#15 weeks of phantom

[fdelopera]

Welcome to the 54th installment of 15 Weeks of Phantom, where I post all 68 sections of Le Fantôme de l’Opéra, as they were first printed in Le Gaulois newspaper 115 yeas ago.

In today’s installment, we have Part II of Chapter 23, “Intéressantes et instructives tribulations d’un Persan dans les dessous de l’Opéra: Recit du Persan” (Interesting and Informative Tribulations of a Persian in the Underside of the Opera: The Persian’s Narrative).

This section was first printed on Monday, 20 December, 1909.

For anyone following along in David Coward's translation of the First Edition of Phantom of the Opera (either in paperback, or Kindle, or from another vendor -- the ISBN-13 is: 978-0199694570), the text starts in Chapter 22, “It followed me, went where I went, and it was so silky-smooth on the ear that I felt no fear,” and goes to, “On that occasion, I also discovered the secret tunnel which led to the spring which trickled out of the wall, the cell dug out by the Communards and the trap which acted as Erik’s short cut down to the third level.”

There are some differences between the Gaulois text and the First Edition. In this section, these include (highlighted in red above):

1) Each chapter in the Gaulois publication is one number ahead of the chapters in the First Edition, due to the inclusion of “The Magic Envelope” chapter in the Gaulois.

2) Compare the Gaulois text:

…je l'avais moi-même trop étudié jadis avec Erik pour ignorer combien quelquefois, avec les trucs les plus simples, quelqu'un qui connaît son métier peut fair travailler la pauvre imagination humaine.

Translation:

…I myself had studied the subject too much in days past with Erik to remain unaware of how much, with the simplest of tricks, one who knows his trade can manipulate the weak human imagination.

To the First Edition:

…je l'avais moi-même trop étudié jadis : avec les trucs les plus simples, quelqu'un qui connaît son métier peut fair travailler la pauvre imagination humaine.

Translation:

…I myself had studied the subject too much in days past: with the simplest of tricks, one who knows his trade can manipulate the weak human imagination.

3) Compare the Gaulois text:

cet air terrible

Translation:

that terrifying look

To the First Edition:

cet air de menace enfantine 

Translation:

that look of childish menace

4) Compare the Gaulois text:

demanda-t-il en reprenant son air enjoué 

Translation:

he asked, regaining his cheerful air

To the First Edition:

demanda-t-il en prenant un air aimable 

Translation:

he asked, taking on an amiable air

5) Compare the Gaulois text:

fin juillet 1909 

Translation:

late July, 1909

To the First Edition:

fin juillet 1900* 

Translation:

late July, 1900

* NOTE: The First Edition incorrectly states that the newspaper article in question was dated July, 1900. The article that Leroux was likely referencing was this front-page piece, "Le Dé-Tham vient de nous tuer,“ which appeared in Le Matin on 28 July, 1909.

6) This text appeared in the Gaulois, but was removed from the First Edition:

au bord d'une rivière 

Translation:

on a riverbank

7) The text highlighted in blue above indicates an anachronism in Leroux’s narrative. As we recall from Chapter 8, Erik abducted Christine on the same night that he caused the chandelier to crash. In this chapter, however, the Persian accuses Erik of causing the chandelier crash some time before he abducted Christine.

8) Compare the Gaulois text:

Ah ! ricana-t-il, ça, le lustre… je peux bien te le dire !… Le lustre, ça n'est pas moi !… Il était très usé, le lustre… et je n'étais pas chargé, n'est-ce pas ? de le réparer.

Translation:

"Ah!” he laughted, “the chandelier… I can tell you about that!… The chandelier, that wasn’t to do with me!… It was very worn, the chandelier was… and I wasn’t responsible for fixing it, was I?”

To the First Edition:

Ah ! ricana-t-il, ça, le lustre… je veux bien te le dire !… Le lustre, ça n'est pas moi !… Il était très usé, le lustre…

Translation:

“Ah!” he laughted, “the chandelier… I will tell you about that!… The chandelier, that wasn’t to do with me!… It was very worn, the chandelier was…”

9) Compare the Gaulois text:

fatal nocher

Translation:

grim ferryman of the Underworld

To the First Edition -- NOTE: this is a typo:

fatal rocher** 

Translation of this typo:

grim rock

** NOTE: This is the typo to end all typos! Read more about it here.

ALSO NOTE: Coward (mis)translated this typo literally as “wrecking rock.” In fact, the other major English translators who worked from the First Edition text also (mis)translated this phrase.

A notable exception is Lowell Bair, who based his 1990 translation of The Phantom of the Opera on a later abridged French edition of Leroux's novel, which corrected several of Leroux's First Edition typos, including "fatal rocher." Bair translated "fatal nocher" correctly as "the grim ferryman from the Styx." Unfortunately, since the French edition that Bair was translating from was abridged, Bair's translation is also abridged. Other than being abridged, it is one of the better English translations of Leroux's novel.

It is baffling why the First Edition translators didn’t sense that this was a typo, because "fatal nocher" was a common French literary phrase used to describe Charon, the grim ferryman of Hades in Greek mythology. It should have been easy enough to guess that the First Edition had misprinted the "n" as an "r".

The job of a translator isn’t to highlight an author’s mistakes; it is to make the author look their best in another language. It is not ethical for a translator to translate a typo literally without context. The First Edition translators should have rendered the phrase correctly, and then mentioned the "fatal rocher" typo in a footnote.

As it is, all the First Edition translators have transformed Erik from the "Grim Ferryman" into into a "Grim Rock." It would be a cool band name -- Erik could be the "Grim Rocker" -- but it's still not what Leroux wrote or intended.

10) Compare the Gaulois text:

S'ils avaient vu seulement ce dont Erik était capable

Translation:

If they had only seen what Erik was capable of

To the First Edition:

S'ils avaient su seulement ce dont Erik était capable

Translation:

If they had only known what Erik was capable of

11) Minor differences in punctuation, capitalization, and italicization.

Click here to see the entire edition of Le Gaulois from 20 December, 1909. This link brings you to page 3 of the newspaper — Le Fantôme is at the bottom of the page in the feuilleton section. Click on the arrow buttons at the bottom of the screen to turn the pages of the newspaper, and click on the Zoom button at the bottom left to magnify the text.

[bet-on-me-13]

Thats not Fair!?

So! Danny is a Member of the JLA. He is a Millenia Old Ghost who is stuck looking the same as the day he died, so he never aged over all those Centuries. While the JLA is slightly uncomfortable at him being on the Team, they know his circumstances and try to ignore his appearance. He can't control it, its not his Fault.

Or at least, that's what he tells them.

Danny is in fact, a 15 Yr Old Kid, who used his experience as a Time Traveler to trick the JLA into letting him join the Adult Team. He is actually doing a good job in tricking them!

Then, in a complete accident, he runs into Jazz while talking to a few fellow Leaguers.

She showers him in older sister love, hugging him and giving him Nuggies, and when a Leaguer asks how old she is she says "Oh I'm 17, 2 whole years older than this little scamp!"

So there goes that lie.

Fortunately, the League decides to let Danny stay on the Adult Team.

Unfortunately, Young Justice learned about his admittance to the Adult Team and kind of lost it.

"What?! Why is HE allowed on the Adult Team!? He's only been a Hero for a Year! We've all been Heroes for so much longer!?! And for that matter why is Shazam still on the Team!? Is that the new Rule? If you can trick us into letting you in the Team you can stay? Cause we can do that! We can sneak our way in too!"

Basically I want to imagine YJ's reaction to 2 Child Heroes on the Adult Team when they are stuck on the "Baby Team"

I think it would be funny.

[giotanner]

Padawan Obi-Wan Kenobi and Padawan Anakin Skywalker (close up!) | Commission for this fanfiction: x Did you notice? In this AU Obi-Wan's Master is Dooku that is why Obi-Wan's lightsaber is similar to his Master's lightsaber! For those who have been following me for a while know 𝘩𝘰𝘸 𝘮𝘶𝘤𝘩 𝘐 𝘭𝘰𝘷𝘦 𝘥𝘳𝘢𝘸𝘪𝘯𝘨 Padawan Obi-Wan, in the same way I love these AUs. There is a very 𝙨𝙞𝙢𝙥𝙡𝙚 reason: Anakin and Obi-Wan had a 𝙜𝙧𝙞𝙢 𝙛𝙪𝙩𝙪𝙧𝙚 filled with pain in front of them. Here, however, they were still under the 𝘱𝘳𝘰𝘵𝘦𝘤𝘵𝘪𝘷𝘦 𝘮𝘢𝘯𝘵𝘭𝘦 of their Masters, already trained for battles and wounds, but 𝙨𝙩𝙞𝙡𝙡 𝙬𝙞𝙩𝙝 𝙡𝙞𝙜𝙝𝙩 𝙞𝙣 𝙩𝙝𝙚𝙞𝙧 𝙚𝙮𝙚𝙨.

for a WEEK (end 08/june/) you have 15% on my PRINTS, the code is EVMWTBZD

Instagram | PRINTS

[jamiethebeeart]

Full Hazmat AU: I've never bothered with it before because it's just??? So Much to draw

[legolasghosty]

let's doooooooooooo 57 please! :D

Welp, not very exciting words, but words none the less!

It was almost a full three hours later when they finally hung up the phone. Julie wasn’t exactly surprised by how long it took to explain the entire situation to all parties, but she was exhausted. The constant need to sort out who had been told what parts of the story took more power than her brain apparently had.

(Send me a number and I'll write that many words on my WIP and show you!)

[moonstruckme]

Thawing Out

summary: You and Sirius are in dire need of a new coach just weeks before the Olympics. Remus is a former figure skating prodigy forced to retire after a career-ending injury. Though it's not smooth skating right away, those stiff Olympic village beds are dying to be broken in.

collab with @ellecdc

part 1 | part 2 | part 3 | part 4 | part 5 | part 6 | part 7 | part 8 | part 9 | part 10 | part 11 | part 12 | part 13 | part 14 | part 15 | part 16

cw: modern au, chronic pain

poly!wolfstar x fem!reader ♡ 1.3k words

Remus still wakes before dark every morning. It’s automatic, an urgency and excitement that thrums through him like an old instinct, born from years of his alarm clock rousing him at this time. The rink is always at its best right now, when they’ve just finished resurfacing the ice and no one else is around. It was Remus’ favorite time to practice. 

Now, he has a new reason to get up. His hip clicks as he does it, so he starts his day with a couple of proactive painkillers. If he really wanted to be proactive he would stretch like he’s supposed to, but there’s no time and Remus doesn’t feel like it. He’ll pay his toll for the negligence later. 

The webpage of his Airbnb boasted a five-minute walk to the rink, but with his hip it takes Remus seven. It’s like an odd sort of muscle memory, an old routine from another life that feels as bitter as it does comfortable. He heads out early to give himself some cushion. The streets are empty but for bakers and baristas, the first hints of dawn tinging the sky a deep blue. When he turns a corner and the rink comes into view, the absence of his bag hanging from his shoulder is a phantom ache. 

The front doors are locked but the side one staff uses isn’t, the Zamboni driver already inside. Remus lets himself in, makes a cup of tea from the hot water dispenser they leave out when concessions are closed, plants himself on a bench, and waits. 

And waits. 

And waits. 

Remus has nearly nodded off when two pairs of shoes come bounding up to him. Well, one pair bounds. The other drags. 

“Hi, sorry we’re late.” You’re breathless and hauling a sullen-looking boy along behind you by the hand, but you manage a smile when Remus looks up at you. “I had to run over and get him out of bed. It’s good to meet you!”

You hold out your untethered hand. Remus might normally stand to take it, but he no longer feels like doing you the courtesy. Your grip is firm and warm. 

“You were supposed to be here at six,” he says. 

You wince. “I know. Sorry, Sirius is really not a morning person.” 

Remus thinks that he might put more stock into your apologies if you looked a tad more contrite. As it is, your countenance is almost cheery, a fizzy eagerness about you as you look between him and the ice like you can’t wait to get out on it. 

In stark contrast, the ill-tempered boy behind you seems not to have a clue where he is. He looks rumpled and disoriented, squinting in the rink’s fluorescent light. 

“Then why didn’t you pick another time?” Remus asks. 

He hadn’t realized he was still looking at Sirius, or that the other boy could talk, so it’s a surprise when he answers. “Wasn’t my bloody idea.” 

By the way you grin, Remus wonders if you’ve even heard the obvious bitterness in your partner’s tone, or whether it’s gone straight over your head. 

“I like the rink better early,” you explain. “No one else ever comes before the hockey practice starts at nine, and they’ll have just finished resurfacing the ice.” 

Begrudgingly, Remus nods. “I always preferred it about now, too.” 

He realizes immediately that his agreement was a mistake, because your smile grows into something far too brilliant for the early hour. Christ, what has he gotten himself into? There’s you, starry-eyed and effervescing all over the place, and your partner, who looks more inclined to fall asleep on your shoulder than put on his skates. 

And this is the pair skating duo Remus is supposed to take to the Olympics. 

─── ⋆⋅☆⋅⋆ ───

“Watch that back foot!” Remus shouts across the ice.

Sirius doesn’t look happy about it, but he corrects the placement of his skate, transitioning smoothly into the next synced turn. 

“Good,” Remus murmurs to himself. 

Once Sirius got out on the ice and woke up a bit, he was good. He skates with the technical proficiency of someone who’s been in the sport since before they started primary school, and the intuitive artistry of someone who loves it. You’re much the same, though your virtuosity and obvious competence are consistently undercut by hesitation, the grace of your movements interrupted when you second-guess yourself. But these—technical prowess paired with devotion—are the basics of what makes a good figure skater. You’ll have to be flawless if you want to do well at the Olympics. 

And Remus has found many flaws. 

“No, no—shit!” Remus stands as you fall out of your jump again, catching yourself on your forearms. “You’re still under-rotating! Come on!” 

Sirius snarls a quick “Hey!” over his shoulder before turning his back on Remus, going to help you up. He speaks to you quietly, checking you over as you stand. Remus seethes. 

He has no clue why he’s been called out here to coach a pair. Remus doesn’t know pairs, has never been a part of one. He was a solo skater. And frankly, it makes him wary that what’s supposed to be the best skating pair in Britain has asked him, a former solo skater who’s been isolated from the figure skating community in general for the past two years, to coach them. But Remus does know figure skating. And he knows when skaters are making stupid mistakes behind their skill level. 

“What aren’t you understanding?” asks Remus as you skate back to the edge of the rink. He really wants to know. “It’s simple. You can do this.” He knows he could have. As easy as breathing, and he would kill to have the chance again. 

“What the fuck is your problem?” 

Sirius’ glare is sharp as knives. He steps off the ice before you can, positioning himself between you and Remus. Your lips purse with a knowing sort of apprehension. 

“Sirius…” 

“No, you don’t talk to her like that,” Sirius spits. “It was a tiny mistake.” 

Remus raises his eyebrows, incredulous. “I’m trying to help her! It was a giant mistake, with a simple fix. You ought to be telling her the same, unless you’re okay with your partner snapping her ankle weeks out from competition.” 

“None of that means you get to fucking yell at her! Who do you think you are?” 

“Okay—” 

“I’m her coach,” says Remus, voice rising, “and—”

“Then coach her! Maybe if you’d give some actual fucking feedback instead of just nitpicking—” 

“Okay!” Your shout cuts through the space, echoing in the empty rink and silencing the other two. “That’s enough.” 

You haul Sirius back by his shoulder. Your grip doesn’t look severe enough to move him, but he goes, stepping back to your side. His eyes never leave Remus’. 

Your own gaze jumps between both boys, that same spark he’d seen in you earlier burning with a different light. 

“Let’s call it for today,” you say firmly. “Okay? We’ll try again tomorrow.” 

Neither boy speaks, though Remus nods. It seems to be taking all of Sirius’ willpower to bite his tongue. He gets the impression it isn’t something he succeeds at often, so Remus isn’t ashamed to say that it brings him a perverse sort of joy to see it now. His tiny bit of smugness fizzles out, though, when your eyes land on him. There’s something desolate in your expression that’s a salient deviation from how you’d looked at him before. Remus has the sinking feeling that he’s disappointed you. It’s more distressing than he can account for. 

“We’ll be here on time tomorrow,” you say in that same steady tone. “And my jump, I’ll work on it.” 

Remus nods again. You return it, and when you turn to leave, you drag Sirius after you by his shirtsleeve, picking up your bags along your way. Remus’ mouth feels dry. His lips are chapped, his fingertips hurt from the cold, and the sight of your skates sinking into the rubbery floor makes his hip ache terribly. 

It’s only once you’re nearly out of earshot that he manages to mumble, “Thank you.”

[charmingcritter]

Um, hiya! I'm currently in the need of some help!

I've been assigned to create a mini ethnography website for a fandom of my choosing as a final project and I decided to do the Danny Phantom fandom!!! I need some help though,

I've linked a google form above, it has 15 questions with 7 multiple choice questions and 8 written response questions. Answers will be kept anonymous and I won't be collecting emails. I admit, a few of the written questions may get more personable/involved so yeah...

I want to present the fandom in the best way possible so yeah!! Please reblog this to hopefully get more responses in qwq I'll leave it open for a week but thank you in advance to anyone who takes the time to respond!!!! <3

[stephantom]

The source material is too flimsy and inconsistent to bear this debate. Choose whatever interpretation you like. Choose multiple contradictory ones for different fanworks and different moods. Do not attempt to treat it like a logical and consistent reality, except for fun, and know that it’s an impossible task and that other people’s attempted explanations (for fun) do not necessarily reflect on their actual beliefs about reality.

I feel like the ‘the Jedi were too strict with Anakin and it was abusive and that’s why he fell!’ is telling of a certain … power fantasy some Star Wars fans have.

Because Anakin didn’t have to be a Jedi. We know he could’ve left the Order, because that’s what Dooku did. The man’s the most skilled fighter pilot of his era, a capable combatant, has experience with diplomacy, has worked as a bodyguard, etc, etc, he would not even remotely struggle to find work, even without taking into account that his wife is a wealthy senator who could easily support him. Hell, while he’d probably have to give up his lightsaber, it’s not like it’d be impossible for him to build another one – it isn’t illegal for a non-Jedi to own a lightsaber, and it’s clearly possible to acquire lightsaber crystals outside of the Order because, again, Dooku has a lightsaber. It’s not even like he’d have to give up his friendship with Obi-Wan – Obi-Wan has friends who aren’t Jedi, he has a whole bunch of them. So does Yoda.

(Hell, it’s not even like non-Jedi aren’t allowed to use the Force. As Palpatine points out in the Revenge of the Sith novelisation, it’s not even technically illegal to be a Sith Lord.)

The only reason Anakin can’t leave the Order is because he doesn’t want to. He wants everything: He wants the power, prestige, excitement, and community the Jedi offer, but he also wants to not have to follow their rules. 

And I think for quite a lot of people that’s a very relatable thing, right? We want to have it all. The fantasy of being a cool Jedi is, for a lot of people, ruined by the addendum that there are things you would have to forego to do that. That’s one reason why the idea of Grey Jedi, which fully is just that ‘you can have your cake and fuck it too’ is so appealing to so many fans.

But that’s not what life is like, in reality or in fiction. And Anakin’s fall brings that crashing in: He tries to have everything, and he ends up with nothing. Less than nothing, because at the end of it, not only does he not have any of the things he wanted in the first place, but he’s also lost his freedom (because let’s make no mistake, as much of a terrible, gleeful executor of cruelty and misery as he is as Vader, he is also Palpatine’s slave) and his body.

It’s easy and in a way quite appealing to shift the blame elsewhere and go “Well, he could’ve had it all, but people more powerful than him stopped him from doing so.”

[nelkcats]

Conner Phantom, learning to live

It had been a few years since Vlad and Danny had stopped being enemies, years since Amity had been at peace with the ghosts. Danny spent his days teaching his children (he assumed they were his children) about well, everything.

Dan and Ellie had prefabricated knowledge, the halfa couldn't quite get it, but the point was that while they knew who was the creator of the chemistry, they had no idea how to do 2 + 2, so he made it his homework to fill in all the gaps.

No one at Amity blinked at the 30-year-boy-who-was-actually-12 and the 15-year-girl-who-was-actually-4, Danny guessed they had gotten used to the weirdness. One day, Vlad called and pointed out that someone had entered his database a few months ago (apparently he checked his digital security very little when he didn't make "evil" plans) and they had stolen the plans for the cloning capsule. Danny had a bad feeling.

Of course, it was after a month of searching that he found out about Lex Luthor's little "project." To say that he was angry was an understatement; he found the poor Superboy being mind controlled. He felt sad when he remembered Ellie's situation and well, he ended up stealing a clone child and destroying some laboratory. Like old times.

The world did not know of Phantom; Amity was suspicious, almost jealous that their protector could be taken away if they said a word, so they didn't say anything out of the city. It's not like the League did anything when they called. Danny didn't care, less tedious meetings and contingency plans for him. Besides, he wasn't excited about going back to the field if he didn't have to, as long as Amity was safe, the world could be destroyed for all he cared.

He wondered if spending too much time with Dan was affecting him, but in the end he dismissed the thought. Upon arriving home, Superboy had woken up and was being interrogated by the Phantoms. He chose his name to be Conner (sounds good apparently) and agreed to take classes to fill in the gaps of knowledge, just like Ellie, he seemed uncomfortable with the gaps.

The poor boy looked uncomfortable, waiting for the other shoe to drop, but it never did. After finding out whose clone he was, he wondered if they would take him to Superman, but Danny just snorted. By the end of the week, Conner was a Phantom, and he was fine with that. Danny even told him that he could live normally if he wanted to, and the boy happily accepted the offer. Conner didn't want to be a hero, at least not that early, and Danny was happy with his decision.

Danny frowned thinking of all the heroes who would say that is "selfish" for someone with power to not to use it. But he believed that they were doubly selfish. Being a teenage hero wasn't fucking easy. He hugged Conner, welcoming him to the family and within days, the whole town already knew about him (they also knew whose clone he was, but they didn't really care, they weren't snitching).

Curiously, it was Tim Drake who noticed the strange family visiting Gotham (a 23-year-old seemed to be berating a 30-year-old for stealing tires, he snorted at the irony). However he froze when he saw Clark?, but much younger, speaking in Kryptonian and laughing. He called a meeting in the batcave and tried to call the family, but as soon as they saw the expression in his face they vanished from sight.

Hell, he needed to report it to Bruce.

[fdelopera]

On 22 September, 1909, the Parisian daily newspaper, Le Gaulois, ran the advertisement pictured above, announcing the serialization of Gaston Leroux's new novel, Le Fantôme de l'Opéra.

Leroux's novel premiered on 23 September, 1909 — 115 years ago today. It ran for 15 weeks, and it was segmented into 68 sections, each section covering roughly half a chapter's worth of content.

To celebrate 115 years of Le Fantôme de l'Opéra in print, over the next 15 weeks I will be posting all 68 sections of the Gaulois publication of Phantom to my blog. These posts will correspond with the original dates of publication.

Here is a link to Le Gaulois for 22 September, 1909. The advert for Phantom is in the middle of the page.

And in case you are wondering what the text of the advertisement above says, here is my translation:

Weary of purely psychological novels, the public awoke one day with a great desire to hear stories. Straightaway, these stories were served up — tales of bandits and policemen — assuredly quite amusing, but which soon grew tedious in their turn, yet without appeasing the public's thirst for mystery and magic. This is why the Gaulois has requested from one of the public's most rightly beloved authors, M. Gaston Leroux, a novel which, while departing from the genre dear to the Conan Doyles of the Old and New World, is still replete with the delectable inquietude that will give a thrill to the beguiled reader. More than once, this irresistible anguish will conjure in the minds of some of our female readers the dreadful, terrifying, ghostly, and sorrowfully human image, despite all of the illusion that surrounds it, of The Phantom of the Opera. We need not introduce our readers to M. Gaston Leroux, whom it is generally agreed is in possession of the most astonishing suppleness of imagination of which one can conceive, but we would indeed like to say that The Phantom of the Opera is worthy of achieving even greater success in the Gaulois than that which was attained in the Illustration by The Mystery of the Yellow Room and The Perfume of the Lady in Black, by the same author. Tomorrow, this Thursday, in the "Gaulois," read: The Phantom of the Opera by M. Gaston Leroux

[bet-on-me-13]

Stranded Danny AU

Danny gets pulled into a faraway Dimension by a Villain one day, just after the events of Phantom Planet. He is barely 15.

He has no way to get back, but he does manage to unlock the power to make Portals. Unfortunately, none of the dimensions he ends up in are his own, and none have enough Ectoplasm to open portals for very long. It takes up to a week to scrounge up enough Ecto to open a single Portal into the next dimension over.

And none of these worlds have Technology strong enough to take him home either. The few times he did find some tech that could potentially get him home, it never worked or it was destroyed before he could finish it.

He spends well over 30 years of his own Personal Timeline trying to get back to his home dimension, constantly gathering scraps of Ectoplasm and Tech until the day he eventually collected enough to build a safe way home.

But time does not pass the same across dimensions.

What to him was a 30 year long Journey, was actually just 10 for his home Dimension.

And they had to move on without him.

Sam became a Business Woman who used her money to fund Nature Preservation Organizations. She hired Pamela Isley and helped her through her powers when she became Poison Ivy (still a Villain, but secretly working for Sam)

Tucker got a high ranking job at Star Labs, and helped Cyborg come to terms with his new life when he became a cyborg. He even helped upgrade his tech a few times.

Jazz became a successful Psychiatrist, and now works under Daina Lance as one of the Justice League's top Therapists, specifically their Child Psychologist for young Heroes

Ellie took his place as a Hero and became the new protector of Amity after he dissappear. After the Justice League was formed, she joined them and became one of their best members, always working and nor really taking many breaks.

They always wondered what happened to Danny, and spent many years trying to figure out what happened to him, but never succeeded. They finally began to assume that he was fully dead after a few years of searching. They had enough time to come to terms with it.

...

So one night, while a 22 yr old Ellie is resting on one of her rare days off, she gets called in by the League about a possible Dimensional Breach near her Home Town. JLD was deployed to investigate, and she was asked to tag along since she was the Resident Hero of the area.

But she refuses, thinking it's just some random ghost trying to enter the Living Realm illegally after she began regulating the Portal. JLD would be able to handle it on their own, let her sleep on her day off!

Meanwhile, JLD has located the spot where the Dimensional Breach is about to appear. They surround the Area, and prepare to interrogate whoever is about to appear, or deal with them if need be.

Space begins to tear apart as the fabric of Reality breaks apart at the seams. And from that wound in existence, an Adult Danny steps out. He is 44 years old, and looks like a less buff version of Dan without the mustache (basically imagine Danny as Ford Pines from Gravity Falls)

The JLD can sense that he is strong, but not too much so. It feels like he is powerful, but like that power has been starved for a while.

"Who are you?" Asks Wonderwoman, ready to jump into battle if needed. "What are your intentions in this World?"

Danny ignores them. He is staring into the Night Sky, eyes wide. The Constellations he hadn't seen in 30 years were there. The stars were in the right locations. He takes a deep breath, tasting the amount of Ectoplasm in thr Air. This is it. He's home. He's finally home.

"Finally" He says breathlessly. A slightly manic Grin on his face.

"What the hell does that mean?" Demands Constantine. The grin had unsettled him, and he began preparing a few spells just to be sure.

Danny ignored him again, this time deciding to close his eyes and finally eat his fill of Ectoplasm for the first time in 30 years. He was ravenous, this was the first decent Meal of Ectoplasm he had been able to have in 30 years. He was giddy, he was so happy to finally be home.

However the Heroes didn't know what was happening. All they knew was that some guy had ripped a hole in reality, said "finally" with a crazy grin on his face, and started emitting a dangerous amount of Death Energy for no apparent reason.

Constantine reacts on impulse, trying to cast a Banishing Spell on this guy.

Danny, feeling the spell begin to pull him away from his home after he had just found it again after Thirty. Fucking. Years. Does something that he would consider reasonable.

He quickly dashes over to Constantine and slams him through a tree.

This sparks a fight between Danny and the JLD. And at first he is having some serious trouble, but as he continues to feed on Ectoplasm and recover his strength, he becomes progressively more Powerful. It comes to the point where the JLD can't keep up anymore, and call in Backup.

Ellie was enjoying her night off, but the desperate Call from JLD about a powerful Entity at the edge of Amity finally got her going.

She rushes over and slams into Danny just as he is about to attack Constantine again. Neither of them recognize eachother, since they have changed since they were kids (Danny moreso) and continue to Duke it out.

Ellie is trying to banter with him, but Danny is really angry at this point. So he resorts to his final attack, his Ghostly Wail.

He levels a good chuck of the Forest, and in the end he is standing over Ellie as his anger fades. He says "Sorry" and he starts taking a look around him to see if there is anybody else.

Ellie is on the ground, shaken because she recognized that power.

She gets up, and asks "Danny?"

Danny finally gets a good look at her and says, and says "Ellie?"

Meanwhile JLD still has ringing in their ears and thinks that Ellie just called Danny "Daddy"

(Which makes sense because of the new age difference)

[corinnetheanime]

Angrboda Battlesuit - Phantom Series

Finally finished. My hand hurts, but it was worth it. Thank goodness my work schedule changed for the week.

Anyway, the ref is done. This took a LONG time to finish, at least 15 hours from today alone. But I'm happy with how it came out. Danny's hair arguably was the hardest part. XD

The spear, Lancea Longini (or Spear of Destiny) is not a part of the battle-suit itself, it's actually a weapon Danny inherited for... well, specific reasons. It's presently in the inactive and active phases as shown. Danny can summon and unsummon it at will if the situation requires it.

You can also see the company's symbol on the back of the suit. :D

And finally, Danny is a lot older here. Aiming for around 19-23 age range. Feel free to do fanart or whatnot, I'm just really happy this is finished.

[unadulteratedsoulsweets]

A DC X DP IDEA #22

Back in my day.

Imagine dis…

Alfred is a whole mystery to the Batfam that whenever he pulls out his shotgun we are in awe at this kickass badass British butler, on the other hand, we are always in the shadows of his past endeavors. We all knew he was a S.A.S. Armed Services, fighting in 15 different operations between ages 18 and 20. A skilled medical and front liner soldier who was decorated. He later joined MI5, as well as the secret forces of the Queen and later being knighted by Her Majesty.

He is silent as he comes by, he can out Batman the Batman despite Bruce learning from the greatest assassin of all time. He is calm, too calm for any situation to the point your subconscious asks if he had seen something wilder, more insane to consider an alien attack, a mutant crocodile attack every Tuesday is considered somewhat tame, or even the rise of global or universal threats that Alfred seemed to brush it off.

So, who is he?

…

Alfred Pennyworth had always been a mysterious figure. He had dedicated his life to serving the Wayne family and their caped crusader alter-egos as Bruce Wayne's loyal butler and the revered keeper of Wayne Manor. But Alfred had held a secret for decades, one that would finally come to light most unexpectedly.

Alfred was a teenager called Danny Fenton long before he donned the perfect suit and tie. He lived in the small town of Amity Park, which was riddled with secrets of its own. Danny was not your typical adolescent; he had a strange encounter with a ghostly gateway that had bestowed upon him unusual and otherworldly skills. He had protected Amity Park from vengeful ghosts and spectral threats thanks to his power to shift into a phantom hero known as Danny Phantom.

Danny had just recently been crowned as the crowned prince of the Infinite Realm a week after he had defeated the tyrant Pariah Dark who had attempted to rip off a space in the fabric of in-between just to suck in his little quaint town. It was determined by both the ancient and the Observants that it was better for him to finish his mortal life before he dawns on the crown, as he was still growing, he was still considered a baby ghost younger than Young Blood as his death was still recent.

But slowly the thoughts that he had kept behind his head are coming back to him. Jazz his beloved sister as well as the one who had raised her despite being a child herself who had no idea of raising a child, may analyze her all she wants but she could never sympathize nor connect with his inner thoughts of being one of the halfas. He died, he never really had the time to process it because he had to face the Lunch Lady just a few days after the accident. 

His friends, now looking at them closely, have seen that they both have some sort of guilt in their eyes. They both have seen him die amid the electrician, he can’t help but feel some sort of longing at the cemetery the north of Amity Park, he is too alive to have a grave yet too dead to be alive.

He thought he was getting there, changing the views of the people. To show the world that his kind is sentient but the people kept whispering. Shadows cast long by the looming specters sent chills down their spines. Every eerie wail or flicker of a ghostly presence filled them with dread. Their eyes widened in terror as the ethereal figures materialized before them. A hushed silence fell over the town when ghostly battles raged in the skies. Parents warned their children to stay indoors when the ghost alarms rang. Fearful whispers of the "Ghost Boy" circulated, both a hero and a phantom menace. 

The ghostly encounters left scars of fear etched in the minds of Amity Park's residents.

In the end, he was forced to leave his home dimension, why? It’s because the GIW have become more vicious more brutal at their hunting, With the sacrifice of both his friends and family they have shoved him into the portal, never to be seen again.

…

All bloodied and still injured he had landed in a period in the early 1900. He thought that he may have accidentally traveled back in time but when he saw too many conflicting events that he had learned during his high school days that didn’t happen during this time led him to believe that he had traveled a different dimension. Small ripples in the water created a tsunami of change in what he previously known as the past, when he was still in the streets gathering information, he had noticed that he landed in the middle of London during the early 1900s. Good enough that child labor laws are still not a thing so he can work with practically anyone without questions asked. The bad news is that his supposed great-grandfather's version in this dimension had already died, according to his family tree history during his science project in 4th grade his great-grandfather went to London to earn a few bucks before traveling back to America where he would meet his supposed great grandmother and have children. Since he died before he even went back to America the Nightgale-Fenton line died with him.

Luckily a barren couple took pity on him and took him in, since Danny can’t no longer bear his original last name, he embraced the new name from this nice couple who had taken him in. Danny may have felt guilty at the prospect or even the idea of replacing his family but he can’t help but think of it as a new beginning of his life. No one to hunt down his ghostly half, No GIW, and No fruit loop trying to turn him into his heir.

Alfred Pennyworth

During this time he did a lot of odd jobs, cleaning the inside of a chimney, mining, selling newspapers… etc. Sure, it was hard work and he can’t help but look at the children far younger than him taking in jobs far more dangerous just so they can shave something to eat. He can’t help but feel too blessed when he was back in his timeline. Warn food to eat under a sturdy roof to keep out the elements as well as education. Things that were too mundane, too common, that he now feels like a luxury. 

Over time he developed an accent as well as new mannerisms and vocabulary. 

So, when war broke out on the horizon his core ached at the notion of protection thus signed up in the military. 

Sure, he became the most feared soldier in the fields due to his using some of his ghostly abilities subtly. His enemies who stand in front of him call him The Vengeful Orphan, due to his avenging every soldier who seems to die at the hands of their enemies. 

Between the ages of 18 and 20, he served in the S.A.S. Armed Services, engaging in 15 different actions. A decorated medical specialist and front-line soldier. He then joined MI5, as well as the Queen's secret forces, and was knighted by Her Majesty.

…

As time passes by the ages, slowly but surely. He had already outlived his adoptive parents and friends of his. He still held the authority of being the officially crowned prince of the Infinite Realms. He had already explored the world experiencing the culture and history of this world.

At this time, he had already recovered enough ectoplasm to turn back to his ghostly prime and create a portal to the Infinite Realms. But something in him nagged, his core kept trying to tell him something when he was about to take a step inside the portal, but he didn’t seem to know why. His years as Phantom and Alfred Pennyworth taught him to listen to his guts, and it saved him multiple times, without looking back he stayed in this dimension until his mortal life perished.

It seemed that he didn’t have to find it for too long as he was approached by none other than Thomas Wayne with the preposition to be Wayne’s butler.

So, when little Bruce Wayne was born he couldn’t help but feel a little fond of the tyke. He reminded Bruce of himself when he was just a simple young boy before everything. When the fated, night came he tried to shield Bruce from everything, to have him resemble a somewhat normal life. 

That night he tucked in a teary-eyed Bruce into bed who had just witnessed his parent’s murder. He faced the ghosts of both Martha and Thomas who had been with the young master since the incident a few hours ago and tearfully promised the two ghostly couple that he would take care of Bruce. Both couples seemed to be in shock at their butler who had seen them but felt relief that their boy was in safe hands.

…

When his ward Bruce Wayne turned into a crime-fighting vigilante, he can’t help but softly snort at his outfit. Sure, he admits he had a worse outfit when he started as Phantom when he was just a young lad but he is willing to take anything other than a furry suit that fights crime at night. He has no right to criticize either since his alter ego is just him with an inverted color without a mask yet people seem to make no connection between him and Phantom, in his defense he is a young teen whereas Bruce is in his 20s. He just raised an eyebrow at his outfit and Bruce immediately changed the design to be a bit more sophisticated than just a Halloween costume of a bat.

…

So when Bruce starts to bring in orphans he can’t help but smile fondly as the manor is slowly filled with such joy from each child that seems to find a home in the large manor. He can't help but reminisce if this could have been his life if Vlad had learned to forgive Jack or if his parents and Amity Park just accepted him if the GIW didn’t exist. He thought one day when he was drinking tea with Jason, Jason who died and came back different, never broken. His grandchild who experienced his death in a slow yet painful way died and came back later. He knew there was something different with his grave but he chalked it up in being his ghostly sense sensing the ectoplasm around Gotham. He just wished he checked the grave even though it holds so much sentimental value to the dead. 

Don’t get him wrong the moment Jason came back to enact his revenge on B he was already aware something was in Gotham he just didn’t know at the time that it was Jason. He is more than happy to kill the Joker as he had taken mortal lives when he was serving the army but Bruce might notice and he still held fear at the idea of Dan.

After the entire revelation between his son and grandchild, he just welcomed back Jason into the manor as if nothing was wrong with the boy and prepared his favorite dish and snacks in the library whenever he visited.

…

Now it had been a long way since he entered this dimension, now the long table at the manor is filled with guests and children alike. His grandchildren are full of life despite what had life thrown at them. Dick was the first one to arrive and started, Barbara followed, Jason who took off the wheel, Tim with his brilliant mind with his worrying caffeine intake, Stephanie who fought with his father, Cassandra who started just to atone for the sin of killing her father yet became loyal and caring young lady and Damian who started to learn what humanity is like. Sure others had been emotionally adopted but all of them all have places in the manor.

…

His grandchildren as well as his pseudo son kept throwing him curious glances every time, He managed to seemingly appear behind them to notify them of dinner. He can also feel the envy of walking silently from the assassin-trained children. He can feel Bruce’s stare whenever he raises an eyebrow at some classified cases that are supposedly secured. He can hear their whispers as they exclaim to one another that he supposedly knew everything, of course, he knew everything the manor became his new haunt after a few years.

…

He already raised an eyebrow at the simultaneous alarm from every vigilante at the dinner table but imagine his surprise when he joined in looking over the Bat computer as Oracle barked out orders and instructions, as a familiar opponent showed itself.

A green glowing monster is wreaking havoc throughout Gotham it came from Central City and marched its way here to Gotham which became even more powerful due to the ectoplasm in the air. There is already notable damage from both cities as the rest of the heroes seem to work together to evacuate and stop the creature. The JLD attacks seem to have some effect but it was useless due to its minions that kept them occupied. Oracle is so focused on the situation and doesn’t notify their pseudo grandfather to disappear from behind her.

…

The entire JL is starting to feel hopeless as the green creature seems to raze Gotham as if the stone road is made out of water. Every magician and heavy hitter have been called but no one was able to put damage to the creature.

When all hopes seemed lost, they all heard a loud bang from a shotgun.

Alfred Pennyworth is standing on top of a rubble of concrete and metal, the butler of Batman, the pseudo father, and grandfather of the entire bat clan, also known as Agent A. Carrying his signature shotgun and a thermos that seems to strap to his hip like a belt. 

He kept firing round after round from his trusty old shotgun and pausing for a second to reload. He glanced at the heroes around and seemed to raise an eyebrow at the absolute massacre that he had just done to the creature’s minions.

As he paused to take another reload, he paused at movement and looked at the space in front of him and waited. The creature appeared roaring out in fury but seemed to pause the moment it laid eyes on Alfred. The creature seems to shake with uncertainty and fear. Every vigilante and hero present could see its eyes growing wide from shock and fear as well the cold sweat as Alfred raised an eyebrow at the creature as he slowly walked towards the creature with annoyance with every step.

Some heroes who had enhanced hearing could hear Alfred muttering about, back in his day blob ghosts were these cute and harmless things but now some up-start wannabe newly formed one seems to think he is all hot shot. 

He proceeds to scold the creature as if he had just caught one of his grandchildren sneaking their hands on the cookie jar and proceeds to take out the thermos and effectively catch the creature. As if the one responsible for the mess never existed in the first place.

Now the bat clan has rules when they are in the manor or the presence of Alfred and one of those rules is that there will be no swearing when he is around, but there is one word that seems to resound from each hero's mind.

What the fuck just happened?!?!

…

Now as you know I started to post less, now it is both from writer’s block and class being in the way.

PS: If someone out there wanted to continue or make a fic about this you are free to do so, don’t forget to tag me though.

[jewishcissiekj]

Average 19 yo

"Average 19 yo" and then it's a picture of Aurra Sing in TPM

[thevoidstaredback]

Tales of Conquest, Warnings of Fools:

Letters Between Brothers

Damian Wayne,   Jan 15, 2014

Thank the gods you’re okay! I was so worried! When you didn’t answer, I assumed the worst, and then I saw the news and I freaked out! Seeing as you didn’t mention anything about accepting my help, I’m going to assume you don’t need it right now. The offer will remain open, however.

A lot has happened since my last letter, though you’ll forgive me for not going into detail. It’s gonna be a pain to get this to you at all, let alone if it had been filled with everything I want to say. What I can and will tell you is that my town has been put under a soft lock-in and a Media Blackout. Things and people and news can come in, but almost nothing and no one can go out. Everything is screened before it’s even considered for being able to leave the city lines. Something is here that the government doesn't want to get out to the general public. It took a lot to be able to even get this out, hence the huge amount of time between me writing it and you getting it.

I’ll keep the line open, but it might take a while for my responses to get to you.

Ancients, I hope you can come visit soon. If you need an excuse, we’ve got the only female purple-back gorilla in town! Her name’s Delilah. I can teach you how to communicate with her if you’d like!

Anyway, I gotta go.

من الجيد أن أسمع منك يا أخي.

Danyal

***

Danny was tired. He was ready to sleep for a week. He doesn’t care that he’s not gonna be allowed to because he’s gonna do it anyway. After beating Pariah Dark, Danny had laid on the floor for a solid hour before moving. When he finally got up, he moved the crown and ring to sit on the cushion of the throne. The orb he kept with him. He was gentle with it, careful to not hole it too tightly or too lightly. Then, he flew back to where Amity Park was floating.

“Where were you!” Sam demanded the second he landed in her room.

“Finding a way out of the Zone,” he said.

“And?” Tucker prompted, “Do we have a way home?”

Danny paused and then groaned. “Noooo.”

Sam inhaled deeply, frustration dripping from her voice like honey. “Then what took you so long to come back?”

Tucker finally looked up from his PDA and then startled. “Dude! You’re hurt! What the hell?”

“What?!” Sam screamed.

Danny looked down at himself. “Oh, yeah, did I forget to mention that?”

“Dude!”

“Okay, okay! So, you know that really scary Ghost King guy that Vlad decided to wake up because he’s a piss-baby who wants power?”

“Yeah?”

“Well,” he looked away from them and then held up his right hand, showing them the fire orb in his hand. “This is maybe kinda all that’s left of him.”

“Danny!” They both jumped away from him. “Did you bring the fucking Ghost King into my house?!”

“I wasn’t just- I couldn’t- Leaving it where it was seemed like a bad idea!”

“So you brought it with you!”

“Yes! It seemed like a better idea than leaving him where anyone could pick him up!”

Tucker calmed himself in the corner, taking large breaths. Sam closed her eyes where she stood, doing the same thing. After a few seconds she said, “Get that thing out of my house. Then, find out a way to get us back home-”

“Technically we are home…”

“-to Earth. When you’ve done that and the sky is blue and I can see fields on the horizon, then you may come back into my house. Okay?”

He backed towards the window. “I guess this is a horrible time to mention that I don’t know a single ghost that can help me?”

“Out!”

“Okay, bye!” He was quick to leave, flying away as Phantom, the fire orb still in his hand, though now he cradled it to his chest. He was stopped a few times by his classmates, trusting Phantom more than the ghost hunters. Anytime they’d ask him what was happening, he’d tell them that he had everything under control and that he was going to get them all back to their home dimension soon.

He didn’t tell them that he was freaking out. He didn’t tell them that they’d been there for six days now because he and Vlad are the only two in Amity Park who can keep track of time in the Realms. He didn’t tell them that he was working alone because the government decided to cut off all access to help. He didn’t tell them that no one even knew they were missing because of the same government. He didn’t tell them a lot of things. 

He’d learned, from watching other heroes in the world, that smiles and reassurances were the only things to keep people calm sometimes. So, that’s what he did. He kept the freakouts internal, and smiled at his classmates as they asked him to tell them it would be okay.

He flew over the edge of the island that was now taking the space of the Amity Portal. He didn’t know where he was going, but he was hoping that he’d be able to find someone that would help him as long as he picked a direction and flew.

It took an entire day, but he found someone who could help. Probably. The island was purple, just like all of them, and the only building on it was a dark clocktower. It looked like a grandfather clock, a balcony wrapped around the building just under the clock face. There were cogs floating in the space above and around it, as well as implemented into the building itself.

He dropped his flight, landing on the ground a ways from the door. “Ḵ̴͓̈́͌̔ạ̶̍s̵̥̤͠ ̴̤̽̓͛m̵̹̠̈́̂̍å̸̢͎̜̎ ̸̫́v̶͖͙̍̀̚õ̸̠͔̀i̴̍̕͜n̸͉̪͊̾̓ ̷̝̻͊̚̚t̷̬̩͝͝ú̷͔̟͖l̵̗̖͗͛̎l̸̻̫̂̀̕á̸̜͔̥?” he asked. The door under the glass pendulum window opened. He took that as an invitation and walked forward.

Inside the body of the clocktower was plain, a stone staircase winding up behind the ticking pendulum. He walked up every step, the fiery orb cradled in both hands against his chest. It was really warm.

There was no trap door or hatch at the top of the stairs. Instead, it opened up into the room behind the clock face. The wall opposite the clock face was covered in screens with orbs floating around, each one showing different faces and events and times. There was a small seating area right next to the giant window; that’s where he found his host.

“T̴̡̫́͊͝͠ē̸̞̱͑͊̃͝r̷̩͛͒͠e̶͉̠̪̎̔͂́̅ ̴͚̤͓̬̲͊͒̔̽t̵̢͉̗̺̲̑̌̅̚u̸̬̔͌͆ḻ̷̛̫͍̜́e̵̖̰͕̰̪͝m̷̳͎̘̮̞͝͠a̶͖̬͉̤͉̒̀̋s̸͖̱͓̪̪̈́́t̷̖̿̓͊,̸̢͙̮͊̾ ̷̡̲̱͖̲͑͆̔̕ń̴̠̪��́̊̒̃ó̸̡̺̞͕͍́̽̀͆ō̵̦̅̔r̶̠̉͆̕ ̵̞̟̣̇̈̆ḱ̴̢͕͔͈̇͛͂͋u̵̫̲̎̀̀̽ͅǹ̵̢͖͚̜ͅį̴̠͖̠̪͗̒̓̅ǹ̸̝͒͊͠g̸͎̖̗͎̈́̃ả̸̮͉̱̀́̌̉s̷̡̞̼̃̿̏͂͊.” the ghost said. They were covered by a dark purple hooded cloak, a lighter purple tunic and pants underneath. Their skin was a light teal and their eyes were bright red. A black metal cog held the cloak on their shoulder, a glass door showed black clock and a pendulum in their chest. Floating upright beside them was a black metal staff, a mint green eye-like orb resting between the three prongs on the top. “My name is A̸̠̺̹̐̉̈̅j̶͈̐ą̷͈̩̱̣̑͐̎̔̉͝ ̸̛̹̮̹̦͆̊̇͘͜͝ͅm̷̢̲̳͚̞̄́̈ê̵̡̙̞̥i̷̡̹̺̺̼̟̽͜s̶̹͈͖̲̫̫̍̅t̶͖͈̓̽̍̒̋͝ę̵͔̠͐̍͛̒̈ͅŗ̶̡̲̺̩̯͌̓, but you may call me Clockwork.”

Danny bowed a little in greeting, the ghost’s very gaze pouring an intense pressure on him. “Greetings, Clockwork. My name is D̷̨̨̤̥̤́̈́͘è̷̲̟͗͒̾ë̶̩̥̪́́͠m̷͎̿̀̎ͅö̸͍̤̫̥͕́͂̓n̷̤̰̆͑͂̊ḯ̵̮̰͝ ̷̦̜̪̬̿͂̓͒̚l̶͓̬̣͚͈̉ȃ̵̰̭̮͈͐̿p̸͔̝̓̈͗̋ş̶̥̦̥͍̽͑͒̊, but you may call me Danyal.”

Clockwork nodded in return, motioning to the seats around him. “Please, join me.”

“Thank you,” Honestly, Danny had no idea where these manners were coming from, but they were here now and they seemed to be the right things to be doing and saying because he had yet to be attacked. And even when he’d gone to Pariah with the intent of a fight, they had a cordial conversation beforehand.

“There is a town from a Living Realm trapped in the In-Between Realm.” Clockwork said after Danny had sat down. “You seek a way to return them.”

Danny nodded. “Yes.”

“You walk a fine line, K̴͔̑͘u̸̙͌̋͠m̴̬̯̤̄͗̊̚m̷̹̜̟̣̈ḯ̴͚͕̙̗̥̀t̸͚̠̭̣͎̒̄u̷̺̹̫̅͑ṡ̷̞͆l̶̝̈́̌̅a̶̹̪̎̇̈̈̓p̸͎̬͖̺͊̾̽͜š̶̞̤͐͗͝.” Clockwork said. “The line between the Living and Dead is a thin one, and yet you walk with perfect balance.”

A million questions were going through Danny’s head too fast for him to fully register them. He asked, “Do you know what I am?”

The older ghost nodded. “You are P̷̺̞͆̓̇ö̵̯́̄̃̃õ̶̮͕̭l̷͕̪͉̮͚͆̽͆e̶̡̢͔̝̽̈͗̑l̸̢̖̗͇̐̿̕d̶̠̻̬̂̉̓̑̕ĭ̵̝̻͋̈ ̶̳̩̯̠͋̂̈́e̵̢̳̬̖̍͠l̴͓̼͒̄u̷̢̲͖̞̦̒̎̂s̷͙̪̘͊͒͆,̶̲͕͓͌̚̚ ̵̙̩͍͊p̶̫̼̪̝͑͘o̷̭̼̰̚o̸̖̭͓͚̲̽̓̅̏̕l̸͍͙̀̑̉ȩ̴̡̣͔̃̄͋l̶̟̫̭͗̌̊d̵̛̻i̴̺͈͉̔̂͘ ̷̜̯̣̙̍̅̇ș̷̌̂͝͠ư̴̰̿r̸̡��͚̣͑ͅn̵̙͖̅̐̅ú̴͈͛̃͑́ͅḍ̶̖̱̍; T̸̬͒̆̎̈́͠õ̷̡̰̝͖̂̐e̴͙̊ͅl̸̥̥̹͚̩̥͊̄̀̔̈́͠i̴̟̜͖͔͓̦̔n̵̢͖͓͌͂ḛ̵̡̼͍̏̒͊̂͜͝ ̸͍̱͋̑͗ẗ̴̺â̵̧̞̰̣̰̬̝̊͌͊̆́s̷̤͍̱̜͙̑͒å̸͚͔̩̇̎͆͝k̴̲̅ä̶͕́̈́͂̎̂̏a̷̠͋́̌͊͊̓͝ļ̶̯̤̍.”

“What does that mean?” he wondered.

They shook their head. “You will understand in time.”

Danny was quick to concede the point. “Can you help me return Ḿ̷̢̳̫̮̾͗i̶̧̩̣̐̓̓n̷̬̼̘̟̞͝û̸͔̰̠̞̒͘̚ ̶̦͋k̸̤͔͊̄́ŏ̶̮̦̬̫̙̐̂͝͠d̶̝̯̆̎̉̊͜u̵̲̬͒͜ to where we belong?”

“I cannot,” was the answer, “But I can tell you how to do it.”

Danny hesitated for no more than a moment before nodding. “Your help would be greatly appreciated, sir.”

Clockwork smiled. “No need to be so formal anymore, T̶̨͇͋͌͆͌́ä̸͇̰͓̿h̷̥̓͌͋̈̔̓t̴̗̻͚͈͚̺̓́̔e̴̢̯̱̓̄̎̾̆ḑ̷̬̔ḛ̷̱̭̙̪͑̃͌̓͐ ̵̭̯͔̈̈̇̓̕̕l̶̜̞̺̜̦̋̿̄͒͊a̶̢̼͈͆p̶͓̟̱̣̉š̶̹͋̄̕͝. You are welcome in Ḿ̷̢̳̫̮̾͗i̶̧̩̣̐̓̓n̷̬̼̘̟̞͝û̸͔̰̠̞̒͘̚ ̶̦͋k̸̤͔͊̄́ŏ̶̮̦̬̫̙̐̂͝͠d̶̝̯̆̎̉̊͜u̵̲̬͒͜ whenever you seek it.” The whole building was filled with the chime of a clock striking midnight. “To take s̸̡̮̤̽̓͝͝į̴̡̯͙͌n̴̤̅̈̌͊̃u̷͔̗̮͐ ̷̜̈̆̇̕͝k̵̢̰̙̗̱͂̄͋̈̈́ô̸̦͛̾̿͑d̸̢̡̪͇͋͗͝u̵̲̠͊̃̈͜ back to the Realm in which it belongs, you must use Ŗ̸̢̱̻͊̍́̐̒ä̴̯̫̗̪̑̕͠e̸̯̞͎͇̍v̴̲̥̲̊͜͝ṳ̵̀ ̷͓̞͇̙̑̍̏̏s̴̡̫͇̅̑̏õ̸͔͋̏̀r̴̛͚̰̔͆m̷̲̞̈́u̸̠͆̀̂͜ş̴͔̩̰̎̇̆̎̿ to open a portal. However, once you put it on, you will be announcing your claim to T̴͖̳̪̭̫͆͜r̴̤̻̳͔̭̪̭̅́̋o̴̲̍͌̂͒o̶̢̩̳͂̒͠n̵̩͕͖̟̈̆͐́̃͋̾.”

“Wait,” Danny said, worry seeping into his tone and expression, “T̴͖̳̪̭̫͆͜r̴̤̻̳͔̭̪̭̅́̋o̴̲̍͌̂͒o̶̢̩̳͂̒͠n̵̩͕͖̟̈̆͐́̃͋̾? I don’t want to be King! I just- I wanna be me.”

“And you will be, but you must first make your decision. You told T̵̳̪̂̌̎y̵̛̭̻̖̽r̴̹̰̗͝ḁ̸͚̟̈̆n̴͔̞͊̈͑ṅ̷̝̂-̷̼͙̼̏̃k̴̛̙̣̠͑û̶̘͍̞ň̷͈͇̲ỉ̶̛̗̺͜͝n̸͐̈́͜͠g̴̼̀ä̸̞͙̲́s̶͎̬͙̀͒ that you fight to protect, so now you must choose to protect. Claim T̴͖̳̪̭̫͆͜r̴̤̻̳͔̭̪̭̅́̋o̴̲̍͌̂͒o̶̢̩̳͂̒͠n̵̩͕͖̟̈̆͐��̃͋̾ and get s̸̡̮̤̽̓͝͝į̴̡̯͙͌n̴̤̅̈̌͊̃u̷͔̗̮͐ ̷̜̈̆̇̕͝k̵̢̰̙̗̱͂̄͋̈̈́ô̸̦͛̾̿͑d̸̢̡̪͇͋͗͝u̵̲̠͊̃̈͜ back to where it belongs, or refuse and keep s̸̡̮̤̽̓͝͝į̴̡̯͙͌n̴̤̅̈̌͊̃u̷͔̗̮͐ ̷̜̈̆̇̕͝k̵̢̰̙̗̱͂̄͋̈̈́ô̸̦͛̾̿͑d̸̢̡̪͇͋͗͝u̵̲̠͊̃̈͜ here between the L̷͔͕͔̂̿̆̾͠õ̸̭̙̮̭̽ͅp̸͚̲͍̐̚ͅư̶̐̍ͅt̷̡̰̙̚u̷͚̖͖̐̀̿́͝ḑ̷̟̲͔̭͗́̀ ̷̘̟̦́̾̒̑̕k̸͚̃ứ̵͕̘̥̩̾̓͑n̸̘̹̗̗͙̂͂̓͗͝i̷̳͕̝͂̓n̴̪̈́̇̌g̶̩͈̺̟͖̀̐̽͒̈ŕ̶̛̜͔͠ì̸̯̈i̸̠͎̳̳̓͠g̷̪̲̈́̽̐̌̄ì̸̮͌͒̌d̶͉̻̭̀̓͑.”

“That’s hardly a choice,” Danny said. Clockwork shrugged. “How do I use the  Ŗ̸̢̱̻͊̍́̐̒ä̴̯̫̗̪̑̕͠e̸̯̞͎͇̍v̴̲̥̲̊͜͝ṳ̵̀ ̷͓̞͇̙̑̍̏̏s̴̡̫͇̅̑̏õ̸͔͋̏̀r̴̛͚̰̔͆m̷̲̞̈́u̸̠͆̀̂͜ş̴͔̩̰̎̇̆̎̿?”

Clockwork’s smile hadn’t dropped at all during the conversation, but it did seem like they had only just started smiling. “You will know when you put it on.”

“Oh.” He remembered the little ball of fire in his hands. “When I beat T̵̳̪̂̌̎y̵̛̭̻̖̽r̴̹̰̗͝ḁ̸͚̟̈̆n̴͔̞͊̈͑ṅ̷̝̂-̷̼͙̼̏̃k̴̛̙̣̠͑û̶̘͍̞ň̷͈͇̲ỉ̶̛̗̺͜͝n̸͐̈́͜͠g̴̼̀ä̸̞͙̲́s̶͎̬͙̀͒,” he held the small orb in from of him, “he disappeared and left this behind. What is it?”

There was a twinkle in Clockwork’s pupiless eyes. “That is the very essence of his being; his T̸̼̈̏u̶͉̭̘̓̀ȗ̵͔͘͜ͅm̷̡̫͗͋̽. To T̵̨̉̈́̉͝a̴̗͉̪̐̾́̃ͅp̷̫̔̆̉a̴̗͉͛̈́̒͘͠ a ghost, you must End them by crushing or eating their T̸̼̈̏u̶͉̭̘̓̀ȗ̵͔͘͜ͅm̷̡̫͗͋̽.

“What?” Danny freaked out, “I don’t want to End him!”

“Then keep that with you at all times.”

“What’ll- What’ll happen if I don’t?”

“It would be within your best interest to keep T̷̢̥̟̈̎̀͆͝ÿ̴̪̍́͌r̷̯͍̹̔̎͠͠ȃ̶̮n̸̦̪̜̓́̽͑d̶͔͚̿͗́͘ȋ̸̢̪͉̕ ̵̩̎͐̒k̵̥̬͐̌u̷̢̎n̵̻̾̊i̶̧͖̳̅̽ņ̷̞̫̹̀̿̔̈͘ͅg̶͖̻̈̋̎͌͜͜͝a̵͔̱͍̺̓͝ ̵̰̲̤̈́̏̏t̸̺̫͙͐̽̔͐̎ú̵͖̗̪̠͊ụ̸̥̖̈̀̆̚̕m̷͇͕̮͖͑̀͝ with you at all times.”

Danny gulped and nodded, standing from his place. “Thank you for helping me, A̸̠̺̹̐̉̈̅j̶͈̐ą̷͈̩̱̣̑͐̎̔̉͝ ̸̛̹̮̹̦͆̊̇͘͜͝ͅm̷̢̲̳͚̞̄́̈ê̵̡̙̞̥i̷̡̹̺̺̼̟̽͜s̶̹͈͖̲̫̫̍̅t̶͖͈̓̽̍̒̋͝ę̵͔̠͐̍͛̒̈ͅŗ̶̡̲̺̩̯͌̓”

“It was my pleasure, K̸̡̧͕̇̑́̐̚͝o̸̧̰͕̯̿̐͠s̶͔͇͇̱̲͔̩̓̽͗̀͊̈m̶͉͇̟͆̄͆͆̈̉͘͝o̶̹̬̤̟̥̣̅͒́̇̇̆s̴̗͇̰̫͆͑e̴̪͕̲̪͎͓̾̚m̶̢͈̰̳̙̻̜̩̱̀̒ẹ̵̖̟͔́̃̒͑i̸̭̩̙͉̮͚̻̰̰̇̎̈́͊͘͠s̸̛̛͚̤̳̭͋̊́͒̔́̚̕t̴͍̮̱͈̹̞͊̋͂ḛ̸̢͙̺̼͍̬̙͍̣̽̎̊͘̚r̵̤̜̲̱̦̕.”

Danny left through the clock face, flying back towards Pariah’s Keep. It had been just under a day since he’d been there. Amity Park had been in the Infinite Realms for seven days now. Any attention drawn by them disappearing for a week could either be really good or really bad. Regardless, they’d all find out about their lost time as soon as they got back to their Living Realm and Danny was not looking forward to that.

He arrived at the Keep much as he had earlier. Though, instead of walking up the steps, he flew straight into the throne room. It was just as he’d left it. Before he went to the dais, he tried to calm his nerves by picking up the weapons from his battle. The daggers were re-hidden, the rapier re-sheathed. He picked up Pariah’s long sword and strapped it to his back, just under his tanto using the two halves of the former King’s cape.

With a deep breath, Danny finally approached the Throne, Crown, and Ring. He touched only the Ring, fearing what might happen if he even breathed on the other two, and slipped it onto the middle finger on his left hand. He felt a pulse of fury rush through him before it settled deep in his gut. The Ring itself changed from a simple black band to an obsidian ring encrusted with ice. It wasn’t cold on his finger, and was hardly noticeable.

Once again, he flew back to where Amity Park had been dropped. Once he was floating over the town, he reached for the power inside the Ring. It came easily to him, as though he knew exactly what he needed to do. He lifted his left hand, ripping it down in a quick motion. The green and black sky ripped open, blue calling the attention of everyone in Amity Park. He ignored them, pulling the rip bigger and bigger before pushing it down onto the town. He ignored the screams as the rip engulfed them. Then, once the last of the purple island was through, he zipped the rip up. In its place was the reactivated Fenton Portal. He used it to go home.

No one was in the lab when he got there, but he turned invisible anyway, making his way to his room to put Pariah Dark’s Core somewhere safe until he could get something to turn it into a necklace or something. He texted Sam and Tucker, telling them he was fine and that he was going to sleep before he texted Jazz the same thing. He told all three of them to wake him next week.

*

Danny woke up the next day because his parents had invited the G.I.W. over to study the Portal. He groaned and flipped over, shoving the pillow over his face. When that didn’t work, he sighed and got up. May as well be productive if he couldn’t sleep, right?

He was still so tired.

Sluggishly, he dragged himself around his room to get ready for the day. Then, with the fire orb that was the former Ghost King in his hand, he left his room and knocked on Jazz’s door. She answered immediately.

“I thought you were gonna sleep for a week?” Her answer was an explosion in the lab. She winced. “Right. What did you need?”

“Do you have-” He yawned. “Do you have, like, a chain or something? I gotta turn this into a necklace.”

She looked at the orb in his hand, slightly larger than a marble and seemingly made of fire. “Do I even want to know?”

“Not until I’m awake enough to explain.”

“Riight.” She turned and nodded for him to come in. “Let me check real quick, but I can’t promise I have something.”

“That’s-” He yawned again. “That’s okay.” He sat down on the armchair in the corner of her room, pulling the light pink throw blanket on the back on himself. It was really soft. His eyes drooped.

There was some shuffling for a few minutes, the quiet noise lulling Danny further to sleep. He startled when she shouted, “Here it is!” She turned to him, holding up two chains, one thrice as long as the other. “This should work- Danny? Are you asleep?”

He rubbed his eyes. “No.”

She smiled softly. “Why are you so tired?”

“No reason.”

“I’m sure,” she hummed. “Let me see that, okay? I’ll make a necklace for you real fast.”

“Thanks,” he mumbled.

“No problem.”

Again, the quiet noise of Jazz working started to lull Danny back to sleep. He shifted to get comfortable, closing his eyes for a minute. A minute that turned into a day and a half.

“Welcome back to the land of the living,” Jazz snarked when he left her room to eat breakfast.

He yawned, much more awake than before. “Yeah, yeah. Sorry about crashing in your room.”

“Don’t worry about it,” she waved off, “I crashed in yours, so we’re even.”

He reached up and touched the fire orb amulet that was now resting against his chest, fiddling with it as he watched Jazz make pancakes. “So, what’s the plan for the day?”

She shrugged. “I don’t have anything, do you?”

“Nope,” he said, “Just a let-” He froze. “The letter!” Quickly, he flew up the stairs and into his room. On the desk was the sealed envelope he’d meant to send when he got home the day Amity Park was pulled into the Infinite Realms. He found his way back down stairs, not stopping by the kitchen before going outside to have it delivered. He stopped short, however, when he registered where he was.

This was definitely Amity Park, and they were definitely back in their Realm, but everything had a strange tint to it. He didn’t think anyone noticed, though. The sky was slightly more green than blue, same with the sun and clouds, and it was slightly dimmer and colors were more vibrant, like during a solar eclipse. The ground and buildings all had a slight purple tint that made the shadows darker. Every plant, animal, insect, and person he saw had a barely-there glow to them.

He stumbled. What the hell? Was this a consequence of being in the In-Between Realm for so long? What did this mean for the people and animals living here? What did this mean for him?

“Are you alright, D?” Jazz asked from the door behind him. She must not see it, then.

“Um, yeah, just, um…Forgot my glasses.”

“Tsk. You need to get better at remembering them, Danny.”

“I know, I’m just…still not used to them!”

“It’s been a year.”

“It’s actually only been three months since I got them.”

“Just go mail your letter. Breakfast will be done soon.”

He waved behind him, going to stand in front of the mailbox. He was quick to put the letter in and close the door, flipping the little red flag up. He hesitated before going back into the house, though. He shook his head and moved before he could chicken out. Damian had reached out after two years and Danny wasn’t about to make him wait that long for a response. It would be childish.

The anticipation of waiting for a response was bubbling up in his stomach again. It was just like when he’d sent that first letter. This time, though, he knew he’d get a reply.

*

Damian was worried. He’d sent Danyal a response, but he’d yet to get anything back. He couldn’t blame his little brother, though. After all, he’d waited two years before finally answering. He wouldn’t fault him for not even opening the thing. However, he did worry if something had happened. When he’d looked up Amity Park again, he found that the whole town was on lockdown; Nothing was going in and nothing was coming out. That was lifted a day ago, though, and there was still no response.

His Father and his siblings all remained none the wiser to his communications. At least, he liked to believe that. Father was aware of Danyal, but he doesn’t know that he and Damian are - were? - in contact with one another. He would like to keep it that way.

He wanted to go visit Danyal soon, or maybe have him come to Gotham. There was so much to tell him, but only so much room on some paper. He wanted to know things, too! Ask questions and get more than a few words for an answer. He wanted to be able to see his brother’s face for the first time since they were six years old.

But he might’ve fucked it all up because he was a coward.

There was a Media Block on Amity Park, Illinois. It wasn’t obvious at first glance, but it was glaringly in the face of anyone looking into the town. He hadn’t managed to get much before he was found and kicked from the servers, but he did find news on two hero-like figures in the town; one of which was being debated as a hero or a villain. Damian thought it should be obvious if someone is a hero or a villain, but that’s just him and the rest of the world’s opinion versus this tiny little city in the middle of nowhere.

Father had caught onto his distracted state of mind and threatened to bench him if he couldn’t pull himself together. He tried, but he couldn’t keep his thoughts from wandering back to Danyal and how he was doing.

He refused to answer anyone when they inquired about why he kept spacing out. He knew it wasn’t like him, but there was a lot on his mind at the moment!

The very next day, a letter from Danyal arrived for him. Like the last one, this one had no return address, but he recognised the handwriting. His family - minus Alfred - were all suspicious of the letter because of the lack of information on the front, but Damian batted them all away and took the letter to his room, locking himself inside.

As soon as he finished reading it, he got a piece of paper and wrote out a reply. He was not going to make his brother wait any longer than he already had to.

Was Danyal this anxious about getting letters from him? He hoped so.

***

Danyal Fenton, Jan. 26, 2014

I am fine, as are all of the others. Thank you for your concern. Though, are you alright? I found the Media Block when I tried to access any information from inside Amity Park.

Your offer of assistance is greatly appreciated. Does it matter what I ask for? If not, then I have an idea that would require me to call upon you. If you are willing, that is. My family, though I am glad everyone is back together and tolerating each other, are stifling. Especially since I have taken up the Robin Mantle.

The Media Block is very concerning. What is the government hiding and why does it require them to soft-lock the town? Would you like me to contact the Justice League? This is something they will be able to help with.

I would be beyond delighted to come meet Delilah. If you are willing to teach me how to communicate with her, I am willing to learn. عسى أن تقود النجوم مسارك دائمًا. Damian Wayne

Translation 1 - Arabic: Good to hear from you, brother

Translation 2 - Estonian & Zalgo - May I come in?

Translation 3 - Estonian & Zalgo: Greetings, young King … Master of Time

Translation 4 - Estonian & Zalgo: Child of the Demon

Translation 5 - Estonian & Zalgo: Ghost Child

Translation 6 - Estonian & Zalgo: Half Living, Half Dead; A True Balance

Translation 7 - Estonian & Zalgo: My home

Translation 8 - Estonian & Zalgo: Child of the Stars … My home … your home … Ring of Rage … The Throne

Translation 9 - Estonian & Zalgo: The Throne

Translation 10 - Estonian & Zalgo: Tyrant King … The throne … your home … your home … Infinite Realms … Ring of Rage

Translation 11 - Estonian & Zalgo: Tyrant King

Translation 12 - Estonian & Zalgo: Core … Kill … Core

Translation 13 - Estonian & Zalgo: Tyrant King’s Core

Translation 14 - Estonian & Zalgo: Master of Time

Translation 15 - Estonian & Zalgo: Master of Space

Translation 16 - Arabic: May the stars always lead your course.

Part 9 Storyboard

[kisskissbanggang]

SLATED

[7.4k Words/30min. Read - Demon!Minho x Human!Reader - NSFW/Smut - First Time Rage, Playing With Fate, Getting Prolifically Dumped, Ouija Boards, Divine Intervention, Sorting Out Our Feelings, Violence and Threats of Violence, Death of a Side Character (Sort Of), Claws, Angels, Demons, Impulsive Sex, Surprising Use of Kim Seungmin]

[a/n: happy halloween! because two different users requested the same thing for my Trick or Freak event, here's a surprise full fic. 🧡]

[Masterlist | Feedback]

You were mad as hell. 

A feeling that was, at its inception, so foreign to you and now was fully realized. The sensation had taken a few minutes to settle, not unlike gaining sea legs. It began so small–a fragile, imperceptible thing–before it whipped up into a frenzy. This was nature taking its course. You were a thunder cloud on the verge of cracking lightning.

The note had been sitting on the entry table; Seungmin didn't have the gall to leave it at your bedside. No. You had roused late in the morning, serene and loved. Seungmin couldn't give you the peace of leaving the scrawled note in the loft of the cabin, and instead left it on the table where he’d first put his keys a couple days previously. 

I don’t expect you to understand, sweetheart, the note read, because I hardly understand it myself. All I know is I can't do this anymore. I hope you can forgive me.

You stood by the entry table at eleven in the morning, having previously been thoroughly adored just the night before, and currently buzzing with electric anger as you allowed yourself to enter this emotion you'd heretofore never let yourself fully experience… This was rage. 

There was more written on the stupid piece of paper: he could arrange a ride for you after the party; he was going to that wretched party after all; he was sorry.

Maybe there was another woman, you mused. Maybe you were the other woman. Why else would he ditch you to go to the bullshit party when he’d sworn up and down that he wouldn’t dare? Maybe this was all an illusion. There was a chance that you had been too trusting, too hopeful. Truthfully, honestly, and begrudgingly, you knew that this was a clear possibility from the beginning. Seungmin first saw your art only a month ago. He placed you in your first gallery two weeks later. The godawful Halloween party tonight was supposed to help you meet a possible buyer, a local gallery owner, but Seungmin himself advised you that this wasn’t the right event to meet a potential patron. Unless that wasn’t really the reason. 

You were still fuming. This was a helpless, raw feeling that you weren’t used to. You let the note fall to the floor, drifting like the fall leaves outside. The first order of business was to find your phone. Two days ago, you were cooing and poring over every inch of the cozy cabin as Seungmin serenely looked on, but now it was a suffocating prison cell. None of Seungmin’s belongings were left–he’d been able to fully clear out before you ever woke up, and took off in his stupid truck. That jerk, it was like he had never even been here, having vanished like some sort of phantom. Finally, you found your phone, having fallen off of the bedside table and into your open weekend bag on the floor. You took one look at the screen and hucked the piece of electronic garbage onto the bed. Just like you found two days ago, there was no cell service. Seungmin deserted you out here. Yes, Arcadia Shores was 15 minutes away–by car. That same trek by foot was easily an hour at least along the rural highway, up and down steep, forested inclines and navigating hairpin turns that vehicles took much too quickly. You were, for practicality’s sake, actually stuck out here. 

This was miserable. 

You forced yourself to get showered and dressed, still steaming with no release in sight. Following that, you packed up all your things and dumped your bag by the front door. It was one thing for Seungmin to abandon you out here with no practical way back into town, let alone back to your lonely little apartment, but it was another thing entirely for him to make you wait until after the fucking party for a goddamn ride. That was the part that was doing your head in.  

You were almost a little put off by how angry you were. This sort of felt like you’d been holding back for a long, long time, but that also meant that being this mad was sort of cathartic, maybe a little comforting. It was how alien the sensation was that made it difficult to contend with. Sitting down with a huff on the rickety, old couch in the cabin, you were taken aback by the first moment of true silence you were confronted with since you found the note earlier that day. You were suddenly struck by a feeling of unease, of restlessness. There might have been a possibility of going for a little walk around the property, maybe down to the creek behind the cabin, but that felt particularly helpless with the thickening gray clouds looming outside.

Sure, there were things you could do. Your small journal was stowed in your weekend bag. You could write your feelings out, be the bigger, calmer person. A notepad sat on the counter in the tiny kitchen, likely the same notepad that Seungmin wrote to you on. Maybe you could write your own letter, maybe pretend to say everything you wished you could in that moment.

How humiliating, though, being forced to process this all on your own after being miserably humiliated by the first man you ever let yourself sleep with within the first day of meeting him. 

He said he loved you within one week. He encouraged you to say it back. He’d had the nerve to sound nervous about how quick this was all moving, and you’d been foolish enough to think it was sweet.

No, you decided. Just because Seungmin forced you to deal with this on your own didn’t mean that you had to deal with it calmly, but no readily apparent reaction felt appropriate. The bookshelf across from you in the small living area was filled to the brim with all sorts of things–board games, atlases and almanacs, chapter books and miscellaneous compilations of classics… and something else.

Your eyes passed over it a few times before you truly noticed it, and once you did, you kept returning to it.

Wedged at the bottom of a dusty pile of old board games and puzzles, haphazardly stacked on top of the bookshelf was a ouija board.

You smirked when you properly let yourself notice it for the first time. In recollection, you’d never used a spirit board before, nor ever even had the chance to. These were always comically off limits. This was a toy that was supposedly evil, supposedly fraught with negative consequences.

This was something good kids didn’t do.

It was this singular thought, paired with your unprecedented anger that ultimately drew you nearer. Every nagging, fearful thought that ever stopped you from acting out replayed in your head while you got up from the couch. A floorboard squeaked concerningly underfoot as you crossed the modest living area, almost like the old floor could crack open and suck you under. Ignoring that, you pulled over a chair from the old kitchen table. The chair groaned when you climbed on top of it, wobbling in a way that made you hurry your actions. A book fell out of the shelf, practically flying off and onto the ground, and you peeked downwards to see what it had been. Hilariously, a Bible looked up at you, almost accusingly. The absurdity of this made you nearly laugh out loud. You settled on pulling the whole stack of games and puzzles on top of the ouija board down entirely, gingerly tip-toeing off your makeshift step stool before setting the whole heap on the floor beside the coffee table. 

You’d never done this before, but it seemed easy enough. In the aged cardboard box, there was a handsome wooden board with letters and words painted on. A heavy planchette sat on top, just big enough to fit perfectly in your palm. You cleared off the coffee table and knelt in front of it, before you suddenly realized that you felt nervous. This was fitting, probably, considering this was apparently a day full of firsts for you.

In the center of the heart-shaped piece of wood in your hand was a small, round lens made of glass. The surface was covered in dust, an interesting discovery given that the item had been sitting in a box, unexposed to the surrounding air. You pulled your sleeve over your palm to clean it off and placed the planchette on the board. At this point, you wondered how this was supposed to start. Were you supposed to greet the supposed spirits by starting at the “hello” painted in the corner, or was that for the spirit to theoretically signal its arrival?

Not that any of this was real, obviously. This was simply to pass the time. Maybe you’d make yourself some tea and try journaling after this. Outside, the impending rain finally began to come down.

You ultimately decided to place the planchette on a blank space on the board. Your fingertips lightly laid on the pointer’s edge, like you’d seen in movies. This felt ridiculous, which led to an acceptable first question.

“So,” you stiffly began, “this is bullshit, right?”

You almost laughed, the inquiry was so dumb. It was hardly even a joke. You waited a mortifying 30 seconds, feeling incredibly self-conscious, when you decided this whole endeavor was stupid and it was time to put the game back where you found it.

However.

When you went to retrieve the flimsy, old box from where you laid it beside you on the floor, you did a double-take and the box fell from your hands.

The planchette wasn’t where you left it.

It was sitting on top of “yes.”

Well, you were a sucker for a good sense of humor. And if this was a delusion like you were certain it was, your friends were going to get a kick out of it when you told them about that time you got callously dumped and stranded and started talking to spirits.

“Am I going crazy?” you half-heartedly asked the board. Much to your amusement and horror, the planchette moved on its own, sliding across the board until it sat on top of the “no.” You sat up on your knees, more attentive now.

“Does Seungmin love me?” you asked. What a pathetic question. You stared at the board, waiting. The wooden pointer slid off the “no” but it also didn’t slide all the way to “yes.” The planchette stopped firmly in the middle. “Fair enough,” you replied under your breath. Still, this was nowhere near cathartic enough for you. There were some regrettable desires sitting in your gut.

“Does Seungmin feel sorry for what he did to me?” you staunchly asked.

“No,” the board answered. You wrinkled your nose and grimaced, like you were suckerpunched. How embarrassing. That rage inside you ran like a bolt up your spine.

“... How do I make Seungmin feel sorry?”

The planchette moved down to the letters below. “A-S-K-M-E.”

“Ask you? Ask you what?”

“T-O-H-E-L-P.”

You gazed down at the board. This was all suddenly feeling far more serious than you’d originally set out with the intention of. 

But what could it hurt?

This was quickly becoming reckless.

You took a deep, shaky breath before you realized you were trembling. “How do I ask you?”

“N-A-M-E.”

“My name or your name?”

“M-I-N-E.”

 Your ribs ached on your rapidly beating heart. “What is your name?”

“T-O-O-L-O-N-G.”

“Too long?” you sputtered. “Are you kidding me? This was your idea. What can I call you instead?”

The planchette wavered for a minute before ultimately drifting, through the painted letters on the board until it landed on one.

M.

M? Just an initial? That seemed dumb, but it was what was being suggested. You took another steadying breath, but it wasn’t helping. There wasn’t a hint of confidence in your voice, instead betraying the full bundle of nerves in your throat. “Help me, M.”

The ensuing silence made you feel like an idiot.

None of this was real. This was all a surreal fever dream, and you were going to beat the snot out of Seungmin the next time you saw him because of it.

Or not, because you were a coward. The only reason he did this to you, surely, was because he knew you wouldn’t do anything about it. You felt sick, and that wasn’t even mentioning how you felt like your face was warm, like you were blushing.

Except then there was a knock at the door. You gawked across the room, unsure if it even happened at all, until another knock came. On shaky legs, you got up on your feet and opened the door, just a crack. On the other side, damp from the rain, was a man dripping on the porch. He was young, maybe your or Seungmin’s age, with umber waves, somewhat flattened by the growing storm. There was a surprising softness in his intense gaze, his brows furrowed to keep his dark eyes dry. He grinned apologetically, a gentle, handsome expression.

“I’m so sorry to intrude,” he pleasantly began, “but can I borrow your phone? My truck broke down out on the highway and my phone is dead.”

The highway? While you weren’t too far from the road, there was a fork that ultimately led down here to the cabin. Still, you folded. As usual.

“I’m also sorry,” you winced. “I only have my cell phone, and there’s no signal out here… but you can come in, if you need. You can charge your phone while you wait for the rain to stop. I can make us some tea if you want.”

“Thanks,” the man replied, his grin spreading into an appreciative smile. He crossed the threshold and came in, shucking off his wet work coat and exposing a casual henley underneath. “Sorry for barging in. I know I already said that, but I know it’s spooky letting in strangers, especially on Halloween.”

“It’s a good thing I don’t think I’m worth the trouble,” you reassured him. You strolled into the kitchen and filled the kettle. “What’s your name, by the way?”

“You can call me Minho,” the stranger answered absently, still taking in his surroundings. “Neat cabin. You just renting, or do you know the owners? Mind if I look around?”

“Uh,” you attempted to answer, but Minho was already out of sight, peeking upstairs in the loft. The small stove bringing the kettle up to temperature creaked and moaned, mirroring your unease. Minho trotted downstairs and continued his tour, checking out the bathroom and deck. He made a few rounds of each room before he ultimately returned to the kitchen.

He looked perturbed.

“Alright,” Minho grumbled, almost out of breath. “This is a set-up, right? You’re fucking with me?”

You starkly leaned back against the kitchen counter, your hand resting on the handle of a drawer you hoped contained the knives and other cooking utensils. “I… I don’t know what you’re talking about.”

Minho reeled. “Sure!” he sarcastically retorted. “You don’t know what I’m talking about. I get ripped out of my realm and plopped into yours, and the summoner isn’t even here!”

“The summoner?” you asked. “But I…”

“Sure,” Minho repeated. “You’re the summoner. I get here and it reeks of angels. The handprints of the Powers that be are fucking everywhere. You’re either the summoner or you’re one of the risen, or you’re fucking with me. Or–and there’s a big possibility of this–there’s a combination of the three happening here.”

The expression on your face must’ve been what convinced him of your honesty. Minho almost went pale, his eyebrows softening into concerned confusion and his hands dropping to his sides. “Holy shit,” he realized, “you’re not just the summoner… you're slated.”

“I’m what?” you scoffed. Your hand was still clutched around the handle of the knife drawer. Minho stalked closer, and you thankfully reacted. You yanked the drawer open and were relieved that you guessed right, wrapping your hand around the handle of a large kitchen knife. However, this wasn’t swift enough for the stranger. Minho clutched your wrist, easily taking the knife from you.

“I’m right. You can’t see it, but I can.” With this, Minho held the knife by its tip, as if he could show you whatever he was looking at on the handle. “It’s not as prominent yet, but it will be once you pass or accept the bypass. Not all the handprints in this cabin belong to you, but enough of them sure as hell do.”

“I’m sorry,” you flustered, “but what the fuck are you saying?”

Minho raised an eyebrow at you. At this distance, you could smell him. He had a masculine scent, but somewhat sweet, maybe a little cloying. Your heart was beating fast again. “What I’m saying is I can’t help you, angel, nor would I want to. I’m surprised you even managed to get me here.”

With that, he leaned away, letting the knife drop onto the hardwood, piercing it and making you jump in reaction. You stumbled after him as he walked to the coat rack.

“So you won’t help me?! And this,” you babbled, “all of this, this means you’re a spirit? You’re the spirit I summoned?”

The man sighed impatiently. “Yes, angel, you summoned me. And, given the nature of our exchange, I assumed you would’ve deduced I’m a demon by now.”

A charged pause shut you up for a second. The young demon seemed amused.

“What? You’re staring.”

“I, uh,” you stumbled on your words, “I was expecting more, like…”

“Horns?” he sneered. “A cute, pointy tail?”

You cringed compulsively in response. He was right. You had been picturing a mischievous little imp, not a… Well, not a hot guy, if you were being frank with yourself.

“Look, angel–”

“Stop calling me that.”

“Why? It’s true. You’re slated, you’re already on the path.”

You crossed your arms stubbornly. “It feels like an omen or a curse or something.”

“It’s none of those things. It’s only–as of this moment–your destiny.”

“But if you can already see these handprints, if I actually smell like an angel–don’t think I didn’t catch that, I still have questions about that–does that mean I’m going to die soon?”

Minho sighed again, sounding more like a groan this time, and firmly put his coat back on the rack. “I don’t know, angel. I’m not your Arbiter or anything. You’re probably about to be offered a bypass to ascend, like I said a minute ago.”

Your head was swimming. “What does that even mean? I just skip the dying part and become a fucking angel? That sounds insane.”

“Insane or not, it’s true,” Minho shrugged. “Hence all the reasons that I’m not going to help you. Can I put my jacket on and leave now?”

“Wait wait wait!” you cried, rushing over and putting your hand on his arm. His eyebrows shot up, looking from his arm to you. He was weirdly warm, but you did your best to ignore it. “Wait,” you pleaded again, “don’t you have some contract to stay? I’ve never been this angry in my entire life. All I want to do is make Seungmin sorry. You told me how to ask for your help and I asked.”

Minho looked at your hand on his arm again and back at you, conflicted as he frowned and shifted his weight from foot to foot. “No way,” he decided. “Sorry, angel. This is too much. I can tell you've never done a bad thing before in your life. Stay on your path and ascend, okay?”

With that, Minho peeled your hand off of him and finally pulled his jacket back on before breezing out the door. 

What a bizarre fifteen minutes that all was. 

The worst part was now you were somehow even madder. You grabbed your own jacket and shoes before heading out the door yourself. Obviously, Minho was already nowhere to be seen, but that didn't matter anymore. If some dumb demon wouldn't even help you, you’d go after Seungmin yourself. You trekked all the way back up to the fork up the road and out to the highway. Once you were out there, you stuck out your thumb for a ride and just started walking.

Being left alone with your thoughts like this was dangerous. However, you didn’t let yourself stop long enough to come to your senses. It was almost exhilarating to not only be this angry for once in your life, but to be justified in doing so. Like, you weren’t just going to make Seungmin feel sorry for what he did to you, but you’d be right. 

Even if you still didn’t know what you would do when you saw him.

You were twenty minutes into your march to Arcadia Shores when someone finally took mercy on you and gave you a lift, but it was already beginning to turn dark. A doddering old man, probably a local, looked sick over the fact that you were out on the side of the road. He asked what on Earth could possibly make you do such a thing in this rain, and on Halloween, no less. When you replied that it was because of a man, you were convinced he was on the verge of offering to help you regardless of whatever it was you were planning on doing. You told him to simply drop you off at Arcadia Lodge, the venue for the ridiculous party. He took this mission with stoic pride, and wished you luck when he dropped you off. 

Sprawling in front of you was a gracefully aging seaside resort, a huge property with its own beach and hemmed in by the woods on either side. The Halloween party was set to take place in the lodge's grand hall at its center. You warily approached the hotel, guests milling about in various degrees of costume. It was easy to feel out of place, not just because you weren't dressed for the occasion, but because you weren't even really belonging to this crowd. Arcadia Shores was pleasant enough to visit, but being a local required a certain level of financial comfort that you weren't privy to. Even as this occasion seemed to be more attended by younger family members, none of these people felt like anyone you would meet organically. That was what you needed Seungmin for. In these throngs of people, the gallery owner you were supposed to be introduced to was supposedly among them, but you’d never know it since your stupid ex wasn’t here.

The party was in full swing as the sun continued to sink under the horizon. It felt like it was going to be impossible to find Seungmin in here, and for a sickening moment, you almost doubted yourself for coming all the way out here. Then again, it was that overwhelming sense of being right that kept you steadfast in your objective. 

It was at that moment, as if it were a reward for remembering why you had to see this through, you caught sight of Seungmin. Your heart plummeted into the pit of your stomach. He was gorgeous as ever and–appropriately–dressed like a devil, looking more like what you'd originally guessed Minho would appear as. In the sea of partygoers, he stood out perfectly. You kept careful watch of him, hanging back and seeing if you could figure out whether or not he was here with anyone.

Or, at least, this was your plan until a hand clapped down on your shoulder. You spun, startled, to find Minho looking annoyed. 

“What?” you asked pointedly, matching his energy. 

“Look,” he sighed, “I'm surprised you made it out here, okay? You proved you could do it without me.”

“Too bad that's not my point,” you shrugged. 

“What is your point?” he groaned. 

You pointed across the grand hall to where Seungmin was socializing. “You already know, asshole! I want to make him feel sorry for what he did to me!” 

Minho’s eyebrows raised curiously, and yours did, too. You’d never called anyone an asshole before. Minho was looking past you, however, and you almost wondered why until you turned to see for yourself. As it turned out, Seungmin finally noticed you were here, but when you turned back to shoo Minho away, the demon was already gone.

Asshole, you silently repeated. You turned back around, and this was when your confidence crumbled. Seungmin was also gone. You frantically scanned the room, and caught sight of him exiting out the back of the grand hall. Costumed partygoers grumbled at you as you shoved past, running after him. The setting sun was working against you, but thankfully the various lamps and lanterns around the resort grounds helped you keep track of Seungmin as you rushed along behind him. You followed him out, beyond the proper resort property, and out to the scenic path up the hill to Arcadia Lighthouse. If he knew you were in pursuit, he showed no sign of it, never looking back over his shoulder as you both followed the path along the bluffs over the crashing waves below.

Your thoughts were racing again. What would you say when you finally caught up to him? What would you do?

Seungmin stopped suddenly in his tracks, causing you to do the same. Your breath caught in your throat. 

Your ex turned then, looking conflicted. “You weren’t supposed to come here!” he called out.

Words attempted to materialize in your mouth, and you choked on every one. Here was your moment, and you were fucking it up. You took a helpless step forward. All you could imagine was pushing that son of a bitch for what he did to you. Seungmin took a step back.

Right 

over 

the 

bluff. 

A gasp shot into your throat, ripped from your lungs as you sprinted over. You dropped to your knees and scrambled to look over the edge. Down below, Seungmin lay in a heap on the rocks.

The miasma of thoughts that had been falling in an endless avalanche through your head all day tripled, hitting a fever pitch that made you feel sick, before everything went silent. The words finally came.

“You asshole!” you screamed, so harshly that your eyes scrunched closed. “This was my moment, you jerk!”

Only the raucous waves replied, but soon, a tangible voice did as well.

“I’m sorry, but what the actual hell?”

The voice over your shoulder made you feel violently ill. You were going mad but, surely, this was all rational. Seungmin was down there, not up here and you were simply hallucinating. You opened your eyes, and you were immediately nauseous. Seungmin was not down on the rocks below the bluff.

With shaking eyes, you could hardly look over your shoulder. It had to be done, though. Your chin wavered as you looked behind you.

Seungmin.

“Are you kidding me?” he huffed, putting his hands on his hips. There wasn’t a scratch on him. Did you only imagine him falling? 

“Seungmin…” you finally uttered. “What are you talking about?” 

He threw his hands up condescendingly. “All of this just to be mad?! You’re not here to forgive me?!”

You pressed your hands into the dirt, damp from the sporadic rain, to get up to your feet. “I… Why the fuck would I forgive you?”

“Because you’ve forgiven everything else that’s ever happened to you!” he ranted. “This was such a sure fucking thing! And sure, there was some trepidation there at the end, but I was convinced you’d come to your senses when it looked like I fucking died of all things but no! I can’t believe I wasted all this time slating you.”

He growled the last part, and you almost didn’t hear it. You were too busy watching Seungmin materialize a goddamn sword, one almost as long as you were tall. The rain picked up again, making the gravel underfoot muddy and slick when you nervously backed up. When Seungmin impossibly held the imposing sword aloft, you saw it–the ghost of his halo–just a hint, but stunningly obvious once you understood it.

Minho was right. There were angel handprints all over the cabin.

They were Seungmin’s.

“Seungmin,” you nearly whimpered, “what happens when someone you slated doesn’t make the cut?”

The sword glinted despite there being no sun rays in sight. “I’ll give you one guess, sweetheart.”

You strayed from the path, instead running straight into the woods to try and lose him. Brambles and branches tried to catch you and trap you, and you tore past, your heaving breath blaring in your ears. Trees creaked and groaned behind you where Seungmin was following, until you tripped over a jagged rock lodged in the ridgid earth and landed in a clearing. A white light seemed to part the foliage behind you, and you scrambled back on your hands and kicking feet while you couldn’t help but stare in awe.

“I’m sorry it had to end this way,” Seungmin sighed, somehow clear as day.

“Me, too,” quipped a voice from behind you. You shot a crazed, unbelieving glance behind you.

“Minho?!” you exclaimed. 

Sure enough, your reluctant demon stood behind you on the other side of the clearing. His coat was soaked through, and at the end of his sleeves, you could see his fingertips had extended into blackened claws. In his hand, in contrast to Seungmin’s sword, was a flail.

“What did I tell you,” he grumbled rhetorically, “you were slated. And not just by anyone, but by the Powers that be.”

“What the fuck does that mean?!” you asked both men, fully exasperated. Seungmin looked over your new companion, apparently taking this all in.

“It means you need to fucking move, angel,” Minho sighed.

“I agree, sweetheart,” Seungmin frowned, lifting the sword again.

You scrambled away through the sodden grass right as Minho charged forward, deflecting Seungmin’s attack with a swing of his flail. Watching the two was a sight, arguing even while sparring with such formidable weapons.

“You don’t have any stake in this, accursed!” Seungmin hissed, yanking his sword free of the chain of Minho’s flail.

“Sure I do!” Minho scoffed, “I was summoned, wasn’t I?”

“You’re a common whore,” seethed your ex, drawing the sword up over his head for another swing. “A slave to any master who calls you.”

“How is that any different than your enslavement, you little prick?” rebuked Minho, practically giggling. “Our Father who art in Heaven is going to be pissed at you for losing this one.”

Another gasp pierced you when Minho failed to fully block this next attack. He fumbled back, landing against the thick trunk of an ancient oak tree. Seungmin smirked, a truly wicked expression that made your stomach twist in knots, and swung the huge sword back to get more momentum for a killing blow…

Except Minho had other plans. From under his jacket, he produced–of all things–a revolver. It was still intimidating, hefty with a long muzzle, and Minho pressed the snout to his adversary’s chest. Seungmin hardly had a chance to react before you all heard the hammer click into place.

You held your breath. Only the rain had any commentary to provide for a moment.

“Have her,” Seungmin spat. “She’s flawed, anyway.”

“That’s fine,” Minho retorted with a shrug. 

Seungmin’s glare narrowed, but instead of swinging for Minho, he turned his attention back to you. You feebly tried to retreat again, but not before a harrowing shot rang out through the deepening night amongst the trees. Your eyes snapped shut in terror, and remained so. This was far too much. Your head swam, until a warm hand gently grabbed your shoulder. When you opened your eyes, it was only you and Minho in the clearing. Even the rain had vanished. Seungmin was nowhere to be seen; rather, only golden specks of dust drifted in the air.

“What now?” Minho softly asked you. 

Your gaze could hardly relax despite your eyes feeling exhausted. “The cabin,” you uttered. “I left all my stuff. Take me there.”

Minho soothed a hand across your shoulders, rubbing your back. Serenely, the forest by the ocean bluffs melted away and left you in the familiar setting of the cabin. Your tea from earlier sat cold on the kitchen counter. The demon didn’t appear to be in a rush. He simply eased down to sit on the couch, observing as you got your bearings. There were still smudged flecks of gold dust all over him.

Your feet didn’t feel attached to your ankles. It was as though you’d been walking for days, the way your whole body sagged under the weight of the evening. This was so much to take in. Seungmin never loved you, more than likely. Infatuated with you, yes, but his ulterior motives stung more than him trying to dispose of you so savagely. You felt foolish. Embarrassment tugged at your throat. You’d all but scribbled his name down in the margins of notebooks, surrounded by little hearts. It had been so fast. It had almost felt innocent, the way you fell so wholly, so quickly.

Maybe you fell for him because of the whole angel thing.

Maybe it wasn’t even your idea from the start.

The thought made your bones feel like they were made of ice.

You finally moved from your spot in the center of the cabin’s living room, back to the kitchen. The Bible from earlier that day nearly tripped you from where it still lay on the floor. You stared at it, realizing that something had tried to stop you from summoning Minho. It may not have been Seungmin, but maybe you really weren’t supposed to stray from your path. You frowned and continued towards your objective in the kitchen. The mug was neutral in your hands–not cold, but only room temperature. You tipped the contents into the sink and watched the wasted tea seep down the drain.

When the moment had arrived, back on the bluff, all you wanted to do was push Seungmin.

And he fell.

For a confusing second, you wondered if you would cry about any of this, before you realized you already were.

You hardly got a moment to let it sink in, though, because Minho was there. He looked almost impatient as he pulled you into a comforting embrace. You clutched onto his damp jacket.

“Were you supposed to let me die?” you asked into his chest.

“It doesn’t matter, angel,” he answered. “That prick was out of his mind.”

“He loved me,” you weakly insisted.

Minho stroked your hair. “Only conditionally. They all do.”

“What do I do now that I’m not slated anymore?”

“What were you doing before? Do whatever you want.”

You were both silent for a while, holding each other in the kitchen. A weighted pull kept you clinging to him, likely similar to how he continued petting your hair. He reluctantly stopped after a time. “I should go,” he murmured. When he pulled away from you, he seemed surprised to see you searching him with your eyes. 

“Don’t,” you pleaded, shaking your head. “I’ll just summon you back.”

The way Minho kissed you in that moment made you blush, flooding you with heat. He cupped your face, his claws gently pressing into your skin while he held you to him. The progression of what came next was so graceful yet so charged. Minho kissed you, all the way up the stairs and into the loft, but he gasped when you pushed him away. He clutched the railing opposite the bed, chest rising and falling as he watched you. You warily opened his jacket, watching him for the most minute reactions as you peeled the article of clothing off of him. He had on a holster underneath, carrying the intimidating revolver from back in the clearing. A breath seemed to catch in Minho’s throat when you slipped the gun out and held it in your hands, inspecting it.

“Careful, angel,” he gently cautioned you..

“What would’ve happened differently if you decided to help me from the beginning?” you asked, before tossing the gun onto the old quilt covering the bed.

“Knowing you were slated?” Minho asked. His hands needily grasped your hips in wanting. “I would’ve demanded devotion. Non-negotiable.”

“Devotion?” you echoed, easily as you let him herd you onto the bed with another kiss. “Of your master?”

“Of me,” he huskily clarified. “As long as I’m out here, and you called me, you’re my master. I only want the same devotion I’m giving you.” 

Minho’s groan more resembled a growl the first time you kissed his neck. “You’re devoted to me?” you implored.

“Seeing what you did with your slating, angel, I’m devoted to you in more ways than one.”

A hunger erupted in you that you’d never experienced before. It was like you’d never eaten a proper meal and were suddenly faced with a feast. Your faithful demon grunted when you tugged at his henley, pulling the shirt up over his head and dropping it off the side of the bed. He didn’t rush you, choosing instead to simply watch as you moved to match him, removing your jacket and shirt underneath.

“If I was slated,” you wondered aloud, “and I was going to be offered a bypass to ascend… Is there an equivalent in your realm?”

Minho’s gaze shook in a way that told you that you’d just unleashed a dangerous possibility. That same hunger you felt, he felt it, too, and it was liable to consume you both if you kept indulging it. “Careful, angel,” he repeated.

“Maybe I’m still slated,” you slyly grinned, pulling Minho on top of you in the bed you’d previously shared with Seungmin only the night before.

“You don’t know what you’re asking for,” Minho half-heartedly argued, all while you pulled at his belt, and your starving teeth and tongue coaxed moans from his throat. When you threaded your fingers into his hair, he keened, wincing despite his blissful expression. His hands hardly tried to pry yours off of him.

“I’m asking for your devotion,” you rebutted. 

His hands stopped trying to halt your actions. “Well then,” he breathed, “that’s all you had to say.” Minho’s hands smoothed up your thighs and easily removed your jeans. The tips of his clawed digits ghosted over your bared skin. 

“Would we still be doing this if you had helped me from the beginning?” you asked.

Minho took his time answering you, instead opting to get a taste of you between your legs. You were impressed to feel him retract his claws before his fingers caressed into your depths. The inhuman warmth that radiated off of him seeped into your core, making you dizzy. You weren’t the only one, either, apparent from how Minho practically came up for air to check on you. 

“There was no chance I was ever going to help you, so no,” he admitted. “The second I felt the energy in here, the energy coming off of you? I wanted no part of it.”

“And now?” you probed him.

Minho seemingly stopped himself from answering right away. He paused, absently kissing the inside of your thigh while chewing on a thought. “If you’re asking for a bypass,” he said carefully, “I want to know why.”

Your heart quickened in your chest. “I never felt this free before. You were right earlier. I’d never done anything bad before in my life.”

“This isn’t just about being bad, angel,” Minho said, wrinkling his nose at you.

“I know that,” you argued. “But the only reason I’d never done a bad thing was that I was terrified of judgment. I didn’t want to disappoint anyone. I wanted to be perfect.”

Minho shook his head in disbelief. “You’re already perfect enough.”

“That’s why I want it,” you insisted. “I never felt at peace like this before. I want more, whatever that means in your realm.”

“I understand that,” Minho answered stoically. “But I can’t simply offer you a bypass. Your ex–Seungmin, he used as his name? He could do that because he’s a Power. Well, he was.”

“Are you going to be in trouble?” you worried.

“No, angel,” he reassured you. “Not when the Arbiters see how reckless he was being. He’ll be recalled and reincorporated. As for letting you join me like he was going to offer you… I might be able to do something similar.”

“So devoted,” you affectionately teased. 

Minho pulled at your hip, sliding you underneath him as he crawled up between your legs and absorbing your quip in stride. “How can I not be? I said no to you because I refused to be the one who influenced your path. That being said, if you’re choosing this, I’d do anything I can to make you happy.”

“Why me?” you marveled. The quilt pulled and stretched under you as you clutched at it, the way Minho teased himself up against your wetness driving you mad with desire.

“The blessed one wanted you because of all the potential inside you. I can feel it, even right now. You’re potent. The Powers saw you as a divine being, but they only connected the dots between your spotless record and all that energy.”

“So you just want me to yourself?”

“Not at all,” Minho shook his head. “I watched you deny your slating and stray from the path to go your own way. You went after what you wanted despite me refusing to assist you. Angel, you pushed Seungmin without laying a hand on him. You just wanted it bad enough. There’s something powerful in you, sure, but I'm in awe of you. It’s rare to meet humans like you.”

You met Minho’s gaze and he held it, unrelenting as his effusive warmth rocked into you. His moans made you ache between your legs, the way his lovemaking was so methodical yet so raw making your head spin. The difference between him and Seungmin was stark, a thought you never predicted you’d have, but it was glaringly obvious. Whereas Seungmin lauded how reserved you were, how modest and shy you seemed to be, Minho actively encouraged each sigh, each cursing gasp that escaped you. You didn’t feel stifled into trying to be quiet and pretty as Minho ravaged you. Instead, the corporeal spirit on top of you shivered and shuddered as he explored you and experienced you, adoring and savoring the tryst as a whole.

“What’re you going to offer me, Minho?” you finally asked him, your voice almost hoarse from the impassioned overuse of it.

“Let me be with you, angel,” he pleaded, burying his lips in the crook of your neck as he angled his hips into your sweet spot. “I’ll show you everything that I can without taking you to my world, and when we’re ready… I’ll make that journey with you.”

“Do it,” you impulsively demanded. “What do you need from me?”

“Nothing,” Minho assured you. He jolted and groaned when you thrashed against him, his perfect member drilling into your core just right. “Nothing but you. Just let me have you, angel.”

“Take me,” you whimpered. “I’m gonna–oh, fuck, Minho, it’s too much, I can’t–”

“You can,” your lover urged you. “I got you, angel, just let it happen.”

You clutched wildly onto each other, Minho’s sharp fingertips raking into your waist where he held you as he brought you to your peak. The precipice approached quickly, almost violently, and wracked you to your bones. You never recalled practically feeling an orgasm in your neck before. Minho wasn’t far behind, seemingly biting down into your shoulder for support more than possessiveness when he arrived at his point of no return. He cried out, bucking into you as he spent himself deep inside you, that warmth almost feeling more like boiling in the feverish rush. 

Minho eased down onto the bed as gently as he could without collapsing on you, trying to catch his breath. “Unbelievable,” he marveled. 

“What’s that?”

“I’d always been warned that humans are too fragile to mate with,” he explained. “I’m beginning to think this was all part of some grand plan. Maybe this was meant to happen.”

“You mean I’m slated,” you giggled. Minho nodded in a daze. The quiet surrounding you felt ominous, but the air in the cabin was charged. You felt electric. “What now?” you asked.

Minho wrapped his arms around your waist and laid his head on your chest. “Whatever you want, angel,” he vowed. “You already have my devotion.”