#Shadow…. and now Dolphin…..

[puppetmaster13u]

Mermay Special Prompt 4

Go on vacation, they said. We can watch Gotham, they said. Just go hang with and adjust to caring for kids, they said. Yeah, well no one said anything about getting cursed while at the vacation lake house, which okay, fine. But did it have to affect the kids too? 

Bruce pressed his head in his hands, groaning in dismay as the children practically zoomed around the surrounding water with enthusiastic trills and squeals he could somehow understand. And through the air, to their increasing delight. Okay. Okay this is fine. 

It wasn’t like he also somehow now had an extra child who looked like one at most that he had no clue as to where they came from. Said child wasn’t squirming in his arms, black scales and tiny fins akin to the setting of a sun twisting as they chirped. Definitely not. 

Okay. Alright. He could figure this out. Probably…. hopefully…

[lady-luckk]

Pirate captain with his prized treasure…….a captured mermaid reader darling 🥰❤️🌊

To make the story more dramatic maybe even the other crew mates also get infatuated with her? 🫣💀🌊

ˏˋ°•*⁀➷ most prized possession

# pairings: yandere pirate harem x mermaid / merman reader

# synopsis: you're a mermaid / merman curious about humans. one day you swim too close to the surface and get captured by an infamous pirate crew. no matter how hard you try, they'll never let you go.

# warnings: this will contain dark themes such as obsession, kidnapping, and murder. if you are uncomfortable, please block me. viewer discretion is advised. minors DNI.

# notes: reblogs, comments, and likes are appreciated!

you’d heard of pirates.

rumors that drifted through currents, whispered between schools of fish and passing dolphins. stories of ships that bled oil and fire, of men who carved the sea like beasts with bones of steel. dangerous. loud. ugly.

whispers drifting through currents, secrets traded between reef and wreck. stories soaked in blood and oil—ships that screamed across the sea, men who wore steel like skin. monsters. brutal. loud. ugly.

but when his ship rose from the horizon, it wasn’t ugly.

it was wrong. and gorgeous.

it was… strange. fascinating. black sails like wings. wood that creaked with secrets. music—deep and ragged, not like your songs, but powerful. alive.

and then you saw him.

tall. scarred. sharp in every way. his voice cracked like lightning. his crew scattered like birds when he barked. he stood like the sea bowed to him. you should’ve been afraid.

instead, you were enchanted.

you watched for hours. you’d never seen a human this close. you darted around the hull, peeking above the waves, your heart beating fast, not from fear—but from wonder. what was it like to stand? to wear metal? to command so many? to own the sea without gills?

you let out a quiet hum, just to see if he’d hear.

he did.

his head snapped toward you like a blade unsheathing. he didn’t shout. he smiled. but it wasn’t warm. it was sharp. possessive. like you’d already been taken.

you ducked. swam deep. but the hook had sunk—not into your skin, but somewhere worse.

you came back the next day. and the next.

until one night, you got too close.

a flash. a net. cold iron and hands that grabbed too fast for you to slip away. you thrashed, screamed. they laughed. he didn’t.

he leaned down, studying you like something he’d won at great cost.

“you should’ve stayed hidden,” he said, low, rough. “curious little thing.”

you trembled as they lowered you into a cage half-filled with seawater. he watched you like a man starving. not for food—for possession.

“you’re mine now,” he whispered.

and you, stupidly, still wondered what it might feel like to touch his face.

his crew is just as twisted as he is—maybe worse.

the first mate grins too wide whenever you scream. he speaks in riddles, touches your the glass of your aquarium like he’s checking the weight of a pearl, like he’s wondering how many pieces you’d break into. he calls you his little song.

the helmsman talks to the sea like it talks back. you’ve seen him whisper into the water and laugh when it spits foam against your prison. he says you’re a curse, and though he never acts on it, he likes the chaos you bring. he enjoys watching the captain’s obsession eat away at him, unraveling him bit by bit. to the helmsman, you're not just a prisoner; you're a force that disturbs the balance, and he relishes in the way it makes everything feel like it's on the edge of cracking.

the cook leaves you offerings. shells. bones. scraps of things you can’t name. he speaks the least but watches the most. always there in the shadows, waiting. you’re not sure if it’s kindness or cruelty, and you’re not sure which is worse.

the lookout keeps charts of your body. sketches on soaked parchment. fins. scales. the curve of your throat. he thinks you don’t see. but you do. he documents you like you’re a specimen, something to study before it slips from the world.

the gunner carved a song into the wood near your cage. a lullaby made of threats and longing. he hums it under his breath while polishing weapons. you hate it. you hate that it lingers in your ears long after he’s gone.

and yet none of them touch you.

not without the captain’s word.

they fear him more than they want you—but only barely. and that balance is paper-thin. one snap, one slip, and they’ll fall on you like a pack of starving beasts.

they say you're a prize. a curse. a god. a pet. depends who’s speaking. depends who’s drinking. but no matter what name they use, they all agree on one thing:

you belong to them.

not just the captain, though he was the first to lay claim—his hands the ones that dragged you from the waves, his voice the one that named you his. but once they saw you—saw the shimmer of your scales, the way your eyes burned with defiance—they all decided.

you’re not his.

you’re theirs.

the first mate tells you this as he runs a blade along your tank. he calls you treasure, says gold fades and rusts, but you—you breathe. he killed for you before the captain even asked. he’d do it again, slower next time. just to hear you gasp.

“ever think of running, little fish?” he asks, grinning like a split lip. “go ahead. try. i’ll be the one to chase you. i’d like that.”

you bare your teeth.

he laughs. “look at that. still got bite. don’t worry, i’d never dull your edges. just want to see how sharp you really are.”

his knife scrapes the edge of your tank. it leaves a mark. he likes leaving marks.

“you’re prettiest when you’re angry,” he mutters, “but i wonder how you’d sound if you begged.”

he loves you. he watches you like you’re the only thing that can fill him, and every time you resist, every time you snap, it only makes his hunger worse.

“you’re too pretty to vanish,” he says, the words almost a prayer. “so I’ll make sure you don’t.” he wants to keep you locked in his gaze forever, to watch you fight and scream, 

because when you’re angry, it feels like you’re alive—and that’s the only thing that makes sense to him anymore. he feeds on your rage. he would kill to see it last.

the helmsman doesn’t smile. he never has. he sits across from your cage, murmuring to the sea through cracked lips, his fingers stained with ink and salt.

“storm’s coming,” he says. “the sea told me. she’s jealous of you.” you stay quiet. he doesn’t need your voice to continue.

“she said you shouldn’t be here. but i told her you’re ours now. she’ll forgive us.”

a pause.

“eventually.”

his eyes flick to yours. hollow. reverent.  

“don’t sing to her. sing to me next time.”

the helmsman, he’s afraid of losing you. every night, he stares at the stars, but he doesn’t see them. he sees you. he’s become obsessed with your existence. he talks to the sea like it’s a jealous lover.

“she’s angry,” he whispers to your tank. “she wants you back, but I won’t let her.” there’s a madness in his voice, a desperation in his touch as he grips the wheel with white knuckles, like if he lets go for even a moment, the ship—and you—will slip away. he doesn’t sleep. he’s terrified if he closes his eyes, you’ll disappear, and he’ll be left with nothing but the endless waves.

“you’re real,” he repeats to himself, as if saying it enough will make it true. “you’re real. and you’re ours.”

the cook leaves things.

he doesn’t speak much. just opens the hatch, slides in a dish of raw fish and strange fruit, and watches as you push it away.

“not hungry?” he rasps, voice low like wet gravel. “you need to eat. weak things don’t last long on this ship.”

you glare at him. he sets a small shell down beside the plate—cracked, pearlescent, beautiful in a broken way.

“found this,” he says. “looked like your eyes.” you don’t thank him. he doesn’t expect it. he only stares, then leaves.

he’s quiet in his obsession, but it’s no less consuming. he’s obsessed with feeding you, with seeing you take something from him.

“you looked at me once,” he whispers, like it’s a holy memory. “your eyes… they softened.” he remembers the flicker of something in your gaze, the way you acknowledged him, and he clings to it like it’s the only real thing in the world. every meal he serves you is an offering, each one wrapped in desperation.

he’ll starve the crew before he lets you go hungry, as if keeping you full will keep you here. and when you refuse his food, when you turn your face away, he sees it as a challenge. something to overcome. something to earn. 

and he will—he’ll make sure you never go hungry again. because that’s how he’ll keep you. that’s how he’ll keep you his.

the lookout perches near your tank at dusk, always with charcoal-stained hands and a scroll of half-done sketches.

“hold still,” he mutters. “your eyes keep shifting.”

you turn away. he clicks his tongue.

“rude. you want to be forgotten?”

a pause.

i could sketch your throat next. the curve of your gills. people never draw those right.”

he leans closer, voice soft. too soft.

“you’re already myth. i’m just making sure the truth stays ours.”

the lookout is a predator in his own way, stalking you with his eyes. his obsession isn’t with touch, but with knowing you. understanding you. he thinks if he studies you enough, if he watches you in silence, he’ll unlock the secret that makes you—well, you.

“you’ll reveal yourself,” he tells you in a soft, matter-of-fact voice. “i’ll wait.”

he draws you in all his sketches, each one a different version of you—beautiful, terrifying, fragile, strong. But none of them capture what he sees in you. he’s obsessed with capturing your essence, and he’ll never stop drawing. because once he knows you completely, once he understands you inside and out, he’ll have you. he’s convinced of it. and until then, he waits. and watches.

the gunner slams in like a cannonball—loud, reckless, already drunk.

“siren!” he roars, arms spread wide. “you missed me, didn’t you?” you hiss. he beams.

“don’t be shy,” he says, crouching beside the cage. “i killed three men for you today. you hear that? three. didn’t even blink.”

he rattles the tank. you flinch.

“you could say thank you,” he says, voice lower now. “you should say thank you.” you don’t.

“fine.” he smiles. “i’ll earn it tomorrow, too.”

the gunner is all chaos, all violence, all adrenaline. he’s obsessed with the rush of it—the fight, the kill, the hunt. he craves the rawness of it, and you, to him, are the ultimate hunt.

he doesn’t just want you to submit. he wants to break you. he’s obsessed with seeing you bend, seeing you crack. he wants to see what happens when you stop fighting back.

“not long now,” he mutters as he polishes his weapons. “you’ll break. they all do.” but he’s wrong. you’re not like them.

but he doesn’t care. he’ll break you, piece by piece, until you do what he says. because once you do, that’s when you’ll finally belong to him.

and then there’s the captain. he comes last. always last. always when the others are gone.he doesn’t sit. he stands—like a storm trapped in flesh.

“they think you belong to them,” he says. “fools.” you raise your head slowly. your silence is your only defiance.

“they touch the tank. they speak like you’re theirs. they forget who caught you.”

 he steps closer. your water ripples with the weight of him.

“tell me, little siren,” he murmurs, “do you miss the sea?” you nod.

he kneels, eye-level now. dangerous.

“good,” he says, almost gently. “i want you to remember what i took from you.”

his hand brushes the glass.

“because you’ll never have it again.”

you don’t cry. you just sing when he leaves—quietly, bitterly—until the ship creaks like it’s trying to weep with you.

he’s the only one who understands you. the only one who sees you not as a prize, but as something far darker, far more beautiful. you are his. the others are just… distractions. you’re the thing he wanted from the moment he first saw you.

“you’ll never leave,” he tells you, as though it’s a promise. “not as long as i breathe.” he doesn’t need to touch you to claim you.

his obsession is more consuming than any of theirs. he wants your soul. he wants you to burn with him.

“i’ll never let you go,” he whispers, his voice almost tender. “not until you’re mine in every way.”

you are a creature of the sea—beautiful and dangerous, ancient in ways humans can never fully understand. your scales shimmer in the dim light of your cage, iridescent and fluid, reflecting the moonlight like the surface of the water at night. your tail flicks with a quiet grace, though it’s trapped in a small space, too confined for the freedom you were born to. every movement you make is a reminder of what you once were—unstoppable, wild, untouchable.

your voice, once a haunting melody that lured ships to their doom, now remains trapped in your throat, locked away behind iron bars. you still hum, though, sometimes—a quiet song that only the sea might hear, but here, only the crew listens. your gaze, bright and defiant, burns with the memory of the open waters, the endless horizon that you long to return to.

the crew treats you like a rare, untamed creature—something they don't truly understand, but they want to possess anyway. they see you as both a prize and puzzle, something to be studied and admired, but they can't see the soul behind your eyes. you're not just a mermaid to them, a mythical being to be owned. you are a symbol of their twisted desires, a reflection of their madness.

you’ve heard them talk about your beauty, your power, your magic—but none of them can truly grasp the depths of who you are. they only see what they can take, what they can hold in their hands. the first mate, with his obsession for watching you struggle, delights in your anger, but never understands that beneath it all, there’s a heart that beats for the sea and not for them. the helmsman, who whispers to the waves, doesn’t realize that your connection to the sea isn’t something to be manipulated, but something that keeps you tethered to a world you can’t escape from. the cook, leaving offerings like a worshiper, doesn’t see that you’re not a pet to be fed, but a creature of great beauty and mystery—an untamed soul.

they’ve captured you, trapped you in a cage meant for lesser beasts, but they don't understand that you are no mere creature to be tamed. you are the storm beneath the water, the pulse of the ocean, and the very air they breathe is tainted with your presence. you are more than they will ever know.

[fungifaggot]

Alternative!Mark Grayson x Cat!Hybrid Gn!Reader

Content: fluff?maybeidontknow- like in a toxic, abusive way. Also sexual undertones if you squint.

A/n: I wrote this with Mohawk Mark in mind, but it's not specified at all in the fic.

═════════•°• ⚠ •°•═════════

You were a test experiment.

Born in a secret base run by rogue scientists, your existence was part of an illegal project looking to engineer animal-human hybrids. They tested everything- bears for strength, dolphins for underwater efficiency, and then there was you: a cat hybrid.

You were gifted with heightened senses such as enhanced smell and hearing, night vision, retractable claws, and improved agility- you were the ideal build for stealth missions. You were a natural infiltrator. A thief. And an assassin. They trained you to move in the shadows, to slip through security, and retrieve things that no one else could.

You didn’t question your orders. You didn’t dream of the outside world. You didn’t even wonder why you existed. You just did what you were told. And in return, they gave you food, a place to sleep, and a purpose.

That was until one particular mission.

Nothing seemed out of the ordinary, just sneak into an enemy base, eliminate the targets, and get out without raising any alarms.

You moved silently and efficiently through the base. You had already picked off nearly a quarter of their team, hiding the bodies before anyone noticed.

“This’ll be easy,” you thought to yourself right before a blur of yellow came crashing through the wall beside you.

The impact sent you flying. You would’ve landed on your feet if it weren’t for the solid wall of muscle that tackled you mid-air and pinned you to the ground.

He punched you. Once. Twice. And on the third hit, he stopped.

His fist hung above your face, trembling slightly. You were frozen beneath him, dazed, breathing hard. You’d faced enemies before, but none like this. This guy was stronger. This guy could kill you. And for the first time, you felt real fear.

Maybe it was the look in your eyes. Or the way your fur raised in terror. Perhaps it was because he read the collar around your neck- the one that said “Property of (idkicantthinkofsomething) Inc.”

You had just killed a dozen men without a second thought. But for some reason, he couldn’t bring himself to hurt you.

The last thing you remember was the sharp snap of him tearing off your collar.

Then everything went black.

When you woke up, you were in a cold, unfamiliar cell.

Your ankle was chained to a stone wall. A new collar around your neck. The chain was just long enough to let you pace a few feet. But that was it.

You stayed in this prison for about two months- at least, that’s what you guessed. The only way you kept track was by scratching tally marks into the wall with your claws.

Life in prison wasnt particularly different from your life before. You weren't treated well, and there wasn't much to do, but you were already used to being the property of someone else.

You spent most of your free time working out, grooming your fur, or trimming your nails on the rough stone wall.

Which is exactly what you were doing when the prison alarms started blaring. You heard loud crashes echo through the building, followed by the deep tremor of walls shaking and falling apart. Explosions rang out in the distance, and flames lit up the darkened hallways.

You were afraid. You didn't know what was going on; all you could hear were the loud sounds of the building falling apart and people screaming. You would have taken this moment to try and escape if it weren't for the shackles keeping you in your cell.

The best you could do was sit on your bed curled in a ball, covering your head in hopes of protecting yourself from flying debris.

"What do we have here~?"

Your ears perked up, facing toward the unfamiliar voice.

He looked familiar; his suit resembled that of the hero who had sent you to this prison. ‘Invincible’ was his name, you now knew. However, this guy didn't smell the same- you could tell he wasn't from around here.

You took a defensive position, extending your claws and baring your teeth with a loud hiss.

"Now now kitty, there's no need to be disobedient," He said as he approached you menacingly.

His voice was dripping with amusement. His words were riddled with laughter, even though it was out of place.

"Does this kitty cat like to bite?" he teased, extending a hand out to your face.

As he expected, you did. You clamped your jaw around his hand the moment he was within reach.

He retracted his hand, unphased by the pain.

"Tsk tsk tsk, bad kitty," he said with an exaggerated pout.

He lunged forward, grabbing you by the scruff, and lifted you up as far as the shackles would let him.

"Bad kitties deserved to be punished."

He pulled on your scruff even harder; it felt almost like he was going to rip the skin right off of your body. You knew he could if he wanted to.

And yet you were being held in the air at his mercy- he undressed you with his eyes. Taking in the entirety of your body, soaking in your beauty.

“We don't have anything like you where I’m from-” he mused, flicking at your sensitive ears, enjoying how you grit your teeth in pain.

“How cute…”

He stops talking for a moment, as if lost in thought, before a slow grin spreads across his face.

“Y’know what? I think I want to keep ya! You’re awfully pretty…”

He pulled your limp body closer to his, your limbs still dangling like a ragdoll.

“What do you think about that?” he asks, his smile growing impossibly wider.

It was a rhetorical question; you obviously didn’t have a choice.

You still hadn't spoken. You were worried that if you did, your voice would tremble.

He gently set you back down on the prison bed, releasing your scruff. His hand slid from your neck to your chin, tilting your head upward until you were forced to meet his gaze.

You tensed, unsure of what he would do next.

To your surprise, he started to move his hand gently, scratching under your jaw.

“What is he doing?” you thought to yourself

It was an odd sensation- getting pet, that is. It was something you’ve never felt before. Your creators never treated you to such affection. This was the first time that you have ever felt the gentle touch of another.

It was rather pleasurable.

You couldn’t help yourself. You leaned into his touch, instinctively pressing your cheek against his hand. His touch made your jaw feel warm, and the way he scratched you hit an itch you never knew you had.

“This kitty likes attention, don't they?” he cooed in a singsong voice, scratching deeper.

Amongst all the screaming and commotion happening in the background he almost missed it- the soft rumble of you purring.

You didn’t mean to purr; it just kind of happened.

The suited man jutted out his bottom lip in a fake pout.

“Awwww, I think this kitty likes me!” he teased.

With a swift motion, he grabbed your shackles and tore them from the wall.

“You’re going to make a perfect pet,” he said with a smirk.

“I think it’s time to take you home with me.”

═════════•°• ⚠ •°•═════════

A/n: sorry this is short, I ran outta gas towards the end of this one.

[schemingdiva]

pick a pile reading - messages that you need to hear right now

Pile 1:

Cards: the world, 9 of pentacles, knight of wands, king of cups | shapeshifter oracle card

A situation that you have been praying about has finally reached its end. New financial opportunities are on their way to you dear one. Keep an eye out for incoming money or career opportunities. You are being encouraged to travel and step beyond your comfort zone. Don’t stay in the same place where you struggled, now is the time for you to leave and really challenge yourself to thrive outside of your comfort zone. It’s possible that you may be considering a new career or moving to a new city. You might be into art or traveling. You are also being encouraged to hone your skills and spend time with yourself focusing on your strengths.

extra confirmation: butterflies 🦋, dolphins, the coast, 777

Pile 2:

Cards: death, ace of pentacles, 7 of wands | mountain oracle card

You’re going through a major transformation right now! It may be hard to accept but once you let go of the past, you can get started on your glow up love! You spent a lot of time doing the hard work behind the scenes, doing shadow work and now your hard work is paying off. You may be getting a new job or raise, your life is being promoted in huge way. You may feel a bit defensive right now, but trust that the Universe/God, whomever you believe has your back. Make sure to keep up your boundaries and guard your treasures. The Universe is guiding you to stand your ground regarding this situation, continue with your beliefs and what you’re focusing on. Other people around you may disagree but ignore them, the Universe is supporting you 100% with this. What you’re doing is right for you, and you alone.

extra confirmation: 444, leo, scorpio

Pile 3:

Cards: 9 of swords, 7 of cups, death | earth mother oracles

My heart aches for you pile 3. You’re currently feeling alone, maybe even depressed. You’re in a lot of pain. You may feel so overwhelmed by life that you don’t know how to move forward. If you’re feeling this way this message is for you. You’re being encouraged to start anew, allow yourself to start over. This part of your life has ended, and no longer serves you. You’ll soon find that life is changing to your benefit. You’re entering an entirely new chapter of your life! During this transition please know that you are loved. As you go through this process it’s important that you make plans and assess what your next steps are. It’s time to be focused so you are prepared for the changes coming your way. Trust yourself and your ability to succeed.

extra confirmation: 555, holly berries, feathers

Pile 4:

Cards: 6 of pentacles, king of swords, death, 5 of wands, the hermit | winter oracle

Pile 4, it looks like you need to slow down and take some time for yourself. You’re a very generous person, and you’re often the person that people turn to for help. A lot of people may depend on you in your personal life. You should reevaluate your relationships and consider if these people are deserving of you and your generosity. At this time, you’re entering a period of rebirth. Your life is transforming for the better. This period may be a little rough, I’m seeing some challenges coming your way. The best way to navigate these challenges is by spending time alone. This may be hard, especially if you’re normally surrounded by people. Stand your ground, and focus on you. Keep an eye out for more information that may be revealed to you.

extra confirmation: snow, snakes, smoke

————————————————————————

Thank you for reading! More to come soon.

[divinit3a]

oneshot: out of character -> ao3 link reader x mer animatronic!moon 🌊 word count: 3,403

Working at a Fazbear animatronic theme park hadn't really been your dream, but it is your current reality.

At first, you were starry-eyed. Clocking in each day at a place that brings out the magic of imagination. Revamped from its first attempt that mysteriously burnt down after a rigorous police investigation, inexplicably refurbished into a half VR game center, half water-park. You’d bet the money that fuels such an over-the-top offshoot for the franchise pumps in from the Pizzaplex the next city over.

The ambition of the two owners who picked up the business manifested into a massive aquarium at the center, home to mechanized sea life. Animatronics of all shapes and sizes, perfect replicas of their real life counterparts. Plus or minus a more vivid, appealing, toy-selling color palette. 

The multi-level aquarium showcases beautiful spectacles of engineering that allow all creatures of the deep to intermingle without the limitations of reality. You’ve stood in the tunnels that wind throughout the first floor on the slow moving tracks before, looking around with awe and wonder at the flittering sharks and jumping dolphins. A whale would float by now and then, casting a great shadow across the tunnels as everyone hurried to snap a photo.

Ferry rides are offered at an exuberant price to float atop the largest of the decorative tanks, where a stationary mermaid animatronic waves with a pleasant smile. You stopped going to the ferry rides after they replaced the human staff with the admittedly rather creepy, blank-staring bots and their pre-recorded voice lines. 

Despite all the splendor surrounding you, the position of 'general maintenance' tends to become lackluster after cleaning up one too many barf piles near the food courts. Or being tasked with fishing cellphones out of the tops of tanks, enduring the hellish fury of whichever parent you had the misfortune of relaying the lost or damaged items policy to. Rattling off of a lengthy speech of ‘we wont pay for this,’ in corporate, smiley, customer-service-y terms. 

You sigh, pushing a heavy mop forward as music thrums through your ear buds. You take a moment to rest your head against your curled up hands at the top of the handle, listening to the last few seconds of the track, before popping the ear buds out one by one and shoving them into your jacket pockets. 

The slow drip of a faucet welcomes you back to cold, harsh reality. The last hour or more of your life was spent sopping up the ick that countless shoes tracked in and out the restroom facility throughout the day. 

By now, the sun is setting over the horizon line. You always pick up the latest shifts in the day. The overnight security staff are your regular acquaintances. You’ve bribed the main desk guy into being your ride-or-die with sugary, outdated donuts.  

There's a ding on your pager. You lean the broom handle on the brick wall, which is plastered with Chica and Roxanne themed posters that encourage handwashing. As you rest the mop, you falter to catch it from falling over, as the damn thing could never just stay put. Once you’ve prevented the disaster of the mop tipping over, you check the pager again, missing the glitching and rearranging of the letters on screen. 

Honestly, the technology is considerably retro compared to what's out on the market; looking more like a terminal you’d see in a sci-fi movie, or perhaps a calculator that would be chucked at a classmate in second grade. 

What greets you is an open-ended service ticket for the Haunted Shipwreck. You quirk an eyebrow. The exhibit was usually cleaned diligently by daytime staff in preparation for opening in the evening. Spruced up by the folks who worked at the bar, and the poor teenage saps who had to stand in the queue lines scanning tickets. The ‘ride’ was part of the finale of the virtual reality storyline that guests could pay a premium price to experience, connecting all the dots of the theme park’s attractions together. 

Plus, it was the only place that served alcohol after five pm. The specialty drinks are so neon and vivid that the sugar content has to be astronomical. 

Parents flock there like it is truly an oasis in a kiddy-park desert. 

Scratching at your head, you walk in a circle as you read the details, or lack thereof. The ticket reads, 'Exhibition needs spot cleaning.' Spot cleaning? A whole exhibit? Your thumb hovers over the button to accept the task. It beats mopping bathroom tiles any day.

You wring out the mop into its bucket, and begin the tedious task of ferrying cleaning supplies from one area to the next. On your way out, you sling the heft of a tool bag over your shoulder. 

_____________________________________

The scent of lemony freshness follows you in hot pursuit. You shove open the doors to the exhibit with a “Hello?”, expecting another person or two from the maintenance crew to have accepted the job. Cleaning a whole attraction on your lonesome did not bode well for the ‘no overtime’ policy. 

The response you get is absolute silence.

You feel along the wall for a light switch, and then remember that this is an amusement park, not a hotel. The controls for the area’s lights are all in the breaker room out back. Locked away with a key that is not in your possession. With a sigh, you fish out a flashlight from your tool bag and continue to wheel your cart in.

Without music blaring through the hidden speakers, or patrons milling through the bar onto the dance floor, the main atrium of the ride feels as haunted as its namesake. Grumbling, you pull out your pager and look down. The screen is blank, as if the task had never existed at all. 

Before you can question the disappearing act, spotlights turn on. A deafening click causes you to jolt and nearly drop the device.  

You look up, and are face to face with the animatronic who prowls the exhibit. Your lungs temporary pause all function as your heart works in overdrive. 

Above you is an elaborate trick of puppetry. A skeletal siren with a face as white as bone is frozen in place, with its arms outstretched as if it had been reaching towards you in the darkness to swipe you up. Thin, transparent plastic that shimmers like true fish scales acts as webbing between its sharp claws.

A billowing tail snakes like a serpent atop most of the area’s ceiling, weaving around the lighting system. The tip of its tailfin is curled around the rafters, as if supporting its weight. But that couldn’t be true; as a large cord connects into its back. Following the tubing leads to the pulley system which keeps it on predictable tracks. 

One eye is cyan. The other eye is entirely a deep crimson, casting an eerie glow across your face. The eye with the cyan pupil trembles. 

“Jeez, you scared me!” You say, too shocked to catch yourself before talking with an inanimate puppet.

The robotic siren, Moon, stares at you, not budging from its post. The lack of movement makes it feel more and more like a statue. You feel silly for speaking to it directly. 

But you remember: there's a person whose entire job is to spend the day operating these guys. To keep them lifelike, same as the free-roam 'animatronics' that are actually just staff in sweaty old mascot suits. Learning the truth as an employee had dimmed the magic of the theme park, but you still admit that it is an impressive work of robotics, especially considering the aquarium. 

“Are you still on for the night? Ride’s shut down,” You ask, pushing through the lingering fear you felt from the brief scare. During off-season the park closes earlier and is open about half the days, meaning that Haunted Shipwreck is mostly operational Friday and Saturday. Today is a Wednesday. You didn’t expect the elusive staff who controls the two mermaid animatronics to be on duty. 

In response, the animatronic's massive tail slaps against the faux rocky terrain that decorates its elaborate enclosure. Moon lands back on the main stage it perches on during performances. Without the constant spray of dry ice to create the illusion of fog, and the bright red lighting, the siren lacks the intimidating flare you expect.

“Well, I'm here to clean. That's all.” You rest your hands at your sides, settling your thumbs into the belt loops. 

Moon peers at you. Then it rolls over onto its back. The wires controlling its electronics flatten against the surface as it settles into place. You blink as you stare at a 'belly-up' fish. Its hands rest into a t-rex, claw-like position at its sides, as if it wasn’t used to laying down, either, and instantly felt awkward. 

“Oh,” You exclaim, wrapping your head around the vague task you accepted. At last, you understand who – or what, needs cleaning: the animatronic itself. There’s gum stuck to its sculpted fins and a few pieces of paper wedged into the joints that segment its torso from its abdomen, limiting its range of motion. 

A cruel prank, regardless of the recipient’s ability to feel discomfort. 

You set your tool bag down on the floor and stumble up the plastic molded rocks, right past the ‘DO NOT CLIMB’ sign. All things considered, the ‘spot cleaning’ looks like an easy project to finish off your shift. 

You sit on your knees next to the animatronic. 

You start by pulling the paper jammed into its torso hinge out. You brace a palm against its side, and carefully tug. Hearing the papers tear makes you curse softly under your breath. 

The animatronic watches, and then bends its torso hinge away, giving you easier access to pull the shredded bits out. 

You begin to notice that all the papers jammed inside the robot are actually posters and pamphlets that you can pick up for free at the photo kiosk a room over. Strange. 

Taking a second to indulge your curiosity, you inspect one of the postcards. 

The front of the card is split into two; the daytime half, Sun, spritely and bright on the left. And his cursed form that haunts the seas at night, Moon, in an ominous dark silhouette on the right. A few of these are even lenticular prints that you can shift back and forth, but those have to be bought at the complimentary gift shop at the end of the ride.  

The depicted dark, jagged silhouette of Moon is a sharp contrast to the docile animatronic beside you. Existing to be ‘vanquished’ time and time again, by brave patrons, in order to free Sun from the shackles of an evil witch’s hex. 

The witch character is set to debut at long last in a few months.

You find yourself smiling at the memories of watching the performance for the first time; the smoke and mirrors of the robots being switched out on stage to masquerade as one feat of engineering. The silly story never fails to be engaging, with how much production was poured into making Sun’s character so lifelike and memorable.

Now that you think about it, you wonder why Moon never got the same treatment. You look up to see that the ‘cursed siren’ on your mind is staring right at you, almost expectantly. Beneath its chassis where your palms rest is a soft, insistent hum of machinery, fans set to medium gear. It points to a piece of paper you missed under its arm socket. You lean closer to dig in, their gaze burning into the back of your head. 

The silence as you work on the clean-up becomes increasingly uncomfortable. Even more so when you consider that whoever is tasked with puppeting Moon is still up in the server room, no doubt working past their shift’s end to make your job easier by maneuvering the siren this way and that. 

Though, you wonder why the puppeteer didn't just meet you at Haunted Shipwreck themself to talk it through. Must be some kind of NDA, or lack of a remote control.

By the time you are scraping gum off glittering scales, you decisively break the ice with, “Y'know, Im surprised. I thought you'd be home by now,” beginning the idle, one-sided chatter. Just because you are here on business, doesn’t mean the exchange had to be so clinical. Your quiet companion shows that its listening by flicking the long fin that adorns its head. Bright cyan tracks your every movement with what feels like intense curiosity.

While you work, you take out the pager to check on your tasks for the night. In an instant, Moon swipes it, moving faster than you can comprehend. They slither away from you with shocking speed, cable attached to its back whirring to keep up with the momentum. 

“Hey! Give that back!” You reach up, fingertips brushing off the smooth scales upon its long, imposing tail. Up above, the animatronic fiddles with the pager. Frustration ripples off it as its hands clunkily tap away at the tiny, human-sized keyboard. 

“Don't break it, c'mon, it'll come out of my paycheck!” You swat at the robot whose mid-air. You gasp at the audacity it has to curl its tail inward and away from you. An unfair game of keep-away. 

Moon turns the screen of the pager back to you. 'Thank you,' is typed out in simplistic, boxy letters. You blink, staring at the screen as the pager is gingerly placed back in your hands, claws ghosting across your arms. The siren pulls back quickly. Moon fidgets with the hem of its costuming, a subtle act of nerves that trips you up even worse.

“You—you're welcome.” You stumble on your words, not quite sure why the sentiment is so shocking. But it feels like it came from the robot itself—whoever ran these guys was committed to staying in character. Even to other staff. You admire the dedication.

The robot leers down at you. Pupils burning, an unsettling lack of expression except for a wide-eyed stare that never relents the pressure it exerts. A hand extends out, and it takes a moment for you to realize that its asking for the pager back. Dumbstruck, you comply without a second thought. The robot taps away at the keyboard, dwarfed by its palms. You hear the click-click-click of the backspace button as it shakes its faceplate.

The pager returns to you. After all its effort, only one word is on the screen: 'Again.'

“Again?” You repeat aloud, looking up at Moon with confusion. The robot continues to fidget, before nodding so quickly in confirmation, that you are worried you'll need to send in a ticket to fix its neck hinge. That sort of job goes to the on-sight mechanics who the company contracts, not a regular maintenance guy like you. “You'd... like me to stop by, again?” You guess, and Moon's nerves boil over. The tracks in the ceiling creak as the creature 'swims' all around you, showcasing flashes of glittering fins and the faintest glint of sharp fangs beneath its flowing collar. With the blur of violet, magenta, and crimson swirling around you, its like being in the middle of a shark swarm— without any of the fear. 

Because you take the boundless enthusiasm to mean, 'yes.'

”Okay, okay. I will,“ You laugh at the strange antics, charmed by how earnest the supposedly wicked siren can be. You don’t know much about Moon's character here at the park; he was intentionally left mysterious to add to the villainous flare. Or perhaps, to excuse the lack of forethought into an antagonist designed for a theme park. So, to see him instead doing several aerial laps around the perimeter of the shipwreck, you can't help but find them endearing.

Your pager dings, reminding you that there is twenty minutes before your shift ends, and one bathroom facility left half-mopped in your haste. 

“It was nice meeting you,” You hesitate—you have no idea who this person is. You stare into the lens of the animatronic’s eyes, pondering who was watching you back on the camera feed. 

Maybe the two of you could get lunch sometime off the clock, away from the prying of corporate eyes. Perhaps they are nervous to break character. You glance to the security camera in the corner, and back, ”...Moon,” you decide to call them by the character they play, for the time being. 

The siren lurches toward you. 

You reel back, almost slipping on the plastic rocks.

Spindly limbs wrap around you, catching you from your fall, and—Oh.

You blink, struggling to keep up. The wretched siren of the coast is giving you a hug. The fabric of its costume sleeves is silky and smooth, and almost bundles you up like a tarp.   

”O-okay, then.” You pat at the back of the animatronic. Its staring at you so seriously with massive, leering eyes, that you are struggling not to buckle under the stress. The pressure Moon exerts is light, but spikes your heart rate regardless. Your feet are almost off the ground, balancing on the heels of your work boots as you tilt back. You aren’t looking to go for a swim, or to be put on medical leave from a concussion. 

“That’s, um, very sweet, thank you, Moon.” You tap its arms next to indicate you’re ready to be let go of. You find your cheeks flushing in embarrassment, wondering if the animatronic’s puppeteer thinks its amusing to scare you with this level of whiplash. Maybe it is funny to them, to make the theme park's aloof villain act all cuddly for one-on-one exchanges. 

“There we go—nice and easy,” you find yourself narrating, as the siren deliberately sets you back down on the floor. Not back onto the rocks; no, it cranes you over to main floor, where you run a much smaller risk of falling on uneven terrain. 

Walking over to collect your belongings, you shrug your tool bag over your shoulder, and place a hand on the handle of your cleaning cart.

The animatronic waves you off, watching with interest as you shove your way out the door. A glimpse of the outside world, the low lights of the shut-down park and the infinite expanse of the night sky.

You stop in the doorway, prolonging the moment, “Have a good night, Moon.” The animatronic stays perfectly still, playing its role. Poised with elegance and a threatening aura. The sight leaves you with chills, although you hardly had reason to fear the animatronic, or its friendly puppeteer.

The door closes.

A pause. 

Moon stays put until they can no longer hear the roll of your cart. Then it springs up. Pacing back and forth, tail moving as smoothly as kelp in the current, weaving through decorative pillars that sell the illusion of being underwater, trapped in a shipwreck. The sliding of the wire on its tracks plays a symphony as it maneuvers around. Feeling–feeling, like it did something right, by doing something terribly wrong. The sensation was so complex that it keeps cataloguing every second.

Moon couldn't believe that tampering with a maintenance ticket actually worked. A small, small chance that anyone would pick up the task he made up— jamming postcards into its segments in a fury to make the objective believable, once someone had actually said 'yes.'

The cord above squeals, and Moon realizes it needs to relax, less it break its ability to move within its small, small world. 

Settling back down, the siren sits on its lonely perch with a glimmer of hope–that you'll be back again the next night, and the next, and the next. After all, you spoke to them with such ease. Most everyone pretends he’s nothing more than a glorified stage prop. Doomed with an underutilized, elaborate AI on the same caliber as all the others in the park, who roam freely. Who get to interact, learn, and grow daily; who get to make friends and play so many games.  

Until next time, they'll work on their communication. Study the humans who walk through its exhibit closer and closer. Experiment with how to evoke emotions beyond fear.

Their tail thumps, eager to continue daydreaming throughout the rest of its cycle spent awake.

[bi-writes]

still wakes the deep au | soap x f!reader

Installment 2/?: Warning Signs

prompt: You're an environmental scientist conducting research on an off-shore oil rig with only a few days left before you're slated to leave. The eldritch creature they accidentally awaken throws a wrench in the works. masterlist

Being alone feels different when there’s nowhere to run. Every wall looks the same, and the stench of must permeates in every room–the carpet must hold it in. Everything drips; the taste of salt won’t go away, and it makes your eyes dry out every time you close them and open them again. There are other people around you, men that are the cause of the knocks against the rig, but they are as alien as what lies beneath you. Every time you feel as if it’s too foreign, you remind yourself that there is nowhere to go.

The only way out of this place is by doing your job; but even that scares you all of the sudden.

Your bed is lumpy. The mattress feels dry, stiff, and it barely gives as you lay in it. You stare up at the bottom of the top bunk, trying not to think about the sound of sea water pelting your window like a threatening knock while you try to sleep.

Your mind barely gives. You keep the lamp that sits on your makeshift desk turned on. Without it, the black of nothingness from outside bleeds through the walls, and you swear you can see a thousand different shapes that claw their way out of the moonlight towards you. The rig doesn’t shake, but it breathes. It lives, somehow, deep legs connected to the seafloor to keep it from drifting off, from separating, from taking you with it, from suffocating you until your breaths are filled with water and your body is too cold to–

You jump when the lamp bursts. A jolt of electricity shatters the bulb, and you sit up in bed, clutching the sheets as you watch the lamp glow slightly before fizzling out. The room blankets into the dark, and you move shakily off your bed and pat around for your flashlight before clicking it on. The small circle of yellow light doesn’t do what you hoped; instead, it makes the shadows of every object longer and seem further away, and they start to move as your hand shakes, so much so that you cannot tell if something is coming towards you or if your mind is still convincing you of some sort of seasickness. One lodged into your brain, one that doesn’t make you nauseous but makes you paranoid that some hole in the ocean will open up and take you with it.

The thought of drowning is not as terrifying as finding out what lies beneath the surface of the water.

When you used to think of the ocean, it used to soothe you. When you closed your eyes, all you could see was crystal clear blue and tropical fish. You thought about running your fingers through warm water and kicking your feet as you watched dolphins fly beside you. When the sun penetrated the light, it shined until it showed the seafloor, where little creatures burrowed beneath bright sand, making it sparkle.

The ocean you know now is anything like it. You understand what they mean when they say “mother nature,” because only a woman scorned could eat the world the way she does. Waves touching taller than buildings. Animals so large, they would swallow you whole and let the acid of their insides quiet your screams for nutrition. An endless void, reaching miles towards the center of earth, a vast unknown that crushes heavy metals and defies physics the further and further you drop. She’s unforgiving. Mean. A terrifying, wonderful thing, and you are cheating death. You know it. She screams at you from just outside your thin walls, and you are pretending not to hear her. She’s telling you something, but you bury your nose in your books.

If it’s a warning she’s trying to give, you won’t know it until it’s too late.

The rig groans in the middle of the night. You can hear the pipes expanding, the water moving aggressively outside your window, the sounds of cranes and metal creaking that rattle off around you. Your hand shakes a little as you try and find your shoes, slipping them on as you open your door in search of a new source of light.

It’s the middle of the night, but there’s still a skeleton crew around, moving between their night shifts. You make your way down the hall, clicking off your flashlight, and you find yourself in the rec room in search of light bulbs in the utility closet there. You hear the doors swing open behind you, and you try to ignore the rowdy voices of men as you stand on your tiptoes and rummage the hundredth box for what you need. You try not to think about the whisps of something delicate you feel grazing your fingertips (because spiders wouldn’t be this far out from land, right?).

“Looks like ye need a little help, bonnie.”

You startle yourself nearly out of your skin. You trip off the ledge you’re standing on, trying to hold your hands out to brace yourself, but you never hit the ground. Strong hands grip you around the middle, breaking your fall and getting you back onto your feet, nice and steady. You spin around, clutching your flashlight to your chest, panting like an anxious puppy. You can make out his blue eyes even in the dark, bright and seemingly concerned as Soap tries to get a grip on you to keep you from swaying.

“‘S alright, lass, ‘s just me! Soap, it’s Soap.”

You put a hand over your chest, trying to calm your breathing, You shake your head, closing your eyes as you try and repeat the mantra you’ve been telling yourself since you got on this stupid rig.

Your feet are on solid ground. Your feet are on solid ground. Your feet are on solid ground.

“Sorry,” you whisper. “I…”

“What are ye doin’ up?” He asks, clicking his tongue. “‘S the middle of the night! Reckon ye need yer beauty sleep.”

You smile a bit, but it doesn’t reach your eyes. You do it to placate him. Men don’t always respond well to sharp teeth, and you haven’t decided how you feel about this one yet. He’s too comfortable. His hands are still around your arms, thumbs smoothing too easily over the bone of your shoulders. He’s too close; he steps just nearer to you, tongue sliding over that top row of teeth, and you try not to think about the way his pupils dilate at the terrified look on your face, the one your smile cannot hide. When he tilts his head to the side, you think he means to look curious, but you think it closer to prey playing with its food. The curls of his growing mohawk fall over his forehead, drawing a dark shadow over his eyes, and you can no longer try to see what might give him away in his gaze.

“The light in my…room. I need a new one, I–” You shake your head. “It’s stupid, but I just…I can’t sleep.”

“We’ll get ye all right fer bed, love,” Soap chuckles. “What’s broken, ye ken what kind ye need?”

You blink, biting your lip, thinking. He’s still touching you; he still has his hands around your arms, but now they’ve settled around your elbow, calloused fingers curled over where they rest.

“I’m not sure. The lamp on my desk, it’s–”

“Ach, those are hidin’, I’m sure o’ it,” he lets you go, reaching up and hoisting down a few boxes before reaching for what lies behind them. He carries them on his shoulder before dropping them onto the floor, and you try not to think about watching him work. He’s a large man. Strong, that much is evident, but there’s something off. You think his physical appearance hides what lies inside. He’s pretty, in a way that shouldn’t be allowed. Straight teeth, a killer smile, arms that do not give once they’re taut with use. Even the uniform he wears does nothing to hide thicker thighs and a solid middle; but you try not to let it distract you from what really remains. If he wasn’t so gorgeous, you don’t think he’d get away with that tick that must exist in his brain. The one that allows him to crowd your space without much resistance. The one that lets him smile like that, like he’s won something, like he’s gotten what he wanted not because he fought for it, but because it is what he is owed. 

He bends over and picks up a bulb that looks good enough and hands it to you. When he straightens his back, you try to catch that look in his eyes again. Maybe he knows you’re looking for it, and now he’s hiding it. Maybe he’s cooing in his own head about what a clever girl you are and trying to decide how he’ll play his game differently.

“Can walk ye back, put it in fer ye.”

You take it from him, drawing a shaky breath. You want to say no. You want to tell him you can do it all on your own, that you’re fine, but then the closet door swings open, and a group of tired-looking crew stare at the two of you as they snicker and nudge each other.

“Wot ye doin’, Soap, seven minutes in heaven with the fuckin’ feds?”

“Och–shut the fuck up, the lot o’ ye,” Soap bites back. “Just doin’ her fuckin’ job, just like the rest o’ ye, so get the fuck out the way. Middle of the night, bunch of gobshites.”

Soap puts a hand around the small of your back, guiding you past the group and out into the hallway. He follows you wordlessly back to accommodations, stopping in front of your door. Your name isn’t on it, but you don’t comment about how he knew this was yours. He waits for you to open the door for him before following you inside.

“A right mess, luvvie.”

He doesn’t let you help. He kicks your bin under the desk, carefully discarding of the pieces of glass that are scattered across your desk. He grumbles under his breath about it being too sharp and how he will do it better and how he can take care of ye. 

When the lamp clicks back on, it paints the room in that comforting orange light, and you relax as you take a seat on your bed, clutching the sheets to dry your clammy palms. He still invades your space, but somehow, with the light, it dampens the sentiment. He scares you just a little less, but if you give him just that much, how much will he use it to his advantage?

“Ye need anythin’, I’m…just down there,” Soap says finally. He points behind him, down the north end of the hallway, and all you can do is nod. “Don’t listen to the lot, bonnie,” Soap adds. “Bunch o’ old, tired bastards. Mean no harm. But if they do, ye come ta me, ye hear?”

“Uhm…Soap?” You call out as he’s leaving. You don’t know why you stop him. You don’t know why you’re talking to him; you’re certain he’s not a stranger to telling a good lie. He turns to face you, leaning against the doorway, and you clear your throat. No one should look this good on just a few hours of sleep, but he’s still blinking awake, unsettlingly calm. “This place…it’s safe, right? I mean…safe as it ought to be?”

Soap smiles, but it’s not like his other smiles. It feels unnatural. His teeth are duller. Lips drier. Maybe he’s just tired.

“It’s safe, love. Swear it. Got me on those rivets.”

You don’t know why, but when he comes close to you, you let him. You let him touch your face, thick fingers smoothing down your jaw just a little too rough, big thumb along your bottom lip rubbing just a little too hard. You hear his door shut nearby once he goes.

The ocean screams. You can hear her again now that his voice is no longer around. You fall asleep knowing he’s close, and you pretend not to notice her. Just like always.

[lilacs-stars]

moon + tides

this is part 1, read part 2 here! pairing: james hook x fem!reader (requested) SUMMARY: you, ariel's daughter, find yourself in a strange relationship with the one and only infamous pirate captain, who's absolutely obsessed with you GENRE: yandere, a bit of angst, some comforting fluff here and there, especially at the end CW: a few mentions of violence, someone walking a plank, mentions of drowning, some suggestive material, nothing too graphic though WC: 4.2k

A/N: this req was really fun to write! I might have gotten a bit carried away, heh...this part includes the backstory of how you two got together and the first part of the req, and the second part will include the rest of it. hope you guys enjoy reading this cause I definitely put some hard work into it lol. also please give me feedback and suggestions, I'd really like to know your thoughts!

If you could go back, would you change what happened?

This is something that you often ask yourself. 

You think about that fateful day frequently. It was the summer before your first year at Merlin Academy. You had finally convinced your parents, the famed mermaid Ariel and her Prince Eric, to let you go for a swim unsupervised. Being half-mermaid, half-human allowed you to transform back and forth at will. And although life on land was pretty good, your heart always ached to go back to the sea, to feel the cold, salty water as it engulfs you. To race along the reefs, tail swishing back and forth, allowing you to reach speeds far past what your human form can do. To leisurely swim amongst the many species of fish and plants that created the world of the ocean. To go back home.

Your parents had already gone over the rules with you hundreds of time, to the point where you could recite each one of them word for word: “Don’t go past the boundaries,” “Don’t approach any animals you don’t know,” “Don’t go so deep where you can’t see any light,” “Come out at the first sign of bad weather,” and, most importantly, “Do not, under any circumstances, interact with any humans.”

Your mother may be renowned for rescuing a stranger from the unrelenting grasps of the sea—if she hadn’t, you wouldn’t even be here right now—but that was a very rare case. Far more often than not, mermaid interactions with humans out on the waters ended up in the mermaid being tortured, held hostage, or even killed.

You knew the rules by heart, and yet, maybe it was because of your young age, you still broke them. You weren’t really aware of your actions in the moment; one second, you were swimming alongside a pod of dolphins, racing against the currents. The next, you heard loud voices and realized that almost directly above you, yet still a good few dozen meters away, was some sort of ship.

You had ducked down next to a big sponge, peering up apprehensively. It was at that moment you realized that you were far outside of the boundaries set for you by your parents. You should have turned back, should have swam back home, but there was something about the ship, something that intrigued you so much it forced you to stay in place.

A few moments passed, and seeing as there was no commotion, you let your curiosity get the better of you. After all, that ship shouldn’t even have been out there. Slowly, you crept closer and closer to the surface, making sure to remain in the shadows. The noises were becoming clearer; you could make out people’s voices now. But they still weren’t sharp enough for you to understand what they were saying.

Finally, you took the risk and poked your head out of the water near the rear of the ship. The sight before you elicited a sharp gasp, and made you wish you had just gone back when you still had the chance. 

Extended from the side of the ship was a long, wooden plank. Standing on one side of it (the safe end), was a man, gagged, blindfolded, and bound. He looked to be no older than forty, with a scraggly beard and ripped clothes.

A pirate.

Another figure emerged, walking to the edge of the deck. Your reflexes caused you to duck down quickly, so only your eyes were barely above the water. This figure was much younger, with dark brown hair parted neatly and angular features twisted into a wicked smile. He donned a maroon blazer that covered a white shirt with an upturned collar. Something in his left hand shined brilliantly under the sun’s bright rays.

The younger figure laughed, but not in the way one would laugh at a funny joke. He unsheathed a cutlass from his side, using it to poke the back of the man on the plank. 

“You see, Mr. Jones? This is what happens when you cross the most feared pirate captain in all the lands!” the young figure roared as he yanked off the older man’s blindfold, revealing to him his fate. The fear and panic that spread across the man’s face has been forever etched into your mind, even to this day.

You heard the man beg and plea for mercy, watched as every move he made caused the plank to sway even more violently. The pirate captain simply laughed, his crew along with him. Finally, when you suppose he tired of hearing the man grovel, you watched in terror as the captain gave the man a good kick in the back, finally sending him over the edge.

Suddenly, it was like the world was spinning in slow motion. The man plummeting off the wooden platform, falling, falling, falling. His screams muffled by the cloth around his mouth. Then, all too soon, he made contact with the water with a loud splash. 

He sank quickly, devoured by the ocean’s waters within the blink of an eye. Your young, distraught face watched as a few bubbles rose to the surface. Then nothing. All that remained of the man’s existence, all there was to give proof that he had ever even been there, were a few ripples in the water.

That was it.

You were frozen in shock. How–what–why? Your brain could barely string together a comprehensive sentence. All you were sure of was the feeling inside you. You couldn’t quite put it into words, could barely even understand it. But it made your tail ache to move, made you feel as if you simply couldn’t stay in one place any longer.

You dove beneath the surface, frantically swimming towards the direction where you saw the man go under. You kept looking around, searching, but to no avail. You decided to dive deeper, swimming lower and lower until the water around you was near pitch-black. You were growing more and more panicked by the second, because every second you wasted was another second the man grew closer to death.

Finally, you caught a glimpse of movement out of the corner of your eye. Hope flaring, you darted towards it, the figure becoming clearer the closer you got.

It was him.

You reached out and grabbed him by the collar of his shirt to prevent him from sinking farther. His eyes were shut and he wasn’t breathing, but you could still hear a heartbeat. There was still time left.

Wrapping your arms around him, you started the difficult journey back to land. Thankfully, you knew of a small island not too far from here. Swimming with the added weight of a fully grown man was incredibly difficult, especially for a young mermaid, but you persisted. After all, this was his life on the line.

You swam as hard as fast as you could, and thankfully, by some blessing from the heavens, found a warm water current going the direction you were. You let it carry you, the rushing stream multiplying your efforts. Finally, after what seemed like hours but must have only been a couple of minutes, you reached the island.

Letting the wave wash you up on shore, you settled the man down on the soft sand the first chance you got. You rolled him to his front, which was quite the endeavor itself. His heartbeat had grown more shallow, but it was still there. There was still hope.

Using the skills your mother had taught you, you started to nurse the man back to health using your melodic voice. Ever since you were young, she had explained to you the gift bestowed upon mermaids, the power of healing through song. She taught you to sing before you could walk, and it was the one thing that you were sure you could do right.

As you sang your strange and melodious tune, it finally occurred to you that you were breaking the most sacred of rules. Not only were you interacting with a stranger, you were coaxing him back to life. Like mother, like daughter, you thought. I suppose healing strangers who were drowning at sea runs in my blood.

The only caveat to your healing powers is that it takes quite some time to have its full effects. You don’t know how long you sat on the beach, but it had been quite some time. You probably would have been there for much longer had it not been for the boom voice that sounded behind you, waking you from your trance of song.

“Well, I’ll be. If it isn’t a mermaid.”

You practically jumped out of your fins as you turned around, startled beyond words. There, towering above you, was the evil pirate captain you saw earlier. He was even younger than you had previously thought. In fact, he couldn’t be much older than you. You wondered for a fleeting moment how a kid like that could command an entire ship full of grown—and scary-looking—men, but decided you have bigger matters at hand to worry about.

A few members of his crew lurked behind the captain, and you could see a small lifeboat docked to the ground near the coastline. Further beyond that, his ship swayed in the ocean waves, dark against the bright horizon.

You followed the pirate’s gaze down to your tail, which was still out. You silently cursed yourself for forgetting to transform back into your human form, being too distracted by saving the man to pay attention to your own safety.

You wanted to yell at the cruel pirate for trying to kill this man. No matter who he was, what he had done, he didn’t deserve to die. At least not like that. But the words got caught in your throat, so while a war raged inside your mind, you were completely quiet on the outside, simply staring up at the man with wide doe eyes.

“You have a lovely voice,” the man said, with a tone that you wouldn’t quite imagine a killer using. He must have overheard me sing earlier, you thought to yourself. “Tell me, little mermaid, who taught you to sing?”

“M-my mother,” you replied weakly, your voice far more meager and small than you wanted it to be. You were still staring up at him, afraid of what he’d do to you.

“Your mother? Well, that’s quite interesting.” The captain raised his left hand to scratch at his chin, which is when you realized that it wasn’t a hand at all. Instead of a hand was a curved metal hook, with a sharp point gleaming at the end. So that must be the shiny thing I saw earlier, you thought.

“Oh, where are my manners?” laughed the pirate abruptly. “My name is Captain James Hook, leader of the Jolly Roger. And you are?”

You blinked, almost forgetting your own name. If it were a less tense moment than this, you would have laughed at the fact that his name is rather befitting for him. “Y/N,” you respond.

“Y/N…Now, where have I heard that name before?” He tapped his chin with his hook again.

“Sir, that’s the name of Princess Ariel’s daughter,” one of the big, meaty pirates behind him answered in a gruff voice.

“That’s right!” Hook exclaimed. “You’re the mermaid’s daughter. You know, rumor has it you’ll be joining me at Merlin’s Academy in the fall, is that right?”

For some reason, your voice seemed to not work anymore, so you settled for nodding. Join him? you pondered. You didn’t know that he was also a student at the school you were planning to attend.

Hook started pacing along the beach, arms crossed with his hooked hand extended, deep in thought. You watched him, fear growing by the second. A sly smirk spread across his face, which only served to fuel the flames of your worry. 

“You know, you directly defied my command by saving that man,” he started. Slowly. Deliberately. Choosing every word precisely and carefully, like a shark circling its prey. “Do you even know why I made him walk the plank?” You shook your head no, the panic in you reaching record heights.

“That man”—he vaguely gestures towards the unconscious body laying on the beach with his hook—“stole an entire week’s worth of rations from my ship. An entire week’s worth of food and rum for an entire crew. Had he gotten away with it, we likely would have starved to death out at sea. Does he seem so innocent now, little mermaid? So worth saving?”

Again, you shook your head no. Although you agreed he definitely wasn’t an innocent man, you still didn’t see making him walk the plank a justifiable punishment. Despite your thoughts, you kept your mouth shut. Angering the captain further was not going to do you any good.

“Now, if anyone else had done something like this, I wouldn’t hesitate to cut their head right off,” Hook said menacingly, and with a swish, unsheathed his sword once again. You flinched—hard—and scrambled to back away from him. 

Hook took note of this, and, sheathing his sword, crouched down to get on the same level as you. “But don’t worry, little mermaid. I won’t hurt you. You see, you’ve piqued my interest. Plus, it would do me no favors to have a little girl’s blood on my hands.”

You let out a breath you hadn’t even realized you were holding. So he’s not going to kill me, right?

“But, alas, you can’t leave unpunished, now, can you?” he added. Your eyes grew impossibly wider, your entire body shaking in fear. This was it. He was going to kill you, or do something equally worse.

“I demand”—you already felt a tear slip down your cheek—“that you write to me for the remainder of the summer.”

Wait, what?

“W-write?” you asked in disbelief. “As in…”

“Letters,” Hook finished for you. “Write me letters. I’ll give you the mailing address of the Jolly Roger. Write me everyday, and I’ll promise I’ll write you back whenever we dock. How does that sound?”

“O-okay,” you reply, still taken aback by the peculiar, and far more lenient than you’d expected, request. That was all you had to do? Write letters? As punishment for saving the life of someone he’d ordered to die? You must be dreaming.

“Oh, and,” Hook said, voice lowered as he leaned in close to you, until he was just a hair’s breadth away from your ear. You could feel his warm breath on your skin, his alluring scent of salty winds and something richer, deeper, filling your lungs. “I look forward to seeing you in the fall. Don’t forget me, my little mermaid.”

With that, he stood up, smoothing out the lines on his pants. “You wouldn’t happen to need a ride back home, would you, love?”

You shook your head no, too terrified of him changing his mind to spend another moment in his presence. You glanced back at the man lying behind you, still unconscious. “W-what about him? What will you do with him?” you managed to choke out, somehow finding your voice again.

Hook pondered this for a long minute, before finally answering, “He can live.” You let out a shaky breath. “But only because of you, little mermaid. And only this time. You go against my wishes again, and trust me, your punishment will be far more severe.”

And with that, he went back to his ship and sailed away.

You still muse about that day, thinking how different things would have been if you had changed just one little thing.

You kept your promise of writing him letters, too afraid to know what would happen when you had to inevitably face him in the fall to break it. At first, they started out simple. Ordinary recounts of your day, your favorite things, what you liked to do. As the weeks passed, you started writing more personal letters. How you felt about certain things or certain people, including your parents. You never spoke a word of that fateful day to them, knowing that you’d be grounded for life and forbidden from swimming ever again if they caught even a whiff of the danger you had put yourself in. 

Hook kept his promise, too. He wrote you back, although it was far less frequent than your letters. Even though he kept his responses short and concise, you always ended up hearing his voice in your head as you read his notes. You soon found yourself checking your mailbox daily, even getting to know the mailman rather well. The rush of dopamine you got every time you opened it to find a letter awaiting you was unmatched; you would always run upstairs to your room, lock the door, and pour over the note. Reading every line, every word over and over again, committing them to memory. 

You don’t know why you enjoyed these little letters so much. Maybe it was the thrill of having a secret that no one else knew of, or the absence of your usual loneliness every time you were reminded that somewhere out there, across the seas, was someone awaiting your letters, reading them, and writing back to you. Whatever it was, your heart started to form an emotional attachment to him without you even realizing it. 

Unbeknownst to you, that had been his exact plan all along.

It’s safe to say that once you started school at Merlin Academy, Hook’s—or James’s, as he insisted on you calling him—grip on you only grew. Things started out pretty normal: light conversations in class and stolen looks exchanged across the hall, mostly initiated by him. After the first few weeks passed, things between you two only grew. Secret meetings during lunch hours, rendezvous after school, and small gifts exchanged between the two of you. From there, it became brushing your hands together whenever you passed by each other, soft pecks on the cheek or forehead where there were prying eyes, and more passionate kisses when the two of you finally found time to be alone.

Truth be told, you don’t really know what you two are now. Normally, you would consider two people that partake in such actions to be courting, and you kind of assume you are. But James has never said anything about a relationship to you, and in all honesty, you’re too afraid to ask him. You feel terribly confused at his intentions towards you; on the one hand, he approaches you every day without fail, even if you try to ignore him or when your schedules don’t match up. Somehow, he always finds a way. On the other hand, he never asked you to be his lover, never even vaguely mentioned anything of the sorts. So, you decided, with a heavy heart, to not be too confident and consider yourself his partner. And unfortunately, that meant that he wasn’t yours, either.

Really, you never meant to grow so involved with the bastard pirate that threatened to kill you on the beach that day. But for some strange reason, instead of treating you coldly like he did everyone else, especially the other hero kids, he was softer with you. Considerate, even. You had half-expected him to want nothing to do with you after your first few interactions, but he kept seeking you out. You often opened your locker to a note inside, or entered your dorm to find a letter slipped beneath the door.

Today was one of those days. You had gotten a note telling you to wait for him in your usual place in the evening, after classes. So here you are, waiting, staring at the water fountain in the courtyard. You’ve always been transfixed by the way the water spurts out the center and splashes all around. It seems that whenever you’re alone with your thoughts, they always end up back to that fateful day you met James, and everything that’s happened since.

“Wait for me long, my little mermaid?” a deep voice whispers in your ear from behind. You jump only a little, far more used to James sneaking up on you now than you used to be. For some reason, it seems he loves to startle you by wrapping his arms around your waist and pulling you in close from behind, or speaking softly in your ear.

You twirl around, a delighted expression on your face, although you try to mask it with a feigned annoyance. “And if I say I did?”

“Well then, I’d have to find a way to make it up to you then, wouldn’t I, darling?” he purrs, using his hook to spin you around in his arms so you’re face-to-face. His lips make his way to yours, pulling you in for a slow, sensual kiss. You wrap your arms around his neck, bringing his head closer to yours, not able to get enough of his touch. 

The feeling of his skin against yours ignites something in you, and you find your mouth opening to give him more access as a soft whimper escapes your lips. One hand reaches into his hair, tugging at it gently from the base of his head, while the other one trails down the front of his shirt.

James leans into you even further, your bodies flush against each other now, as he deepens the kiss. You find yourself leaning against the edge of the water fountain, the cool sprinkles providing a welcomed contrast to your heating-up bodies.

Once you’ve completely lost your breath, you pull away just slightly, a love-drunk smile on your face. “You had a request for me?” you whisper, panting, eyes full of adoration for the man you were interlocked with. 

James breaks into a grin. A genuine one, not one of the smirks he flashes to uphold his patented suave demeanor. “Ah, yes, how could I forget, my love?”

He pulls further away to give you two enough room to breathe, yet keeping his good hand on the small of your back. “I was reminded today that it's been quite some time since I’ve heard your voice, my little mermaid.”

You give a little smile, deciding to mess with him a bit. “Whatever do you mean? You hear my voice every day. I mean, you’re even hearing it right now.”

James cocks his head to the side and raises a single eyebrow, clearly aware of your antics. “Your other voice, love.”

You giggle. “Fine, all right. Only for you,” you say, giving him a peck on the nose. 

You sit down on the ledge of the fountain, turning back to stare at the water again. Although it has been a long time since you stretched your tail and went for a swim, simply seeing the rushing water soothes you. It isn’t quite like being immersed in it, but it still gives you some semblance of comfort. 

You reach into the pool at the bottom, letting the cool water rush along your fingertips as you inhale a deep breath. Through your mermaid abilities, your voice twists into an otherworldly song, filling the space with a mellifluous sound. 

James takes a place on the ledge next to you, reaching into the water to hold your submerged hand. You don’t really feel it, too transfixed on the rushing waves. You don’t see the way James gazes at you, like you’re his entire world. The softness, the tenderness in his eyes, which he reserves for you only. He looks at you not as if you’re his sun, something too bright to ever stare directly at, something violent and explosive and harmful, but as if you’re his moon. 

As if you’re the figure he watches every night before he closes his eyes, and the one he wishes to see again when he wakes up. As if you’re the only thing he notices every time the darkness envelops him, your presence never falling off the pedestal he places it on in his mind. Never losing its worth. He looks at you, your soft glow and mesmerizing shimmer, as if you’re the only thing filling up the night sky. The stars and constellations pale in comparison to you, especially on your best nights, when you shine so magnificently. 

You are the moon, and he is the tide of the ocean, constantly being pulled in by you. Never being able to escape the grasp you have on him, the grasp you are so blissfully unaware of. He stares at you in awe and wonder, bathing in your gorgeous light, so close yet always so far away. Sitting all alone against the dark backdrop of the evening sky, waiting for him to come back to you. And without reason, you always disappear. Always leaving him wanting more, waiting till the moment he can bathe in your presence again. 

As you sing, the tide gets pulled in by the gravity of the moon. Your lyrical voice bounces off the stone walls, surrounding you both, just as the moonlight surrounds the waves on that mystical night. 

But the moonlight is only a reflection of the sun’s glow, is it not? When daylight comes, the moon will pull away from the waves, its absence in the sky all but forgotten in the sun’s presence. And as dawn breaks, so too will the pull between the moon and ocean. 

on to part 2! ->

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[rainerioun]

𝖶𝖧𝖠𝖳 𝖳𝖱𝖮𝖯𝖤 𝖥𝖨𝖳𝖲 𝖸𝖮𝖴𝖱 𝖥𝖴𝖳𝖴𝖱𝖤 𝖱𝖤𝖫𝖠𝖳𝖨𝖮𝖭𝖲𝖧𝖨𝖯? | 𝗉𝗂𝖼𝗄 𝖺 𝖼𝖺𝗋𝖽.

— Hey there! In this reading, we'll explore which romantic/writing trope might fit your relationship with your future spouse best. Some of these themes can get pretty deep, so if you're not in the right headspace for that, perhaps come back another time. <3

ORIGINAL DATE POSTED : APRIL 15TH, 2024.

HOW TO CHOOSE A PILE : The outcome may vary based on whether you receive clear messages visually or intuitively. If you resonate more with selecting a pile visually, trust that inclination. Personally, I believe the notion that 'looks can deceive,' so I prefer to take a deep breath and close my eyes, allowing the pile I'm meant to connect with to come to me. You might see the color of the pile, sense or hear a number, or simply feel its overall vibe.

Please don’t redistribute or edit my content.

MUST READ + MASTERLIST | KO-FI

PILE ONE

ENEMIES TO LOVERS. | RIGHT PERSON, WRONG TIME. | STAR-CROSSED.

Romance Trope? Knight of Wands [Reversed]. | Ten of Wands [Reversed]. | The Hanged Man [Reversed].

For some, a person from your past might resurface. Either way, there will be a separation. When you first encounter your future spouse, one or both of you may be going through a dark time. I should state that this connection will never become manipulative or deeply toxic, which nobody should accept or endorse.

Nonetheless, this connection won't be smooth sailing in the beginning. While serious hatred will not arise, there'll be a struggle to understand each other, which stems from inner wounds. Seeing reflections of yourself in them, and vice versa, leads to frustration because neither of you has fully healed yet. Stubbornness on both sides leads to drifting apart. Impulsive actions worsen the situation, causing you to dislike each other.

Initially, I wasn't quite sure how to define the relationship because y'all aren't really enemies, just two hurt people.

Expansion. Community. | Hostilities. | Anxiety.

Your future spouse might come into your life through a friend or an acquaintance, perhaps in a familiar setting you visit often. The connection between you both sparks a profound realization, which leads to heightened anxiety and tension. It might feel like you weren't supposed to meet this person, but in truth, you were destined to cross paths. Because when you reunite in the future, you'll love each other through the toughest times and cherish each other even more during the best moments. You're meant to teach each other lessons that no one else could, guiding you back to where you're meant to be in the end. I definitely see sleepless nights, though. — You might find each other again in the place you originally met.

What Energy Will Your Future Spouse Embody? Dolphin : Innately Intelligent, Healer, Light Blessings. Bear :  Waking From Spiritual Slumber. Beginning Anew.

When you reunite, both you and this person have undoubtedly grown. It's a chance to begin anew with them at the right moment. Your future spouse has a knack for making people question themselves, but with you, it's particularly intense. While it may have caused hurt in the past for both of you, now you can work through it together.

While pulling the cards, I heard a distinct and amusing cackle, almost like a 'dolphin laugh,' even their giggles could be a loud and funny.

Insight. Hermit — Light : Seeks solitude to focus intently on inner life. Serves personal creativity. Shadow : Withdraws from society of others. Refusing to help those in need.  Father — Light : Talent for creating and supporting life. Positive guiding light within a tribal unit. Shadow : Dictatorial control. Abuse of authority.  Fool — Light : Fearlessly revealing emotion. Helping people laugh at absurdity and hypocrisy. Shadow : Using humor to wound rather than liberate. Denial of your emotional truth.

Your future spouse will always have an introverted nature, but before change occurs, they are extremely reserved, perhaps to an unhealthy extent. They could be overly engrossed in work, other projects, or family matters, possibly taking on a leadership role for their siblings, which can be stressful even if they don't live together. Beneath the surface, they have a playful side. In the past, both of you might have been a too naive, but you'll reconnect when they emanate this strong fatherly energy. I'm hearing, 'Young, Dumb, and Broke.'

Additional. Soulmates : Soul Connection, Partnership, Agreement, Soul Contract. Coffin : Endings Bring New Beginnings, Growth, Change, Liberation, Transition.  Separation : Sadness, Missing You, Thinking About You, Yearning, Unsure of Future. Clock : Need Time, Takes Time, In Time, Cycles, Time to Heal, Progress.

There might be a bit of a chase for a while, whether it's conscious or not. When you make efforts to understand them, they might pull away, and the same goes for you. As much as it feels strange to say it, the label of twin flames could suit this connection. However, you'll eventually overcome this phase. It's possible you were only meant to learn the lesson of self-betterment from each other in this life, but both of your paths took unexpected turns, leading you to find each other despite it all. You both will make up time from not only your younger years, but previous lifetimes.

When everything falls into place and you seek forgiveness from each other, this connection becomes truly extraordinary. It's profound and complex, holding such true beauty. Eventually, it settles into something steady, providing the stability and fulfillment you both crave. Life together feels as close to perfect as it can get.

Take A Walk : Passion Pit. | Salad Days : Mac Demarco. | The Blower's Daughter : Damien Rice.

PILE TWO

FORCED PROXIMITY. | WORKPLACE.

Romance Trope? The Emperor. | Justice. | Four of Pentacles.

You and your future spouse will be drawn to each other no matter what, as if fate itself is pulling you together. You'll find yourself in situations where you encounter your future spouse frequently. I suspect this could be through some form of work. It's possible they might hold a higher position than you, maybe even a boss, though it's not necessary. They could simply have a lot of influence and trust. In some manner, this person plays a role in ensuring your financial stability.

Expansion. Angel of Strength. | Cornucopia. | Man Holding A Coin.

Once more, this person holds a certain sway over you. For some, this influence might stem from them being your client. They control your actions because they requested them.

It all depends on your current profession or your future plans. If you're primarily self-employed, even if you have a 'boss', this person might approach you as a client or possibly someone seeking work. However, if you're in a more corporate environment, they could be your boss or a colleague.

What Energy Will Your Future Spouse Embody? Dragon : Seeing One’s Most True Self, Balancing The Ego.  Bat : Darkness, Letting Go, Death Leading To Rebirth. Lizard : Instinctual, Sensitive to The Subtle, Dreamer.

Your future spouse isn't really the bossy type. They can be assertive but are generally understanding and flexible. I don't see a power struggle whatsoever. They could be a natural leader, yet I believe their compassionate and accommodating nature prevents them from being cutthroat or overly blunt. Their work is very important to them, but they also recognize the humanity in their co-workers.

Insight. Healer — Light : Passion to serve others by repairing the body, mind, and spirit. Ability to help transform pain into healing. Shadow : Taking advantage of those who need help. Failing to care for oneself. Thief — Light : Sheds light on the potential wealth within you that can never be stolen. Shadow : Stealing money, creative ideas, affection or other powers you think you lack.  God — Light : Benevolence and compassion. Recognizing the eternal force within yourself and others. Shadow : Despotism and cruelty. Using power to control people.

As I mentioned before, this person will play a role in guiding your career somehow. They'll have things to teach you, just as you'll have things to teach them. You might notice an increase in financial opportunities or wealth around the time you meet this person, probably because of their doing, but maybe not!

Additional. Karmic Relationship : Fleeting, Turmoil, Resentment, Lessons, Letting go and Loving you.  Camera : Reminiscing, Keepsake, Perception, Learn From the Past, Make Memories.  Girl Talk : Time with Friends, Moving On, Happily Single, Living in the Moment, Having Fun. Palm Tree : Stability, Security, Permanence, Growth, Endurance, Flexibility. 

Before anyone gets worried, let me clarify that I didn't take the Karmic Relationship card too seriously. I interpreted the message as affirming that this relationship will involve significant learning and growth. Not everyone will end up parting ways with this person, but everyone involved will gain valuable insights from the other. This connection could help both of you avoid repeating past mistakes. — As an alternate message, I'd like to add that it's time to let go of past relationships. Your future partner wants you to embrace self-love and believes in your ability to find happiness within yourself. Mastering contentment while single will not only attract them sooner but also teach you a valuable lesson that's ready to be learned.

Your future spouse will stand by your side and do everything in their power to support you. They aren't just interested in your safety and stability; they'll actively work to make sure it happens. Their actions speak volumes in this regard.

Partition : Beyoncé. | I Will : Mitski.

PILE THREE

SECOND CHANCE. | FORBIDDEN LOVE. 

Romance Trope? Two of Bows/Wands [Reversed]. | Seven of Vessels/Cups. | Two of Vessels/Cups [Reversed]. | The Green Woman. | Ten of Bows/Wands.

For many of you, I don't believe this is just an ex. I sense a third-party element at play here. Pinpointing a main scenario is too tricky; it varies for everyone by a lot. Perhaps you meet this person through a friend with whom you'll later drift apart with. Maybe your future partner happens to be a sibling of a friend. The possibilities are numerous. Nonetheless, there's someone who acts as a bridge between you both, influencing the connection. You might even have someone in mind already as you read this.

Regardless of the circumstances, I don't think your future spouse is the cause of this temporary 'separation', which might end up being a lack of communication for a short period of time until the situation resolves itself. I can't see a time where your future spouse was previously unkind or unpleasant to you, but rather it's more likely that the mutual person between you two played that role. If there are any rumors circulating, your future spouse will likely discern who's at fault and support you.

Expansion. Angel of Love. | Fifth Chakra : Archangel Gabriel. | Magician and The Mirror.

At first, your future spouse might assume they're to blame for the fallout and feel guilty about it. This uncertainty might delay the reconnection, even though they're fully committed to being by your side. They'll struggle with how to initiate fixing things, but eventually, they'll gather the courage to try. This reconciliation could happen online, if that resonates.

The forbidden aspect of this connection might originate from parental expectations, like qualities they require in your partner. Remember, you always have a choice in this matter. If not, it's not necessarily wrong but might be viewed with disapproval, such as getting involved with a friend's ex-partner.

What Energy Will Your Future Spouse Embody? Tiger : Lunar Force, Ease in Darkness, Feminine Energy.  Raccoon : Talented, Shadowy, In Hiding. Hawk : Watchful, All-Seeing, Messenger of Divinity.

Your future spouse is incredibly passionate and generous in their relationships and friendships, and this will shine even more when you two reconnect. They'll be open and sincere about their love for you once they emerge from hiding.

Insight. Addict — Light : Helps you recognize and confront addictive behavior. Shadow : Compromises integrity and honesty. Allows an addictive pattern to have authority over your inner spirit.  Avenger — Light : Desire to balance the scales of justice. Righteousness on behalf of society or oneself. Shadow : Resorting to violence in the name of a cause. Seeker — Light : Thirst for wisdom and truth wherever they are. Shadow : Inability to commit to a path once found.

After reconnecting, your future spouse will become more righteous, not just in relationships, but in all aspects of life. They won't stand for their loved ones being mistreated and will seek truth in murky situations, sharing their insights to keep you informed. They'll be honest about areas needing improvement while maintaining their patient and kind nature. By this time, they will understand how to be straightforward yet gentle.

Additional. The Butterfly : Relationship Evolving to the Next Phase, Healing the Inner Child, Growth. Boat : Receiving What You Need, Progression, Arriving, Moving On, Closure Issues. Girl With a Snake : Empath and Narcissist Paradigm, Being Charmed or Used, Enable Boundaries.  Heartbroken : Deeply Hurt, Sad, Separation, Breakup, Feeling Lost, Grieving, Mourning.

Reconnecting with you will be a healing and transformative experience for them. It will bring closure to their past, and you might need to reassure them that your aren't going anywhere. It's a bit odd, but lately, I've been watching Supernatural, and this person reminds me of Sam Winchester. They have a strong desire to protect you, but sometimes they might overextend themselves trying to provide for you. Which isn't your fault at all, they just need a reminder to relax and slow down.

Killer : The Ready Set. | She Looks So Perfect : 5 Seconds of Summer. | Holding Hands : The Magic Lantern.

PILE FOUR

FRIENDS TO LOVERS. | SOULMATES.

Romance Trope? Six of Pentacles. | Seven of Cups [Reversed]. | Three of Wands [Reversed].

Although it's one of the sweetest piles, it's also a tad messy. Not everyone will relate to this aspect, but take what resonates.

This person could be from your childhood or teenage years, or maybe someone you've recently met, or have yet to meet. Anything really. However, I feel for the majority it's someone you know. You have to figure this part out for yourself. But regardless, they're incredibly generous toward you, whether it's with money, affection, or understanding. However, this connection isn't without its challenges. Despite being very supportive, you'll have to navigate obstacles together. There might be setbacks or delays, but ultimately, your bond will grow stronger and develop into a romantic relationship.

Expansion. Strategy. | Storm Warning. | Healer of the Ages.

This part might only apply to a few, but I don't necessarily see it as your next relationship. Why? Well, because there are cards here, and later in the reading, that hint at some kind of breakup, which your future spouse helps you navigate through.

What Energy Will Your Future Spouse Embody?  Elk : Stable, Resilient, Headstrong, The Father. Turtle : Ancient Soul, Grounded, Trusting, At Home in the Self. Crocodile : Resting, Submerging, Collecting Energy, Cooling Off. 

Your future spouse will always carry the aura of a caregiver, being nurturing and extending their kindness towards both loved ones and strangers alike. They have a natural inclination towards being giving but possess a discerning eye when it comes to where and who they invest their energy. Their actions are consistent, and they seem calm and collected.

Your future spouse really embodies the ideal father figure and likely connect effortlessly with children. Patience and wisdom are strong in their nature, further enhancing this energy. They're like a true teddy bear until provoked.

Insight. Student — Light : Humility and devotion to knowledge. Openness to lifelong learning. Shadow : Arrogance in the pursuit of destructive knowledge. Unwillingness to translate knowledge into action.  Prince — Light : Romantic charm and potential for power. Shadow : Using power for self-aggrandizement.  Companion — Light : Loyalty, tenacity, and unselfishness. Shadow : Betrayal by misusing confidences. Loss of personal identity.

Think of your ideal "prince charming" - that's precisely who your future spouse is, whether in appearance or mindset. Gender doesn't limit this; it's about their energy and attitude. They have boundless curiosity, always eager to explore life and learn. Their fascination with you extends to wanting to know every detail, so they can envision and arrange everything in their mind. Loyalty and romance are ingrained in them, qualities you'll surely cherish. They're very charming.

Even in friendship, your future spouse exhibits a strong protective instinct, perhaps even a hint of possessiveness. You might not even realize your love for them until something sudden strikes. It's really like something out of fan fiction, where a seemingly random spark is actually the culmination of a slow burn. This realization may dawn on you when your future spouse defends or stands up for you in some manner. Suddenly, all the signs they've been dropping will become clear, and even the glance from them afterward will convey everything you need to know.

Additional. The Phoenix : New Phase, Rekindle, Renew, Transformation, Growth, Changed Mind.  Stabbed in the Back : Heartbreak, Pain, Separation, Deception, Shocking Attack. Palm Tree : Stability, Security, Permanence, Growth, Endurance, Flexibility. Mask : Not Showing True Feelings, Hide, Personify, Pretend, Delude, Gaslighting.  Sunglasses : Watching, Looking, Stalking, Gaslighting, Perception, Focusing Out. Keys on a Ring : Many Options, Decision, Unconventional, String Along, One Night Stand.

For those it applies to, I'm revisiting my earlier point about being in a relationship and your future spouse's good sense of judgment regarding character. If this doesn't resonate, feel free to skip and check out the songs instead. Thank you!

Your future spouse had already secretly admired you for some time. Aware of your existing relationship, they struggled to suppress their feelings. Amidst the chaos in their mind, they couldn't shake the feeling that something wasn't right with your partner. They wanted to reach out to warn you out of genuine concern, but you dismissed it as an overreaction. There's a chance your partner at the time suspected something between you two, leading to a sudden end to the relationship [Although, I don't think there was anything actually happening.] They might have harbored resentment for a while. But fear not, your future partner comes to the rescue. Whether they witness the breakup or support you afterward, you'll come to realize that your true feelings lay with them all along, but you were blinded by the allure of another. With too many choices before, you failed to think clearly and see what was right in front of you.

Like That : Jack and Jack. | Somewhere Only We Know : Keane. | Little Person : Matt Maltese. | Boyfriend : Dove Cameron. [Update: Forgot to add a song, sorry!]

[inthedayswhenlandswerefew]

In The Gloomy Depths [Chapter 1: Amethyst]

Series summary: Five years ago, jewel mining tycoon Daemon Targaryen made a promise in order to win your hand in marriage. Now he has broken it and forced you into a voyage across the Atlantic, betraying you in increasingly horrifying ways and using your son as leverage to ensure your cooperation. You have no friends and no allies, except a destitute viola player you can't seem to get away from...

Series warnings: Language, sexual content (18+ readers only), parenthood, dolphins, death and peril, violence (including domestic violence), drinking, smoking, freezing temperatures, murder, if you don't like Titanic you won't like this fic!!! 😉

Word count: 5.2k

💜 All my writing can be found HERE! 💜

Tagging: @arcielee @nightvyre @camsdaae @mrs-starkgaryen @gemini-mama

Let me know if you’d like to be added to the taglist 🥰

A note goes sharp, and you swim up through colorless currents—indistinct conversation, an iron-grey draft each time the front door opens, cigar smoke like fog over the ocean—and turn to the viola player. His eyes have caught on the place where your left hand rests on the table by a glass of pear cider, still cold from the icebox, misty with condensation. Rain pours outside. Logs fracture and hiss in the fireplace. Your gown is thick velvet, indigo like the night sky, and the ruffles of your sleeve have slipped back to reveal the evidence roped around your wrist: shadows of trapped blood, rubies that sicken and turn to sapphires and amethysts.

You hurriedly adjust your sleeve. Now the viola player’s eyes are on yours, an overcast blue and improperly direct, and something flies between you: his shock, your shame. You look away and pretend to ignore him. His horsehair bow finds its rhythm again, a tempo like a racing pulse. The quartet is playing The Wild Rover.

Daemon hasn’t noticed. He has ensnared the reporter entirely, here in O’Connell’s Bar in the heart of Galway, just across the street from Eyre Square and only a few blocks west of the Docks and the North Atlantic Ocean. The young man writes for The Irish Times and has traveled from Dublin to interview your husband, once a celebrated newcomer but soon departing and taking you with him. Five years ago a storm blew him in; now the gleam of distant treasure catches his eye and beckons him like the moon calls the tides. He has been this way all his life. You were mad to believe he’d change.

“Lord Targaryen,” the reporter says with his felt-tip pen hovering over his notebook, gazing at Daemon worshipfully, firelight dancing on both of their faces. You glance at the viola player again. He’s still watching you, and this is bad. “You’ve been described as a cowboy by numerous publications and business associates. Do you consider that a compliment?”

Daemon chuckles, smirking and imperious. He puffs on his pipe, elbows propped on the table. His eyes are a deep-set reptilian green, emeralds glinting from the mouth of a mine. Strands of dark blonde hair fall roguishly down over his forehead. “Oh, it’s a massive compliment, isn’t it? A cowboy eschews the safe and the predictable. A cowboy makes his own way in the world. My father was a duke, and now my brother is a duke, and one day my nephew will be a duke, God help us all. And so I always knew that if I wanted anything for myself, I’d have to go out and find it.”

The reporter is smiling, enraptured. He asks, already knowing the answer: “And what was it you found?”

“In the Wah Wah Mountains of Utah, we discovered red beryl.” Daemon talks with his hands, magnetic fields, incantations, spells that once worked on you. “It’s exceptionally rare and a gorgeous stone, high color saturation, not as hard as a diamond but durable enough for jewelry, essentially a blood-colored emerald. I was twenty-five years old and had just put together my first small mining expedition, and here we were sitting on the only known supply of red beryl on the planet. And it was then that I realized that there are these sorts of…natural monopolies that exist scattered across the globe, gemstones that can be found in only one location, and thus if you are the man who owns the mine…every single stone must pass through your hands before it ends up in retail establishments in London or Paris or Milan or wherever.”

“And so you took the lesson you learned from red beryl and applied it to other minerals,” the reporter says as he scribbles in his notebook.

Daemon grins, puffing on his pipe, exhaling smoke like a dragon. And how remarkable he is to have agreed to meet here in this pub like a common man, so unpretentious, so unafraid of the world’s dirt, effortless and yet untouchable, and this is why his miners love Daemon, why they will break their spines and poison their lungs for him. “We kept the Utah mine, of course, and bought up rights to thousands of acres of land surrounding it. I hired more workers. And then I investigated reports of mysterious, unnamed, brand new stones that had been stumbled upon in far-flung places, untamed by civilized men, the earth just waiting to be slit open and butchered like a fat hog. In Madagascar, we found Grandidierite, a bewitching blue-green, the Indian Ocean in miniature, crystalized form. In Tanzania, we discovered Tanzanite, halfway between an amethyst and a sapphire.”

The reporter nods to you as he says: “I believe Lady Targaryen is wearing some this evening, is she not?”

“Indeed,” Daemon replies without much interest. You touch your fingertips to your teardrop-shaped earrings and give the reporter a polite smile. You steal a glimpse of the viola player; he isn’t staring at you anymore—a blessing, a relief—but he frowns distractedly as his bow glides over the strings. “In Australia there was black opal, and in the Dominican Republic we were the first mining operation to encounter Larimar, and then…well, then I heard of Connemara marble.”

“Native to Ireland,” the reporter says proudly. “The lone quarry that’s still producing is right here in Galway.”

“So of course that intrigued me.” Daemon taps on the tabletop with his right hand, and now he is watching you, curling lips, taunting eyes. “And when I crossed the Atlantic to acquaint myself with this quarry and inquire into purchasing it, I was intrigued by the quarry owner’s daughter as well.”

His pen scratching against parchment; black rivers of ink filling up the page. “How would you describe the courtship?”

“Brief,” Daemon says, then laughs. He points to you with his smoldering pipe. “How about you, dear? How would you describe it?”

“Flattering,” you answer honestly, and the reporter makes his notes. “Daemon already had a reputation by then. A captain of industry, a staggering success story, a man who refused to rest idly on his family’s titles, which he could have easily done.” And a man who also refused to marry, rejecting Rockefellers and Morgans and Astors, duchesses and countesses, but asked your father for your hand in marriage after only a few weeks of tours of the quarry and dinners set alight with charismatic retellings of his travels. You knew the Connemara marble was part of the allure, but you took this as a common interest rather than the only thing Daemon wanted from you. Well…one of two things.

“You’ve resided in Galway ever since,” the reporter is saying to Daemon. “Barring a few trips for business. But that is about to change.”

Daemon sucks on his pipe. “I’ve received a very generous offer from Tiffany & Co. in Manhattan. They’ve been around for almost a century, did you know they supplied the Union Army with swords and surgical tools during the Civil War? Real patriots. Not afraid to get bloody. They want to expand into the sale of colored gemstones, not just diamonds and pearls and gold, the same unimaginative pieces peddled by their competitors. And after some long and arduous negotiations, Tiffany has agreed to pay a fair price for the exclusive rights to specimens originating from my mines, and I have agreed relocate to New York City for the foreseeable future to consult with them as a gemstone expert.”

“It’s my understanding that you have family in New York too, Lord Targaryen. Perhaps a reunion is part of the appeal of a move across the pond.”

“Oh, I wouldn’t assume that,” Daemon says impishly. “I haven’t seen Alicent Hightower or her children in years and years. I wouldn’t even know them if I passed them on the street.”

“Is that right?” The reporter’s pen hovers uncertainly over his notebook; he doesn’t think this is the sort of familial disharmony that should be printed in a newspaper.

“But my wife and I will have some company for the voyage,” Daemon continues. “My niece Rhaenyra and her charming husband Laenor will be joining us on Titanic. They’ve been on holiday in the Mediterranean and have several social engagements on the East Coast before they return to summer in England with my brother.”

“Viserys Targaryen, the 9th Duke of Beaufort.”

Daemon grins, not kindly at all. “One man earns a title, eight others wear it.”

The reporter shifts awkwardly in his chair. It’s not the sort of joke he’s allowed to laugh at. Changing the topic, he looks to the string quartet, which is now playing Danny Boy. The viola player’s eyes flick to you; you drink you pear cider and pretend you are unaware. “You’ll be sorely missed in Galway. But what a proper Irish sendoff you’re receiving here at O’Connell’s tonight!”

“Yes,” Daemon muses, the bit of the pipe in his mouth. “A week from now, tugboats will be hauling us out of Cork Harbor and into the Atlantic Ocean, perhaps never to return.”

You shudder as a man enters the pub and a cold draft blows through you. You are terrified of ships, tiny metal buckets at the mercy of bottomless blue, unnatural incursions into inhuman spaces. You have sailed twice before with your parents—once to Le Havre to visit Paris and again on a cruise of the Aegean—and both times you were consumed by visions of water rising up over your feet, bodies thrashing in the waves, bones turning to silt. You don’t want to cross the Atlantic. You don’t want to leave home.

“You look a bit familiar, boy,” Daemon says, and you realize he’s talking to the viola player. You startle, then are relieved to see that your husband has only a dim curiosity in the musician. The reporter has bored him, and Daemon’s eyes are wandering. He is a man of short and restless attention. You have learned this the hard way. “Have we met before?”

The viola player—early twenties, around your age, sandy blond hair and a beard trimmed close to the skin—pauses his fiddling as his three companions carry on. His accent is English, not Irish. “Well I’ve played all over Ireland, sir. All over Europe, in fact.”

“Were you by chance at the McPherson wedding back in February?”

You don’t believe he was, you think you’d remember him; but the viola player nods eagerly. “Yes sir, that was me.”

“Ah! That was a fine night. Excellent duck. Wasn’t the duck good, dear?” But Daemon only half-listens for your response. He has turned back to the reporter and is recounting how he and his expedition hacked through the jungles of Tanzania to reach the location of suspected gemstone deposits, how they endured attacks from crocodiles and chimpanzees and burned up from fevers.

“Please excuse me for a moment,” you say as you rise from the table. The reporter scrambles to his feet to stand as decorum demands.

“Yes yes,” Daemon replies abruptly, not looking at you, then continues his stories.

You escape from the pub through the front door and stand beneath the awning just out of the rain, watching the reflections of streetlights glow in puddles like stars. Across the street in Eyre Square, a public park established in 1710, shadows of ash trees rock in the wind. With trembling fingers, you fumble a Kerry Blue and your cigarette holder out of your black handbag, then realize you don’t have a lighter. Someone else always does that part for you. You sigh and stare out into the rain, taking deep breaths of Irish night, early April, cold and wet and green, the only air you know how to take painlessly into your lungs, blood, bones, the dark damp earth that built you. You cannot imagine living amongst metal skyscrapers and rumbling automobiles instead of verdant rolling hills dotted with sheep.

You hear the pub door open, and you assume it is one of the waiters or perhaps Rush—Edward Rushton, Daemon’s valet and bodyguard, ever-watchful and unwaveringly stern—bringing you the black mink coat you left inside. But to your horror, it is the viola player, carrying his instrument by its neck. You gape at him as rain continues to fall.

“Hi,” he says.

You are clutching your handbag, a cigarette and holder still tucked between your fingers. “What are you doing?”

“I just…I was…uh…” He spots the cigarette. “Oh, do you need a lighter? I have one, hold on…” He begins rooting around in the pockets of his olive green tweed jacket.

“No, I don’t need a lighter,” you snap, glancing anxiously at the door. “I need you to go back inside.”

“Wait a minute, I wanted to—”

“Why are you speaking to me?” Your eyes are wide and petrified, your voice is a sharp whisper. No musician has ever addressed you beyond pleasantries: Good morning, good afternoon, good evening, thank you ma’am, my pleasure ma’am. “What’s wrong with you?”

“Look, I came out here because…I just wanted to ask…” He struggles to find the words. His eyes fall to your left wrist, now fully obscured by the ruffles of your sleeve, then return to your face. “Are you okay?”

“What?”

“Do you…you know…do you need some kind of help or something?”

It’s improper, it’s unthinkable, it’s dangerous. “You’re deranged,” you say as you breeze past him towards the door. “You’ve clearly escaped from an asylum somewhere. I wish you all the best in your recovery.”

He does not grab you—that would be absurd—but he does get between you and the front door of the pub. “Wait, please, I’m sorry, I’m not trying to be rude or to overstep or anything, I’m trying to see if there’s anything I can do—”

“You will make it worse for me,” you hiss, and only then does the viola player go quiet and let you pass. You shove by him into O’Connell’s Bar.

Back at the table, Daemon and the reporter are engrossed in conversation. When you rejoin them, neither of the men take any notice of you beyond the reporter’s momentary rise to his feet. After a minute or two, the viola player returns to the quartet and slips seamlessly into the song they’re playing, Star of the County Down. You gaze into your pear cider, determined not to glance at him even once.

Daemon is saying as the reporter jots franticly: “I am reminded of something I read once in a French fashion critic’s guide from the 1870s. In the gloomy depths of the mineral world, stars are concealed that rival in their beauty those of the firmament. The fresh splendors of dawn, the sun’s incandescent rays, the magnificent sunsets, the brilliant colors of the rainbow, all are found enclosed in a morsel of pure carbon or in the center of a stone. Not everyone can see the potential, not everyone has the skill or the willpower to move the earth and free the treasures trapped beneath. But I found stars no one else knew existed. And my work isn’t finished yet.”

~~~~~~~~~~

At home in Lough Cutra Castle, your family’s estate since 1817, your parents are asleep and Fern is waiting up for you and Daemon, yawning into the back of her hand to try to hide it. She is your maid but she was hired by Daemon, and she scurries around the property like a mouse, eternally picking up toys and articles of clothing and papers that have slid off of tables, head bowed, footsteps so light you often don’t realize she’s walked into a room until she’s spoken.

“Care for some tea, my lady?” Fern asks as she takes your mink coat. Daemon goes directly to his study; you watch him leave with some feeling you couldn’t name, loss, relief, loneliness, resignation.

“No, thank you, Fern. I’m exhausted. Is Draco upstairs?”

“He is,” she says, but with hesitation, as if she is sending you into the lion’s den. You know what that means. You climb the staircase and find him in his bedroom sound asleep, four years old, surrounded by an army of teddy bears. Bears are his favorite animal; he likes the way they roar and brandish their teeth. He is named after the crest of Daemon’s family; Draco is the Latin word for dragon. His hair is white-blonde, a Targaryen trait. As they age it fades to an ordinary sand-like color, and by the time they are middle-aged—Daemon is forty, nearly two decades older than you are—their hair is a blonde so dark it’s almost brunette.

You stand in the doorway watching Draco for a long time. When you think of him, this is the image that comes to mind: your son across a room, or a lawn, or a garden, and you lurking on the periphery, longing to be a part of his existence, feeling so palpably unneeded. Already, he is becoming a stranger. He thinks it’s funny when Daemon insults people and breaks things. He stomps his little feet when he doesn’t get his way and rips flowers from the garden, tosses rocks through the windows of the greenhouse, hurls sticks at hissing geese.

“He’s asleep,” Dagmar says as if she’s scolding you. You whirl to see her behind you in the hall, glowering with those icy Nordic eyes, her hair grey and twisted into a tight bun, her face angular and cold-blooded. Legend has it that Saint Patrick expelled all the snakes from Ireland; you think he must have missed one.

“Yes, I can see that.”

“You’ll wake him.”

“I certainly won’t.”

“A boy that age needs his rest.” And this is how Dagmar has been since Draco was born: You can’t hold a baby like that, you can’t feed a baby like that, you can’t play with a baby like that, never showing you how to do things but only alienating you further and further until you looped around on some hopelessly remote orbit like Neptune circles the sun.

“Yes. Like I said, I won’t disturb him.”

But she does not leave; she only scowls at you with her bony arms crossed over her chest. She is ancient; she was Viserys and Daemon’s governess when they were boys, and your husband wrote to her immediately after Draco was born. She idolizes Daemon. The three of them are a family unto themselves, sardonic and spiteful and fiercely loyal, an oath you can’t figure out how to break. She wins this battle, as she’s won them all. It is not a war but an insurgency, a perpetual struggle for independence, sabotages and hunger strikes that amount to nothing. You retreat from Draco’s doorway and go to find Daemon in his study, bent low over his desk and sketching designs for jewelry men will buy for their wives, sisters, mothers, daughters, mistresses.

He glances over at you impatiently. “What is it?”

“You promised I’d never have to leave Ireland.”

Daemon shrugs, smiling wryly. “And yet…”

“Draco and I could stay here,” you say, as if this has not already occurred to him.

“And people would say my house is not in order. How am I to command the respect of American businessmen when my own wife does not obey me?”

You are desperate. “Half the year,” you plead. “I’ll spend winters in Manhattan and summers here.”

“Absolutely not.”

“What if I won’t go?”

“I don’t see how you’d accomplish that,” Daemon says, as if he’s already bored of this conversation. “You could throw yourself over the ship’s railing and into the Atlantic Ocean, I suppose. But that’s the only way you’re not ending up in New York.”

“You don’t even really want me there,” you reply, your voice quivering. “You don’t care where I am or what I do. Lots of men live separately from their wives, you can as well.” And even now—horribly, humiliatingly—you want him to contradict you, to swear that he does care, that he wants you, that he loves you in the sick brutal way he knows how.

Daemon picks up the dagger he keeps on his desk and uses it as a letter opener to unseal a piece of correspondence from one of his many mines, left in the care of managers just as your father’s Connemara marble quarry soon will be. The hilt is made of gold and has seven small gemstones imbedded in it, one on top of the other: amethyst, tiger’s eye, black opal, emerald, ruby, bloodstone, sapphire. “You know,” Daemon says offhandedly as he skims the letter. “Draco is getting old enough for boarding school.”

“What?” You are shellshocked; it takes a moment for you to sputter a reply. “He’s…he’s four, Daemon. He can’t read more than a handful of words. He just learned how to write his own name.”

“I was only five when my father sent me away.”

“And you turned out to be so normal.”

“No,” Daemon says, a blade-sharp warning, his eyes burning into yours, ruthless green fire. He aims the point of his dagger at you. “I turned out to be extraordinary.”

Draco. Draco sent away. If I lose him now, I’ll lose him forever. He’ll never know me. He’ll never love me. “Please let me have a few more years with him.”

“Sure. In New York.”

“I’ll go,” you surrender. “Fine, fine, I understand. I’ll go. No more complaints.”

“Good.” He sets down his dagger and the letter and resumes his sketching. You’ve been dismissed, but you can’t look away from him: cunning hands that won’t touch you, blood that runs hot enough to scald.

What is this feeling, this hunger, this hatred, all gnarled up together, dark earth glimmering with flecks of jewel-tone light, constellations of subterranean stars? He has hurt you, but he has given you pleasure too, this man who is so impossible to know, to predict, the only man who has ever been inside you. It’s not that you want him, not exactly; you want what he can give you, and the cold truth is that if it’s not him it’s not anyone, never again for as long as he lives. You’ve never craved another body, another soul. If you ever took a lover, you believe Daemon would kill you.

He grins, mocking and cruel. And you are transported back to your wedding night, still euphoric and flushed and panting on the bed as Daemon sighed and got up to go to the washroom, the satisfaction and the shame, the inescapable sense that you have disappointed him. “Did you only come here to be vexing and disobedient, or did you have something else in mind?”

“No,” you say softly, turning away, leaving him with his drawings of rocks stolen from distant corners of the world.

At breakfast the next morning—Fern cracking Draco’s soft-boiled egg and feeding him careful spoonfuls, Dagmar reading aloud to him from The Three Billy Goats Gruff, giving him smiles radiant with warmth you’ve never received from her—you sip tea and spread butter over your soda bread, gazing listlessly at the mist that hangs cool and heavy beyond the windows. Daemon is at the quarry already. You are suddenly acutely aware of the absence of music.

“Hey, lassie?” your father says as your mother tries to coax him into eating his full Irish breakfast: fried eggs, bacon, beans, mushrooms, tomatoes, white pudding.

You look to him, clearing the fog from your skull. “Yes, Daddy.”

“I saw the luggage. Where are you going?”

You keep telling him, but he doesn’t remember; he was becoming forgetful five years ago but now he can’t work at all, can barely even carry conversations. You had a brother who died in infancy and a sister who was taken at eight years old by convulsions. You are the only child left, and there are no other evident heirs to the quarry. This must have been something that occurred to Daemon when he met you, seventeen and overwhelmed by the black magic of him. He had seemed like the right choice: dashing, capable, from an illustrious family, a man who could take charge of the quarry as your father’s health continued to fail.

“Daddy, I told you. We’re going to Manhattan.”

He is stunned, grief-stricken. “What? That far?”

“Yes, on Titanic. It’s the largest ship ever built.”

“Who the hell cares about the ship?” your father says. “When will you be back?”

Never. You and your mother exchange a heartsick glance. She tries to be strong for him; she tries not to show you that her world is ending as you and Draco are taken across the ocean like gemstones mined and smuggled away for cutting. “Soon, Daddy,” you lie. He won’t remember anyway. “We’ll be back really soon.”

And then again ten minutes later, and then again after a half hour, and then again at lunchtime:

Where are you going?

When will you be back?

~~~~~~~~~~

Titanic is not a ship but a wonder of the world, unbreakable like the pyramids, towering like the Colossus of Rhodes, beckoning seafaring travelers like the Lighthouse of Alexandria. It is too large to dock in Cork Harbor, and so two tenders—named, quite appropriately, Ireland and America—are used to shuttle the passengers to the anchored goliath waiting to carry you across the ocean. Aboard, a five-piece string ensemble greets the first-class passengers with The Sunny South, and beaming stewards distribute flutes of champagne, liquid gold freckled with bubbles of trapped air. The men are chucking and shaking Captain Smith’s hand and the women are sighing with soft, feminine awe at the soaring funnels and the sprawling Promenade Deck, steel overlaid with yellow pine and teak, and you stare vacuously back at the shadow of the shore, speaking to no one, noticed by no one, alone in a wonderstruck crowd on a cloud-covered, warm afternoon, April 11th, 1912.

Rush is giving bellboys instructions for the luggage to be taken to your rooms. Daemon disappears with Rhaenyra to inspect the accommodations, their steps swift and careless, laughing like children, Rhaenyra’s blonde hair—yellow jasper, yellow jade—streaming out behind her, her gown a shallow-water bluish-green like the Grandidierite Daemon found in Madagascar. Fern skitters after them to unpack the bags when they arrive in the staterooms and offer to make tea. Laenor, wearing a deep and dignified shade of blue, immediately makes the acquaintance of several Parisian passengers and sets about to stroll the deck with them, smoking their pipes and remarking on the ingenuity of the ship’s design, planning to enjoy the Turkish Baths together this evening. Draco is getting tired and ill-tempered; Dagmar merrily whisks him off to see the Grand Staircase and distract him until the rooms are ready.

Meandering, rudderless, you walk to the deck railing and look down into the water as the ship weighs anchor, unmooring itself from Ireland, stealing you away forever. Trying to distract yourself from weeping—tears burn in your eyes like a stoked furnace—you pretend to adjust your earrings. You wear amethysts to match your gown, dark mauve, a color not long ago only owned by royalty. One of the musicians has appeared to soothe your maladies, desperate terror and melancholy he perhaps mistakes for seasickness. But no, it’s not one of the men from the ensemble that welcomed you aboard; he is not wearing a pristine black suit but a pale green tweed waistcoat and unceremonious plaid trousers. He isn’t a crewmember of Titanic at all. He’s the viola player from Galway.

You jolt away from him, spinning around to ensure no one from Daemon’s party has reappeared to witness this. Then you whisper furiously: “What are you doing here?!”

The viola player stops fiddling and holds his instrument by its neck. His answer is amiable and innocent. “Playing viola.”

“No, why are you on this ship?!”

He shrugs, smiling, his hair blowing in the wind as the tugboats pull Titanic out to sea. “Heard it was the biggest one ever built, unsinkable, extravagant beyond compare. Seemed like something I’d like to experience given the opportunity.”

“You followed me,” you say flatly.

He winks, resting an elbow on the railing. His teeth are small and white; there are lines from the sun around his eyes.

“You overheard our arrangements at O’Connell’s Bar and bought a ticket for yourself? Crossed Ireland, travelled south to Cork, all to stalk me like some lunatic? A nautical Jack the Ripper?”

“Well…I wouldn’t say I bought a ticket.” He is playful, teasing you. “I found one.”

“How did you manage to by pure happenstance find a ticket for Titanic’s maiden voyage?”

“I ran into an aspiring passenger at a pub in Cork,” the viola player explains. “A very nice man, his name was Fergal. Unfortunately for poor Fergal, when the time came to board the tenders, he was…indisposed, and I found myself in possession of his third-class ticket. A strange coincidence!”

“Indisposed?” you say, squinting suspiciously.

“Perhaps he had a few too many pints in celebration and passed out somewhere. Perhaps he got lost on his way to the harbor. Or perhaps he was locked in the pub’s storage room and therefore unable to make it to the tenders in time to sail blissfully away on his trans-Atlantic journey. Who could say for sure?”

“So you stole a ticket.”

“I think that’s a cynical way to put it.”

You are incredulous. “How would you put it?”

“Fortune brought me a ticket. The stars aligned, the saints were looking out for me.”

“If you hold a third-class ticket, you are on the wrong deck of the ship.”

“Shh!” He holds a finger to his lips. “No one knows that, I just wander around playing songs for the rich people and they assume I’m supposed to be here.”

“You have to stay away from me,” you plead, staring out over the ocean. “Daemon can’t see us talking, he can’t know you followed me from Galway, he can’t find out that you saw…” The bruise, the evidence, the betrayal of you not keeping his secrets.

“Relax, I’m not here for you,” the viola player says, and of course he is lying. “I have family in New York City. I left home and haven’t been back in years, and I think now’s a good time for a visit.”

You roll your eyes. “Yeah. Okay.”

He grins, slow and mischievous, and you are alarmed to realize some part of you wants to smile too. “You know what?”

“What,” you offer resentfully.

“I think you want me to be here for you.”

You turn away from the railing to make your escape. “I want you to leave me alone.”

“I’ll think about it,” the viola player quips. And when you glance back at him from the end of the Promenade Deck, ocean wind tearing your hair out of its pins and salt stinging on your skin, he’s still watching you.

[lxvsiick]

GONNA BE A ROCK | PARK SUNGHO X READER

PAIRING: best friends! park sungho x best friends! fem! reader

SUMMARY: Y/n breaks up with Sungho because he keeps stealing her stickers and 10 years later, he's still bitter.

GENRE: best friends, 10 year old breakup, fluff

WORDCOUNT: 1k

A/N: i wrote this while listening to GONNA BE A ROCK by BOYNEXTDOOR -- i was going to make this longer and elaborate more on the sungho being bitter part throughout their friendship but i kinda got lazy ... anyways, enjoy!

`✦ ˑ ִֶ 𓂃⊹

Like a seven-year-old kid who lost their toy

I cry even in front of my parents, I know it ain't right

The sun was high in the sky, casting long shadows over the playground as Y/n and Sungho sat on the swings, lazily kicking at the dirt beneath them. They had been best friends for what felt like forever, and recently, they had decided—after some playground chatter—that they were "dating." It mostly involved sharing snacks and stickers, except for one problem: Sungho kept stealing Y/n's favorite stickers.

Y/n glanced at him with a mock-serious expression, arms crossed over her chest. “We need to talk.”

Sungho looked over, confused but still smiling. “What’s up?”

She huffed, trying to sound more grown-up than she was. “You keep taking my stickers, and I’m not okay with that.”

He blinked, his feet dragging to a stop on the dirt. “I don’t take that many.”

Y/n narrowed her eyes. “You took my sparkly unicorn yesterday. And the shiny dolphin the day before that!”

He shifted awkwardly on his swing, kicking at a pebble. “I was just borrowing them...”

She sighed dramatically, standing up from the swing. “Well, I’ve made up my mind. I think we should break up.”

Sungho froze, his jaw dropping in disbelief. “Break up?!”

She nodded, hands on her hips like she was making a very important decision. “Yep. I can’t be with someone who steals my stickers.”

He stood up, his heart breaking in the only way a 10-year-old’s could. “But... but I’m your boyfriend! You can’t just break up with me over stickers!”

She shrugged casually. “I just did.”

Sungho felt a wave of childish devastation wash over him. “But I was gonna give you my glow-in-the-dark dinosaur sticker tomorrow!”

She paused for a moment, clearly tempted by the offer. But she shook her head. “Nope, sorry. It’s too late. We’re not dating anymore.”

He groaned dramatically, throwing his hands in the air. “This is the worst day ever! You’re breaking up with me over stickers!”

Y/n tried to keep a straight face but ended up giggling. “You’ll be fine. We’re still best friends, just... not boyfriend and girlfriend.”

He stared at her, hands on his hips now, as bitterness started to creep into his voice. “Fine, but don’t come crying to me when you want to trade stickers again. I’ll just say no!”

She stuck out her tongue playfully. “I don’t need your stickers anymore. I’ll just ask Seeun.”

His eyes widened. “Seeun?! She doesn’t even have cool stickers!”

Y/n shrugged, clearly having the upper hand. “We’ll see about that.”

He huffed, turning around dramatically and stomping off towards the monkey bars. “I don’t care! I don’t even want to date you anymore!”

She giggled again but called after him, “See you tomorrow?”

Sungho paused, then grumbled, “Yeah, whatever,” before running off to vent his frustration on the jungle gym. His heart might have been “broken,” but they both knew that nothing would really change—except, of course, the status of their “relationship.”

As he climbed the monkey bars, he muttered under his breath, “Stupid stickers…”

And so, they stayed best friends, but from that day on, Sungho remained just a little bit bitter about the whole breakup.

`✦ ˑ ִֶ 𓂃⊹

If I could go back to the beginning, I would leave you

Even though it's impossible, I'd dump you first

The soft glow of the TV flickered in the background, but neither Y/n nor Sungho were paying attention. They were sprawled out on the couch, her legs draped over his lap as they scrolled through their phones. The familiar comfort of their shared apartment wrapped around them like a warm blanket, the quiet hum of city life outside barely noticeable.

After a long stretch of silence, Y/n let out a chuckle, her eyes lighting up as she glanced at him. “Remember when I broke up with you when we were 10?”

Sungho paused, his thumb hovering over his phone screen, and shot her a playful glare. “Oh, I remember. You dumped me over stickers.”

She grinned, shifting to sit up a little. “You kept stealing them!”

He raised an eyebrow, his voice dripping with mock bitterness. “If I could go back, I’d break up with you first. Save myself the heartbreak.”

She laughed, rolling her eyes. “Yeah right. You were obsessed with me even back then.”

He dramatically sighed, leaning back into the couch cushions, his hand resting on her leg. “Well, I did go home and cry to my parents about it. You tore my heart open, and I swore I’d never like anyone else.”

Y/n giggled, nudging him with her foot. “Oh, please! I didn’t ‘tear your heart open’—I just wanted my sparkly unicorn stickers back.”

He leaned forward, eyes wide in mock outrage. “You don’t understand! It was traumatic! I was ten, in love, and you crushed me with one sentence.”

She was laughing harder now, clutching her stomach. “I’m sorry, okay? But to be fair, you were a terrible boyfriend. You stole my favorite stickers.”

“I wasn’t a terrible boyfriend,” he said, crossing his arms and looking away dramatically. “I was a great boyfriend who just had a thing for shiny stickers.”

“Well,” she teased, reaching over to pinch his arm playfully, “you’ve improved a lot since then.”

He turned back to her, a soft smile replacing his exaggerated bitterness. “Thanks. But seriously, you wrecked me. I couldn’t look at a sticker again without thinking of my first heartbreak.”

She snorted, shaking her head. “And yet here we are.”

“Yeah,” he said, his playful tone giving way to something more genuine. “Here we are.”

For a moment, they sat quietly, the laughter fading into a comfortable silence. Sungho squeezed her leg lightly and gave her a teasing smirk. “But, just so you know, I’m still a little bitter about it.”

She laughed, leaning over to kiss his cheek. “You’ll get over it eventually.”

“Maybe,” he said, leaning into the kiss, “but I’m not making any promises.”

`✦ ˑ ִֶ 𓂃⊹

MASTERLIST

© ALL RIGHTS RESERVED, lxvsiick, 2024

[fluttershybaby1]

PERCY JACKSON X MERMAID YN

Part two part three

🌊🪷🐚🌊🪷🐚🌊🪷🐚🌊🪷🐚🌊🪷🐚🌊🪷🐚🌊🪷🐚🌊🪷🐚🌊🪷

Everyone knew he was the son of Poseidon. Percy Jackson—half mortal, half god, full-time magnet for trouble. He could speak with nearly every marine creature, mythical or not, and often acted as a reluctant hero to the underwater world. But today, it wasn’t some kraken in distress or a wayward hippocampus that caught his attention. Today, it was someone.

It started as a normal afternoon at the beach. Percy was soaking in the sun, letting the saltwater cradle him, when he noticed a shadow darting beneath the waves. At first, he ignored it. Maybe just a dolphin? Or a playful sea lion? But the shadow moved too fast, too deliberately. It circled him once, then again, weaving between the sunbeams like a ribbon.

"Hey, little fella," Percy called out, trying to reach it with his aquatic telepathy.

No answer.

"Hey?" he said aloud this time. Maybe it wasn’t a creature. Maybe it was a person. A prankster friend? A rogue demigod?

Unseen beneath the water’s surface, a pair of curious eyes watched him. They hovered just below the shimmering break, the outline of a feminine form barely visible—pale skin, long dark curls dancing like ink in the water. Percy blinked, unsure if he’d imagined it.

“Okay, this is getting weird,” he muttered. “Whoever you are, come out and show yourself. I know you’re there.”

No response. Just another flicker of motion.

“I’m not leaving until I figure out who’s playing tag with me,” he said, treading water, alert but still relaxed.

Then, without warning, a massive splash crashed over his head. Percy coughed and sputtered, blinded for a moment by saltwater.

“Hey! Not cool!” he shouted, spinning in circles—but there was no one there. Just a few ripples, vanishing fast.

A smirk tugged at his lips. “Alright. You want to play? Let’s play.”

He dove under the waves, slicing through the water with supernatural speed. He caught glimpses—a flash of a tail? Fingers?—but never enough to understand what—or who—it was.

Then it happened again. Another splash, again from behind. Percy turned swiftly—too late. Another splash, this time on the opposite side. The mystery swimmer was quick—too quick. But Percy heard it this time: a small giggle, bright and mischievous, like silver bubbles in the deep.

He laughed, shaking his head. “Oh, you think you’re funny.”

No answer.

Fine. He dove again, deeper this time, settling on the sandy seabed where the light turned emerald and everything went quiet. There, he waited. He could hold his breath a long time—longer than any human. He was willing to bet his mysterious companion couldn’t do the same.

The ocean around him felt like it was holding its breath too. Silent. Waiting. He closed his eyes, tuned into the pull of the currents, the subtle flickers of movement.

And then—there.

Soft as a sigh, something brushed past him. He opened his eyes and turned—but again, nothing. Just shadows and light.

But something was different. The water felt alive. Playful. Like the ocean itself was giggling.

Percy surfaced after what felt like ages, scanning the waves. “Alright,” he said to the open sea, smiling despite himself. “I’ll wait. I’m not going anywhere.”

From beneath the surface, hidden behind a curtain of kelp, the girl watched him. Not quite a nymph, not quite human. Something older. Wilder. She had been alone for so long, but something about this boy—this son of the sea—intrigued her.

Maybe next time, she would let him see her fully.

Maybe.

But for now, she dove back into the deep, her laughter echoing in the water.

And Percy? He stayed right there, floating in the sun, smiling like he’d just met a secret he didn’t want to solve too fast. Because some mysteries are better when they’re just beginning.

[solplease]

my oc tamaki! he is THE toxic manipulative guy

as always, close ups and more info about him under the cut :]

toxic with a capital T

will twist his words to make you stay with him

incredibly desperate

manipulative, possessive and obsessive yandere

very very very jealous

he hates sharing your attention with anyone else and becomes upset if you pay attention to someone that isn’t him for too long

wants to protect you and keep you all to himself

lots and lots of guilt tripping im afraid

he has about ten piercings! 

becomes a puppy around you

jumps to conclusions a lot of the time 

becomes irrationally upset when you get even the slightest bit annoyed with him

he probably has a shrine dedicated to you i won’t even lie

his love is a bit intense

he’ll take care of you 

is very sweet to you (unless when he’s upset, he doesn’t think super clearly and assumes you hate him so he starts begging and guilting you,,, um…)

would give you anything you asked for

when he gets flustered (and he gets flustered easily) he gets nosebleeds 

wants to lock you up in his basement so he can be the only one that looks at you (but he doesn’t bc. what if you start hating him… and ask to leave…)

could kill someone, might kill someone

loves using pet names!

very pathetic

misspells things a lot (expect a lot of typos if he’s texting) 

very insecure and a huge overthinker

prone to biting? (whenever he can) 

bites his nails when he’s anxious so he paints them to keep himself from doing so (you probably gave him the idea)

owns a lot of arm covers

has a pet bunny!

plays the guitar

keeps a photo of you on him always (probs in his phone case too ehe) 

likes playing video games, if he’s still up at an ungodly time he’s probably playing some random ass game 

he does cosplay :D

he KINDA needs glasses but he refuses to get them, stubborn little fuck (he has to, one day) 

cut and dyed his own hair because why not

do NOT let him into a kitchen he will burn the place down (he’s trying his best)

knits when he’s stressed out

you need to repeat what you say a few times because he will not understand (but halfway through you repeating your words it clicks in his head) 

he has intense beef with the drooling emoji (me too) 

hates a lot of random things for whatever reason

likes sharks! (AND HATES DOLPHINS) ((again, me too!))  

would die if you left him, so don’t go anywhere.

tamaki's relationship with the others!

TAMAKI -> CASSIAN: who is this </3

CASSIAN -> TAMAKI: uhhh i don’t really have a clue?

TAMAKI -> CECILIA: i’ve seen her a few times at the mall i think? i recognize her bc of her pink hair lmfao

CECILIA -> TAMAKI: ohhh i’ve seen him! sometimes when i go shopping i see him, he’s got a cool look

TAMAKI -> LUNE: ahh, the scary guy? saw him beating the fuck out of this guy, it was pretty entertaining, and he looked like he was having a lot of fun lol

LUNE -> TAMAKI: oh i remember this guy, shockingly. he saw me beating someone up and then told me to carry on, strange dude

TAMAKI -> LUCIAN: ohh luci, he’s a funny guy, we’re friends, i don’t know how we became friends and i’m almost certain he doesn’t either. we hang out every now and then, he’s strange but he’s not a bad guy, he’s pretty entertaining if i’m being honest. he kind of reminds me of shadow the hedgehog a bit? but i think that’s the vibe he’s going for. 

LUCIAN -> TAMAKI: tamaki? i think he’s cool, he’s kinda like me, so we see eye to eye on a lot of things. i… don’t remember how we became friends honestly. i usually ride solo but he’s alright, i don’t mind keeping him around (secretly kinda happy that he has a friend though, as much as he won’t admit it) 

TAMAKI -> NOX: not a damn clue

NOX -> TAMAKI: am i supposed to know who this is?

TAMAKI -> ROWAN: i… don’t know </3

ROWAN -> TAMAKI: hmm??? :D

i also decided to try something new! here's how he is in a relationship :D

TAMAKI tends to cater to your needs and tries to treat you as well as possible but can become unstable at times. he will never ever take his anger out on you but instead becomes sad and desperate. he hates getting into arguments and will beg for forgiveness if he thinks you’re upset with him, but if he’s upset with you he tries to guilt you into feeling bad and spending more time with him. he likes to take care of you as much as he can, if you guys are in a relationship he will make you feel loved constantly, he likes keeping you happy. he’s very insecure and needs a lot of reassurance but he can make you happy he promises! he likes taking you shopping and dressing you up. he especially likes it when you help pick out clothes for him. he wants to pamper you as much as he can. he gives you some of his sweaters, his arm covers, and lets you basically do whatever you want. he likes having your attention on him so he loves to stay near you, he loves it when you guys play games together and loves to play the guitar for you. he gets really flustered and giggly when you do his makeup or hair, he loves you so much. he is the happiest when he is around you and would drop anything to be with you. if you ever left him he would die. he can’t live without you.

(i have this little blurb for my other ocs too! if you wanna see them pls lmk haha)

[hitoshilover]

roommate

directory | masterlist

pairing: timeskip!tsutomu goshiki x fem!reader

summary: you were tired of your roommate leaving the house a mess, so you decided to confront him- though you were greeted with an unexpected sexual tension.

warnings: heavy switch themes, soft dom!goshiki, vibrator, oral (male receiving), fingering, “pretty,” orgasm denial, penetration, deepthroating, handjob, blowjob, nipple clasps, restraints (belt), nipple play, heavy making out, brat!goshiki, edging, arguing for like 5 seconds, hickeys

wc: 2.3K

a/n: once again, a gift for my friend @crayooongle !! the #1 tsutomu lover. and also another long one. it’s a bit all over the place and ambitious, so sorry for that. ntm, not proofred 😖 so proceed with caution LOL!!

it was friday, the 5th time this week your roommate came home late this week. 11 pm. he glanced around the dormroom, noticing the dishes he left in the sink this morning, the crumbs he left on the counter, and the pizza box from last night still on the couch. he was a bit surprised as you usually would clean up the room, but he was too tired to even react. he moved through the mess to find you laying on his bed. you wore a baggy grey graphic-tee with dolphin shorts hidden beneath. you laid in the middle of his bed, nonchalantly looking up at him from your phone.

“so when were you planning on fixing up the house, tsutomu?”

“man,” he wiped his forehead, bothered by your confrontational attitude.

he’d been so busy hanging out with friends or working that he always left his mess for you to live in. he never asked you to clean it, but no one likes to live in a dirty house, and you were fed up with his shit.

“well?”

“‘well’ what? i’m tired, get off my bed, please. im going to sleep.”

“no,” you responded, stubbornly. you crossed your arms, placing your phone atop your chest.

“alright then.”

the purple haired boy climbed into bed, filling the small space to the right of you.

“can i have some blanket,” he looked over, “you’re laying on top of it.”

you didn’t even make eye contact, “no.”

he tried to tug on the black quilt beneath you, but he couldn’t get enough blanket, “bro, can you fucking move?”

tsutomu never cursed at you, or had attitude. his sharp words sliced your heart with rage.

“can you fucking clean the dorm,” you turned over now, propping yourself a bit up on your right elbow to look at him.

“what is with your damn attitude?”

without even thinking, you climbed on top of him, “if you at least wiped down the counters, or thrown your trash out before you left in the morning, to do god knows what- or who, i wouldn’t have an attitude, tsutomu, think about that?”

you two locked eyes, both pissed at each other. an awkward, angry, silence filled the air. a tension grew between you two, and it wasn’t only rage- rather lust?

tsutomu unexpectedly grabbed your face, sloppily making out with you for a brief moment.

“shit,” he pulled away, shocked by his own actions, “s-“

you interrupted him and leaned back into the kiss, tsutomu let out sweet moans into your mouth.

you and tsutomu never really discussed anything sexual, you’d only met since your college had co-ed dorms; you were forced into it, as dorming was required. sometimes you’d hear him bring over a girl, and touch yourself to his whiny moans- but the morning after you would both pretend it didn’t happen. though, you were curious as to what exactly made him so whiny, and how you could make him melt like that.

you pulled away, watching him try to catch his breath as you lowered yourself down to his crotch. you touched his clothed dick softly; he gasped at your contact.

“fuck,” he breathed out heavily.

you softly caressed his hard dick, eyeing him as his head fell back.

after a while of teasing him, you pulled down his black pants to reveal the shadow of his length through his grey boxers.

“so you like to be yelled at,” you looked up at him, laughing a little.

“oh shut up,” he rolled his eyes at you.

“i wont, but you will,” you glared at him, then at his dick.

now, pulling down his grey boxers. his dick popped out, twitching and already leaking pre. he was easy to please, you noted. his hands caressed your hair as you lowered your mouth to his cock, leaving soft kisses on his tip; you swirled your tongue on it and watched as he fell into absolute lust for you.

“aw,” you lifted your head, smiling, “are you done being a little brat now?”

“are you done talking back,” he questioned.

tsutomu tightened his grip on your head, pushing you down on his 7 inches. he didn’t move your head, just watched your face stay still, trying not to gag on him as he’d softly move his dick around in your mouth

after about a minute, he lifted your head up, “so you’re done,” tsutomu teased.

you didn’t appreciate his attitude, or the way he was able to take advantage of you like that; consequently, you lifted yourself up onto your knees. you pulled off your baggy shirt and tossed it to the side of the bed, revealing your pretty tits. tsutomu’s face immediately was red, he looked away a little flustered and embarrassed.

you reached down to grab his soft face, turning him towards you, “you can look at me, don’t you usually?”

tsutomu thought he was slick, that he was good at hiding his face when he watched you leave in skin tight clothing to go out. his favorite was this black minidress, you always wore dark red panties with it and couldn’t wear a bra since you didn’t have a strapless and it would show. your ass peeked out beneath it, and your nipples poked out through the halter top.

now, tsutomu was able to watch your tits without the restriction of your clothes.

he eyed your chest as you slid down your pants, remaining straddled on top of him. you moved your hands onto his dick, your pace immediately being quick.

“ffuck,” he watched your tits bounce as you touched him so lustfully, “don’t stop, please.”

and so, you stopped, staring at his dick twitch, leaking of pre.

“please,” he finally looked up at your face.

you shook your head, “if you really wanted it you’d beg for it, cmon.”

“i need you,” he grabbed your wrist to move your hands to his dick, “please, i need to finish. i need it.”

“fine, baby,” you responded.

“mm,” he whined, his face forming a desperate and needy expression as you stroked his cock with your nail.

“aren’t you cute like this,” you smiled, teasingly.

as his dick twitched in response, leaking even more pre; you grasped his dick like before, slowly sliding it up and down his sticky cock. you notice tsutomu getting closer, and so you bent down to kiss his tip, swirling your tongue around it a bit too before coming back up.

this was enough to send him over the edge, “fuck, i’m cumming,” he cried out.

cum squirted on your chest and stomach, he was a bit embarrassed by the mess he made by you- especially since he was being a brat earlier. he whined as he came, and his soft moans filled up the room.

“good job,” you watched his body squirm for more.

before he could recover from his orgasm, you moved back some and leaned down, allowing your whole throat to take in his dick- on your accord this time. tsutomu’s hips bucked up, his dick slamming to the back of your throat.

“shiit,” his eye’s widened, shocked by the sudden pleasure.

you bopped your head up and down, he squirmed around and so you gripped onto his body to hold him in place.

soon enough he was close again, “aah- im close, close, pretty.”

you lifted your head, shaking side to side, “don’t cum,” and immediately went back to his dick.

tsutomu really tried, he did, but there was something about the way you maintained eye contact and made fun of him that turned him on so much. it turned him on so much that he couldn’t hold back his orgasm, and so, without warning he came all inside your mouth.

you looked up, extremely pissed at him, “i asked you for one thing, tsutomu.”

“i know, i know,” he whined, still squirming.

“since we don’t know how to fucking listen,” you lifted yourself off the bed, “i’m done.”

tsutomu’s eyes widened, “no no, please, i’ll listen,” he got up, pulling off the rest off his boxers and pants, in an attempt to stop you from leaving.

you’d never had anyone so desperate for you before, though you’d never seen tsutomu in this way before- you began to think about it.

once again, your roommate grabbed your face, kissing you, “i’ll make you feel good, please,” he looked at you as he pulled away.

“fine then,” you dismissed him nonchalantly, although there was nothing nonchalant about how his desperate tone made your pussy ache.

tsutomu pulled you back into the kiss, this time turning you on the bed. you sat down at the edge, his back bent to make out with you. eventually he began to kiss the rest of your exposed body, he left hickeys all over and sucked on your tits for a little bit.

once he made way to your pussy, he spread your legs open, your embarrassingly wet hole twitching.

“how cute,” he looked up at you, teasing.

“shut up, tsutomu.”

“i wont,” he mocked, “but you will.”

and immediately tsutomu began to shove two fingers into you, causing you to jump a bit from pleasure. he moved at an excruciatingly slow pace.

“tsutomu,” you breathed out, so desperate for more- just like how you had him earlier.

“yes, pretty,” his soft eyes looked up at you.

“faster,” you replied, accompanied by a long whine.

“beg for it,” he smiled smugly, he loved that you were eating your words.

“fuck, tsomu,” you furrowed your brows in frustration.

his expression didn’t change, just waiting for you to beg as his pace remained constant.

you gave in, “tsomu, please. i need you, please, fast-“

he cut you off by dramatically increasing his pace, your back arched and you threw your head back rolling your eyes.

you grinded yourself on his hand, so needy for every single inch of his finger.

“tsomu, shit,” you grabbed his wrist, the pleasure of his slender fingers was becoming so much.

“i thought you wanted it faster,” he lifted his brow, “but i can go slower-?”

“no, no, no no,” you begged him not to, you need him, his quick pace.

he did maintain his pace, and made sure his fingers reached as deep into you as possible. but, when he noticed you began to become quieter, your moans becoming more drawn out and your head remaining thrown back, he pulled away.

“tsomuuu,” you frowned.

“if i couldn’t earlier, you can’t.”

his tone was stern, maintaining eye contact as he stood up. he lifted his shirt and went on to give attention to your lips. your hands lifted to his face, all needy for him, desperate for his cock to be inside you.

“i need it,” your right hand moved to his cock.

“not yet pretty,” he kissed your forehead, turning to open the drawer in his nightstand.

as you waited for him, your left hand reached to softly graze your nipple, yearning for some sort of pleasure.

tutsomu placed a black box atop his nightstand full of toys; you noticed as you peeked up. he took out a belt, vibrator, and since he noticed you touching your tits, he grabbed some nipple clasps. he placed everything to the side, and your face was a bit shocked, so to distract you he made out with you slowly moving your entire body down onto the bed and lowering you down.

“it’s okay,” he assured you as lifted himself up to grab the belt.

tsomu pulled your wrists together, down to your stomach, tying the belt.

you’ve dommed before, and other kinky stuff, but typically your vanilla. from the other room you would hear sounds of vibrators and chains, his experience made you feel safe, and turned you on so much.

he placed the nipple clasps onto you as you laid down, they had heart charms dangling from them and were crystal. you winced from the pain.

“it’s okay, pretty. you’re okay,” he softly comforted.

tsutomu positioned his cock in front of your aching pussy, just rubbing it on you. he loved the way you squirmed and whined for him, just as he was earlier for you.

“want it, pretty,” he asked.

“please.”

he slammed himself into you, grabbing onto your waist. your back arched upward as your fingers clenched into fists. tsutomu let his dick twitch inside you for a few moments, he groaned as your pussy clamped down on him.

he began to move in and out of you, heavy breaths taking up the space around you both. as tsutomu noticed you getting close, he picked up the vibrator and pulled out of you. he inserted it inside of you and put it on the lowest setting.

“again,” your were so frustrated, you needed to cum. you hated when he went slow.

“yes, again.”

tsutomu grabbed your face, kissing you; his dick rubbing on your stomach, providing him some pleasure. you tried to reach your hands to your pussy, and he noticed. in response, he pushed your hands away, still kissing you, and rubbed circles on your clit.

“mmph,” is all you could let out in response.

“you wanna cum, pretty?”

“mm, mhm,” you nodded through the kiss.

he pulled away, removing the vibrator from inside you and placing it on your clit as he entered you once more.

tsutomus pace began to pick up, and you desperately grinded on his dick. this time, he let you cum. you cried out his name and threw your head back.

he repeatedly thrusted in you as you came and even after, you squirmed from the overstimulation. it only took a few more thrusts until he pulled out and came all over your stomach.

“tsutomuu,” you whined, looking up at him.

he leaned down to kiss your cheek, “you okay?”

you nodded, still attempting to catch your breath. he wiped you down with a towel from behind his door, and slid your clothes back on you. he dressed himself after, and rested next to you, covering you both with blanket.

you looked over, “you still need to clean the dorm.”

he laughed, “i know, i am sorry.”

“i accept your apology, tsomu.”

he watched as your eyes began to flutter shut, he twirled your hair.

“goodnight pretty.”

“goodnight, tsomu.”

[cosmic-conqueror-diabelos]

Haha

Happy birthday to my first real bias may it be full of joy and merriment

The smell of vanilla cake and sugar frosting filled the cramped apartment like it had been summoned—like sweetness itself had RSVP’d for the five-year-old’s birthday and was now lounging on the couch, waiting for a slice.

Diobronto “Dio” Castillo crouched by the coffee table, one hand steadying a flickering candle shaped like a cartoon dinosaur, the other hidden behind his back, clutching a juice box like it was a rare treasure.

“Okay, kiddo. You ready?” he asked, smiling at the tiny girl perched on the edge of the couch cushion like a queen on a throne.

Lily, in all her pigtail-and-tutu glory, clapped her hands but didn’t smile. She was watching him carefully, seriously—the way she watched cartoons she didn’t understand yet but wanted to. Her brown eyes flicked from the cake to him and back again, calculating something heavy in her five-year-old brain.

“Where’s Mommy and Daddy?” she asked, voice small but direct. “They were supposed to be back two days ago.”

Dio froze for just a second—a flicker, like a shadow passing over the sun—then softened his smile. “They’re still on the boat, remember? Sailing through the Bahamas. Maybe petting dolphins. Maybe stuck in some weird Bermuda Triangle clouds.”

Lily frowned, unconvinced. “Daddy said he’d call me.”

“He did,” Dio said gently, sitting cross-legged now. The candlelight danced between them like it was trying to lighten the mood. “But guess what? I’m here. And I brought pineapple juice and the dino cake. Can your dad do that?”

Lily thought about it, visibly torn between principle and pastry. “Daddy says cake is for after broccoli.”

Dio leaned in like he was sharing a top-secret government file. “Yeah, well, your dad’s lame.”

Lily giggled—finally. A full-bellied, snotty-nosed, candle-wobbling laugh that made Dio’s shoulders drop in quiet relief.

She blew out the candle with all the intensity of someone making a very serious wish. Dio clapped, handed her the juice box, and tried not to think—really think—about how long it had been since the last voicemail. About how “they’re just off the grid” was getting harder to say with confidence.

For now, she had her juice, her dino cake, and a godfather who knew how to braid her hair, patch her scraped knees, and sing the lullaby her mother used to hum at bedtime.

And maybe—for a while—that would be enough.

⸻

Five Years Later

It had been nearly five years since Nigel and Sarah disappeared somewhere in the waters between the Bahamas and the Bermuda Triangle. Five years of whispers, theories, hope turned to silence. And three years since Diobronto Castillo had officially become Lily’s father.

Stepping up hadn’t been easy. It never is, especially when people don’t understand. He’d left behind his job, his apartment in Seattle, and most of the life he’d built to move back to Orange County. To minimize the chaos for Lily. To anchor her in something familiar when everything else had capsized.

Some friends vanished in the wake—unable or unwilling to wrap their heads around a single man raising a child that wasn’t his by blood. Others—especially Lily’s grandparents—fought the will’s instructions tooth and nail, but Nigel and Sarah had made it clear: Dio was to be her guardian if the worst ever happened. So he did what needed to be done.

And, somehow, it worked.

Against every odd and expectation, the perpetually single,godfather made an exceptional parent. Under Dio’s watchful, if sometimes stern, guidance, Lily had blossomed. She spoke three languages, played one and a half instruments (the cello, and sort of the piano), and was becoming a quick-footed standout on her youth soccer team. She had her mother’s fierce intelligence and her father’s curiosity—but it was Dio’s steadiness she leaned on the most.

People still stared sometimes—at the practices, the parent-teacher nights, the grocery store aisles—but Lily never seemed to notice. She only saw her dad.

And Dio? He had long since stopped caring who approved. In service of his commitment to Lily he had gone out of his way to make sure she wasn’t sad on her birthday which led to numerous different parties and celebration, but as her tenth birthday neared she got something even bigger tickets to Korea and her favorite group Illit.

The apartment was a mess—but a happy mess. Open suitcases littered the living room like molting turtles, half-stuffed with clothes, chargers, Korean phrasebooks, and enough skincare samples to open a tiny boutique.

Dio stood over one of the suitcases, holding up a jacket with a puzzled look. “Okay, tell me again why we’re bringing three hoodies to a spring concert in Seoul?”

Lily, now ten and already exuding the steady confidence of someone with Very Specific Opinions, didn’t even look up from the checklist she was scribbling on the fridge whiteboard. “Because one is for me, one is for the group picture, and one is in case I get cold in the stadium. It’s air-conditioned.”

Dio raised an eyebrow. “You think you’re going to get cold from excitement or from the thousands of screaming teenagers vibrating at the frequency of teen devotion?”

She rolled her eyes. “You’re the one who said, ‘Pack smart, not just cute.’”

“I said that while holding a pair of socks, not a full wardrobe of fan gear.”

She shot him a look, then grinned. “You’re just jealous because I look better in pastels than you do.”

Dio smirked, conceding the point. “True. But I’m not the one dragging half a pharmacy’s worth of lip balm to another country.”

Lily turned back to her list, smile fading just a little as she capped the marker and leaned her forehead against the fridge. “It’s not just about the concert,” she said quietly. “I want to see everything—like the palaces, the cafés, the river walk. But mostly…” She hesitated. “I just want this to feel big. Like… a birthday I’ll remember forever.”

Dio straightened up, softening. “It will be. I promise.”

She looked at him, something a little older and sadder in her eyes now. “They went missing the week of my birthday. You remember that, right?”

He nodded, slow. “Yeah, I remember.”

“I don’t want to be sad every year when this week comes around. I don’t want to hate it.” She hugged herself, voice just above a whisper. “Sometimes I feel like… maybe I already do. A little.”

Dio crossed the room and crouched down beside her, hand resting gently on her back. “Hey. Look at me.”

She did.

“We’re doing this trip for a reason. Not just because you love Illit or because I secretly love their choreography—don’t tell anyone—but because you deserve joy, Lily. Not guilt. Not weight. You didn’t cause anything. You hear me?”

She nodded.

“This week doesn’t belong to tragedy. It belongs to you. We’re rewriting it. Starting now.”

Lily didn’t say anything at first, just leaned into his side with a deep breath, forehead resting on his shoulder. Dio held still, like she might crack if he moved too fast.

After a moment, she pulled back and sniffed. “You’re gonna cry if they do ‘Lucky Girl Syndrome,’ huh?”

“I’m already crying thinking about how much those concert tickets cost,” he teased, making her laugh through her tears.

She wiped her eyes on her sleeve and stood up straighter. “Okay. No more sad stuff. We’ve got a plane to catch and a bias to scream for.”

“Exactly,” Dio said, ruffling her hair. “Now hand me the glitter nail polish and promise you’ll teach me the fan chant one more time.”

She grinned, grabbing the tiny bottle and waving it at him like a wand. “Only if you wear the matching lightstick bracelet.”

Outside, the sun dipped lower, casting soft gold light across the room. Inside, they packed not just for a trip, but for a new kind of memory. One stitched together by music, hope, and the kind of love that refuses to let grief take root.

And Dio? He kept smiling—for her. Always for her.

Because if he could help it, Lily would never grow up afraid of birthdays.

The hum of the airplane engines had settled into a steady white noise, somewhere between soothing and sleep-inducing. The cabin lights were dimmed, casting everything in soft blue. Most of the passengers were asleep or trying to be, tucked under scratchy blankets with neck pillows askew.

Lily was curled up in her window seat, oversized headphones covering her ears, the faint sound of Illit bleeding through. Her eyelids drooped in that stubborn, mid-flight way—too tired to stay awake, too excited to give in.

Dio sat beside her, a half-read in-flight magazine in his lap, watching her with quiet affection. She looked so small again in that moment, her forehead leaning against the glass, the glow of the wing light reflecting in her eyes. A few minutes passed in peace.

Then—

“Hey, Dio?” she said, pulling one headphone off.

“Yeah, kiddo?”

She hesitated, picking at the edge of her blanket. “How come you don’t, like… date anyone?”

Dio blinked. Of all the questions to get ambushed with at 30,000 feet, that hadn’t cracked the top twenty. “Wow. Uh. We’re not even through snacks yet.”

She shrugged, nonchalant. “I just don’t get it. You’re cool. You cook. You’re funny. You know so much random stuff.”

“Well, I appreciate the review,” Dio said with a soft laugh. “But… it’s kind of complicated.”

Lily tilted her head. “How?”

He looked out the window for a second, then back at her. “Most women out there, they’re not exactly lining up to date a single dad. Especially one who’s not… well, not really traditional.”

“But you’re not my real dad,” she said quietly, not in a mean way—just stating the fact.

Dio nodded. “I know. But I am your dad. The one who picks you up from school, helps with math, makes birthday pancakes, and screams lyrics at your concerts. And that’s the kind of dad who’s all-in. That kind of all-in doesn’t leave a lot of room for someone else, unless they’re really ready for it.”

Lily was quiet for a moment.

“That’s dumb,” she said finally. “They’re missing out.”

Dio smiled, warmth pooling in his chest. “Well, maybe one day someone smart will figure that out.”

She yawned and leaned over, resting her head lightly against his arm. “You should still try. You’re too awesome to be alone forever.”

He didn’t answer right away—just looked down at the top of her head, resting there like it belonged. Like it always had.

“I’m not alone,” he said softly, almost to himself.

She was already halfway asleep again, but she murmured, “Still dumb…”

Dio leaned back in his seat, closed his eyes, and let the hum of the plane and her breathing lull him into a quiet place. Thirty thousand feet in the air, with a kid who thought he hung the moon and wasn’t afraid to ask the hard stuff.

Yeah. He wasn’t alone.

Not even close. A few minutes later Lily was passed out on Dio’s shoulder he chuckled as his daughter rested and the flight continued on its journey.

The plane touched down at Incheon International Airport just past 6 a.m., the horizon outside the window streaked in soft gold and cotton-pink clouds. Lily was practically vibrating in her seat.

“Dio, wake up. We’re in Korea. Wake. Up.” She shook his arm like a soda can.

“I’m awake,” Dio mumbled, still half-dreaming about overhead bin instructions. “I never slept.”

“You drooled on your travel pillow.”

“Don’t spread that slander on foreign soil.”

They shuffled off the plane with the rest of the groggy passengers, Lily darting ahead to get a better view of the terminal. Dio followed behind, tugging their carry-on, hoodie wrapped around his neck like a defeated scarf. His brain was still somewhere over the Pacific, but Lily’s adrenaline had clearly kicked in.

As they reached the jet bridge, a soft commotion ahead caught Dio’s attention—nothing major, just a few flight attendants glancing, whispering, politely grinning. Then he saw her.

She was trying to move discreetly, sunglasses over her eyes, hair tucked into a hoodie that still somehow looked expensive. A sleek carry-on in one hand, iced Americano in the other. She looked familiar, but Dio couldn’t place her—at least not until Lily nearly gasped herself inside out.

“Oh my God,” she whispered, grabbing Dio’s sleeve. “That’s Kim Dahyun.”

“Huh?”

“From TWICE. That’s literally Dahyun. She was on our flight and you slept through it!”

Dio blinked. Then glanced again.

She caught them looking.

And then—because life is weird and small and sometimes unexpectedly cinematic—she smiled.

Dio smiled back, awkwardly but genuinely. He nodded a little, casual. Not the kind of nod that screamed I’ve seen every fancam you’ve ever been in, but the kind you give someone you’ve genuinely enjoyed watching from afar.

Then his carry-on handle gave out with a dramatic snap, and his bag slumped over with the sad, slow dignity of a folding chair after a party.

“Smooth,” he muttered.

Dahyun laughed—a quiet, caught-off-guard kind of sound. And then, before she could think better of it, she stepped closer.

“Jet lag and cheap luggage,” she said, nodding at the collapsed bag. “Brutal combo.”

Dio crouched to fix it, chuckling. “Don’t worry. It only does this when I’m in front of beautiful strangers in foreign countries.”

Lily stared at him like he’d just performed unsanctioned surgery.

Dahyun raised an eyebrow behind her sunglasses, clearly amused. “You’re not from here.”

“That obvious?”

“Yes. You give off… dad energy.”

“Yeah,” Lily cut in proudly. “He’s my dad. And this is my early birthday trip. We’re here for the Illit concert.”

Dahyun turned her smile toward Lily. “Happy early birthday. You’ve got a cool dad.”

Lily blinked at her, some new suspicion glinting behind her eyes. “Thanks. He’s single, too.”

Dio nearly dropped the suitcase again. “LILY.”

“What? You are.”

Dahyun laughed, shaking her head as she pulled up her mask and turned to walk. “Well, single cool dad—welcome to Korea.”

And just like that, she vanished into the terminal crowd, a phantom in Nikes and stardust.

Lily smirked up at Dio. “You’re blushing.”

“I am jet-lagged.”

“You said that in a way that definitely means you’re blushing.”

Dio adjusted the suitcase and motioned forward. “Come on, future K-pop star. Let’s go try not to get deported before breakfast.”

But as they walked toward immigration, he glanced back once, half-expecting to see her again.

She was gone.

Still, his smile lingered.

Later, at breakfast…

Dio reached for the check and flipped open his wallet.

There, wedged between his emergency $20 and an expired museum pass, was a folded piece of paper he definitely hadn’t put there.

He blinked. Unfolded it.

Scrawled in tight, clean handwriting:

Call me – Dahyun +82-XXX-XXXX

“What’s that?” Lily asked, eyeing him.

“Nothing,” he replied—far too quickly.

Lily squinted, then gasped. “OH. MY. GOD.”

“Lily—”

“Is that her number?! Did she ninja you?! Are we in a K-drama right now?!”

“I… didn’t even see her get near my pocket,” Dio muttered, stunned.

“She ninja’d you, Dio. You got ninja’d by Dahyun from TWICE.”

Dio stared at the note. “Do idols even… do this?”

“She did.” Lily was practically vibrating. “Are you gonna call her?”

“I don’t know. That feels… bold.”

“She gave you her number. She started it. You’re just pressing play.”

He exhaled and tucked it carefully into his wallet like it was state treasure. “Well… welcome to Korea, I guess.”

Lily leaned back in her chair, triumphant. “This is so going in the vlog.”

After breakfast and a long nap, Dio lay staring at the ceiling while Lily snored gently in the other bed. The paper burned in his wallet like it knew it was being avoided.

Finally, he gave in.

He dialed.

“Hello?” came her voice, warm and slightly amused.

Dio cleared his throat. “Um—Dahyun? It’s Dio. We met on the plane?”

“Oh!” She sounded pleased. “I was starting to think you’d chicken out.”

“Well, it’s a little surreal. I mean, not every day you get a number from someone you’ve been following since…well, your daughter’s dance recital phase.”

Dahyun giggled. “Well, it’s not every day I meet a cute young dad. Very improper of you, by the way. Having a child before marriage.”

Dio laughed. “Lucky for you, I didn’t. Lily’s my goddaughter. I adopted her when her parents went missing.”

There was a pause. “Wait—seriously?”

He explained. April Fool’s Day. A cruise through the Bermuda Triangle. A call that never came. The long, strange climb from ‘uncle’ to ‘dad.’

“Wow,” Dahyun said softly. “That’s… that’s a lot.”

“Yeah. But it’s life. And she’s everything now.”

There was another beat, and then Dahyun brightened. “Then how about you both come to a little show we’re doing tonight? Backstage passes, VIP, the works.”

Dio laughed. “Careful, Mrs. Kim. I’m starting to think you’re flirting with me.”

“So what if I am?” she replied, a smile in her voice.

Dio stared at the phone, shaking his head, a grin slowly forming.

“I guess,” he said, “we’ll see you tonight.”

The backstage area of KSPO Dome was a maze of cables, dancers in half-costumes, frantic staff, and the kind of coordinated chaos that only came with live music and high stakes. Lily looked like she’d been zapped with lightning—her Illit hoodie swapped out for a Twice one, her lanyard badge swinging like a trophy.

Dio, on the other hand, looked like someone who had wandered in by accident.

“This is so cool,” Lily whispered, clutching her little camera. “I can’t believe we’re backstage at a Twice show. I’m gonna scream. I’m gonna cry. I’m gonna manifest.”

“Manifest away,” Dio said, tugging at his collar. “I’m just trying not to pass out.”

“Because of the lights? Or because of Dahyun?”

“Lily.”

“I’m just saying. You already called her. That’s step one. This is, like, step five. Flirting in the wild.”

Before Dio could argue, a familiar voice cut through the hallway din like a clean guitar riff.

“Look who actually came.”

Dahyun strolled toward them, hair in soft waves, makeup flawless but not too heavy. She wore her stage outfit like it was just another Tuesday—jacket slung over one shoulder, in-ear monitors looped casually around her neck.

Dio, for once, couldn’t think of anything smart to say. So Lily filled in the gap.

“As if I was gonna miss out on a free concert,” she said excitedly and Dahyun smiled

“I was gonna make you wait till after the show,” she said, stopping in front of him. “But then I figured—why wait?”

Lily coughed. Loudly. “Hi Miss Kim. I’m just gonna… pretend I don’t hear anything right now.”

Dahyun winked at her, then looked back at Dio. “You look better without the jet lag. Still carrying that broken suitcase charm, though.”

“It’s my signature,” he managed, trying to sound cool and not like his brain had just hit a blue screen.

A staff member waved Dahyun over from the other hallway. She glanced at them, then back at Dio.

“I gotta go on soon,” she said. “But after the show, stick around. There’s a private hangout for the crew and friends. You two are both on the list.”

“Friends?” Dio echoed.

“Well, you’re not a fanboy,” she teased, stepping closer—close enough that he could smell her perfume, something soft and citrusy. “Yet.”

Lily’s eyebrows were practically in orbit now.

“And if you play your cards right, I might even let you hold the lightstick.”

“I—I’m honored.”

“I know.”

And just like that, she turned and walked away, leaving Dio standing there like a stunned NPC.

Lily leaned over, whispering with maximum judgment: “You’re blushing again.”

“I’m in a pressure cooker of LED screens and teen hormones, I think I’m allowed.”

“You like her.”

“I’m terrified of her.”

“She so likes you.”

Dio looked toward the stage, where the show was about to begin, and shook his head with a bemused smile. “If I survive this concert, I’m buying us both ten-dollar corn dogs.”

“Deal,” Lily grinned, already pulling out her phone. “Now shut up, the queens are about to start.”

The lights dimmed, the crowd roared, and as the first note hit, Dio tried to focus on the music—but he could feel it already:

This wasn’t just a trip anymore.

It was the start of something.

The stadium pulsed with color, light, and sound—an electric current of thousands of fans moving in unison like one giant heart beating to the rhythm of the stage. Dio stood backstage, just off the wings, with Lily practically glued to the edge of the curtain, bouncing on the balls of her feet. She wore her Illit light stick around her wrist like a badge of honor, cheeks flushed pink from excitement.

“This is insane,” she whispered, eyes wide as fireworks burst above the crowd and dancers twirled like a kaleidoscope of glitter and precision.

Dio smiled, arms crossed, more focused on Lily’s joy than the show itself. “You good, kid?”

She looked up at him like she was dreaming. “I’m transcending.”

He chuckled. “Okay, Buddha. Let me know if you float off into the void.”

Just then, the screen behind the stage shifted to a new setlist graphic—indicating a short intermission—and crew members scurried to change the stage setup. One of the side doors opened, and Dahyun slipped in, fresh from her first outfit change, a glimmering purple jacket slung over her shoulders, hair slightly damp from dancing.

She caught Dio’s eye immediately.

“Well, well,” she said, smoothing a flyaway strand as she walked toward him, “still here. Not vaporized by teen energy.”

Dio smiled. “I’m holding up. Barely.”

Lily spun around. “Dahyun! You’re amazing out there!”

“Thank you, sweetheart.” Dahyun winked. “You enjoying your birthday trip?”

“I think this is the best night of my life.”

Dahyun looked back at Dio, her expression softening. “She’s a lucky kid.”

He held her gaze for a second too long. “Yeah,” he said. “I’m the lucky one.”

She smiled. “Careful, you keep saying stuff like that, I’ll think you’re flirting back.”

“I’m just jet-lagged,” he deadpanned.

“Mm-hmm.” Dahyun laughed. “I’ll be back again after the ballad set. Don’t disappear on me.”

“Where would I go? The view’s pretty good from here.”

As she disappeared into the dressing area again, Lily turned slowly, arms crossed like a tiny general. “Jet-lagged, huh?”

“Don’t.”

“She likes you.”

Dio sighed, ruffling her hair. “She’s being nice.”

“She gave you backstage passes. She changed outfits and came here. That’s not just nice, Dio.”

“Lily.”

“She’s gonna marry you and I’m gonna be your maid of honor,” Lily declared.

“Oh my god, eat a churro or something.”

Another wave of cheers echoed as the lights dimmed again. Lily whipped back toward the stage with a breathless gasp. A soft ballad started—the kind with airy harmonies and twinkling piano—and even Dio had to admit, the group had range.

Midway through the song, Dahyun walked past them again, this time in a flowing white outfit, ethereal under the stage lights. She didn’t stop, just let her fingers brush lightly against Dio’s as she passed.

Lily’s jaw dropped. “Did she just—Dio. Dio.”

He said nothing, just smiled, face faintly pink in the dark.

By the end of the show, Lily had half-lost her voice from screaming, her phone memory was full, and Dio couldn’t stop glancing toward the backstage hallway.

As the lights rose and the crowd roared for the encore, Lily leaned against his arm and whispered, “This is so much better than cake.”

And for once, Dio had to agree.

The after-party was tucked into the glowing rooftop of a high-rise lounge overlooking the city. Seoul shimmered beneath them like a spilled jewelry box—full of motion and music. The air was rich with laughter, champagne bubbles, and the bass of a laid-back DJ set pulsing just below conversation level.

Dio stood near the balcony doors, nursing a sparkling water while keeping a relaxed but ever-watchful eye on Lily across the room.

She was deep in a dance circle with three members of TWICE—Mina, Jihyo, and Momo. The latter looked especially impressed as Lily nailed a few Illit choreos, her pigtails bouncing in perfect sync.

“She’s a little star,” Dahyun said, sidling up next to Dio with two small cups of ginger tea. “They’re already trying to recruit her.”

Dio grinned and took the tea. “I saw. She’s eating it up. God help me if she starts asking for a trainee contract.”

“You’d let her, though.”

He looked at her. “In a heartbeat.”

Dahyun leaned closer. “You’re different than I expected.”

“How so?”

“I figured you’d be funny or cool or even charming. But… you’re full of grief. And love. And you don’t try to hide either.”

Dio’s smirk faltered slightly. Before he could answer, his phone buzzed in his jacket.

Daniel. That name, in that font—the old wound reopened.

He stepped away a bit, lifting the phone to his ear. “What?”

Daniel’s voice was too calm. “They found them.”

Dio’s stomach dropped. “What are you talking about?”

“Nigel and Sarah. They were rescued off some uncharted island near the Bahamas. Coast Guard report just hit the wire. They’re alive.”

Dio’s mouth dried out. “Are you—are you sure?”

“Yeah, man. I’m not calling to fight. Just thought you should know. I figured… Lily should hear it from you.”

The call ended before Dio could reply.

He stood there for a long moment, the sounds of the party suddenly distant and echoey, like he was underwater. The lights, the people, the music—it all blurred. His hand clenched around the cup of tea. He hadn’t realized how tightly he’d been holding onto the idea that they were never coming back.

“Hey.”

Dahyun was in front of him now, eyes scanning his face. She lowered her voice. “What happened?”

He blinked back into reality. “I—I just got a call. Lily’s parents… they’re alive.”

Dahyun’s brows lifted in stunned silence. “What?”

“They found them. After five years.”

She looked like she didn’t know what to say. “Do you want to sit down?”

He shook his head, forcing a smile. “No. No, I just—needed to breathe.”

Across the room, Lily giggled as Momo did a goofy victory dance, earning cheers from the girls.

She looked over then, spotting Dio, and waved with her whole arm like she was signaling a plane.

He waved back, smile flickering just enough for Dahyun to notice.

“She doesn’t know yet?” Dahyun asked softly.

“No. Not tonight,” he said quickly. “Not while she’s happy. I—I don’t want her to associate this place or this trip with confusion or fear. Her birthday’s in three days.”

Dahyun placed a hand gently on his arm. “You’re a good father.”

“I’m just trying to make her feel safe for as long as I can.”

“You’ve been her entire world,” she whispered. “That doesn’t vanish because someone else survived.”

He looked at her then—really looked. There was no spotlight on them, no cameras, no idol persona. Just a woman who had seen something in him, and maybe still did.

Before he could answer, Momo approached with Lily’s hand in hers. “She needs the restroom,” she said cheerily. “We’re off to adventure.”

Dio nodded with a grateful smile, watching Lily disappear around the corner, humming.

Dahyun stayed beside him, quiet, waiting.

And for the first time since the call, Dio let his breath shake on the exhale.

Seoul, 2:12 AM. Was when it finally happened

The hotel room was dim, lit only by the soft blue glow of the bedside clock and the faint spill of city light from the balcony curtains. Lily was fast asleep, curled beneath the covers with one hand sticking out like a little flag of surrender. Her face still held traces of leftover glitter from the party, and her lips moved faintly with dreams.

Dio sat at the small table by the window, sipping bottled water and staring blankly out at the skyline. His phone buzzed once, twice.

Unknown Number (U.S.)

He hesitated. Then picked it up.

“…Hello?”

A familiar voice crackled through—older now, worn by time, but unmistakable.

“Dio? It’s Nigel.”

Dio sat up straighter, heart skipping. “Nigel.”

Then came the second voice—gentler, more tentative. “And Sarah. We’re both here.”

A long silence bloomed between them, neither knowing how to begin. The sound of a Korean car horn in the distance filled the static.

“Where are you?” Sarah asked softly.

“In Seoul. On a birthday trip for Lily.”

“She’s still… with you?”

“Well yeah She’s my daughter,” Dio said simply.

A pause.

“When do you get back? What happened while we were gone. When we got back Albert and Daniel said you disappeared with Lily?” Nigel asked, confusion tightening his voice. “Daniel, Joseph, Albert—they all said you disappeared. That you stopped talking to everyone.”

Dio clenched his jaw. “April 1st Yeah. I did. After they decided I wasn’t good enough to be your daughter’s dad.”

“What are you talking about? If any one was good enough it was you,” Sarah asked, incredulous.

“Well they listened to Nigel’s mom. They treated me like I kidnapped her,” Dio said, the bitterness finally bleeding through. “Your mom tried to take her from me. Took me to court. Accused me of manipulation, of financial coercion, of not being fit. You know who testified against me? Albert and his wife. Friends. People I’d known for a decade plus.”

Silence.

“You really didn’t know? Actually I’m not surprised why would they tell you it looks really bad,” Dio asked quietly.

“No,” Nigel said, stunned. “I—we didn’t know any of this.”

Dio pulled out his phone, his hands tight around it, and scrolled through a folder he hadn’t touched in years. Screenshots. Emails. One message in particular from four years ago.

He read it aloud, voice low but trembling:

“We love you, Dio, but you’re not the right person to raise Lily. She needs a woman. A real family. We can’t support this anymore. Maybe this custody fight is a wake-up call. Let her go.”

Sent by Albert and Marissa, dated July 28, 2021. Right when Dio was testifying alone in family court, juggling work, CPS visits, and a child who cried every night for parents he couldn’t replace.

Sarah gasped.

Nigel didn’t speak.

“They abandoned me and abandoned her,” Dio said quietly. “But I didn’t abandon her.”

More silence. Not the kind that follows awkwardness, but the kind that comes after a bomb drops.

“We… we didn’t know,” Nigel finally said. “ Daniel didn’t tell us that happened.”

“Well Nigel’s mon tried to erase me. They helped her. But I fought back, because Lily needed someone. And no one else stepped up. And after hearing your horror stories I knew I could do better than that.”

Dio stared at the sleeping child on the bed, voice softening. “And now you’re alive. And I’m not mad about that—I’m relieved. But I won’t let anyone treat those five years like they didn’t happen.”

Sarah sniffled faintly on the line.

“She’s going to want to talk to you,” Dio added. “She deserves that. But you need to understand something—I raised her. I held her hand through night terrors, first steps, first words without you. I earned her trust one day at a time. So if we’re doing this… if we’re reintegrating… it’s going to be on her terms. Not yours.”

Nigel let out a long, rattled breath. “Okay.”

Sarah whispered, “Okay.”

Dio didn’t say goodbye. He just hung up. Then sat there, staring at the skyline for a long time. His heartbeat thumped heavy in his ears, but slowly, it faded. And in the quiet, he glanced over at Lily.

She shifted in her sleep and whispered, “Dio…” like she could feel the weight in the room, even in dreams.

He stood, walked over, and pulled the blanket higher over her shoulders. Then leaned down, kissed the crown of her head, and whispered back—

“I’m still here.”

The sunlight slipped lazily through the hotel curtains, streaking golden lines across the carpet. Lily was sprawled on the couch, wearing a half-on Illit hoodie and munching on shrimp chips while editing her “K-Trip Vlog: Day 2” footage on Dio’s old iPad.

Dio was sitting on the edge of the bed, freshly showered but visibly frayed at the edges. His phone buzzed with a contact saved last night: Dahyun (Still Real)

He stared at it for a second, then picked up.

“Good morning, mystery man,” Dahyun’s bright voice chimed through the line. “You two awake yet?”

“Barely,” Dio said, rubbing his eyes with the heel of his palm. “Feels like I’ve aged ten years in one night.”lily perked up hearing that and narrowed her eyes but diverted her attention when a comment popped up on her video

“Yikes. That bad?”

“Little existential dread with a side of jet lag. Classic.”

Dahyun’s tone softened just a notch. “Wanna come out and let me fix your day?”

He hesitated.

“I was thinking,” she continued, “shopping, sightseeing, maybe some street food. Lily can pick out anything she wants—I’m in a spoiling mood.”

Dio chuckled, finally smiling. “You trying to bribe my daughter into liking you?”

“She already does,” Dahyun said smugly. “Last night she said I was her second favorite member of Twice. I’ll take it.”

Dio glanced over at Lily, who was now trying to add sparkly transition effects between clips of Dio awkwardly dancing at the after party. “Uh… I don’t know we have a lot on our plate today and I had a lot on my mind lately.”

“Which is why you both need a day that doesn’t suck,” Dahyun said gently. “Let me do this, Dio. Not as a K-pop star. Just as me.”

He paused again, but this time, it wasn’t hesitation. It was a quiet kind of gratitude.

“Alright,” he said. “You pick the place. We’ll meet you there.”

A few hours later — Myeongdong Shopping District

Lily stood in front of a row of claw machines, arms crossed, analyzing her options like a military strategist. Dahyun crouched beside her, dressed down in oversized sunglasses, a denim bucket hat, and a white hoodie that still somehow screamed idol, despite her best efforts to blend in.

“Okay,” she said, feeding the machine. “I’m gonna win that pink alpaca if it kills me.”

“You said that six tries ago,” Lily teased.

“Positive thinking, kiddo.”

Dio leaned against the window, watching the scene with a quiet smile, hands tucked into his coat pockets. He couldn’t remember the last time Lily looked so… light. Carefree. Like her smile didn’t have to carry anything.

Dahyun finally managed to snag the plush on her seventh try, shrieking triumphantly and handing it to Lily like she’d just won an Olympic medal.

“Boom. Rich Auntie Dahyun delivers.”

Lily hugged the alpaca tight. “You’re rich and persistent. I respect that.”

Dio barked a laugh. “God help me, she’s going to be insufferable after this.”

Dahyun grinned and gently nudged Dio as they walked between boutiques, letting Lily explore a cosmetics shop up ahead. “So… how are you really?”

Dio took a breath, then exhaled slowly. “They called me. Nigel and Sarah.”

She blinked. “Wait, really?”

“Yeah. First time in five years. They’re alive. Apparently they were stranded in some bizarre satellite dead zone on this island near Bermuda. Got rescued last a few days ago.”

Dahyun’s brows knit together. “That’s… wild.”

“Yeah,” he said, eyes following Lily. “Now they’re back. And I’m trying to process what that means for Lily. For me. For everything.”

Dahyun was quiet a moment, then bumped his shoulder. “She loves you. That won’t change.”

Dio’s voice was low. “But it might have to.”

“No,” Dahyun said firmly. “They might’ve come back. But you stayed. You stepped up when everyone else didn’t. That’s not something that gets undone.”

Dio looked at her then—really looked at her—and something in his chest eased, even if just for a moment.

“Thanks,” he said. “For today.”

“You’re welcome,” Dahyun replied, smiling gently. “You both deserved something good.”

They watched as Lily ran out of the shop with free samples in one hand and the plush alpaca in the other.

“I named it Jeongyeon,” she declared, holding it up like Simba.

Dahyun laughed. “Iconic.”

And for the first time in what felt like hours, Dio let himself feel okay. After the lovely date and lunch Dahyun decided to pull some strings after hearing that Dio and Lily were going to see Illit.

The venue buzzed like a hive of electricity—lightsticks pulsed in candy-colored waves, fans chanted in perfect synchronicity, and the air shimmered with the anticipation of idols about to appear.

Lily, decked out in a brand-new Illit hoodie, sparkly face gems, and a pink lightstick she gripped like a royal scepter, looked like she might ascend into orbit.

“This is better than Disneyland,” she whispered, trembling with awe. “And Disneyland has churros.”

Dio laughed as he adjusted the mini fan backpack he’d been roped into carrying—glittery, heart-shaped, and very not-his-style. “You said the same thing at the BTS pop-up.”

“Yeah, but this is live.”

Dahyun, incognito in a cap and oversized sunglasses, smirked. “I told you—I have range. And tonight, I’m strictly here as backup hype squad.”

“I still can’t believe you’re here with us,” Lily said, her voice just shy of reverence. “This feels like a dream.”

“Well, if it is, I brought snacks and cute outfits,” Dahyun said, bumping shoulders with her.

They were ushered through the VIP entrance with ease thanks to Dahyun’s quiet phone call earlier. Inside, the venue was magic—stage lights flashing like meteors, holograms glimmering, fans swaying like a synchronized wave of pastel devotion.

And then the opening VCR played.

The crowd roared.

And Illit burst onto stage.

Lily screamed—actually screamed—and clutched Dio’s hand with white-knuckle intensity.

He laughed in awe at her expression—eyes wide, mouth open, tears threatening as she mouthed every lyric like she’d waited her whole life for this.

Dahyun leaned in. “She’s a goner.”

“Completely,” Dio agreed.

The girls danced with fire in their feet, their vocals sharp and emotional. The stadium sang with them, a chorus of devotion. And then, midway through the set—after a water break and a costume change—something wild happened.

A staffer with a headset appeared in their row and leaned in toward Lily.

“Wonhee heard you’re here,” he said in hushed Korean, smiling. “She wants to meet you.”

Lily froze.

She didn’t breathe.

“Are you Lily?” the staffer asked again.

“Y-yes,” she whispered, nodding furiously.

He motioned for her to follow. Dio looked stunned, but Dahyun gently nudged his shoulder. “Go with her.”

Backstage smelled like hairspray, stage makeup, and anticipation.

Then—there she was.

Wonhee.

In person.

No hologram. No screen.

Just her bias, standing in a glittery Illit jersey and a bright, tired smile.

“Hi, Lily, right?” Wonhee said in near-perfect English. “Dahyun sunbaenim told us you came all the way from America!”

Lily tried to curtsy and bow at the same time, nearly falling over. “You’re my favorite person in the universe,” she said, barely keeping it together.

Wonhee laughed and pulled her in for a soft hug. “You’re so cute. I saw your vlog. You dance really well.”

Lily gasped. “You saw that?!”

“Twice,” Wonhee winked. “Come back after the show for a picture, okay?”

Lily nodded like her head was on a spring. “Okay. Yes. Thank you. Oh my god.”

When she returned to her seat, she looked completely shell-shocked.

“Okay?” Dio asked, his hand on her shoulder.

“I met her,” Lily whispered. “I met Wonhee.”

“She hugged me, Dio. That’s basically getting knighted.”

Dahyun grinned. “You survived. I’m proud.”

As the final encore began and the confetti rained down like blessings, Lily turned to Dio with teary eyes.

“Thank you. For everything. You didn’t have to do any of this, and I’m never gonna forget it.”

Dio smiled, swallowing something in his throat. “You deserve all of it, kiddo.”

And beside them, Dahyun—who had slipped off her glasses to wipe at her own eyes—nudged Dio softly.

“You’re a really good dad,” she whispered.

And in that glittering sea of joy and color and light, with Lily dancing beside him and Dahyun smiling from the other side, Dio felt—just for tonight—like everything in the universe had aligned exactly the way it was supposed to.

After the concert Dio watched lily play and dance with Wonhee. As it turned out they both had the same teasing humor. Dahyun creeped up behind Dio while she watched the two of them. They are like sisters. She said happily. Dio laughed and smiled before turning to Dahyun and saying “thanks Dubu,” Dahyun leaned into Dio and said, “anytime”

The next morning Dio and Lily were headed out early from the airport. The departure hall buzzed with its usual dance of goodbyes—families hugging, announcements echoing in Korean and English, and the smell of roasted chestnuts from a nearby snack stand. But for once, Lily wasn’t bouncing with excitement or filming clips for her vlog.

She was quiet. A little tired, but not just from travel.

She held her plushie from Dahyun in one arm and the signed Illit hoodie in the other. Her birthday crown—glittery, pastel, and slightly lopsided—still sat atop her head.

Dio handed over her favorite drink, a vanilla latte (half sweet, extra foam—he was trained now), and sat beside her at the gate.

She sipped, then looked at him. “This was the best birthday ever.”

Dio smiled. “You deserve that. And more.”

She leaned her head on his shoulder, eyes tracing the planes outside the giant glass wall. “I know something’s bothering you,” she said quietly.

He exhaled slowly. “Is it that obvious?”

“You smile with your mouth, not your eyes when something’s wrong.”

He gave a soft, half-laugh. “You’re way too good at reading me.”

“I’m basically eleven now,” she said. “I can handle it.”

There was a long pause.

Then Dio said, “You know what today is, right?”

She blinked. “My birthday?”

“Yes. And also… the day your parents disappeared.”

Lily didn’t say anything at first. Just held her drink tighter.

“I didn’t want to tell you before the concert. I wanted this trip to be about you, not about sadness. But I think you’re old enough to hear a little more.”

She nodded slowly.

“I don’t know exactly what happened,” he continued. “Their cruise ship passed through an area near the Bermuda Triangle and—well, things just stopped. The search went on for weeks. Months, even. But no one ever found them.”

Lily looked down. “Why would they leave on my birthday?”

“They didn’t mean to. They thought it would be a fun getaway. They had no way of knowing.” His voice softened. “They loved you. So much. They left me everything—guardianship, the house, even the emergency funds. They trusted me with you.”

She looked up at him, her eyes glossy. “Did they say anything? Like… in a note?”

Dio reached into his jacket pocket and pulled out a small, folded piece of paper—weathered, taped in places.

“They wrote this on the plane before boarding the ship. Sarah gave it to me ‘just in case.’ I kept it from you until now.”

Lily opened it carefully. Her parents’ handwriting was messy, rushed, but full of warmth.

“If anything happens to us, please tell Lily we love her more than anything. And thank you, Dio. You’re family. She’s safe with you.”

Lily clutched the note to her chest.

“They never said goodbye…” she whispered.

Dio wrapped an arm around her. “They didn’t know they needed to. They thought they’d be back. But they made sure you’d never be alone.”

Tears rolled down her cheeks. “Do you think they’d be proud of me?”

“I know they would,” Dio said, brushing a tear from her face. “And if they could see you now? Meeting Wonhee, talking back to Dahyun, learning Korean like it’s nothing? They’d be bragging about you nonstop.”

She sniffled, then smiled a little. “You think I talk back to Dahyun?”

“Like a champ.”

She leaned into his side. “I’m glad it was you. I’m glad you raised me.”

Dio didn’t speak for a moment—just rested his cheek on her head and held her close.

“I’m glad it was me too,” he finally said. “Even if I didn’t see it coming. You’re the best thing that’s ever happened to me.”

The final boarding call echoed overhead. Their flight home was waiting.

Lily looked at her crown in her reflection on the window. “Do you think it’s okay to celebrate my birthday today? Even if it’s… you know.”

He gently straightened her crown. “It’s your day. Not a tragedy. Not a curse. Just a birthday. And we’ll always make it beautiful. Deal?”

She smiled, really smiled. “Deal.”

They stood and walked toward their gate—hand in hand, past the noise, past the memories, into whatever came next.

The cabin lights had dimmed to a soft glow, casting long shadows over the rows of dozing passengers. Lily had finished watching her vlog concert of Illit for the third time (making sure her edits were perfect) and was curled up under a blanket, her plushie tucked between her arms and her birthday crown now lopsided on her tray table.

Dio sat beside her, still in the same window seat he always claimed—right side, just past the wing. He stared out into the velvet-dark sky, eyes tracing the constellations beyond the clouds.

He glanced at her. She was still awake—barely. That post-cake, post-cry, post-everything exhaustion was catching up to her, but she was fighting sleep, her gaze half-lidded and distant.

“Hey,” he said softly. “You got a minute?”

Lily stirred, peeking up. “Yeah?”

Dio hesitated. The words had been sitting on his chest since the afterparty, heavy like luggage he hadn’t unpacked.

“There’s something I need to tell you. Something… important.”

Lily sat up slightly. “What is it?”

Dio rubbed his palms together, grounding himself. Then he looked her in the eyes.

“They found your mom and dad.”

Lily blinked. Once. Then again. Her lips parted, but no sound came out.

“Just a few days ago,” he continued. “They contacted me after the concert. I wasn’t sure when to tell you, but… today felt like the day. I didn’t want to keep it from you.”

“Wait—like really found them?” she asked, voice cracking. “Alive?”

He nodded slowly. “Yeah. Alive. Somewhere off the coast of Bermuda, believe it or not. They were stranded. Some kind of island or shipwreck situation—barely had contact with the outside world. It’s… a miracle, honestly.”

Lily’s face contorted between disbelief and hope. “Are they okay?”

“They’re safe. A little shaken up. Recovering.” He paused. “They’ve been asking about you.”

She swallowed hard. “Do they want me to come home?”

Dio looked down at his hands for a long moment. Then back to her.

“They said they want to talk. Catch up. Figure things out.”

Lily sat there, frozen under her blanket, gripping her plushie like it might float away. “But this is home,” she said quietly.

Dio’s heart tugged.

“I know,” he said, his voice thick. “I know. And nothing changes that unless you want it to. Okay? You don’t owe anyone anything—not even them. We take this at your pace.”

Lily didn’t say anything right away. She looked out the window, into the dark where stars seemed to blink just for her.

“Do they even know me anymore?” she whispered.

Dio reached over and took her hand. “They’ll have to get to know the person you are now. The amazing, sharp, dance-battling, Korean-speaking, K-pop-loving you.”

She smiled faintly. “I don’t know what I’m supposed to feel.”

“That’s okay too,” he said. “You don’t have to figure it out tonight. Or tomorrow. You’ve got time. We’ll figure it out together.”

Lily leaned into him again, just like she had in the terminal hours ago—but this time with more weight behind it. More questions. More wonder.

“Thanks, Dad,” she said, almost in a whisper.

And as the plane hummed toward home, Dio closed his eyes and held her a little tighter, bracing for the storm they hadn’t quite landed in yet.

A few days after arriving back in California Dio and Lily headed to the Orange County courthouse. The afternoon sun streamed through the floor-to-ceiling windows of the reserved meeting space, casting long lines of light across the polished wood floor. It was quiet save for the hushed buzz of conversation from the far end of the room, where Dio stood near the doorway, Lily clutching his hand tighter than she had since kindergarten.

At the other end of the room stood Nigel and Sarah.

Alive. Whole. Changed.

Nigel looked thinner, more sun-tanned, and weathered by salt and time, but the moment he saw Lily, something cracked wide open in his chest. Sarah gasped audibly, her eyes immediately filling with tears. And between them stood a little boy—no older than three—peeking out curiously from behind Sarah’s leg.

Lily took a slow, uncertain step forward. Then another.

“Hi,” she said, voice barely above a whisper.

Sarah stepped forward, eyes shimmering. “Lily… my God, look at you. You’re so big.”

Nigel knelt, a trembling smile on his face. “You… you kept growing. You’re beautiful, Lilypad.”

She blinked at the nickname, a flicker of memory flashing through her. “You used to call me that when I lost teeth.”

“I still remember,” he said, choking on the words.

They met in the middle, and Lily folded into Sarah’s arms. Dio watched from a respectful distance, jaw clenched so hard it ached. The sound of Sarah’s soft crying and Lily’s quiet sniffles echoed softly in the open space.

“I thought you were dead,” Lily whispered.

“We thought we’d never get back,” Sarah replied, holding her tighter. “We fought every day to come home.”

“And who’s this?” Lily asked, turning to the wide-eyed toddler hiding behind Nigel’s leg.

“This is your little brother,” Nigel said with a proud, sheepish smile. “Eli.”

Lily blinked. “I have… a brother?”

The little boy grinned and waved, and Lily laughed—half awe, half confusion. “This is so weird.”

“Tell me about it,” Dio muttered under his breath, watching from the wall.

A shifting of voices near the side door drew his attention. In walked Daniel, Joseph, and Albert.

Dio’s jaw locked tighter.

Daniel offered a nod. “Dio.”

Dio didn’t return it.

Joseph, at least, had the decency to look remorseful. “We didn’t know how bad it got for you. Not really.”

“You didn’t want to know,” Dio shot back, his voice low but sharp. “You didn’t call. You didn’t show up to court. And when her grandmother tried to rip Lily away, you said—what was it again, Albert? ‘Maybe she’d be better off with real family?’”

Albert flinched. “We were scared.”

“I was too,” Dio said. “And I still showed up every damn day. I changed my whole life for her. I left Seattle and moved back here thinking that you all would have my back. All the while you all made me feel like I was stealing her.”

Silence.

“I had to rebuild from nothing while you all stood by and watched,” he continued. “And the worst part? She looked up to you. All of you.”

His phone buzzed in his pocket.

[Dahyun: Breathe. She’s safe. You’re safe. They can’t touch what you built.]

Dio stared at the message, then closed his eyes. Just for a second. Let the weight drain out of his shoulders.

Across the room, Lily was laughing. Sarah had pulled out old stories like they were coins from a magic purse, talking about Dio with amusement.

“So, a K-pop star, huh?” Sarah grinned as Lily lit up. “Your godfather’s got taste. I remember when he couldn’t even talk to cashiers without getting flustered.”

Lily giggled. “Her name’s Dahyun. She’s so pretty.”

“And way out of his league,” Sarah teased.

Dio walked over then, calm again, standing beside Lily. She reached for his hand without thinking.

Nigel looked at him with real gratitude in his eyes. “Thank you,” he said quietly. “You saved her.”

Dio didn’t smile. Not yet. But he nodded once, tight and honest. “It was no big deal.”

The tension in his chest stayed—like a spring coiled tight—but the sight of Lily, now bouncing Eli on her hip like she’d always been a big sister, made something inside him start to unwind.

He wasn’t sure what tomorrow would bring, but for the first time in years, he didn’t dread the question.

A few days later Dio was moving out of the house he’d practically raised Lily in at the behest of Nigel and Sarah.

The house was full, but for a moment, the guest room was still. The murmurs from downstairs were muffled, like a distant tide. Lily sat cross-legged on the bed, fingers idly picking at the hem of her sleeve. Across from her, Sarah—her mother, who had been missing for five years but somehow still looked like she remembered—watched her carefully, gently.

There was a long silence before either of them spoke.

“I like your necklace,” Lily said finally, barely above a whisper.

Sarah blinked, then smiled softly. “Thanks, sweetheart. You used to play with it when you were little. You’d chew on the star.”

Lily gave a tiny, unsure smile, then looked down again.

“I didn’t think I’d ever see you again,” she said, voice cracking despite her best effort. “I used to dream about it… but in the dream it always happened on my birthday. Like magic.”

Sarah’s eyes filled, but she blinked the tears back. She moved slowly, cautiously, sitting beside Lily.

“I dreamed about you too. Every single night. Sometimes I’d wake up and swear I could hear your laugh in the wind,” Sarah said, brushing a lock of hair behind Lily’s ear. “I know this is a lot. It is for me too.”

There was another silence. Then Lily asked:

“Why didn’t you call?”

Sarah looked down at her hands, wringing them slowly. “There was no way. We were stranded on this awful island… we didn’t even know if help was coming. And when it finally did, the world had moved on. We didn’t even know if you’d still be… with family.”

“I was,” Lily said. “Dio kept me. He fought for me. Even when nobody else wanted him to.”

Sarah exhaled sharply, guilt and gratitude crashing through her all at once.

“I know. He saved you. He saved all of us.”

Lily looked at her mother, eyes cloudy. “I love him, you know. He’s not my real dad, but he’s my dad.”

Sarah nodded, her throat tightening. “And nothing will change that. Not ever. Families grow… they don’t get replaced.”

“I don’t know how to feel,” Lily admitted. “I’m happy. I’m scared. I feel… guilty too, a little.”

“Why guilty?”

Lily’s voice dropped to a near-whisper. “Because I was starting to forget what your voice sounded like. I had to keep watching old videos.”

Sarah reached for her hand and held it tight. “That’s not forgetting. That’s surviving.”

Lily looked up, and Sarah’s eyes shimmered with tears—but this time, they didn’t fall.

A soft knock came at the door. It was Dio.

“Hey,” he said gently, as if he knew the weight of what was happening on the other side. “Dinner’s ready. If you’re hungry.”

“We’ll be right out,” Sarah said, brushing Lily’s hair back again.

Lily stood, hesitating at the door. Then she turned back, throwing her arms around her mother’s waist in a sudden, fierce hug. Sarah froze for half a second before melting into it, holding her daughter like she’d never let go again.

“I missed you so much,” Lily murmured.

“I missed you more,” Sarah whispered.

As they stepped out together, Sarah kept one hand on Lily’s back—protective, proud.

And just down the hallway, Dio watched from a respectful distance, hands in his pockets. He gave Lily a small, warm smile. She gave him one back—but this time, it was a little sad, too.

He understood.

Families grow. But they also change.

[thedemoninme141]

Her Heartbeat, Chapter 7:Her Vulnerability

Summary: Wednesday blames you as the reason she let her guard down, for the vulnerability that came with you.

Warning: Light Angst. Wednesday is back. !Mentions of death of a parent! Slow Burn.

Chapter 1

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Your heart raced as you grabbed your phone, frantically dialing your dad’s number. This wasn’t a “handle it yourself” kind of situation. You had nine high people on your hands, one of them being Wednesday Addams, and you knew things could go downhill fast.

"Dad.." you began, your voice shaky..

He definitely sensed the panic in your voice. “What happened? Everything alright?”

“Uh, not exactly,” you said, glancing nervously at the group. “So... Dad, do you remember how you always said if I ever needed you, no matter how stupid the reason, you’d come?”

Your dad paused, immediately suspicious. “Yeah? What did you do?”

“Okay, first of all, this is not my fault.” You shot a look toward Rick, who was now trying to chase his own shadow in circles, laughing like a maniac. “But... everyone here might be, uh, high. And Wednesday, well, she’s... Let’s just say I need help. Fast.”

Your dad’s voice came back with a groan. “Hey! You told me you guys were camping, what kind of camps do they even run?"

“We were camping, Dad! It’s an accident!” you snapped, frustration bubbling over. “Stop asking questions and just get here!”

“Yeah, yeah. I’ll be there. What do I even bring to deal with this?” he asked,

You blinked, unsure how to answer. “Uh, a tranquilizer gun?”

Your dad chuckled. “I’ll figure it out. See you soon. Try to keep the casualties to a minimum.”

“Great,” you muttered. “Thanks, Dad. I’ll be here... herding drunk cats.”

As you hung up, you sighed in relief but immediately felt the weight of the situation crash back in.

“Y/n,”

You jumped, nearly dropping your phone. “What the—Wednesday! Don’t sneak up on me like that!”

“You need to lift the magic.”

“Magic? What magic?” You frowned, thrown off by the comment.

“The one that keeps making me think about you all the time. Like right now. Like when I sleep.” She leaned closer, "It makes me feel... weird. Like... like I should stab you. But I can’t. I try, but it doesn’t feel right. Anyone else, I’d stab them. Like... like Brooke.”

You tried to keep your expression neutral. “Okay, but let’s agree not to stab Brooke,” you said, gently taking her arm.

Just then you heard Alex shout from across the camp. “Oh, baby! You complete me!”

“Oh, for the love of—” you groaned, rushing over to see Alex, arms wrapped around a thick tree trunk, “Alex, what the hell are you doing?”

Alex, now fully invested in his "relationship" with the tree, was whispering sweet nothings into its bark. "You're so... strong. You never hurt me, even when I hit you. I think... I love you."

"Alex!" You groaned, "Stop groping the tree. It doesn’t love you back."

He glanced at you, wide-eyed and sincere. “She… she gets me. She understands me. I love her.”

You stared at him for a moment, wondering if you should laugh or cry. “Alex, it’s a tree.”

“Don’t insult her!” he cried dramatically, clutching the bark tighter. “She’s... she’s the love of my life.”

“Rick! Don’t get in the water!” you shouted as you caught sight of him staggering toward the lake.

Rick paused, looked back, and said, “But the water… it calls to me!”

“No! You’ll drown!” You sprinted over, grabbing his arm and yanking him back just in time. He stumbled but managed to stay upright, looking at you as if you’d just ruined his dreams.

“Aw, come on! I just wanted to see the dolphin.”

“It's a lake Rick! There are no dolphins! Stay away from the water!”

You sighed, glancing around the camp to see what fresh disaster awaited you. And then, your heart stopped.

"Wednesday, don’t stab Brooke!" you shouted, seeing Wednesday approaching Brooke with a knife in hand.

“Why not?” Wednesday replied, her voice dangerously calm. “She looks stab-worthy.”

For a second, you thought you were in the clear—until Wednesday moved behind Brooke and, with one swift motion, sliced off her ponytail.

Brooke just kept laughing. “Hey! Free haircut!”

“Wednesday, what the hell!" you cried.

She turned to you with an unsettling smirk, eyes still glazed but sharp. Without warning, she threw the knife at you. You yelped, dodging just in time as the blade embedded itself in the tree behind you. “Seriously?!”

She grinned, grabbing another knife from god knows where. “It’s a game, Y/n. You dodge, I throw.” You ducked again as the second knife sailed past your head. “How many knives do you even have?!” “Enough,” she said, her lips curling into a wicked smile. Before you could react, she pulled out another knife from her coat. “Okay, stop!” You ducked as the third knife soared past. “Are you done?” She tilted her head, looking thoughtful. “No.” And out came knife number four. You barely dodged it as it flew past your head and stabbed Alex's newlywed wife... "My love! Noooo" Alex cried holding onto the tree.

“You’re really good at dodging,” Wednesday mumbled, her words slurring together. “I might like that about you.”

You weren’t sure whether to be flattered or terrified.

“Wednesday! Are you done?”

She frowned, swaying on her feet. “I’m out of knives."

"Thank god," you muttered but before you could catch your breath you saw Mike, who was trying to roast marshmallows... without the stick. He held the marshmallows directly over the fire with his bare hands, completely unaware of the flames licking at his skin.

“Mike!” you ran over and pulled him away. “Are you trying to set yourself on fire?!”

He blinked at you in confusion. “I was just... hungry.”

“Use a stick next time!” you cried, handing him one.

You sighed as you glanced at Wednesday, who had wandered off again, staring at the moon like it had personally offended her.

You jogged over to her, grabbing her by the arm before she could do anything else drastic. “Wednesday, stay with me, okay? Get a hold of yourself, stop acting weird.”

“I’m not weird,” she muttered, looking up at the sky with unfocused eyes. “The moon is weird. Look at it... all smug up there... thinking it’s so important. I could take it down if I wanted to.”

“Sure, Wednesday,” you said, humoring her. “But let’s not fight the moon right now, okay?”

She blinked, swaying slightly. “Why not? It deserves it. It’s always watching... judging... Like Weems, Can we kill Weems when we go back?”

Rick was running back toward the lake again, you rubbed your temples. “Wednesday, please just sit down, we can kill Weems later, okay?.” you said before going for Rick.

“Rick! No!” You sprinted after him, pulling him away just before he could dive in.

“Man, you’re no fun!” Rick slurred, pouting like a child.

“Yeah, well, I’m trying to keep you all alive!”

Returning to Wednesday, you found her surprisingly obedient for once, sitting by the fire.

“You,” she muttered, pointing a finger at you again. “Why are you always fixing things? Its annoying.”

You sighed, catching your breath. “Trust me, I know.”

“But…” she paused, her brow furrowing in drunken confusion. “I also kind of like that you’re always… there.”

You raised an eyebrow at her, your heart doing a weird little flip despite the chaos. “Oh yeah? Well, I kind of like that you haven’t stabbed anyone yet.”

She smirked, getting up on her feet. “Give me some time.”

Just as you were about to respond, the distant ruffling from the woods.

Your dad had arrived, along with a few camp staff members who clearly had no idea what they were walking into.

“Okay,” your dad said, running a hand through his hair. “What the hell happened here?”

You crossed your arms, gesturing to the group. “This. This happened. Rick spiked the coffee. So… good luck. I’m getting Wednesday out of here. Give me your car keys.”

Your dad hesitated, his brows furrowing. "You don’t have a license yet, Y/n."

"I don’t care," you said firmly, glancing over at Wednesday, who was eyeing everyone with a dangerous gleam. "I need to get her out of here before she really does something."

He stared at you for a moment, then sighed, digging into his pocket and pulling out the car keys. "Here. And take this." He handed you a flashlight. "It’s dark out there."

"Thanks, Dad," you said, pocketing the keys and flashlight.

"Good luck," he called as you started to lead Wednesday away from the mess.

You led Wednesday through the dark jungle, her hand gripped tightly in yours, her steps unsteady but stubborn. Every twig that snapped had you jumping. “You’re scared,” Wednesday observed bluntly. You stiffened. “No, I’m not. I just don’t like… unexpected noises.” “You’re scared,” she repeated, her voice softer now, less mocking. “I can tell.” You sighed. “Okay, fine. Maybe a little. It’s dark and creepy" You walked in silence for a few moments, the jungle seeming to close in around you, the air thick and heavy, but what felt even more dense.. was Wednesday's proximity near you.

“I’m scared too.” her voice softer now, a hint of vulnerability creeping in.

You blinked, “What? You? Scared? Of what?” you asked, half expecting her to say something completely ridiculous, like hugs.

“I’m scared… of getting close to you.” Her words came out slowly, as if she were forcing herself to admit it.

That made you stop in your tracks. You turned to look at her, your heartbeat suddenly louder in your ears.

“I’m scared about that too,” you admitted, voice barely audible over the sounds of the jungle. “I’m scared for you. That you’ll get close to me, and it’ll be... selfish.”

“Selfish?” she echoed, her brow furrowing. “Why would it be selfish?”

You didn’t answer. You couldn't.. you didn't want to lose her... not yet.

Wednesday’s gaze bore into you, waiting for an answer, but you squeezed her hand lightly, leading her forward through the jungle.

"Let’s just get out of here," you murmured.

She didn’t press further, just followed your lead, her steps slow but steady, her grip firm in yours. After what felt like an eternity, you finally saw the road ahead, your dad’s car parked at the edge of the road. Relief washed over you as you reached it. You helped Wednesday into the passenger seat before climbing in behind the wheel. Your hands shook as you gripped the steering wheel.

There was no way you were driving two hours to Nevermore in this state. Your house was only half an hour away, and you were way too tired to push through for that long.

“I’m taking you to my place,” you said, glancing over at Wednesday. “It’s closer.” She blinked slowly, her head resting against the window. “I don’t care… as long as it’s quiet.” You started the car, pulling onto the road and heading toward home. The drive was mostly silent, save for the occasional comment from Wednesday. “You’re a terrible driver,” she mumbled at one point, her eyes half-closed. “Gee, thanks,” you muttered. “And why is your car so… bright?” “It’s a normal car, Wednesday.” “I prefer hearses.” You chuckled, feeling a strange warmth spread through your chest despite the exhaustion. Even drunk, even high, she was still Wednesday Addams.

After what felt like both an eternity and a blink, you finally pulled into your driveway. You hadn’t been gone long, just a week, but somehow it felt like you’d been away for months. You missed it. You helped Wednesday out of the car, guiding her toward the front door. She blinked at the house, her lips curling into a half-frown. “It’s… too clean.” You raised an eyebrow. “What?” “Where are the cobwebs? The dust? It’s too… colorful. It offends me.” You laughed softly, unlocking the door and stepping inside. “Sorry to disappoint. Maybe I can add some cobwebs for you later.” Wednesday grunted, following you in. “You should.” You led her upstairs to the bathroom, handing her a towel and some spare clothes—luckily, you had some black ones. No way were you risking putting her in anything with colours. That might be the last mistake you ever made. "Just… take a shower. I’ll be right outside if you need anything," you said, standing awkwardly by the door. There was a pause, and then the sound of water running. You heard her muttering something under her breath, but you didn’t ask what.

After a few minutes, she emerged, dressed in the black shirt and pants you’d given her. She still looked disheveled, her hair damp and wild.. and... human? "Better?" you asked. She nodded once, her eyes flicking over you. "Tolerable." "Great." You led her to your room, where you helped her onto your bed. "You can sleep here. I’ll take the chair." Wednesday stared at the bed with disdain. “It’s too colorful.” “Would you prefer I get you a coffin?” Her eyes lit up "You can?" “No, I’m fresh out of coffins, so you’re stuck with this.” You said, watching as she reluctantly climbed onto the bed. She lay back, eyeing the bright blankets suspiciously. "Sweet dreams Wends." "Bitter nightmares Y/n." You sat down in the chair, resting your head on the table, exhausted from the day. As your eyelids grew heavier, you couldn’t help but feel… content. Despite everything that happened, the chaos, the stress—it was nice. It was nice… with Wednesday.

Wednesday woke up with a pounding headache, one that reminded her of the few times she'd experienced her visions—but this one was worse. Her skull felt like it was splitting in two. She blinked slowly, squinting against the unfamiliar light filtering through the room. Her mind began to sort through fragments of memories. The camp… those insufferable therapy sessions… the lake… She sat up abruptly, clutching her head as the pain intensified.

Her eyes flicked around the room, landing on your slumped figure, asleep at the desk. You were hunched over, your head resting on your arms, your breathing slow and steady. For some reason, her mind didn’t leap to the worst-case scenarios like it usually did. Normally, she would have assumed she’d been kidnapped or poisoned or worse, but this time, her immediate reaction was different. You were there. And for some strange, infuriating reason, that put her mind somewhat at ease. She quickly squashed that feeling, she needed answers.

“Y/N.” You jolted upright, startled and confused, your eyes wide as you tried to get your bearings. “Wednesday?” you mumbled, rubbing your eyes, still half-asleep. “Where am I?” she asked, her voice sharper now. “And why do I feel like I’ve been run over by a freight train?” You stood, rubbing the back of your neck awkwardly. “You’re at my house,” you said, a bit sheepish. “Uh, sorry about that. After everything that happened last night, I figured it was easier to bring you here instead of taking you all the way back to Nevermore.” Wednesday’s gaze narrowed. “And what, exactly, happened last night?” You grimaced. “It was Rick. He spiked the coffee, and… well, everyone got pretty messed up. You were high.”

A flicker of memory hit her like a punch to the gut. The coffee. Rick. Her emotions spilling out. She had been...drunk. And not just any kind of drunk—emotionally vulnerable drunk. A wave of nausea hit her. "I was what?"

"Yeah, you were... not yourself. And I had to, you know, keep you from stabbing people or throwing knives. At me, mostly." You gave her a nervous chuckle, trying to ease the tension. "So I took you home before you killed anyone."

Wednesday’s face darkened, her expression unreadable. She could vaguely remember the feel of the knife in her hand, the sheer frustration bubbling inside her, and then...she let her guard down. She had felt things—for you. Her hands tightened into fists.

"This was your fault," she said, her voice low, dangerous. “You. You're the reason this happened.”

You blinked in surprise, then frowned. “What? How is this my fault?”

“You.” Her eyes burned with anger, her lips curling into a scowl. “Yesterday, I let you in. And look where that got me—drunk, vulnerable, and completely out of control.”

Her words stung. You had never seen her so agitated, so vulnerable, and yet so defensive at the same time. Your heart sank a little, but you stepped closer to her. “Wednesday, it’s okay. I was there, wasn’t I? I’ll always be there if you need me.”

“That's not the point!” Wednesday snapped. “The point is that I’m never like this. I never allow myself to be anything other than in control. But you... you make me lose that control. You distract me. You’re the reason I wasn’t on guard, the reason I didn’t see it coming.”

For a moment, you were speechless. It wasn’t often that you saw Wednesday like this—raw, emotional, admitting that she wasn’t as impenetrable as she wanted to be. But instead of backing down, you felt your own frustration rising.

“So, what? You’re mad because I’m not a threat to you? Because I make you feel something?”

Her eyes flashed. “Yes!”

You stared at her, genuinely taken aback by her admission. “You’re blaming me for something you’re not used to dealing with that I had no control of.”

Wednesday’s jaw clenched, her eyes narrowing dangerously. "You had control, you entered my life. I never asked you to get close to me," she hissed.

You stared at her for a long moment, the weight of her words sinking in. You shook your head slowly. “You know what? Fine. Be mad. Blame me for all of it. Blame me because you’re scared to admit that you actually care about someone. Go ahead.”

Wednesday’s eyes flashed a bit of emotions, but you didn’t stop.

“Because I can’t do this,” you said, your voice laced with frustration. “I can't keep taking the fault just because you’re too stubborn to admit that maybe, just maybe, you don’t have to be alone all the time.”

“I am not alone,” Wednesday said coldly. “I choose this.”

You looked at her, and for a second, something shifted in your expression. Hurt, maybe. Or disappointment. “Fine. Then go. Be strong and alone, just like you always do.”

The words stung more than she cared to admit. She felt her anger surge again, but this time, there was something else beneath it—an ache she couldn’t name. Without another word, she turned on her heel and stormed out of the room, her mind racing.

Back in your room, you groaned, burying your face in your hands. The frustration, the anger—it was all swirling inside you like a storm. You hadn’t meant to be so harsh, but damn it, Wednesday knew how to push every button.

Still, you couldn’t just leave things like this. Not after everything that had happened.

With a resigned sigh, you stood up, running a hand through your hair as you headed out to find her.

Wednesday stood outside, her arms crossed tightly against her chest as the morning air bit at her skin. She stood rigid, her eyes scanning the unfamiliar surroundings. What part of Jericho is she even in?

She was stuck in this place—your place. A house that felt almost too normal for her liking, too...warm. It was unsettling. And yet, it wasn’t just the unfamiliarity of the setting that rattled her. It was you.

She wasn’t going back inside.

Her pride wouldn’t allow it. She could navigate the situation on her own—she didn’t need help. Wednesday Addams never needed help.

You were the one person she could blame for her current predicament. Yet, somehow, you were also the only person she found herself thinking about.

Her head was still pounding, the remnants of the drug-fueled haze clinging to her like a persistent shadow. It was disorienting and left her feeling unusually out of control.

And that—more than anything—infuriated her.

She wasn’t used to this. Losing control, feeling vulnerable, feeling anything.

It was your fault. You had wormed your way into her life, into her mind, and now, into her emotions. And for what? You were unpredictable, infuriatingly cheerful, and entirely too comfortable in her presence. No one had ever made her feel this conflicted before. And she hated it.

No, she hated you. Right?

What had she said last night? What had you seen? She remembered the rush of emotions flooding her mind, the dizzying sensation of being drunk—something she never allowed herself to be.

And somehow, you had been there, in the middle of it all. And you are still here now...

“Is it really that bad to let someone in, Wednesday?” She stiffened at the sound of your voice, not bothering to turn to face you.

“Yes,” she replied coldly, the answer immediate and sharp. “It would make me weak. Vulnerable.”

You sighed softly, taking a few slow steps toward her, careful not to intrude on her space but just close enough that she couldn’t ignore your presence.

“Vulnerability,” you mused, glancing down at your feet before looking back at her with a sad smile. “I wish I felt vulnerable sometimes. The vulnerability of a mother’s love."

Wednesday’s sharp gaze turned to you, a question forming in her eyes but remaining unspoken.

“My mother died giving birth to me,” you continued, "Talk about being born only to murder your mother,” you chuckled, though it wasn’t filled with your usual warmth. It was tinged with something deeper—pain.

That hit harder than she anticipated. Wednesday wasn’t one for empathy, but something about the way you said it, the way you tried to laugh off the tragedy, made something in her chest tighten. She wasn’t sure why, but the pain in your voice resonated with her.

“I watched as the others played with their mothers,” you continued, your eyes distant now, as if you were seeing something far away. “Dad tried, he really did. But he had work. The cars in his garage weren’t going to fix themselves.”

Wednesday stayed silent, her eyes locked on your profile. She could see the sadness in your eyes now, the weight of it pressing down on you like a dark cloud. You were trying to make a joke of it, trying to downplay the loss, but she could tell how much it still hurt you.

“Why am I telling you all this?” you asked, your voice softer now, more vulnerable than she had ever heard it. “Because, Wednesday... sometimes, the thing we think will make us weak or vulnerable... is actually the thing that’s missing. The thing that could make us whole.”

She remained silent, the words hanging in the air between you both. For the first time in a long time, Wednesday didn’t have a sharp retort, didn’t have some sarcastic comment to throw back at you. She just...stood there. Listening.

What the hell am I even doing?

Her mind raced, and she felt an uncomfortable knot forming in her stomach. You clearly had nothing to hide, no ulterior motives that she could detect. Maybe...maybe she could trust you. But trust was dangerous. She had built her life around never needing to trust anyone. Why should you be any different?

Still, something about your words lingered in her mind, gnawing at her resolve. Vulnerability wasn’t a weakness, you had said. It was the missing piece.

For a moment, she considered the possibility. Maybe, just maybe, letting you in didn’t mean losing control. Maybe it was something else entirely.

She clenched her jaw, finally turning to face you. “Where does this leave us?”

You met her gaze, your expression unreadable for a moment. Then, you gave a soft, almost tired smile.

“What even is this?” she asked, the words slipping out before she could stop them. It was a rare admission of uncertainty from her, and it made her feel exposed in a way she hated.

“I don’t know,” you admitted, shrugging slightly. “But does it really need to have a name? This...whatever this is...it can just be ‘this’ till we enjoy each other’s company.” You smirked, trying to lighten the mood. “Well, I clearly enjoy yours. I don’t know about you.”

Wednesday rolled her eyes, but there was no real malice in the gesture. “You aren’t entirely intolerable,” she muttered under her breath, her voice softer than usual.

You laughed at that, a genuine laugh that seemed to lift some of the tension between you. “High praise coming from you,” you teased.

She didn’t respond, but she didn’t need to. The fact that she hadn’t immediately insulted you or walked away was enough of a response.

Then, after a moment, you stretched and yawned, clearly still recovering from the night’s chaos. “Anyway,” you said, “I clearly need coffee. Preferably not spiked" You took a few steps forward, then paused, looking back over your shoulder at her. “You coming?”

She sighed, her expression impassive as she finally moved to follow you.

Whatever this was, it went deeper than that. The things she did for you, the things you made her feel...they weren’t just born from friendship. But no, this wasn’t something romantic either, at least not yet. She wasn’t sure what it was.

And maybe, just for now, that was okay.

This didn’t need a name.

NEXT CHAPTER

[that-one-i-think]

Fun Garorth Headcanons for my fic cause he deserves some love

- Garroth grew a beard after coming back from the Irene Dimension. With Aphmau pregnant, the threat of shadow knights, and rebuilding the Phoenix Alliance, he had no time to properly shave

- The reason why Garroth still has the beard is due to the fact that the one time he shaved, Alina and Lilith couldn't tell who he was and panicked

- Radiates body heat like a fireplace

- In my fic he is bigger than Aaron. They are the same height but Garroth is built like a strong man while Aaron is built like every 8-pack fantasy man in unrealistic media. (Shad is taller though)

- The man is hairy. Chest, arms, legs, everywhere (but he takes care of himself)

- Despite having some stomach, running into him is like running into a brick wall.

- The only person who can beat him in arm wrestling is Katelyn. Nicole comes close and so does Aaron

- Given the fact that he almost constantly wears heavy metal armor, out of it he is the designated pack mule. Got strength and stamina for days

- The only person he has ever been able to consistently win against in a race is Zane.

- During guard training he had a few close "friends" but it never happened more than once because he would feel bad.

- Either the most awkward hugs or the warmest and most comforting bone crushing hugs. No imbetween.

- The reason why he stuck with Garroth was due to the fact that the 3 years after his birth it was one of the most popular names in O'khasis so he didn't feel like he needed to change it while on the run.

- Light sleeper while in bed alone, heavy sleeper when with another person. Mastered the art of dad naps whenever Lilith would cuddle with him as a toddler

- Has a really high alcohol tolerance and did pay for a new shield with bet money once.

- Great at carrying heavy things and mining, a horrible carpenter and builder.

- His mother taught him weaving and calligraphy, and it is why he is so dexterous.

- Can not fire a bow to save his life. A lot better at taking arrows then firing them

- He is more scared of dolphins than sharks

- As a child, Zane convinced Garroth that he was a vampire and Garroth believed it until he was 11. Even now, he has a hard time believing that Zane wasn't a vampire at times.

- He can read fast and enjoys reading out loud. He read to both Zane and Vylad as children.

- Has a sweet tooth but would kill a man for a soft pretzel.