narrowed. “What hand and where?”
“Right hand. Index.”
“This doesn't count because that's the most predictable hand and finger.”
He rolled his eyes. “Yn, don't be silly. I literally have the same mark.”
Slowly, he stepped his way around the bed to your side, stopping only close enough where you could inspect his hand from a distance. Lo and behold, the flesh of his index finger was neatly sliced open, slightly diagonal in the top right quadrant of the finger—exactly where yours was.
The breeze returned like a cool breath, gentle against your cheek, as you raised your eyes to meet his again. The horror in your gaze must have confirmed that he'd convinced you of who—no—what he was.
“So what does this mean exactly?” you asked him. There were no giggles this time.
Changmin sucked his bottom lip between his teeth. “We are now bound via soul,” he said and extended his hand out slightly. His fingers curled inward and he gave a tugging motion level with your chest, and something deep within you moved.
Your eyes went as wide as a full moon. “What the Hell…”
“That's the line we're connected by.”
“I'm on a leash?”
Changmin glanced toward the ceiling as if mentally counting to three, then took a breath. “Not a leash; it's just a line. That's what was created between us when I became the demon on the other end and you spilled your blood on the pentagram. It doesn't mean we're restrained to stay within physical proximity of one another, but it does mean that you can't run away and hide from me.”
You shuddered. “That sounds scary.”
“It would be if you didn't fulfill your end of a bargain, but you never made a bargain.” He lifted his baseball cap up to card a hand through his blond hair before replacing the hat on his head. “Which basically means that we're stuck like this. We are emotionally and metaphysically bound to one another.”
There were a lot of words that had been said over the past few minutes, and most of them were difficult to wrap your head around. The worst truth of all was the brief, but very real sensation you had felt when Changmin had tugged on the invisible link between the two of you. That weight on your chest from earlier… had that been the “bond” settling into place?
“How could sitting on a chalk pentagram even” —you waved your hands around as you attempted to formulate words— “how was all of that possible? I thought Ouija boards were fucking toys?”
“I told you guys that you shouldn't play around with those things.”
“Well, how the Hell were we supposed to know this was going to happen?” you countered. The four of you had done some innocent fooling around, and now, you were “emotionally and metaphysically bound” to Changmin. Whatever the fuck that meant.
Changmin sighed, rubbing his hands over his face. “We can undo it. I think.”
You think? “How?”
“I—I need to do some research,” he said with a grimace. “I've never heard about instances like this and I didn't think it was even possible. I thought I could just intercept the call—”
Intercept the call? You shook your head. “I need you to start from the beginning, but slowly, as if you're speaking to a five year old.”
He opened his mouth to retort, then stopped abruptly.
A change in expression flickered across his face. It was brief, almost instinctual. You swore it looked like mild irritation, but it was gone before you could be sure. “You should probably answer the door.”
“Answer the what?”
You nearly yelped at the sound of loud knocking at the apartment door. Confusion pummeled you first, then you were swearing. “Chan.” You forgot he was stopping by.
“I'll be right back,” you said, moving toward the bedroom door.
“It’s fine. I need to go looking for answers.” Changmin stopped you before you went out, and you couldn't suppress the violent shudder when the invisible line in your chest pulled taut. “And Yn? Don't do anything stupid.”
You made a face at him from over your shoulder. “I'm already soul-bound to you by accident. How much more stupid can this get?”
He threw his hand up in the air. “Just don't do anything Hyunjae or Shuhua would do. Actually, just don't tell any of them about what I just told you.”
Why not? You were about to ask when you heard Chan's voice at the door calling out to you. Another swear fell from your mouth and you rushed out into the hallway to rip the door off its hinges.
Chan startled as it opened, his eyes going wide like a deer's in the bright hallway lights. There was a loose blue hoodie hanging over his green dinosaur pajama pants. He had his phone in his hands along with a paper bag undoubtedly carrying the legendary banana muffins. “Oh, hi. Sorry, is someone here with you? I thought I heard another voice.”
You braced a hand around the doorframe. Don't tell anyone. “Ah,” you winced, the lie curling up your tongue, “I was just on a call with a friend and he wouldn't shut up. Sorry about the wait.”
“No, it's no worries,” he insisted with a classic, easygoing smile. It made the adrenaline in your veins calm somewhat. Chan had always been a good presence to be around. There was something perpetually warm about his persona that made you want to stay in his orbit. “Oh, right!” He handed you the bag. “These are all yours. Mingyu says to let him know how they taste this time around, as always.”
As you accepted the bag, your face lit up like a Hollywood billboard. “I can guarantee that they will taste as divine as always. Tell him thanks for me” —you glanced up sheepishly from the paper bag— “and also, thanks for stopping by. I wish I was home earlier so you didn't have to drive all the way back.”
You didn't realize your face had contorted into a grimace. If only you had come straight home instead of indulging your friends’ curiosity tonight. Then, you would have been here with the banana muffins and one less soul-bond to worry about; and you would have been none the wiser to the fact that one of your college friends was a demonic entity.
Hadn't Changmin mentioned that you were now emotionally and metaphysically bound? Did that mean he could feel your emotions?
The smile had long since slipped from your face, but now your hands grew cold. When you got your muffins just now, did he know—
“Yn?” You perked up at the sound of your name. Chan's hand froze midair, then retracted back to his pocket. Concern shone on his face as stark as day. “Are you okay? You look like you just forgot you have something due tonight,” he chuckled half-heartedly, but the sheen in his eyes told a different story.
“Oh.” You forced out a laugh. “I'm fine! Yeah, I was just reminded of something. Actually—uhm, I shouldn't hold you up for any longer. It's getting late.”
Chan stared at you for a moment longer, and for that seemingly infinitesimal second, you feared he could see the invisible knot tied to your ribcage. “Right,” he said suddenly while shaking his head. “You should get some sleep.”
Your hand reached for the doorknob. “Thanks for dropping by again.”
“Wait” —his palm pressed against the door to keep you from closing it— “are you sure you're okay?”
It was as if your guilt was written in plain words across your forehead: No! I just became magically handcuffed to one of my demonic friends! And I also sat in a pentagram salt circle less than two hours ago! Please help me!
You channeled all your energy into a convincing smile. “Yes, I promise I'm okay. Have a good night, Chan.”
It was enough. That easygoing beam graced your eyes once more and he took his hand back. “Okay,” he said, “good night.” He waved to you as he turned on the ball of his foot, and you waited until he turned the corner before closing the door.
Your entire body deflated as you let out a rather dramatic sigh. That sigh turned into a loud groan, which eventually escalated into a borderline scream.
Like a woman possessed (would possession have been a better outcome than this?), you slunk back into your bedroom with your treasures in your grasp. “Hey,” you muttered as you kicked the door closed, “I'm… back.”
The room was vacant. Not a trace of the blond demon could be found.
“Son of a gun.” You settled into your desk chair and pulled out one of Mingyu's stress-baked muffins. As you peeled the parchment wrapper from the muffin's bottom half, you attempted to process all that had occurred within the past two hours. Every time you rewound the events, you met the same dozen or so questions. If only Changmin were still here to answer them, but he mentioned something about going off to answer questions of his own, including ones pertaining to undoing this rather inconvenient situation you’d found yourselves in.
“He should have stopped us,” you garbled between bites of banana chip muffin.
Your chewing came to a gradual halt as you marinated on that thought. “He… should have stopped us.” Why didn't he stop the four of you? If he had stopped you and suggested a movie instead, or any other activity for that matter, you wouldn't be here and he wouldn't be stressed.
He should have stopped you since he knew what you were getting yourselves into.
You crumpled the now empty muffin wrapper in your fist. Ji Changmin had far too much to explain to you.
PART II: THE CONSEQUENCES
IF THERE WAS NO REST FOR THE WICKED, Changmin didn't want to be wicked anymore. By popular perception, he and half his heritage were “evil.” While his father was a human from this mortal plane, his mother hailed from one of the nine circles of Hell. They'd fallen in love, conceived a halfling child, and the remainder was history.
“You look like shit, Ji.”
Changmin's eye twitched as irritation needled beneath the surface of his skin. “Thanks,” he drawled, not bothering to spare Lee Chan a glance. If he had limited energy reserves, he wasn't about to spend a drop on giving Chan the time of day.
Plus, Changmin was more than aware of the thick shadows that lingered beneath his eyes like fog clinging to cobblestone. He had woken up from his ninety minute power nap, trudged into the bathroom, and faced his own gauntness in the mirror. Why the fuck did Lee Chan think it necessary to point it out?
Chan's stare lingered on him through the practice room's mirror for a moment longer until he was called away by Kwon Soonyoung. Only then, when Chan's attention was passed elsewhere, could Changmin release the breath he was holding onto.
It was one thing that Changmin couldn't shake the offputting energy he felt whenever he was near Chan; he could stomach being on the same dance team as the guy, even though they each harbored an unspoken dislike for one another; but it was another thing entirely that he and Chan were both friends with you. The two boys attempted to be civil in front of you because your comfort was more important than their pettiness, but currently, said truce was nowhere in sight just as you were.
Simply, there were less reasons for him to be amiable today, including his thinning patience. Last night’s debacle had drained him of his energy. He was a halfling, not a pure-blooded demon. Additionally, his mother wasn’t a high-ranking demon by any means, which basically screwed him in the area of power stores. He had magical capabilities, but it could only handle so much. Answering ritual calls and creating soul bonds required a decent amount of power, which was why they were usually only answered by the more powerful demonheads of Hell. They enjoyed making human suffering a pastime.
Tacking onto that Changmin’s brilliant idea of warping into and out of your room last night instead of using his own two feet, as well as spending hours digging through the occultish corners of the internet, added all together to make for one exhausted, stressed, and grumpy halfling.
A presence—this one being far more welcome than the previous one—appeared by Changmin’s side in the mirror. “You really need to start going to bed when you say you're going to bed,” Juyeon said as plopped down onto the laminated hardwood to stretch out his calf muscles.
Changmin followed his lead onto the floor, but opted to slide into a left split. “I was tossing and turning the whole night,” he dismissed with an innocent lie. (Well, “innocent” was subjective.)
“You should try this new matcha that Hyunjae got from his hyung. He brought it back from his recent trip from Japan.”
For a second, Changmin let the words feed into his head one by one: matcha… from Hyunjae… from Hyunjae's brother… which one was he? Oh, the one who just got back from Japan, Sangyeon. When his tired brain finally caught up, he gave a nod. “What about it?” he asked, raising himself up to switch his hips into the right split.
Juyeon looked on with envious admiration, even if this was the thousandth time he stretched with Changmin. “It’s really refreshing and has a bit of a caffeine kick, but it's not as awful as coffee. Indigo likes it, too—said something about it being one of those rare finds that you can only get in the secluded countryside or something.”
Changmin paused. Juyeon's girlfriend Indigo was someone Changmin got along with well, but that wasn't why he was slightly interested in the matcha now. What Juyeon wasn't aware of was Indigo's witch heritage. Just as Changmin was hiding in plain sight, so too was Indigo. And if she recommended some countryside matcha powder, he was going to be inclined to try some.
“Yeah,” he coughed, “sure. Sounds like it wouldn't hurt to try.”
Pleased with the outcome of the conversation, Juyeon smiled and nodded. “I'll get you some later today then. Hopefully it'll help with the weird headaches you've been having, too.”
Changmin had nearly forgotten about those with everything that had happened. He'd recently been struck by random headaches; there were no patterns to their appearance, and no remedy—human, at least—that could soothe them until they faded on their own. He'd failed to ask Indigo about it because, well, he didn't think it was important enough to act on. But if this tea could help him out, then it would be taking out two birds with one stone.
Practice went on swimmingly. Though Changmin could only boast about his ninety minutes of sleep, when it came to dance, it was as if he was possessed. This was a hobby—a passion—that never failed to drive a fire through his veins. It didn't matter if he'd had the worst week in the history of worst weeks; when the music started, he was cued in, and he gave it his all.
As a river of sweat poured down his face and the room suffocated with the humidity of everybody's labored breathing, practice came to an end. Changmin hiked his duffle bag over his shoulder and poured water down his throat. Juyeon wasn't far behind as the two of them waved goodbye to their teammates and headed out.
Saturday mornings usually occurred in similar fashions: dance practice was held from 7AM to 10AM, then Changmin and Juyeon would return to their apartment to wash up; Changmin would then eat about an elephant's worth of food while he caught up on lecture recordings—unless he had something else to distract him.
In the case of this Saturday, as soon as Changmin had finished showering, he plummeted face-first into his pillows and was out like a light.
Demons could dream, one must understand. However, the demonic body tended only to dream when it was well spent—exhausted. Demons liked to correlate a weakness with having dreams, because foolish visions meant that one was unable to control their own mind. Control was rather important when dealing with magic.
Even if the dream was about, say, something real and occurring right at the moment Changmin was asleep—it was still considered a dream. Because he had not yet learned to leash his mind from meandering down his fresh soul bond, he found himself in a body that was not his own.
Yours. It was your body.
Was this real, he wondered, as he soaked in the familiar sight of your bed, the desk, and the closet space. He'd been in here just last night—albeit, in a fashion that wasn't agreeable—and he didn't expect it to change, but it did look real.
It was like he was actually sitting in your room, except he wasn't able to move or control his own body. The heart that beat in his chest was yours, the blood that pumped in his ears was yours, and the breath that fell from his mouth was yours.
He inwardly sighed as you adjusted your position at your desk chair. What a predicament he found himself in. He could feel the ache in your back from the uncomfortable piece of furniture beneath you, as well as the knots in your shoulders. (Did that mean you had a bad night of sleep?)
Though, it wasn't all bad, he supposed. He did adore the smell of your perfume lingering in the air and clinging to the sheets, the walls, the furniture… You would never know this of course, if he could help it.
You were currently reading a book—for class or for enjoyment, he hadn't the foggiest. The left side of the novel you clutched in your hand was riddled with colored sticky tabs, and you had the back of a ballpoint pen pressed between your lips. (His lips? …No, this was a precarious line of thinking.)
Changmin followed along as you read. Well, he tried. Whoever designed the layout of this book must have had perfect vision and no sympathy for someone visually challenged. The font size was likely less than ten point, and good grief, the line spacing—
“Holy shit.”
He paused. Right, that was you and not him.
You leaned forward and brought the book closer to your face as you read over the line again.
“Oh my gosh, Eliot, you incredible, talented woman.” This earnest compliment was swiftly followed by a colored tab to mark the passage. Changmin was about to read what you tabbed, but your eyes went down to the desk to scrawl a thought onto a post-it note. “Dorothea, you poor, poor soul. Casaubon needs to get the fuck over himself—you are fifty, dude.”
Changmin, frankly, had no clue what was happening. But he didn't entirely mind, because the pure joy that fluttered in your (his) chest was enough to keep him satisfied. There was something oddly serene about being in your sphere of presence, and in this state of being, that kept him at ease.
The stress of breaking this soul bond ebbed away like the receding edge of a tide.
Alas, all good things had to come to an end. Changmin couldn't tell how much time passed before you bookmarked your place with an index card and pulled your phone toward you.
12:04PM was what your lockscreen read.
Oh, so he was definitely catching up on sleep, at least.
Wait—had you not eaten lunch yet? The unmistakable void in the pit of your stomach…
Yn! Eat lunch, you silly girl! Eat—
“He could just be away from his phone,” you muttered to yourself. There were a few app notifications waiting for you, but each dismissal was fueled with mild disappointment.
Who were you talking about, he wondered.
A flash of bitter annoyance pierced his chest at the memory of who you'd been texting last night with that big smile on your face. However, any of that sentiment was dashed clean away when you pulled up your text chain with him, not Lee Chan.
Changmin's heart sped to a gallop as he watched you swipe out just as quickly as you'd checked in. The reason was two-pronged: one, you were wondering about him; and two, you had texted him while he was currently asleep and he did not know how to wake himself up.
Ji Changmin, he chastised himself, you're not only intruding, you're also inadvertently ignoring her.
He could understand that he put you (and abandoned you) in a worrisome place last night. If he could tear out the strands of his fried, blond hair he would.
You were his friend, were you not? He cared about you, and this soul bond wasn't only stressful to him, but to you as well. Maybe ignorance really would have been bliss in this case.
Your phone emitted a low vibration as it rang. Changmin had missed the moment you decided to call someone. Juyeon's contact name and photo was displayed in the middle of the screen, and he answered before the call went to voicemail. “Yn, what's up? You're—you’re not mad about last night, are you?” The wince in Juyeon’s voice was audible.
“No, I'm not mad,” you promised him as you leaned your cheek against your palm. “I was just wondering if you know where Changmin is. I texted him an hour ago and he hasn't answered yet—I guess I'm just a little antsy.”
Shuffling, then, “Oh! Changminnie's sleeping. He didn't sleep well last night, so as soon as we came home from practice, he was knocked out.”
Relief made your shoulders sag. “Ah, okay.” A smile, self-deprecating in nature, curled up on your mouth. “No worries then. Thanks, Juyo.”
“No problem. I'll let him know to call you once he wakes up.”
“No, it's okay” —you began putting your materials away— “have you had lunch yet? I can swing by with food; I haven't eaten yet.”
“Really? I haven't eaten yet, and Changmin hasn't either. I'll split the cost with you.” Changmin wished he could say that he would also split the cost. Why were you coming over? He hadn't gotten a good look at the texts you sent before.
(It had to be because you wanted to see him, right? To talk—of course to talk and not for any other reason.)
You stood up from your chair and stretched out the stiff muscles in your back. “I'll be by in—maybe twenty or thirty minutes?”
“Sounds great!” Juyeon chirped. “Thanks Yn-ie. See you in a bit.”
You let out a small laugh. “Yeah, see you.”
As the call cut off, Changmin was left with a daunting task: to wake himself up. There didn't seem to be many options as to do this. If demonic dreaming was activated based on lack of control, that meant he had a lack of energy. Thus, if he couldn't yet regain control, it could only mean that he was still tired.
There were a great many things that he had yet to figure out about this kind of magic. It wasn't like his mother ever anticipated he would need to know about it, so she never explicitly taught it and he never asked.
He was kicking himself in the head now.
Meanwhile, you had busied yourself with getting ready to leave. You'd selected a jacket from your closet, swiped on a thin layer of lip gloss, and spritzed yourself with that divine-smelling perfume. It made his toes curl and his chest feel fuzzy.
Just as you were filling your purse, your phone jolted with an incoming call.
Changmin soured as he saw the caller ID through your eyes and felt, not disdain, but pleasant surprise. He couldn't fathom what you saw in Lee Chan, but he never said anything; you and Chan knew each other longer, after all. It wasn't his place to say anything, especially when his reason revolved around something as subjective as a “vibe.”
“Hi Chan,” you greeted when you accepted the call.
It was funny—a dull, but annoyingly familiar pulsing appeared in Changmin's head. It beat steady against his cranium, hard and relentless. The longer it continued, the more it hurt. Could you feel it, too? The sensation was recognizable at this point after so many instances of the random headaches popping up. Was he seriously getting another stupid headache during a dream?
He winced to himself, but suddenly felt his heart drop into the pit of his stomach when he heard you audibly grimace.
Was this headache yours or his? Should he be worried?
“What was that? Are you okay?” asked Chan from the other side.
Changmin/You clenched your jaw as your vision went spotty for a moment. Your hand whipped out to catch yourself against the table.
Panic seized his chest as you muttered out a reassurance, though unconvincing. The invisible string that tied Changmin to you tightened, stealing the breath right out of his lungs. It was as if his own physical body was yanking him back.
He was waking up.
No, he thought, no I need to make sure she's okay—
Distantly, he heard yours and Chan's voices. Your words between one another were muddied and distorted to Changmin. Before he could even begin to understand what was happening, his eyes opened.
“I could smell lunch through the door,” Juyeon sang to you in greeting as he eagerly beckoned you into the apartment.
You chuckled, shucking your shoes off under the rack by the door. In your hand, you held onto a large bag containing a box of delectably fragrant fried chicken and fries. Oh, glorious sodium and cholesterol. “Yeah, well, imagine my suffering as I was driving over here with it in the car,” you mused.
Juyeon locked the door behind you and took the bag out of your hands.
It was another thing to return to the site of last night's ritual. You'd been in this apartment dozens of times before, but it was difficult to look at the specific spot on the living room floor where the chalk and salt had been. Even if the vacuum cleaner had taken care of all that remained, you couldn't help but choose to sit on the end of the couch farthest from that spot on the floor.
“Oh, could I get a glass of water, by the way?” you asked Juyeon as the two of you began taking things out of the bag to lay them out on the coffee table. “I was feeling a bit lightheaded earlier.”
Juyeon's eyebrows creased as he straightened to head into the kitchen. “Shit, yeah—of course. You drove here while feeling like that? What if you passed out, Yn-ie?”
You snuck a fry into your mouth, murmuring your thanks as he handed you the cup of water. “I'm fine,” you insisted with a vague wave of your hand, “it was just the blood rushing up to my head, I think. And besides, you were already expecting me and I was hungry.”
“I would have woken Changmin up and dragged his ass out of bed.” Juyeon settled onto the couch with you and cracked open the can of Sprite he'd gotten out of the fridge. “You know, Changmin's been getting these random headaches, too. I guess not exactly nausea, but you guys have gotta be more careful,” he waved a fried potato at you as he said this.
The irony could not escape you, and you failed to keep a sarcastic smile to yourself. Uh huh. Be more careful, you say? Too late for that. You took a ginger sip of the water. “Is that right? Maybe he just needs more sleep or something.”
“That's what we thought at first,” Juyeon hummed, idly scratching the back of his neck, “but they happen no matter what he does. There's not really a noticeable pattern.”
You wondered if it had anything to do with his demoness. You couldn't be too sure because you hardly knew anything about his species yourself, but that could explain the seemingly randomness of the headaches. Perhaps it was another question to add to your list.
“Huh.” You frowned. “Well, I hope they go away for him soon.”
Juyeon nodded solemnly. “Yeah, same. Hyunjae's gonna bring over some matcha for him to try… oh, hey! You like matcha—do you want some?”
“Sure, I'd love—”
Your phone buzzed violently in your jacket pocket. A laugh of disbelief flew from your mouth when you saw the caller ID, and you flashed the screen at Juyeon. “Speak of the Devil.”
Juyeon chuckled as you answered. “Hello?”
“Hey, I'm so sorry I missed your text.” His voice, rough from sleep, was accompanied by heavy breathing and the sounds of fabric shuffling in your ear.
You nearly choked, but you remembered that Juyeon was none the wiser to the weird spike in your heartbeat, nor the reason for it. “It's all good; I was being impatient. Juyo said you didn't sleep well.” Your eyes darted to his closed bedroom door and wondered why he hadn't come out yet.
“Yeah.” A brief pause. “Are you—are you okay?”
“Of course, I'm okay,” you drawled, glancing over at Juyeon. “Why? Should I not be okay?”
“No, I mean—” His voice in your ear and behind his bedroom door overlapped one another like two ocean waves colliding along the sand. His door ripped open.
Changmin stood on the threshold with his phone in one hand and the other clutching the doorknob. He was in a loose white T-shirt and sweatpants, a thin layer of sweat making his cheekbones shine. His eyes, a wild creature of their own, landed on you—all of the tension in his body melted away.
He exhaled and sank against the doorframe, ending the call. “Hell…” he muttered under his breath as he dragged a hand through his hair.
Concern had you rising to your feet. “What? What's wrong?”
Changmin closed his bedroom door behind him and collapsed onto the couch somewhere between you and Juyeon. “Bad dream,” he grunted. “How much are we splitting?” The latter was asked as he shoved a fry into his mouth and pulled out the Venmo app on his phone.
You and Juyeon exchanged glances over the blond head: what just happened?; you think I know?
Juyeon sent you a shrug. “Well Yn?”
Now their focus was on you. You took your seat again and reached for your glass of water. “Ten bucks each.”
All of the food that you brought turned into crumbs faster than Cinderella's carriage at midnight. Considering all three of you had barely eaten all day, it was expected. At some point, Juyeon dipped out of the apartment to meet someone for a group project, so that left you and Changmin alone. It was the perfect opportunity to get what you came here for.
“You left pretty abruptly last night,” you said to him as you returned to the couch with a full glass of water. Changmin stood nearly opposite to you, his back against the wall by his bedroom door. He also nursed a cup of water. “And I have some questions.”
He let out a small laugh, his lips pressing his dimples into his cheeks. “I'm sure you do. Sorry, I realized that after I left,” he admitted and raised his free hand up to grab the back of his neck. “So shoot.”
It was strange, you thought. There was no way this guy could be a demon, but was that leaning into stereotype? Last night, that feeling you got when he looked at you from beneath the shadow of his cap… your hairs had stood on their ends and you couldn't shake the spike of adrenaline in your bloodstream. It had been undeniable.
But here he was with a pretty, boyish smile as if he was a completely different person.
“What did you mean by 'intercept the call?’ What exactly happened during the ritual last night?” you asked.
The smile slipped from his face a little, and his eyes flitted over to the spot you had been sitting twelve hours ago. “Like I said,” he began, “you opened a line to Hell—like a phone call, basically. I channeled enough energy to answer it before anyone else from Hell could. And instead of, y'know, appearing in front of you like another demon would, I was already there and just chose to stay quiet when the candles went out.”
You straightened. “So the breeze in the room was your doing?”
Changmin cocked his head to the side with a wince. “I think so? At least, I can't control it yet. Think of it as a physical manifestation of power.”
A physical manifestation of power—you imagined last night's scene from Changmin's point of view, where he stood in the far corner. He would have focused his energy toward the breach between the worlds, and that fulfillment swept through the room like a gust of wind. But then what about all the other times? That moment wasn't the only other instance of a cool breeze on your skin.
When you brought this up to him, Changmin pressed his lips together. “Ah. This?”
On cue, something lightweight and cool brushed past your cheek. Your hand darted up to cover it, and you looked over at Changmin who arched a brow at you. “You get creepier and creepier the more I know you.”
His mouth burst at the seams with a smile. He ducked his blond head, shaking it. You were missing some kind of joke here. “Don't speak too soon,” he said. When he raised his head back up, he ran his tongue over his smile. “It happens when I want it to, it happens when I don't want it to. Just depends.”
“Great.”
“I'll get it under control,” he promised.
You leaned forward onto your knees and pressed your mouth into a slight pout. “Is there anything I can do to bug the shit out of you? This seems like it's only entertaining for you.”
“Well,” Changmin shrugged helplessly, “that's kind of the point of why demons started to do this. They find humans entertaining, and they also like to hold them accountable. The line” —he gave a gentle tug at the invisible string you still couldn't find— “is an insurance policy.”
“Saying it like that just implies it's that much harder to work your way around it.”
“Pretty much.” A grin split his face, and you were struck by the ease you smiled back without having meant to. “Don't look too excited now.”
You flattened your face and voice. “I'm thrilled.”
Before Changmin could respond, you suddenly remembered the main question that plagued you last night. You cleared your throat, your fingers dancing around the sides of your glass. “By the way… why didn't you stop us last night?” You watched his facial expression and how it was carefully knitted into something blank. “If you knew what was going to happen, you could have insisted we stopped, and we would have. Why let us get to this point?” you asked, gesturing between the two of you.
Changmin's throat bobbed as he swallowed. “I was pretty confident that I could intercept it, so there wasn't any real risk with doing the ritual if you guys wanted to have fun. I just didn't count on…” He lifted his right hand, where the pinkish scar was left on his index finger.
He hadn't counted on you getting cut and sealing the bond.
You pinched the space between your eyes. “Ah. My clumsiness has now doomed me to be metaphysically handcuffed to you.”
“I wasn't going to say it…”
“Oh, go to Hell.”
Changmin laughed. “Only if you come with me.”
Heat rushed to the surface of your skin. Sometimes, his mouth moved too fast. You snuck a glance at him through your fingers while he sipped on his water. If you peered close enough, the tips of his ears were flushing to a light pink.
He lowered the glass from his lips, and a crease formed between his brows. “Also,” he said carefully, his tone starkly different from less than a minute ago, “I do have another side effect to add to the list.”
Your stomach flipped. Not another thing—
“I may or may not be able to occupy your physical body when I'm dreaming—”
Changmin grimaced as the bottom of your glass banged against the wooden coffee table. That expression only deepened at the wide-eyed fury—fear—on your face. “And when I was asleep earlier,” he continued on, dooming himself to walk the plank, “I kind of intruded on your reading session, and when you called Juyeon, and when Chan call—”
“Can I murder you? Would that harm me in any way?” you cut in.
His mouth was open, but no words were coming out.
You stood, abandoning your seat on the couch and your water glass, to step across the room toward him. “Because if I could,” you said while pressing the back of your knuckles to your lips, “I can rid myself of the absolute creep of a friend I have!”
Changmin's eyes widened as soon as it hit him—your hand. Your hand hit his shoulder.
He bolted.
“Hey, let's talk about this, Yn-ah!” he exclaimed and dove into the kitchen to duck behind the counter. Some monstrously high-pitched scream left his mouth as he scrambled to stay out of your reach.
“We are talking about this, Changmin-ah.” You charged after him, chasing him around the counter and back out of the kitchen. If you didn't respect Juyeon like you did, you would have fully embraced becoming a bull in a china shop.
Your fist hit the solid plane of his bedroom door just as it slammed in your face. You let out a sound suspiciously close to a growl. “You possessed my body without my consent!”
“It's not like I consented to it either! It just happened!”
“That's not a valid excuse, you panini head!”
“I don't want to possess your body!” he insisted through the door with his voice going higher than the Eiffel Tower. “Why would I want to possess your body? I don't wanna be around when you and bestie Lee Chan gush about Star Trek.”
On certain occasions you really wished you had Superman's laser vision. Then you could burn through this stupid piece of door and roast a demon. “You're not helping yourself, Ji.”
A beat passed. “Look,” he huffed. “It only happened because I was exhausted as shit, okay? I really had no control of it, I swear on my life.”
You remained still with your arms braided across your chest without a word coming to mind.
“I didn't see anything sensitive, I promise, and my body woke me up and pulled me out of it when you got that really bad headache.”
Huh? That bout of lightheadedness… was that related to how the connection was severed? Or at least, hindered? You brushed the curiosity aside; weren't you supposed to be mad at this guy?
“Which was also why I was worried when I woke up and asked if you were okay,” he added in earnest. He did look worried like you were going to die when he woke up…
You glared impetuously at the closed door to the point you were sure even the wood grains were two seconds from apologizing to you. “Okay, fine,” you relented. “But you're not fully off the hook; I just won't use the kitchen knives.”
A choking sound filtered through and you felt the corners of your mouth tug upward.
“What can I do to make it even?” Changmin asked, though he continued to remain behind the closed door.
Frankly, there weren't many things he could do to even the score unless you chose to be creepy and sit in on his private moments. You shuddered—you’d rather not. Those were private for a reason. Maybe he could burn his eyes out with bleach. (Kidding… ish.) “I don't know,” you said half-heartedly, ”tell me a secret.”
A moment of silence passed. “I thought it was hot when you asked if you could kill me.”
Not even an ounce of shame with this one, huh? “You're sick. I'm leaving.”
For the second time today, his bedroom door ripped open. “No, wait, I was kidding! Yn, I was kidding.” (He was not kidding).
You stopped, half-whirled around. In your periphery, he stepped out of his room, but refrained from getting too close. When you turned around fully, the red that dusted his cheekbones was unmistakable. Unfortunately, seeing him flustered was enough for you at the moment.
With a feigned, heavy sigh, you motioned to him. “C'mere.”
Changmin perked up like a confused puppy.
“Come here,” you repeated with more urgency this time. You curled your hand toward you to beckon him closer.
He crept closer to you. There was a gleam of uncertainty and suspicion in his eyes as you continued to gesture at him closer… and closer still. Your heart throttled against your ribcage; your physical body was even unsure of what exactly you had in mind.
Only once his face was close enough you could count his eyelashes were you satisfied. You could hear him gulp.
And maybe you let the moment linger too long. His gaze flickered away from your eye contact for a heartbeat, eyelashes fluttering as he considered something out of the bounds of friendship.
You raised your hand up to his forehead and flicked him between his eyes. Hard.
Changmin yelped and fumbled backward to the boisterous sound of your laughter. He rubbed his forehead furiously where an angry, red mark formed and smarted. He snarled at you, “Not cool!” His face was nearly as red as the mark… oops.
“That's what you get!” you countered with an accusing finger. “Now. Promise me you'll never purposely possess my body in your dreams, you perv.”
A grumble came from the depths of his throat—agreement. “I never did it on purpose,” he mumbled, slapping his hand with yours in a binding handshake. He sounded like a teen boy who's gaming console was just taken away.
“And promise me that you will take care of yourself, so that we can get out of this binding thing and so that you don't accidentally possess me.”
“Didn't you offer to get possessed last night?” Changmin stiffened as the words left his lips. “I didn't mean that! Don't get the kitchen knives!”
His giggles pierced the air, sharp but endearing, as he scrambled back into his room with you clinging to his heels. “Or get the kitchen knives—it’s kind of hot.”
“Ji Changmin.”
PART III: THE RELATIVE
WHEN YOU APPEARED IN YOUR 8:30 biopsychology lecture on Monday morning, you had nearly forgotten that the world had not completely turned upside down when you bound your soul to Changmin’s. No one else but you and he knew about it, and it seemed he was determined to keep it that way. Nonetheless, when you settled in your usual seat about midway up the lecture hall, close to the exit on stage right, you looked into Yeh Shuhua’s terrifyingly beautiful eyes and almost blurted your secret.
It was because of that reason, and the fact that she was one of your close friends. She was one of the participants of the ritual; it was only right that you disclosed to her the consequences of all your actions. However, the reminder from Changmin echoed in your head like a dull heartbeat: Don’t tell any of them. Don’t do something stupid like Hyunjae or Shuhua. He realized that ‘stupid’ applied to him, too, right?
“You seem antsy,” were her first words to you as you finally decided on how you would roll up your jacket. It had taken a couple tries and configurations before you settled on just draping it over the chair behind you.
You straightened in your chair. Perhaps subtlety was not with you this morning. “My coffee was too strong,” you said.
She snorted, a bright and unassuming sound, as she pulled her laptop out from her bag. “Honey, you don’t drink coffee.”
…Right. You let the words sink in to properly register your dumbassery, then settled on the most basic excuse known to college students. “It’s too early for this.”
“Amen.” Conversation saved.
When you first signed up for this class, you were under the impression that it would be a riveting insight into the brain and its inner workings. Alas, your professor from Psych101 did you a disservice by testifying to Psych210’s interest factor, because it was entirely lacking in interesting things. The majority of what was being discussed in lecture could be read about via the slides, but unfortunately, participation was mandatory. Even worse was that this class was the prerequisite to the neuroscience class that was actually interesting.
You didn’t like to critique the teaching skills of a professor who was meant to research and not to teach, but you were going to for the umpteenth time.
Beside you, Shuhua barely swallowed a yawn and hid the last bits of it behind the lid of her coffee tumbler. She took a sip, then leaned over to you. “I’m pretty sure I learned all of this in freshman year biology.”
“Is that right,” you murmured. You hadn’t taken the introductory biology series because you were only minoring in psychology, whereas Shuhua was a neuroscience major. “You must really be suffering then.”
Her head slowly touched down onto your shoulder. “Tell me about it… by the way, did you hear about the house party that’s happening on Saturday?”
You hummed. “Who’s hosting?” House parties were usually something you needed to be a part of a friend group to be invited to. Though, that was usually the case for all parties in college, you’d found out. Fraternity parties were oftentimes exclusive to Greeks, or if you knew a frat brother or sorority sister. Other parties were spread by word of mouth and required an entrance fee that amounted to a fraudulent sum of money. Thus, if you went to any party, it was either a house party hosted by a friend of a friend, or one of your friends’ birthday parties.
“Hm… it’s my family friend’s kid’s friend group.” She paused, then clarified her statement, “Yangyang. You know Yangyang, right?
You made a sound of acknowledgement. “Isn't he friends with Xiaojun, Kevin, and Yuqi, that group?”
“That's the one,” she chirped. “But he only lives with Xiaojun and a couple other guys. It's a house in one of the neighborhoods nearby.”
“I see. Are we going?”
“Of course we are, silly.” Shuhua blindly patted one of your hands and you imagined that her eyes were likely already closed. You and your friends were accustomed to forcing one another to socialize outside the group from time to time; it made the college riptide a bit easier to swim through. “I just didn't know if you were aware or not yet.”
“Well, now I am,” you chuckled.
“You sure are.”
The remainder of the lecture went by as dull as it usually did, and 9:30 could not come faster. You and Shuhua bumbled out of the packed auditorium among the crowd of others filing out.
A yawn stretched your mouth open as you checked your phone. “You've got a class after this, right?” you asked Shuhua.
She nodded. “Unfortunately. Do you wanna have lunch together afterward?”
“Ah” —guilt anchored itself to the pit of your stomach, allowing the urge to spill your secret to dwindle— “I'm actually hanging out with Changmin today.” Neither of you had terribly busy Mondays, so you both decided to do some solution-hunting together, whatever that meant. He just needed to be back by the time his dance rehearsal started.
Her mouth quirked to the side in a slight frown. “Oh, okay. Just you two?”
“Yep.”
For a second, you thought she was gazing right into your soul where the invisible knot was tied linking you to your mutual friend. But she suddenly smiled and blew you a kiss. “No worries! Have fun.”
You blinked, the anxiety lingering. “Yeah… thanks. You, too.”
Shuhua left first to hurry off to her next class while you remained in the lobby. You had fully expected that she would at least ask what the two of you were doing, and you were prepared to come up with another dumb excuse. It wasn't suspicious that you and Changmin were hanging out alone, right? There were plenty of instances where you hung out solo with your close friends.
You brushed it away. It was the paranoia talking.
You headed toward the nearest parking lot. Because you lived relatively close to campus, there was usually no need to drive, but since you and Changmin were going elsewhere in the city, you opted to drive.
As you settled into the front seat, you sent him a text to let you know you were on your way over to his apartment. It would be convenient if you could somehow use the soul-bond to communicate with him instead, you thought as you navigated through campus to a nearby neighborhood. Alas, based on what Changmin told you before, the bond was more useful to him than it was for you. How wonderful.
You let your car run as you pulled up to the curb outside of his apartment complex. Through the windows on the first floor, a periwinkle sheen caught your eye. There wasn’t much doubt in your mind that it was the ribbon Changmin tied to his bicycle. It was his favorite color—not that you knew that for any particular reason, other than the fact that you were friends. It was useful information for birthday cards, was your reasoning.
Before you could meander down some weird mental road of thoughts, the passenger side door opened and closed. Your counterpart was dressed in dark green today: dark green sweater, a darker but muted shade of cargo pants, followed by a matching cap shoved over his blond hair. “Hi,” he said, strapping himself in with the seatbelt and setting his bag down by his feet.
He looked particularly pocket-sized today with the cheeky, dimpled smile on his face and you smiled in greeting. “Hi!” you chirped back. “Where to?”
“An aunt of mine lives downtown. Do you know how to get to Union Station?”
You nodded, tugging the car into drive, “Yup. Wow, she lives down by the waterfront?”
“Yeah,” he laughed. When he did, he ducked his head so you only caught a glimpse of that dimpled smile. “She’s married to a siren.”
Your eyes went wide, and his laugh grew louder. You flattened your expression into a deadpan as heat rushed to the back of your neck. “Don’t laugh,” you muttered. “Why are you laughing?”
“I’d say for you to not pout then, but it’s cute,” he replied with that smile lingering on his face in the form of a half-smirk. He had pulled his phone out to text someone. “I’m only laughing because I had a feeling you’d react like that, and I was right.”
You huffed. “I feel like I’m at too much of a disadvantage around you.”
“You have more power than you think.” Changmin passed you a glance and deposited his phone in the cupholder. He leaned his cheek against his knuckles. “You just need to exercise it.”
“Well, I can’t exactly threaten you with kitchen knives and forehead flicks all the time.”
He shrugged. “That’s not what I meant, but it’s whatever. How was class?”
Changmin, Juyeon, and Hyunjae were all aware of yours and Shuhua’s disdain for your shared biopsychology class. The complaints had filed (flooded) in as soon as the first week of classes were over. You could gab on and on about the boredom that plagued you, but you hardly wanted to be a broken record when there were other things to talk about. “It was fine,” you said, then swiftly moved to something else. “I think I almost told Shuhua, like, twice about the soul bond thing. Why can’t we tell them again?”
“Do you really think they’d believe us?”
You thought about it—about the twin cuts on your index fingers, the unseen string that tethered your souls together, the dream that Changmin had. They would think Changmin had roped you into his regular shenanigans, and in a way, he had. You sighed, albeit reluctantly. “True. But it just feels…” you grimaced. “Is it weird that I feel guilty?”
Changmin shook his head. “No, I’ve had to tiptoe around my mom’s and my true nature around you guys for years. It’s natural to wanna be truthful to your friends, Yn, but some things are better left unsaid.”
“Is there a reason why the supernatural community stays hidden? Is that something I can ask?”
“Of course,” he said easily, turning his gaze out the window. “It’s just that it’s better—safer—for us this way. Humans can hardly handle differences amongst themselves as it is; imagine what would happen if they found that even more species of sentient beings existed, y’know?”
Truth was a difficult pill to swallow. It was a capsule that often found itself lodged in a throat rather than being digested. And even if it eventually managed to make it to the stomach, it sank to the bottom like a body anchored by bricks in a river. There was, unfortunately, much merit to what Changmin said.
Your eyes flickered to your side mirrors as you merged onto the highway. “I see.”
“It’s definitely relieving that at least one of my close friends knows the truth now, though.” He knocked the back of his hand against your arm in a warm gesture, and although you were unable to return the expression or even look at him then, he was looking at you.
Because you and Changmin set off just after rush hour passed, the drive through the downtown scene was relatively easy. The rest of your time in the car was spent chatting about the party Yangyang and his housemates were throwing, as well as Changmin directing you to his aunt’s residence by the marina. His ability to give directions left much to be desired; your car was filled with shouts and bickering whenever he told you to turn too late.
Somehow though, you arrived at the right street, and he even helped you find a parking spot along a curb that didn’t involve ungodly hourly parking rates. You wouldn’t call it a complete redemption, but he was on his way toward one.
“Are you sure it’s cool if we just show up unannounced like this?” you asked him, tilting your head back to peer up at the apartments that towered above you. Some of the windows were left open and their curtains drifted whimsically in the mid-morning breeze; some of the fire escapes were connected by copper-colored ladders, fitting together like a puzzle. You liked to think that complexes like this housed residents who were friendly to one another like some fantasy video game—a pair of friends hanging out of their windows to gossip across the fire escapes, a cat sleeping in the window—that sort of thing.
Changmin stood next to you, but his gaze was turned out to the marina in the distance, the sails of boats in the foreground of the slate blue-gray of the bay water. “Yeah, it’s cool. And we’re not exactly unannounced; I told her we were coming.”
“When?” You followed him in through the front door. The hinges squealed upon use and the door shuddered violently when it closed.
“In the car.”
You deadpanned at his back as you followed him up the stairs. “You’re an awful relative.”
“Don’t all relatives show up to their other relatives' homes unannounced?” he jested. “I’m a model nephew, actually.”
“A model in what standard? Hell?”
He shrugged up ahead, glancing back to pass you a boyish grin. “Yeah, basically. My mom says demons just kind of teleport into their relatives’ homes unannounced.”
“So that’s where your incredible lack of boundaries comes from,” you said and glowered up at him.
You met Changmin on the landing of the second floor and ducked out of the stairwell into the dimly-lit corridor. It was quiet here in the middle of the day, but you could hear the muffled sounds of television programs and voices emanating behind different doors you passed by. The carpet was well-trodden and didn’t kick dust up when you walked, and the overall smell was vaguely fishy and reminiscent of the seafood section of a supermarket.
“Cultural difference,” he replied cheekily. “This is hers, Aunt Jenna’s.” He gestured to the door he stood at with a rusted, gold B29 hanging on its surface just above the peephole.
You tucked your hands into your jacket pockets. “Anything I should know before going in?”
Changmin paused and his face flashed with realization. It translated roughly, but accurately enough, to ‘Uh oh.’ He opened his mouth to say something, but the door beat him to it.
Correction: his aunt beat him to it. Or at least, she was who you assumed was his aunt. Her facial features and bone structure weren't similar to Changmin’s at all, but those eyes—dark like the deepest corner of a shadow; engulfing, embracing, enveloping—her eyes were what made familiarity pang in your chest where the soul-knot sat.
Her mouth stretched into a bright smile. “Changmin-ah! And his significant other, isn’t it—or kids these days say partner instead, hm? Don’t be strangers now; come in, come in!”
What did she just say? You have got to be kidding me.
Too overwhelmed to think, you let his aunt usher you and Changmin in through her front door. You threw—chucked—an alarmed glance over at your counterpart, who could only meet your wide eyes with his own. Shoes were exchanged for slippers, and you were guided toward a couch settled in one part of the cozy living space.
“It’s nice to meet you, Aunt Jenna,” you finally managed to say through the heat flaring up your neck and behind your ears. “But I do have to, uhm, correct you.”
Changmin coughed beside you on the couch as his aunt perched on the coffee table across from you both. “She’s not my romantic partner, auntie. Yn’s just a friend.”
You nodded earnestly.
His aunt’s face flickered from that sunny smile to a more somber surprise. She broke into a sheepish sort of laugh, absentmindedly brushing a lock of hair behind her shoulder. “Oh, well how silly of me. I’m sorry if I made you uncomfortable—I got embarrassingly excited,” she confessed. She addressed Changmin specifically, reaching over to whack his knee, “You used the word for lover when you texted me earlier!”
Changmin’s hands rocketed up as both you and his aunt fixed him with pointed looks. “It was a typo and an honest mistake,” he swore. “I haven’t spoken or written in that demonic dialect in awhile,” he said to you, “and the words for friend and lover are, like, one letter different.”
His mouth had pursed into an unconscious pout, and you reached over to flick him between the eyes. Bone against fingernail, and the dense thunk sound the impact produced was quite satisfying.
“Ow! I'm sorry!”
You turned to a rather amused Aunt Jenna. “I'm sorry I did that in front of you. I swear, I won't make a habit out of it.” That remained to be seen, however. How had you refrained from flicking him for his behavior before this?
She chuckled. “I'm sure he's warranted it more than once. It's nice to meet you, Yn.”
“Likewise. You have a lovely home.”
Changmin held his forehead with his hat now sitting in his lap, and his eyes narrowed at the two of you. “This was the worst idea I've ever had.”
“Do you drink tea, Yn?” his aunt asked you, waving aside her nephew's comment. “I'll make us some tea and we can talk about whatever you both came to discuss.”
Tea was served on an elegant tray made of polished dark wood. The color was a deep red, as if it had been dipped in a vat of blood, and was engraved with images of what you assumed to be flowers with long stems crowned with big, beautiful petals. You nursed a Finding Nemo mug between your palms, gently blowing on the steam that wafted out of the aromatic floral tea.
Just the fragrance of the drink was enough to put you at ease. The muscles and knots in your shoulders loosened, your frown lines smoothed over. You took a gentle sip and savored the tangible warmth that streamed down your throat and into your stomach.
You nodded to Aunt Jenna who's dark eyes gleamed knowingly over the rim of her mug. “That's very good,” you said.
“Isn't it? Would you like to take some home?”
Changmin harrumphed from beside you after taking a hulking gulp of his own drink. “Guys, please.”
“Mm yes, yes.” Aunt Jenna waved her free hand flippantly. “Your problem.”
While Jenna had prepared the tea, you and Changmin explained to her how your souls became tied together. Most of the explanation consisted of specific details of the ritual itself, not the circumstances before. You described the physical sensations on your end, and Changmin added in his out-of-body experience.
When your piece was said, it left Aunt Jenna to marinate on all the facts. She took a sip of her drink first. “Well, you're both fools, but you” —she wiggled an accusing finger at her nephew— “especially. How could you be so irresponsible as to let your friends go through with a bargaining ritual?”
Changmin grabbed the back of his neck and hung his head like a kicked puppy. “It didn't seem like the end of the world if they wanted to have fun.”
“I suppose,” Jenna muttered, but not without some sympathy. She was a demon living amongst humans, too, after all. “But look where that's gotten you both. There are just far too many unforeseen variables that could have made this situation ten times worse. You and Yn becoming soul-bound is probably the best outcome, frankly.”
You would beg to differ, but you kept your lips stitched together and attached to the rim of your mug.
“But as for undoing it, I'm afraid there aren't many options.”
You detached your mouth from the mug.
You and Changmin exchanged a glance with one another. He asked, “What are our options?”
Aunt Jenna's mouth pursed slightly to form small divots in the sides of her cheeks. “The one most accessible to you is to bargain with another, more powerful demon to take over your bond with Yn.”
“Absolutely not,” he interjected. “That's out of the question.”
“I guessed as much,” she said, taking another sip. “Then it's quite literally impossible—unless you used cursed magic—but even if you didn't care about facing the hellish consequences, gaining access to a Book of the Diabolical is insanely difficult.”
Though you were completely ignorant to almost everything Aunt Jenna was saying, you weren't so ignorant to her message between the lines: you were fucked. Supremely.
Looking over at Changmin only confirmed what you were thinking. There seemed to be a war being waged behind his eyes as he clutched his mug in his lap and glared at a grain in the hardwood floor. This situation was partially your fault and his, and now, the only thing you could do was to drown in the consequences.
You turned to his aunt. “Then how can we live with it?” In your periphery, Changmin's head raised. “I mean, are there techniques to better control this situation, like on both Changmin's end and my end if we can't simply rid ourselves of it?”
Aunt Jenna considered you for a moment, then nodded slowly. “There are,” she said. “Control is something very valuable to demons, Yn. I don't know how much Changmin's told you—”
You sent him a thin smile.
“—but mastering your own body is one of the most integral things young demons first learn. If you don't have control over your mind and body, then how could you possibly be trusted to control anything else?”
That made sense, you thought. It was a thoughtful principle, too, that others (humans) could learn from. What other parts of demon culture and values were there that these two would be willing to share with you?
Jenna had finished her cup of tea by now and set her empty mug back onto the tray. “So the easiest way, I think, to safeguard yourselves against one another is to strengthen your minds.”
What exactly Aunt Jenna had in mind was meditation. Because you were human and couldn't exactly perform the same demonic energy rituals and mind exercises that Jenna and Changmin could, meditation was the next best group activity. In order to do this, Jenna shut all of the curtains and sealed the living room off from the outside world. The coffee table and sofa were shoved to the edges of the room, while the empty space was occupied by three bath towels and a Bath and Body Works candle.
It was reminiscent of the ritual from That Night, but your heart rate sat a little more stable with the belief that you were in capable hands this time.
The three of you arranged yourselves in a loose triangle around the lit candle, its small flame shuddering at the force of your breaths.
“You can place your hands wherever you're most comfortable,” Aunt Jenna said lowly, softly—a vocal embodiment of the small head of fire upon the candle. “Sit up straight, close your eyes, and breathe in deep… let the darkness envelope you.”
There weren't many moments when you considered yourself petty, salty, or bitter. But at this very moment, you were most certainly all three at once.
“Are you really still mad that you fell asleep?” The question was posed with as much audacity as there was incredulity in his voice.
You didn't have to direct your glaring eyes at Changmin for him to feel the edge. “It was embarrassing,” you grumbled.
“Aw, it's okay. Not everyone has the mental fortitude to meditate.”
And you do? you wanted to snap back like a five year old. Instead, you tightened your grip on the steering wheel and focused on not steering the two of you off the road. “I will literally ditch you on the highway.”
He leaned his head against the window to watch you with a twinkle in his eyes and a toothy grin on his lips. “And I will literally haunt you in your sleep.”
The pair of you were in the car driving back up to the university. You had just left Aunt Jenna's about fifteen minutes ago after the failed meditation session (for you) and her insisting you both stayed for lunch. With your stomachs full and your heads quite literally empty, there was nothing left to do but to return home.
There had been a moment before you both left when Jenna pulled Changmin aside to have a private conversation. You had lingered outside the apartment door, but couldn't hear anything despite it being left slightly ajar. There must have been some crazy soundproofing done on her apartment. A charm, perhaps?
But when Changmin came to join you, you picked up the tail end of their talk. It had to do with Changmin pleading with her not to tell his mom about what happened; Aunt Jenna would only agree if he promised to babysit her kids next week.
That thought made you smile to yourself even through the cloud of salty pettiness in your vision. What was Changmin like around kids? The guy was rather childish himself, but… you wouldn't deny that he would probably be good—
“What are you smiling about?” he mused as he peered out from under the brim of his cap. He reclined his seat back a little and crossed his arms over his chest, settling himself in for the ride back.
You scoffed and forced the smile away. “Wouldn’t you like to know.”
He hummed. “Methinks it was about me,” he teased and tugged his cap further over his eyes so even his mouth was barely visible. At your silence, he murmured, “Also, I hope you're not bothered about earlier.”
“Hm?”
“I mean—the fact that you weren't able to meditate. And,” he added quickly, “I'm not trying to make fun of you. It's just that that was the only way Aunt Jenna could think that you could safeguard yourself against me. I'm gonna be really good about this, Yn, I swear. I don't—y’know, I don't want anything to change between us.”
Ah. Well, since his hat was over his eyes, you allowed your smile to slip back into place. The weight in your chest was warm, a comforting sort of tightness. You were gradually getting more accustomed to its presence, and at this particular moment, you were glad to be aware of it.
“I believe you,” you said to him. “And I don't want anything to change between us either.” You were friends before the ritual, and you would continue to be friends after it.
You were content with being accompanied by your thoughts and the radio for the remainder of the ride. Your companion in the passenger seat had drifted to sleep at some point when the highways began to grow rather congested with the early afternoon traffic. Changmin had a dance rehearsal in a couple hours, which gave some leeway as to what time you needed to get him back by.
By the time you hit the university district, the sun perched lower in a sky spotted with cirrus clouds, wispy and drifting in the autumn breeze. The filter it cast over the world was a mute gold, warm.
Changmin peered out his side window as you navigated through the busy streets, his face nearly pressed up against the glass because his cap was turned around. There was far too much foot traffic at three in the afternoon, but it was unfortunately a popular time to be out and about for students on a Monday. “Could you drop me off at the sandwich shop on the corner over there?” he asked suddenly, his voice gravelly from disuse. He inclined his chin further down the block, and you had enough time to switch lanes.
“Yeah, sure,” you murmured, glancing over at him. “You don’t want me to drop you off straight at the dance hall?”
“Nah, I’ve got a couple hours, so I think I’m gonna get another bite to eat first.” He rummaged around in the bag at his feet, double checking that he had brought along everything he needed. “D’you wanna…” His voice trailed off as he turned his head up toward you.
You hummed in question and furrowed your brows in concentration to direct your car into a parking spot along the curb.
“Did you wanna come in with me? I don’t know what your plans are after this.” Changmin had one foot out the door, but the rest of his body remained here with you, in the car, as if hesitant to leave just yet. With the brim of his cap turned around, you could better see his face, the hair pushed out of his dark eyes. There was a small smile seated upon his lips, hopeful in the way it curved into his cheeks in the way you always found slightly endearing.
Your hand lingered by your seatbelt. What were your plans after this? Nothing, right? “I mean, if you don—”
“Yn, is that you?”
The voice and the interruption elicited similar jolts from both of you. Your head whipped around on instinct to locate the person who had called out to you.
Crossing the street to you now was Lee Chan. He had his backpack slung over his shoulder, and he waved a hand at you when he caught your eye. But they flickered away from you to someone behind you—Changmin straightened to his full height, his head appearing over the roof of the car.
You glanced back at your counterpart. That smile, so boyish and innocent, had grown an edge.
“Thanks for the ride, Yn,” Changmin said to you, ducking his head to address you. He reached into the car so he could clasp your hand, his fingers clutching yours as he stole your gaze away… they lingered. “I’ll talk to you later, hm?”
You nodded, unsure why you were so dumbfounded. “Yeah, sure,” you stammered out. “I had fun today.”
“Same.” And there was that smile again. It wasn’t exactly the same, but it had softened out at the corners. With a final raise of his hand, he shut your passenger door and jogged off toward the shop.
You blinked as air suddenly filled your lungs again. Had you been holding your breath the whole time? You forgot to wish him a good rehearsal.
A knock on your window had you swiveling your head around. Chan grinned as you rolled your window down. “Hey, what’ve you been up to?”
Not a mention of Changmin, you noted. You were aware of Changmin and Chan’s dislike for one another, and though it caused you a torrent of internal conflict, there was nothing that you could do about it. If they were unwilling to talk about it with each other or with you, then there was no use. Both of them were important figures in your life, so it was just as important that you could keep them both—was that selfish? It seemed that they were able to somewhat coexist, however, if they participated on the same dance team. How did that even work out?
“I was out with Changmin for most of the day,” you said. “We were just… y’know, visiting a relative of his downtown.” There was no harm in saying that, right?
Chan’s expression didn’t even shudder. “Oh? I didn’t know he had relatives downtown.”
Of course, you didn’t. You appreciated that he tried to be civil about Changmin around you, but sometimes the pretense was more aggravating than the petty disdain. “Yeah, they were really nice. We drank tea and chatted a bit.”
“Glad it was a chill time,” he smiled. “Ah, speaking of—I was wondering if you wanted to go visit Chaeyoung noona with me sometime this week? I've been trying to figure out the best time to go see her before midterms.”
You brightened at the mention of Chan's older sister. Though his parents had passed away before Chan graduated high school, he was supported mostly by his older sister, Chaeyoung. You'd heard and seen for yourself the chronic illness that she was cursed with, however. There had been a decent stretch in time when her situation looked much better, but recently, she had been forced back into long-term care at the hospital.
“Yeah, definitely! It'll be nice to see her after so long. Just text me and let me know what day you decide.” The last time you saw Chaeyoung was probably at the start of the past summer break when you went home to see your parents with Chan. Though you and Chan were around the same age, he acted more as an older brother figure to you, likely because of Chaeyoung's good influence.
The golden hour sun glinted its rays into your eyes, and you were reminded of the time. “Oh, don’t you have dance practice soon? Need a ride over?”
“Yeah, I do, but I don’t need a ride,” he said. “I was about to meet Vernon in the cafe down the street though. Do you wanna come with?”
The idea of accepting his invitation crossed your mind, but the ache in your legs and at the nape of your neck were suddenly a lot more prominent than before. You hadn’t even realized how tired you were. “Not this time; I think I'm a little tired. Thanks for the invite, though!”
He pressed his mouth together in slight disappointment, but waved it away with a casual hand motion. “Of course. Drive home safe, then.”
“I will. Have a good time, Chan.”
Chan returned the sentiment back to you, but instead of leaving right away, his lips parted another time. He paused, concern gleaming in his eyes—or was that the setting sun? You couldn’t tell the difference, but there was something he couldn’t quite articulate with words that his facial expression was desperate to reveal to you instead.
You frowned. “Something wrong?”
He let out a small laugh and brushed away the thought. “No, don’t worry about it.”
Are you aware that you've been cursed?
Aunt Jenna's words echoed in Changmin's head ceaselessly throughout the dance rehearsal. They had been subdued slightly when he was asleep in your car earlier, but consciousness tended to surface more nightmares than the unconscious state. Even in the bright light of day, those shadows found a way to creep in and force him into some horrific tunnel vision.
No, he wasn't aware that he'd been cursed. How could he?
Out of everything he thought she pulled him aside for, that was the last thing he expected. The look in her eyes—those dark irises that mirrored his in depth—had been stricken by a grave worry. Those all-knowing eyes, far surpassing his in experience, had taken one look at him coming in through the door and determined something horrible had happened.
A curse?
You haven't been feeling strange lately? She had grasped him by the shoulders, her hands firm in their iron grip. Any strange aches and pains?
The headaches. He told her about the random, spotty headaches that had been plaguing him recently. It hadn't occurred to him at all that they could even be a side effect for a curse.
I've heard some strange things have been going on to the demons in your area. The curse has subsided for now because of your half-humanness, but…
Changmin could fill in the blanks.
His appeal to Aunt Jenna about not telling his mom about any of this included both the soul-bond and the curse. Based on what his aunt told him, there have been demons in this area who have been forced into critical conditions by an energy-stealing curse. That would explain his frequent headaches and his increased exhaustion. Though, the headaches had been on the decline as of late, which coincided with the other part of Jenna's warning.
He was at odds. He couldn't simply sit around and wait for whatever maniac was at large to suddenly stop. He and all the other demons around him were sitting ducks. Worrying about the soul-bond was one thing, but he supposed this now took priority.
Changmin hunched over his bag in one of the darkened corners of the practice room. The lights had been turned down slightly as their four reserved hours drew to a close. It was a hard night, but the sweat, heat, and adrenaline was a delightfully addicting mixture.
Absent-mindedly, he rubbed a palm over his chest. The invisible knot there that linked you to him tightened at the attention. He had made a habit of this over the course of the past few hours; the physical sensation of the string tugging grounded him and kept him from disappearing into his head too much.
Could you feel him on the other end? He was certain you could if he made it obvious. If he tugged just right—
“Ji. I need to talk to you.”
The only sign of surprise Changmin let Lee Chan see was the raising of his eyebrows. “I don't need to talk to you.”
“It's about Yn.”
Changmin's movements froze. He let go of his bag's strap and zippers with a sigh, then straightened up to meet Chan eye to eye. He crossed his arms over his chest. “What about Yn?” You were his problem now, whether you liked it or not.
Chan's eyes narrowed at him, a muscle in his jaw twitching. “I don't know what you think you're doing with her, but you need to stop. It was enough that she's friends with you—”
He couldn't help but scoff. What the fuck is he going on about? Changmin's mouth twisted into an incredulous smirk, the points of his canines peering out from under his lip as he jabbed his tongue into his cheek. “I was wondering when you'd finally drop the Nice Guy act.”
“This isn't about me putting up a front,” Chan quipped in hushed tones. He wouldn't have done so if he wanted to make a scene. “This isn't even about us not liking each other. My problem is that you're roping Yn into your—your fucking bullshit.”
Changmin furrowed his brows. “You're being vague and dramatic, Lee Chan. I really don't have the time or the patience for this.”
“I know who you really are, Ji.” In any other context, those words in that order would have made Changmin bark out a laugh.
Changmin shuddered as he sized up Lee Chan in a different light. It was almost funny how perspective could change everything. In the daylight and bright fluorescents, Chan was a model kid with a charming smile and unshakeable charisma. He cared about you and watched over you like a brother. But without the presence of light was when Changmin was most afraid of what he saw. It was not because he was afraid of the dark—the shadows, frankly, were a demon's ally—it was because the dark did something to Chan in the same way blood infested clear water.
Chan's mouth was set in a firm line, and nothing about his facial expression or stance gave even an inkling that he was bluffing.
“I still have no fucking clue what you're talking about,” Changmin replied lowly, scooping his bag up and brushing past Chan.
He went to find Juyeon. The organ in his chest pumped his blood wickedly fast through his system; the blood thundered in his ears, loud and deafening, like an oncoming train. Aunt Jenna was in his head, you were in his chest, Lee Chan was at his back.
Ba-boom, ba-boom, ba-boom, ba-boom—
He and Juyeon were out the door in a flash, but Changmin glanced backward—because we always turned toward that which was capable of our demise; that was survival instinct—and he flinched when Chan's eyes caught his again.
Changmin let the door slam behind him as he stole into the cold night. If only the darkness could hide him from whatever just happened.
read part two here (if the link isn't there yet, refresh out of this page and it'll be linked at the top)
permanent taglist 1: @flwoie @vatterie @seomisaho @hqrana @ja4hyvn @outrologist @rikizm @luumiinaa @lotties-readings @tinkerbell460 @kaaimins @hyunjaespresent-deobi @otterly-fey @gluion @floatingpluto @winterchimez @ethereal-engene @gyulfriend @polarisjisung @jaehunnyy @shakalakaboomboo @loveliestfelix @bless-311 @zhaixiaowen @leaz-kpop-life @amourdsr @pxppxrminty @kqyutie @sseastar-main @kxthleen14 @fluorescentloves @mosviqu / fic taglist: @tbzhubrecs
#deoboyznet#the boyz x reader#bjnet#ji changmin x reader#dbn: boyz who bite#changmin x reader#the boyz oneshot#the boyz drabbles#the boyz imagines#the boyz scenarios#ji changmin oneshots#changmin oneshot#ji changmin drabbles#changmin drabble
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Ruby's Birthday Present
Ruby: Haha, you know, it's funny! For a second there, I thought maybe you and Raven had a thing, but you seem way too young for that! So, uh... ha ha... Uh...
Raven: ...What about it?
Ruby: Wait... So you're saying... I think I'm gonna be sick...
Jaune: Don't worry, Ruby! I'm actually 21~.
Ruby: Raven, I've known this for quite a while, but... you really are a terrible person.
Raven: Oh, calm down, Rose! He's not here for me! He's here for you.
Ruby: M-Me?!
Raven: Hm... You're a lot smaller than I was expecting... I'm not really sure what I can do with this...
Ruby: (Thinking) WHAT THE HELL IS GOING ON HERE?!
Jaune: Oof... This is definitely going to be hard to work with-
Raven: KHM! KHM! WE'RE IN PUBLIC.
Jaune: Oh, right!
Raven: Remember, giving gifts like this to Beacon students is illegal.
Jaune: Don't worry~! If you won't tell, I won't tell~!
Ruby: (Thinking) Okay, calm down, calm down. Raven's a teacher and a responsible adult. So there's no way she'd order me a...
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Raven: I was able to convince one of my... special friends into giving you something special for your birthday. It's time you became a woman, Ruby Rose.
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Ruby: OH MY GOD! SHE ACTUALLY GOT ME A-
Jaune: Well, if you'll follow me, my tent is over this way! (Walks away)
Ruby: ...
Raven: Happy birthday, Rose!
Ruby: Raven, you didn't...
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Ruby: So how long have you known Raven?
Jaune: For a while now. She and my dad used to do jobs together, and I can't deny that there's something about her that inspires me. That's why when she asked me to do something special for your birthday, I just couldn't refuse!
Ruby: Uh, well, I'm not 18 until tomorrow, so...
Jaune: Heh heh, you're so cute, Ruby!
Blake: You're not thinking of doing anything The Brothers wouldn't condone, are you?
Jaune: ACE-OPS?! Wait, Blake, what are you doing here?
Blake: Where there is sin, I am there to rectify.
Weiss: And to keep track of any slutgirl activities that may be happening.
Yang: I don't want my baby sister hopping cashing in her V-card on a literal stroke at midnight.
Ruby: No, no,no! You've got it all wrong! He's just a friend of Raven's!
Jaune: Yeah! She actually hired me for Ruby's birthday to-
Ruby: TH-THROW ME A PARTY!
Ruby: (Whispers) Do you have no shame?!.
Jaune: (Whispers) Not really, no.
Ruby: Look, maybe we should keep the whole birthday thing under wraps, okay?.
Jaune: If you say so.
Ruby: Also... You wouldn't happen to know a way out of this mess, would you?.
Jaune: I might have an idea...
Jaune: So... I may or may not have hooked up with Raven in the past...
Ruby: Wait, you were being serious?!
Jaune: Any of you girls want the gossip on that?
RWBY: HUUUUUUUUUUUUUUUUUUUUUH?!
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Jaune: I'm gonna go get ready. You wait right here, okay?
Ruby: Raven... You've done a lot of terrible things to me, but... this might just make up for it.
Jaune: Hm... Where did I put it? Ah, I hope it fits...
Ruby: Okay, Ruby, don't be nervous. You've got this! Just remember size doesn't matter... too much.
Jaune: Are you ready, Ruby~?
Ruby: Oh, yeah, but... I'm still kinda new to this, so maybe we should take this slow?
Jaune: Ruby, don't worry! I've planned for everything! Here!
Ruby: (Sees box) Whoa! He even carries protection! He really is a professional!
Jaune: Here, try it on! (Slips band on wrist) And now, just press the green button.
Ruby: This is getting kinky!.
Ruby: ...I like it.
Ruby: (Presses button, Plates cover arm) AAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAH! Oh...
Jaune: Well, Ruby, how does it feel?
Ruby: Like the Winter Soldier, but what is it? Some kind of sex toy? This isn't for butt stuff, is it?
Jaune: Ha ha ha! No, silly! It's a gauntlet I made that will allow you to use residual kinetic force for an even bigger punch! It's a birthday present from Raven and I~!
Ruby: Ah... Wait! THIS is my birthday present?!
Jaune: That's right~!
Ruby: So you're not a prostitute Raven hired to have sex with me on my birthday?!
Jaune: ...WHAT? THE? FU
#rwby#the anime boiis#jaune arc#ruby rose#raven branwen#my hero academia abridged#weiss schnee#blake belladonna#yang xiao long#canary
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Okay here’s how some ideas to adapt bard’s lament in TLOVM S3 if we had to keep this same story structure generally and end on a hopeful note but also allows the season to have actual interesting inter party conflict.
— At one moment in ep 1/2 where Scanlan talks to Kaylie he mentions his mother. Kaylie wants to know more, but Scanlan is too drunk and a mess to continue the conversation. Maybe he even says that he never talks about her — no-one ever asks, but again he’s too drunk to continue the conversation with Kaylie who is annoyed by this
— then episode 6 happens. Pike says he can go, so Scanlan tries to say that he wants to leave to find his daughter. The rest of the group are angry, there’s more pressing things right now, they’re a team, can’t this wait? Scanlan feels dismissed especially since he let them spend a night in his chateau.
— They return to Whitestone. The city is being attacked by dragons. Scanlan tries to help, but is severely hurt by dragon fire. Like head to toe burns. He’s hanging by a thread, Pike works for hours to keep him alive. It’s painful. (This way it’s a really traumatic moment for Scanlan like his death without being a death.)
— Scanlan finally wakes, maybe early ep 7, and then the Bards Lament breakdown happens. He and Percy especially snap at each other. He says they don’t care bout him, what is his mother’s name, he just wanted to see Kaylie.
— he asks Allura or Gilmore to transport him away to Kaylie. VM allow him to leave, Pike is hurt by him leaving, rest of VM more angry.
— we see in ep 8 Kaylie and Scanlan meeting. She’s happy that he came to find her. He plays her his song and he apologises for being a bad dad, but he wants to be there for her.
— Then Percy dies, and Thordak fight happens without Scanlan (just rework his contributions to another character (maybe Vex and Grog?))
— during ep 10 we see Scanlan and Kaylie in a bar together, chatting, where they hear that Thordak has been defeated, but the Lord of Whitestone is dead. Scanlan voices his regrets that now Percy died thinking he didn’t care, that he wasn’t there for the funeral, that the group now thinks he doesn’t care. He can’t fix it.
— Kaylie: ‘your loyalty to those weirdos is one of the endearing things about you. Go to them, don’t leave it like this. You fixed things with me.’
— I think if Scanlan isn’t in a coma it makes VM falling apart in ep 10 more realistic. Instead of only Grog and Pike caring to stay with Scanlan, the team splinters as Percy is dead, Scanlan willingly left, are they even Vox Machina anymore?. (I think you could rework the whole Ripley end fight to have more of VM but I’m just doing Bards Lament, so sure Vex and Vax go fight her alone.)
— Scanlan and Kaylie make the journey back to Whitestone (maybe via a cart, or a joke aboutdrunk wizard who only gets them half way). Either way they don’t get to Whitestone immediately.
— now he can either be back for the Raishan fight, and help out there, or Scanlan can come back just in time for Percy’s resurrection. Maybe it’s really hard — Gilmore and Allura are also helping out Pike and Keyleth, but they need a little more magic, Orthax is sooooo powerful — and then another pair of hands slams onto the resurrection circle — Scanlan has come back in time! Percy is res’d, Scanlan apologises for how he left, they all apologise for taking him for granted, but they soothe those hurt emotions.
— they then all part on good terms like how s3 actually ends.
I don’t think Scanlan is super needed for Thordak or Raishan since he killed Vorugal in s2. If he left midway through s3, his absence would be felt through the second half, so it’s nice to actually see him back in the last episode.
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Creep Halloween 2024
Happy Halloween! I wanted to write a little special something for Halloween, so I hope you enjoy. :)
Keep in mind some of this references my earlier post about what they'd dress up as for Halloween :p But not all of them. Anyway! Enjoy :)
**Could be taken platonically or romantically, but it's kind of intended to be romantic for the adult creeps. No specifically romantic things happen though!
You find yourself approaching a tall pair of double doors, a costume adorning your form, a bucket for collecting treats resting on your arm. A firm breeze blows through the air, freeing leaves from the many trees surrounding you as you make your way up the front steps. You take a deep breath, preparing yourself to knock on the door, but before you can make contact, the door swings open and you're pulled inside quickly, surrounded by everyone as they wish you a Happy Halloween. Despite all the people surrounding you, there's one specific person you were hoping to see this Halloween, and you find your way to them quickly.
Jeff: "It's about damn time you get here!" His fist makes contact with the top of your head, giving you a nuggie as he clutches you to his chest, not allowing you any escape. "We still have to get ready to take Sally trick or treating tonight, because I'm on duty this year, and you're going with me, no ifs, ands, or buts. You have to, considering I already told her you're coming too and she's bouncing with joy to see you, so let's go!" He pulls you lightly in the direction of Sally's room, and you easily follow behind him.
BEN: "I thought you were never gonna make it! Listen, I need your help with my costume." He pulls you away from the others, hiding you both in secrecy. "So… Listen. I agreed to do Barbie and Ken retro rollerblade costumes with Toby, and…" He looks dejectedly down at the ground. "I don't know how to roller skate and honestly I've been a mess trying to figure it out. How about you help me out? If I still can't learn by tonight when we go out, maybe you could be my knight in shining armor and let little old me hold your arm all night to steady myself?" You find it hard to deny his pleading eyes and readily agree.
EJ: "Ugh, finally someone with someone calming shows up." Jack's brows are knit tightly as he hoists you into his arms, immediately retreating into his bedroom and plopping down on his bed. "They've been so rowdy all day, it's exhausting. I've been waiting for you to get here so I can finally relax in peace and quiet. I'll let you go out later, but for now, you're mine." Jack pins you loosely in his arms and curls up as though preparing to take a nap. You make no complaints against his movements, and laugh at his actions, causing him to huff against you.
LJ: "Gumdrop! I was beginning to think the howling wind out there blew you away on those short little legs!" Despite what your height may be, you can't deny how small you are compared to Jack, especially not when he hoists you into the air and cradles you to his chest, affectionately rubbing his cheek on top of your head. "I spent all night last night staying up making a whole bunch of different candies for you to try, so we've gotta hurry up and eat 'em all before Slender tries giving them out to anyone! …Stomach ache? What do you mean you could get a stomach ache? That doesn't matter! Halloween is now, stomach aches are later!" You can't help the allure of his freshly made candies, and so you agree despite any apprehensions.
Jason: "This is horrible!" Jason blushes as he slides into his chair at his vanity. The clown trio always matches costumes every year, always dressing as what the picker of that year chooses, and this year LJ just happened to pick sexy nuns. Despite the amount of skin that Jason is revealing, he actually looks incredible, and when you tell him as much he groans. "I appreciate your compliments dear, you know I do, but how am I supposed to go out like this? I can't be this indecent in public!" Despite his claims of indecency, he's really just showing off about half of his thighs and down, nothing too dramatic, but Jason is used to covering nearly every inch of his body with his clothing. "..What's that? Just stay in with you this year?" You nod at him, leaning him into your chest as his arms wrap around you. "Hmm… Perhaps I will." He calms down quickly as he snuggles into you.
Candy: "This is HILARIOUS!" Candy cackles as he glances in the mirror, showing off the sexy nun costume Jack had gotten the three of them at the store. You knew Candy would be excited about it, but you didn't think he'd be feeling himself so much. "You should go out with us, sugar. Jack and I already know Jason won't wanna go out and have consolation gifts ready for him, so you can be our third!" He pulls you into his arms, and you inform him while you're happy to go, your costume isn't a sexy nun. "Oh, ya don't hafta match! We just do this to be silly every year. Just you being with me is plenty enough for me, and ol' Jack won't mind!" He buries his face into your neck, nuzzling you affectionately, and you find yourself agreeing to tag along with them.
Toby: "Y-you made it!" Toby's incredibly eager as he holds you close in his arms, content noises flowing out of him as he rubs his face all over you in affection. "Come on, you've gotta l-look at my costume! I've be-been learning how to r-rollerblade for we-weeks to impress BEN!" The excitement in his voice sends a shiver down the back of a certain other resident, who quickly scampers away to ready his own matching costume. "You've g-gotta see how cool I look!" You find it hard to resist as he excitedly pulls you upstairs, quickly slamming his door shut in his rush to put on his rollerblades and show off his skills. Not accounting for his slick wooden floor, Toby quickly glides into you on accident, nearly toppling you over as he holds you safely in his arms, laughter filling his room.
Tim: "Oh, you made it. I was wondering if you'd have time to come over." He gives you a squeeze and pats your head affectionately. "Did you decide if you're going out tonight? I'll be stuck inside finishing up my Halloween baking." You think to yourself for a moment, the idea of going out with the others is an enjoyable idea, but the thought of how good Tim's baking is going to taste leads you to consider the opposite. "Oh? You're going to stay with me?" He smiles easily at your words, eyes narrowing joyfully as he pats your head once more. "Good. You always make the best company."
Brian: "You look great!" Brian's voice is filled with excitement as he squeezes you into his arms, his warmth flooding into you and contrasting the cold air behind you. "I was wondering what you'd end up dressing up as. Whaddya think?" He steps back to show you his costume, picked out by Toby from Spirit Halloween, Bob Ross himself. Brian shines with joy as he stands before you, and you can't help but smile at him, complimenting his appearance. "Thank you! I was actually pretty excited about it." He stands tall and proud, before pulling you into another hug. "I'm just glad you're the person I get to go out with tonight."
Liu: "There you are! I was starting to think you'd bailed on me or something." His light voice teases you as he ruffles your hair, laughter flowing out of him as he holds you close. "How was I supposed to celebrate Halloween without you by my side? I have so many movies picked out for us to watch together, and a whole bag of your favorite candy waiting for you." You quirk an eyebrow at him, questioning his decision considering his regular lectures to not eat too many sweets. "Hey, it's Halloween, alright? Tonight is the one night I'll allow you to fill up on as much candy as you want. …Only if I can have some too!" He adds to his statement with a huff as he crosses his arms, smiling easily when you laugh at his antics.
Jane: "Well, well, well. I thought I was going to be best dressed this year, but look at how cute you are." Jane teases you affectionately, looking your costume up and down with a smile. "I'm matching with Nat this year, but maybe we should've all matched so I could brag about how I'm matching with the biggest cutie I know." You lightly poke her and tell her to stop teasing you, but her eyes only light up as a bigger smile blooms on her cheeks. "Ah, but you didn't deny my words. So you ARE the biggest cutie I know, hm?" You go to retort back at her, and she chuckles, shaking her head and hugging you once more. "It's alright, it's alright. I'll stop teasing ya. …..For now." She chuckles evilly into your shoulder as she squeezes you tightly.
Natalie: "Looks like the party has arrived!" She yells in excitement, squishing you against her body in a way that has you gasping for air in her tight grip, your hand patting her back quickly to get her to let go. "Oh, my bad!" She giggles as she releases you, her head cocking to the side as she smiles at you. "You know how excited I get about Halloween! I've been bouncing off the walls all day waiting for you to get here!" You remark that it's still early morning, and she huffs at you, puffing out her cheeks. "That's beside the point! The point is, I've been waiting! So come on, we've gotta get our spook on and start all of our activities!" She tugs at you impatiently, and you relent and trail after her with laughter.
Helen: "Oh, thank god. You have got to help me." Tugging you forcefully into a separate room, Helen grips your shoulders with a nervous look in his eyes. "Look at me! I look ridiculous! You've got to convince Nat and Pup to not make me go out this year." Contrary to his words, Helen looks quite good, dressed up in Victorian clothing with his hair styled and fake fangs protruding past his lips, you actually think he looks quite nice, and when you tell him as much he blushes and shakes his head. "Regardless! I don't wanna have to go out in front of other people like this! You have to help me." Helen is never so emotionally against something, and so you tug him into a comforting hug, reassuring him that you'll convince the others out of making him go.
Puppeteer: "I don't look stupid, do I?" He's looking over himself in the mirror, his hair styled wildly, a werewolf costume he picked up last night decorating his body as he continuously looks in the mirror. You tell him you think he looks great, and he sighs, turning to face you. "I don't normally dress up, so I wasn't sure if I'd look good or not." You tell him he looks smokin' hot to tease him, and he snorts in shock at your words. "What unusual words for you to say to me! But I'll take it." He says, looking over himself in the mirror once more. "Hmmm… Alright. I may as well head out. If I don't, I might back out." You follow him out of his room, knowing if you don't go with him he might back out anyway.
Smiley: "Well, well, well. If it isn't my favorite patient." His lips quirk up into a smirk as he pulls you to his chest, bending down to rub his nose against your cheek. You respond back that you're not technically his patient, and he sighs at you with a pout as he shakes his head. "Why can't you ever just play along?" You tell him it's because if you play along he'll start dragging you into his antics more regularly, and he smirks again. "Oh, please. I'm going to drag you into my antics all the time anyway. Who are you kidding?" He ruffles your hair, guiding you away as he continues to tease you.
Sally: A loud gasp fills the air as her arms circle around your waist, her head rubbing against your stomach. "Oh my gosh oh my gosh oh my gosh!" She yells out, bouncing up and down as she looks up at you in pure elation. "When Jeff said you were coming too I got so excited! I barely slept last night I was so happy!" You can't help but smile down at her, ruffling her hair and telling her you'll go trick or treating with her every year if she wants, and she gasps again. "REALLY?! THAT WOULD BE AWESOME!" She screams out, bouncing up and down before clinging to you once more, happy to have her favorite "sibling" with her on a fun day like Halloween. Not that she'd tell the others you're her favorite, but it's pretty damn obvious with how she's bouncing off the walls.
Slender: "Ah, wonderful, you've made it." His voice is mirthful as he greets you, bending down to scoop you into a hug. Jack Skellington's suit adorns him, and he looks quite nice in it. "Thank you so much for volunteering to hand out candy with me, my dear. Your company is always appreciated." Slender leads you back to the kitchen, where there are multiple bowls, and multiple bags of candy waiting to be dumped into them. "I wasn't sure which bowl or candy would be best, so I got a variety." He pauses, his tone laced with a hint of regret and insecurity. "I did too much, didn't I?" You laugh, reaching up to pat his back and reassure him that he did wonderfully, a sheepish chuckle leaving him as you set out to work at filling the bowls.
Offender: "Well? How do I look?" He's wearing a suit that looks identical to Slender's favorite, right down to the handkerchief, and you can't help but look at him questioningly. "What? I wanted to be annoying this year, so who better to dress up as?" You snort at him and bump him affectionately, telling him he'd best keep his mouth shut if he doesn't want Slender hearing him. "Oh, please. He wouldn't yell at me on Halloween! …Would he?" You hum thoughtfully at his question, before saying maybe you should find out. You dash off to find Slender, Fen hot on your heels to prevent you from getting him in trouble.
Splendor: "Pretty funny, right?" He can barely hold in his giggles, adorned in a suit that matches Slender, but with Offender's signature hat and a rose tucked into his jacket pocket. You ask him what he's doing, and he beams widely. "Well! Fenny dressed up as Slen to make fun of him, so I wanted to take it a step further!" He places his hand proudly on his chest, and you can't help but laugh at his excitement. You say he's silly, and he smiles at you affectionately, bending to press a kiss to your forehead. "Of course I am! Silly is practically my middle name!" He scoops you into a hug, before telling you of his plan to rile up his brothers with his costume, his mischievousness coming out in full force.
Trender: "Ah, hello, darling." He greets you with a hug and then a bow, before rubbing the top of your head affectionately. "I knew that costume would look positively wonderful on you, my dear. I do truly have the finest craftsmanship." The costume adorning your figure was made by none other than Trender himself, so it's no wonder that you look incredible in it. You compliment his own costume, also tailored by himself, and he stands proudly, reveling in your compliments. "Thank you! I always put my best into everything I design! In fact, I'm already planning next year's outfit. Would you like to see the sketches?" You smile at his enthusiasm and nod eagerly, following after him as he leads you to his studio.
Zalgo: "I'm glad you made it safely." The king greets you at the entrance of his castle, giving you a warm hug as his employees hustle and bustle behind him, a sigh leaving him as he stands. "They insisted upon decorating the whole castle for Halloween, and they've been rushing around since last night." You can tell the hustling of his employees makes him anxious, so you rub his back soothingly to calm him. You reassure him that everything will be okay, and his vision drops back to you with a smile. "Of course everything will be okay. After all, you're here now." He ruffles your hair, turning to retreat back to his office for some peace and quiet, and you follow quickly behind him, filling him in on your Halloween plans as you go.
Nina: "LOOK AT THIS PLACE! ISN'T IT AWESOME?!" She shouts over the loud noise of the other employees decorating Zalgo's castle, and you poke her cheek gently as a warning for her to keep her voice down, so she smiles apologetically. "We all agreed to decorate the castle together, but we forgot how big it truly is. Would you like to help?" She holds up the decorations she'd been carrying, and you agree excitedly, taking some of them from her grasp. She bounces back and forth in excitement at your agreeing, and quickly drags you across the castle to the area she's in charge of, explaining all the design choices to you as she goes.
Hobo: "Do I look okay..?" His voice is unsure as he looks in the mirror, his wings hanging down sadly at his general lack of confidence. BEN had picked his outfit for him this year, and you personally thought he made a good choice, so you do your best to reassure Hobo, giving him a comforting hug that perks him back up easily. "Well, if you think I look nice, then it must be so. You'd never lie to me, after all." He smiles at you boyishly, and you can't help but return the grin, ruffling his hair and causing him to laugh, his wings poofing up in his excitement. "Although, I know one thing's for sure. You're definitely the cuter one between us." He says gesturing at your costume, and he quickly leaves the room before you can argue back, leaving you to shout your disagreement as you chase after him.
Kate: "Look how nice the girls made me look!" She smiles at you excitedly, decked out in an intricate Corpse Bride costume, one that Jane and Natalie had helped her with all morning, and you had to admit she looked stunning. "Aww, thank you!" She accepts your compliments with a smile, leaning forward to hug you gently to not smudge her makeup on you. "I can't wait to go out tonight and show this off! You're coming too, right?!" She gets even more excited when you agree, twirling around in her wedding dress and clutching the bouquet Jane had given her to her chest. "This is gonna be the best Halloween ever!" She cheers, and you can't help but agree with her."
This will be the best Halloween ever. After all, you're spending it with your favorite character.
#creepypasta#creepypasta headcanons#creepypasta headcanon#creepypasta x reader#slender mansion mayhem#ticci toby headcanons#jeff the killer headcanons#ben drowned headcanons#eyeless jack headcanons#laughing jack headcanons#tim wright headcanons#brian thomas headcanons#slenderman headcanons#homicidal liu headcanons#jane the killer headcanons#clockwork headcanons#bloody painter headcanons#dr smiley headcanons#sally williams headcanons#offenderman headcanons#trenderman headcanons#splendorman headcanons#jason the toymaker headcanons#puppeteer headcanons#zalgo headcanons#candy pop headcanons#hobo heart headcanons#nina the killer headcanons#kate the chaser headcanons
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The Flames We Loved (to live forever)
This is one of my darker works. If it's not your cup of tea, skip it. This is the last part in this series. I may expand it more with time and add additional parts.
- Summary: Aerys foresaw your future in the flames, long before you were both set alight.
- Rating: Explicit 18+
- Paring: daughter!reader/father!Aerys II Targaryen
- Note: Keep in mind how some events differ from the books, and the whole timeline of the canon events is a mess.
- Previous part: to cry wolf
- Next part: prelude/ending
The anxiety in the throne room is thick enough to choke on, as Tywin Lannister stands before the Iron Throne, his expression controlled but his eyes smoldering with frustration. Aerys reclines on the jagged metal seat, his gaze fixed on his Hand with a glint of suspicion and anger. The small council remains silent, its members exchanging wary glances, caught between loyalty to the king and the undeniable logic of Lord Tywin’s words.
“My king,” Tywin begins, his voice steady, every syllable measured, though there is a hardened edge to it that even Aerys cannot ignore. “The reports from the Stormlands and the North are undeniable. Forces gather, led by those who would see the throne taken from you. The northern army moves south, and the Baratheons rally in open rebellion. Our enemies are closing in. We must act—swiftly and strategically.”
Aerys’s lips twist into a sneer, his gaze narrowing with an intensity that makes his courtiers shift uncomfortably. He has heard these words before, cautions, warnings, all ringing in his ears like the clamor of crows. “And what action do you propose, Tywin?” he demands, his voice laced with disdain, as though the mere idea of retreat or caution is a personal affront. “That I should cower? That I should fear these traitors who think they can stand against me?”
Tywin stands resolute, his gaze unflinching. “Your Grace, this is not a matter of cowardice but of prudence. Queen Rhaella, Princess Y/N, and the children should be taken to Dragonstone. It is the safest haven we have, fortified and removed from the reach of those who would seek to harm the blood of the dragon. Your daughter is with child again—”
Aerys’s face darkens instantly, a flash of rage snapping through his expression like lightning. “You would send her away from me yet again?” he hisses, his fingers gripping the armrests of the Iron Throne until his knuckles turn white. “For what? To abandon me under the guise of ‘safety’? Do you presume to know what is best for my family, Tywin?”
Tywin’s jaw clenches, though he remains composed. “Your Grace, there is wisdom in ensuring the survival of your bloodline, should the worst come to pass. If the princess and the children are taken to Dragonstone, they will be beyond reach—secure until your enemies are defeated. You can fight with the assurance that your family is safe.”
Aerys laughs, the sound high and mocking, a bitterness etched into every note. “Safety?” he sneers. “Safety is a lie meant for the weak, for those who cling to their lives with trembling hands. I am the blood of the dragon, and my children will not be sent away like cowards to hide from shadows. Y/N will remain here, by my side, where she belongs. This… ‘precaution’ you speak of is an insult.”
The other members of the council shift uncomfortably, their eyes darting between the king and his Hand. Tywin’s mask of composure does not falter, though there is a coldness in his gaze, a flicker of something that almost resembles contempt. “Your Grace, you know I would not counsel retreat without necessity,” he says, his voice hardening. “But as your Hand, it is my duty to ensure the preservation of House Targaryen. The realm’s loyalty is already strained; the loss of your heirs would only embolden your enemies.”
Aerys’s eyes blaze, his anger slowly awakening, each word that Tywin speaks grating against him, stoking the fire of his fury. “And I suppose you imagine yourself wise enough to dictate where my family belongs?” he snaps, leaning forward, his voice low and venomous. “Or is this merely another attempt to weaken me, to see my daughter and heirs taken from my side?”
“Your Grace,” Tywin begins, his tone even but strained, “I would never presume—”
“Silence!” Aerys’s voice cracks like a whip, filling the throne room with its echo. He rises from the Iron Throne, the madness gleaming in his eyes, his fingers trembling with rage. “You dare presume to tell me how to protect my family, to dictate their place in my kingdom? You, Tywin Lannister, who sits here with his own ambitions cloaked in honeyed words?”
Tywin’s face remains impassive, though a hint of anger flashes in his green eyes, barely concealed beneath the mask of decorum he wears so well. He bows his head, acknowledging the king’s fury, though his voice retains its firm resolve. “My loyalty has always been to the crown, Your Grace. To you, and to the safety of your bloodline.”
Aerys’s sneer deepens, and he gestures with a sweeping hand. “Loyalty? I see now the truth of your ‘loyalty,’ Tywin. Your true loyalty lies only in preserving your own influence, in keeping me under your thumb while feigning submission. But no longer.”
The silence that follows is oppressive, a tension that thickens the air as Aerys straightens, his gaze gleaming with morbid satisfaction. “Hear me now,” he declares, his voice echoing through the hall as he points a trembling finger at Tywin. “From this day forward, you are no longer my Hand. Your service to me is finished. Return to Casterly Rock, where you may brood over your own ambitions, far from the true seat of power.”
A murmur ripples through the court, the lords and ladies exchanging shocked glances, though none dare speak. Tywin’s face remains an unreadable mask, his eyes cold, but a flicker of something—perhaps satisfaction, perhaps resignation—flashes in his gaze as he inclines his head. “As you wish, Your Grace,” he says quietly, his voice unyielding, each word clipped and final.
Aerys’s eyes narrow, his mouth shifting with something between rage and triumph, though his attention turns away from Tywin and toward you, standing beside him, silent and stiff. “You see, my daughter,” he says, his voice softer, almost tender, as he reaches out to brush a strand of your hair from your face. “You do not need the Lannister’s meddling hand to protect you. I will keep you safe, as I have always done. Your place is here, beside me, not hidden away on some distant island.”
You nod, your heart pounding, though you sense the storm brewing in his words, a promise that binds you to his side, even as the world outside these walls grows more perilous. “I trust you, Father,” you say softly, casting a cautious glance at Tywin, whose eyes remain fixed on Aerys, the faintest hint of contempt flickering in his expression.
Tywin meets your gaze for a brief moment, an unspoken warning in his eyes, but he bows low, his voice controlled, distant. “Then I shall take my leave, Your Grace,” he says, his tone devoid of warmth. “May your strength carry the realm through the trials ahead.”
Aerys waves a dismissive hand, his focus already shifting as he returns to his throne, a dark satisfaction in his smile. Tywin turns and strides from the hall, his back straight, his footsteps measured, the very image of composure. But you sense the fury begging to stir, the power that has just slipped through his grasp, and the lingering question of what consequences this moment will bring.
As the throne room settles into silence, Aerys’s gaze softens as it turns to you, his anger receding, replaced by a rare, almost tender expression. “Now,” he murmurs, reaching for your hand, his touch surprisingly gentle as he guides you closer. “The realm may shake, but you… you will remain safe, as long as you are with me.”
The words feel like chains, binding you to his side even as the world beyond the Red Keep falls into chaos. And as you look into his eyes, you understand that there will be no escape, no sanctuary—not while he clings to you, his daughter, his anchor in a world consumed by fire and blood.
In Rhaella’s chambers, a quiet stillness fills the air, heavy and almost suffocating. You sit near the window, gazing out at the darkening sky beyond the Red Keep’s walls, the distant sounds of the city below a constant reminder of the world outside. Rhaella stands nearby, her expression filled with concern, though she keeps her hands busy, tidying the folds of her dress, smoothing the blankets—a nervous habit she has had since you were a child.
You glance at her, taking a deep breath as you struggle with the thoughts churning within you, thoughts you have kept buried, thoughts you are no longer certain you can bear alone. The weight of your father’s expectations, the twisted bond he holds you in, presses down on you, and the words spill from you before you can stop them.
“Mother,” you begin, voice soft and strained. “I don’t know what more I can do. Or… if I even want to soothe him anymore. Perhaps…” You hesitate, looking down at your hands, the words coming slowly, reluctantly. “Perhaps the city deserves to burn.”
Rhaella’s hands still, her fingers tightening around the edge of the blanket as she looks at you with a mixture of shock and sorrow. For a moment, she says nothing, simply staring, and you can see the conflict in her eyes, the pain of a mother who sees too much of her husband in her child. In that instant, it is as though she is looking at a stranger—a stranger who bears the shadow of Aerys’s fierce and destructive nature, a fire that cannot be controlled.
She steps toward you, her voice gentle, though there is an edge of urgency in her tone. “Y/N,” she murmurs, reaching out to take your hand, her fingers cool and comforting. “Listen to me, my dear. You cannot let his madness consume you. You are more than that… more than him. I have seen the strength in you, a strength he lacks.”
You turn away, a bitter smile flickering across your lips as you shake your head. “But Mother,” you say quietly, “what if that strength is the very same fire that he carries? The fire that destroys? I have tried, again and again, to calm him, to keep him from his worst impulses, but… I am beginning to wonder if it’s worth it. If any of it is worth it.”
Rhaella’s gaze softens, though there is a sorrow in her eyes, a sorrow she has carried for years, buried beneath her calm exterior. “There was a time,” she says softly, her voice trembling ever so slightly, “when he was not like this. When he was kind, even gentle. And I believe that part of him still lives, hidden, buried beneath the weight of his own fears and rage.”
You look at her, searching her face, trying to see the memory she clings to, but all you feel is a deep weariness, a feeling of being trapped in a cycle that cannot be broken. “Maybe it does,” you whisper, though your words are tinged with doubt. “But he is not that man anymore, Mother. He’s… he’s something else. And I don’t know if I can be the one to bring him back.”
Rhaella’s hand tightens around yours, her eyes filled with determination, a fire of her own that she rarely shows. “You must stay strong, Y/N,” she insists, her voice quiet but fierce. “You promised me, do you remember? You promised that you would endure, that you would not let his madness take you as it has taken him.”
You nod, the memory of that promise flooding back, the words you had spoken in a moment of strength, a strength that feels far away now. “I remember,” you say, though your voice is faint. “But it is harder than I thought it would be. Every day, I feel the walls closing in, feel myself slipping further into his world.”
Rhaella pulls you into a gentle embrace, her hand smoothing over your hair, her voice soft and soothing. “I know, my love,” she whispers. “But you are not alone. You have your brother, and you have me. We will bear this together, as we always have.”
You cling to her, drawing strength from her presence, feeling a flicker of resolve rekindling within you. The city may teeter on the edge of chaos, the realm may tremble with the threat of rebellion, but in this moment, here in your mother’s arms, you feel a sense of calm—a fragile peace that you know will not last, but one that you can carry with you as long as you are able.
“Stay strong, Y/N,” Rhaella whispers, her voice filled with both a mother’s love and a warning. “You are my hope, the hope for all of us. Do not let that fire consume you.”
Rhaegar stands before his father in a private audience chamber, his face calm, every word measured, though beneath the surface, an undercurrent of urgency pulses within him. Aerys watches him from his chair, his gaze sharp and calculating as he studies his son with a mixture of amusement and suspicion.
“Father,” Rhaegar begins, keeping his tone low, respectful, though there is a steel in his voice. “The situation in the realm grows more dangerous with each passing day. The rebellions stir like fire in the underbrush, and we must consider the safety of our family.”
Aerys raises an eyebrow, a smirk forming on his lips as he leans back, his gaze unwavering. “And what would you suggest, Rhaegar? That we hide like cowards? That we let the wolves and stags think they can frighten dragons into fleeing?”
Rhaegar’s jaw tightens slightly, but he maintains his composure. “No, Father,” he replies smoothly. “But even the strongest king protects his line. Viserys and Daenerys are young, vulnerable, as is Mother. They should be taken to Dragonstone, where they will be out of reach from any threats.”
Aerys’s smirk fades, his gaze narrowing. “You think to send my heirs away, Rhaegar?” he sneers, his voice tinged with suspicion. “To hide them on Dragonstone as if they were weaklings, too fragile to remain in my presence?” He leans forward, eyes gleaming. “Or is this Tywin Lannister’s influence? You speak his words now, don’t you?”
Rhaegar meets his father’s gaze steadily, though a flicker of irritation passes over his face at the mention of the former Hand. “No, Your Grace,” he says firmly. “I seek only to protect the bloodline of House Targaryen. Tywin’s counsel is not mine.”
Aerys’s expression twists, a sneer curving his lips. “Do not lie to me, Rhaegar. I see the Lannister’s shadow in this request,” he accuses, his voice filled with disdain. “He spoke of sending my blood away, of hiding in the shadows. Do you think I don’t see through this? Do you wish to repeat his cowardly plans?”
Rhaegar’s resolve hardens, though he keeps his voice steady, calm. “Father, the suggestion has no bearing on Lord Tywin. My concerns are for our family alone. I would not repeat his counsel if I did not think it necessary.”
Aerys taps his fingers against the chair, his gaze flickering as he considers Rhaegar’s words. “And what of your sister?” he asks, a cold smile curving his lips. “Would you send her away too, Rhaegar? Would you have her taken from me as well?”
Rhaegar hesitates, his heart sinking as he meets his father’s gaze. He knows the answer that Aerys wants, and he knows too well what it will mean. “No,” he replies, his voice quiet, steady. “Y/N should remain here, with you. Her place is by your side.”
Aerys’s eyes gleam with satisfaction, his smirk growing as he leans forward, pleased by his son’s acquiescence. “Indeed,” he murmurs, his tone soft, possessive. “She belongs here, Rhaegar. She is mine, and I will not be parted from her.”
Rhaegar swallows, the weight of the decision pressing down on him, though he knows it is what his sister would want. She would rather see her children safe, far from the chaos that engulfs the realm, even if it means sacrificing her own freedom. “Then let Viserys and Daenerys go with Mother to Dragonstone,” he says quietly. “They will be safer there. We owe her that much.”
Aerys regards him in silence for a moment, a flicker of something—perhaps approval, perhaps amusement—crossing his face. “Very well,” he concedes, though his tone holds a hint of warning. “They may go, but your sister will remain here. She will stand by me, where she belongs.”
Rhaegar nods, though his heart feels heavy, his voice softening. “Thank you, Father. For allowing Viserys and Daenerys this protection.”
Aerys waves a hand dismissively, as if the matter is already forgotten. “Go, then. Arrange it,” he says, his tone indifferent, though his gaze lingers on Rhaegar with a faint glint of satisfaction. “But remember, my son—no one, not even the gods themselves, will part me from your sister.”
Rhaegar inclines his head, his face expressionless, though inside, a storm of emotions roils. He knows what this decision will cost, the sacrifice it demands of his sister, and he silently vows to honor it, to ensure that this choice will not be in vain.
Taking a careful breath, he continues, his voice quiet but determined. “I would also ask that my wife, Princess Elia, and our children be sent to Sunspear. It is their home, and they will be safer in Dorne, among her kin.”
Aerys’s eyes narrow. “So, you would send all the women away, would you? First, my heirs, and now your own wife and children. You would leave me surrounded by empty halls. No, Rhaegar. Elia will remain here, and so will your children. If you are so desperate for their safety, then perhaps you should think more carefully about your allegiances.”
Rhaegar’s hands clench at his sides, though he forces himself to nod, his expression carefully composed. “As you command, Your Grace.”
Aerys watches him a moment longer, his gaze filled with that peculiar satisfaction, as if savoring his control over every word spoken, every action taken. “Do not presume to question me again on such matters, Rhaegar. I am not a weak minded fool, to be manipulated by whispers.”
Rhaegar gives a final nod, his face a mask, concealing the turmoil beneath. “I understand, Father. I will see to the arrangements.”
As he leaves the chamber, a bitter resolve settles within him, a reminder of the price his family will pay to survive the chaos that waits outside these walls.
Rhaegar stands in the dim, secluded corner of the Red Keep’s lower chambers, waiting as the echoes of footsteps fade into silence. The torches on the walls flicker and the damp, cool air clings to him, grounding him against the storm of thoughts raging within. At last, Varys appears, his footsteps soft, his hands folded neatly within his voluminous robes, his expression placid but his eyes sharp, observing every detail of Rhaegar’s face with his usual unsettling attention.
“Your Grace,” Varys begins, bowing his head in a respectful nod, his voice a soft whisper in the silence. “You summoned me.”
Rhaegar inclines his head, his gaze steady as he studies the man before him, the Master of Whisperers—the spider who knew every secret, every whisper, and every shadowed truth within the Seven Kingdoms. If anyone could ensure the safe departure of his mother and siblings to Dragonstone, it would be Varys.
“I did, Lord Varys,” Rhaegar replies, his voice calm yet laced with urgency. “I require your assistance to see that Queen Rhaella, my brother Viserys, and my sister Daenerys are safely transported to Dragonstone.”
Varys’s eyes flicker with a knowing glint, a faint smile tugging at the corner of his mouth as he nods. “An excellent plan, Your Grace. The queen and your siblings would indeed be safer on Dragonstone, removed from the… delicate political climate here in King’s Landing.”
He pauses, his gaze sharpening as he considers Rhaegar carefully. “And what of the princess, your sister? Will she be joining them?”
Rhaegar’s face tightens, the faint hope that had flickered within him extinguished by the weight of his own words. He looks away, his voice heavy with resignation. “No. My father refuses to let her leave. He… he insists that she remain here, by his side. She is his anchor, the only thing keeping him from… well, from his worst impulses.”
Varys’s gaze darkens, a faint sigh slipping from his lips as he shakes his head slowly. “A pity,” he murmurs, his voice as soft as silk yet laced with sympathy. “The princess has been a steadying influence on His Grace, that much is certain. But at what cost to herself?”
Rhaegar’s expression becomes haunted, shadows gathering in his eyes as he turns to face Varys fully. “At too great a cost,” he admits, his voice barely more than a whisper. “She carries the burden of his madness as no one else can, and I fear… I fear it’s consuming her. But I know her. Even if he allowed it, I think she would refuse to leave. She would not abandon him, not when she believes that she alone stands between him and the city.”
Varys’s fingers brush thoughtfully along his sleeve, his expression pensive. “Ah, such loyalty,” he murmurs, though there is a flicker of something deeper in his gaze—an understanding that cuts to the core of the tragedy unfolding before them. “A loyalty that binds, even as it burns. She may be the only shield King’s Landing has from His Grace’s wrath.”
Rhaegar’s face tightens with sorrow, his fists clenching at his sides. “It should not be her burden,” he says, his voice low, fierce. “It is too much, even for her. She should be with them, with my mother, Viserys, and Daenerys. She should be free from this prison he keeps her in.”
Varys regards him quietly, his expression softening, though his eyes remain sharp. “Perhaps, Your Grace, there will come a time when the princess will find that freedom. But until then…” He hesitates, as if weighing his words carefully. “Until then, you must ensure the safety of the queen and the children. They, too, are vulnerable, and their survival may yet determine the future of this realm.”
Rhaegar nods, a bitter determination settling within him. “Yes. They must reach Dragonstone, no matter what. My mother, my brother, and my sister—they will be out of harm’s way.” His gaze hardens, and he fixes Varys with a fierce, unyielding look. “Will you see to it personally, Varys?”
Varys inclines his head, a faint smile curving his lips, though it lacks its usual humor. “I will arrange everything, Your Grace,” he replies smoothly. “They will depart quietly, without fanfare, and my eyes will be upon them every step of the journey.”
Rhaegar releases a breath he hadn’t realized he’d been holding, a faint flicker of relief passing over his face. “Thank you,” he murmurs, his voice thick with gratitude. “If you succeed, then at least… at least they will be safe.”
Varys’s expression softens, though his gaze remains unreadable, the shadow of secrets lurking behind his eyes. “You care deeply for your family, Your Grace. A rare quality, especially among those who wear crowns.”
Rhaegar’s face darkens, a sadness settling over him as he glances down, the weight of his decisions pressing upon him. “I would do anything for them,” he replies softly. “They are all I have. And my sister…” He trails off, the pain in his eyes evident, though he quickly masks it.
Varys’s gaze lingers on him, a hint of something almost compassionate in his expression as he gives a slow, understanding nod. “Then rest assured, Your Grace,” he says quietly. “I will see to it that the queen and your siblings reach Dragonstone in safety. And as for the princess…” He hesitates, a faint glimmer of resolve in his eyes. “Perhaps there is more than one way to protect her, even from here.”
Rhaegar’s gaze sharpens, and he studies Varys, searching his face, though he cannot quite decipher the meaning behind the man’s words. “If there is any way to shield her from this madness, from his wrath… then do it,” he says, his voice low, fierce.
Varys gives a small, respectful bow. “As you command, Your Grace. I will do what I can.”
With that, the Master of Whisperers turns, slipping back into the shadows, leaving Rhaegar alone with the silence, his heart heavy but a faint spark of hope kindling within him.
The pale morning light filters through the narrow windows of your chambers as Rhaegar stands before you, his expression somber. His armor gleams softly, polished and ready for war, the ruby dragon embossed on his chest plate catching the light, a symbol of the strength he must bear in the battles ahead. His face is steady, composed, but as he looks at you, his twin, his resolve falters just slightly, a flicker of sorrow passing over his face.
You feel the weight of it all pressing down on you—the absence of Rhaella, of Viserys and Daenerys, your children that you could never openly call your own. Every day, you felt the emptiness they left behind, the silence in the halls that used to be filled with their laughter, their small footsteps, their innocent questions. And now Rhaegar, too, is leaving, setting off to face Robert’s armies in a war that feels as inevitable as it does senseless. You struggle to hold yourself together, but the grief, the helplessness, is too heavy.
“Rhaegar…” Your voice trembles, your eyes filling with tears you can no longer hold back. “I don’t know if I can do this. I don’t know if I can be strong enough without you, without them.”
Rhaegar’s face softens, his own pain mirrored in your eyes as he steps forward, wrapping his arms around you. You cling to him, feeling the warmth and steadiness of his embrace, a familiar comfort that feels all the more fragile now. His hand strokes your hair gently as he whispers, “You are strong, Y/N. You have always been stronger than you know. You must stay strong—for them, for Mother, and for the one you carry now.”
At his words, you feel a wave of both hope and despair wash over you. The life growing within you is a reminder of the legacy you bear, of the love you carry despite everything, but the thought of facing it alone, in the shadow of Aerys’s madness, feels unbearable.
Tears spill down your cheeks as you press your face against his shoulder, your voice choked. “I don’t know if I can endure this… If I can watch him descend further and further, if I can bear his wrath without you here.” You swallow, the weight of your words heavy between you, each one a plea, a confession you have kept locked inside.
Rhaegar pulls back slightly, his hands cupping your face, his gaze filled with a fierce, unbreakable resolve. “You must, Y/N,” he whispers, his thumbs brushing away your tears. “You are the only light left in this darkness. The only one who keeps him from bringing ruin upon us all. You are his anchor… and you are mine. Without you, this house would fall.”
The intensity of his words hits you, and for a moment, you see the weight he, too, bears—the weight of responsibility, of choices forced upon him, of a love that binds him as much as it empowers him. You nod, though the ache in your heart does not ease, feeling the fragile thread of determination stirring within you, the promise of resilience that only he can draw from you.
A movement at the door pulls you both from the moment, and the room shifts as Aerys enters, his eyes narrowing as he takes in the sight of you and Rhaegar, locked in an embrace. His expression darkens, a flicker of something dangerous glinting in his gaze as he strides forward, his steps measured, calculated.
“Enough,” Aerys says sharply, his voice cutting through the quiet and cold. He reaches for you, his hand closing around your arm as he pulls you to his side, his touch possessive, his gaze fixed on Rhaegar. “It is time for you to leave, Rhaegar. The kingdom awaits its prince on the battlefield.”
Rhaegar’s gaze hardens, though he keeps his voice calm, measured. “I was saying goodbye, Father.”
Aerys’s lips curl into a thin smile, though there is no warmth in it. “Goodbyes are for those who expect to return,” he says, his words laced with a subtle cruelty. “But you, my son, are a Targaryen, forged in fire. You will return victorious, or you will not return at all.”
You feel Aerys’s grip tighten, and the familiar chill of his presence pulls you back to the reality of your situation. Rhaegar’s face is a mask of control, but you see the sorrow in his eyes as he looks at you one last time, his expression filled with all the unspoken words that hang between you.
“Be strong,” he whispers, his gaze locked onto yours, a silent promise lingering in his eyes. “For them, and for us.”
You nod, barely able to keep your composure, your heart breaking with every step he takes toward the door. He pauses, looking back at you one last time, his gaze filled with a love that words could never capture, a bond that distance could never sever.
And then he is gone, the heavy doors closing behind him, leaving you in silence with Aerys, who pulls you closer, his hand firm as it rests against your shoulder. He leans down, his voice low, his words laced with satisfaction.
“Now, my dear,” he murmurs, his tone both gentle and menacing. “We are alone once more, as it should be. Your brother goes to fight my wars, and you will remain, as you always have.”
You close your eyes, the weight of his words settling over you, pressing down like chains. Rhaegar’s presence lingers in the room, a fading warmth that you cling to, even as you feel Aerys’s gaze upon you, claiming you as his, as if he can possess even your thoughts, even your pain.
Suddenly a crushing wave of grief overtakes you, and the tears you held back spill over, leaving you vulnerable and exposed before Aerys. You can no longer hide the tremble in your hands, the way your body aches with a mixture of sorrow and fear. The emptiness left by Rhaella, Viserys, Daenerys, and now Rhaegar’s departure—all of it weighs down on you, leaving you feeling hollow, fragile.
Aerys’s gaze sharpens, his lips twitching as he watches the tears fall, something unfamiliar flickering in his expression. He rarely sees you like this, and a strange, almost possessive tenderness comes over his face. Without a word, he draws you closer, his hand surprisingly gentle as it settles on your cheek, his fingers brushing away a stray tear.
“You are afraid,” he murmurs, the realization seeming to surprise him as he studies your face. “But you, my strong one… what could you possibly fear?”
You shudder, unable to stop the words from spilling out, your voice thick with a pain that can no longer be concealed. “I am afraid,” you confess, your voice barely above a whisper. “Afraid of what lies ahead. Of what will become of us, of this child…” Your hand moves instinctively to your abdomen, where the small swell of new life is just beginning to show.
Aerys’s gaze drops to your hand, and something shifts in his expression—a rare softness, an almost paternal pride mixed with a fierce, unyielding protectiveness. He places his hand over yours, pressing gently against the swell, his touch warm and grounding, a rare gesture of comfort from a man more known for cruelty than kindness.
“Nothing will harm you,” he promises, his voice soft yet edged with a conviction that sends a shiver down your spine. “Nothing will touch you, or the child you carry. I would see this city burned to ash before I let harm come to what is mine.”
He leans closer, his gaze intense, and his hand remains firmly on your abdomen, his fingers splayed protectively over the small curve. “I know this,” he continues, his voice lowering to a near whisper, his words almost reverent, as if he speaks of a prophecy only he understands. “I know it because I have seen it… I saw us together, burning bright in the great fire.”
A chill runs through you, his words hanging heavy in the air. The “great fire” he speaks of is something he has mentioned before, always with a fervor that borders on madness, a vision that seems to haunt him. You do not know whether he speaks of a literal fire or some deeper, darker omen, but his gaze is filled with a sinister certainty, a conviction that frightens you even as his hands remain gentle.
You look up at him, searching his face, the insanity in his eyes tempered by something raw, something that almost resembles love. “You… you saw us again?” you ask, your voice barely audible. “Together?”
Aerys nods, his fingers pressing ever so slightly against your abdomen, as if grounding himself in this moment, in the life growing within you. “Together,” he murmurs, his gaze distant, lost in whatever vision haunts him. “We stood in the heart of the flames, unbreakable. All around us, the world burned, yet we remained, untouched, eternal. I saw it, as clearly as I see you now.”
His words wrap around you like a shroud, and for a moment, you feel a strange mixture of comfort and dread. There is a part of you that wants to believe him, to let his certainty banish the fear that gnaws at you, but the darkness that lingers in his eyes, the way he speaks of flames and ruin—it is a comfort laced with danger.
“But what if…” you hesitate, your voice trembling. “What if there is no fire, no… destiny waiting for us? What if it’s only darkness?”
Aerys’s expression hardens, a flicker of impatience crossing his face, though his hand remains gentle against you. “There will be fire,” he insists, his voice fierce. “There will be fire, and we will rise above it, stronger than any who have come before. You carry the future within you, a future that will be forged in flames. Our blood is fire, and we are destined to endure.”
You close your eyes, allowing his words to wash over you, the strength of his conviction settling like a weight in your chest. Despite everything, despite the pain and the fear, his presence, his touch, brings a strange comfort, a feeling that perhaps, in his madness, he sees something that you cannot—a path through the chaos that surrounds you.
As you open your eyes, he leans down, pressing a surprisingly tender kiss to your forehead, his hand lingering on your abdomen as if to reassure both you and himself. “Rest now,” he murmurs, his voice softer, an unexpected gentleness lacing his tone. “Nothing will harm you, my sweet. I will not allow it.”
The day dawns heavy with a strange, oppressive silence, a quiet that feels unnatural, weighted. You wake with an overwhelming emptiness, a sadness that gnaws at you, sharp and deep, though you cannot say why. It feels as though something precious has been torn away, a part of you hollowed out, leaving nothing but ache in its place. You cling to the blankets, your breath coming in shallow gasps, your hand instinctively pressing over the small swell of your abdomen as if to shield the life within from the weight of the sorrow that presses down on you.
The hours pass slowly, each one thick with dread, and as the afternoon wanes, a soft knock sounds at the door, followed by Grand Maester Pycelle’s familiar, shuffling steps. He enters slowly, his face grave, and you feel your heart plummet, though no words have yet been spoken. Behind him, a raven perches silently on his arm, its black eyes gleaming, watching you with an unblinking stare that feels like a harbinger.
“Your Grace,” Pycelle begins, his voice low and somber, filled with a cautious gentleness that only deepens your fear. “I… bring word from the Trident. Prince Rhaegar…” He hesitates, his eyes meeting yours, and in that instant, you know. The pain, the emptiness—it all has a name.
“Rhaegar is dead,” you whisper, your voice cracking as the words leave your lips. The room sways, the world blurring around you, and before you can steady yourself, the weight of the grief crashes over you, pulling you down, down into a darkness you cannot escape.
“No,” you murmur, your voice thick with disbelief, your hands shaking as you clutch the edge of the bed. “No, he can’t… He promised…”
Pycelle steps forward, his hand hovering as if to comfort you, though he does not touch you, his gaze filled with pity. “Your Grace, please… for the sake of your child, you must rest. This shock… it is too great. You must not strain yourself.”
But you cannot hear him. The pain, the emptiness, is all-consuming, ripping through you as if it has a life of its own, a force that demands to be felt, to be voiced. Memories of Rhaegar flood your mind—the soft look in his eyes, his steady presence, his strength, and the way he had held you, comforting you, as if he could shield you from every sorrow.
“He’s gone,” you say, your voice a broken whisper, your hands pressing against your chest as though trying to hold yourself together. “Gone… as we were born. Like Summerhall.”
Pycelle exchanges a worried glance with one of the attendants, who quickly approaches, gently guiding you back onto the bed, though you barely feel their hands, your mind lost in the memories you shouldn't have, in the fire, in the ashes of that night so long ago.
“Summerhall,” you murmur, your eyes distant, seeing not the room before you but a memory etched into your soul. “The fire… we were born in fire. Rhaegar and I… we were born from tragedy, on the day it all turned to ash.”
Pycelle looks at you with concern, his voice soft, urging you to lie back, though you cannot stop the words from pouring out, your mind unraveling with grief and memory. “The walls crumbled… the heat, the smoke… Rhaegar was there with me. He’s always been there.” Tears stream down your face, each one a testament to the bond that has been ripped from you, a connection you can no longer touch, no longer feel.
The attendants ease you onto the bed, murmuring soft words meant to soothe, though they cannot reach you, your thoughts tangled in the past, in the vision of flames and loss that has defined so much of your life.
Aerys enters the room, his face darkening as he takes in the scene—the maester, the attendants, and you, lying in the bed, eyes hollow, lost in grief. His expression hardens, a glint of anger flashing in his eyes as he approaches, his voice sharp with irritation as he speaks.
“What is this?” he snaps, his gaze cutting toward Pycelle, his voice a mixture of frustration and contempt. “Even in death, Rhaegar seeks to take her from me? He poisons her mind with grief, seeks to drag her to the grave beside him.”
Pycelle bows his head, his tone careful, placating. “Your Grace, the shock has been great. The princess is deeply affected by this loss… for the sake of her health, and that of her unborn child, I have ordered her to remain bed-bound. Any further strain could be dangerous.”
Aerys’s eyes narrow, his hand clenching at his side as he approaches the bed, his gaze fixed on you with a mixture of anger and possessive fury. “He will not have you, Y/N,” he murmurs, his voice low, venomous. “Rhaegar is dead, and you are here, with me. He has no power over you now.”
You look up at him, your eyes filled with tears, a hollow emptiness lingering in your gaze as you meet his. “He was my brother, my other half,” you whisper, your voice breaking. “A part of me is gone, Aerys… He was… he was all I had left.”
Aerys’s hand moves to your shoulder, his grip firm, almost too tight, as he leans close, his eyes fierce. “You have me,” he insists, his voice laced with anger and a twisted form of affection. “You belong to me, and I will not let you follow him into the shadows. You will remain, as you are meant to.”
He places his other hand over your abdomen, his fingers pressing gently against the slight swell there, his gaze dark and selfish. “You carry my blood, my future,” he murmurs, his voice softening, though there is an edge of madness in his eyes. “And I will not let even death take you from me. You will live… for our child.”
You close your eyes, the weight of his words pressing down on you as you feel the touch of grief, of fear, of a love that is as binding as it is toxic. There is no escape, no solace, only the echo of Rhaegar’s memory and the life growing within you—a life that binds you to Aerys’s side, even as the world you knew slips further and further away.
As he watches over you, his hand resting greedly on your abdomen, you feel the emptiness settle deeper, a hollow ache that even the promise of new life cannot ease. You are bound, a tethered flame caught between love and duty, between life and the fire that has claimed everything you once held dear. And in the shadows of that chamber, you realize that this is the prison you must endure, until the very end.
The darkened halls of the Red Keep are heavy with a stillness broken only by the occasional, faint whisper of footsteps echoing through the stone corridors. Outside the doors of your chamber, Ser Jaime Lannister and Ser Jonothor Darry stand guard, both vigilant yet troubled. Aerys had given strict orders—no one was to disturb him and the princess tonight. The king’s word had been absolute, his tone carrying a menace that kept even his Kingsguard rooted in place, unwilling to test his patience.
Jaime shifts uncomfortably, his jaw clenched, the faintest tremor in his hands betraying the thoughts that rage in his mind. His face is pale, and he stares down the hall as though trying to escape the lingering memory of screams—the screams of Qarlton Chelsted, Aerys’s new Hand, who had been burned alive that very evening. The smell of burning flesh still clings to his memory, acrid and inescapable, and he cannot banish the echoes of that brutal spectacle from his mind.
He glances at Darry, his voice a low murmur, tinged with uncertainty. “Should we… should we really allow him in there with her? Grand Maester Pycelle was clear. She needs rest, not… whatever madness the king intends.”
Darry’s face is stern, his voice hard as he replies, keeping his tone clipped. “The king has given his orders, Ser Jaime. It is not our place to question him, not regarding the princess. She is his wife in all but name, and he decides what is best for her.”
Jaime grits his teeth, a flash of frustration in his eyes. “And what if his ‘care’ drives her to ruin, Darry? The man just burned his own Hand alive, for refusing to burn the city. What will it take before we act?”
Darry’s gaze sharpens, his voice dropping to a near whisper, his eyes darting down the hall to ensure they are alone. “Hold your tongue, Lannister. You’re new to this post; you don’t yet understand the cost of questioning the king’s orders. Men have lost their lives for less. Especially regarding her.”
Jaime bites back his retort, turning his gaze away, though the tension in his jaw does not ease. The door remains shut, and silence falls once more between the two knights, broken only by the faint murmur of voices and the cold stone beneath their feet.
Inside the bedchamber, the air is heavy and warm, dimly lit by the few candles scattered about the room. You lie in the bed, your mind hovering in a restless haze, caught between sleep and wakefulness. You sense a presence beside you, the familiar, chilling touch that brings you back to consciousness, pulling you from the shadows of grief and exhaustion.
You feel soft kisses trailing down your cheek, a sensation that both soothes and unsettles, and you open your eyes slowly, a familiar face coming into focus. “Aerys…” you murmur, his name leaving your lips in a barely audible whisper, a mixture of confusion and resignation coloring your tone.
Aerys’s face hovers over yours, his eyes gleaming with a manic satisfaction, his lips curving into a sardonic smile as he continues his kisses, his touch damanding as his hands begin to wander, his fingers tracing your skin with a needy hunger. “You could not join me tonight,” he murmurs, his voice tinged with mock regret, though his eyes betray the fire within him. “You missed it, my dear. Another traitor, another flame to cleanse this city of its filth.”
Your heart sinks, and though you try to keep your face composed, the weight of his words presses down on you, filling you with a sickening dread. “Qarlton Chelsted,” you whisper, the name slipping out, your voice trembling as you recall the man—a good and dutiful Hand, or so you’d thought, a man who had served loyally despite the king’s erratic decrees.
Aerys’s smile widens, his fingers drifting over your shoulder, down your arm, his touch lingering as he revels in your reaction. “Yes,” he says, his tone almost playful. “Chelsted thought himself too noble, too principled to carry out my wishes. When the time comes… he would not burn the city. He would not take this rebellion down in the fire it deserves.”
You shiver under his touch, your voice barely a whisper, each word drawn out with care. “So… so you burned him?”
Aerys’s expression sharpens, a glint of malice in his eyes as he nods, his hand moving to trace along your collarbone, each touch a perverse form of reassurance. “Yes. Burned him alive. He screamed, Y/N, how he screamed,” he breathes, his voice filled with dark pleasure. “But he understood in the end, I think. He saw the truth as the flames took him.”
You turn your head, unable to meet his gaze, feeling the bile rise in your throat, but his fingers grip your chin, forcing you to face him, his gaze unyielding. “Do not look away from me,” he says softly, though the command in his voice is unmistakable. “You are the only one who understands. The only one who could understand.”
You close your eyes, trying to shut out the world, his voice, the memory of those screams that seem to echo even here. “Aerys… I’m… I’m tired,” you whisper, a faint plea slipping into your words, though you know he will not heed it.
Aerys’s mouth curls into a mocking smile as he slides onto the bed beside you, unperturbed by your pleading. “Tired? Is the rest what you desire? When the blood of the dragon runs hot and fierce through us?” His words, a mockery, carry with them that familiar demand—a hunger only you seem to satisfy.
He leans forward, pressing his lips to yours, and this kiss is different—more forceful, more possessive. He tastes of salt and fire, and his hands are eager, moving over you with a familiarity that should have brought comfort, but instead brings dread. He slides a hand up your nightgown, the coarse skin grazing your thigh, and you feel yourself tense, trapped. The soft, involuntary whimper that escapes your lips only seems to embolden him.
“Oh, Y/N,” he scolds mockingly, his voice darkly playful. “Is this how my beautiful daughter behaves? So meek, so small. What has become of the proud girl who kept her father’s wrath at bay?”
You say nothing, knowing any response would be met with his further amusement. With a deliberate slowness, he undoes the lower part of your gown, his fingers brushing over your belly, where the life of another child stirs, the symbol of this forbidden love, the bond you can never name openly. You close your eyes, summoning the last of your strength, pushing thoughts of Rhaegar from your mind, of the tragedy, the ruin left in your family’s wake.
Aerys’s breath warms against your neck as he presses into you with a fervor that you’ve come to know all too well. His skin is rough beneath your fingers, bearing the fresh, bloody cuts from the Iron Throne. Your nails dig in, but he pays no mind, only quickening his movements. The room fills with the sounds of his heavy breathing, and the familiar mingling of pain and pleasure stirs within you, hollow and aching.
In the flickering light of the torches, Aerys’s fevered gaze bores into yours as he whispers against your ear, words that sting like embers, unholy in their nature. “Do you see, Y/N? You were meant for me alone. No one else could satisfy me, no one else could understand me as you do.” His pace grows erratic, more fervent, and you suppress the urge to cry out, keeping your composure even as the ache overwhelms you.
But Aerys isn’t satisfied with your restraint. His hands grip you tighter, his voice cajoling, insistent. “Let them hear you, Y/N,” he murmurs, his lips brushing your ear. “Let them all know how much you need me, how I am the only one who can bring you to life.”
A trembling moan escapes you, almost involuntarily, but it isn’t enough for him. He craves more, always more, and his voice sharpens, a goading hiss. “Louder, my love. Show them how you belong to me, how you always have.”
You feel the weight of it all—the love you once held, the loyalty that bound you to your father and now entraps you in this ruinous devotion. History will never remember me as his daughter, you think bitterly. I will be nothing but his concubine, a consort whose only legacy is scandal and shame.
“Tell me you need me, Y/N,” he demands, pressing deeper, his eyes wild and alight with the mania that now defines him. “Tell me you crave only me.”
Your voice, barely a whisper, betrays the resignation in your heart. “Yes… only you, my king,” you murmur, hoping he cannot see the pain hidden within your words.
Aerys’s laughter fills the chamber, a sound as consuming as fire, and his movements grow frantic, fevered, until at last, he releases, his grip softening as he collapses beside you. You feel the familiar coldness settle in as his fervor fades, leaving only the emptiness that follows.
His voice, almost gentle now, pierces the silence. “I would burn the realm for you, Y/N. For you and our blood alone.”
You lie beside him, silent, as his words linger in the air, feeling the weight of that promise, that curse, and wondering what price the realm will ultimately pay for this devotion.
The warmth of the bath envelops you like a gentle embrace, and for the first time in days, you feel almost at ease. The faint ache in your body has dulled, softened by the steam and warmth, and your servants move around you quietly, each careful touch easing your discomfort. Slowly, you close your eyes, letting the stillness take over as your condition begins to improve, bringing with it a tentative relief.
Soft, scented water trickles down your shoulders, and your thoughts drift, barely anchored in the present, lost in fragments of memory. Rhaegar’s face appears and fades again, hauntingly familiar. You feel your hand drift over your collarbone, over the faint scar that rests there—the mark left behind from an injury years ago, a wolf’s bite you don't want to remember, but one that Aerys never allowed you to forget. As your fingers graze it, a sudden, cold shiver runs through you, and a discomfort stirs beneath your skin, prickling from your neck down to your chest.
Your eyes open.
The water, once clear and calming, is now red—deep, dark crimson, swirling in thick, viscous streams. The shock of it paralyzes you for a moment, the horror anchoring you in place as your eyes dart to the water around you, pooling beneath your body, seeping from somewhere unseen. A strangled gasp escapes you, your hand flying to your neck where the faint scar should be, only to feel warm, sticky blood pouring from it, running down your chest, staining the water further.
“No... no, it can’t be…” you murmur, your voice trembling as you clutch at your neck, your hand coming away red and slick with blood. Panic claws at your chest, making it hard to breathe as the realization sets in. “Help me!” you scream, desperation tearing through your voice, echoing against the walls. “Please, someone—help!”
The servants, alarmed by your cries, rush to your side. Their faces are painted with confusion and fear as they look at you, then at each other, their hands hovering over you, uncertain of what to do.
“Princess! What is it? What has happened?” one of them stammers, her voice barely steady, her eyes darting to the bathwater, which seems clear to her, untouched. “There… there is nothing here…”
You can hardly hear her words, the haze of fear thickening as you stare down at your own hands, stained with red. “No—look!” You thrust your hands out, shaking, imploring them to see what is so horribly clear to you. “I’m bleeding, don’t you see? It’s everywhere—there’s blood!”
Another servant, older and wiser perhaps, bends down and speaks to you soothingly, though her own hands tremble. “My princess, please… be calm. There is no blood, none that we can see. Perhaps… perhaps it is your mind, troubled after all you have endured.”
Her words barely register. You reach for her, your voice breaking as you struggle to explain, to make her understand the depth of this horror. “I… I felt it, the scar—it tore open. It’s real; I know it’s real.”
One of the younger servants gasps, looking at you with a mixture of pity and fear, and murmurs to the others, “She’s still unwell… perhaps this is some feverish vision.”
The murmurs grow, and you feel the tension rise in the room. They think I’m imagining this… they think I’m mad.
Another servant steps forward, her tone gentle, but insistent. “Princess, let us help you out of the bath. We’ll dress you, and see that you rest. This strain is not good for you… or for the child.”
A flicker of reality cuts through your panic, and you find yourself nodding, though your heart still pounds. The thought of your child brings a sense of urgency—a need for protection. You allow them to lift you from the water, though your hands shake as they steady you. The older servant wraps a towel around you, her fingers tender and quick, the motherly comfort in her touch helping to anchor you, even as your mind races, questioning what you saw, what you felt.
One of the younger servants, still pale, whispers to the others, “What if something happens to her, or the babe? You know what the king would do if—”
“Hush, child!” the older one snaps, her voice low and sharp as she eyes you with guarded worry. “Speak of such things, and you’ll bring his wrath upon us before it’s due. We are here to serve, and serve we shall.”
Another servant hurries to your side, her eyes wide and fearful. “Please, my princess,” she murmurs, taking your hand gently, guiding you from the chamber. “You must rest. Think of the little one inside you. The king will not forgive any harm befalling you… or his heir.”
The mere mention of Aerys’s wrath settles a silence over the servants. The tension is thick as they lead you to your chamber, where you are made to sit, their hands fussing over you, drying your hair, dressing you as though you are a porcelain doll too fragile to handle on your own. Yet you feel distant, removed from your own body, haunted by the vision that felt so real, so vivid.
As the servants finish, one of them casts you a wary glance, voice barely a whisper as she asks, “Are you… feeling well now, my princess?”
You hesitate, feeling the weight of their eyes on you, knowing the implications of your answer. “Yes,” you lie, swallowing the remaining traces of panic. “I’m… well enough.”
But as they leave, their backs turned, you press a hand to your neck, your fingers tracing over the scar. The blood is gone, as though it never was—but the fear remains.
...
The walls of the Red Keep shudder with the weight of approaching doom, the faint tremor in the stone echoing in your bones. You can hear the clamor of footsteps, the chaotic thundering of hooves and shouts from beyond the towering walls of the city, and you know this is the final stand. This is the end Aerys had always warned you about, the moment his madness had whispered in fragments, the visions he had spun of betrayal, of blood.
Rumor had reached you in broken whispers among the servants: Pycelle had convinced your father to open the gates, allowing Tywin Lannister and his army within. They were supposed to be allies, a beacon of hope in this siege, yet a sick feeling gnaws at your stomach, an intuition you cannot silence. Aerys should have known, should have sensed the treachery veiled beneath Tywin’s offer of aid, but his mind had been too clouded by rage, by the fires he stoked in his own imagination.
The sounds of chaos draw closer, tearing through the heart of the keep, and you realize you are alone. The servants who dressed you earlier have disappeared into the shadows, no doubt trying to find some small corner to hide from the violence sweeping through the halls. You try to gather your strength, wrapping your cloak around you tightly, though your hands tremble, and your heart races with a familiar, dreadful fear.
Before you can make it down the corridor, a rough hand grabs you, yanking you backward, and the world spins in a blur of motion. The cold edge of a blade presses against your throat, biting just enough to send a shiver of pain down your spine. You gasp, frozen by the dagger’s touch, your hands coming up in a desperate bid for freedom, but the hand that holds you is unyielding, cruel.
“Well, well,” a cold, mocking voice murmurs near your ear, the breath hot and damp against your skin. “The dragon princess herself, all alone in this den of madness. Seems the lions have come to claim their prize.”
You feel the blade press harder, forcing you to tilt your head, exposing your throat further. You try to swallow the rising panic, but it lodges in your throat, and your voice emerges barely above a whisper. “What… what are you doing?”
The man holding you chuckles, a dark, humorless sound that vibrates against your back. “A gift for the king, that’s all. Lord Tywin thought you’d be the perfect little… wound, a reminder of what happens to those who fancy themselves untouchable.”
With a sudden jerk, he begins dragging you down the corridor, his grip iron-strong, unyielding as he pulls you through the Red Keep. The familiar halls warp under the terror that pulses in your veins, each twist and turn leading you deeper into the heart of chaos. Your bare feet scrape against the cold, rough stone, and the shouts of men and the screams of those caught in the massacre ring out around you, a haunting melody of blood and betrayal.
The dagger never leaves your throat, pressing just enough to remind you of its deadly promise. The guard pulls you around a corner, where the grand double doors of the throne room loom ahead, towering and foreboding. The sight of them sends a renewed wave of fear crashing over you; you know Aerys is within, but the image of him, proud and unyielding on his throne, is sinister now, tainted by his own madness and paranoia. You can almost hear his voice, echoing in your mind, whispering of fires and betrayal, of punishment for disloyalty.
You struggle against the iron grip, desperation clawing at you. “Please,” you gasp, feeling the sharp edge nick your skin, a faint trickle of blood warming your neck. “You don’t have to do this… he’s my father.”
The man sneers, tightening his hold. “And yet here you are, brought before him like a lamb for slaughter. Dragons and their kin burn just as easily as any other. Perhaps your father will enjoy seeing you in this state—a broken little treasure he couldn’t protect.”
With that, he drags you closer to the throne room doors, each step heavy, each echo a death knell that reverberates in your heart. The great doors loom larger with every step, the distant flicker of torchlight casting monstrous shadows that dance upon the walls. Behind you, you can hear the laughter and jeers of the soldiers ransacking the Red Keep, their voices filled with bloodlust, their footsteps a dark rhythm that matches the rapid beating of your heart.
As you near the doors, you feel the faintest flicker of hope falter, knowing what awaits on the other side. Yet you find yourself whispering a silent prayer to the gods, clinging to the memory of those fleeting moments when Aerys was still a father, still someone you loved. And despite everything, you can’t help but hope that he will save you, his daughter—his blood.
The guard wrenches open one of the doors, pulling you roughly forward. The throne room stretches before you, vast and shadowed, the Iron Throne looming at its center like some grotesque, jagged specter, sharp and unforgiving.
And as you are forced through the threshold, past the flickering torches, you know there is no turning back.
...
The throne room stretches before you, vast and dim, shadows cast from the torches that flicker along the walls, only deepening the monstrous, jagged silhouette of the Iron Throne. You feel the dagger bite against your throat, a deadly reminder of how little choice you have. But in that moment, as you’re forced forward, you see him—Aerys, sitting atop his throne, a figure of fractured pride, paranoia, and wrath.
His wild gaze sharpens, locking onto you, and for a breathless moment, the madness is held at bay, replaced by something raw and vulnerable. His mouth parts, and he shifts as though drawn toward you, like a man reaching for something precious slipping away.
A guard in Lannister colors steps forward, and Aerys rises, his fingers curling tightly around the arms of the throne, his movements jerky, barely human. His ascent is unsteady, and one of the sharp blades protruding from the throne digs into his leg, tearing through his flesh, drawing fresh blood that stains his already-dark robes. He doesn’t seem to notice, his eyes fixed on you, and in his gaze, you see a mixture of desperation and terror—an emotion rarely seen in a man consumed by rage.
“Release her!” Aerys’s voice cracks, high and thin, yet filled with a frantic, desperate command. His hand trembles as he gestures toward you, like a father beckoning his frightened child. “She is mine. You will pay for this—Tywin’s golden lions will burn for this!”
But the guard’s grip remains firm, his lips morphing into a cold, mocking smile. You feel the sharp edge of the dagger press harder into your throat, the tension unbearable, as though you’re caught in a nightmare from which there is no waking. Your heart hammers against your ribcage, and in a voice barely a whisper, you murmur, “Aerys…” Your voice trembles, soft and fragile, a plea, a desperate reach for the man you once loved, a man who once cherished you above all else.
The guard moves without warning, his arm jerking with deadly precision as the dagger slices across your throat, the cut deep and vicious. Pain flares, sharp and searing, and the world spins as your blood spills forth, warm and relentless. You feel yourself falling, and the last thing you see is Aerys’s face, twisted in horror, as he lunges toward you with a scream that reverberates through the throne room.
“No! No, Y/N!” His cry is raw, torn from somewhere deep and ancient, a sound of pure, unfiltered agony as he catches you, his arms trembling as he pulls you close. His hands press against your throat, desperate to staunch the flow of blood, but you can feel it, thick and warm, slipping through his fingers, unstoppable.
“Stay with me,” he pleads, his voice breaking as he clings to you, his hand cupping your cheek, blood-streaked and trembling. “Please, Y/N, stay with me. You cannot leave me… I cannot… without you, there is nothing.”
Your vision begins to blur, shadows creeping in at the edges, and your mind, desperate for solace, conjures the faces of your children—Viserys, with his fierce eyes and tiny fists, Daenerys, a babe in Rhaella’s arms, safe, sheltered on Dragonstone. You think of Rhaegar, your beloved twin, now gone, his laughter, his warmth slipping further from your grasp. The child inside you who you'll never see. You try to speak, but blood chokes you, filling your mouth, suffocating any final words.
Yet you summon your strength, forcing the air past the blood pooling in your throat, and manage to choke out a single word: “Burn…”
Aerys’s eyes widen, a manic light igniting within them, a cruel spark that twists his grief into something monstrous. He clutches you tighter, his fingers digging into your shoulders as he looks up, the madness consuming him again, overtaking the momentary glimpse of humanity that had emerged. “Burn them all!” he screams, his voice echoing through the throne room as he looks to his pyromancer, who stands frozen, wide-eyed. “Do you hear me? Burn them all!”
He turns back to you, his hands still desperately trying to stem the blood, as if he could somehow save you, as if his touch alone could rewrite this cruel fate. Your eyes begin to glaze, unfocused, the life draining from you, and Aerys watches as the light fades, his own breath coming in short, ragged gasps. You feel his lips brush your forehead, his words soft, broken, nearly incoherent. “You were mine… you were always mine…”
A shift in the air catches his attention. Aerys turns, his gaze locking onto Jaime Lannister, standing before the Iron Throne, sword drawn, his face pale but resolute. There’s a brief flicker of understanding in Aerys’s eyes, and in that split second, realization dawns—a final betrayal, one last wound that will cut him deeper than any sword.
Jaime’s expression is unwavering as he steps forward, driving his sword into Aerys’s back, the blade slicing through cloth, flesh, and bone. Aerys’s body jerks, his grip on you tightening in a final, futile embrace.
As he collapses, his life ebbing away, he clings to you even in death, his blood mingling with yours as his final breaths escape him, still protective, still grasping as if his grip alone could hold you to him. And there, upon the cold stones of the throne room, amid the ruin of his madness, the last king of the Targaryen line dies, clutching his beloved daughter to him, refusing, even in death, to let her go.
...
The throne room stands cloaked in an eerie silence, broken only by the faint echoes of steps as Tywin Lannister and Robert Baratheon enter, their presence filling the vast, haunted space. Before them, seated upon the Iron Throne, is Ser Jaime Lannister, his posture still, his gaze distant, as if lost within the shadows of his own thoughts. Around him, blood has dried dark upon the cold stone floor, and at the base of the throne lies a grim tableau—Aerys Targaryen, the Mad King, cradling his daughter Y/N, both lifeless, entangled as they were in their final moments.
Robert’s face contorts in disgust at the sight. The smell of old blood and death fills his nostrils, the iron and salt clinging thickly to the air. He lets out a grunt of disapproval, his eyes narrowing as he glances between Aerys and Y/N’s entwined bodies. "This is sickening. He died clinging to her like some... abomination. We should dispose of them—burn them apart, dump the ashes to the winds."
Tywin’s gaze remains steady, and a flash of something unreadable crosses his expression as he regards the twisted remnants of the Targaryen dynasty lying at the feet of his son. “No,” he says quietly but firmly. “They will be burned together. The realm has seen enough bloodshed. We will end it with fire, as it began.”
Robert glares, his mouth opening to argue, but Tywin’s resolve is immovable, the steel in his eyes silencing the king-to-be. Robert lets out a huff, his lips curling as he averts his gaze, unable to look at the bodies any longer. Tywin gives a curt nod to Jaime, who rises from the Iron Throne, stepping down with the stiffness of a man who’s borne too much weight, his face a strained of contained emotion as he steps aside, following his father’s orders with silent obedience.
...
A week later, at the peak of King’s Landing, under the pallid sky, the pyre is built, stacked high with carefully arranged wood. Aerys and Y/N are placed in the very position they were found, with his arms wrapped around her in a twisted embrace, his lifeless hands clutching her, their heads resting close together. The gathered nobles watch in silence as Tywin Lannister gives the final nod, signaling for the torches to be lit.
The flames lick upward, curling around the wood, consuming it hungrily as they rise, and soon the fire reaches them, its tongues wrapping around the lifeless figures, devouring them whole. The heat grows intense, the orange and red hues dancing against the dusk, and the acrid smell of burning flesh fills the air, a somber reminder of the Targaryen line being erased.
Robert stands beside Tywin, his expression one of deep, simmering distaste. He breaks the silence, muttering under his breath, “A king and his daughter… burned together. Targaryens, all the same. Mad, every last one of them.”
Tywin, arms crossed, stares into the flames, his face stoic, unflinching. “It is done. We give them this final dignity—whatever they lacked in life, they will have in death.”
Robert’s jaw tightens, but he bites back his anger, watching as the fire roars, the flames reaching high into the sky. His voice takes on a lower tone, laced with resentment. “A waste of wood, if you ask me. The rest of them should’ve been given the same treatment.”
Tywin’s eyes remain fixed on the fire, ignoring Robert’s complaint. Robert turns to him, his voice now edged with irritation. “Did they manage to get rid of the rest of them? Is it finally done?”
Tywin glances at him briefly, his voice cold, businesslike. “The Mountain took care of Elia Martell and her children.” His words are curt, but the implication hangs heavy in the air—a brutal, merciless end to the remnants of Targaryen loyalty.
Robert’s lips twitch in a grim smile, but there’s a flicker of something else in his eyes as he considers the deed done in his name. He lets out a slow exhale, his satisfaction barely restrained. “And what of the dragonspawns?” He sneers. “The children Y/N bore for her father…?”
Tywin’s expression hardens. “A ship departed for the Free Cities before my men reached Dragonstone. Queen Rhaella was found dead in her chambers—servants say she collapsed when word of her daughter’s death reached her.”
Robert’s expression darkens, his eyes flashing with a mixture of fury and contempt. He stares into the flames, fists clenched, his voice low and laced with venom. “I’ll see the end of them. Every last dragon, down to the hatchlings. I’ll hunt them across the sea if I must, but none of them will live. They will all burn, just as he did.”
Tywin does not respond, his gaze unwavering as the pyre continues to blaze, the fire consuming all traces of Aerys and Y/N. Their forms dissolve into embers, ashes swept up by the heat and scattered by the wind, carried beyond the keep and out into the world—a fitting, final end to the dynasty that had once ruled with fire and blood.
As the flames rise higher, Robert remains beside Tywin, his gaze hard and unyielding, filled with a singular purpose—to wipe out every last trace of the Targaryen legacy, to ensure that dragons are remembered only in tales of madness and ruin. And all the while, Tywin stands silent, his face unreadable, watching the flames burn away the past, and perhaps, in his own way, the last remnants of something he, too, once feared.
#game of thrones#a song of ice and fire#asoiaf#asoiaf x reader#fire and blood#hotd#house of the dragon#got x reader#got x you#got x y/n#got aerys ii#aerys ii targaryen#the mad king#aerys ii x reader#aerys ii x you#aerys ii x y/n#the flames we loved
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I have no life despite the shit I should be doing in college
anyway, here my updated outline idea of what the next Batman show should be like because dear god we need more Robin exposure
If we get Dick again he is getting one season of a Batman show and replaced by Jason with a time jump and both are in the panties
Like, Dick in the ending years as Robin and the season finale ending with him leaving because of similar reasons tied to the final battle of the season, jump to Jason’s origin and Nightwing established in a return episode after a few of Batman being kinda cagey about the bird that flew the coop
Jason dies at a mid-season event with a rigged online poll (I remember one of those recently on what power a newly born Super kid in a show I used to watch would get. They got teleportation, wasn’t rigged tho last I checked) to replay that age old pain to new fans and give old ones a fun “I know something you don’t~” feeling to be evil
Tim comes after the remaining episodes of Bruce being a mess until the season finale makes him Robin. He gets a season or two as Robin until the next one starts with Damian’s introduction, but there’s episodes throughout each season that have Ra’s or Talia to establish their complicated relationship and hint at some tragedy in their past (Backstory of Talia faking losing Damian to have her and Bruce previously married but characterize Talia as protecting her son over anything else)
Plus a brief few episodes of Tim quitting in those 2 seasons with Steph as robin and then quickly ‘dead’
And in line with Tim having his own Robin Solos he gets a spinoff that is basically YJ put to the television properly (Pointed look at Young Justice Tv Show) so that we get to see the downward spiral that is his life up to and including Kon dying at the second to last seasons Mid-Season special with hints in this show and the Btaman one that Tim is Not Taking It Well.
Cue that after-credit shot in one episode showing him working on that whole cloning spiral
Also cue that last season being after Damians into and having Kon come back at some point so both tie into the whole “Bruce is alive” moment after the Batman show has people thinking “Tim, you need help please let us get you some.” and his show being just… the mess he’s in during that time until they get Bruce back and then it’s Happy Batfam and the end of both shows
#haha. The ADHD is so obvious in hindsight...#batman#dick grayson#jason todd#tim drake#damian wayne#dc#batfamily#show idea
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A Fate Fought For
How heartfelt. This is part 19 of 20. We tie up loose ends.
Tale of the Cursed Raven: Part 1 I Part 2I Part 3 I Part 4 I Part 5 I Part 6 I Part 7 I Part 8 | Part 9 I Part 10 I Part 11 I Part 12 | Part 13 | Part 14 | Part 15 | Part 16 | Part 17 | Part 18
Knock, knock.
Crowley’s knuckles pause. He waits, straining his ear, waiting for a reply—or at least some sign of life.
His niece has been holed up in her room for the past… He has lost track of how long. The few times she has emerged, she is progressively more and more haunted. Pale complexion, dark circles under her eyes, a hollow expression.
She had stopped leaving entirely for three whole days.
He knocks again, this time calling out. His voice is thin and desperate.
“Raven-kun? Raven-kun, are you awake…? It’s your dear old uncle!”
The panic sets in when he’s met with silence. He fiddles with the doorknob, then feels for the keys dangling from his waist.
“Young lady!! I am respecting your privacy but asserting my authority as your guardian by coming in anyway!!” he crowed, inserting a skeleton key into the lock and turning.
The door swings open.
His jaw drops.
“Wh-What happened here?!”
The place is a terrible mess, even moreso than usual. Bookcases have toppled over, their contents spilling and making the floor a maze of covers and pages to wade through. Handprint-shaped ink stains paint the walls, as if a ghoul were desperately trying to claw out from the underworld. And there, in the center of the wreck, is a small body slumped over a writing desk.
Crowley rushes to her, laying a hand on her shoulder. But he sees the quill jutting out of her left hand and startles.
“R-Raven-kun?!”
“… Mmmm…”
Raven shifts under his touch. Her eyes flutter, and he sees the warm honey rings of her irises. Tired, but still bright.
“… Uncle? What are you doing?”
“That is what I would like to know!!” He jabbed a finger at her injured hand. “You’ve gone and hurt yourself, silly girl! Hold still. We must treat this immediately.”
Crowley raises his walking stick and gives it a wave. Items from a first aid kit materialize and float down.
He sets to his work, using a clean cloth to apply pressure to the injury site. Raven squeals, but plays the part of a good patient by squeezing her eyes shut and bearing with it. The blackened ooze breaks.
Then comes the water, a small sterile stream from midair rinsing off the area. A bottle of ointment uncaps and applies itself—she winces. The quill slowly unlodges, magic suspending the bodily fluids until a fresh dressing is applied neatly over top.
Raven watches in quiet awe.
“There we are.” Crowley gentle pats the bandaged hand. “Now then, would you mind explaining yourself?”
Raven blinks. “… Sometimes I forget what a powerful mage you are.”
“Hmm? Oh—well…!!” The headmaster flushes. “It’s not everyday that I receive such kind praise!!”
He stops.
“W-Wait just a minute, don’t change the subject!” He indicates the room. “What happened here last night?!”
Raven lowers her gaze to the papers at her desk. Crowley follows it, coming across a paper stained a brilliant sky blue. Hastily scribbled over it, as if written by the hand of a madman, is three lines.
But she still dared to dream.
And she lived happily ever after.
The end.
“I wrote my magnum opus with my blood, sweat, and tears,” Raven says very quietly. “The only story I know how to tell from beginning to end. Mine.”
She tries to rise from the desk and nearly careens to one side. Crowley catches her and tuts.
“You need to lie down and rest, some food in your belly as well!” he lightly scolds. “Here, come to your bed.”
Raven clutches onto him tightly. Using him as an anchor, she hoists herself up on trembling feet.
“… I can’t.”
“What?”
“I can’t. I have to…” She shakes her head. “There are things I must tend to first. A blue letter in my drawer that needs to be read, classmates I must talk to..."
“Not in that state, you won’t!! You'll stay put until further notice. To your bed--I'll brew you a cup of tea, perhaps that will whet your appetite. Maybe some rice porridge after?" Crowley coos, smoothed her hair down. “With sunny side egg eyes and a bacon smile!”
She peers up at him. Her cheeks are wet with trails of tears.
"Oh dear, oh dear! You're crying now?" He cups her face and brings her to his chest. “You’ll tell me what’s wrong, won’t you?”
"N-Nothing. Nothing’s wrong, I just..." Raven wipes at her eyes, sniffling loudly. "Uncle, you…”
“Is it something I’ve done? Come, out with it.”
There’s a nervous, stuttery laugh.
“You really are so very, very kind. And your hands... Have they always been this warm?"
Raven leans into his palm and openly weeps.
He lets her.
She’s definitely a goner now,” a mob student declares. “It’s been weeks.“
The comment is made in 1-A's homeroom, in the hallways, in the courtyard and cafeteria, all over campus. Kon leaves his classes with a weight on his chest, pushing the breath out of him.
He doesn’t want it to be the end, not like this. Not when what he last recalls of her is an unanswered question, a hand left untaken. And a girl petrified, as if the blade of a guillotine loomed above her.
I hope she’s okay.
“Kon?”
He lifts his head. To either side of him are his friends—students from Scarabia and Pomefiore, respectively. Cyril, pale with his fluffy violet mop and Augustine, tanned and dirty blonde hair cut short.
“Something up?” Augustine asks, digging an elbow into his side. “You have that faraway look in your eyes again.”
“I’m thinking about… stuff.”
“Your missing classmate?” Cyril suggests. For as long as Kon has known him, he’s been good at reading people. Guessing, Cyril calls it—but he’s always been humble.
“This again? You shouldn’t waste your energy on that. She’s a lost cause,” Augustine snips. He’s gruffer that Cyril and Kon combined, quick to cut to the chase. “And anyway, it’s not like you were super close or anything.”
“Well, no. But it still doesn’t feel good, knowing the person you sit next to in class is… There’s an empty seat. It’s sad.”
It’s lonely.
“Accept it and move on, bro. Wherever she is, whatever happened to her, she’s not comin’ back.
“Are you sure?” Cyril squints into the distance. “… But isn’t that her right now? The one running around over there.”
“What?” Kon throws his gaze across the courtyard.
A black bundle darts from student to student, pigtails whipping back and forth. She stops before each person, her mouth a burst of movement. The girl executes a bow, then goes to the next student.
“R-Raven-san?!”
She turns in the direction of her name. Smiles, then begins making her way toward him.
Kon gulps. “You’re… okay.”
“Yes. I had to take some much needed time off. Headmaster’s orders,” she says, holding up her bandaged hand.
Her cheeks are pink, eyes rimmed red, forehead coated with a light shine. Has she been running around for a while? Kon wonders. Or… crying? Both?
“Th-That’s a relief.” He attempts to return her smile.
Raven passes a look between Cyril and Augustine. “… Oh, are these the friends you told me about?“
“Y-Yeah. Um…” Kon gestures vaguely at them. “Cy is a second year in Scarabia. August is a third year in Pomefiore. Guys, this is Raven-san from my class.”
Cy waves.
August gives a noncommittal grunt.
“It’s nice to meet you!” Raven chirps. Again, she bows. “Starting today…! I hope we can have a strong working relationship!”
The mob students stare at her. “Uh…okay?”
“You too, Kon-san!”
“E-Eh, me?!”
“Of course.” She rights herself. “You’re important too. Let’s all get along!”
With that, Raven bounds off, leaving the confused mob students. Her heart skips, matching her frantic paces. Feeling so free.
She stops whenever she spots someone. Teacher, student, ghost. An introduction offered, followed by a hopeful wish.
“Let’s all get along!”
Raven clears the Main Building, exiting into the spring time.
The air is sweet and whipped airy like a mousse. The sun is out, lighting errant pink petals on the wind.
Another day, priceless.
How pretty.
“The apple blossoms are beautiful,” a soft voice remarks, echoing her sentiments.
In the corner of her vision, a shape shifts into view.
It’s a lady with a flowery parasol, her gown a deep emerald hue. Her hair is golden, some of it done up in a milkmaid’s braid, the rest falling in waves down her back. A pearly shimmer radiates from her delicate, pixie-like features—button nose, rose cheeks, rounded eyes. One deep violet eye peers at her, the other half of her face covered by a swoop of flaxen locks.
Wow, Raven marvels, it’s like a storybook princess came to life.
“They are,” she manages as politely as she can.
“Ah, my apologies,” the lady gasps, fingers knitting over her mouth. “I didn’t mean to interrupt whatever it was that you were doing. Student life must be so busy."
"Oh no, it's fine!" Raven stammers. She feels compelled to drop to a curtsey before her. "You must be from Foothill Town...?"
"From beyond that," she says mysteriously. "I've come to see someone. An old acquaintance, one might say--but they aren't expecting it. I know them, but they do not know me."
Raven tilts her head. "That’s a strange conundrum. Do you need help locating them? I may not be the best with directions, but I’m certain I could at least escort you to a help desk.”
She giggles. “They needn’t be aware. After all… I have already been watching from afar for quite some time.”
“You have?” A vague sensation trails along Raven’s back. Light taps, as if her spine is a xylophone being played. “What changed, if you don’t mind me asking?”
“They did.” Her single violet eye shuts. “… It was not the ending I was expecting. They defied my expectations of them.”
There is no fire to her words. No ice either. She is devoid of feeling.
Raven doesn’t know why, but she shivers in the middle of that spring day.
“Is that a good thing or a bad thing?” she asks hesitantly.
The stranger tilts her parasol down, shielding her expression from view. “It is simply ‘a thing’. It would not be wise to invest too much of oneself in what is only a story.”
A story?
Raven’s ears perk, her eyes blowing wide.
“… What did you just say?”
But when she looks back at the stranger, they are already gone. Vanished without a trace on a warm wind.
Raven clutches her heart. She has not noticed until now—it is at a gallop.
“Who was that…?”
In the midst of judging the wildflowers cut for the lounge, Vil is called away from his work. He turns away from the crystal vases and moving to receive the surprise guest.
The rain had come in the afternoon. Not a sprinkle, but a downpour. Hard and rhythmic against their pointed turrets. If the lack of appointment didn't deterred visitors, then the weather most definitely would have.
The double doors open to reveal a small figure. She is drenched to the bone, her feathers and hair sodden, flat with water weight.
“Shetland potato.” Vil’s hands find his hips. If he has sympathy for waterlogged animals, he doesn't show it in his stern glare. "It has been some time. What brings you to Pomefiore, hmm? Are you looking to resume your etiquette lessons with me, since it seems you haven’t the manners to know it’s highly inappropriate to appear unannounced?”
“U-Um…! I know it's rude of me, but could I possibly come in? I'll be quick--there's something I'd like to tell you and Rook-senpai--and Epel-san too, if he's around. Then I'll be out of your feathers."
Vil looks at her long and hard.
Finally, a sigh.
"... Quickly, you said? Then make it quick. And you're going to catch a dreadful cold walking around like that. I'll call for a towel and hair dryer."
"Here you are, Roi du Poison!" a chipper voice pipes up, producing the items he had requested.
"Thank you, Rook," Vil replies nonchalantly, accepting them. The dorm leader ignores Raven's gaping mouth and hand-waves her inside. The huntsman moves to close the door after her. "He has excellent hearing," Vil explains, "and comes promptly when summoned. Spend enough time with him and you'll get used to it."
("Bonjour, mon petit oiseau!" he whispers.)
They herd Raven to a stool ("Not on the couches! You'll get them all wet!") and proceed to dry her off, as promised. Ruffling fabric and the low hum of the dryer fill the lounge, shutting off only when Vil is satisfied. Throughout the entire process, Rook hovers at a distance as if he is a theatre patron watching a show.
Finished, Vil passes her a mirror, granting her a few merciful moments to admire how he has blown out her curls. She oohs and aahs at her reflection.
"... Now then, what is it that you wanted to say?"
Raven almost drops the mirror. She's thankful that she's able to get a strong grip on its handle. Seven years of bad luck, avoided.
"Oh! Er... I-I wanted say thank you."
Vil lifts a brow.
"For everything you've done for me," Raven continues anxiously. "I don't think I've ever had to chance to properly express my gratitude.
"So thank you. Vil-senpai, for giving me pointers on how to be more ladylike. Rook-senpai, for your support when I was going through a hard time. I'm... so grateful that I can be here with everyone."
"Oh la la!" Rook throws both of his hands up. His expression is one of alarm, but not displeasure. "Mon petit oiseau, I had sensed that something was different about you from the moment you strode in. Could it be...?"
"E-Eh?!"
Raven is rugged off the stool, swept up into his arms. Rook pulls her into a twirl, letting her feathers fly. She dizzies, her feet tangling--but he steadies her, catching her hands.
"It is!" Rook declares giddily. "You've been freed--found yourself at last. I know it."
"You're going to make her motion sick," Vil warns pointedly.
The huntsman gives a musical laugh. He doesn't release his grip on her. Instead, he lowers himself, peeking into Raven's confused amber eyes.
"You still have someone else to speak with, non?" Rook says it like a suggestion. A secret, shared between the two of them. "Go to him. Let him know how you feel."
"... Yes, I'll do just that." She squeezes his fingers. "Thank you again for everything, senpai."
"Fufufu. Please, don't mention it." He pulls back. "I wish you nothing but the best."
Vil is silent as he watches Raven drift for the exit. She pushes the door open, and sunshine spills inside. The sky is blue, and he hears faint birdsong.
The rain has stopped.
Raven doesn't look back as she closes the door behind her. Her vision is focused only on what lies ahead.
"... You're fine with letting her go like this?" Vil asks of Rook. "Surely a huntsman would fight tooth and nail to keep ensnared prey from fleeing the trap."
"You're mistaken, Roi du Poison." He raises an arm, as if performing to a stage. "There is joy to be found in witnessing the ones we love at their happiest. Raven-kun now knows where that happiness lies--and I am content with that."
Vil frowns. "You're truly an incomprehensible man."
#twst#twisted wonderland#disney twisted wonderland#disney twst#Tale of the Cursed Raven#twst oc#twisted wonderland oc#Raven Crowley#Octavinelle A-kun#Scarabia B-kun#Pomefiore B-kun#Dire Crowley#Vil Schoenheit#Rook Hunt
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first date! | tbnd.
“great day today huh..” gyuvin said as he looked up to the sky. “i hate small talk.” i joked as gyuvin stopped in his steps and turned me to face him, “i’m in love with you.”
we both laughed as we entered school hand in hand, greeting our friends as they gagged at our physical contact. i shuddered at the sudden cold wind, shaking a little as my hairs on my arm stood up.
“cold, baby?” i blushed at the nickname, nodding as gyuvin reached into his bag and took out his jacket. “but what about you—“ “i’ll be fine okay? wanna walk to class?” i nodded with a big smile and put his jacket on as he willingly held onto my bag for me.
as soon as we stepped a foot near my classroom, my classmates screamed. mostly the girls. all of them were literally chanting his name and how good he looked. i took in a deep breath before turning my heel to face him, “i’ll see you after school?”
he nodded, holding the eye contact before suddenly pulling me behind the opened door, pecking my forehead and messing my hair up lightly. “have fun in class pretty, i’ll see you after school for our date.”
i cupped my cheeks to hide it from the fact that i was probably a tomato right now, giving him a short hug before running off into class. i heard gyuvin’s giggle and calmed myself down before isa and yeon ran up to me and bombarded me with questions. we couldn’t meet in school because he had his physical education classes all day and i was stuck in maths class.
needless to say, i fell asleep in class for the whole day. by the time i woke up, gyuvin’s face was right in front of mine. i was startled and yelled in his face, “oh my god, gyuvin…” he laughed and soon we were on our way to the toilets to change up and get ready for our date.
it was no shocker that i sucked at bowling. i mean, i’m barely a sports person in general after sixth grade. i groaned as gyuvin got the third strike in a row, watching him celebrate his happiness and jumping in the air out of joy. he giggled when he saw how annoyed i was with the ball.
“baby.. that’s not.. how you hold the ball..! here,” he said in between laughs before coming beside me, leaning down to my height and teaching me the correct methods of holding the ball and how to get a score. eventually i managed to bowl a few pins and even got one strike, because gyuvin helped me score but we shall not mention that.
anyway! now we are at the corridors of our houses with cups of ice cream on our hands, laughing about our day. soon enough we arrived at my front door, hearing eumppappa’s bark from afar.
“thank you for today, gyu. i had a lot of fun on our first date..!” i said as he smiled, “i had fun too, it was really soothing with your presence, pretty. but you should expect more fun and outgoing dates in the future..!”
gyuvin then pulled out a bouquet from his back, under his shirt, “sorry if it’s a little wet, i was nervous..” he chuckled nervously as i giggled and took the flowers from his hand, giving him a big hug.
“it’s the thought that counts, love. i’ll keep this in my room, i’ll frame one of it and name it ‘first date’. thank you, love. this is the best.” his eyes widened, “what did you call me?” he leaned down to my height as he smirked.
“what did i call you?” “hm princess, i’m sure you slipped something there,” “no i didn’t…” we teased each other as our noses touched.
“yes she did, she called you love, blah blah blah, can you please don’t make out in front of me.” hanbin suddenly spoke thru the intercom as we both laughed.
“i’ll text you baby,” gyuvin planted a kiss on my forehead, cheeks and a slight touch on the lips before hanbin pulled me in.
what a day.
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#zb1 gyuvin#gyuvin zb1#zb1 kim gyuvin#zb1 fluff#zb1 scenarios#zb1 x reader#zb1 texts#zb1 smau#zb1#zerobaseone text#zerobaseone kim gyuvin#gyuvin zerobaseone#zerobaseone gyuvin#zerobaseone smau#zerobaseone fluff#zerobase1#zerobaseone texts#zerobaseone#zerobaseone fics#gyuvin smau#gyuvin fluff#kim gyuvin smau#gyuvin imagines#gyuvin x reader#kim gyuvin#kim gyuvin texts#heeheesang
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The kiss did kill Agatha but it was because she made it happen. "That's cute, but you know that [absorbing Rio's powers] would kill me" they had that line for a reason and having the line again on the previously on was to remind the audience of that. So a normal agathario kiss wouldn't cause death, but Agatha actually absorbing Rio's powers while kissing definitely would.
That being said, I agree with all the things you highlighted that you liked. May I ask which things you would've done different or didn't love as much, maybe?
Also, from the most neutral point of view, do you think Agatha still loves Rio? Did she ever?
I agree with that read! Note: this also means Rio would have needed to let her magic go into Agatha. Agatha can only take when blasted with magic, not by touching people, so Rio was aware she was killing her but it was Agatha's choice to take it on the mouth
Ooh good questions, time to play editor / script doctor for a bit. This is probably going to be long... and can be negative so I'm keeping it under a cut.
Things I did not love / would have done differently — not comprehensive — just off the top of my head:
For the love of god use a different ghost SFX. I hate the current one with the fire of 10,000 suns. It makes it hard to see the actor's performance, their outfit, and it messes with their body language as well. Outside the fantastical reality of the Road, it's too distracting.
Burn that white-grey wig for ghost!Agatha. Between this and the SFX I was struggling to focus on the scenes and their pathos. I think Episode 5 wasn't so bad because Evanora didn't really do much except float around in a smock and say some mean lines but Agatha's moving around, talking a lot, and trying to land some emotional beats.
The whole showdown in the garden feels weird to me, and I think you can tell that Aubrey Plaza wasn't on-location for much of it except for the kiss? I suspect that's why we have shots focused on Billy hitting the greenhouse, Death on the house, and a very very short magical fight. You also don't get proper reactions from Rio on what could have been a couple of revealing beats like when Agatha initially offers Billy up and walks away.
The big one: I'm not convinced Agatha had a proper arc here. If it was planned I don't think it landed for me. You get a hint of Agatha making some peace with how death just happens at the end of the earth trial: "Sometimes boys die" – beautiful moment -– but it doesn't seem to follow through? Yes, she ultimately makes a choice that allows Rio to continue pursuing her (because Rio would have kept her word if Agatha handed Billy over). But coming to terms with her grief and Nicky's death? Has she forgiven Rio? Has she forgiven herself? It feels unresolved to me imho.
Agatha being protective of Billy is... some development I guess but she was already instinctively protective of him in like Episode 3, and by then she already knew he wasn't Nicky. I needed more growth from Agatha, I think?
I'm not sure about the whole mental messaging power of Billy's. Is it supposed to imply he's also reading Agatha's mind? Did he not say it out loud because then we'd have to get a reaction from Rio and Plaza isn't available?
Cast a younger kid for Nicky lol. I know there are production limitations but to me that kid looks too old for a 6-7 year old. Is it just me? I don't usually hang out with kids.
Streamline the flashbacks with Agatha and Nicky. We get it: she loves him, it's their song, he's not a fan of the murdering, he dies. I'd fit in a scene (it can be a short one) to underline how Rio did care about Nicky (she visits him?) and show Agatha having conflicting feelings about loving but fearing Death.
In an ideal world, not have Billy in his superhero outfit because that should have had some build-up for a reveal. I know it's Marvel and they need to sell merch and stuff but there really was enough stuff going on and how the hell did Billy get that suit anyway? The crown I can overlook but the rest is weird to me. --
For your last question about Agatha loving Rio I'll tackle it in another Anon Ask coming up that's similar!
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