#Ya ya

[toyastales]

Afro Queen

[bey-life]

[murkybu]

ambigious smp quackity

[mujori]

[defectivevillain]

born into blood

pairing: Ghostface/Reader (can be platonic or romantic)

reader's race and gender are ambiguous; no pronouns or physical descriptors are used.

summary: Christina Carpenter wasn’t the only woman to have an affair with Billy Loomis… Your mother did too. You’re Billy’s child, just like Sam Carpenter. But you saw what happened to Sam—so you keep silent. Your father’s real identity is a secret you will take to your grave. At least, that’s what you think. Then, one day, Ghostface comes calling…

word count: 2.2k | ao3 version

warnings: canon-typical violence, character death; attempted murder, strangulation, blood, hallucinations; scream (2022) spoilers.

notes: I wrote Ghostface with he/him pronouns, but he remains nameless—so feel free to imagine whichever killer you want.

thank you @palefaceswhore for the beta! 🖤 any remaining mistakes are mine.

You don’t usually answer phone calls from unidentified numbers. But you had a job interview a few days ago, and you still haven’t gotten a response from the company, so you accept the call and bring your phone up to your ear with hope brewing in your chest. You thought you did a decent job in the interview, and you hope the recruiters thought the same. 

For a moment, there’s nothing but the sound of breath on the other line. Dread begins to prickle across your skin. Your tongue feels stuck to the roof of your mouth. Just as you summon the courage to speak, the other person speaks.  “What’s your favorite scary movie?”  

A shiver runs down your spine at the familiar voice. You immediately hang up and slam your phone face-down on the table. With quick breaths, you pick up your phone and shakily open your phone app again, blocking the contact. It’s not the first time you’ve gotten a prank call mimicking Ghostface, unfortunately—since the Stab movies first came out, unruly teenagers have started doing it rather frequently. But your particular situation is a bit different than that of the average person. After all, Billy Loomis is your father. 

For the longest time, you had no idea. But once you turned sixteen, your mother sat you down and told you the truth: she had an affair during her marriage, and that affair resulted in your birth. Safe to say, you were sick to your stomach. That revelation only proved to be much worse, however, when she revealed exactly who she slept with: Billy Loomis, one of the original Ghostface killers. A murderer. 

It took you a long time for you to begin trusting your mother again. And a small part of you knows that you’ll never look at her the same again—both because of what she did and because of the years she spent keeping it a secret from you. When you finally moved out from her house, you were mostly relieved. Leaving that house meant leaving it all behind. You didn’t have to meet your mother’s eyes and see a killer’s malice reflected in them any longer. 

Time passed and you slowly moved on. Ultimately, you decided that it would be ridiculously dangerous for you to tell anyone. You’ve kept that promise to yourself since your mother first confessed the identity of your father to you. You can only hope the secret dies a swift death, never seeing the light of day. After all, Billy Loomis is dead. You can take comfort in that… right? 

Then you hear about Sam Carpenter, and everything comes rushing back. The world had slowly moved on from Billy Loomis, as the Ghostface mask was passed from killer to killer. But once Sam Carpenter was unwittingly thrust into the public eye, you saw your quiet life slowly crumbling before you. You didn’t need to know Sam personally to know how she must’ve been treated for her parentage. The public villainized her—even with incontrovertible proof that she wasn’t the killer. Ghostface is everywhere now. You can’t avoid him, no matter how hard you try. All you can do… is hope that no one else discovers the identity of your father—otherwise you’ll be pursued with vengeance, just as Sam and her friends were. 

A ringing sound draws you from your thoughts. You frown and walk through your living room, attempting to discern the source of the noise. Once you walk into the kitchen, you realize that it’s your landline—the one that was supposedly disconnected. You’ve never given out that number to anyone. Hell, the phone hasn’t been used in years. It rings again and you flinch, before shaking your head in disbelief.  You should just ignore the call, obviously. But that’s against the rules, a voice in your head whispers. In the movies, if you don’t answer, he’ll just come out and stab you in the back. At least this way, maybe he’ll give you a chance at life. You know this isn’t a Stab movie… but your hand moves of its own accord, grabbing the phone and bringing it to your ear. 

“That wasn’t very nice.” That warped, deepened voice sends chills down your spine.  “Don’t try that again.” 

You’re starting to think that maybe, just maybe, it isn’t a prank call. And on the small chance that this is really happening—that Ghostface himself is calling you—hanging up would be a death sentence. You swallow hard and remain on the line, despite everything in your head screaming at you to hang up and run away as fast as you can. You try to take slow, measured breaths as you look around the room for signs of his presence. You don’t see anything. 

“Good,” Ghostface says patronizingly. You try to take a deep breath. It isn’t your father. But that doesn’t quite matter—that deepened, warped voice still reminds you of him. “Now, let’s try that again. What’s your favorite scary movie?”

You rack your brain and try to think of something to say. “… Saw .” You eventually respond. Admittedly, it’s hard to focus on the conversation. All you can think about is the high probability that Ghostface is outside of your home—or, hell, even in it—already. 

“Really?” Ghostface hums interestedly. “Not Stab ?”

“No,” you respond, your heart jumping in your throat. The mere mention of the movie franchise is enough to make you nervous, as you remember your father. Something stews in your chest and your fingers tighten around the phone as you hold it to your ear. 

“Why not?” Ghostface asks innocently. His voice is mocking. “It’s about your father, after all.”

You’re silent, entirely frozen as a victorious cackle sounds through your phone. 

“Oh, you thought no one knew?” He continues. “Billy Loomis was a player, and that’s no secret.” 

“What do you want from me?” You choke out. You’ve spent more than twenty years outrunning your father’s reputation—doing everything in your power to ensure that no one ever knew your connection to him. And now it’s all slipping away from you. All your hard work is slipping down the drain, falling through your fingers like granules of sand. 

As if sensing your unease and distress, Ghostface’s voice has a triumphant lilt to it. “What I want…” He breaks off, “is for you to give in. ” You stare ahead in shocked silence. The taste of bile settles on your tongue. “It’s time for you to carry on your father’s legacy.” 

The call abruptly ends. Immediately, you whip around and brace yourself against the kitchen counter, dread churning in your chest. You’ve seen the Stab movies—once Ghostface hangs up, he reveals himself to his victim. You grit your teeth and frantically search your drawers for a knife. When your hand closes around the knife, you turn around to find Ghostface standing right in front of you. The knife in his hand glitters at you mockingly. 

“Come on,” he says, his voice still distorted and deep. You squint at him, surprised that you don’t see him holding a voice changer in his hand. There must be something fixed to the inside of his mask. Unfortunately, you’re not given the luxury to muse on that thought, as he steps even closer and forces you to back up against the counter, before standing still. You can sense his eyes boring into you through the mask. “I’ll give you a free shot. It’s your birthright.” Ghostface reaches out with his free hand, taking your hand in his and tilting your knife up until it points at his shoulder. 

You swallow hard, your heart thundering in your chest as you try to grasp the reality of the situation you find yourself in. You’re standing before a killer and he’s willingly giving you a chance to weaken him. Despite knowing that you should take the shot he’s giving you, all it takes is a flicker of your father’s visage in your mind’s eye for you to shake your head stubbornly. Making the first move is far more difficult in reality than you expect it to be. Besides, while he’s certainly antagonized you, Ghostface hasn’t actually harmed you yet. Stabbing him without being provoked isn’t something you can get yourself to do, no matter how hard you try to tell yourself that you need this advantage he’s giving you. 

Silence stretches on, settling in the air between you. Ghostface is standing far too close for you to be comfortable, and his grip on your arm is extremely tight. Eventually, he exhales. “I gave you a chance,” the killer shrugs. Despite that statement, he’s still grasping your hand. “Now, I’m afraid your cameo has come to an end… The killer’s child becomes the victim. It’s poetic justice!” 

You don’t get a chance to pick apart that statement before Ghostface is lodging his knife into your left side and pulling it back out forcefully. You scream, quickly pressing a hand to the wound in a rather futile attempt to stop the bleeding. As you fall to your knees, you return the blow and sink your knife into his thigh. He hisses and falls to the side, giving you time to sweep his feet out from under him and clumsily get to your feet. Through your pain-hazed vision, you manage to navigate through your kitchen and into the living room. Remembering your phone in your pocket, you take it out and attempt to call emergency services, only for Ghostface to slam into you and tackle you to the floor. You try to throw him off, but he looms over you and tries to stab you again. You manage to roll to the side, letting out an uncomfortable hiss as the movement sends pain flaring up your side. His knife lodges into the floor beneath you with a solid thunk. 

“That’s it,” he spits, grabbing your shirt collar. “Bastard.” The insult is punctuated by a harsh thud, which you realize moments later to be the sound of your head hitting the ground. Your vision is spiraling and blurring as his hands move to your throat. You immediately try to push him off.

Suddenly a bright light flashes before your eyes, and your father is staring down at you with an unreadable expression. His eyes fall to something near your side and you follow his gaze, remembering the knife that is still lodged into the ground. In his enraged fervor, the killer hasn’t seemed to notice it. It’s nearly right in front of him—you’ll have to be very quick to grab it. Your vision is practically pulsing at this point, but even through the blurriness, you can see Billy Loomis’ twisted grin.

Ghostface brutally tightens his grip on your throat and rips the air from your lungs. You’re writhing and thrashing against him, but his hold is strong and unflinching. You don’t have much time, so you make a grab for the knife and manage to free it from the floorboards. It clatters to the ground and suddenly, both you and Ghostface are reaching for the weapon. With a stretch that sends bolts of pain down your forearm, you manage to clasp the knife first—and you don’t hesitate to bury it into Ghostface’s neck. His hands fall from your neck and you frantically inhale, coughing and choking as you push yourself to your knees. Saliva falls from your lips and you wipe at it with your free hand, before focusing your attention on Ghostface once more. He’s sprawled on the ground before you, clasping at his neck in a futile attempt to stop the bleeding. But blood is positively oozing out of him, and his form promptly slackens. 

You’re still not convinced. Doesn’t the killer always miraculously lurch forward at the last moment, when the victim thinks they’re dead? You decide you’d rather not test that theory, and settle for yanking the knife back out of his neck. The blood loss will kill him, if he isn’t already dead. 

After a few more moments staring down at Ghostface and contemplating your next move, you grab at his wrist and feel for a pulse. There’s nothing—a notion further punctuated by the way his arm promptly crashes to the floor when you release it. Your attacker is dead. 

The adrenaline that kept you alive begins to fade, leaving you with a bone-deep ache and a stinging sensation in your side. The knife slips from your grasp and falls to the floor with a deafening clatter. Ghostface’s blood is pooling beneath him, and your hands are painted crimson with it. You’re shaking extremely hard, your chest burning from your near suffocation only moments prior. Your equilibrium is all off, and you’re forced to watch from an outsider’s perspective as the world sways and tilts to the side as you fall back down to the ground. Shadows are crawling across the room; when you blink, you see black boots on the ground next to you. Your father crouches down and stares at you, his expression unreadable through your foggy vision. He almost looks to be resisting the urge to reach out to you. A tear crawls down your cheek as you hear sirens in the distance. 

“Well done.” Billy Loomis says, his voice reverberating through your ears. He crouches down even more, until he’s sitting next to you. With ghosts for company and pain stitching your body together, your vision quickly fades to black. 

thanks for reading! <3

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[theworldisyonces]

Beyoncé reps Team USA for the 2024 Summer Olympics in Paris. (4/26/24)

[prince-arthur]

favourite lyrics from every song: COWBOY CARTER (excluding spoken interludes)

[motherbeysuniverseeee]

🤟🏾

--------------------------------------------------------------one thing about mother, she LOVES her some food especially FRENCHY'S🍗

------------------------------------------------------------

[identityflawed]

i have thought of my mother’s past more often than i have mine; it is no wonder, then, that my childhood is submerged in the blindness of the womb while hers still writhes like a baby born yesterday. i have spent more years on pacifying her rage than putting my own to sleep. i have been what my mother’s mother should’ve been, and what my mother should’ve been, and never what i should be.

[whenweallvote]

Did anyone else catch that voting reference on Beyoncé's new album? 👀 🏇 Beyoncé, thank you so much for the gift that is COWBOY CARTER. Your new album reminds us that we ALL have power. Together, we can stand up for what we believe in and this year is the perfect opportunity to do that at the ballot box. From voting rights and access to reproductive healthcare to student debt relief and climate change, the issues that impact us most are on the ballot across the country. And as Queen Bey says at the end of Ya Ya, we need to “Keep the faith, and VOTE!” You can register to vote in the time it takes you to listen to Sweet Honey Buckin’ (or whichever song is your favorite!). Visit weall.vote/register now! 🤠🗳️

[prettygirlstothefloor]

Cowboy Carter Review

sorry if i write a lot. i like to yap lol

Ameriican Requiem- i'm a huge sucker for a sitar so i was gripped in from the beginning. i grew up on country music (mainly 90s/early 2000s) and so when she showed up at the CMAs and performed with the chicks it was a childhood dream. but as a person who liked country music around the time 9/11 happened, it's only become even more racist since. the way they treated her that night even though she was one of, if not THE, best performer of the night was so upsetting to watch. even as the best artist on the planet, at the top of her game, she's always going to work a million times harder than any of her peers. i'm so proud of her being able to make a song like to this to put her thoughts out on the whole night that night.

Blackbiird- obviously everyone has heard this song before. i was unaware of the actual backstory to the song since i don't follow the beatles too much (i like george harrison but that's about it lol). i was not aware that the song the song was written for black women during the civil rights movement. i assumed the song was mainly written by john lennon who to my knowledge was kind of a grifter when it came to his activism. having this song come right after ameriican requiem is so poetic.

16 Carriages- shockingly i was able to avoid hearing this song in full until tonight. i tend to only do one single per release and so texas hold em was the one. this song is so heartbreaking because i think about all the kids in the entertainment industry who can probably relate to this song all too well

Protector- these songs she makes for her kids... i'm gonna need her to stop. not because they're bad but i straight up can't listen to blue and probably this song because i want a mom like this 😭

My Rose- i hate that this is an interlude. it's so beautiful and not to be dramatic should've been 10 hours long

Smoke Hour • Willie Nelson- idk what to say about this one lol

Texas Hold 'Em- i love this song. the only problem i have with it is it sounds too clean. like the production sounds too clean. maybe it sounds better on the radio where the quality is lower than streaming but its definitely a song that needs to be played not so isolated.

Bodyguard- there's something in this song. she channeled carole king for this on or something. it's so good instantly a top 20 if not top 10 song of hers through her whole discography.

Dolly P- once again idk what to say about this one its too short to say anything

Jolene- i mean i think the same way about her version as i do about dolly's version. why are we getting mad at these women when we should be getting mad at the men?? take away that beyonce is beyonce for a second. if she was a normal lady and this girl was unaware her man was taken, isn't that more on him than anyone? he's letting it happen.

Daughter- her voice in this song is insanity. the control she has is unmatched truly.

Spaghettii- the beat omgggg. i know this would hit so hard in a mashup with "my house" i'm obsessed.

Alliigator Tears- just from hearing snippets of the country music that's on the radio nowadays, i think this might be one of the few songs from this album that they will eat up. i'm not saying that as a diss at all. i love this song alot especially after a second listen.

Smoke Hour II- i guess i can add on here a random tid bit. i made a country playlist in preperation for the album to come out. i made it on valentine's day. tell me why i named it KNTRY. i didn't even know the "radio station" she has on the album was called that lol.

Just for Fun- i don't listen to lana del rey anymore. i had a small time during last year where i did but then she got real messy again and signed that letter thanking joe biden. that being said this song sounds identical to "norman fucking rockwell". which is a compliment because both are good songs. keep jack antonoff away from beyonce though. that's the good thing about beyonce is she doesn't sound like everyone else which he makes everyone do (yes i am a fan of him but i'm critical of his production lol)

II Most Wanted- i'm sorry i've never been a fan of miley cyrus (except for the song she did for black mirror and that one EP she put out). i want to like this song because i like aspects of the song but it being a miley cyrus song with a beyonce feature is not want i want.

Levii's Jeans- this is also a collab i'm not a fan of. i actually enjoy post malone but i would've liked to see them in a more upbeat song.

Flamenco- idk how to take this song. it's stunning as usual. my thoughts on the lyrics though is she's kinda talking to fans maybe like the OG like destiny's child fans who have started to leave because she's starting to experiment more with her sound and they miss her old sound. i would love to know her take on this song in particular. because i know so many artists who decide to change their sound throughout each release are terrified of losing fans because they're so stuck on a certain sound.

The Linda Martell Show- another one i can't say much on since it's an interlude

Ya Ya- now.... remember what i said about bodyguard??? easily top 10. idk where on my ranking but it's there. the interpolation of "these boots were made for walking" and "good vibrations". there's something about that old soul rock sound that gets me every single time. i know that it doesn't sound anything alike but "freedom" has that same vibe, where it takes alot from old 60s blues soul rock. this is gonna hit so good on tour!

Oh Louisiana- i will say i really like this interlude. second favorite out of the ones with actual music

Desert Eagle- another song she chose to make extremely short when it should've been hours long... come on B

Riiverdance- its a fun and cute song. i think the beat is good but i think i like it more on my first listen.

II Hands II Heaven- i'm hoping this will finally click for me. im seeing everyone really love this song but idk whats not clicking for me. i'll definitely keep listening to it though maybe someday.

Tyrant- someone said this is the thique of cowboy carter and yeah i can definitely hear it. it's a sexy song and it's a fun song. definitely like it alot more after a second listen

Sweet • Honey • Buckiin'- her sampling "i fall to pieces" in this song is so special to me. i do want someone to take this "honey" and add it to the end of pure/honey though i wonder if it would sound any good. i think sweet and buckiin are the best songs out of the three of these.

Amen- i love how this really rounds out the album, calling back to the first song. it feels and is a very emotional song. don't know if i'll go back to it only because i think it could make me cry lol

overall, i think it's a solid album. if we're comparing the acts, which idk how you can because they're two distinctly different sounds, i would probably still go with renaissance but there's still so many solid songs on this album that are now some of my top faves. usually i rate out of 10 but it feels too low tbh, so i'm rating it out of 100. it will definitely grow on me just like renaissance did. 89/100.

[bbcs2559]

Oh Ya Ya.

[defectivevillain]

deliver me not

pairing: The Devil/Reader

reader's race and gender are ambiguous; no pronouns or physical descriptors are used.

summary:

“I’m not sure if a Major Arcana can die,” Asra had said. “After all, they’re ideas. Concepts. And an idea can’t truly die.” In the months following your confrontation, The Devil whispers to you.

word count: 2k | ao3 version

warnings: spoilers to the main storyline of the game & Julian’s upright route. chains and temporary imprisonment; suggestive remarks.

The seven of you—Mazelinka, Nadia, Nazali, Portia, Julian, Asra, and you—defeated The Devil and eradicated the plague. Vesuvia is returning to its former glory, with beautiful crystalline waters flowing through the canals and bright-eyed, healthy citizens ambling about the streets. Everyone is peaceful and happy.

… But you’re still uneasy. 

You toss and turn at night, frequently dreaming of the ominous crimson skies from The Devil’s realm. You often wake up in the morning to a sweltering hot bedroom and scratches along your arms, as if something is clawing at you during your slumber. And those scarlet eyes, that haunting, sharp-toothed grin… They follow you into your waking life. You start to see The Devil everywhere: between vendors of the Red Market, standing outside the window of your shop, lurking in the dark corners of the palace.

Eventually, you grow restless enough to consult your cards. Taking a slow breath, you shuffle the deck and pick one card… only to find The Devil upright. He almost seems to leer at you from the card. You blink and the two humans beneath him disappear, replaced with a solitary figure. Your own face stares back at you, a length of chain around your shoulders inextricably connecting you back to The Devil. 

Your heart races in your chest as you’re drawn back to what Asra told you all those months ago. “I’m not sure if a Major Arcana can die,” he had said. “After all, they’re ideas. Concepts. And an idea can’t truly die.”  

Unnerved and unsettled, you put away your cards and spend the rest of the day fighting off your spiraling thoughts. By the time night falls, you’ve already closed the shop. You’re inexplicably exhausted, despite the fact that you haven’t done any strenuous physical activity today. You eventually decide to stop thinking about it and get ready for bed. Sleep comes easily that night, especially with your desperation for an escape from reality. 

But you don’t get to rest, because you soon open your eyes to find yourself in the Devil’s realm once more. And he isn’t like you left him. He’s not a frozen statue; instead, he sits on his throne and looks down at you with a bored expression. 

Foreboding sends goosebumps across your skin. You shouldn’t be here. Did he manage to summon you? You thought you had successfully contained him during your last battle. The thought of having to fight for the city and your friends again is enough to send a renewed wave of exhaustion through you. You stare up at The Devil. “What did you do?” You demand tiredly, the words falling from your lips before you can stop them.  

“Me?” The Devil asks innocently. He’s staring at you as if you’re a particularly meddlesome pest. “I’ve done nothing.” The mere implication almost seems to offend him. 

“I see you everywhere,” you say before you can stop yourself. “I keep returning to your realm. And whenever I try to do a reading for myself, I get your card.” 

Something makes The Devil’s glittering eyes snap towards you with frightening speed. Then he laughs and laughs. The air almost seems to vibrate with malice, as a truly dangerous grin rises on his lips and his eyes flash with interest. “You have no idea what you just admitted to.” 

“What?” You choke out. The smug expression on his face is deeply unsettling. 

“You’re straying from your path, Fool,” he remarks cryptically. His ambiguity is perplexing. At your confusion, The Devil only sighs impatiently. “Your patron Arcana whispers to you,” he continues. 

Suddenly you understand exactly what he’s insinuating. The Devil is claiming to be your patron Arcana—claiming that you resemble him. “No, that’s-” You argue. “That’s not true. I’m not like you.” You’re not sure who you’re trying to convince; The Devil seems to recognize this, if the twisted smirk on his face is any indication. The very thought of being similar to him is enough to make you nauseous. 

“Oh, but it is true,” he grins. His composure is only making you more angry. The Devil is infuriatingly calm and unbothered. “There’s darkness within you. And greed. You’re unsatisfied because you want more.” 

You shake your head silently, entirely speechless. 

“Besides, there’s no need for pretense here,” the Devil says casually, gesturing to the crimson skies around him. Indeed, it is only the two of you in this realm, this moment. “You reject your mortal companions. You’re growing restless, impatient.” 

You grit your teeth and ignore his baseless accusations. “We defeated you,” you remind him. It wasn’t all that long ago, either. 

“Temporarily,” The Devil shrugs. He taps his fingers against the arm of his throne with a casual impatience. You feel that familiar fury rising in your chest once more as you stare at him, entirely unaffected by your hateful glare. Instead, he only looks more intrigued. 

It happens in slow motion. One moment, you’re watching him warily; the next, chains are surrounding you—wrapping around your arms and legs, slowly pulling you closer to The Devil and his throne. You try to summon your magic, but you can’t reach it—as if there’s an impenetrable darkness blocking you. The chains continue to drag you forward relentlessly, until you’re far too close to The Devil. You try to fight back, but the manacles only grip you even tighter. Your writhing is subdued, until you’re left standing before him like a pinned butterfly. 

The Devil scrutinizes you with an appraising eye. “Not a bad look for you, magician,” he grins. Equal sentiments of anger and something uncomfortably close to embarrassment fight for prominence. You try to keep your composure, despite every bone in your body screaming at you to escape somehow, someway. The chains almost seem to writhe and crawl along your skin, and their movements only reinforce the strength of their grip. You can hear your heart roaring in your ears. 

“You’re afraid of me,” he states clinically. You don’t bother arguing—the rapidity of your breaths and the swift thrumming of your pulse only further prove his point. The Devil hums. “Yet you do not cower. You don’t try to wager. You still fight.”

You don’t know what to say. It’s hard enough to breathe past the iron-knuckled grip of his chains—let alone find the right words to utter. You can only hope your contempt gleams in your eyes; and, it must, because The Devil smiles. 

He motions languidly and the chains drag you a step closer. “Aren’t you tired of fighting?” The Devil questions. His voice is deep and entrancing. “This is nothing more than a petty feud to me. But that pesky resolve of yours… could very well make this span your entire lifetime.”

The chains tug you down, as if trying to make you kneel. You stumble into an awkward genuflect, your hand hitting the ground as you try to push yourself back up. You will never bow to The Devil. You repeat that promise like a mantra in the back of your mind, until you manage to get yourself to stand up again. 

A vicious grin is practically painted on The Devil’s face, and you start to come to a hopeless realization. Whatever you do will intrigue him. Regardless of how you attempt to oppose him, he will find glee and entertainment in it. He enjoys this twisted game of cat-and-mouse—enjoys forcing you to acknowledge his presence and go along with his plans. “Is this how you wish to spend the years you have left: fighting for the ungrateful?” 

That statement cuts deep. You think of Nadia and Portia smiling at one another; to Asra and his parents, residing within the palace; to Muriel, finally free from his curse; and to Julian, who can roam the streets as an innocent man. They have all moved on. They… left you behind. Your friends left you to the wreckage of their own actions—the consequences of their decisions. 

You immediately berate yourself for even considering a deal with The Devil. He makes things sound too good to be true—that’s what he does. You know better than to be taken in with his false promises. The air is stiff and oppressive, manufacturing an urgent irritation and envy within you. 

The chains suddenly yank you forward again, allowing The Devil to reach out to you. You instinctively lean backwards, but there’s nowhere for you to go. Instead, you’re left breathing hard as his fingers travel up your throat mockingly. Surely he must feel the rapidity of your pulse beneath his fingertips. But he only scrutinizes you quietly, his gaze intense enough to send shivers down your spine. Then his hand rises to cradle your jaw and he tilts your head to the side. There’s a strangely focused expression on his face, as if he’s looking for something. You can only hope he doesn’t find it. 

Then, without explanation, The Devil tilts your head to the other side. Quick as lightning, his other hand is extended—and he drags a long, clawed finger down your cheek. It’s enough to puncture your skin and draw blood, pulling a pained hiss from your lips. After an immeasurable time spent in quiet appraisal, The Devil makes an assenting noise and his hand finally falls from your face. You wince at the feeling of blood dripping down your cheek. 

“I won’t make a deal with you.” You promise with all the conviction you can muster. 

“You will,” The Devil says smoothly. There’s no heat in his argument—only a cool rationality, as if he knows exactly what will happen. “Don’t fear: I can wait. I have all the time in the world, after all.” You don’t goes unsaid, but you hear it anyway. He’s right—your mortal life is all you have. And while a few decades is nothing more than the blink of an eye for The Devil, it’s a good chunk of your lifetime. Can you really live like this for that long? Can you keep fighting tirelessly—pushing away that relentless exhaustion that only draws closer on your heels? 

You try to get out of the chains once more, surprised to notice a faint trace of your magic returning. With The Devil distracted, you channel your energy into breaking the chains—and they slowly begin to snap around you, leaving you just enough room to escape them. 

“I see you’re growing impatient,” The Devil’s voice cuts through the static in your mind. You blink and the chains around you disappear, leaving only a persistent ache in your muscles as a reminder. Before you can even begin to speak, your vision is fading to black as the Devil leaves you with one last parting remark. “Very well. We will meet again soon.” The crimson skies around you morph into a starless night sky, submerging you in darkness. 

You wake up in a cold sweat, tangled in your sheets and sprawled across your bed. Groaning, you push yourself up and head to the bathroom, wanting to cool yourself off. You reach down and pour some water into your hands, before rinsing off your face. A stinging sensation on the left side of your face makes you pause; you wince and squint at your reflection in the mirror, only to find a jagged cut tearing through your cheek: right where The Devil ran his clawed finger along your skin mere moments ago. 

You take a shuddering breath, trying to come to terms with the physical evidence of the reality you just unwittingly transported yourself to. As you stare at yourself in the mirror, you realize there are bruises crawling up and down your forearms—from where the chains had been. That was no mere dream. You visited The Devil’s realm—and he let you leave. Willingly. 

The certainty in his voice still haunts you. Is your descent into darkness really as inevitable as he makes it seem? It takes concentrated effort for you to calm yourself down enough to return to bed. And even when you do, The Devil’s smooth voice follows you into your nightmares—imploring you to take your place at his side.

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