#━ ✟ out of character : ❝ i walk between the veil of life and death. ❞ | Explore Tumblr posts and blogs

gyu-tori · 17 days ago

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When The Reaper Weeps | K.TH

Pairing: grim reaper!taehyun x fem mortal!reader Genre: Angst, Romance, Mortality, Second Chance

Summary: The afterlife, where death waits in shadow, Taehyun walks the line between humanity and duty, a grim reaper bound by unyielding rules and a heart he has long denied. Cold and distant, he collects souls with precision—until one last wish changes everything.

Y/N’s days are numbered, given seven days before the after life welcomes her. Her final mission is simple: mend the broken ties of her past.

As the days slip away, Taehyun’s carefully constructed world unravels. Y/N’s determination forces him to confront the emptiness in his existence. When choices arise—between rules, rebellion, and a love neither is prepared for—Taehyun must face the cost of defiance.

Will he remain the Reaper, bound to his duty, or will he weep for the first time in centuries?

Warnings: taehyun is a bit of a tsundere, mentions of death, major character death(ish), reader is already dead, let me know if I missed any!

Word count: 12.4k

The quiet stillness of the afterlife was the only constant that Taehyun had come to know. The cold winds of eternity blew through the halls of the reaper’s realm, carrying whispers of the souls he’d escorted to their final resting places. Most of them faded into nothingness, their cries for help or hopes for redemption dissipating the moment they passed beyond the veil. It was his duty to guide them, and that was all. A grim task, but one that he carried out with cold efficiency.

Taehyun’s hands, always steady, gripped the scythe tightly as he watched the elderly woman in front of him. She was fragile, trembling with fear and sadness, the weight of her approaching death finally sinking in. Her eyes met his, seeking some kind of comfort, some sign that her journey would be gentle.

"What lies beyond isn’t for you to know now," he said, his voice as cold and unyielding as the winds. The words were automatic, a rote response that he had long since perfected. There was no room for sympathy in his role, and he had learned to suppress any flickers of emotion that might arise.

The woman’s hands shook as she clasped them in front of her, a final prayer for peace on her lips. "Will it be kind? The afterlife, I mean. Will it be peaceful?" she asked, her voice trembling.

Taehyun’s gaze softened, just for a moment. He had heard that question a thousand times before, but this time, it lingered in the air, thick with the weight of her fear. "All you need to know is that your soul will rest, and that is enough."

As he raised his scythe, the motion fluid and practiced, a pang of guilt tugged at his chest, though he quickly buried it. It was foolish to care. Souls were meant to pass on. They all did.

He pulled the soul from her, watching as the light faded from her body. The process was familiar, mechanical, but for a fleeting moment, something about her lingered in his mind, something he couldn’t quite name.

As he faded back into the ether, his scythe still in hand, the brief sensation of her fear remained with him—a reminder of the humanity he had long since abandoned. The wind rushed past him as he disappeared into the void, but that fleeting moment, that brief spark of emotion, stayed behind.

It wasn’t supposed to matter. Souls moved on. They always had. So why did it feel different this time?

She wasn’t ready to die.

Y/N laid on the hospital bed, surrounded by the sterile scent of antiseptic and the hushed murmurs of the doctors outside the room. Her body, frail and weak from the illness that had taken hold of her over the past months, felt as though it were no longer hers. She could feel the pull of death, an invisible force dragging her deeper into the dark abyss, yet she fought it.

There was still so much to do, so many things she hadn’t said, hadn’t fixed. The regret was a heavy weight on her chest, suffocating in its intensity.

Her eyes fluttered open as she heard the faint creak of the door, the cold, quiet footsteps that followed. She turned her head, her vision blurry from the painkillers they’d given her, and there he stood. The reaper.

Kang Taehyun.

His presence was as imposing as it was cold, a figure of dark silhouette framed by the dim light spilling in from the hallway. His scythe, dark and gleaming, rested in his hand with an aura of finality.

Her heart skipped a beat, a mixture of fear and confusion swirling in her chest. She had imagined this moment so many times, but never like this. Never with so much unfinished business.

“Are you here for me?” Her voice was soft, weak, but there was an unshakable resolve behind it. She was ready. Not to die, but to make a wish. A wish she needed more than anything in the world.

Taehyun didn’t respond immediately. He stood in the doorway, his cold eyes scanning her. The air seemed to grow heavier, and she could feel his judgment. The reapers were not known for their compassion. They were silent, emotionless beings who did their duty without question. It was a matter of fate, of inevitability.

“Your time has come,” Taehyun said, his voice flat and devoid of emotion, as though the words came from a place as distant as the very afterlife itself. “There is no place for you here anymore.”

But Y/N’s gaze never faltered. “I’m not ready,” she whispered, voice trembling. “Please... I have a request. A final wish.”

Taehyun's expression didn’t change. He didn’t care for wishes. Souls were meant to pass, and once their time was up, they moved on. There were no exceptions, no delays. It was the way of things.

“You have no time for such things,” he replied coldly, his eyes never leaving hers. “You’re wasting what little remains.”

But Y/N, though frail and nearing the end, still had strength. She pushed herself up slightly, ignoring the pain that seared through her body. Her voice became more desperate, her words sharp as a plea. “I have one wish, one thing I need to do before I go. Please. I want to fix things with my little sister. I’ve hurt her so much over the years. I need one more chance to make things right. One more chance to say I’m sorry.”

Taehyun felt a flicker of something—something he couldn’t name, something he had long since abandoned—but he pushed it aside. Emotions were for the living, and he was no longer that. He was a reaper. He collected souls. That was his purpose.

“No one gets second chances,” he stated, his voice flat and final, as though sealing her fate with the words. “You’re being selfish. There is no time for you to play at redemption. Your soul belongs to the afterlife.”

Her heart sank, and yet she did not relent. “Please,” she whispered, her voice cracking. “Just seven days. Just seven days, and I’ll go peacefully. I promise.”

There was silence between them, an air of finality that Taehyun couldn’t shake. For a brief moment, he considered it—her request. He could simply take her soul, and it would be done. But something gnawed at him, something buried deep inside. The desperation in her eyes, the raw vulnerability she displayed. It was foreign to him. She was so different from all the others.

Taehyun's eyes narrowed, his hand tightening around the scythe. He could feel something in the pit of his stomach—something unshakable, a shift in the air, as though fate was tugging at him. He stepped back from the bed, the weight of her gaze following him.

Before he could speak, a voice rang out from the shadows.

"Taehyun."

A figure emerged from the corner of the room. The head reaper, Soobin, appeared like a shadow in the doorway. His presence was commanding, his eyes sharp with wisdom.

"You're being too hasty," Soobin continued, his gaze flicking from Taehyun to Y/N, then back to the reaper. "She’s not asking for much. Seven days. A mere week. Let her have it."

Taehyun’s gaze flickered, his face betraying the smallest hint of surprise. "You can’t be serious. We don’t give second chances. We don’t interfere with fate."

Soobin’s expression softened ever so slightly, a touch of sorrow in his eyes. “Even we were human once, Taehyun. We understand what it means to want redemption. To feel the weight of unfinished business.”

The words struck Taehyun like a physical blow. He had long since buried his humanity, and yet... something in Soobin’s tone made him question his certainty.

"You’ve always followed the rules," Soobin continued, his voice calm but firm. "Perhaps it’s time to let her try. Seven days. That is all she asks."

Taehyun stood in silence, his hand tightening around the handle of his scythe. A storm of conflicting emotions churned inside him—frustration, confusion, and the gnawing sense that he was being forced into something he couldn’t control.

Finally, he exhaled, his shoulders slumping as if the weight of the decision had crushed him. “Fine,” he muttered. “Seven days. But if she wastes this opportunity, I will return her soul without hesitation.”

Soobin’s expression softened just a fraction. “You’ll do well, Taehyun. Just remember... there are things even reapers can’t ignore.”

With that, Soobin disappeared back into the shadows, leaving Taehyun alone with Y/N once again. He could feel the weight of her gaze, the silent hope in her eyes. Something had shifted—something he wasn’t sure he understood. But the words were out, and there was no turning back now.

"You have seven days," Taehyun said, his voice colder than ever. "Do not waste it."

Y/N nodded, a tear slipping down her cheek. "I won’t," she promised.

And so, Taehyun’s reluctant task began.

Taehyun stood by her side, watching in silence as Y/N gathered what little strength she had left. It had been a few hours since Soobin had granted her seven days to fulfill her wish, and though Taehyun was reluctant to admit it, he found himself watching her more closely than he had ever watched any soul before.

Y/N was different. She wasn’t like the others. The other souls he had collected were often resigned to their fate, accepting the inevitable with a quiet grace, or they fought with fear in their hearts, their cries drowned out by the pull of the afterlife. But Y/N was determined. There was no giving up in her. She had an energy about her that felt almost... alive, despite the state of her body.

He had barely said a word to her since the agreement was made, the silence between them stretching like an endless chasm. He had his orders, and he intended to follow them. Seven days. That was all she had. Seven days to fulfill a wish that had little chance of succeeding.

"You’re supposed to be my guide, right?" Y/N’s voice was soft but filled with determination.

Taehyun glanced at her, his face unreadable. "I’m here to make sure you don’t waste the time you've been given." His tone was clipped, formal. He didn't owe her anything more than that.

Y/N raised an eyebrow, meeting his gaze with an expression that was equal parts challenging and weary. "How can I not waste it if I don’t even know where to start? I don’t know what I’m doing. I’m just... trying to find my sister."

Her words were heavy, and despite his best efforts, Taehyun could feel a flicker of something in his chest—something like sympathy, but not quite. It was a feeling he had long since buried, and he quickly stamped it down, pushing it into the deepest corner of his mind.

"Start by listening to me and following the rules," he replied curtly, avoiding her gaze as his hand tightened around the scythe’s handle. “You need to stay out of trouble. No unnecessary interactions with the living. No distractions.”

She nodded, though her face was still clouded with doubt. “I understand.”

But Taehyun could see the doubt in her eyes. She wasn’t the kind of person who could follow rules so easily. He could already tell she wasn’t going to let go of her mission that easily. It didn’t help that the very concept of human emotions—the ones she clung to—puzzled him. He had seen them before, but he didn’t understand them. They were irrational, unpredictable, and they often got in the way of his work.

As they walked through the shadowed streets of the city, the weight of her sadness settled heavily in the air. Her body, still frail from the illness, moved slowly, but her determination was unmistakable. She refused to stop, her mind set on finding the one person who had once meant the world to her.

Taehyun’s gaze flicked from her to the quiet streets around them, his senses alert. The afterlife always felt close in moments like this—like the very air around them was charged with the weight of the dead. Souls wandered the streets in their ghostly forms, unaware of their fate, and Taehyun couldn’t help but wonder if they, too, had once been as driven as Y/N. Driven by love, regret, and unfinished business.

As if on cue, they encountered someone who was anything but quiet.

From an alleyway, a figure emerged—a tall, charismatic soul with an air of defiance around him. His eyes, gleaming with mischief, met Taehyun’s with an expression that could only be described as smug.

“Ah, what do we have here? A reaper and his charge, how quaint.” The man smirked, leaning casually against the wall.

Taehyun’s posture immediately tensed, the air around him growing colder. “Yeonjun,” he said in a low voice, his eyes narrowing. “I told you before—stay out of my way.”

Yeonjun chuckled, unbothered by the threat in Taehyun’s tone. “Oh, I’m just passing through. I don’t want to get in the way of your little... assignment.” He turned his attention to Y/N, a grin spreading across his face. “But I’m curious. Are you really going to follow a reaper’s orders? You’re not really his type, are you?”

Y/N’s eyes widened slightly, confusion and curiosity flickering across her features. “Who... who are you?”

“Yeonjun,” he said smoothly, “a soul who’s... well, I don’t really belong here. I’ve escaped the system. I live by my own rules.” He shrugged nonchalantly, as if it were no big deal.

Taehyun’s gaze hardened, his hand tightening around his scythe. “Don’t listen to him. Souls like him only bring chaos.”

Y/N glanced at Taehyun, then back to Yeonjun. There was a hint of intrigue in her eyes, and Taehyun felt a knot form in his stomach at the way she looked at the rogue soul.

“But he’s free,” she said softly. “He doesn’t have to answer to anyone.”

Yeonjun flashed her a knowing smile. “Exactly. You see, Y/N, you could be free, too. Why bother following the rules? They don’t care about you. They don’t care about your little wish.” He turned his gaze to Taehyun, his expression turning mockingly serious. “You really think this cold-hearted reaper is going to help you? He’s just doing his job. He’ll take you straight to the afterlife without a second thought.”

Y/N hesitated, her gaze shifting between Taehyun and Yeonjun. Taehyun’s heart clenched—he could see her beginning to doubt him, doubt everything he represented. And yet, deep inside, he knew he was right. Souls like Yeonjun were dangerous. They didn’t care for anything other than their own freedom, their own selfish desires.

“You’re wrong,” Taehyun said, his voice colder than ever, the weight of his words cutting through the air like a blade. “She is not like you. She is not some rebellious soul looking for a way out. She has something to accomplish.”

Yeonjun tilted his head, his grin never faltering. “We’ll see about that. Seven days, right? That’s hardly enough time to do anything. You think she’ll be satisfied with some half-baked apology? Let’s see how this plays out.”

He lingered for a moment longer, his eyes locking with Taehyun’s one last time, before he disappeared back into the shadows of the alley.

Y/N remained silent, the weight of Yeonjun’s words hanging in the air. Taehyun could feel her doubt festering, a crack forming in the wall she had built around her heart.

He clenched his jaw. This was the last thing she needed—someone like Yeonjun planting seeds of rebellion in her mind. She had to focus. She had to—

“You’re not like him,” she said suddenly, her voice quiet but firm. “You care.”

Taehyun froze, his mind reeling. Her words were unexpected, and for a moment, he didn’t know how to respond.

“You care about something,” she continued, looking at him intently. “I can see it. You’re not as cold as you pretend to be.”

He felt his pulse quicken, an unfamiliar heat rushing to his face. He quickly turned his gaze away, hoping she couldn’t see the flicker of emotion in his eyes. He couldn’t afford to care. He couldn’t afford to let her see him for what he was—something more than just a reaper.

“I don’t,” he replied curtly, his voice laced with icy detachment. “Now focus on your mission. That’s the only thing that matters.”

The days were starting to blur together, each one passing with a quiet urgency that seemed to weigh heavier on Y/N’s shoulders. She had tried to reconcile with her younger sibling twice now, each attempt met with rejection. The first time, she had been met with an angry outburst, her sibling accusing her of abandoning them for years, and the second time, they had simply turned away, too hurt to face her.

Taehyun remained by her side, his presence a constant reminder of the weight of the task at hand. He said little, only offering cold and practical advice, but his silence often felt heavier than any words could be.

"You're making it harder than it needs to be," he said one evening as they walked through a desolate part of town, the fading light casting long shadows over the pavement. "You're not going to win them over by pushing. They need time."

Y/N was silent, her eyes fixed on the ground. She didn’t want to hear that. She didn’t have time. Her soul was slipping away, and every moment spent with her sibling was precious. She couldn’t afford to wait.

"I know," she said quietly, her voice breaking slightly. "But I don’t have time for that. I just want... I just want to fix everything before it's too late."

Taehyun’s lips pressed together in a thin line, his thoughts distant. "You can’t fix everything. Sometimes people... people aren’t ready to forgive."

Her words were sharp, but Taehyun caught the crack of emotion in her voice, the rawness of the hurt she carried. "I’m not asking for forgiveness. I just want a chance to make things right. To show them that I care. That I never meant to hurt them."

Taehyun stopped walking, his gaze settling on her, his usual stoic expression faltering for a moment. He couldn’t understand it—the human need to keep fighting for something that might never come to pass. He had seen enough souls over the years to know that people didn’t always get what they wanted. But there was something about her conviction, something that tugged at him, even though he was reluctant to admit it.

"I can’t promise anything," he said quietly, "but I’ll make sure you get a chance to try."

She looked up at him, her eyes searching his face. It was a fleeting moment of vulnerability—one that Taehyun quickly masked with his usual indifference. He quickly turned away, hoping she wouldn’t see the flicker of something else in his gaze.

Before she could respond, a voice interrupted them, smooth and teasing.

"Well, well, if it isn’t the reaper and his charge," a familiar voice called out. It was Beomgyu, a reaper whose presence was always accompanied by an air of mischief. He appeared from the shadows, his expression amused as he approached. "I hope I’m not interrupting anything too sentimental."

Taehyun stiffened, his irritation flaring at the sight of Beomgyu. "What do you want?" he asked, his tone colder than before.

Beomgyu’s grin widened as he walked toward them. "Oh, nothing much. Just wanted to see how my favorite reaper is holding up. Looks like you’re babysitting another soul. How’s that going?"

Y/N frowned at the teasing tone in Beomgyu’s voice, sensing the tension between the two. She had seen Taehyun’s frustration before, but this was different. He seemed genuinely irked.

"It’s fine," Taehyun said curtly, ignoring Beomgyu’s attempts to rile him up. "I’m doing my job."

Beomgyu raised an eyebrow, crossing his arms. "Your job? Is that all you’re doing, Taehyun? Just... following orders?" He let out a small chuckle. "You’ve got a good heart buried under all that coldness. Too bad you don’t know what to do with it."

Taehyun’s grip on his scythe tightened, but before he could retort, Beomgyu’s expression shifted, his teasing demeanor replaced with something more serious.

"Listen, I get it," Beomgyu continued, his voice quieter now. "I’ve been where you are. There’s a reason the rules exist. I broke them once, thinking I could save someone who didn’t belong in the afterlife. It didn’t end well. Don’t make the same mistake I did."

Y/N looked between them, sensing the weight of Beomgyu’s words. "What happened?" she asked softly, her voice gentle, yet full of curiosity.

Beomgyu’s gaze darkened for a moment, his usual mischievous attitude slipping away. "I got attached to a soul. I thought I could help them, give them a second chance. But I ended up making things worse. I lost my position. And the soul... they disappeared. Like they never existed."

There was a heavy pause. Taehyun knew the story all too well. It was one of the reasons he kept his distance from the souls he was tasked with guiding. Attachment only led to pain. But still, a part of him couldn’t help but wonder... Was there a better way?

"You’re right," Taehyun said, his voice flat, though the weight of Beomgyu’s words hung in the air. "The rules are the rules. And I’m not about to break them."

Beomgyu eyed him for a moment longer before giving a resigned sigh. "Just don’t say I didn’t warn you." With a final smirk, he turned and disappeared into the shadows, leaving them alone once more.

Y/N watched the interaction closely, the silence between them stretching. "Is it really that dangerous to care about someone?" she asked quietly.

Taehyun’s eyes darkened, and for a moment, he said nothing. "Yes," he replied finally, his voice low. "It is. The more you care, the harder it becomes to let go. And in our world... you have to let go. It’s the only way."

But even as he spoke, he could feel the truth of it slipping through his fingers. His resolve was crumbling, piece by piece, as he spent more time with her. He had never cared about a soul this much, and he didn’t know how to handle it.

"Then why do you keep helping me?" she asked, her voice soft, but filled with a quiet challenge.

Taehyun froze, his heart skipping a beat. She was right to ask. He didn’t know why he kept helping her. He had tried to remain detached, to keep his emotions in check, but the more time they spent together, the harder it became.

"I’m not helping you," he muttered, almost to himself. "I’m just doing my job."

Y/N didn’t say anything more, but the look she gave him was one of quiet understanding, as if she saw through the walls he had carefully constructed around himself.

The next day, they were joined by Huening Kai, the newest reaper, still learning the ropes. He had joined their group without much fanfare, and despite his soft-hearted nature, he had already begun to question the ethics of their duties.

"Is it really right to just... take souls without knowing the full story?" Huening Kai asked, his voice filled with genuine curiosity. "What if they still have something to do? What if they’re not ready?"

Taehyun glanced at him, the irritation that had been simmering beneath the surface resurfacing. "It’s not our place to decide," he replied curtly. "The rules are set. We don’t question them."

But inside, Taehyun couldn’t help but wonder what might have happened if he had questioned them—if he had listened to the voices like Huening Kai’s, or even Beomgyu’s.

As hours and hours dragged on, each moment more suffocating than the last. Y/N’s attempts at reconciliation with her sibling had begun to feel like futile gestures, her heart breaking a little more with each rejection. Yet, she never gave up. Even when she felt the weight of failure pressing against her chest, she stood tall, determined to finish what she had started.

Taehyun watched her from a distance, his gaze sharp, but his mind conflicted. Her determination was both admirable and frustrating. She was too stubborn for her own good, too attached to the idea of fixing things. And yet, there was something in the way she refused to give up that gnawed at him, something that made him feel like maybe, just maybe, humans were capable of something more than mere selfishness.

That night, as they walked through the quiet streets, the weight of unspoken words hung between them. Y/N had just returned from another failed attempt to speak with her sibling. Her shoulders were slumped, her face drawn with exhaustion, but there was a flicker of defiance in her eyes. She wasn’t going to let it go.

"I don’t understand," she said suddenly, breaking the silence. "Why is it so hard for them to forgive me? I know I hurt them, but... I’ve changed. I’ve spent so much time regretting what happened, and yet they... they won’t even let me try."

Taehyun didn’t answer at first. He had heard her speak of her regrets before, but tonight, her pain seemed to resonate deeper than it ever had before. Her voice trembled, and for a brief moment, he found himself wondering if he understood her pain more than he cared to admit.

"People don’t always forgive," he said softly, his voice almost too quiet for her to hear. "Sometimes, they can’t. And that’s not something you can control."

She stopped walking, turning to face him. Her eyes were bright with unshed tears, but there was no anger in her gaze, only a quiet sorrow. "But I didn’t mean to hurt them. I never wanted this."

Taehyun’s heart clenched. He didn’t want to feel this—didn’t want to feel anything for her. But her pain, so raw and honest, made it impossible to ignore.

"Not everything is as simple as you think," he replied, his voice hardening again. "People hold grudges for reasons that go beyond your actions. You can’t expect them to forgive you just because you want it."

Y/N nodded slowly, as though accepting the harsh truth of his words. "I guess I’ll just have to keep trying, then," she said, her voice quiet but resolute. "Because I can’t leave this world without knowing I did everything I could to make it right."

Taehyun watched her for a long moment, his expression unreadable. Despite himself, he felt a flicker of admiration for her unwavering resolve. But that was dangerous. Dangerous for him.

"Don’t get too attached to the idea of it," he warned her, his words cutting through the silence like a blade. "People don’t always get what they want. You need to be prepared for the possibility that you may never get the chance to make things right."

Y/N’s gaze softened, a faint smile tugging at her lips. "I know. But I have to try. Even if it’s just for me."

Before Taehyun could respond, a sudden rustle in the air caught their attention. They both turned to find a familiar face emerging from the shadows.

Yeonjun.

The rogue soul had appeared without warning, his usual cocky grin in place as he sauntered toward them. Taehyun tensed, his grip tightening on his scythe. He didn’t want to deal with Yeonjun right now—not when things were already complicated enough.

"Well, well," Yeonjun drawled, his eyes flicking between the two of them. "It looks like you’re both still at it. How’s the soul-sitting going, Taehyun? Still keeping things under control?"

Taehyun’s eyes narrowed. "This is none of your business, Yeonjun. Stay out of it."

Yeonjun’s grin widened, his gaze lingering on Y/N. "Oh, I think it is my business. You see, I’m a bit of an expert when it comes to breaking the rules and finding freedom. And I think your little friend here could use a bit of that."

Y/N frowned, confusion flickering in her eyes. "What do you mean?"

Yeonjun’s gaze softened slightly, though his grin never faltered. "I mean, why bother with all this... pointless struggle? You’ve got the time you need. The rules don’t have to control you. You can be free, live your life on your own terms. No more waiting, no more regret. Just... freedom."

Taehyun’s jaw tightened. "Don’t listen to him. He’s nothing but trouble."

But Yeonjun wasn’t deterred. "Come on, Taehyun, don’t be so rigid. You know as well as I do that the system is flawed. Why should she have to follow rules that don’t make sense? You want to save her, don’t you? Then let her go. Let her live."

Y/N turned to Taehyun, her expression uncertain. She had been listening carefully, and part of her felt the temptation rising within her. What if Yeonjun was right? What if there was a way to break free from this cycle of duty and loss? But even as the thought lingered, she couldn’t help but feel the weight of her own promise to herself—to try, no matter the cost.

"I... I don’t know," she murmured, torn between the pull of Yeonjun’s offer and the responsibility that Taehyun had placed on her shoulders. "But I can’t just... give up. I need to finish what I started."

Yeonjun’s expression softened, his usual smirk replaced by something almost like understanding. "You’re a stubborn one. But don’t say I didn’t offer you a way out."

With that, he turned and disappeared into the night, leaving the two of them alone again.

The silence that followed was thick, the tension between them palpable. Y/N glanced at Taehyun, her heart heavy with the weight of the decision that lingered over her.

Taehyun didn’t say anything at first. He couldn’t bring himself to say anything. He was too caught up in the storm of his own thoughts, in the doubt that Yeonjun had planted in his mind.

Finally, Y/N broke the silence. "What do you think, Taehyun?"

Taehyun’s gaze hardened, his usual cold exterior slipping back into place. "It doesn’t matter what I think," he said, his voice low. "You’ve made your choice. Just don’t expect it to be easy."

She nodded, the resolve returning to her features. "I won’t give up. I’ll find a way."

And though Taehyun couldn’t bring himself to say the words aloud, a part of him wished—just for a moment—that she didn’t have to struggle so much. That there was an easier path for her.

As the days wore on, Y/N’s resolve never wavered, but the strain was beginning to show. She still visited her sibling, trying every approach she could think of to mend the broken bond, but each attempt was met with rejection, or worse—indifference. The closer she came to the end of her time, the more desolate the world seemed.

Taehyun, on the other hand, found himself increasingly caught between the rules he was sworn to uphold and the emotions he didn’t want to acknowledge. His duty as a reaper had always been clear: to collect souls and ensure that the natural order was maintained. He’d never been one to question the process, nor had he ever felt any significant attachment to the souls he collected. But Y/N was different.

Her tenacity, her refusal to give up even when everything seemed lost, stirred something in him that he couldn’t quite understand. He hated how she made him feel. How he wanted to comfort her, wanted to ease her pain, even though he knew he shouldn’t. He wasn’t supposed to care.

One evening, as the two of them walked in silence, a heavy fog began to settle around them. The streets were deserted, the usual sounds of the living muffled under the dense mist. Y/N had returned from another failed attempt to reach her sibling. Her eyes were red, and though she tried to keep up her usual determined front, it was clear she was exhausted—emotionally, physically, and mentally.

Taehyun glanced at her from the corner of his eye, his gaze lingering on her for a moment too long. Despite everything—despite how much he wished he could stay detached—he found himself walking just a little closer to her.

"You should rest," he said, his voice softer than usual, though he still couldn’t quite bring himself to meet her gaze. "You’ve been pushing yourself too hard."

Y/N shook her head, the movement small and almost imperceptible. "I can’t rest," she replied, her voice barely above a whisper. "Not yet. I have to try… even if it doesn’t work out. I can’t leave this world without knowing I did everything I could."

Taehyun clenched his jaw, his fingers tightening around the scythe at his side. "It’s not worth it," he muttered, more to himself than to her. "Some things can’t be fixed. Some things are beyond your control."

Y/N stopped walking, her eyes meeting his with an intensity that caught him off guard. "I don’t care," she said quietly but firmly. "If I don’t try, then I’ll regret it for the rest of my life. Even if I can’t make things right, at least I’ll know I gave it everything I had."

Her words echoed in Taehyun’s mind, each one striking him with the force of a thousand emotions he couldn’t name. He wanted to shout at her to stop—to give up before she hurt herself even more—but he couldn’t. He couldn’t tell her to stop trying, not when it was so clear how much it meant to her.

For a moment, the world around them seemed to fade, the fog enveloping them in a quiet, almost surreal stillness. The air felt thick, heavy with the weight of unsaid things.

"Why do you care so much?" Taehyun asked, his voice barely audible, the question slipping out before he could stop it.

Y/N blinked, taken aback by the question, but she didn’t hesitate to answer. "Because I have to," she said simply. "If I don’t care, then I’ve wasted everything. My life… my time here. I owe it to myself and to the people I’ve hurt to make things right."

Taehyun turned his head, his expression unreadable. He didn’t know what to say to that. He had never understood that kind of commitment, that kind of stubbornness. In his world, everything was final. There were no second chances, no room for regret. Souls were collected, and that was that.

But Y/N wasn’t like the other souls he had guided. She wasn’t resigned to her fate. She was fighting it with everything she had, and in that fight, Taehyun found something that threatened to unravel everything he thought he knew about the world.

"I don’t understand you," he muttered, more to himself than to her.

Y/N smiled faintly, her expression a mix of sadness and understanding. "You don’t have to. You just have to let me try."

Taehyun’s heart skipped a beat at the softness in her voice. He wanted to say something—anything—to make her stop, but the words wouldn’t come. Instead, he found himself nodding, albeit reluctantly.

"Fine," he said, his voice clipped. "I’ll give you another day. But after that, you’re on your own."

Y/N’s eyes softened, and for a brief moment, the walls she had built around herself seemed to crack. "Thank you, Taehyun."

He looked away quickly, his face flushing ever so slightly, but there was something about her gratitude that made him feel both uncomfortable and... something else. Something he couldn’t name.

As the fog thickened around them, they continued their journey, the silence between them carrying an unspoken understanding. Despite everything, despite the rules, despite the inevitable end that loomed over them, something had shifted. And neither of them knew what to do with it.

That night, Taehyun found himself standing on the edge of a rooftop, staring at the dark sky. The moon was hidden behind a thick cloud, and the stars were just barely visible through the haze. His scythe lay beside him, its cold steel gleaming faintly in the dim light.

He thought about Y/N—about her refusal to give up, her strength, her resilience. He hated how much it bothered him. He wasn’t supposed to care about her. He wasn’t supposed to feel anything for any of the souls he guided, especially not one who was determined to defy the natural order of things.

But as he stood there, the wind ruffling his hair, Taehyun couldn’t help but wonder—what if he could help her? What if, for once, he could break the rules and save her?

But that was impossible. He was a reaper. He followed the rules. He couldn’t let himself get caught up in something as dangerous as hope.

A soft sound broke his thoughts, and he turned just in time to see Y/N standing at the edge of the rooftop, her eyes on him. She looked smaller under the vastness of the sky, her figure barely more than a silhouette against the dark backdrop.

"You’re thinking too hard," she said quietly, her voice reaching him in the still night air.

Taehyun didn’t respond at first, his gaze fixed on the ground. He wasn’t sure what to say to her—how to explain the conflict inside him without betraying everything he stood for.

"I know," he muttered after a beat. "But I can’t help it."

Y/N stepped closer, her presence strangely comforting. "I think you’re the one who needs to let go," she said softly. "Not me."

The words hung between them, and Taehyun felt a strange tug in his chest—a pull that made him want to listen, to understand, even though he knew he couldn’t.

With a heavy sigh, he turned away from her, his gaze falling back to the city below. "You’re wrong," he said quietly. "Letting go is impossible."

And yet, as he spoke the words, he couldn’t shake the feeling that he might be wrong—wrong about everything.

Y/N’s determination never faltered, though the toll it was taking on her was becoming apparent. She had grown quiet, her spirit slowly eroding with every failed attempt to reach her sibling. But despite the exhaustion in her eyes, the weight in her shoulders, she refused to give up. Every time she stood before the closed door, every time her sibling looked at her with cold, hurt eyes, she stood her ground.

Taehyun, too, found himself growing weary. Not from his duties—he was as efficient as ever at collecting souls—but from something he couldn’t explain. He had always been cold, detached, but something about Y/N, something about the way she refused to back down, was slowly cracking the wall he had so carefully constructed around himself.

He watched her one evening, as she stood by a window, looking out at the world she could no longer be a part of. The soft glow of twilight bathed her figure, highlighting the exhaustion etched on her face. Her shoulders were hunched in weariness, her eyes distant, but when she turned to face him, there was still that spark of determination in her.

"How much longer do I have?" she asked, her voice tired but resolute.

Taehyun hesitated, his mind fighting with itself. He knew the rules. Seven days. That was all she had. But it felt wrong, saying it out loud. Saying it to her, when she was so close to breaking, when her resolve was the only thing holding her together.

"Two days," he said softly, his voice betraying a hint of something unspoken. "Then you’ll be… taken."

She nodded, but he could see the way her face tightened, the faint quiver in her lips. He wanted to say something to comfort her, something to ease the pain he knew she must be feeling. But the words wouldn’t come. He couldn’t allow himself to say anything that might make him appear weak—because the moment he did, the moment he showed even the slightest crack in his armor, she would have power over him. And he couldn’t afford that.

Instead, he simply nodded curtly, his eyes avoiding hers. "I’ll be here, like always. If you need anything."

Her gaze softened, but there was a sadness there that made Taehyun’s heart ache in a way he couldn’t comprehend. She wasn’t afraid of death, not really. She was afraid of not finishing what she had started, of leaving behind a broken world and a broken family. And Taehyun knew, deep down, that no matter how much he tried to distance himself, he couldn’t ignore the pain that reflected in her eyes.

The next day, as Taehyun stood outside, waiting for Y/N to finish her visit with her sibling, his mind wandered back to his own past. To the things he had left behind when he died.

He had been human once—before the coldness, before the endless duty that bound him to the afterlife. He too, once had a family, friends, dreams. But all of that had been taken away from him when he crossed over to the other side, when his own soul had been claimed by the Reaper’s scythe. He had been assigned to guide the souls of others, to ensure they moved on to their next life—or to collect them when they refused. But over time, his humanity had withered. He had become numb to the pain of others, indifferent to the lives he saw pass through his hands. After all, what did it matter? He wasn’t alive anymore.

But then he met Y/N, and everything started to unravel.

She had been a breath of fresh air in a world that had grown stale, a reminder of everything he had lost but could never get back. Her strength, her kindness, her determination—all of it was so human, so raw. And it terrified him.

A soft voice interrupted his thoughts.

"Taehyun."

He turned to find Y/N standing a few feet away, her gaze a little more distant than usual, but there was a hint of something else there too—something like peace, something like acceptance.

"You look lost in thought," she said with a small smile.

Taehyun straightened, instinctively pulling his cold mask back into place. "I was just waiting for you," he said curtly, his eyes scanning the area, looking anywhere but at her. "Are you ready to go?"

Y/N nodded, but there was a weight in her expression, a heaviness that Taehyun could feel pressing against his chest. She had come to terms with it. She had accepted the reality of what was happening, and for the first time, Taehyun wondered if she might have already given up on her mission, on the family she so desperately wanted to reconcile with.

"I’m ready," she said softly, the words almost a whisper. "But I wanted to thank you… for everything."

Taehyun’s brow furrowed slightly. "For what?" he asked, his voice betraying a hint of confusion.

"For being here," she explained, her voice barely above a whisper. "For guiding me when I didn’t know what to do, for not leaving me to face this alone."

He was silent for a moment, the words taking him by surprise. He hadn’t expected gratitude. Not from her, not when he had done nothing to earn it. He had only done his job, after all. It wasn’t as if he had any choice in the matter.

But then, for a brief moment, his eyes softened. It was fleeting, almost imperceptible, but Y/N caught it.

"I’m just doing my job," Taehyun said, trying to brush it off, but his voice was softer than usual, almost as if the words themselves were reluctant to leave his lips.

Y/N shook her head, her eyes sad but full of something else—something deeper. "You could’ve just taken me when my time was up," she said, her voice steady despite the emotion behind her words. "But you didn’t. You’ve been here, watching over me. You didn’t have to. And I know it’s not easy for you. But you’re still here."

The words struck Taehyun harder than he expected, his chest tightening with an unfamiliar sensation. He wasn’t sure what to make of it. He wasn’t sure how to respond.

"I’m not a hero, Y/N," he said finally, the words almost a whisper, as if he were trying to convince himself more than her. "I’m just a reaper. This is what I do."

Y/N’s eyes softened, and for a brief moment, she reached out, her hand brushing against his arm in a gesture of comfort.

"I know," she said quietly, her gaze searching his face. "But you don’t have to be just that. You can be more."

The moment lingered between them, a quiet connection that neither of them knew how to navigate. For Taehyun, it felt as if the world itself had paused, as if he were standing on the precipice of something he couldn’t understand but could no longer deny.

With a final, lingering glance, Y/N turned and began walking, her steps heavy but steady. Taehyun stood still for a moment longer, staring after her, his thoughts in disarray. He had spent so long keeping everything at arm’s length, convinced that his role as a reaper was all he needed to fulfill. But as the days dwindled and Y/N continued to fight, he found himself questioning everything.

He had never been one to defy the rules, but for the first time, he wondered… what if, just this once, he could break them? What if, just this once, he could save her?

With a bitter sigh, Taehyun followed her, unsure of what would come next, but knowing deep down that whatever it was, it would change everything.

The next day arrived with an oppressive silence hanging in the air. The world seemed to hold its breath, as if even the universe itself was waiting for Y/N to complete her mission or for the inevitable moment when she would be taken. But Y/N wasn’t ready to surrender, not yet.

She had spent the morning pacing, trying to think of another way to reach her sibling. Her resolve, though worn thin, remained steadfast. It had to. This was the only chance she had to make things right, to repair the fractured bond before her time was up. But with each passing second, she could feel the walls closing in on her, the weight of impending death pressing down on her chest.

Taehyun was no better. Every day, as he followed her, he found himself becoming more entangled in her world—her pain, her determination, her humanity. It was the last thing he wanted. But there was something about her that made it impossible to look away. Every time she failed, every time her heart broke a little more, he felt it too. It wasn’t just sympathy. It was something deeper, something that gnawed at him from the inside out. And every time he looked at her, he could see it: the raw vulnerability she tried so hard to hide.

He hated it. He hated how much he cared.

But it wasn’t like he could walk away. He had a duty, after all.

That evening, Taehyun watched from a distance as Y/N stood at the edge of a small park, gazing at the trees and the sky, her expression distant. There was a wistfulness in the way she stood, as if trying to hold on to every last ounce of life she had left. It wasn’t fair, not to her. He knew that.

He stepped forward, his footsteps quiet on the grass. "Y/N," he said, his voice barely more than a whisper.

She turned to face him, and for a brief moment, the flicker of something familiar passed across her features. It was sadness, but also something else—something that made Taehyun’s heart ache in ways he didn’t understand.

"You’re still here," she said softly, her voice barely audible.

"Yeah," Taehyun replied, his gaze softening despite himself. "I’m still here."

She looked at him for a long time, as if weighing something in her mind, and then, with a deep sigh, she spoke. "I’m not giving up, Taehyun. I won’t."

"I know you won’t," he said quietly. "But time’s running out."

She nodded, but there was something resolute in her eyes, something that told him she wasn’t about to give up, even if the world around her was crumbling. Her eyes met his, and for the first time since he had met her, there was no fear, no desperation in them. Only acceptance.

"Maybe," she began slowly, "I wasn’t meant to fix everything. But that doesn’t mean I won’t try. I’ll never stop trying."

For the first time, Taehyun didn’t know how to respond. He had never been good with words, never good at comforting others, especially not humans. But this… Y/N’s resolve, her refusal to bend, it made something inside him shift. For a fleeting moment, he imagined what it might be like to live with that kind of determination, to live for something bigger than himself. He didn’t know if he could do it. He didn’t know if he even had that kind of strength left in him.

But he wanted to believe. For her, he wanted to believe.

Before he could speak, a sudden rustling in the trees caught their attention. Taehyun’s senses immediately sharpened, his hand instinctively gripping the scythe at his side. He could feel the familiar presence of a rogue soul—someone who didn’t belong here, someone who had escaped their fate.

"Yeonjun," Taehyun muttered, his voice hardening as he scanned the darkening park.

Y/N’s eyes widened as the figure of Yeonjun stepped out from the shadows, his usual mischievous grin plastered on his face. "Well, well," he drawled, his eyes gleaming in the low light. "Looks like I’ve found you both. How’s the mission going, little soul?"

Y/N’s expression tightened, but she stood her ground. "I’m doing fine, thank you for asking."

Yeonjun laughed, taking a casual step forward. "Oh, I’m sure you are. But you’re running out of time, aren’t you?" His gaze shifted to Taehyun, and the grin faltered just slightly. "And you… still playing the obedient reaper? How’s that working out for you?"

Taehyun’s grip on his scythe tightened, but he remained silent. He hated Yeonjun with a passion—hated everything about him, from his rebellious attitude to the way he constantly undermined everything Taehyun stood for.

Yeonjun’s eyes flicked back to Y/N, a smirk spreading across his face. "You know, there’s another way," he said casually. "You don’t have to go through with all this. You don’t have to stick to these silly rules. I can help you escape. I can show you a life without death chasing you. No more reapers, no more soul collection. Just… freedom."

Y/N stared at him, her lips pressed tightly together as she considered his offer. Taehyun felt a sudden surge of protectiveness—he didn’t trust Yeonjun. He never had. The rogue soul was dangerous, and his offers were always coated with lies.

"No," Y/N said firmly, shaking her head. "I won’t run from this. I’ve made my choice. I’m not going to give up now."

Yeonjun’s smile faltered, but only for a moment. He took another step toward her, his tone turning more insistent. "And what about the people you’ve hurt? The family you can never make amends with? What’s your ‘second chance’ really worth? You’re just buying time, Y/N. Time you’ll never truly have. It’s all just an illusion."

Y/N’s hands clenched at her sides, but she stood tall, her voice unwavering. "Maybe I can’t fix everything. But I’ll try. I’ll do what I can, and if it’s not enough, then at least I can die knowing I tried."

Taehyun stepped forward, his voice low and commanding. "Leave her alone, Yeonjun. Your offer means nothing."

Yeonjun chuckled, raising his hands in mock surrender. "Alright, alright. I’ll leave for now. But remember, Y/N," he said with a pointed look at her, "there’s always another way. You don’t have to stay on this path."

As Yeonjun faded into the shadows, Y/N let out a shaky breath, the weight of his words still lingering in the air. Taehyun didn’t speak, but he could see the uncertainty in her eyes, the conflict gnawing at her. He wanted to reassure her, to tell her that she was making the right choice, but the words never came.

Instead, he simply stood beside her in silence, the two of them facing the night ahead.

The clock was ticking. And neither of them knew what would happen next.

The final day arrived, heavy with the weight of its inevitability. It was a strange kind of stillness that surrounded them, as if the world was holding its breath, waiting for something—anything—to break the silence. The clock was winding down, each tick bringing Y/N closer to the end, and Taehyun could feel it in his bones.

He had tried to prepare himself for this. He had tried to remain detached, to be the cold, unemotional reaper he was supposed to be. But as he stood beside her now, watching her take tentative steps toward her sibling’s house, he couldn’t shake the feeling that everything had already slipped out of his control.

Y/N didn’t speak as they walked. Her steps were slow, deliberate, but there was an exhaustion in her that Taehyun couldn’t ignore. Her hands were trembling, and the slight hunch in her shoulders betrayed the weight she had been carrying for far too long. The struggle to keep going, to stay strong when every part of her body screamed for release, was taking its toll.

She stopped before the door, hesitating for a moment as if she was unsure whether she was truly ready to face the past. Taehyun couldn’t blame her. The things she had left unsaid, the broken promises that had lingered between her and her sibling… It was a lot for anyone to carry, let alone someone who had only days left to live.

"You don’t have to do this," Taehyun said quietly, his voice soft but firm, though there was a strange uncertainty underneath it. "You’ve done enough."

Y/N didn’t turn to look at him. She simply stared at the door, her brow furrowing as she weighed her next move. "I can’t leave things like this. Not without trying one last time."

Taehyun took a step closer, but kept a careful distance. "What if it’s not enough? What if they still don’t forgive you?"

Y/N’s eyes flickered to him, and for a brief moment, their gazes met. There was sadness there, but also an incredible determination that made his chest tighten. "Then at least I’ll know I tried," she said, her voice barely above a whisper. "At least I’ll know I didn’t give up."

It was the same answer she had given him countless times before. The same response that made him want to shout at her, tell her that there was no point, that she was wasting precious time. But for some reason, he couldn’t bring himself to do it. Instead, he watched her reach out and knock softly on the door.

The moments that followed felt like a lifetime. Taehyun stood by her side, the air thick with tension as they waited for the door to open. It felt as if every breath they took was a countdown to something neither of them wanted to face.

When the door finally creaked open, Y/N’s sibling stood there, eyes wide with shock and confusion. There was a long, uncomfortable silence before they spoke.

"Y/N… What are you doing here?" The voice was cold, guarded. It was clear that the years of hurt hadn’t been forgotten.

Y/N’s face softened, but there was a tremor in her voice as she spoke. "I… I know I can’t undo the past. I can’t take back the things I’ve said or done. But I need you to know that I’m sorry. I regret all of it. And I just… I want to make things right before I…"

She faltered, and Taehyun could see her fighting to hold back tears. He knew how hard this was for her—how deeply she wanted to reach out, to close the distance that had formed between them over the years. But he also knew that no matter how much she wanted to mend things, there was a chance that it might not happen. People didn’t always forgive. Sometimes, things were beyond repair.

The sibling didn’t speak immediately. Instead, they just stared at Y/N, their expression unreadable. The silence stretched on for what felt like an eternity, and Taehyun’s patience was wearing thin. He wanted to tell Y/N to leave, to save herself from the heartache, but he didn’t.

He watched as Y/N swallowed, her breath shaky, and she took a tentative step forward. "Please," she said softly. "I know I hurt you. I know I don’t deserve your forgiveness, but I just… I need you to know I’m sorry."

Her words hung in the air, fragile and vulnerable, and for a moment, Taehyun thought maybe, just maybe, they would make a difference.

But then the door slowly closed, the sound a final, painful confirmation that her sibling wasn’t ready.

Y/N stood there for a long time, her head lowered as if the weight of the world had just crashed down on her. Taehyun took a step forward, unsure of what to say, but knowing that he needed to say something.

"Let’s go," he said, his voice surprisingly gentle. "It’s not worth chasing something that won’t change."

But Y/N didn’t move. She stood there, motionless, her heart broken all over again. Taehyun watched her for a long moment, his thoughts in turmoil. He didn’t want to see her like this. He didn’t want to see her hurt.

But more than that, he didn’t want to see her give up.

He reached out, his hand tentative as it brushed against her arm. "Y/N…"

She looked at him then, her eyes brimming with unshed tears, and for the first time, Taehyun saw just how much she had been carrying. All the weight of the world, all the pain of her past, all the love she had been holding on to in the hope of redemption—it was all written in her eyes.

"I tried," she whispered, her voice breaking. "I really tried."

And for the first time, Taehyun understood what it was like to want something so desperately that it hurt to even speak of it. He understood the agony of seeing someone you loved slip away, of not being able to make things right.

He didn’t know what to say, didn’t know how to comfort her. But he couldn’t let her suffer like this, not when there was still a chance. Not when there was still time.

He pulled her into his arms, awkwardly at first, but then more firmly, holding her close as if he could keep the world at bay for just a moment longer. He didn’t say anything. He didn’t have the words to make this better.

But he held her, and for the first time in his existence, he felt the warmth of something human stir within him. Something deep and aching that made him realize just how much he had changed since meeting her.

Y/N let out a shuddering breath, and for a brief moment, it felt like everything in the world had paused. She leaned into him, allowing herself to feel the comfort of his presence, even if just for a moment.

But the clock was still ticking.

They both knew it.

And in the end, there was nothing they could do to stop it.

The night stretched on in silence after that moment. Taehyun held her as the weight of what was happening pressed heavily on both of them. Time was cruel in its consistency, ticking away regardless of the emotions that churned in their hearts. Y/N’s breaths were shaky, each exhale a quiet surrender to the reality that she might never get the closure she sought. And Taehyun, standing with her in that small, broken moment, felt something within him crumble—a part of himself he hadn’t realized was still intact. A part that had once believed in the value of his role, in the necessity of following the rules, of keeping his distance. Now, standing beside her, he realized that it wasn’t enough.

He hadn’t expected this. He hadn’t expected to care.

But it wasn’t enough to just care. She was still running out of time. And he was bound by the same cold, unwavering laws that had governed his existence for so long.

When she finally pulled away from him, her face was streaked with tears, but there was something different in her eyes. There was no resignation, no defeat. There was resolve, tempered by sadness, but it was there. She wasn’t going to give up. Not now.

"I’m sorry," she whispered, her voice barely audible as she wiped her eyes. "I thought… maybe if I could just say it one more time, it would make a difference."

"It’s not your fault," Taehyun replied, his voice rough with emotions he refused to acknowledge. "Not everything can be fixed."

Y/N shook her head, her lips pressed into a thin line as she took a steadying breath. "I know," she said quietly. "But I had to try. I had to do everything I could."

He nodded, his throat tight. He wanted to say something more—something that would bring comfort, something that would make all the pain, all the hurt, go away. But there were no words. Not now.

For a long moment, they just stood there, the sounds of the world around them fading into a quiet hum as the night deepened. Taehyun’s thoughts were a tangled mess, but in that moment, there was a single thought that kept returning to him.

She was still here. She was still alive, and that was a miracle in itself.

But it was a fleeting miracle.

Finally, after what felt like an eternity, Taehyun spoke, his voice quieter than before, but laced with a tenderness that was foreign to him. "I’ll take you back. We can’t stay here."

Y/N’s gaze flickered to him, her expression unreadable for a moment before she nodded silently. She didn’t argue, didn’t protest. There was no more fight left in her—not after everything she had done, everything she had tried to fix.

As they walked away from the door, Y/N’s head hung low, her shoulders slumped with the weight of defeat. Taehyun’s heart ached for her. There was nothing he could say that would make it better. But he had to try to do something.

"I don’t know if it’s enough," she whispered, her voice barely a breath in the cool night air. "But I did my best. That’s all I can do, right?"

Taehyun remained silent for a long moment, his hands clasped tightly behind his back. He didn’t know how to answer her. But he found himself unable to walk away from her—not yet.

"You did more than anyone could," he finally said, his voice steady. "You fought for what mattered, even when it seemed impossible."

Her lips curved up slightly, but there was no joy in the smile—only the faintest trace of something like peace. "Thank you," she said softly.

As they made their way back toward the place where time was ticking down to nothing, the atmosphere around them seemed to grow even heavier. It was as though the very air was thick with finality, as if the end had already been written and there was nothing left to do but walk the path to meet it.

But there was still something left to do. Still one last decision to make.

Later that night, Taehyun found himself standing before Soobin, his form cast in the dim light of the ethereal realm where the reapers convened. The weight of his actions pressed heavily on his chest, but there was no turning back now. He had done something he wasn’t supposed to do, something that could cost him everything—his position, his very existence as a reaper.

"Soobin," Taehyun’s voice was firm, yet there was a thread of uncertainty running through it. "I need more time for her."

Soobin’s expression was unreadable, but his eyes held a certain weight, a depth of understanding that made Taehyun uneasy. "You know what this means," Soobin replied quietly, his voice heavy with the gravity of their world. "You’re asking for something that could undo everything you’ve known. A reaper’s duty is to maintain balance, Taehyun. To preserve order."

Taehyun clenched his fists at his sides. "I know," he said, his voice trembling with the truth of it. "But what if the balance isn’t right? What if it’s broken?"

Soobin’s gaze softened for the briefest of moments, a flicker of something familiar in his eyes. "Even we were once human," he said cryptically. "We were given the same choice—to live, to love, and to face the consequences. And we made our choice."

"I’m not asking for myself," Taehyun said, his words coming faster now, desperate. "I’m asking for her. She deserves a chance. A real one."

Soobin sighed, long and heavy. "You are asking for the impossible," he said, almost sadly. "But I cannot change the rules, Taehyun. You know that. This is not something that can be undone. Her time is running out."

Taehyun’s heart pounded in his chest. He knew what he had to do, and the consequences were beyond anything he could fully comprehend. He had to make a choice—his duty as a reaper or his feelings for Y/N.

And as he looked at Soobin, as he thought about everything that had led him here, he realized that the rules didn’t matter anymore. What mattered was her, and what she had fought for.

Without another word, Taehyun stepped back and raised his scythe. His hand trembled, but he knew what he had to do.

"Taehyun, wait," Soobin warned, his voice low and firm, but Taehyun’s mind was made up.

"Just this once," Taehyun whispered, his heart breaking as the words left his lips.

The moment his scythe cut through the air, he knew the price he would pay. And yet, he didn’t hesitate. For her, he didn’t hesitate.

The light around them began to flicker, the air growing colder with each passing second. And then, as if the very essence of existence itself had shattered, Taehyun made his choice.

He would save her. No matter the cost.

Struggling with his steps, Taehyun returned to where Y/N was. Seeing his state, she frantically ran up to him, just as his legs gave up on him. “Taehyun! What happened?” she holds him in her arms, tears welling up in her eyes seeing him like this.

“I did it…” he weakly says, “You’re safe now.”

“Taehyun…” Y/N whispered, her voice full of sorrow and fear as his body grew lighter with every second that passed, as if gravity was losing its hold on him. “Please don’t leave me.”

Taehyun’s gaze softened as he looked at her, his body trembling with the force of the afterlife’s grasp. “I won’t leave you,” he promised, his voice barely audible. “Not now. Not ever.”

But even as he spoke those words, he knew they were a lie. The consequences of his actions were already taking hold, and he could feel himself slipping away. His once-immense power as a reaper was dwindling, and with it, his existence in the afterlife was being erased. His body grew heavier, and the light around them began to dim.

Taehyun looked at Y/N, his eyes filled with a deep sadness that pierced her heart. “I can’t stay, Y/N,” he whispered. “Not in the way you want me to. But I’ll always be with you. Even if you can’t see me.”

Tears spilled from Y/N’s eyes as she clung to him, refusing to let go. “I don’t care about the rules,” she cried. “I just want you to be here. With me. Alive.”

Taehyun smiled faintly, his form growing weaker by the second. “I’m sorry. This is the price I must pay. But know this, Y/N: I love you. And I’ll never forget you.”

With those final words, Taehyun’s form flickered like a candle in the wind. Y/N’s heart shattered as she watched him fade away, his essence slowly being consumed by the afterlife.

And just like that, he was gone.

The world around her seemed to crumble, as if the very foundation of her existence had been torn apart. She collapsed to her knees, her sobs echoing through the empty void. She had lost him—forever.

But even as the tears fell, she could feel a faint presence lingering in the air around her. The love they had shared, the bond they had formed, was still there, somewhere. She didn’t know how, but she could feel it.

For a single, suspended moment, everything was still. Time itself seemed to hold its breath.

Then, with a sudden rush of energy, the light enveloping Y/N burst outward, and her body collapsed to the ground in the human world, alive. She gasped, her chest heaving as air flooded her lungs, her heart pounding wildly as if racing to make up for lost time.

But the memories were gone.

The love, the anguish, the fleeting moments they had shared—everything that had made the last seven days hers to cherish, to mourn—vanished like a dream upon waking.

Y/N sat up slowly, dazed, her eyes scanning her surroundings. The world felt… unfamiliar, like a place she hadn’t seen in years but somehow knew by heart. A faint ache lingered in her chest, a bittersweet longing she couldn’t name. It whispered of something important, something precious lost to her. But no matter how hard she tried to grasp it, it slipped through her fingers, leaving only a vague sense of gratitude.

Taehyun’s fall from grace was swift.

The moment the forbidden magic completed its work, he felt the pull—an immense, tearing force that stripped him of everything that made him a reaper. His scythe, his cloak, the weight of his power—all vanished, dissipating into the void as though they had never existed.

He stumbled, the ground beneath him hard and solid in a way he hadn’t felt in centuries. For the first time in as long as he could remember, his body ached. The world around him wasn’t ethereal or formless; it was real, tangible.

Human.

His memories as a reaper blurred and fractured, the clarity of his existence splintering as his consciousness faded into the soft haze of mortality.

When he opened his eyes again, he was someone else. A human man with no scythe, no duties, and no name but the one he had been given in this new life.

And yet, there was something that lingered—fragments of a past life he couldn’t quite shake. In his dreams, he saw a woman. Her face was a mystery, her name always just out of reach, but her presence was undeniable. She was there, in his mind, in his heart, haunting him with the weight of something he couldn’t remember but couldn’t let go of.

He lived a quiet life now. The days passed in unremarkable fashion, but he found himself drawn to certain places, certain moments. As though some invisible thread were guiding him, pulling him toward something he had lost.

It was a quiet afternoon when their paths crossed again.

The small bookstore was warm and inviting, the scent of old paper mingling with the faint aroma of freshly brewed coffee from the café next door. Taehyun stood near a shelf, absently flipping through the pages of a novel he had no real intention of buying. His mind wandered, as it often did, to the dreams that had plagued him for as long as he could remember.

Then, he felt it.

A presence.

It was subtle, like the first note of a forgotten song, but it struck him with enough force to make him look up sharply. Across the room, she stood by a display table, her fingers trailing lightly over the spines of a row of books.

He didn’t know her name, didn’t know who she was, but the sight of her filled him with an overwhelming sense of familiarity. His heart raced, his chest tightening as if something deep inside him had been waiting for this moment.

Y/N glanced up, her eyes meeting his. For a moment, she froze, her breath catching in her throat. There was something about him—something she couldn’t explain but couldn’t ignore. It wasn’t recognition, not exactly, but it was close.

“Hi,” she said, her voice soft, hesitant.

Taehyun blinked, startled by the warmth that spread through him at the sound of her voice. “Hi,” he replied, his voice quieter than he intended.

An awkward pause lingered between them, neither knowing why they felt compelled to speak, why their gazes held for a beat too long. Finally, Y/N smiled, a small, uncertain curve of her lips that sent a pang of something indescribable through Taehyun’s chest.

“Do I know you?” she asked, tilting her head slightly. “You seem… familiar.”

Taehyun hesitated, the words on the tip of his tongue. Did she? Did he? He didn’t know how to answer. All he knew was the pull toward her, the way his heart seemed to recognize hers even if his mind couldn’t.

“I don’t think so,” he said finally, though the words felt like a lie.

Y/N nodded slowly, her expression thoughtful. “Maybe I’m just imagining things,” she said, though her tone suggested she wasn’t entirely convinced.

Taehyun smiled faintly. “Maybe.”

They stood there for a moment longer, the noise of the bookstore fading into the background as the weight of something unspoken hung between them. Neither of them could name it, but neither wanted to let it go.

“Well,” Y/N said, breaking the silence, “it was nice meeting you… again, maybe?”

Taehyun chuckled softly. “Yeah. You too.”

As she turned to leave, something in him stirred—a sudden, desperate urge not to let her go.

“Wait,” he called after her.

She turned, her expression curious.

“Would you… like to get a coffee sometime?” The words tumbled out before he could stop them, and for a moment, he felt like he was holding his breath.

Y/N’s smile widened, a hint of something brighter, warmer in her eyes. “I’d like that."

Rei's Notes ✎: I wasn't expecting to write another fic this fast, but I really enjoyed writing this. It might've been done a tad bit rushed so I hope it still makes sense. I was just randomly inspired and wanted a bit of angst so here it is. I will be spacing out my releases after this though so I don't run out of ideas and writer's juice lmao. This is still my second ever fic so I hope you give it as much or even more love than the first!! ^-^

P.S. I really love reading out your thoughts and how the fic made you feel so please don't hesitate to share your opinions in the comments or through reblogs, I would really appreciate it~

Taglist: @yunverie @dawngyu @hueningstar @hhoneyhan @vicurious28 @xylatox @baekberrie @immelissaaa

#gyu-tori writes ⊹ ࣪ ˖#txt x reader #txt ff #taehyun fic #taehyun ff #taehyun x reader #tomorrow x together #taehyun angst #txt #taehyun fluff #kang taehyun #kang taehyun x reader #taehyun imagine #taehyun x you #taehyun oneshot

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angelsdreamm · 1 month ago

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Bound by Fate: The Tyrant’s Reluctant Bride (001)

↳ gojo satoru/reader

short summary: when you encounter a twist of fate by dying in an act of unintended heroism, you awaken as the doomed bride of Gojo Satoru, the tyrannical male lead of a trashy romance novel you once read. Determined to escape your fate, you plan your end—only to discover that the tyrant is obsessively protective, annoyingly clingy, and hiding a curse that might rewrite both your stories.

genre: angst with a happy ending, referenced/implied suicide attempt, temporary character death, enemies to lovers, historical au, 18+

series masterlist ↳ episode two

You ran your palms over the absurdly expensive wedding dress, the silky fabric bunched between your trembling fingers. It didn’t matter how much you smoothed it out; the dress felt foreign and heavy, suffocating even. The layers of lace and embroidery that were supposed to symbolize elegance now felt like a weight dragging you deeper into the nightmare. You glanced around the ornate room, the grandeur of it all only making your chest tighten further. None of this felt real.

Except it was. Every bit of it.

You inhaled sharply, trying to steady yourself, but the breath caught in your throat. Today, you were to marry a man known far and wide as a tyrant. The thought alone made your stomach churn. And worse, you already knew how this story ended. Five months from now, you’d be dead. Not figuratively, not metaphorically—just dead. Slowly, painfully, and irreversibly.

You bit the inside of your cheek. How did it come to this? You weren’t supposed to be here. You weren’t supposed to be her.

Your life—your real life—had been nothing special. Twenty-eight years as a contract worker, with no family waiting for you and no friends to keep you grounded. When your last job ended, you had finally decided that would be it. Your plans had been straightforward: step out onto the bustling streets of Seoul and fade away quietly. No one would miss you.

But fate had other ideas.

It started with a little girl tugging on your sleeve, her big, scared eyes silently asking for help crossing the street. You hadn’t hesitated, hadn’t thought twice. After all, what was one more minute when you had nothing to lose? But that single act of kindness had turned into chaos. An angry voice, an accusation, a knife—it all blurred together until you were lying on the ground, bleeding out. The girl’s tear-streaked face had been the last thing you saw before the world went dark.

You thought it was over then. It should’ve been over.

But instead of finding peace, you woke up in this gilded cage, surrounded by strangers who acted as if you were made of glass. The realization came quickly, too quickly, and it hit you like a freight train: you’d been thrown into the pages of a trashy romance novel you’d read years ago. A novel so poorly written it was laughable—except you weren’t laughing now.

The name Gojo Satoru had burned itself into your memory long before you arrived. He was the male lead, the man with impossible looks and power to match. He was arrogant, manipulative, and utterly indifferent to anyone who didn’t amuse him. And now, somehow, you were his bride. The woman who, according to the book, would suffer for the crime of being tied to him.

The sound of footsteps outside the door jolted you from your thoughts. A tall man entered, his expression neutral as he gestured for you to follow. “It’s time,” he said simply.

Time. The word echoed in your mind as you stood, your legs feeling like lead. The veil they’d placed over your head made everything blurry, but it couldn’t hide the towering spires of the castle or the overwhelming weight of what awaited you. You trailed behind your escort, your heart pounding as you walked through the grand corridors.

You worked up the nerve to speak, your voice barely audible. “Who am I marrying?”

The man glanced at you over his shoulder, his expression briefly softening into something close to pity. “You’ll see,” he replied.

Before you could press further, a sharp voice echoed down the hall. “Where is she?” The tone was low but commanding, each syllable precise and brimming with impatience. “I’ve been waiting long enough.”

Your breath caught as he came into view. White hair framed a strikingly handsome face, his sharp blue eyes narrowing as they locked onto you. He looked every bit as untouchable as you remembered from the book, but the weight of his presence was far more crushing in real life.

“Well?” he said, his tone clipped but calm. “Are you going to stand there all day?”

You froze. The words you wanted to say caught in your throat, tangled with the growing panic threatening to spill over.

You couldn’t find the words to answer, every nerve in your body screaming at you to run. But you didn’t. Instead, you stood frozen as he reached out, his gloved hand lifting your chin. The veil fluttered back, and for the first time, you saw him fully. He was strikingly handsome in a way that felt almost unreal, but his presence was suffocating, his gaze sharp enough to cut.

“Interesting,” he murmured, a smirk tugging at his lips. “They didn’t tell me my bride would be this… intriguing.”

You swallowed hard, forcing yourself to meet his gaze despite the fear clawing at your throat. “Do you always inspect your fiancées like livestock?” you snapped, your voice trembling but defiant.

His smirk widened, his eyes gleaming with something that looked disturbingly like amusement. “Oh, so you do have a tongue,” he said, leaning in just enough to make your pulse race.

You clenched your fists, determined not to let him see how much he rattled you.

"I'm not here to entertain you."

Gojo chuckled, the sound low and unsettling. "We'll see." He turned then, motioning for you to follow as he strode toward the grand doors leading to the chapel. You hesitated, the weight of the moment pressing down on you. Every fiber of your being screamed to run, to fight, to do anything but follow. And then an idea struck-a terrible, impulsive idea, but the only one you had.

Her jaw tightened, but she refused to look away, meeting his gaze head-on despite the warning thrumming in his tone. She could feel her heartbeat pounding in her ears, a mix of defiance and fear she couldn’t suppress.

He straightened, brushing off his gloved hands as though the conversation were merely a formality. “Now then,” he said lightly, his tone returning to its usual playfulness, “shall we proceed?”

With an almost lazy flick of his hand, Gojo gestured toward the doorway, his commanding presence making the air feel heavier. “Let’s not waste more time,” he said, his tone light but carrying a clear edge of finality. “It’s time for you to fulfill your end of the deal.”

She hesitated, her chin lifting as though to steel herself against the inevitability of it all. But after a moment, she stepped forward, the faint rustle of her dress echoing through the otherwise silent room. The veil felt like a prison over her face, but the weight of Gojo’s presence ahead of her was even more suffocating. She forced herself to match his steady stride, ignoring the tightness in her chest with each step.

The grand hall stretched before them, its opulence somehow amplifying the dread knotting in her stomach. The details of the novel came flooding back, every word now a cruel script she was forced to follow. Five months, she thought bitterly. Five months until death.

Her steps slowed, her mind racing. No. If she was going to survive this, she had to act. The script wasn’t unchangeable—not if she could seize some control.

“You’ll regret this,” she muttered, her voice low but cutting, as much to herself as to him.

Gojo didn’t even glance back, though she caught the faint curve of his smirk. “You’re welcome to try, my dear.”

Her breath caught in her throat. The calm dismissal in his voice lit a spark of frustration. She scoffed without thinking, the sound sharper than she intended. “Or what?” she bit out, her voice louder now. “You’ll kill me? Let me save you the trouble.”

Without hesitation, she turned and stepped toward the open window nearby. The cool air rushed in as her dress flared out behind her, the veil fluttering free from her face. She didn’t glance back. The shock rippled through the room like thunder, and for a split second, she thought she might actually escape—not just the marriage but the story itself.

But before she could tip over the edge, a strong arm encircled her waist, yanking her back with an ease that left her breathless. Gojo’s laughter filled the air, rich and mocking, as though the whole thing had been a performance just for him.

“Dramatic much?” he drawled, his tone laced with amusement as he swung her into his arms like a child. She thrashed against his hold, her fists colliding with his chest, but he didn’t so much as flinch. “If you wanted attention, sweetheart, all you had to do was ask.”

“You—let me go!” she snapped, twisting against him. Her frustration only seemed to amuse him further, the glint in his eyes bordering on predatory.

“You’re not going anywhere,” he replied smoothly, turning on his heel and heading straight for the chapel. “Suguru, fetch another priest. It seems this one won’t last long enough for the ceremony.”

Suguru blinked, momentarily stunned before he sighed and muttered, “Yes, Captain,” disappearing down the hall. Even as his footsteps faded, the bickering between Gojo and his reluctant bride echoed through the space.

When the new priest finally arrived, Gojo’s grip remained firm, as if daring her to make another escape attempt. Her glare was fierce, but the subtle tremble in her form didn’t escape his notice. As the priest began the ceremony, his focus never wavered from her face. She clenched her jaw, refusing to let her fear show, though she couldn’t stop her voice from shaking slightly as she spat out her “I do.”

By the time Suguru returned, a faint red handprint was visible on Gojo’s cheek, though it didn’t seem to bother him in the slightest. In fact, the smug satisfaction on his face made it clear he’d enjoyed every second of her rebellion.

Suguru sighed again, watching the new couple leave the chapel. He wasn’t sure what sort of chaos the two would unleash on each other—or the world—but at least his captain looked genuinely entertained for the first time in years. That, he supposed, was a start.

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justgiulia · 28 days ago

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Echoes of The Abyss

Orpheus!Dan Heng x Eurydice!gn reader

Summary: Dan Heng’s world shatters when you, his only solace, are lost to death. Desperate, he descends into the Abyss to bring you back.

Warnings: Major character death.

Author's notes: This is based off Orhpeus and Eurydice's myth. I hope you'll enjoy this <3

Dan Heng was a sensitive musician and poet who accompanied his verses with the sweet sound of the lyre. At his song, the beasts came out of their dens and became tame and the devastating forces of nature lost their fury. But Dan Heng did not boast: grateful, he thanked the Aeons.

When you had met Dan Heng for the first time, he was a mystery few dared to unravel. Yet, you were persistent, breaking through his carefully constructed walls with your genuine curiosity and unrelenting kindness. Where others saw a stoic enigma, you saw a man carrying the weight of his past in silence.

Over time, he began to let you in. You found solace in his presence, and he found peace in yours. He would read you fragments of ancient poems, his voice low and steady, and play melodies on his lyre that seemed to echo the sorrow etched in his soul.

Then came the day everything unraveled.

A mission gone awry, a poisoned blade and you were gone. Dan Heng had been there, holding you as your life slipped away, the light in your eyes dimming like a candle snuffed out by the wind.

"Stay with me"

He had begged, his voice breaking in a way it never had before.

He called you with all his strength, but you were dead.

The young man, as if mad, wandered aimlessly for days and days. He prayed in vain to the wild beasts to kill him. He sang his anguish to the trees, to the birds, but nothing could calm his pain.

The universe did not bargain with love.

And then, the rumors began—whispers of a place beyond the veil of death, where souls lingered, waiting for those brave or desperate enough to find them. The Path of the Abyss was treacherous, but If there was a chance to bring you back, he would take it.

The Abyss was vast. He walked for a long time and his singing moved the souls of the dead.

Dan Heng kept going, driven by the memory of your smile and the warmth you had brought into his life.

In the center of a dark hall was the throne on which sat the two Aeons Arbitrers, who determined the death and birth of common mortals: Lan and Qlipoth. Dan Heng addressed his invocation to Qlipoth.

"Oh sweet Aeon who from your face emanates the light of the universe" - he began - "have pity on my pain. Cruel fate has torn my beloved from life. I have tried to calm my despair, but in vain. Have pity on me. Hear me, I beg you, give me back Y/n or keep me here too. I would rather die than live without them".

The young man's invocation moved the Aeon to pity, who wept softly, looked for a moment at the other Aeon, and implored THEM in silence. Lan would never refuse THEM and THEY too, becoming tender, exclaimed: -

"You seek to defy the natural order," it intoned, its voice reverberating like the tolling of a bell. "To reclaim what has been taken is to invite suffering upon yourself."

"I don't care," Dan Heng said, his gaze unwavering. "I will do whatever it takes."

"Very well...your song, Dan Heng, has moved Qlipoth and me. I want to please you: Y/n will return with you to the earth. You yourself will lead them out of the Abyss. But be careful: you must neither look, touch nor speak to them until you have reached the light of the sun. If you turn around, you will lose them forever".

The poet, his face transfigured with happiness, bowed to the sovereign and headed towards the exit.

They walked for a long time, but Orpheus' thoughts were on his beloved who was following him. You walked behind him, your presence a fragile reassurance, but the silence between you was deafening. Each step felt heavier than the last, the weight of his fear pressing down on him. With his eyes fixed in front of him, he desperately struggled with the desire to turn and look at your face.

Suddenly a terrible doubt gripped his heart: were you following him or had Qilipoth deceived him?Were you truly there? Or was this a cruel illusion of the Abyss? And just as the sunlight began to filter through the darkness, he could no longer resist. He turned around.

You were standing before him and, with your hands, took off a veil that was covering you. You were more beautiful than ever, but your eyes were sad.

It was an instant. A thick, gray fog enveloped you and you disappeared into the depths forever. Form dissolved into the darkness, your voice a fading echo.

"Dan Heng... thank you for trying."

The young man's pain was terrible; he sobbed, he begged the infernal gods once more, he drew the most heartbreaking notes from his lyre. Lan did not take pity a second time and did not grant him grace again.

He emerged into the light alone, the weight of his failure crushing him. The stars above remained indifferent, their cold light a mockery of the warmth he had lost. He wandered for months through woods and grasslands. Little by little his deep despair found comfort in music, whose notes he traced on a tree bark, but the emptiness within him remained.

In the Xianzhou Luofu there is no singer who does not know that magical music.

#dan heng x reader #dan heng x you #dan heng x y/n #dan heng angst #dan heng headcanon #dan heng #hsr x reader #hsr dan heng #yandere hsr #hsr #hsr angst #greek mythology #greek myths #myths #x reader #orpheus #eurydice

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mimimarvelingmarvel · 5 months ago

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time bound part nine

pairing: worst wolverine!logan howlett x f!mutant!reader

Part Nine - Masterlist

summary: Y/n’s life takes a dramatic turn when the Time Variance Authority intervenes, pulling her from a critical moment in her timeline. The TVA sends her to the void where she eventually meets with Deadpool and a very familiar face. With Deadpool's universe in the balance, alongside his reluctant would-be pal, Wolverine, and the enigmatic time-bending mutant known as the Veil, the trio must complete the mission and save Deadpool’s world from an existential threat.

overall warnings: 18+, Fem!Reader, AFAB Reader, Use of Y/N, Her X-Men name is Veil, She/her pronouns, Swearing, Angst, Heavy Violence, Character Death, Deadpool (he’s his own warning), Hurt, Fluff, Angst, Eventual Smut, Slow Burn, TVA

word count: 1.5k

The sky is gradually surrendering to the encroaching darkness, the last remnants of daylight bleeding into deep purples and blues. The air is thick with the scent of pine and earth, the forest surrounding us alive with the subtle sounds of evening.

Logan is almost at the beaten-up Honda, his steps heavy and slow, as if the weight of everything he carries is finally too much. I’m not letting him walk away this time—not without facing me, not without confronting the truth.

“Logan!” I call out, my voice cutting through the quiet of the forest. He doesn’t turn around, but I see the slight stiffening of his shoulders, a sign that he’s heard me. Still, he keeps walking, as if he can somehow ignore the confrontation he knows is coming.

“Logan, stop!” I demand, my voice louder now, edged with the frustration I’ve been holding back for too long.

He pauses, one hand on the car door, his back still to me. The silence stretches between us, thick and suffocating.

“Why are you doing this?” I ask, my voice trembling slightly despite my efforts to keep it steady. I take a step closer, closing the distance between us. “Why are you shutting me out? You’ve been different, Logan. You’re not the same.”

He finally turns to look at me, his face shadowed in the fading light, his eyes dark and unreadable. “What do you want me to say?” His voice is rough, like gravel grinding together, full of exhaustion and something else—something darker.

“I want you to talk to me!” I snap, my anger flaring. “Logan. I’m still here.”

He exhales sharply, his breath visible in the cooling air. “You don’t understand,” he mutters, shaking his head as if trying to dismiss the conversation altogether.

“No, you’re right—I don’t understand,” I shoot back, stepping closer until I am right in front of him, forcing him to meet my gaze. “Because you won’t let me. You used to be someone I could rely on. But now...now it’s like you’re just waiting for the end.”

He looks away, his jaw clenched tight, his hands balled into fists at his sides. “Maybe I am,” he says quietly, the admission hanging heavy in the air.

“You’re a good man, Logan,” I say, my voice softer now, but still filled with the emotion I’ve been holding back for too long.

He turns his head slightly, just enough for me to see the haunted look in his eyes. “I’m the worst Wolverine,” he replies, his voice rough, laced with self-loathing. “You heard Wade.”

“I don’t give a fuck,” I snap, stepping closer, my voice trembling with a mix of anger and sorrow. “You’re my Wolverine.”

His grip tightens on the car door, his knuckles white. “They’re all dead because of me! This suit is all I have left. It killed me, as best as anything could, Y/n! Scott used to beg me to wear it. You all did. You wanted me to be part of the team, and every time, I told you all how fucking ridiculous you looked. I couldn’t have you guys thinking I wanted to be there. And then the humans came hunting, and by the time I stumbled home shit-faced from the bar, it was too late. They were dead, every last one. I looked everywhere for you—your room was completely destroyed, and I could smell your blood, but I couldn’t see you. I thought I had lost you forever—my soul died that day with you.”

His raw pain cuts through me like a knife, tears welling up in my eyes as I listen to him. He turns to face me fully now, and I see the tears streaming down his face, mixing with the dirt and blood that smears his skin.

“And seeing you alive now?” He continues, his voice breaking. “I don’t know what to do, feel happy you’re here? I can’t forget that everyone else is not. This suit’s all I got to remind me of who they were. And what I did.”

I’m crying now, trying hard to fight back the sobs that threaten to overtake me. I take a shaky breath, searching for the right words.

“You can’t possibly put that all on you,” I say, my voice trembling. “Logan, I can see the fucking future. I should have seen it coming, found a way to end it all, but I couldn’t. And then the TVA sent me here, and maybe I didn’t die with them, but it felt like it. I may never get to see our world again. I thought I’d never see you again, and for the longest time, I assumed you had died with them. But you alone couldn’t have saved them, you may be unkillable, but they weren’t.”

I move closer to him, tears streaming down my face as I look up at him, trying to make him understand. “Please don’t blame yourself. The monsters that killed them? That’s who we blame.”

He flinches at the word “monster,” and I see the tears in his eyes, his pain laid bare. I reach up, cupping his cheek gently, my thumb brushing away a tear.

“I’m sorry I couldn’t do more,” I whisper, my voice cracking. “But I’m beginning to realize that nothing could have saved it.”

He closes his eyes, leaning into my touch for a brief moment before pulling away, the pain still etched deeply in his features. “If they had found you, you would have been dead too,” he says, his voice barely above a whisper.

“I know,” I reply, my voice steady despite the tears. “I know. But I would have died to save all of them, to save you. I know what it feels like now, to hold my whole world in my hands, and be unable to do anything to protect it from the hurt and pain.”

He looks at me, confusion flickering in his eyes, not realizing that I’m talking about him, about us.

“But Wade?” I continue, my voice firmer now. “His world can be saved, we can save it. I’d do anything to have that opportunity, and have people help me. So tomorrow morning, I’m going with them.”

I take a step back from him, my heart heavy with the weight of what I’m saying. “I hope you do too.”

Logan doesn’t say anything at first. He just stares at me, his expression unreadable as I begin to walk back toward the house. But then, in a swift movement, I feel his hand grasp my wrist, and before I can react, he pulls me into his chest, wrapping me tightly in his arms. His hold is firm, almost desperate, and he tucks his head into the crook of my neck, as if seeking solace in my presence. My arms instinctively wind around his torso, fingers gripping the edge of his suit as if anchoring us both in this moment.

We stand like that for what feels like an eternity, a silent exchange of everything we can't put into words. The world around us fades away until the sound of soft footsteps shuffling behind us breaks the silence. Reluctantly, I pull away, turning to see Laura standing there, her eyes reflecting a mix of emotions.

“You look so much like them,” she whispers, her voice barely audible.

I blink, confused by her words. “Like who?”

“My parents,” she elaborates, her voice laced with a quiet reverence.

I feel a pang in my chest. She’s told me about Logan being her father, but she’s never mentioned her mother before.

“I know you don’t want me to talk about your variant, but she was my mom. She meant the world to me.” Laura’s words hit me like a punch to the gut, and I feel my heart drop to my stomach.

“I don’t want to hear about my variants because I don’t want to know what I could have been,” I admit, my voice shaky.

Laura shakes her head, her gaze steady. “You aren’t them. I know that. You should too. You’re not more or less than any other version of yourself.” She turns her attention to Logan, her eyes softening. “And you’re not the worst Wolverine. My dad was flawed—he made mistakes. My mom never let him get away with it, but they were always there for each other. She died before he did, and it crushed him. When my dad died saving me, I was never the same. But they got to be together in their lifetime, and after.”

She looks between us, her voice filled with a quiet intensity. “I got to have a life because of you. I got to grow up because of you. You’re both so similar, but so different from them. Don’t compare yourself to others. You’re your own person in every universe.”

With that, Laura walks away, leaving me standing there, overwhelmed by the weight of her words. Bewilderment and heartache swirl within me, as I process everything she said, the night air thick with emotions too complex to unravel.

Next Part

A/N: We finally got some communication! Yay, not everything has been said yet, but it’s a start.

taglist: @oscarissac2099 @somiaw @100percentlazybonez @obsessedwthdilfs @sun7lowxr @corvid007

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joffyworld · 2 months ago

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Shamura -

They of Knowledge and War

It's hard to remember much these days.

Often it's impossible to remember anything at all,

To recall the finer details and find my way;

It's as if I've been entangled in a darkened red shawl:

I can see beyond the darkness in glimpses of authenticity,

I can reach past the madness and almost touch what has now been repealed.

But there remains a thin veil between myself and the truth;

It feels insurmountable as I fall into my minds' obscurity.

Godly ichor seeps out of the wound naught can yet heal,

I sit there and watch it drip down till they come with more news

Were my past machinations truly mine or those of fate?

It's increasingly difficult to make it back from the fall.

Do I deserve these conditions for living a life full of hate?

I know those who claim to be my siblings don't deserve a life that's so cruel.

Even if I recover what awaits? A world of stability?

Can such a world, with us in it, even be real?

Every day I awake is a veritable who's who.

Did the past-me ever imagine a life of such vulnerability?

Are these the consequences of taking actions guided with zeal?

I see strange faces come and go, they mutter "we love you"

When I gave the order, was I at all even phased?

It seems so out of character, so unusual.

They tell me it was desperation that changed how I behaved;

But would a God of Knowledge really resort to adding to the fire more fuel?

Was it just of us to punish curiosity?

Was it righteous of us to tell our brother to kneel?

It didn't feel correct to leave a sibling askew.

When we plunged the chains through his limbs in this violent atrocity,

Did any of us leave room to heal?

Or had we already broken through the time to heal and break through to you?

Now when I close my eyes I see a void-white gate,

Standing at the end of a long, dark hall.

Traversing the barrier I spy a long-hewn lake,

I bellow loudly to its occupant, but they never hear my call.

I see my voice extend, almost physically, with such velocity.

But it quickly recoils, and is brought to its heel.

It was you whom I had called to,

You, my brother the Lord of Death and magnanimity.

I remember once you heard my voice, I watched it make you reel,

I suppose the voice you least expect is that which has betrayed you.

As I heal slowly all that's left is to ruminate,

Reflect on the ways in which I failed my thrall.

It drives me ever closer to the madness that consumes and degenerates:

Across my mind does it sprawl, a slaughter-hall of the attentive and philosophical.

That which once saw every angle and possibility has ultimately been replaced by this vacant unpredictability.

The madness has caused my brain to slowly allow the crown to congeal.

The crown's influence spreads with its purple-hazed hue,

The cue to allow the crown to finally take responsibility, to be rid of the me that was me and become without humility,

I can feel myself slipping away, until all I can recall is the ordeal;

The ordeal that took you.

I remember walking up to those ivory arches and the cacophony of silence that followed. The wave of the trees from the wind, the exposed roots struggling against the combatant wind at every turn of their opponent.

I remember the darkness filling the air where once there stood nothing, blackened tar swirling with vitriol at every second it hung so loosely in our world. The almost viscous substance that materialised in an instant, and seemed so eager to disappear as quickly as it had come.

I remember the eyes that peered down and gazed upon the windows of my soul with unknowable intent. How they scanned every detail of my form, how they analyzed without repent every single finite piece of me as though I were a piece of discarded art, thrown away by its creator, then remembered and gazed upon once more for its flaws, not its graces.

For long there was silence, glares exchanged and stances readied. Longer still was the time that passed, every second felt an hour, every minute felt a day, yet little passed at all but a matter of minutes in the days stead.

Then it spoke, measured, calm, poised:

"Son of Sun, God of War, God of Knowledge that you are. We beseech you listen closely, for your foes they closely are. They tread and thread within your web so take caution when you spin. The conspiracy lies deep inside, and you are deep within. Illusions of your safety work vice versa with yourself. Take heart in what companions you trust deeply with your wealth. There lies only one within the five that you should dare to question. You mistrust and pray that that's enough but irony's your predilection. There will come a day where you will say, that you had known for better. You will dull the pain with maddened songs that tell of your grief's measure.

Make your choice, They of War, but pray caution when you move. It is time to right your wrongs,

Just make sure your wrongs don't right you."

#cotl shamura #cotl #cult of the lamb #shamura #cotl au #cotl poetry #cotl fanart #cult of the lamb fanart #JoffyWrites #Teehee #I wonder how the figure is #A Classical Ode!#Hope you all enjoy!#<3 #BotB!au

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violetmuses · 5 months ago

Text

Versus - A. Aretas (Part III) 💔

Title: Versus - A. Aretas (Part III) 💔

Fandom: “Bad Boys” Film Universe

Character: Armando Aretas

Pairing: Armando Aretas + Female Reader

Main Storyline: One decision will change everything.

Tag List: @nelo0wesker @yassbishimvintage @nobodygetsza @peaxhygirl @superstar-t20 @adoresmiles @klssngss @deja-r @hyper-trash-panda @amethyst-loves-bucky 🏷

Part I ❤️‍🩹

Part 2 ❤️‍🩹

=====

2024

Shortly after your home settled down from those unexpected visitors, this doorbell rang once more.

Checking that RING camera again, you realize that Armando returned to the porch this time.

“What, did y'all forget something?” You barely opened the door, almost nervous.

“C'mon…” Aretas tried.

“What?” You don't even understand his point, not yet at least.

“I don't have much time before leaving, but we're doing this together.” Armando grounded reality.

“Say less.” You vowed, rushing to prepare for the battle yourself.

******

Outright monster James McGrath veiled his dark operations by working through one abandoned alligator park located somewhere deep in Florida.

“Armando's with Callie! Trail ‘em.” Mike Lowrey gritted his teeth amid crossfire and set your instructions for the mission.

McGrath just kidnapped Mike's wife Christine and even took Captain Howard's granddaughter Callie hostage. You fumed, raging from within.

___

“We're right here!” Callie lifted both palms for your vantage point just in case.

Yet wounds riddled Armando's body as this tree anchored his weakened presence.

“She…put me down by this tree. I'm okay…” His accented English struggles through pain, rightfully so.

“Kay…” Nodding down toward Armando, you're still protective despite everything.

“Hands up, Detective!” Marshal Judy Howard prompted your attention.

Raising both hands slowly, you turn around as expected.

“Mom, please don't hurt anyone!” Callie reveals tears, noting Aretas and you. “Armando saved my life and the detective looked out for us.”

“Move out of the way, Callie.” Judy continued staying armed.

“Mom, no!” Right when Callie shouted once more, Judy pulled the trigger.

Your body fell backwards as red dampened this tactical gear.

Yet, one lethal bullet pierced directly between your eyes, marking Judy's instant plan.

“Let me up, let up!” Right away, Armando wants Callie to help him stand from the ground, but immediately signals his father. “Mike, Mike!”

Seconds later, Detective Mike Lowrey joined this spot in the wilderness alongside Marcus Burnett as Judy keeps holding that firearm.

“What the fuck?!” Mike and Marcus shouted over this permanent view of your dead body.

“What happened?” Mike glanced toward Judy, both distraught and angered.

“I aimed for Armando but…”Judy revealed the truth about your death. “She wanted to protect him and Callie…”

“Aw, damn!” Genuinely crying, Marcus knelt toward your body this time.

“We can't call it in. Everyone will see Armando first.” Judy sniffled after holstering the firearm.

“What do you suggest?” Mike sought true guidance.

“Go. Leave with Armando before I change my mind.” Judy held her daughter Callie, but Mike understood this point.

Leave before everyone freaks out.

====

2025

Despite everyone marking calendars regardless, time slowed down.

The Miami Police Department lost joy while Marcus and Mike stopped laughing together.

Even your pictures still greeted desks at the precinct, showing camaraderie and highlighting true friendship.

“Listen to this, man.” Bringing his cell phone, Mike walked toward Marcus one afternoon.

“Hey, Lowrey! It's my day off.” Your laughter chimed this old voicemail. “Are we still planning cookouts for the department? I'll be there, just don't let Marcus eat Skittles. See you later, bye.”

“She'd sit in the corner with a plate now.” Marcus almost chuckled to avoid pain.

Memories could last forever.

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kikyoupdates · 22 days ago

Text

Tears of a Villainess ⭑˚🗡️⭑ 𝑓𝑎𝑟 𝑡𝑜𝑜 𝑑𝑒𝑠𝑖𝑟𝑎𝑏𝑙𝑒

yandere!ocs x reader

yandere, reverse harem, isekai, original characters x fem!reader, slowburn, slowburn yandere

Reincarnation isn't as great as it sounds, especially when you've been reborn as none other than the villainess. Fated to die if you stand in the heroine's way, you immediately resolve to distance yourself from the plot. As long as you have nothing to do with any of the relevant characters, surely, you'll be able to avoid an untimely death. But in a horrible turn of events, the heroine ends up wanting to get close to you. Are you really doomed to meet the villainess' tragic end? Or is there an even more sinister fate that awaits you?

previous | story masterlist | next

You’re straight up not having a good time.

Normally, these kinds of events are meant to be fun. Back in your original world, people would get together to kick back and relax, seeking respite from their busy day-to-day lives. Parties and social gatherings are supposed to be things to look forward to.

In this world, however, that’s not the case.

Living among the nobility is a staggering difference from what you once knew. Very few people are actually here to enjoy themselves. It’s all about maintaining appearances, and everything you say or do will likely be held against you at some point. Everyone hides their true intentions between fabricated smiles and thinly-veiled threats. It’s a dizzying, confusing affair, and since everyone thinks you’re the villainess, there’s no end to the unwanted attention you receive.

But that’s not even the biggest problem. It’s one thing to have to try and navigate through this new environment you’ve suddenly been dropped into.

It’s another thing to have to convince the villainess’ best friend that you’re actually who you say you are.

“[Name], where are you going?”

Flynn keeps following you. Rather foolishly, you’d hoped that he would leave you alone after you wandered off. But no, he insists on sticking to your side like glue, and he doesn’t bother to hide how suspicious he is.

“Is everything okay?” he frowns. “You seem… agitated.”

You nibble on your bottom lip.

Of fucking course I’m agitated! You’ve been grilling me nonstop from the very start! I only know a few facts about the villainess based on the game! I don’t know the inner workings of her entire goddamn life!

“I’m just bored,” you try to dismiss. “There’s nothing to do here.”

“Couldn’t we find someplace to talk instead of you walking around in circles like this? It would help the time pass faster.”

As if. Not only do you want to avoid him for the sake of preventing a potentially gruesome death, but above all else, he knows way too much about the villainess. He’s already asking a ton of questions, and you’ve barely spoken two words to him. He’s simply too perceptive for his own good.

You strain a smile. “I’d rather not stand still right now.”

“Hm,” Flynn frowns. “Like I said, you seem agitated. But why?”

“I don’t know. Maybe they laced that wine with something,” you shrug, chuckling a bit.

He doesn’t seem amused in the slightest, and you desperately try to remember whether the villainess had a sense of humor that extended past bullying others for fun.

Honestly, probably not.

“Okay, well… gotta go!”

You high-tail it out of there, but unfortunately, you’ve come to realize that running in heels is a giant pain in the ass. It’s the main reason you haven’t been able to give Flynn the slip yet. All he has to do is speed-walk a bit, and he’s able to keep up with relative ease.

However, Lady Luck decides to shine down upon you, and in the few seconds that you stumble clumsily and manage to place a bit of distance between yourself and Flynn, you happen to run into your parents.

Your mother is quick to frown. “[Name]? What’s the matter with you, girl? Why are you running around like that? It’s improper.”

“I feel sick,” you immediately blurt, with the same energy as a young child walking into their parents’ room to tell them they threw up.

She takes a few moments to look you over, and fortunately, the nervous beads of sweat on your brow and overall frantic expression must be rather convincing. Your father was engaged in a conversation with some other nobleman until just a second ago, but he too turns to look at you, visibly concerned.

“I’d like to go home,” you state. You add, with a shaky breath, “Please.”

Right at that moment, Flynn walks up from behind, having just caught up to you once again.

“[Name],” he sighs. “Seriously, what’s going on with you today? You’re acting—oh. Apologies. I didn’t see you two there.”

Flynn politely greets your parents, but they don’t pay him much attention, because they’re far too preoccupied with fussing over you.

“Hello, Flynn,” your father mumbles in a hurry. He presses a hand to your forehead, which is undoubtedly clammy, because you’re a nervous wreck right now. “Oh dear. Forgive me for not being able to stick around for a chat. [Name] seems to be feeling ill. We had better take her home so she can rest.”

You watch as Flynn’s brows lift. “What?” he frowns, turning towards you. “Is that true? I thought you were just agitated. Do you really think they put something in the wine?”

“Who put what in the wine?” your father gapes.

“I-It’s not like that,” you chuckle awkwardly. The last thing you want to do is unintentionally frame someone for drugging you. “I was just kidding. Um… but I really don’t feel well. It’s possible I might have caught a cold. Or maybe I just haven’t gotten enough sleep lately. I’m worried I might collapse.”

What follows is quite possibly the biggest freakout you’ve ever seen, and honestly, it’s kind of fucking embarrassing.

“Collapse?!” your father exclaims. “Good heavens! Then we must get you out of here as soon as possible! Everyone, move! Give my daughter some space!”

He proceeds to pick you up into his arms, despite the flustered squeal you let out, and your mother isn’t any less dramatic, with all her nonstop desperate wailing.

You squeeze your eyes shut, mortified beyond belief.

Please, just kill me now.

There goes your plan of trying not to draw too much attention to yourself. All of the guests clear the way and let you pass through, but you catch them whispering amongst themselves, and you’re willing to bet they’re not saying nice things about you.

Oh, well. The villainess already had a bad reputation. You’d be a fool to expect that you could overwrite it so quickly. It’s just going to take some time.

You really wish your parents would calm down, though.

“Move, move, move! This is an emergency, goddammit! My daughter is barely clinging to consciousness!”

“Uh, I’m still fine,” you protest.

“She’s passing out quite literally as we speak!”

You roll your eyes and let your body sag, utterly defeated. Seriously, what a family of drama queens. You can’t even blame the villainess for turning out the way she did.

The only silver lining is that the evening is being cut short, and you don’t have to spend any more time with Flynn. You never imagined how stressful it would be to have someone scrutinizing your every move.

“Is she going to be alright?” Flynn asks worriedly. Your father is in the process of hoisting your body up and lifting you into the carriage. “Would it be okay if I come along as well, Count [Last Name]? She’s given me a fright. I’d like to stay by her side, if possible.”

Fuck no! Don’t do that!

You’re just about to protest, but thankfully, your father interjects before you have to.

“She is very ill, Flynn,” he mutters somberly. Which, again, is kind of ridiculous. All you said was that you were worried you might collapse, yet here he is, acting like you’ve just been diagnosed with a terminal disease. “Right now, she needs as much rest as possible, and time to recover. Our family physician will look after her. I’ll ask that you please give her space so she can properly regain her strength.”

Flynn isn’t able to hide his disappointment, but nevertheless, he nods.

“I understand, sir. In that case, I’ll keep her in my thoughts and wish her a swift recovery. Please let me know when she’s feeling better.”

I know I jokingly asked to be killed earlier, but can people please stop acting like I’m going to die?

You slump back into the cushioned seats inside the carriage and sigh heavily. This evening has been sufficiently exhausting, and in more ways than one. You wonder how you’ll be able to break off your friendship with Flynn. He seems rather attached to you, based on how worried he is, and you remember from the game that he vehemently defended the villainess’ actions at first, since they were such close friends.

Clearly, getting rid of him won’t be an easy feat, but in the interest of ensuring your safety, you’re going to have to make it happen.

“Goodnight, [Name],” Flynn says. He smiles encouragingly. “You’ll be alright. Be sure to get as much rest as possible, and I’ll come visit you soon.”

Unlike his smile, which appears genuine, yours is tight-lipped and forced.

I would much rather you didn’t.

“Mommy, can I have more apple juice?”

You hug the blankets closer to your chest and make puppy eyes at your mother, who leans down to affectionately pat your head.

“Of course you can, sweetie,” she beams. “I’ll have one of the servants fetch some for you right away.”

Well, it’s the morning after your parents frantically brought you home, and spoiler alert: you didn’t die.

You did, however, discover that your parents are even more whipped for you than you could ever have imagined. Which was kind of embarrassing last night, but in the grand scheme of things, you’re thankful.

If something goes wrong and you desperately need help, you have a good feeling that they’ll stand by your side.

Also, since they were so terrified last night, they’re pretty much giving you the princess treatment right now. You even got to eat breakfast in bed earlier.

Your mother has been more suspicious of your strange behavior compared to your father, who takes it all in stride, but she seems to have mollified a bit. It’s probably because you’re acting like a spoiled baby right now, which is much more in line with the villainess’ demeanor. You make a mental note to be a bit more bratty from time to time.

Flynn promised to visit you, but you told your parents that you still want to focus on your recovery, so he thankfully hasn’t stopped by yet. You’re going to try and keep him away for as long as possible, at least until you can figure out how to deal with him.

Anyways, you’ve got the whole day to yourself. You don’t even have to do any more math problems for a while, since you’re supposedly so sick. Haha.

You may not be a villainess, but you’re no saint, and you’ll take just about any opportunity to goof off.

“Fiona, come along with me to the garden,” you gesture. “I want to stuff my face with pastries and drink yummy juice under the sun.”

“My lady, shouldn’t you stay in bed?” she frets. “Your father made it very clear how ill you were… he said it was a miracle that you even made it through the night.”

Bro.

You roll your eyes and sip on your glass of apple juice. “He’s just exaggerating. I feel much better now. I’m just taking advantage of how much they’re spoiling me. Don’t tell them I said that, though.”

“Oh,” she blinks, realization dawning on her. After a few moments, she smiles. “I see. In that case, I’ll accompany you and ensure that I see to your every need.”

You grin widely.

“Thanks!”

And so, you spend the better portion of your morning doing nothing in particular. Honestly, waking up in another person’s body out of nowhere is a much bigger deal than you’re making it out to be. Anyone else in your position would probably have had a mental breakdown at the start.

But apart from the fear of the bad endings that the villainess faces in the games, you’d like to say you’re rather enjoying this new life of yours. Seriously, compared to being a struggling university student, drowning in homework and hefty loans, getting to eat delicious pastries while sitting comfortably in an extravagant garden really isn’t that bad. In many ways, it’s a massive improvement.

It’s a grim thought, but you realize there’s very little about your old life that you actually liked. It felt like you were just going through the motions every day, devoid of any real passion or longing. Ever since your parents died, you fell into a bout of depression and pretty much shut everyone out.

Being able to start over was surely a blessing in disguise, and all the more reason why you’re hellbent on protecting this new life.

“[Name],” you mumble in a daze, the taste of sugar lingering on your tongue. You stare up at the clear blue sky and smile. It isn’t the same name you grew up with, but from now on, it is your name, and you’re going to wear it proudly.

You hum, popping another pastry into your mouth. You could probably afford to hold back a bit, otherwise you really will get sick this time, but whatever. It’s a beautiful day, and you’re feeling great, and it’s so nice and peaceful right now—

Hm?

A carriage has just pulled up to the manor. You watched it roll in from your vantage point in the garden, so naturally, your curiosity got the better of you and you started walking over.

Fiona scrunches up her brows. “My, who could it be? I didn’t think we were expecting any visitors today.”

You shrug. “Don’t look at me. I’m usually the last to hear about these things.”

Both of you stare at each other, visibly perplexed, but it turns out that your questions are soon answered, because the carriage door opens, and a man disembarks.

And of course, that man is…

…actually, who is he supposed to be?

You don’t have the slightest clue. He has black hair and rather piercing blue eyes, which you can make out even from a good distance away. He’s dressed in elegant clothes, so he’s clearly a noble. You suppose he must be one of your parents’ acquaintances or something. They probably know a whole bunch of people.

For some reason, though, it feels like you should know who this man is. There’s this weird sense of déjà vu you’re getting, and it’s like an itch in your brain that you just can’t seem to scratch.

It isn’t until you’re staring him face to face that it finally clicks.

“Ah!”

Rowan Calderwood. That’s what his name is. He made a few very brief appearances in the game, only in about two or three scenes, but you remember now that he’s supposed to be Alistair’s cousin.

Also, if you recall correctly, they’re not on especially good terms, but aren’t too familiar with all the details.

But that’s beside the point. What is he even doing here?

Rowan tilts his head. “Pardon me. Is there something on my face? You looked rather shocked for a moment, and even exclaimed quite loudly.”

You clamp your lips shut. Right. As far as you know, the villainess and Rowan never actually met in the game, which means he’s probably just seeing you for the very first time. It’d be better to pretend like you don’t know who he is.

“No reason in particular,” you shrug. “I just thought you were a trespasser for a moment, that’s all.”

Rowan’s eyes widen, but rather than looking offended, he just looks amused. He’s not technically trespassing, but if what Fiona said is true, then he must have showed up without an invitation, which is considered to be quite rude.

“Please forgive me if I gave you a fright,” Rowan says, then he bows deeply, only to lift his head after a few moments and smile. “I take it you must be [Name]. You’re even more beautiful than I had imagined. My name is Rowan Calderwood. It’s a pleasure to finally be meeting you.”

You wish you could say the feeling was mutual, but he interrupted your pastry-eating session, and you didn’t even get to finish the fresh glass of apple juice Fiona had just poured you.

Plus, he’s related to Alistair. Is he here to try and convince you to restore the engagement? Because no way in hell is that happening.

“I have no intention of taking Alistair back,” you state matter-of-factly, crossing your arms at him. “You share the same last name, so I presume you’re related to him in some capacity. I thought I should make my feelings clear from the start, so that you don’t waste any more of your time.”

Rowan’s eyes widen for the second time, and once again, he doesn’t look offended, or even appalled.

If anything, he looks delighted.

“How amusing,” he chuckles. “It seems you’re even better than I had hoped for.”

Uh…?

Rowan shakes his head. “Rest assured, my lady, that isn’t what I came here to say. Admittedly, I’d heard that your engagement with my cousin fell through, but I haven’t made the trip here on his behalf. I came for purely selfish purposes, I must admit.”

“Oh.” Your shoulders sag, and relief fills your chest. “Well, that’s good. I meant the part about you not trying to convince me to take Alistair back, not the part about you being selfish, just to be clear.”

“Right,” he muses. “I had a feeling that’s what you meant.”

This bastard just keeps smiling for some reason. What’s so funny? Granted, you know you can be hilarious at times, but you’ve been nothing but stoic thus far. Yet he acts like he’s having the time of his goddamn life.

Wait a second…

There’s a theory forming in your mind, and honestly, you’re not sure you like the thought of it all that much.

Fortunately, Fiona has your back.

“P-Pardon me, Lord Calderwood,” she nervously pipes in. “Might I ask if you have an appointment? Count [Last Name] made it very clear that there were to be no visitors today. My lady fell ill last night, and she’s been taking the day to recover all her strength.”

“I was super sick,” you nod. “My father said it’s a miracle I even made it through the night.”

Rowan frowns, which isn’t too surprising, considering you look healthy as a horse and you were stuffing your face with pastries up until a few moments ago.

He clears his throat. “Oh my. Apologies. I wasn’t aware that you weren’t feeling well last night. You look so stunning and radiant that I couldn’t possibly imagine you’d been battling sickness as of late.”

“Yes, well, I just so happen to be gorgeous, but it’s true that I’m taking the day off to recover. Also, please make an appointment if you plan to visit again in the future. No one was expecting you to show up,” you say, sternly enough that you hope he takes the hint.

Honestly, he probably realizes he’s being rude, but it seems like he just doesn’t care.

“I had hoped for it to be a surprise,” he smiles. “I was so excited to meet you that I must have forgotten my manners. I also wasn’t sure when your parents would accept my request to meet, given that things are rather strained between our families right now. Well, Alistair’s side of the family, at least.”

You arch a brow. “So, you thought it would be better to show up without warning and take it from there?”

“I’m guilty of being a touch eccentric at times. Especially when someone as beautiful and charming as yourself is involved,” he adds flirtatiously.

“How did you know I was beautiful? We literally just met.”

“I had heard the rumors, of course. You’re hailed far and wide as the most breathtaking, desirable lady in all the land.”

Desirable? Are we talking about the same rotten villainess with the personality of a stinky tomato? Now I know this is all BS.

Still, it’s getting clearer by the second where he’s headed with this. You’ve long since connected the dots.

Rowan’s smile has yet to disappear, and he crosses a hand over his chest before bowing once more.

“It shames me to admit this, but… ever since I heard that you and Alistair were no longer engaged, I simply couldn’t hold back any longer.”

Oh, boy. This is actually happening.

“I was hoping to speak to your father first and foremost and make my intentions clear, but I happened to stumble upon you, and now, I’d like to say what’s on my mind.”

“Uh, you really don’t have to,” you insist. “Like, seriously—”

“[Name],” Rowan breathes, and you watch, horrified, as he gets down on one knee and takes your hand in his. “Would you… grant me the honor of marrying you?”

More chapters are available on Quotev!

⊱.⋅follow + post notifications on for story update announcements or join the author's discord!⋅.⊰

🗡️ main masterlist! ♡ character appearances

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applepie2523 · 1 year ago

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"I feel like some of this criticism towards the show being pro-Black is unfounded, but there is truth to the sentiments, specifically in how key moments in the narrative have been framed and brushed over, while similar things have been focused on in a different manner

For example, the dichotomy between focusing on the girl Aegon rapes vs completely disregarding the person that Daemon killed to let Laenor escape his life

We get a lot of focus on Dyana and get showcased Alicient's veneer of hypocrisy- she who veils herself in religion but covers up her son's heinous crimes. Then we get a scene of her disparging her son for his vile behavior and hugging Helaena for the shame Aegon brings to others and his own marriage.

On the other hand, when Rhaenyra and Daemon plan for the fake-death of Laenor, the guy Daemon kills is a completely throwaway moment, and the focus of the scene is how there plan allows for Laenor to leave Westeros behind and live a happy life

Simply put, these two scenes where two random, "unimportant" people are victimized are presented in completely different manners which provoke completely different reactions from the audience. With the Laenor scene, the audience walks away happy because Rhaenyra and Daemon don't kill Laenor like it seemed they would from their speech and the focus is triumphant and just. The dead guy doesn't matter in the slightest. With Dyana, it completely shatters any sort of character arc or sympathy that Aegon may have had and firmly places him- who is the figurehead of the Greens- to be a character that is reviled by the audience and whose downfall is something to look forward to. Who the hell can even possibly support a rapist? Murder is something audience members can forgive, justify and accept- rape never ever

There are other moments throughout the show that are along the same lines. For example, giving Rhaenyra the opportunity to propose a marriage between Jace and Helaena as a peace offering that is rejected places her in a more sympathetic light as someone who was genuinely trying to reach out and make amends. I understand that this is an adaption and things are justifiably changed, but in the books, Corlys immediately has Jace and Luke bethroed to Baela and Rhaena so his true blood ends up on the throne and the insult of trying to pass off Strong bastards as true-born Velaryons is lessened. By making Corlys literally not care about blood and names, it gives the show an opportunity to make Rhaenyra look better

They also remove some of the brutality and ruthlessness of Rhaenyra. Instead of ordering the death of Vaemond and feeding his corpse to Syrax for insulting the parentage of her children, Vaemond is killed in court. And although violent and sudden, it is framed in a "good" way to the audience, since it directly follows the amazing Viserys sequence of coming to the throne and defending his daughter, along with the incredibly touching Daemon-Viserys moment of helping him to the throne

Likewise, the "questioned sharply" line following Aemond's mutilation is not framed in a way to express to the audience that Rhaenyra meant for Aemond to be tortured. She says he must be questioned sharply and then that transitions to Viserys simply questioning Aemond

This is kind of what, for me, makes the show pro-Black. If I had to characterize the show, I would say it's pro-Black and goes out of its way to make Alicient sympathetic. But overall it doesn't care too much for the Greens

I also feel like they slightly undermined the story that they themselves were trying to tell and set-up prior to the episode 6 timeskip and change-up of the actors. The show was clearly setting up that the primary motivation of the Greens was Alicient fearing for the safety of her children and family from Rhaenyra (with the rift starting by Rhaenyra's lies at the Godswood and Otto's departure in the rain) and the danger that Daemon posed

This would have required the Blacks and Daemon to be more unsavory and vicious in the post-timeskip episodes than they ended up being at all, because the show went out of its way to avoid that kind of stuff. For example- and this is a huge point that I think has been overlooked- the whole point of Rhaenyra and Daemon faking the death of Laenor was to signal to their enemies- ie Alicient and the Greens- that they were dangerous and should not be messed with.

The death of Laenor should have struck some fear in Alicient over what the two newly weds could have done to her own children. But narratively, literally the only consequence of Laenor's death was to introduce some temporary tension between the Blacks and Rhaenys that is ultimately resolved in the very same episode. The potential impact it should have had on Alicient is just not present

Another consequence that was completely ignored was the impact Rhaenyra and Daemon's marriage should have had on Viserys. It was already set up that he greatly disapproved of whatever was going on between the two of them in the earlier episodes, but there was no payoff to that once they got married. In the books, this is what causes Viserys to kick Rhaenyra out of court, but the show instead wanted to focus on the positive relationship between Rhaenyra and Viserys and Daemon and Viserys in his last episode

Now I'm not saying that that decision was a bad one- it was really touching and incredibly emotional- but paired up with everything else, I think the post-timeskip show has definitely tilted the narrative to be pro-Black and undermine what earlier parts of the story was trying to set up. It's doing this while also trying to maintain some sympathy for Alicient

The one very stand out thing that they have done is Aemond's character though. Obviously he will be a villain, but they've done an incredibly good job at making him sympathetic and understandable (I will fiercely maintain that he has done absolutely nothing wrong so far in the show). I wish that were extended to the rest of the Greens as they could make them the obvious villains they should be in the narrative, while still making them sympathetic and understandable." -- by a random person on the r/asoiaf subreddit

#team green #anti hotd #alicent hightower #hotd critical #aegon ii targaryen #aemond targaryen #heleana targaryen

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postsforposting · 2 months ago

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at the altar

previously i had thought there were only two weddings: the van and the reactor. however. there are four weddings and a funeral. because finding true love is hard, and the support of "friends" is essential. the movie has four "successful" weddings, one aborted wedding, and one funeral. the "successful" weddings all end in divorce. the funeral is for the partner of a gay man, but as this is during 1990s UK, they were not allowed to legally marry. it is explicitly said that they were "as a married couple". this funeral depicts "true love", but it's not "lasting" due to death. the one lasting, successful couple explicitly refuse to get married, and they are the only ones who have a family in the end.

the idea is that a "real wedding" cannot stand in for or replace real love and commitment. every single "real" wedding failed. in a line: beating out death--life after death--gives you forever, and no wedding gives you true love. in two senses: weddings literally don't replace love, and the lack of a wedding is defined as true love.

in dpw, there is no real wedding.

there is one failed funeral, in the reactor when everyone thinks they're dead. being joined in death is the only way to find forever; being joined in life is the only way to find love. to love forever, you must stand under god as one, reach forever by pledging yourselves "to death", and rise again together.

in biblical numerology, four represents stability and "freshness", aka "getting fresh" with each other in the sense of both insults and sex. insults, after all, get personal. character assassination is just a little ribbing joke between friends in this franchise. that's why there's four, and why they trade off roles.

wedding one:

in the movie Four Weddings and Funeral, there are actually five weddings held. the one that isn't counted as a "finished" wedding is where doubts were expressed during the ceremony that the groom loves someone else, and the bride dumps the groom at the altar.

wade dumps wolvie on the floor at paradox's altar after walking down the aisle with him.

paradox refuses to accept wade's proposal.

unlike in FWF, wade dumping wolvie wasn't about rejection. it was giving him a choice about whether he wanted to go through with this--to say "i do". he gets up and follows wade to "hell" of his own volition. for better and worse, right? they're joining at a low point because if you can't take him at his worst, you don't deserve to be his "best friend". this goes for deadpool and "worst" wolvie equally.

the "funeral" in this scene is paradox refusing to halt the death of the universe, insisting that everyone is going die eventually and there's nothing to be done about it. being sent to hell is also a literal death sentence, because no one is supposed to come back: it's forever.

this is an "aborted" wedding and a symbolic death, no funeral. wade pledged first but logan came right after.

wedding two:

the van. they make it to the altar, veil of seatbelts and all, but get driven away. they were dying to get there, too. what a shame.

a bower is both a wedding arch and a shady place under the trees. that's why they stop in the forest. they lay together, but not as one before the altar--no handholding here. they also didn't even get to the removal of the veil.

wedding three:

jumping into the marvel sparkle circle under the eyes of cassandra.

......jumping a "bundle of sticks" to a golden ring in the eyes of god.

while alioth, personification of death, is just a tick too late. not even the threat of death kept them from the altar. they weren't standing as one, together, though, so it's not a proper wedding.

in this one, logan wins the race: he falls first, and harder.

wedding four:

the reactor. down on their knees standing together under god: that's going to church. logan is the bride whose veil gets blown off.

it was supposed to be a funeral. paradox even gave them a eulogy. death did happen, and they thought it would last forever this time. but then they started a new life together, as one: marriage. they even said, repeatedly, "it should be me"-->"i want to be there for you"-->"i do". it could be read as both of them objecting that "you deserve better" while replying "but you're the one i want".

wade got to the altar first. even though it took logan longer to get there, he went at it harder.

this is the only wedding they got the whole way through, with all the necessary bits, and the only funeral. but it also wasn't a real wedding and the funeral didn't stick: that's how you get real forever love with four weddings and a funeral.

#deadpool and wolverine #deadclaws #poolverine #meta

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voidmarkd · 5 months ago

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I am going through my dms and memes since I am already back from my mini hiatus. Feel free to send in some memes or some of the questions while I work my way through everything you've already sent me.

#━ ✟ out of character : ❝ i walk between the veil of life and death. ❞

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nataliabdraws · 17 days ago

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darling heart, i loved you from the start (I)

pairing: maglor x original female character

summary: at the start of the fourth age, olwyn gets a unexpected visitor on her doorstep

aka maglor gets the cottage core life he doesn't know he needs

warnings: N/A

word count: 3.8k

author's note: this is just a entirely self indulgent fanfic I wrote about my oc olwyn and maglor.

read full thing on ao3 (read to the end for some concept art!)

The man arrives with the storm.

Olwyn sees him first as a dark blot against the horizon, teetering on the white stone cliffs of Langstrand. The wind howls, carrying the crash of waves against the rocks below, but the man walks with no caution. His cloak snaps wildly around his ankles, his bare feet gliding over the slippery, rain-slicked edge as if he does not fear the jagged maw of the sea waiting below.

She watches him for a long moment, rooted by the strangeness of the sight. The old stories creep unbidden into her mind—those whispered tales of spirits who sang with sweet voices to lead the unwary to their deaths. But those stories spoke of grace, of beauty that beguiled.

This man sways like a drunkard.

A gust of wind topples him forward into the grass, the rain drenching him further as he lies motionless against the over-saturated earth. It’s too far to see clearly, his face obscured by the veil of the storm, but the scene jolts Olwyn from her reverie.

Her chair scrapes against the wood floor as she rises, her heart lurching. She fumbles with the thick pelted cloak hanging by the door, the fastenings slipping beneath her fingers. Rain pounds against the windows as she pulls on her boots, rushed and graceless.

The door bursts open under her grip, the wind slamming against her, biting through her clothes and whipping her pale hair into her eyes, into her mouth. The storm roars around her, blinding and deafening as she steps out onto the wet stone path. She blinks hard against the rain clinging to her lashes and braces herself against the wind.

Olwyn starts toward the cliffs, her boots sinking into the slick, muddy earth as she hurries to where she last saw the man.

“You! Are you okay?”

Her voice cuts through the storm, but the wind swallows it whole, hurling her words over the cliffs and into the sea. The squelch of her boots in the mud is drowned out by the crashing waves below, each step splattering her calves with wet earth. The hem of her skirt clings heavily to her legs, soaked through.

She stumbles, her footing faltering on the slick ground, but her fingers catch the man’s elbow just in time. The contact shocks her—his skin is clammy and cold, like ice water soaked through flesh. Like he had been out in this weather far longer than she had spotted him. He shudders under her grip, a faint, involuntary tremor, and the wrongness of it sends a shiver racing up her spine.

When she turns him onto his back, he looks dead. Mud and seawater streak his face and clothes, dark hair plastered to his forehead. His eyes are half-lidded, rolled back into his skull, and for a terrible moment, Olwyn is certain she’s too late. But then she sees it—the faint rise and fall of his chest, fragile and uneven but undeniable.

Above them, the storm howls, a mournful wail that drowns out even her thoughts. Rain lashes against her face, relentless and cold, as she looks back toward the distant shape of her dwelling. The thatched roof barely stands out against the rolling cliffs, but the warm glow of lantern light cuts through the gloom, beckoning her back.

The storm will only worsen—she knows it will. The past few days have been unforgiving, and this stranger won’t last the night out here, not in this.

Olwyn grits her teeth, steeling herself against the weight of what she must do. Looping her hands under his armpits, she braces her legs and pulls.

“Come on,” she mutters, the rain slipping between her teeth as she speaks. The man groans faintly, a weak protest spilling from his lips, but his legs barely move beneath him. “Come on now, you can do it.”

With a grunt of effort, she hauls him upright, his body heavy and unyielding, nearly twice her size. His head lolls against her shoulder, his arms limp at his sides, but he stumbles forward when she tugs at him. The weight is staggering, but Olwyn is struck with sudden gratitude for her brother and the long hours spent wrestling calves and sheep in the past—this man weighs no more than calf her herd ever did, though the stakes feel infinitely higher.

Her humble cottage grows larger with each faltering step, the glow of the lanterns cutting through the storm’s darkness and blazing against her retinas. The light burns faint spots into the night sky behind it, but it promises warmth and safety, and she clings to that thought as her boots squelch through the mud.

At last, they cross the threshold. The door slams shut behind them, muffling the roar of the storm. The man stumbles once more, crumpling into her, his full weight bearing down on her shoulders and chest. She staggers but manages to hold them both upright, his skin like ice through her damp clothes, stealing the little warmth she has left.

The dim light of her home barely illuminates the path ahead, and she moves carefully, guiding them around the low table and through the curtain that separates the bedchamber. The weight eases as she lowers him onto her bed, the mattress groans beneath his weight. His breathing is shallow, each faint inhale barely perceptible, but it’s enough—it has to be.

Rain drips from her hair, trailing down her skin and soaking further into her dress. She shivers, her teeth clattering no matter how hard she clenches her jaw. Still, she pulls off her drenched cloak and tosses it aside, reaching for a dry one.

She wraps the warm fabric around the man’s freezing form, her fingers moving briskly despite their numbness. As she props him up to tuck the cloak under him, she begins rummaging for dry clothes. Her hands fumble, clumsy and slow, but she pulls out a tunic —old ones of her father's. The wool is rough and scratchy against her fingertips, but they're warm, and they'll have to do.

Olwyn works quickly, peeling away the soiled tunic that clings to his skin, the damp fabric resisting her at every pull. She shimmies the dry shirt over his head, yanking it into place with hurried efficiency as his arms flop limply at his sides. It’s far too large for her, and it will swamp him, but warmth matters more than fit.

Her breath catches for a moment as she catches sight of his frame—thinner than she had expected, his ribs stark against his chilled, pale skin. She barely has time to register the sight before he shifts, twisting suddenly away from her hands with a low groan. The sound startles her, her heart leaping, but she lets him go. He burrows into the furs like a wounded animal seeking shelter, and she moves to pull them up higher, tucking them carefully around his neck.

She pauses as her eyes fall on a stray lock of hair. It’s raven black, untamed and tangled, and the damp strands cling to his face. She brushes them aside without thinking, her fingers revealing the pointed tip of his ear beneath.

An Elf.

The thought lands heavy in her mind as she stares, taking him in for the first time with real clarity. There are no Elves in Langstrand—not anymore. Not for a long time. And yet, here one is, lying unconscious in her bed, draped in her father’s old tunic.

Her gaze lingers on the steady rise and fall of the furs over his chest, his breaths soft but rhythmic. Her hand drifts absently to her own ear, tracing the subtle curve of its dull point—a mark of her half-blood lineage, a quiet truth she has carried her whole life.

But he is not like her. He is pure-blooded, unblemished. Older. Other.

Something else entirely.

The dull ache in her jaw, from the relentless chattering of her teeth, pulls Olwyn sharply back to the present. She reaches for a rag and rubs at her face, the rough fabric dragging against her clammy skin. Her hands tremble as she works, clumsy and slow, and the chill bites harder when she begins peeling off her soaked clothes. The damp fabric clings to her skin, reluctant, but she shoves the garments aside and reaches for fresh underclothes.

She gathers her sodden clothes, the fabric heavy and cold in her arms, and drapes them over the back of a chair. The wet material drips onto the floor, dark spots spreading across the wood where the water falls, but she pays it no mind.

Reaching for her brother’s wool blanket, Olwyn wraps it tightly around her shoulders. The texture is coarse but warm, and the weight of it steadies her as she totters toward the kitchen area. The scent of soup, thick with salt and thyme and earth, hangs heavy in the air. It still simmers faintly over the coals where she’d left it hours ago, forgotten in the chaos of the storm. It had been meant to last her for days, but with a second mouth to feed, that feels unimportant now.

She ladles out the broth, the steam rising to warm her face, chasing away the lingering chill. Blowing gently at the surface, she takes a cautious sip. The heat stings her lips, her tongue, but her stomach growls in protest when she sets the cup down. The last of her bread had been eaten two days ago—there’s no sense in waiting now.

Soup in hand, Olwyn makes her way back to the bedchamber. The blanket clings to her as she pulls a chair up beside the bed and lowers herself into it.

The Elf stirs.

The movement is subtle, but it freezes her all the same. His brow furrows faintly, the lines of his features shifting ever so slightly, and she watches with bated breath. His chest rises and falls in shallow rhythm, his lashes fluttering as his eyes roll beneath their lids. The pale cast of his skin has softened, losing some of its waxy sheen, and the harsh lines carved into his face seem to have eased.

Her gaze lingers, tracing the high bridge of his nose, the sharp line of his jaw. The pointed tips of his ears peek through his dark hair, long and unmistakable, even in the dim light.

Then, his eyes open.

They are pale and distant, unfocused, as though he sees her but not entirely.

“I’ve brought you soup,” she says, her voice loud in the heavy silence of the room. She thrusts the cup toward him, as if the gesture alone might help him understand, as if he even speaks her language. “It will help warm you,” she tries again, softer this time, her tone gentle and steady. “Can you eat?”

He doesn’t answer. His eyes are fixed on the cup in her hand, and his nostrils flare, a subtle movement that gives her pause. Olwyn dips the spoon into the broth, steam rising faintly as she lifts it. She blows gently on the liquid, the warmth wafting between them, and holds it up.

“You have to eat,” she says, the words low but firm, a quiet insistence.

He blinks, his brow furrowing slightly, and for a moment, it seems as though he might speak. The corners of his lips twitch, a faint flicker of effort that never materializes into sound. His gaze drops to the spoon in her hand, and she sees it—a glimmer of understanding.

Encouraged, she presses the spoon forward, close enough to brush against his dry, chapped lips. “Here. Eat.”

There’s a hesitation, his body still save for the flicker of dark eyelashes. Then, his mouth opens, and his tongue darts out, tentative.

He swallows, the motion slow and deliberate. Olwyn nods slightly and dips the spoon back into the bowl, scooping up another measure.

His lips close around it this time, his tongue working as he swallows again. He blinks once, then slowly again, the deliberate rhythm of it matching his movements.

The process is slow, each spoonful a careful exchange, but Olwyn is patient. He eats halfway through the bowl before his lips part and the spoon falls away. He leans back, the furs pulling up around his chin as he shifts deeper into the bed. His eyelids drift shut, and his body slackens, the harsh lines of his face softening once more.

For a long moment, she watches him. The storm rages outside, battering the walls of the cottage, but the rise and fall of the blankets is steady, calm. In sleep, he looks smaller, almost fragile. Her eyes linger on the pale line of his throat, exposed and vulnerable, before she looks away.

Olwyn finishes the rest of the soup herself, the warmth soothing the tightness in her chest. Leaning back in the chair beside his bed, she lets her head rest against the worn wood. What was she going to tell her brother?

read full thing on ao3

#the silmarillion #silmarillion #maglor #sons of feanor #feanorians #female original character #oc #maglor x reader #maglor x oc #lord of the rings #lotr

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bonefall · 1 year ago

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I love the concept of MoleJay toxic yaoi so much. More weirdass chaotic romantic entanglement between the Bracken Four and The Three! The childhood crush of the teen who died young broke the rules of reality to save. His sister! A priest and a member of the heavenly body he's supposed to worship, except the priest has the power and the both of them keep pissing each other off. I named myself after the time I beat your ass in a fight, but that still means my name invokes our connection every time it is spoken. I tried to bring some meaning to my tragic death and afterlife by assigning myself this role of keeping you in line, and what I am outside of you? Just another tragedy? Better to be the man that stands in your way, better to be seen by you as a warden and source of irritation than just the guy who died of sickness and didn't get to walk out of heaven with you.

I think it's especially cool and funny when taking into account how you said that Moleflight's role as a character is "reflecting StarClan's general consensus and feelings towards Jay," because toxic yaoi really does reflect StarClan as a whole's weird love-hate feelings towards Jay. Like damn, this bitch is intimidating and frustrating and every time I talk to him he pisses me off. But. He is kinda cute tho.

Another aspect that crosses my mind a lot is that, when cats die young, StarClan quickly becomes more real than the brief life they had on the mortal plane. For most angels, death feels like a constant, lucid dream... but "cherubs" like Moleflight who received their full names in death didn't live enough life to differentiate it.

So if you think about it, Jayfeather IS his tie to the mortal plane.

Most cherubs quickly throw themselves into cosmic tasks that adult spirits feel strange about, very disconnected from mortality. Attending the founders, maintaining StarClan itself, lathering and polishing the stars that they may shine brighter. And yet, here is Moleflight, clinging to the life he could have known through being Jayfeather's obsessive guardian angel.

Like he doesn't want to move on. Like he wants to have something to miss.

Or maybe it is a bit of jealousy. Molepaw was the first to die in that outbreak and Poppypaw would have been the last. He watched from beyond the veil as Jaypaw pleaded for his sister to please, please come home. He didn't come for him. And without Poppy here with him, Moleflight was alone.

Inescapable. There is no separating them. Jayfeather's very name invokes Moleflight; and Moleflight has made it his mission to serve as a liasion between the stars and Jayfeather. Life and death divides them, and yet, they've never been apart. We are soulmates because we tangle our teeth and claws in each other's souls and refuse to let go.

#Molejay #Better bones au #BB!Moleflight

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fanficapologist · 1 year ago

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Of Dragons and Maelstroms

Themes and Warnings: slow burn, enemies to lovers, blood, violence, explicit language, sexual violence, period-typical misogyny, sexual themes, smut, tension, marriage, jealousy, pregnancy, childbirth, miscarriage, attempted sexual assault, breastfeeding, major character death, divergent timelines

Disclaimer: I do not own any of the House of The Dragon/Fire & Blood/Game of Thrones characters nor do I claim to own them. I do not own any of the images used nor do I claim to own them.

Chapter Sixty-One

The journey to the Sept unfolded against a backdrop of palpable grief in the streets of King's Landing. The usually bustling and vibrant capital was draped in an atmosphere of mourning. The stone walls echoed with the muted sounds of sorrow, and the air carried a weight that surpassed the everyday hum of life. Countless mourners lined the roads, their faces etched with expressions of sadness, paying homage to the departed royal children.

Inside the carriage, Maera and Aemond shared the quiet passage with a solemnity that mirrored the city's mourning. Throughout the journey, a profound silence enveloped them, as if the weight of the occasion transcended the need for spoken words. Despite the absence of verbal communication, Aemond's hand remained a steadfast presence on Maera's leg, a gesture that conveyed more than words ever could—a silent assurance that they faced the challenges together.

As the carriage navigated the grief-stricken streets, the unspoken exchange between Aemond and Maera spoke volumes. The city's mourning became a shared experience, and within the confines of the carriage, the couple found solace in the simplicity of touch and the silent understanding that marked this poignant journey to bid a premature farewell to little Jaehaerys and the tiny unborn baby girl.

After a brief public service at the Sept, the funeral procession wound its way through the city until it reached a nearby cliff, a place chosen for its somber serenity. At the forefront of the procession was a cart bearing the wrapped bodies of the children. Maera, unable to summon the courage to look upon the small, shrouded figures, had avoided glimpsing them since she stepped out of the carriage back at the Sept.

As the procession reached the cliffside, a hushed solemnity settled over the gathering. The noble mourners, clad in garments of black, formed a solemn line along the edge of the cliff. The wind carried with it a whispering lament, an echo of the collective grief that draped the scene. Maera and Aemond’s carriage came to a halt, and a profound stillness enveloped the cliffside.

The natural beauty of the scenery served as a poignant contrast to the somber occasion, as if nature itself paused to acknowledge the depth of the loss. The air was heavy with the weight of farewell, and as the figures rested against the backdrop of the expansive horizon, a profound silence descended upon the mourners.

Aemond was the first to step out of the carriage, a silent sentinel of support for Maera. Extending his hand to her, he assisted her in descending onto the grounds. As she alighted, his hand found its place on the small of her back, guiding her toward the dais of the procession, where the rest of the royal family stood.

Upon reaching the solemn gathering, Maera took in the sight of House Targaryen assembled before her. Little Jaehaera and Maelor, the surviving children, were under the watchful eyes of their nursery maids. Both stood in quiet contemplation, their gaze fixated on the sky, perhaps finding solace in the flight of birds above. Dressed in mourning black, dowager Queen Alicent stood with a veil covering her face, an emblem of her grief.

As Maera made her way through the gathering, she noticed Prince Daeron, Aemond's younger brother and ward of Oldtown, in attendance at the funeral. Beside him stood Lord Otto, his face etched with solemnity, focused on the funeral pyre ahead. Aemond and Maera walked past other members of the family before standing before King Aegon and Queen Helaena. With a respectful bow and curtsy, they greeted the reigning monarchs, paying homage to their regal presence on such a trying day. The silent exchange marked the transition from the private sphere of mourning to the formal acknowledgment of the royal family's unity in grief.

As Maera observed the royal couple standing together, she couldn't help but notice that the apparent distance between King Aegon and Queen Helaena had developed even further since the tragedies. Though physically close, their violet eyes carried vacant looks as they gazed upon the shrouded bodies of their children.

Once formal greetings were concluded, Maera stood by Aemond's side, a few steps behind the grieving King and Queen, during the solemn funeral ceremony. At the forefrond stood High Septon Eustace, a figure draped in ceremonial robes, attempting to offer words of comfort and be a voice of the Seven in the face of such dark times. The High Septon's voice, though steady, carried a weight of empathy as he sought to navigate the delicate balance between solace and reverence for the departed.

As Eustace concluded his sermon, Maera watched in silence as her husband stepped forward, a figure of strength and resilience. In that poignant moment, a large, dark shadow began to stretch over the gathering, gradually blotting out the sun. It was the unmistakable silhouette of Vhagar, Aemond's formidable mount. The gigantic green and bronze creature emerged from behind a rocky hill, a colossal presence that commanded attention. As the beast stomped towards the pyre, her enormous eyes, filled with an otherworldly intelligence, remained locked onto her rider.

Maera turned to look at the other funeral attendants, and couldn't help but discern the subtle currents of political foresight woven into the decision. She knew, with a shrewd insight, that the suggestion for Vhagar to lead the pyre-burning had originated from the Queen mother, Alicent. It bore the mark of her strategic mind, considering both the symbolic and practical aspects of the act.

Firstly, Vhagar was the largest and fiercest dragon in the realm, and her fiery presence during the funeral would serve as a potent symbol of House Targaryen's strength in the face of adversity. Secondly, Alicent, ever the astute observer, voiced concerns about Aegon's state. While the official reason was that she assumed he would be too distraught to command Sunfyre, Maera understood the unspoken truth behind her mother-in-law's words, alluding to a more likely scenario—Aegon's tendency to drown his sorrows in drink, a habit that rendered him incapable of safely commanding his dragon.

Maera's gaze locked onto Aemond, who stood a few steps in front of her, his singular violet eye focused intently on his dragon, Vhagar. In that moment, she couldn't help but marvel at the remarkable transformation of the boy she had once known��singled out for lacking a dragon—into the man who now commanded the mightiest of them all. The evolution from perceived inadequacy to the pinnacle of strength stood before her, a testament to Aemond's resilience and the formidable bond he had forged with Vhagar.

As the weight of House Targaryen's history hung in the air, Aemond uttered a commanding "Dracarys." The air crackled with anticipation as Vhagar responded to her rider's call. Her massive jaws opened wide, revealing a searing fireball at the back of her throat. With a mighty surge, she propelled the fire forward, a torrent of flames that engulfed the wrapped bodies.

The pyre alighted, casting a brilliant, mournful glow over the cliffside. The flames danced with an ethereal grace, intertwining with the winds of sorrow that swept through the gathering. As the fire consumed the shrouded figures, the heat radiated a solemn warmth—a final embrace for the departed. The alight funeral pyre became a poignant tableau, a visual requiem that illuminated the cliffs with the sorrowful beauty of the farewell to little Prince Jaehaerys and the lost unborn child.

After a fleeting moment following the pyre's ignition, Aegon, King of the Seven Kingdoms, was the first to withdraw from the cliffside. The subtle scent of spiced wine lingered in the air as he walked past Maera, a reminder of the means by which he often sought solace. Alicent, attempting to engage with her son, found herself ignored, as Aegon continued his solitary retreat, accompanied only by a retinue of guards.

Turning her gaze back to Queen Helaena, Maera observed her standing alone, her gaze fixed on the consuming flames of the pyre. A pang of empathy and longing for connection tugged at Maera's heart. It had been too long since she and her old friend had shared a proper conversation, and the desire to reconnect with Helaena welled within her. Cautiously, Maera stepped towards Helaena, reaching out with the intention of a comforting touch. However, the Queen, sensing Maera's presence, flinched before the contact could be made.

When Helaena turned to look at her, the pain was evident across her face, her violet eyes seeming distant, lost in the consuming embers of the funeral pyre. Maera, with a tender expression, spoke softly, “Your Grace.” The formality hung in the air as Maera wrestled with the words that followed, fighting the urge to apologise for the irrevocable loss or to offer empty assurances of brighter days ahead. Instead, she let her features soften, hoping to bridge the chasm between them.

“I am happy to see you,” Maera uttered, her words a fragile attempt to anchor the conversation in a moment of solace. Yet, Queen Helaena remained silent, her gaze fixed in an abyss of grief, a stark departure from the girl Maera had once known. The air hung heavy with unspoken sorrow, leaving Maera grappling with the weight of words that could never truly mend the wounds.

Helaena's sudden grip sent a chill down Maera's spine, her friend's urgency etched in the vice-like hold. The cryptic words, "Two dragon eggs are laid. One in the rivers, one in the maelstrom," echoed in the air, a foreboding revelation that seized Maera's attention. It was no longer a mere enigmatic phrase, it appeared to be a warning. Before Maera could unravel the meaning, Queen Alicent materialized, her presence accompanied by a sad smile, then a concerned brow. She delicately intervened, placing a comforting hand on Helaena's gripping arm.

"Come, dearest," Alicent urged, her voice a gentle command. "Let us return to the carriage."

Helaena's gaze remained fixed on Maera, jaw tense with unspoken weight. However, yielding to her mother's directive, she reluctantly shifted her focus to the floor. With a nod towards Alicent, Helaena released Maera's arm, and the mother and daughter began to move away, leaving Maera standing amidst the lingering echoes of ominous prophecy.

Watching the women leave, Maera also witnessed the mournful procession of attendees making their way back to the waiting carriages, a sea of black against the vivid green backdrop of the cliffside. The solemnity of the moment lingered in the air, carried by the retreating figures clad in mourning attire.

In this poignant aftermath of the funeral for Jaehaerys and the unborn child, Maera's thoughts swirled with a complex array of emotions. Grief and sadness weighed heavily on her heart as she reflected on the loss that had befallen House Targaryen. The funeral pyre's fading glow mirrored the ephemerality of life, and the scars of tragedy etched themselves into the fabric of the royal family.

Amidst the collective mourning, a shadow of fear crept into Maera's thoughts. The ongoing war cast a looming uncertainty over the realm, and the prospect of having to bury her own child during these tumultuous times stirred a deep-seated anxiety within her. Swiftly, she shook the thought from her mind, unwilling to entertain the notion, and looked ahead, past the funeral pyre.

Aemond stood beside Vhagar, his gloved palm gently stroking the massive dragon's face, the vivid hues of green and bronze scales shimmering in the sunlight, capturing the majesty of the creature. The juxtaposition of the formidable dragon and the prince created a visual dichotomy, akin to a mouse standing next to a towering human. Yet, the undeniable bond between Aemond and Vhagar transcended mere appearances.

Approaching with a mix of reverence and curiosity, Maera ventured into the space where the prince and his formidable companion stood, eager to witness firsthand the depth of their connection. The colossal dragon's fiery orange eyes bore into Maera as she neared Aemond, a low growl resonating from the creature's throat. Startled, Maera instinctively took a worried step back, a gasp escaping her lips. The immense power emanating from the dragon was palpable, stirring a sense of caution in her.

Aemond, sensing the tension, turned to face Maera, his silver hair catching the light. With a calm authority, he commanded his colossal companion to ease, and the dragon's trill signaled compliance. Facing Maera, Aemond offered a reassuring smile, breaking the tension that lingered in the air.

"You can touch her if you want," Aemond invited, extending the opportunity for Maera to bridge the gap between them and the majestic creature. Despite her apprehension, Maera hesitated, her gaze flickering between Aemond and the dragon.

With a tentative tone, she admitted, "She may not wish me to." The unspoken dance of trust and fear unfolded in the presence of the awe-inspiring beast.

Aemond's chuckle echoed in the air, a glint of mischief in his single violet eye. "I am her rider; she does as I say," he asserted, a smirk playing on his sharp-featured face. The hint of a playful challenge lingered as he continued, "Unless she thinks you wish to harm me, then that is another story."

Maera, unimpressed by Aemond's attempt to incite a reaction, huffed and rolled her eyes. "I shall try not to get annoyed with you in her presence then," she quipped sarcastically.

Taking the opportunity to bridge the gap, Aemond gently took Maera's hand, guiding it to rest on Vhagar's scaled face. His hand rested atop hers, offering reassurance. The initial apprehension gave way to a surge of excitement as her hand made contact with the formidable creature beneath Aemond’s guidance.

The touch revealed a stark contrast to her previous experience with Ēbrion. Vhagar’s scales were much harder, bearing the scars and stories of battles waged. The war-torn texture spoke of the dragon’s seasoned history and the challenges she had faced. Yet, despite the rugged exterior, Vhagar exuded a warmth that resonated with Maera. The colossal dragon blinked slowly before seemingly leaning into Maera's touch, the immense creature pressing her face forward until the entirety of Maera's body was nestled against the dragon's formidable form.

Aemond's simple hum in response to his dragon's behavior caught Maera's attention, prompting her to shift her gaze toward him. "She can sense it," Aemond muttered, his eyes meeting Maera's with a knowing look.

Curiosity sparked in Maera's eyes as she inquired, "Sense what?" Aemond's gaze, however, traveled down to her lower stomach, where the unborn child nestled beneath her skin. Though there were no visible signs of life yet, the dragon's awareness of the growing life within Maera left her astounded.

"Oh," Maera responded, turning her attention back to Vhagar. The revelation of her pregnancy still hung in the air, a realization she was grappling with. Aemond's genuine interest and the dragon's uncanny awareness brought a sense of comfort, easing the uncertainties that lingered in the wake of impending parenthood.

The remaining sunlight, veiled behind grey clouds, was momentarily blocked again by a large black shadow, casting a subtle gloom over the cliffside. Before long, the vibrations of a thump resonated through the ground, heralding the arrival of another majestic presence. Appearing over the rocks, Ēbrion emerged—a formidable figure, dark blue and black scales gleaming in the subdued light. Each of his gigantic footsteps sent tremors through the earth, and Maera couldn't help but smile at the sight of the dragon she had grown familiar with.

As Ēbrion wandered over to the group, Maera felt the magnitude of his presence, and a chuckle escaped her lips at a whimsical thought. She entertained the idea that the blue dragon might be experiencing a touch of jealousy, watching her give attention to Vhagar.

The giant blue beast stood beside Vhagar, the camaraderie between the two dragons taking an unexpected turn in an instant. With a powerful nudge of his head, Ēbrion inadvertently disrupted Vhagar's connection with Maera, moving the older dragon's head away from her touch. Vhagar, roused from the moment, responded with an angry roar that echoed through the cliffside. The air crackled with tension as the two dragons exchanged hostile glares, their eyes ablaze with fiery intensity.

Aemond, sensing the need to restore order, attempted to capture Vhagar's attention.

“Dohaerās, Vhagar. Lykirī,” Serve, Vhagar. Be Calm, Aemond commanded his mount with a stern tone. However, Ēbrion, protective and assertive, leaned his head down, emitting a warning growl that echoed with authority. The narrow pupils of the blue dragon focused intently on the prince, a clear declaration of his stance in maintaining control. The dynamics between the dragons added an unexpected layer of drama to the air, a reminder of the untamed power that existed within these formidable creatures.

Out of instinct and a surge of protective urgency, Maera grasped Aemond's forearm and swiftly yanked him toward her. In this sudden move, her body positioned itself protectively in front of his. Aemond, though not entirely pleased with this rearrangement, responded by placing his hands on her hips, fingers digging in as he attempted to reposition his wife to what he perceived as safety behind him. Sensing the need for a calming influence, Maera called up to Ēbrion in a commanding yet softly spoken voice.

“Rȳbās Ēbrion. Kelītīs, rāpirī,” Listen Ēbrion. Stop, it’s ok. The words drew the dragon's immediate attention. The mighty beast pulled his face back, covering his teeth, and his pupils expanded as he fixated on Maera. She keenly observed the subtle signs of relaxation in Ēbrion's muscles, a silent acknowledgment that her words had reached and pacified the formidable dragon. She breathed a sigh of relief, grateful that the situation hadn't escalated further, sparing her husband from any potential harm.

With the immediate threat diffused, Maera stepped forward, feeling the absence of Aemond's hands on her hips. Approaching Ēbrion, she extended a hand to his face, a gesture of reassurance. Then, leaning against the dragon's formidable form, she pressed her face into one of his scales, finding solace in the heat of the creature with a smile. The unspoken understanding, the calming influence she held over the mighty creature, and the comfort she found in his presence all hinted at a relationship that transcended mere proximity.

As Maera caressed Ēbrion’s scales, she turned her head slightly, catching sight of Aemond staring at her in awe. His widened violet eye reflected a mix of astonishment and admiration, lips slightly parted in silent wonder. The tableau of admiration painted on Aemond's face spoke volumes about the profundity of the connection unfolding before him.

“You are bonded to him.”

Notes: I am genuinely so sick of being sick, this is week three! Doctors have said it’s viral so there’s nothing I can do.

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