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fr33time · 4 months ago

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Hiii (˶ᵔ ᵕ ᵔ˶), can I request for a hurt/comfort reader x Jin or Romeo fic?

✦❘༻Self care to forget༺❘✦

Divider credits: @thecutestgrotto

Pairing: Romeo Lucci x GN!reader

Synopsis: MC was cursed by an anomaly, which caused them to have one of the worst days of their life. After breaking their arm after an investigation with Vagastrom, Romeo calls MC to his private room on business, but MC is more than over with the day.

A/N: Yesss of course!! I chose Romeo this time, so I hope you’ll enjoy the idea I have for him!!! I don’t find many Romeo fics so I felt like I should fill the space with one. He’s still a tad difficult to write but I made sure to go through his in game chats, and check through the wikis to see how he spoke. I had fun writing this, and it’s interesting to try something new. Enjoy! Also sorry this took so long to release, I’ve been busy again and I have work to do so I’ll probably only get to writing on weekends. I wrote most of this late at night so I apologize for any mistakes, feel free to let me know! I’ve been waiting for episode 9 to release and I can’t wait since it looks like a Halloween special chapter. Until my next work!

Genre: Hurt/comfort, oneshot

Find my requesting rules here!

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Life did not particularly favour you at the moment. You ended up being taken to an emergency room for breaking your arm, if it had been a sort of sprain then a couple anomalous medicine packs could have fixed it, but the world loves to beat you when you’re down.

About 4 days ago you were sent to be the inspector of a mission with the Vagastrom house. They were investigating a mass wave of kidnappings that they believed to have been caused by an anomaly. This morning was supposed to be the final day of the investigation, where you and the ghouls were planning to capture the anomaly and complete the mission. The day was doomed from the start with an air of bad luck following you throughout. You fell through the floor of the Clementia house, you kept stepping in pot holes and almost spraining your ankle, when the world was seemingly trying to kill you, it also made everything very inconvenient. You were losing everything you placed on furniture the previous night, stepped on a pregnant spider, the power went out, etc.

The final straw was when the investigation was reaching its final stages. Some plans flew off the rails and you ended up being chased by the anomaly. Once it grabbed you, you managed to maneuver yourself out of its grasp, but in turn you ended up falling from the second floor of a building onto the first floor because of a giant hole in the floor. It would not have been this bad if you fell in a different position, but you fell head first and it triggered the instinct to break the fall with your arms.

You were rushed to the emergency room after the anomaly was unfortunately destroyed. Apparently, the anomaly put a mini curse on you that gave you dreadful bad luck. On the bright side, darkwick had come across a curse like this before and was able to lift it almost immediately. Your arm was patched up, and was told that it would heal in up to 12 weeks on account of the clean break, and sent you home.

You felt shitty, all you wanted was to rest and you were stuck having to deal with the ghouls in Vagastrom on the way back. Alan and Sho seemed really concerned for you, but decided to stay silent for now in fear that you weren’t into conversation. Leo on the other hand had a bitter face plastered on, it will always be perplexing how he manages to say the worst things at the worst times.

“Y’know, we could’ve captured that anomaly if honour roll hadn’t screwed up.” Alan immediately threw him a nasty look and signalled him to shut up. Honestly, you weren’t in the mood, if you didn’t feel so drained then you could’ve responded back to him but you didn’t have the heart. Soon, you were back at your dorm, once the Vagastrom ghouls dropped you off and said they would check on you later, you sat in silence for a while. You laid down on the bed and started to drift to sleep until you heard a buzzing on your phone. You could’ve ignored it but clearly someone was spam texting you to get your attention. Out of obligation, you peeked at your phone and checked the messages.

New girl!

Report to the VIP room this instant!

Are you ignoring me?!?!

This won’t be tolerated, if you’re not here in 5 minutes there will be serious consequences!

You groaned out of frustration seeing Romeo’s spammed messages on your screen. You immediately went to pick up your phone and text back, trying to explain what happened today,

Romeo I can’t come right now, can you let me off the hook this time? I’ve had a really bad day and I just want to lay down…

I don’t want your excuses, I’ll add 2 extra minutes on your clock, you better be grateful because you’re wasting my precious time!

And it’s Fico, get it right!

You guessed that there was no saying no to him. You rushed to Sinostra as best you could, but there was no way that you were going to attempt to run there. As you walked inside, the guards that were standing outside of the VIP room were greeting you,

“MC, Fico’s expecting you, head inside.” Most of the staff knew who you were by now. You had been working around Sinostra more recently due to Romeo making you do “Eyes in the Sky” surveillance for him. He was a teensy bit more lenient on you lately, you weren’t sure why but you liked to think that he was getting used to you, bit by bit. It was already later than usual, so you wondered why Romeo wanted you to come to the VIP room at 9PM. The guards opened up the VIP room for you, and stepped inside. Romeo was sitting down on the luxurious couch, sifting through paper work that surrounded his desk. The door behind you closed, and you realized that Romeo didn’t bother to have bodyguards with him. You stood in front of the table, barely keeping it together. It felt like you could snap the tiny bit of composure that you had at any time.

“I thought I told you to rush over here!” Romeo finally decided to look at you and noticed your horrendous physique. Your arm was in a cast, clothes were dirty, eyes drooped down to hell, and your posture was so unacceptable that it felt violating to his eyes.

“What the hell happened to you?”

In that moment, everything inside of your head spilled out onto the floor. You couldn’t hold it any longer. Before you realized what happened, you were on the floor, breaking down. Your chest tightened and tears streamed out on your face and onto the floor. It felt humiliating, crying in front of Romeo like this but you’ve never felt so down on your luck before. It was crushing that it felt like the whole world was against you today, it wasn’t always like that but a pile of stress was building up over the course of the mission, especially today.

“I just- I just wanted to be left alone! My arm hurts so bad- everything is so fucking- shitty!” Your brain couldn’t keep up with your words, your line of consciousness was being interrupted by your hyperventilating. Your throat hurt, it hurt so much from wanting to cry out and having to swallow everything down.

“Just leave me- the fuck alone! I want to sleep— so fucking bad- why won’t any- one just let me rest for once today!” Romeo was stunned, he sat there looking at you while your cries were the only noise echoing in the room. Your eyes were red, and puffy, you looked pitiful while sitting on the floor of his expensive private room. He got up from his couch and kneeled down in front of you, hovering his finger over your mouth.

“Shut up for a moment!” You stopped speaking but there was nothing you could do about your hyperventilation. You tried to breathe deeply, but didn’t help your uncontrollable gasps for air. You looked away from his eyes and tried to look down at the floor, it felt less shameful. Romeo sighed heavily, and got up onto his feet.

“Stand up” you followed what he said and tried to get off of your knees.

“Just looking at the state you’re in is giving me wrinkles. Don’t say anything and follow me” Romeo started walking and signalled you to come along. You followed him and ended up in his bathroom, one of the most spotless bathrooms you’ve ever seen with countless beauty products on the counters and in cupboards. Your breathing was starting to calm down but you were still in rough shape. Now you were confused, why would Romeo take you in here? He started filing through his cabinets and grabbing a few things.

“I’m going to fix you up because you look horrendous, but for now go and monitor my EITS and wait till I’m done. This just means you’re gonna work twice as hard tomorrow as payment for this.” You started to realize that he was going to take care of you when you looked at all of the products in his arms. You listened to what he said and sat down on his couch to look at the cameras in the casino. You didn’t mind staying any longer anymore, it would be nice to rest but you felt like Romeo wanted to help you in his own weird way. That’s what you wanted to believe, and in reality it wasn’t that far from the truth. It made you smile a bit, but you knew that if Romeo caught you then he would probably throw you out in an instant, so you kept it down. You were done with everything, this was the best you were gonna get out of everything. Not much time passed before Romeo set up, he called you over before you knew it.

“New girl! Get over here!” You got up and met Romeo in the bathroom, finding a chair in front of the sink, with a whole line of facial items set up.

“Sit down and straighten your back. I won’t accept sloppiness.” As you sat down, Romeo cleared space and put his laptop on the counter in front of you. It looked like he still wanted you to work, but he interrupted your thought as he spoke.

“I’ll watch it, but tell me if you see something wrong or there’ll be consequences.” Romeo turned your chair so that it was parallel to the counter. Facing it towards him, it helped him see your face better and it was easier to apply things on you. He stayed organized and started to put things on your face, first a cold compress eye mask, then a cold towel to reduce overall swelling in your face, applied a couple moisturizers, gently massaging your eyelids, it felt like pure bliss. You weren’t sure why he was doing this, and even Romeo was questioning why he did this all for you. He wanted to make you stop crying by giving you a mini facial, and registered it as wanting to get rid of your scrunched up face and out of his sight to use it against you later.

You looked in the mirror after he was done and barely recognized yourself. You were glowing, and it looked like you never even cried in the first place. When you checked the time, it was almost 11PM. There were many missed messages from Alan, asking where you were and if you were alright.

“Oh wow, it’s getting really late. I’m so sorry for taking up your time, I should be going soon!” When you were getting back up, you felt a pair of hands push down gently on your shoulders to make you sit.

“You’re sleeping here tonight, I’m not listening to complaints. You’re getting up in the morning and working all day for me tomorrow as payment. I spent my precious time on you, so you should feel indebted to me.” He folded his arms and looked at you, expecting an answer.

“Um… where would I even sleep?” You didn’t have the strength to fight, it’s not like you wanted to walk all the way back to your dorm late at night anyways. You were tired and needed to rest, it didn’t matter where it was anymore.

“On the couch, it’s high quality so it should be better than the shabby one you have. Any BFB would be able to tell the quality difference as soon as they sat down.” You were a bit perplexed by his out of place acronyms, but you had no clue what he was talking about.

“…BFB?”

“Bumbling Fucking Buffoons, it should be obvious.” All you could do was smile slightly and nodding your head to appease him. Romeo got up to set up the couch comfortably, you still had a broken arm so you needed a cozy space to be in to put your mind at ease.

“Thank you Romeo, I feel much better now. You helped me alot, and I appreciate it.” He was turned away from you, so you couldn’t see the look on his face, but a slight blush came across his face. He shouldn’t be feeling embarrassed but he did, he didn’t understand his own feelings.

“It’s Fico, you BB. I’m making sure you wake up early to get started in an organized fashion, so enjoy comfort while it lasts.” You were surprised that Romeo did all of this for you, but it was sweet in his standards. He made you feel better by giving you some self care, and offered you to stay here so you wouldn’t walk back. He did want you to work all day tomorrow, but you could make it through, he didn’t assign hard tasks to you so you weren’t worried. You hoped that you and him could have a better relationship someday, it was going to take a while, he had multiple walls in front of him that were made out of brick. But it felt like you climbed over that first hurdle.

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#tokyo debunker #tokyo debunker x reader #tokyo debunker oneshot #oneshot #hurt/comfort #romeo scorpius lucci #romeo scorpius lucci x reader #x reader

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nincompoopydoo · 1 year ago

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GET A GRIP

PAIRING: Aaron Hotchner x Reader WORD COUNT: 1.9k SUMMARY: You get knocked out by an Unsub and Hotch is just so concerned for you. Takes place during Season 9 Episode 15. A/N: So happy to be writing again and for the BAU’s number one cutie for the first time! Let me know what you think of this! WARNINGS: swearing. just overall TENSION. punching. no beta we die like men. MASTERLIST

“Did you find Gabby?”

Sue Walsh begins with a now-known pretence of apprehension to her voice as she watches you stride into the interrogation room, Hotch trailing behind you. You’ve completely switched from your natural gentle demeanour into a daunting disposition paired with a drive to break the potential guise Sue has expertly built as a psychopath.

You have done this a hundred times before, but this very interrogation intimidates you. There’s a toil of dread that settles in the depths of your stomach as a sense of impending doom begins to fill your thoughts. Still, a part of you is reassured with Hotch looming behind you.

Hotch will never let anything bad happen to you. He had hesitantly let you be the one to break Sue’s facade, knowing that if the theories proved to be right, you could be attacked. Yet, he gave in, knowing you were the right person to do it. These were your fields of expertise after all – you knew the perfect words that would trigger Sue’s uncontrolled rage.

You silently inhale, calming your nerves, forcefully preventing any sort of facial expression that could reflect what was going through your mind. The last thing you need is Sue spotting any sort of fault in you.

“What do you think?” you snapped, tone reeking with sarcasm. What was once nerves are quickly replaced by the agitation growing within you. “Are we gonna find her?”

Sue Walsh merely stared at you, an even more obvious fake innocence etched across her face. One that could easily be proved otherwise. You snatched the headshot of Gabby from the desk, leaning menacingly towards Sue as you forcefully planted the picture right before her eyes.

“Kate trusted you with the care of her child. You were responsible for this little girl.”

Sue flinched, but you don’t buy the whole act one bit. You pressed on.

“You had a duty to protect her, And you failed.”

With every word that left your lips, you began to see the facade fade before your very eyes, a wave of anger shifted within her, stare never once left your own.

“What happened to Gabby is all your fault.” You continued to push, staring into her ever-angrier eyes.

“You know nothing about what it takes to be a mother. You're pathetic –”

In an instant, Sue launched her fist across the gap and into the bridge of your nose. The hit came a lot quicker than you'd expected. You shifted in your stance, teetering on the heels of your feet as you stumbled away from her, defensively jerking down sharply as you were completely blindsided by the punch you had taken a split second ago.

Immediately, you feel a pair of hands yank you away from the woman who’s screaming bloody murder at you. It’s Hotch who pushes you back and away from Sue, a protective hand firmly pressed against your shoulder as you stagger backwards. He grabs the unsub by the shoulders, attempting to restrain her from hitting you further, successfully resisting her sharp spasms as he pulls her back to her seat.

A cop promptly appeared from the doorway, swiftly making his way to Sue’s side to handcuff her to the desk. Hotch finally releases Sue from his grip, casting a glance at you as you watch the way his eyes flicker to your nose for a fleeting moment before a crease between his brows appears, eyes gleaming with worry.

You immediately regain all composure, and instinctively bring your palm to press firmly against the base of your nose as you felt warm liquid seeping from within. You closed your eyes for a moment, silently hissing at the bruising pain that just coursed through your cheeks and to the back of your head.

Everything else began to hurt.

Doesn’t help that Sue was still screaming at the very top of your lungs at you.

You shift your gaze back to Hotch who took a few steps closer to you, expression still etched with worry. He begins to say something, but your ears are now ringing. You don’t hear a word, Sue’s screams are no longer screeching against the eardrums. Pressing your lips together in an attempted smile directed at Hotch, you scurried out of the room, head beginning to feel a little lightheaded.

Yet again, you’ve had it worse.

–

“Are you alright?”

You turn to see Hotch standing in the doorway with that same look he had given you minutes ago in the interrogation room. One that now sent your heart thrumming faster than you would have liked it to be.

There’s an ice pack pressed against the bridge of your bruised nose, hair in slight disarray with your coat discarded on the desk you are perched on – truly a sight for sore eyes. You spent the last ten minutes since the on-site medic left you to your own devices caught in a daydream, gaze fixated on the adorned evidence board before you.

Sue Walsh proved to be everything the team had theorised, but you’re wrecking your brain for places she could have hidden Gabby. Your breaths remain shallow, the almost normal anxiety of dreading the worst; it’s just a lot harder on you when it’s a child’s life at stake.

Hotch swiftly moves across the room to settle beside you, propped against the desk. You shift nervously, initially concerned that he may be upset that you insisted on interrogating the unsub and in turn gotten yourself hurt. Yet, you don’t sense any ounce of dismay. His eyes are on you, head tilting as he silently inspects the bruise on your nose from a distance.

"I'm fine," you croak out, disregarding the painful sensation that surges with each breath.

Hotch maintains a thoughtful silence, and though he doesn't speak, you can feel his gaze lingering on you. When you turn to meet his eyes, you're met with an enigmatic expression that's hard to read. You can tell there’s something on his mind at the sight of his creased brows, something at the tip of his lips that is so much of important that he needs a moment to express the right words. You raise a curious eyebrow, and you eye how he is almost as if pulled back to the current reality of your situation, quickly shifting his focus back to the evidence board, but you can almost sense the wheels of his mind still in motion.

There’s a set rule to never profile any of your colleagues, especially when it comes to Hotch, but you cannot help but perceive the sudden surge of embarrassment within Hotch as you eye the reddening of his cheeks.

“Talk about taking one for the team.”

Hotch says it with amusement and all you can think to yourself is how he’s diverting the subject. Yet, the appearance of his small smile is contagious and you mirror it. Against your better judgment, you let out a huff that deemed itself a weak laugh that sent a sharp throbbing pain across your nose. You instantly hiss and Hotch shifts into a stance, catching sight of his returned concerned expression. You really wished he would stop doing that – being so incredibly concerned for you that it sends a heated flush across your cheek once more. You immediately wave your hand at him, dismissing any sort of fuss he was about to put up. A gesture to let him know you were definitely fine.

Definitely fine about the way Hotch is standing so close to you right now that you’re about to collapse at how lightheaded you were feeling and how fast your heart beating at this very moment.

God, just shut up.

Get. A. Grip.

Despite everything, you soldier on.

“I knew she was going to hit me at some point. I just…didn’t expect it to be that quick.” you hum, careful to prevent any sort of facial movements as you increase the pressure of the ice pack against your nose, the pain beginning to subside from the cold.

Hotch simply hums and those gleaming brown eyes return to you, stealing your breath away once again. You avert your gaze, afraid that if you hold his stare for far too long you might do or say something you will regret for the rest of your life. You can’t think straight and you feel your head begin to spin once again, and the way your heart tugs against your chest and the way–

“You’re bleeding.”

You’re abruptly hauled from your running thoughts by the sound of his returned worried voice.

You simply blink.

“What?”

In an instant, Hotch retrieves the tissue packet from the snug left pocket of your coat on the desk and pulls out a piece. Suddenly, a tissue is gingerly pressed against the base of your nose and all you can feel is the warmth of his hand grazing your cheek.

Your eyebrows immediately shoot up, your expression alarmed by how the situation has just unfolded. Hotch discerns the bewilderment etched across your face as your eyes widen in confusion. In response, his other hand finds the curve of your shoulder and gently squeezes it – a silent indication to calm you down even though you had already concluded that the entire situation could only be a product of a particularly convoluted and amusing daydream.

You watch him tilt his head to your eye level, attempting to snap you out of the panic that had just consumed you.

“You’re bleeding,” he repeats, and you find yourself nodding mechanically, but you’re not really listening, his words were distant and the world seemed to fade into insignificance. You’re very much aware of his closeness and you can’t help but feel vulnerable in his presence. This isn’t the first; it’s always been like this.

You shift your hand to hold the tissue that’s pressed against your nose, fingers grazing his.

“I can take care of myself,” you say quietly as if it’s something so sacred and only for his ears.

There’s a brief pause, Hotch’s eyes never leave yours.

“I know.”

And then, you see it. The way his gaze flickers, just for a fraction of a second, to your lips. It was so incredibly subtle, so fleeting, that you could have easily dismissed it as a trick of the light. You feel it too, the sense of something unspoken that has been looming between the two of you for quite some time. Something that makes your breath hitch at this very moment, the way you could almost feel his breath. And it makes the room shrink, a distance so narrow between him and you that with one slight shift of your feet, you could almost–

Creak!

You hear the door of the room swing open and the two of you immediately pull away so fast that your head spins for a split second. Your eyes dart towards the doorway to see Rossi, mouth slightly agape as if he had just witnessed something so shocking.

Well, you don’t blame him.

You discern how his expression instantly morphs into a knowing look once he catches Hotch’s eyes and you feel your cheeks burn at the thought of Rossi catching you canoodling with your boss.

With. Your. Boss.

Oh God.

Your eyes dart to Hotch and he clears his throat, face redder than usual.

Divert. Divert. Divert–

“I’m bleeding.” is all you manage to say.

Rossi merely responds with a dry chuckle and then turns on his heel and disappears out the doorway.

You turn to Hotch once more. He’s looking at you, blinking.

Fuck.

#aaron hotchner x reader #aaron hotchner #criminal minds #hotch x reader

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lost-inthemeadow · 17 days ago

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Till I have no choice but to do us part - Agathario

Summary: A 4 part rewrite of episode 9 of Agatha All Along because we deserved so much better than what we got

Features Agatha Harkness, Rio Vidal and Nicholas Scratch

Chapter two: Burn and brew with coven two and glory shall be thine

Word count: 9648

The days in the cabin became months, and the months eventually became years. Despite all odds, Lady Death—feared amongst most mortals—had found herself a home in Agatha, and Agatha finally found a place where she knew she was safe and wanted. Their days together were often spent curled up in bed, in the kitchen talking for hours on end, reading in the other's embrace, or collecting in the forest. Agatha loved the rosemary tea Rio made, and Rio worshiped the way Agatha reminded her she belonged to her every night.

"Come, my love, feel" Rio often called—her hand pleading to be reunited with Agatha's—loving to remind her lover that her heart beat only for her.

Agatha loved it just as much, so she always offered her own hand in return. As Rio placed it on her chest—right above her beating heart—they both closed their eyes. Agatha never failed to hum in satisfaction when she felt the pumping under her fingertips, making sure to enjoy her closeness with Rio.

"It beats for you," Rio said every time, kissing Agatha's hand after it parted from her chest.

"Only for me?"

"For the rest of eternity, mi amor."

Wanting as much of her as possible, Agatha begged Rio to teach her Spanish. Weak to any and every one of her requests, Rio only had to be asked once before she bent to her lover's will. The younger witch was terrible at it, but Rio still fell in love with her even more as she taught her, for the reasoning behind Agatha's curiosity was not other than her. They never explored it deeper than a few sentences and specific words, but Agatha always showed her interest in continuing to learn by asking Rio what random things in their house were called.

"What about this, my love?" asked Agatha, lifting the kettle that rested in the kitchen so Rio could see it from their bed.

"Tetera" replied Rio, getting up to embrace her lover.

"And these?" she inquired as Rio hugged her from behind, grabbing her fingers and fidgeting with them.

"Esos son los dedos."

"Dedos," repeated Agatha. "I like those."

Rio let out an airy laugh, grabbing Agatha by the waist so she would turn and face her. "I like yours too," she said.

"I know," admitted Agatha, getting so close their noses touched.

They both dreaded the days they had to be away and soon, Rio's duty was something she only enjoyed when her victims had been given to her by Agatha. She became impatient with the people she guided, wanting only to return into her lover's arms, and stretched the time as much as possible before she had to leave. Agatha grew worried about her, for as much as she enjoyed their time together, the lack of bodies made Rio weak, and the more she stayed, the worse she got.

They came up with a system they both agreed with so that they could be together as much as possible, but without having to sacrifice Rio's wellbeing as they did: Three weeks together, one week apart. This balance had to be broken now and then, when a town was wiped out by a plague or a battle claimed the lives of too many men to ignore, but it worked.

Their strategy to lure more witches into their lovesick trap became better with every coven they annihilated, and soon, Agatha's power grew unimaginably. As she turned more powerful, their late-night fights by their cabin porch became increasingly heated. Rio knew she could never allow Agatha to fully siphon her magic, for the mere nature of it would kill her, but they still found ways to have fun.

It had been twenty-two winters since she built their cabin when Rio looked into Agatha's eyes—having caught her when her knees gave out yet again at the surge of new power in her body—and finally understood the mortal tradition she once thought stupid.

"My love, marry me," she called, waiting for Agatha to meet her gaze.

"What?" Agatha inquired, unsure if she had heard her lover correctly.

"I want nothing more than to be bound to you in every possible way. Please, Agatha, marry me."

"I-" Agatha had suddenly lost all her words. "Who would dare officiate a wedding between two women, my love?"

"Does it matter? I only care to be married to and for you. We do not need a priest or a church. We will have each other. We will be okay."

Agatha studied her lover's face for a few seconds, ensuring she meant her words. "Ask properly and maybe I'll consider it," she demanded, grabbing Rio by the chin.

Rio obeyed, getting down on one knee. "Marry me, Agatha Harkness" she pleaded.

"I would love nothing more," replied the younger witch, joining their lips in a kiss.

And so, for the first time, Lady Death dressed in white. Her gown was not of fabric, but of thousands of Petunias lined perfectly around her body. Agatha had requested Hibiscus, so Rio made her the most beautiful dress with them, having them fall in a long tail that followed her everywhere she went. By their cabin, with the forest floor decorated with blossoms, they joined hands and looked into each other's eyes. Nobody but them would ever know that the ceremony took place on the first day of spring, or that the birds sang specially for them that afternoon, but that was the beauty of it. Their marriage, just like their love, was only for them to enjoy. Their vows were short and simple, and they spent the rest of the afternoon consummating the union.

The morning in which Rio's time to leave came once again, their home dressed in blue drapes of sadness. Newlywed, they wanted to stay in each other's embrace for eternity, but duty was important as well. The green witch stayed for as long as she could, watching in silence as Agatha fixed them both some breakfast, then—after eating—she gave herself to her wife once more.

"Please, try to be as quick as possible," Agatha begged from the bed, too lazy to get up, while Rio got dressed.

"I promise I will, my love. And I will have a wedding gift for you when I return."

"The only gift I need is more time with you."

"I know, but you will like this as well," said Rio. She made sure to kiss Agatha's forehead before leaving, as she always did. "Te veo".

"Te veo" Agatha replied.

That week, Agatha could barely leave their bed, afraid the scent of Rio's flowers would be gone when she returned under the covers. When she did leave it, however, she sat on their porch, listening to the birds and tending to the garden Rio had gifted her, waiting for the moment she would appear within the trees. Nine days and nine nights went by before she did, and Agatha could not help but run to her arms on that tenth day. She wanted to hear about Rio's travels, the people she took, and the conditions in which they had gone; but Rio had promised a wedding gift and was eager to show it to Agatha.

Hidden in the pockets of her dress was a small box—the smallest Agatha had ever seen. Within it, two wooden rings rested in a velvet bed, awaiting the time their owners would don them.

Among many places, Rio had been in France, taking a woodcarver who died poisoned by his wife after she found out he loved another man. She felt his death the night before she had to leave, and knowing he would agree, she visited him last. The man had been so moved by Death finding love in another woman that he made them both a pair of beautiful wedding rings—engraved and polished—from wood Rio grew for the occasion before she guided him towards the light.

Agatha took her ring, twirling it around to see it from every angle.

"They are beautiful, my love," she said with a smile.

"Read it, on the inside. I had it engraved."

"En tus manos, mi corazón?" Agatha read the engravement on her ring. "What does that mean?"

Rio took the ring from her, asking for her left hand to put it on. When Agatha complied, the green witch took her ring finger and gently slid the band in until it reached the base. "In your hands, my heart," she translated.

Agatha smiled, taking Rio's ring from the tiny box and replicating the action. "In your hands, my heart," she repeated once the token of their marriage was in place.

"Until the day you are no more, my love. Till I have no choice but to do us part," continued Rio, taking Agatha's face in her hand and moving her thumb up and down her cheek.

"In a long time from now," clarified Agatha, placing her hand over Rio's.

"You bet, otherwise I'll just leave you to suffer in limbo forever."

Ten, twenty, thirty years went by as quickly as the seasons always seemed to change, and as the world around them evolved, so did their love. Rio's worst fear came true with each passing day, for Agatha's aging meant she would lose her one day, but she tried to make the most of every day they had together. There was not a moment in those thirty years in which Agatha's hair wasn't graced with one of Rio's flowers, and there also was not a day in which Rio's hands were not kissed. One ceremony was not enough, so they got married again and again and again, loving each time more than the last. The nuptials were always different, always special, and always intimate, and their wedding nights only became more heated as the years went by.

Their lives changed for the better the night they first met, but the rush of that moment did not compare at all to the time Rio returned home after a week of hard work to her wife sitting by the entrance of their cabin, and her presence was not the only one she sensed.

Rio felt him before she even knew he was a possibility, before she understood how he came to be, and before he became her whole world. He was right there—growing, waiting. She could sense him like she hadn't any living thing before—not even Agatha—for he was part of her.

"How can this be?" she queried.

"What?"

"How can this be?" she mumbled. The shock that overtook her did not allow her to speak properly.

"My love, look at me," demanded Agatha, taking Rio's face into her hands when she saw her distress. But Rio's eyes stayed fixated on her wife's stomach, unable to understand. Agatha stroked her cheek with her thumb and gave her a warm smile. "Tell me, what do you mean?"

"The child, how can he be?"

"You are not making sense, honey."

It was only then that Rio realized Agatha had no knowledge of her condition. "My love..." Rio's eyes were full of terror. "You are with child. With... my child."

Agatha could not help but laugh. "That is not possible," she gauged. She knew witches could make their own children, yet never in history, two women of the craft had come together to create life.

"And yet, there he is." She broke free from Agatha's hands and entered their cabin, feeling her whole world collapsing around her.

"Rio," Agatha followed her inside. "Talk to me, tell me what is happening," she said, closing the door behind her.

"I can feel him, Agatha!" she yelled. She had never raised her voice at her wife before. "I can feel him growing. He's right there" She pointed at Agatha's stomach. "He's mine and he's yours and he's driving me insane!"

It was as if the world stopped, as if everything around Agatha had slowed down. The cabin was suddenly blurry and her entire body began shaking. She had to sit on their bed before her nerves stole her awareness, and her right hand traveled to her stomach as she finally made sense of what Rio was trying to say.

"How can this be?" Agatha asked, watching as Rio paced through the entire place.

"That is exactly what I said!" replied Rio. "I-Agatha, you know what my job is, you know who I am. This is not possible, th-this is not..." She could not speak another word. Her knees gave out then, and she fell to the ground so quickly that Agatha had no time to react. Rio looked at her wife, worried this would harm her in any way. "I am so sorry."

Agatha remembered her mother—all the abuse and the pain—and felt just as frightened. But upon staring at the woman in front of her, she knew they would never repeat the story. She knew Rio was exactly the person she wanted this with, so she moved from the bed and sat down next to her. "No, Rio. You have nothing to be sorry for." She took Rio's hand in hers and guided it to her stomach. The green witch pulled away immediately.

Agatha waited a few seconds before trying again, giving her a faint smile. She was the only mortal Rio trusted, so she allowed her hand to stay in place as Agatha caressed it.

"How bad can this really be? You and I with a family of our own. Happy, loved, fulfilled," said Agatha.

"He is a child of Death, Agatha," she said, removing her hand yet again. "There is nothing good I can offer him; there is nothing good he can be. What if he cannot even be?"

"You forget, my love, that you are only Death for the people who do not know you. To me, you are Rio; you are my wife. He will be good because he is yours, because you are good. He will be good because we will love him. He will be ours, and we will be his. Nothing else matters."

Rio's dark eyes studied every bit of Agatha's face, looking for the smallest trace of doubt—the slightest hint that she did not like the idea, yet all she saw was contempt. She shined brighter than the rays of sun that streamed through the window, and in her wife's happiness, Rio found comfort. She was a green witch, after all. Life is part of Death. "Nothing else matters," she repeated as she finally allowed her hand to find its own way to Agatha's stomach.

"We will have each other. We will be okay," assured Agatha.

Agatha's pregnancy was much easier than Rio expected. She feared the nature of her role would harm her or their child in any way, so she worried every time Agatha felt lightheaded or needed to empty her stomach. She couldn't help but imagine a million things going wrong, a million ways in which she could lose them both, but Agatha was always there to tame her fears and tell her that as long as they were together, everything would be okay.

Once Agatha's belly started to show, Rio grew willows again, and with them, she expanded their crooked home to make space for the new member of their coven. She also weaved a crib with tree branches and gave his room the gift of her evergreen vines all over the walls.

Agatha was no longer alone when Rio had to tend to her duty, for her company constantly moved around in her belly. She had requested to be brought cotton and linen from all the places her wife visited, and while she was away, Agatha sat on their porch—on the chair Rio had gifted her—making clothes for their child. Every now and then, Rio would come back and find a dress for her as well, which she refused to stop wearing until Agatha surprised her with a new one.

Each time Rio returned home, Agatha sat on the grass to allow her to rest her head on her lap, and they stood as still as possible to feel their boy stir. The child felt the connection as well, for he moved much more when Rio was near, especially when she reached for the place in which he grew. They would stay like that for hours, talking about what they wanted him to sound and look like.

"I do not care if you like mine, he has to have your eyes," pressed Rio during the sixth month.

"Fine, but he will wear your lips," replied Agatha, tracing them down with her index. "And your nose, too."

"My nose? But yours looks like it was carved by the gods on Mount Olympus. In fact, he should look just like you." She pressed her lips against the fabric of Agatha's dress. "Did you hear that, child? You better look like your mother!"

Agatha's hand found Rio's hair and played with it carelessly. "Don't give him ideas, my love. And if he does look like me, I will get revenge with our second."

Rio left her lap immediately, wanting to be at eye level. "Second? Do you wish to have more children after him?"

"A whole coven. If you wish it too, of course."

"A full cabin does sound quite good," Rio admitted.

They gazed for just a few seconds before understanding they were both hungry for each other's lips. Their kiss—mellow and unhurried—was interrupted by Rio's smile, too big to ignore.

"What is it?" asked Agatha, her eyes shining as she moved a lock of hair from Rio's forehead and placed it behind her ear.

"I could not be happier. There is nothing destiny can give me that would put a bigger smile on my face than when I see you awaiting my return, with your belly full of the product of our love. You are the only home I need."

As Agatha's eyes dwelled with gleaming tears, Rio made sure their lips met once more. When holding Agatha close, she held her whole world in her arms, and nothing mattered to her more than her safety.

Months later, as the rain—heavy and thick—dampened the exterior of the Qing's palace, Rio moved along the hallways, looking for her next victim. The eldest member of the Dynasty had passed away, but her focus shifted once her bones quivered with a feeling of distress. Something was wrong. She felt uneasy but did not know the reason until she heard her wife call for her, thousands of miles away, with pain so grave in her voice that her heart stopped. Royalty would have to wait, for her family needed her home.

She made her way to the cabin in a matter of seconds, finding Agatha with her forehead as sweaty as a summer's day and bent down in pain, waiting for her in her usual spot. She ran to hold her in her arms, giving her body the support it so much needed, and soon, her entire body was alight with fear.

"Is it time?" she asked, though it was quite obvious.

Agatha nodded a few seconds before a new wave of pain whipped her entire body, causing her throat to release a deafening shriek.

Rio had been thinking about this moment from the very first time she knew about this child. She had spent countless nights deciding if she should stay for the birth, if her presence there would complicate things in any way. What business does Death have in the birth of a child? She took a step back, letting go of Agatha.

Agatha read the worry on Rio's face with just a glance, and her hand gripped her wife's arm firmly. "No," she said, looking into her eyes. "Today, you are not Death. Today, you are a mother. Today, your duty is with your family." The pain came again, but she did not falter. "We need you. Please, my love, stay. Please, do not leave me now."

"We will have each other. We will be okay," said Rio as she took Agatha into her arms again, with no plans of letting go this time. "Let's get you to the bed."

"No," Agatha remained in place. "I want it to be by the river. I want it to be where we first met."

And so, during their last moments as a family of two, Rio guided her to their beloved tree. In it, Agatha found more support for her body, placing her back over the initials she had carved so long ago as she crouched down slightly. Despite the blinding pain, the younger witch never once stopped giving Rio directions. She told her what to bring, how to help her with the pain, and how to help their boy. Rio was terrified, but still obeyed every single order at face value. She cleaned Agatha's forehead and felt every one of her screams in her heart. Two hours went by before their child was ready to come out, and Rio's hands were steadier than they had ever been as she helped him arrive into the world. It was only when his piercing cry filled the clearing that the green witch allowed herself to shake again.

Her eyes cried human tears as she saw the boy for the first time, for he not only wore her nose and lips like Agatha wanted but all her other features, too. He was the perfect copy of her. The entire forest floor was embellished by thousands of flowers in a second, painting it with the most beautiful colors.

"Hello, little one," she greeted the child in her arms, remembering the time he became a possibility.

Panting and sweating, Agatha cried as well, leaning back against the tree and sitting down on the flowers. Rio placed the boy in her hands and stood up to sit between her and the tree, replacing the support of the trunk with her own body. There, she conjured her dagger and reached for the cord, cutting it after receiving her wife's approval.

They both stared down at the child with tears streaming down their cheeks, loving their family fiercely. Only death and love can change all things, and they joined forces to create this child.

"We spoke no spell. We said no incantation," said Agatha, turning back to look at her wife.

"You were made from scratch," added Rio as Agatha caressed her face with her free hand.

Exhausted, Agatha allowed her body to relax, resting her head on Rio's shoulder and closing her eyes. Only then did the green witch realize they had never thought of the most important detail of all.

"My love?" she called, rocking her body from side to side to lull both her loves.

"Hm?" Agatha hummed.

"What shall we name him?" Rio inquired, her voice drunk with affection.

Agatha's eyes opened wide. "We never discussed the name! We can't call him 'boy' forever!"

"Well, you are quite good at gifting people with a name. Do you have anything in mind?"

"Only that I can't believe we made him ourselves, without intentional magic, only out of love," the younger witch replied, pressing Rio to propose something.

"Victory for the people," she recited, remembering her times in Ancient Greece. "How about Nicholas?"

"I like it," Agatha said with a smile, turning to the baby boy. "What do you think? Are you a Nicholas?" The baby fussed, moving his arm to place it over his face, which they both took as a yes. "Nicholas Scratch."

"Nicholas Scratch," repeated Rio, reaching for the baby's head and caressing it softly. "Welcome to the coven, my little love."

When their boy cried again, an instinct as old as Death told them it was out of hunger. Rio rested her head on Agatha's shoulder and watched him nurse for the first time. Nicholas opened his eyes then, and when Agatha saw them—as dark and majestic as Rio's—one of her tears fell on his belly, startling him.

"He listened to me," she whispered. "He is identical to you."

"I will get revenge with our next one," she whispered as well, repeating the words she had been told regarding the topic.

"Let me recover and we can talk about the next one then, okay?"

"Okay."

They stayed in place, not daring to move, and when the cold that darkness brought started to creep into their forest, Rio made a blanket with the thickest leaves and covered all three of them. As Agatha and Nicholas slept through the night, she never did once take her eyes off them. She studied the baby's face, taking in each of his features and keeping them in her heart, and did not stop rocking Agatha until the sun appeared in the sky again.

She allowed herself a full month before having to leave again. By then, Agatha was stronger and their baby was chubbier, but she still did not want to be away from them. She wished with all her heart for her duty to be lifted, for her to be able to live a mortal life with her family, but Death waits for no one, not even herself.

"It is just for a week. We will be fine," assured Agatha, trying to convince her to see to her responsibilities.

"But you said it yourself: My duty is now with my family. I do not wish to leave you even for a minute," she rocked Nicholas in her arms.

"You have tended to that duty wonderfully, but you know you will not be able to continue doing so if you do not go and claim your souls. Go, Rio."

Agatha's orders were always too powerful for Rio to ignore, so she sighed, placing the boy in her arms and kissing her forehead like she always did before parting. "I will be as quick as possible," she promised, still anchored in place.

"We will wait for you patiently. We understand."

Rio sighed and nodded, then bent over to kiss the boy's brow as well. "Los veo," she said her farewell.

"Te veo," replied Agatha.

"There's three of us now, my love. 'Te vemos'" she corrected, and her wife gave her a half smile.

"Te vemos" Agatha repeated.

Rio left the cabin as heavy as a thousand anvils and kept walking even when she heard her son wail for her arms to hold him again. Before returning to the Qing's palace, the first soul Rio visited was just a few miles away from their home. Just the night before, a mother had lost her infant in childbirth, and the little one was awaiting for Lady Death to collect her. She was asleep—like the deceased always are before Rio reached them—but could not stop crying when her eyes opened. The green witch held her close the way her son liked, and when the baby girl settled down, she wrapped her with her cape and did not stop rocking her until they reached the light.

She instantly went back to collect the elderly member of the Dynasty, but upon arriving, Rio realized her son had changed her forever in more ways than she could ever imagine. The old woman had been nothing but evil during her lifetime, but the green witch still could not see her as such. All she saw was a scared soul, a woman who was once someone's child, and her heart broke for her. She was patient and soft with her, as well as with all the other victims she helped for the next eight days. As much as she tried, she could not rush with them; she could not be as rough and careless as she had been before, for she now understood life and love like she never had before. This only made her more scared, more worried. She could not stop thinking about the fact that one day she would have to take her son, too.

When she returned home, Rio ran to her family so quickly that she almost tripped in her green dress. She held them both in a tight embrace, never wanting to leave them again, and had the biggest smile when Agatha offered her their boy.

That night, Rio was the one to get up and help him the first of many times Nicholas fussed. She went into his room with the company of a candle, peeking into the crib to find him screaming his lungs out. She placed her lit companion in the bureau that held all his clothes, then reached for him. Rio knew he just wanted company, for his mother had fed him just an hour ago and his clout was clean, so she swayed him until he settled down.

"I am sorry you got me, Nicky," she whispered to him, causing the baby to look at her with curiosity.

"What do you mean?" Agatha asked from the doorway. Rio did not feel her coming, so she was startled by the sound of her voice, causing the baby to cry once more.

"Did we wake you?" Rio asked, rocking Nicholas again.

Agatha shook her head, walking towards them. "I woke up when I heard him cry." She hugged her wife from behind, taking in the scent of her flowers. "What did you mean just now?"

"Nothing, I was just talking to him to calm him down."

"Tell me."

Rio sighed and stopped rocking their boy. "I fear the moment I have to take him with me. He deserves a mother he does not grow to be frightened of."

"Frightened?" asked Agatha, grabbing Rio by the waist and making her turn to face her. "He will never fear you, my love. He has no reason to."

"He does. I cannot refuse my duty, even when it comes to my family."

"And we understand that. We know you will be there at the end of the road for us, just like you are here now. We know you will guide us with the same love you show us now that we are together. I wish we could stay with you forever, but we will cherish every moment we get before we have to part. Nicky already loves you more than anything and he only came to this world a month ago. He will worship the ground you walk upon, he will not be scared of you"

"I just... I dread the moment I will be alone again. I can never love anyone like I love you."

"I know time is different for you, but still, that day will come centuries from now. Nicky and I will not leave you anytime soon."

"Do you promise?" Rio asked, looking down at the boy, who had fallen asleep in her arms.

"We promise," replied Agatha, kissing her wife's temple.

With every day that went by, Rio's fear subsided as her heart expanded with love for her family. Three, five, seven months went by as quickly as the wind took the dead leaves during autumn, and Nicholas did nothing but grow. When his teeth started to appear, their cabin was filled with his wails as the pain took over. Day and night he would cry, stopping only when Agatha offered a finger for him to bite on. During her week away, Rio took a mother of five who died of old age, and the lady advised her that the best remedy for growing teeth was clover and ginger. Upon returning home, she brought their bawling baby a toy made of both plants, and his crying only ever returned when she needed to make him a new one.

He started to crawl just two months later, and both witches spent most of their time lying on the floor, watching him play and discover each corner of their home.

His first word came soon after. He was in his crib one bright morning, having just woken up and waiting to be collected. When Agatha went into his room, he frowned his eyebrows like never before, and—having practiced with his mothers too many times to count— he called for her as they had taught him:

"Mama!" he said.

The day he took his first steps, fifteen months after his arrival, Nicholas played in the garden while Agatha made a new dress for her wife as they both waited for her return. The child sat by the tulips, making his ceramic dolls walk among them and pretending they were colorful dresses to choose from. He looked up when a butterfly flew near him, and his eyes caught sight of Rio, finally coming home after a week away. He smiled widely, and instead of extending his arms and waiting for her to pick him up, he used them to help himself stand up.

"Ma!" he called for Rio, causing Agatha to look at him. The excited scream she let out startled him to the ground again.

"Mi amor!" Rio laughed. "He was about to walk!"

"I know, I'm sorry!" Agatha apologized. "Go, baby! Go to ma!" she encouraged him.

"Ven, mi amor," Rio called for him.

And so he got up again. Rio had gotten as close to him as possible, so it only took him five steps before he fell into her arms, which received him gladly. She kissed his face all over once she picked him up, causing the child to giggle loudly.

At two years old, walking was all he did. Rio had to line their cabin with flowers, for he would hurt himself walking into things if she did not, but their house had never been more filled with laughter. Agatha begged her to teach him Spanish, so she spoke to him in that language most of the time. They decided it was better for Rio to show him her Death form from a young age so as not to scare him later on, and when the boy saw it for the first time, he smiled and touched the bare bone with curiosity the same way Agatha had done all those years ago.

At three, he started noticing his mother's absence, and her heart would break every time she had to leave him with tears all over his cheeks. The boy spent most of his days in the garden—with his clothes full of dirt—for the flowers there were his favorite thing in the world, and Rio was no longer "Ma", but "Mamá".

At four, he could not go to sleep without a bedtime story, so his mothers would sit by him in his bed every night to make one up for him.

"Mama, your turn this time," he said, looking at Agatha one night.

"I've been preparing this one all day. Do you remember what we told you about our power? What we told you we are?"

The child nodded. "Witches!"

"Exactly. Well, there's a place, a... road that only witches can go to. It's called..." she paused, trying to make up a name.

"The witches' road?" proposed Rio, trying to help.

"Yes! The witches' road. This road—"

"Am I a witch?" interrupted Nicholas.

Agatha smiled at the question. "You will be when you're older," she answered, caressing his hair.

That night, Nicholas was lulled to sleep by the story of two witches who went through a road that granted them their deepest desire: To have a son. She told him that in the end, when they reached it together, their gift came in the form of a baby boy waiting for them at their home.

The story awakened something in him, for every day he would ask his mothers about all things witchcraft he could think of. He inquired about potions, spells, and chants every day during breakfast, and every night he would beg to be told the story of the witches' road again.

"Am I the boy from the road?" he asked after the twentieth time he heard the story.

"The road is just a story, baby," said Agatha, tucking him in.

"Then where do I come from?"

Agatha and Rio looked at each other for a few seconds, eyes opened wide. They had talked about this day, the day Nicky would finally ask how he came to be. Agatha had to go to the nearby town every now and then to stock up, and when Rio was away, she would take him with her. She had seen the boy notice all the fathers with their children and knew this would happen sooner than later.

"Well, Nicky, you come from love. You come from love so big it couldn't fit in just the two of us, so it made you," answered Rio, taking Agatha's hand in hers.

"Did love grow me like you grow flowers with your Green?"

"It put you in Mama's belly, that's how you came to us."

When he was alone in the garden, Nicholas would try with all his strength to grow a flower just like Rio did, but his failure to do so did not make him any less excited to try every day. He would sit by the daisies and imagine his hands alight with green like his mother's. Rio realized this one day when she went to check on him, and knowing their boy hadn't seen her, she grew a Rose for him. The boy jumped and screamed excitedly, running back inside the cabin to tell his mothers of his feat.

During the summer nights, the three of them would lay outside their cabin in a bed of flowers and count the stars, just like Agatha and Rio used to do. Rio would tell her family the story behind each constellation, for she was there when they were made up, and Nicholas would beg Agatha to use her Purple to make funny shadows with the bonfire. They would have dinner outside almost every time, and sometimes, when it was too hot inside the cabin, they would sleep by the river.

Their boy came up with a song about his beloved road, and singing it was all he did. He would sing it while Agatha gave him a bath, while putting his toys away, and with his mouth full of food at lunch. When Rio was away and Agatha took him to the town, he would also sing it for the humans, who always awarded him with a few coins to get milk and sweets.

It was autumn when Rio caressed his face to wake him, for she would have to leave to tend to her duty that day.

"Mi amor, despierta," she called.

The boy stretched and yawned, too comfortable in his mothers' bed to move too much. Rio had wanted to wake him first this time. "No!" he said, his voice still loaded with sleep. "Quédate."

"You know I cannot, son. But I promise to bring you a toy from my travels."

"What kind of toy?"

"One you'll love."

"Okay," he stood on the bed, opening his arms to hug his mother. "Te veo, mamá."

"Te veo, mi amor."

Curled up in bed with Agatha that night, the boy asked about his mother's absence for the first time ever.

"Mamá has a very important job to do. She tries to stay with us as much as possible, but she has to leave for a while every now and then."

"Leave to where?"

"Everywhere. She never stays in one place for too long, except when it comes to us," Agatha replied, giving his nose a quick touch.

"And what does she do when she's away? Does she just go to get me toys? Because I don't want any more toys if she stays with us forever."

"No, baby," Agatha could not help but give him a sad smile. "She... helps people. People in trouble."

"What kind of trouble?"

"All kinds of trouble."

"Will you ever leave to help people in trouble too?" he inquired, holding her tighter.

"I will not. You and I will stay together forever. We will play, sing, and eat so much our bellies will hurt."

"And will you give me lots and lots of kisses?" he said with a smile.

"Lots and lots," she replied, grabbing his face and leaving pecks all over it.

Agatha and Rio were both so happy with their son, that they never thought of hunting witches again. The thought would cross their minds when they missed the rush killing together gave them, but they both knew that one hug from Nicholas was a thousand times better.

When he was six, Nicholas begged his mothers to let him keep a bunny he found snooping around their garden, and he and Rio joined forces when Agatha refused to let him do so.

"Please, Mama! We promise to take good care of him. We will feed him and clean after him. You will not have to move a finger."

"Look at the size of him, you will barely even notice him hopping around," added Rio.

Agatha looked back and forth between her wife and child, pursing her lips slightly.

"No."

"Please!" pleaded the boy.

"I said no!"

"My love, it's just a bunny. Let the boy have a pet!"

Agatha grabbed the creature, whose nose moved up and down frantically as he smelled her.

"Fine, but if we keep him, his name will be 'Señor Scratchy'." She had to admit the rabbit was cute.

"Señor scrat—" Nicholas tried to protest, but Rio shoved him gently, giving him a pressing look.

"Deal," she said.

The boy went everywhere with his pet, tying a rope made of vines around its neck and walking with him through the forest. He kept him on his lap during dinner and snuggled him at night. The rabbit adored him, too, as even without a leash he would always go wherever Nicky went. He and Agatha often went to gather while Rio was away, and in one of those sunny afternoons, they encountered a botanist studying their forest. Agatha worried, for a human had never gotten so close to their cabin, but the man swore he was just passing by, so she spared him. Partly because she had not killed so long ago, but mostly because of the interest Nicholas had taken in him. The boy could not believe some people studied plants for a living, and he was obsessed with the idea. The man did indeed leave, but he left Nicholas the gift of knowledge. He did not request toys from his mother every time she left anymore, but books, as many as she could find about plants, no matter if they were in languages he could not understand. The three of them would sit together to read them, and Rio would grow him every plant his books described.

But even at seven, with his big interest in botany and all things flora, Nicholas could not forget the road his mother made up to lull him at night. He still sang his song for the townspeople any time he could, partly because he loved the sweets he got with his earnings when he performed it, but also because he loved the story dearly. The walls of his room were lined with his drawings of the place, and even though he did not need it to sleep anymore, he still had his mothers tell him the story every night. He now had a journal filled with his own entries and drawings of the plants he studied with his mother, and he took it everywhere he went. The only place he did not go with it was the river, where he and his mothers would swim almost every day when the weather allowed it.

One night, after taking in every single inch of her wife and filling her with pleasure, Agatha caressed Rio's bare arm. She looked into Agatha's eyes, knowing them all too well, and knew they were dying to say something.

"Tell me, my love?" she pleaded.

Agatha blinked slowly, so in love with the woman in front of her that she could feel her heart getting bigger. "Do you remember our conversation about having more children?"

"I do."

"It's been stuck in my mind for quite some time now," she said, getting closer. "Nicky is grown now. Maybe it is time we talk about it again." She was now inches away from Rio's lips, but she was denying her the kiss she knew her wife was so hungry for.

"There is nothing to talk about. If it were up to me, we would have at least three more by now." The only thing Rio could look at was Agatha's lips, too hungry for them to take her eyes off now.

"At least?" Agatha whispered, using the low voice she knew Rio loved.

"At least," Rio could not handle the proximity anymore.

"Why don't we start with just one more for now?" She finally allowed Rio to trap her lips in hers, and the kisses did not stop until the sun rose in the morning, along with the pleasure they both so well knew to give to each other.

But their plan never came to be, for the next night, when even the owls did not dare make a sound anymore, Rio's heart sank as she heard Nicholas call for them, with a voice so desperate it woke Agatha up right away. They found him in his bed, as hot as a freshly made pot of soup, with a headache that did not allow him to see properly. He could not stop crying, riddled with pain from head to toe, but was too tired to move even a finger.

"He's burning up," said Agatha—crouched next to the bed—holding his head in her hand while he closed his eyes tightly. He had been sick before, of course, but something was different this time. Her heart sank when turned to Rio, who stood by the doorway with eyes as big as the moon and fear in her face like Agatha had never seen before, not even when he was born.

Rio could feel it in him: The impending end, the expiration of his time. It was not there one second, then too much to bear the next. She was used to it, feeling it every time she left to carry out her responsibilities, but this time, it came from their son.

Agatha read it in her face, and her body became so weak she almost fainted. "No," was all she could muster up.

But the green witch could not take her eyes off the boy, for a battle arose inside her. Her first instinct was to take his soul, to feed on his doom the way she always had; but the mother in her, the one that had brought him to life, wanted nothing more than to save him.

Agatha saw it, just like a wolf about to claim its prey, and she got in between her wife and their boy. "No," she threatened this time.

"Mamá, ayúdame," called the boy.

That was all she needed to snap out of it. Her pupils returned to normal and her body started to tremble. The only thing lighting the room was the moon, and its shine was not enough to allow the witches to see properly, so Rio went looking for a candle to examine their boy, letting Agatha know she was back. After only a few seconds of inspecting his face, they both saw the rash, ever so mild, that appeared by his mouth.

Smallpox, an illness well known by Rio. So simple, so common, yet impossible to cure.

"I will not allow this to be," said the green witch, giving their son's hand a squeeze before she stood up.

Agatha stopped her right before she left the room. "Not tonight," she pleaded, but Rio was determined to leave.

"He needs help. I have to find a way to help him."

"Look at him," she ordered, and Rio did as told. The boy trembled and cried, looking back at her. He weakly lifted his arm under the blanket and pleaded for her to return to his side. "All you can do for him tonight is hold him. All he needs right now is company. Tomorrow, when the sun comes out again, we can think of what to do."

Agatha was right. Even if she could travel the whole world in one night, it would not be enough to find an answer to their problem. And so, though she wanted to remedy his ailment right away, she returned to the bed. She grew some betel leaves for the boy to chew on, and once his headache subsided, he hid in Agatha's chest for the rest of the night.

When morning came, his body was stronger and his fever had given out a little, but the rash had spread to his left cheek. He tried having breakfast, but could not hold it down for too long. He went to sleep again, hugging Señor Scratchy for comfort, and both witches got down to business immediately.

"I will bring you as many books as I can find. You will search in text and I will in tale," declared Rio.

"Where will you go first?" queried Agatha, helping her wife with her cape.

"South Asia, I've seen the most success there. Then England."

"I will not take my eyes off him," countered the younger witch.

"Will you call for me if something happens?"

"I would not dare not do so."

Rio tore the whole world apart looking for a cure. She visited every continent, every small village and big town, every country and every culture; she disguised to ask every mother and consult every doctor she thought could help. She would leave in the morning, after their son fell asleep again, and return late at night. Agatha spent her days reading so much her eyes would stop working at times; sometimes books, sometimes journals.

Cold treatment, multiple herbs, medicated cloths. They tried every remedy they found, but the rash spread and grew relentlessly. Three, six, ten days went by. The boy begged for Rio to stay with him, but she was willing to break his heart if it meant saving his life.

They were so caught up in trying to keep their son, that they lost the only time they had left with him. Nicholas deteriorated quickly, and it was impossible to turn back time once they realized their mistake. The first snow of the year fell gently outside their cabin on the twelfth day of contagion as both witches hugged their boy tightly, knowing this was their last day in heaven and their first in hell. It had been seven years and eight months since Death cried human tears for the first time, but she could not help doing so again as Nicholas slipped away from their fingers. Agatha, however, refused to cry in front of their son and instead moved her thumb up and down his cheek—riddled with the rash.

To Nicholas, he was merely going to sleep. He was tucked in, with his bunny sound asleep in his arms and his mothers next to him like every night since he needed the crib no more. He felt safe and loved and had no idea his illness was about to take him.

"Mama, my story, please," he asked—his voice raspy and feeble—burying himself deeper into Agatha's embrace.

They told him the story of the witches' road all over again, just like they had done every night for three years. Breathing became more and more difficult for him as they did so, to the point where his wheezes were loud enough to hear. Rio felt every second of it, she felt him getting further and further away until there was only a string connecting him to this world, but he still looked at her and asked for his favorite song.

She could not allow him to go without it, she could not allow him to go without singing it to him one last time, so—with all her strength—she held onto that last string of life. It was excruciating and she could not do it for long, but still, she and Agatha sang the song to the very end.

Agatha could see the strain in Rio's face, so she spoke quickly. "Nicky, we have a surprise for you. We conjured the road. It is real. It was real all along. You were too small to go, but you are a big boy now, so we decided it was finally time you visit it. Only two witches can go at a time, so you and Mamá will go together and I will stay here, waiting until you get back."

The child smiled as best he could. "Can we go after I wake up? I'm not feeling good." He said with his very last breath.

"Of course, my boy. We will go after you wake up," said Rio.

And so she let go, wanting nothing more than to keep holding him in place forever. Agatha allowed the knot that had formed in her throat to finally give way for the tears then, and Rio allowed her to hold the body completely, for she still had one more chance to say goodbye. He was on the other side, sound asleep, waiting for her to go collect him.

Once she stood up to meet him, Agatha stopped her from leaving the room by grabbing her hand, still gripping their boy tightly with the other. She knew nothing could be done—Rio had explained a thousand times how the connection could not be restored—but she still begged. "My love, please. Please, he's too young."

Something changed in the green witch's chest. She could feel her heart still beating, but it shrunk, rotted—turned completely black. "I have no choice."

She crossed between, finding Nicholas alone in his bed with his eyes closed and a pleasant expression on his face, now completely rid of the rash. She smiled at the sight of him, a gesture filled with sadness, and woke him.

He stretched like he always had, smiling at his mother as he yawned. He covered his face with the blanket once again, refusing to get up.

"Five more minutes, mamá. Then we can go on the road."

"Nicky," she called, and the boy peeked his eyes over the fabric. "We are already here."

He was sitting up in a second, looking around. "This is my room."

"Look outside," she ordered, and he ran to his window.

She had made it for him. It was just another one of her abilities—to shape the path to her will, to make the deceased more comfortable—. Usually, she did not bother with such frivolities, for humans did not deserve them, but her boy did. Their cabin now sat in the middle of a forest with trees of all colors and a trail of tulip petals that marked the way they needed to go. The sun shined brightly and the birds sang all around. This is how he had imagined it, how he drew it, how he described it every night.

Nicholas gasped, unable to contain his excitement. "Let's go! Let's go! Let's go!" he grabbed her hand and dragged her outside their home. The air was warm and the river's song was louder than ever as they walked barefoot over the petals.

There were no trials waiting for them, but instead, a straight road ahead. They both could see the light at the very end, getting closer and closer with every step. Rio stopped in her tracks, not wanting to continue, and the boy frowned.

"Mamá, what are you doing? Vamos!"

"Nicky, can I carry you?" she pleaded.

"I'm not a baby anymore," he crossed his arms over his chest.

"I know." she crouched to his level, "but I promise this will be the last time I ever ask to do it."

He agreed, and she carried him through to his death with the same hands that helped him arrive into the world. She walked slowly, letting him admire the plants around him, and kissed his head every few seconds.

When they finally reached the light, she put him down gently. They both stood in front of it, admiring its greatness. Rio dreaded it and wanted nothing more than to extinguish it forever, but Nicholas was eager to go in. He felt it too now—the end—and his face showed pure confusion.

"You are not coming with me, are you?" he asked.

Despite common misconception, Death is only the bridge between worlds. Rio Vidal was merely the guide, but she, just like anyone else, couldn't reach anyone after they entered the other side. This would be the last time she saw her son, too.

"No."

"I understand now. I know who you are," he added.

The road was not granting Rio her deepest desire, but making her worst fear come true. The tears that followed were impossible to avoid, but Nicholas made sure to wipe them right away.

"Are you scared of me?"

He did not answer with words, but instead jumped into her arms to hug her. She received him gladly, and when he broke the embrace, she made sure to take his features in the same way she had done when he was born, for she did not want to forget how he looked like. It was already time for him to leave, but she was not strong enough to suggest it.

He felt the light calling, and the urge to go in grew bigger with every second. "I have to go now. Take care of Mama, okay?"

She could not help but smile at his words. "I promise I will. I love you, Nicky, more than anything. We both do."

"I love you, too. Give her a kiss for me", he requested, leaving another one in Rio's cheek.

Though she wanted to close her eyes, she did not take them off him until the brightness engulfed him completely. Only then, the bond that had formed that first time she felt him growing in Agatha's stomach, broke completely, and it was worse than any human pain would ever be. It was so debilitating she contemplated never moving again, but Agatha was waiting for her on the other side, so she crawled back to her.

Sitting on her porch chair, Agatha waited for Rio with tears in her eyes. She ran to embrace her wife when she appeared in front of her again, and they did not dare enter the cabin, for their son's corpse was waiting for them inside. They wept and wailed the whole night, never letting go of the other, and when Agatha fell asleep in her arms, Rio begged the sky to let her do the same just once, but it did not budge.

When the sun tinted their faces alight, Agatha dragged her feet inside Nicholas' room and brought him to the garden, where Death took care of the part of her job she never bothered to stay for: She buried her son. They put him under the Bearded Irises, giving him his botany journal and some of his drawings of the road, and before she covered him with dirt with her Purple, Rio took a lock of his hair for Agatha to put in her locket—the one she had taken from her mother so long ago—so she could keep him close forever, then gave her the kiss Nicholas sent her before leaving.

Only Death and love can change all things, and the son they gave to Agatha and Rio, they also had to take.

#wuh luh wuh #wlw #lesbian #wlw love #agathario #salem agathario #agatha all along #agatha harkness #rio vidal #agatha x rio #nicholas scratch #agathario as parents #fanfic

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howler-moon · 1 month ago

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Caitlyn Arcan.......

I'm currently dying of the flu all that's keeping me alive is thinking about arcane because my head hurts if I look at bright colours for too long or listen to anything with more than three syllables. (Update after writing I genuinely don't understand my original point for writing this im so out of it but its too much to not post now so i think i just wanted to info dump about caitlyn because i NEED ACT THREE I NEED IT NOW PLEASE PLEASE PLEAE PLEAS)

Anyway I do believe some people are missing that its not just Cassandra's death that is motivating Caitlyn to make the worst possible decisions known to man, although it is the thing that tips the scale for her. All this started way back in S1 E4 when Jinx went to steal the Hextech research. While Caitlyn was on duty she blew up a building as a distraction, killing 6 of her colleagues and almost herself according to Jayce. This incident alone already seemed to shake her up as she spent the majority of her time recovering absolutely obsessing over the case and who the culprit is (Vi herself says "and I thought Power could get obsessed" upon seeing her research she was LOCKED IN). Branching off from this, this incident also almost cost Caitlyn her job, something she has fought tooth and nail for against her mother's wishes and barely gets any respect in the field despite being like the only Enforcer who was good or even cared about her job (RIP Grayson). Say what you will about the Enforcers whether you don't care or despise what they stand for but you can't deny how important that job is to Caitlyn. Its her main source of independence ("she'd do anything to keep me from seeing the real world") and being forced to work behind a desk because of Jinx's attack would absolutely destroy her.

Skipping ahead to episode 9 we all know about the shower scene.......That shit is mad scary like hello?? It's like a direct parallel to the attack where she first met her as well. The smoke/steam clears and Caitlyn just looks up in dread to see Jinx's art sprawled across the wall. Except this time, instead of being some unfamiliar symbol out in the open, she knows what it means. She knows who it belongs to and that person is inside her home. In her bathroom no less, while she was brooding in the shower lmao. She genuinely could not be any more vulnerable in this situation and now she has been kidnapped and brought to some Mad Hatter esque tea party in some dingy run down factory in the middle of no where with the Silco and Vi causally tied up beside her. She's absolutely terrified too she flinches and begs Vi to the best of her ability not to shoot her, only for Jinx to go and threaten to do it instead. Keep in mind Caitlyn probably has no idea why Jinx wants her dead. Like she might have some idea but not to the level that the audience does simply because she is not informed by the humble dramatic irony. When she finally does break free Jinx ever so causally beats the shit out of her in the blink of an eye and of course to top it off once she wakes up again she's watching a nuke fly straight to her mother's exact location.

I don't think I need to explain why her mother dying would upset her. That was a massive blow (wayheyhey), and dramatically worsens the obsession we saw in S1. But the memorial.........guys think of the memorial........... Now let it be known to the court that this part was Ambessa's doing. Ambessa was the one who organised the attack on the memorial, but Cait doesn't know that. She wouldn't have taken Ambessa's offer if she did. To Caitlyn this is another thing Jinx has done, another attack directly on her for no reason other than to be cruel. To rub it in her face. Gassing the streets and engaging in police brutality is NOT the way to go trust me I was just as appalled as everyone at the start of S2 E3 like genuinely hand over my mouth saying "thats a war crime" to the screen over and over like she would hear me, but it did not come out of nowhere for no reason (whether good or bad). Caitlyn voices her frustration of "why is peace always the justification for violence" but she probably believes violence is a justification for violence considering her reactions to the memorial and Warwick's attack on Stillwater. She's not one to lead with violence but she will follow with it if properly provoked, and my god have people been provoking her. The time she shot Sevika, her initial hostility when captured by the Firelight's, up until The Grey, Cait has only responded violently when someone acted violently towards her/Vi. She only starts acting out first after the memorial but she still believes it's in response to what Jinx has done to her, even when it's people who have nothing to do with her. I think Ambessa further trains this response into her with their little spars as seen in S2 E6. When Huck jumpscares Caitlyn in S1 E6, she does pull her gun out on him yeah I'll give you that, but she doesn't do anything to him. It's more of a warning or means to defend herself as Vi is bleeding out on the floor behind her in this dingy little hole full of Shimmer addicts and she does talk it out with him. Whereas as season later in S2 E6, as soon as she sees Vi she does not hesitate she goes STRAIGHT for the kill, jumps down and fucking body slams her before even realizing who she was.

Anyway yeah I'm becoming ill again my point is, like every character in the show everything Cait has done has been building up since day one. It's not good that shes doing anything to get revenge but when you look at it from her perspective its like damn girl what did she do. Yes she's in a privileged position yes she works for the police but she's still human dawg how would you react to the situations she has been in. Mel is literally feeding into government corruption yall didn't care when she told Jayce to lay off with the Hex gate restrictions to keep the rich people happy and yall still love her (I love her too).

The parallels between Jinx and Cait go absolutely crazy they're both the same and on opposite sides of the spectrum at the same time. I understand why people prefer her more so than Cait, she's more of the underdog we've known her since she was a child and the majority of the things that happened to her happened when she was very young which makes it more tragic I am not denying that she is as relatable as a terrorist can get I love Jinx<333 Jinx my pookie Jinx my beloved <333 But I also love Caitlyn because she's silly and a girlfailure. My point is that I find it so weird that the Arcane fandom can hate a character for doing something bad and refuse to see their side of things when literally every character has done something bad if not worse and their side they have no trouble seeing/accepting. Except Ekko, Ekko genuinely has done nothing wrong in his life I've never met an Ekko hater in my life and if they exist I don't believe you.

If you're wondering what my opinion is on Jayce its that I appreciate what he adds to the story but I would hate to have a conversation with him. Not because I hate him but because I'm on my period right now and he would act like it's a cancer diagnosis

please dont hurnt me

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my-rose-tinted-glasses · 2 months ago

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This was the hardest monthly wrap up I ever had to do because I forgot about it until like two days ago and my brain is not at its best and I'm tired so I can't really write a lot. So anyway as usual, spoilers and opinions below, read at your own risk.

QL - Currently Watching

🇹🇼 Blue Canvas of Youthful Days [2/12] - I really like the look of this show and all the art. I'm not yet sold on the main couple as a possible item but I really like the characters individually. I adore the second couple. The scene with the hearing aid was beautiful and I like the fact that it's not about the couple. Perhaps in a bl from a different country this would be about them finally being able to communicate, but because Liu knows sign language, it's simply about helping Tan Yin. Don't know why but I really liked this.

🇰🇷🇹🇭 Eccentric Romance [8/12] - It's not the worst thing ever but at several points during the episodes I find myself asking, what am I watching?

🇹🇭 Every You, Every Me [4/8] - This show constantly surprises me. The different stories every week and the aspec rep was how they got me at first but now I'm invested in the meta and the absolutely adorable mains. And this show is just so gorgeous to watch.

🇹🇭 Fourever You [5/16] - Beautiful Pond. Cute Earth. I'm annoyed. Hopefully the next couple is better in terms of storyline.

🇹🇭 Jack & Joker [8/12] - Can they just get together first and then give me all the drama? I'm okay with that. I actually liked Love Mechanics, so give it to me. But Jack is all over the place with his behaviour, he says Joke is family and they seem to have a shared view of the future, and they sure behave as if they're a couple, but then he hides things from Joke, supposedly 'for his own good'. I feel for Joke, because he's being jerked around by Jack.

🇹🇭 Kidnap [8/12] - I love Ohm. And that is the one and only reason I'm still here.

🇰🇷 Let Free the Curse of Taekwondo [6/8] - I'm obsessed. I think about this show way too much. It's painful and beautiful, brilliant writing and visuals and I need it to be over but I don't want it to end. I think we're gonna have a second time skip since they are not in our present yet and I just want to see them happy.

🇰🇷 Love in the Big City [4/8] - Obsessed in a total different way. This story is like an open tab in my brain at all times. I'm dreaming of edits and gifsets. I think of Young and my chest tightens. I'm having a hard time writing about the second part of the show because it's just so much, although it feels lighter than the novel. I'm dreading the next part.

🇯🇵 Love is a Poison [7/10] - I love it here. Everything about it. This being Shiba's first love sure explains a lot, and the onsen date was amazing. I think the actors are nailing this.

🇹🇭 Peaceful Property [10/12] - I've said enough about it. I'm here for TayNew and trying to just ignore everything else.

🇹🇭 Perfect 10 Liners [1/24] - And so it begins. Every gmmtv boy is here and they are all playing engineers. They got two Flukes and everything. I wish Force wasn't once again an asshole jock and Book the clueless fool but I guess that's too much to ask. This is the couple I'm least interested here so I want to see the rest.

🇹🇼 See Your Love [3/13] - Taiwan just doing giving all the rep with disabled characters and as usual a parade of bl actors. It's fine for now.

🇯🇵 Smells like Green Spirit [6/9] - I love Mishima. I think the scenes with him and Kirino are always great. I'm still not totally on board with the romance but I'm somewhat fascinated with Yumeno.

QL - Finished

🇹🇼 First Note of Love - I feel like I need to rewatch this as a binge because I think this format didn't help this particular show. Although I like the mains and I really liked the actors, their romance never truly clicked for me. I need more of the sides. The language banter was my favourite thing about this.

🇹🇭 I Saw You In My Dream - This is super cute. They are all adorable and they actually communicate. Ultimately I was a little underwhelmed about the concept.

🇹🇭 Monster Next Door - It's fine. I like Big and he was great here. But I've already forgotten everything about this.

🇭🇰 Our Golden Times - I watched it. It was okay.

🇹🇭 Reverse 4 You - Pretty show. Good concept. Not great execution all the way through.

Dropped / On Hold

Waiting to binge - 🇹🇭 The Loyal Pin | 🇹🇭 Apple | 🇻🇳 Teenager Judge

Rose Watches OJBL

Same Difference aka Docchi mo Docchi (2014) - I don't even know what to say. It's not good. That's it.

Others - Watched

🇯🇵Densetsu no Head Sho| 🇰🇷Black Out | 🇯🇵Double

Upcoming Shows - November

As usual my ask box is open. Have a wonderful weekend💜

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spacelessbian · 2 months ago

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thoughts on Agatha All Along FINALE

Full spoilers ahead, 100% don't read if you haven't seen episodes 8 and 9.

I really enjoyed the finale, both episodes had a lot to offer and overall I am quite happy with how the show concluded. Things that I liked in no particular order:

The REVEALS. There is simply nothing better than a reveal that recontextualizes everything. And we didn't get just one, but two! Personally I found Agatha running a con and murdering women for centuries the more fun one, but Billy actually creating the Road was also really good and even though I've only seen the show once (unlike many people on here, no doubt), I can name many points in the story and in the dialogue where this is worked in and suddenly makes sense. Really great stuff.

Agatha and Nicky. I was dreading this part a little bit because I know Nicholas Scratch is some sort of big name in Marvel comics and I truly couldn't care less, so I'm pleased with what we got – a genuinely sweet yet tragic story of a mom and her son, destined to death even before being born. I was surprised (but in a good way) by Agatha's quiet reaction to Nicky's death because we know his death hurt her badly, but that's just how it is sometimes.

Agatha and Rio. I won't say I'd always had fate in Marvel to not mess this up, so yay! I don't think they did. This relationship is the heart of the show (and it is black and beats for the queers) and I think the writers did it justice (apart from one thing which I will get to in the next section). The kiss was intense, sexy, beautiful and also tragic and both Kathryn Hahn and Aubrey Plaza did a fantastic job with every piece of dialogue and every expression. I want them to play doomed lovers in five more projects, at least.

The coven. I already blogged about Jen but man, is it funny. Even this was Agatha all along, but she is such a menace she hasn't even realized that. I'm truly happy for Jen making it through and getting her power back. I'm glad we saw Alice's last moment and I liked how much Billy cared about her, Lilia and Sharon.

Agatha's death. I can't help myself, I need to go to that moment again. I was destroyed by that. It was so beautiful, both thematically and also visually and all. The flowers and mushrooms? The sun coming up? I kept thinking about Hozier's Work Song: When my time comes around, lay me gently in the cold dark earth. No grave can hold my body down. I'll crawl home to her. (whadup, Rio reference)

Agatha and Billy specifically in that last battle scene. She was blue you guys, she was just completely blue and in the exact same blue that Billy wears in his silly Marvel costume. And Billy just offered her his power, without questions and without wanting anything in return! And she didn't kill him! (Writing that down, the bar is on the floor for Agatha lol.)

There are other small things (like the Subaru lol), but I am ready to go to the bad section now. Two things I did not like (hidden for lenght but also because not everyone wants to read negative stuff):

Agatha's ghost. I'm gonna say it. Agatha as a ghost looks fucking terrible and her existence itself diminishes her death scene. I do understand why they did it and even why she looks like that (Agatha in the comics, as I understand it, is Wanda's mentor and also an older white haired lady, so they wanted to keep that but it didn't make sense with Wanda anymore), but I just hate it. Especially the wig.

The Marvel stuff. Yes, I realize this sounds stupid, it is a Marvel show after all. We wouldn't get a stupid gimmick like ghost Agatha joining Billy to look for his brother if this wasn't a starting point for the Wiccan. And I like Billy, I do, I also (obviously) love Agatha, who was first introduced in WandaVision (I realize the hypocrisy), but it just doesn't work for me. I would rather think about the beautiful death scene with it's poetic tragedy than about white haired Agatha floating on a washing machine, I'm sorry.

That being said, I really really liked the whole show and I am happy to say I hooked in my best friend (if you are reading this, you are contractually obliged to like the post, you know how it is) and that I actually know other people irl who watched it and enjoyed it. I'm sad it's over and even sadder that in this day and age, noone will talk about it in about two to three weeks. Anyway, it was lovely.

#agatha all along #agatha harkness #rio vidal #nicholas scratch #billy maximoff #agatha spoilers #agatha all along spoilers #no hate please #this is just my personal opinion

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leconcombrerit · 10 months ago

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A warm hug to Non, or when are we going to stop demanding perfection from victims

It's been forever since I thought about making this post but I've finally decided to write the goddamn thing.

Three disclaimers : one, I haven't yet managed to get past the first third of episode 9, so this whole thing is based on episodes 1-8 at best. Two, I'll block on sight again if I see victim blaming on this post. Finally, I'm by no means an expert on the subject. It's complex, I might get things wrong and I'll have to oversimplify at times for clarity and brevity's sake, please don't kill me for it. It's probably gonna be long enough as it is. I've tried my best to organize my thoughts in a way that would make sense, but. Well. I hope it does.

Trigger warning for mention of suicide, bullying, grooming, sexual assault, rape

Non started as the poor little baby everyone wanted to protect -both the audience and Jin ; for all the shit he got after filming Non and Keng, there are a lot of parallels to draw between him and the audience. Then the dreaded episode 7 happened and all hell broke loose. I won't include screenshots of the disgusting things I read from some viewers about Non, but Jin's reaction is pretty telling already.

The easy explanation would be that he's mad Non isn't returning his feelings, but I think it has more to do with Non not fitting his 'good victim' role anymore. There's sadness on his face, but the dominants are anger and betrayal. Non tries to regain agency and gets crucified for it.

So what's a good victim ?

Non, basically

If you want an examplary blueprint of what society defines as a good victim and survivor, someone worth justice, defending and loving, just take a look at Non. I broke it down in four marks that need to be checked :

-Innocence : none of the person's action prompted the abuse -Moral high ground : the person has values and displays kindness -Helplessness : the person cannot do anything about the situation they're stuck in -Accepting to be saved : self-explanatory. The person has to accept the help that's offered to them, traditionally by a love interest

Non is abused for being poor, something he's not responsible for. He's hardworking, honest, passionate about the things he loves and commits to his engagements. He's kind when talking with Jin. He's resilient in the face of the gang's bullying. None of what he could do or say would make it stop, neither can he help owing Por for a camera he hasn't broken nor get out of Tee's pyramid scheme. His mental illness only increases this impression of vulnerability. Jin doesn't have all these elements, but he's got more than enough to paint a very similar picture of Non as the audience.

As for accepting help, Jin repeatedly offers some -and Non finally lets him in during their conversation on the rooftop. What Jin offers may be little but it's still help ; Non smiles and even gives Jin a shove -what I think is the only time he initiates contact with Jin at all.

"Thank you so much, Jin, for helping me all along." "It's alright, I'm glad to. I just want to see you smile again, Non."

The audience gets even more of Non being happy and grateful to be saved : he calls his "♥" contact for help multiple times, smiles at the reminder to take his meds and, later on, clings to Phee for dear life after trying to kill himself. He doesn't fight him, he doesn't reach for the scattered pills. Hell, even accepting Tee's offer to make money could count as Non agreeing to be saved by everyone around him.

Non checks all the marks. Everyone in the audience is rooting for him, the other boys can all go get impaled on a branch, and Jin looks at him like he hung and lit all the stars in the sky.

Speaking of the other boys...

Tee and Por victims as well but don't get the same amount of sympathy, if any. Tee isn't responsible for being stuck in a criminal environment and can't get out of it ; no one has offered help, so he gets a pass. But he's been shown to be selfish, opportunist, often cowardly and sometimes gratuitously cruel.

As for Por, it's even worse : every actions he takes seems to confirm his dad's opinion of him. The only mark he ticks is accepting to be saved by his mother, which looks very bad taken on its own. I made a post about Por not too long ago if you want more.

The only way for them to redeem themselves and go from 'horrible people who should die' to 'maybe they don't suck they're my poor little meow meows' is penitence. Take Por ; he's the archetype of the rich son who gets abused by his dad and suffers from having so much money. Just like Kang in Dangerous Romance, or Tanthai in Laws of Attraction. Tee ? I don't have names from the top of my head, but he's that hardened jaded guy stuck in a mafiosi network who has to learn to love and be loved again (enters White). Yet the audience learnt to root for these characters.

Basically, nothing is set in stone. Your status as a good or bad victim can shift depending on your actions and the way they're framed. The usual narrative is to get those characters to grow into the acceptable victim pattern. DFF however is going for reverse development (Non, Jin) or stagnation (Por, Tee, Fluke). It makes for gritty yet very realistic storylines ; and while I'm the first to yell that the masked figures should get their ass stat, I also recognize that there's much more complexity to them than this. Except Top. I have yet to come up with a good explanation for what they're doing with Top, but I will at some point.

How did Non fall from grace if he's such a good example ?

Three points : Phee, the paradox of the demand for Non to seek agency but not too much, and his inacceptable betrayal.

Phee as a magnifying factor

I love this kid to bits but Phee's appearance in the flashbacks concurs with Non's flawless image being torn to shreds for a reason. He's a good, strong and caring person who loves and tries to protect Non -something the audience has wanted to do for weeks ; so we all gathered behind Phee and made him our emissary, carrying out the impossible task outsiders to the series' world couldn't : saving Non.

Since Phee voices the questions and concerns of the audience, we are Phee to an extent. Betraying Phee means betraying the hope and love and care the audience has for Non. Phee is the series' moral compass by that point. I'm sure you see where I'm going with this. If not, consider it's a surprise tool that will help us later. When Phee gets hurt by Non or decides he'd be better off lost and dead.

For the record, in this poll Phee gets even fewer votes than White

Seek agency, but not too much

Discontent starts to rise with the helplessness point first as viewers start to question why Non doesn't ditch the group. Why he's putting himself through such trouble. Non changes from being subjected to others' action to being the subject in a grammatical sense. Yet Non has hiw own reasons to stay (how much does the movie mean to him ? How many hours and sleepless nights on the script ? How long would it take for him to find another chance to get enough funding ? How big of a dream is it for him ?). It's the first occurence of the audience claiming to know best what's good for Non.

Complaints quiet down when Non does try to leave for good only to be stopped by Jin. We saw him try, we saw him fail, he really couldn't leave so he's off the hook.

Jin also makes sure Non remains a perfect victim by bringing him back into the group. I'm not accusing Jin of trying to make Non suffer on purpose ; he's a good guy at heart, come fight me to death on this hill. But the only way for him to exist in Non's life is to remain a savior of sorts. If Non leaves, there's nothing to save him from. Which brings us to my next point.

Non must try to solve things by himself, sure. But not too much. Because when you thrash to regain control of your life, you might break a few things in the process. Especially if you have to wrest it away from well-intentioned but firm hands.

He rejected Jin's offers to help numerous times. He looked anything but thrilled when Phee put himself in danger to clear his name. He refused to change schools at first, only to begrudgingly agree when Phee insisted. This insistence is the heart of the matter : Phee is sure he knows best, so he bulldozes through Non's objections and hesitation : he doesn't consult him before asking his dad for help, he speaks in his place when Non doesn't answer his proposal, he puts the bracelet on his wrist. He asks him if he's taken his meds, just in case.

Phee has the audience's benediction in doing so. Part of it stems from our knowledge of future events : we know it's going to end bad for Non. We know he has to get the fuck out. We know whatever decision he makes will be a bad one. Kids and teenagers as a whole are often deemed unable, or not mature enough to make informed decisions anyway. Just look at Non's mother telling him to prioritize his studies so he can go abroad like his brother. Multiply it tenfold for people with mental illnesses ; they get babied on a daily basis. So Non cannot, I can't emphasize it enough, cannot do anything.

All of the above end with Phee getting his way. Non can't win against him, so he chooses to lie instead.

Aside from willing to be in charge of his own life, Non's refusal to let Phee help is also rooted in love and fear. While Phee would offer him an easy way out as he did for the bank accounts, it would most likely only be easy for Non and put Phee in danger. Both their survivals are held in that curt 'no'.

He's already straight up refused help, and now he loses the moral highground by lying (to his perfect holy savior Phee of all people). From here on out, any action he takes will be his -which is what Non wanted ; it's his life, and he won't be a bystander in it. But it also means that he jumped off the pedestal he'd been put on to land on thin ice.

And guess what, Non is a multi-dimentional character in a difficult situation who weighs more than a poor little damsel in distress. Of course said ice cracks. And the Non hate train gets started.

The betrayal

Lying and refusing help to go get it from the worst place he could have had was bad enough. But sleeping with his teacher while he had a boyfriend (Phee, for heaven's sake) ? Unforgivable. Cheating is the BL equivalent of every cardinal sin, the worst of the worst, and no matter the circumstances you'll get roasted for it.

And yet there are circumstances. One, especially, and it's called motherfucking grooming. I won't elaborate on this point cause I've done it over and over already, but Non was groomed by an adult. Does he see things that way ? Probably not. In his mind he's in control of the situation. He can lie to Phee about it because there's no reason for it to backfire. He does what he has to if he wants to save himself, using he one weapon he has : his body. It's cheating, but cheating in a game rigged for you to lose.

Society has two opinions about sex. It's either holy or gross. Take Jin, for instance.

See the look on his face. He's heartbroken, he's sad, he'll live through it. Witnessing Non having sex with his teacher when he has a boyfriend ? Now that's another story. That's a betrayal.

A betrayal of what, exactly ?

Of this goddamn image Jin had painted of Non. The same the audience was given to see prior to these events : Non was perfect and loveable and worth defending, an innocent, pure, helpless baby in need of saving. So when the illusion shatters in what society and especially BL culture hold as the worst action possible, people feel fooled. Stupid, if you will. And they turn their hatred to Non. Non lied to us ! He pretended to be good, dear god, to think I loved such filth ! My heart is so dirty now, ew.

But Non didn't lie. He lied to Phee, but that's it. Everything else was expectations and assumptions. Fail to meet them and suddenly everything is your fault. It's Non's fault for refusing to be dragged along in his own life anymore, Non's fault for lying in order to get some control, Non's fault for lying again not to lose Phee when caught by surprise, Non's fault for listening to Jin, Non's fault for resorting to use his only weapon to get out of a situation he was cornered in, Non's fault for being tricked into thinking any of the decisions he made regarding Keng were his own, Non's fault for everything.

He wanted to claim his life back and made a mistake, yes. He doubled-down on it when he realized it was too much for him to handle. He clung to it and did his best to keep it together. He dared not to be the perfect victim he was supposed to be ; to try when everyone knew he was bound to fail. And you know what, sometimes there's stuff that's someone's fault, consequences they didn't foresee, things they said, slips and falls, and they're still victims, just as much as they were before.

I believe that dealing with his debt himself is as important to Non as finishing the movie is. He's ready to be used and abused (by Keng in the former, the group for the latter) and to break his own heart, values, pride and sanity. He's the most resilient and dedicated character in the show to me.

But the world doesn't necessarily see it that way. So when Non realizes the mess he's made of everything, he fights Keng (who represents his desperate and violent search for complete independence) to reach for the bracelet he got from Phee. He wants help. He needs it. But he's not a victim anymore and any help is denied.

Both Phee and Jin later manage to reconcile their broken image of Non with the man he actually is. Too late to save him, but they still did. I have a hunch that things would have been different if Phee had beat up Keng and taken a crying Non in his arms, holding him tight while whispering none of it was his fault. But our moral compass fucked up, like the hurt kid he is.

What some people did by blaming and hating on Non is closer to the hateful comments he got on the video than Phee or Jin's reactions. They're far worse.

That's the big takeout. What if we stopped stigmatizing or idealizing sex ? What if we stopped demanding perfection and so-called purity for someone's trauma and status as a human being not to be negated ?

Anyway, here's a hug to Non and every victim who live in the paralyzing fear of a single slip. You can make mistakes just like the rest of us. You don't owe anyone perfection.

I'll end this rant on a bright, happy smile. I don't see a good ending for Non, but god knows he'd deserve it.

#I tried to structure it a bit #key word is try #I was angrily typing it and working with a word salad #I hope I didn't lose sight of my point halfway through #but whether I rambled on or not I needed to write it #cause I'm tired of people sorting victims out and choosing who gets respect and justice #and who doesn't #dead friend forever #dff the series #I spent too long on this gotta go shower now

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sundrop-writes · 2 months ago

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Sundrop's Spooky Fics

So because Halloween is coming up, I decided to put together a rec list of my fics that are perfect for Halloween - none of these are really directly Halloween themed, but they have Halloween or spooky vibes. I divided them up between fics that are on Tumblr and fics that are on AO3 because my account is archive locked so you do need an AO3 account to read those fics. Either way, I hope you enjoy some of these fics if it is your first time reading them!

Blood In The Water - Void!Stiles x Fem!Reader (Teen Wolf) (11,700 words)

Being Stiles’s best friend, you are incredibly worried about him when you figure out that he is quite literally not himself - and that the thing currently occupying his body could be destroying it in the process. When you approach him to show this concern, Void takes a particular interest in you. He’s not capable of love, or even fondness, but he likes you. And he likes the way your fear spikes when you talk about Stiles. So he makes you a deal - he’ll agree to take care of this fleshy, mortal host, in exchange for something more precious, more rare, and more delicious than the meal you have brought for Stiles. He wants your pain. He wants your tears. Void!Stiles Stilinski x Fem!Reader. Pining Best Friends. Extreme Emotional Angst, Hurt No Comfort. Set during Season 3 (with flashbacks to Season 1, Episode 11).

Recently posted, and one of the most 'Halloween' fics I have ever written. Very angsty, very spooky. Great if you are looking for some great emotional Halloween dread - like the kind that a horror movie would bring. It was one of my favourites to write, and I hope you guys enjoy reading it.

Precious Time Alone - Gar Logan x Fem!Reader (DC Titans) (11,800 words)

Even with the ability to see the future, you never would have guessed that your life would lead you to falling in love with the perfect man - someone sweet, caring, funny, cute. Someone with the passion and fire to protect the ones that he loves no matter what. A precious guy with green hair who had the ability to transform into a tiger at will. And when you finally made love to him for the first time, you never could have guessed how that unique ability affected his sex life. You weren’t exactly complaining, but you wished you had seen this coming. At the end of the day, it was just another thing about him to love. Or - Neither you nor Gar knew that he has the ability to knot, and you both find out for the first time when you have sex together. Gar Logan x Fem!Powered!Reader. Established Relationship. Smut/PWP. Set during Season 2, Episode 9.

I put this strictly on the list because it is in the style of A/B/O (even though it's not technically A/B/O, because the reader character is technically human) - because what is Halloween without a little monster fucking? I need to write more monster fucking lmao. Anyway, I love this fic and I love this fic so much - and I hope you will too.

Need - Daryl Dixon x Fem!Reader (The Walking Dead) (3,000 words)

Daryl comes back from a run acting strangely needy, and you find out that Zach made him jealous. (You may have to thank Zach later.) Or - Daryl fucks your brains out to prove to himself that you’re his. Daryl Dixon x Fem!Reader. Established Relationship. Smut/PWP. Set during early Season 4/The Prison Era.

What would Halloween be without some TWD? There is much 'spookiness' to this one, aside from the fact that it's technically set during a zombie apocalypse - it's just pure porn. But whenever I think of Halloween, I do get the urge to watch TWD, so I had to have my boy Daryl in here somewhere.

Damn The Man, Save The Empire (Five Nights At Freddy's) (6,100 words)

Vanessa has always taken care of you. Since the two of you were kids, she has put her neck on the line for you, and you rarely knew how to return that epic kindness. One night, while both of you are raw and on-edge, the dark cloud of your strange past looming over both of you nearly swallows both of you whole - and once again, Vanessa is right there, taking care of you. (Dark)Dom!Vanessa Shelly x Sub!Gender Neutral Reader. Toxic Co-Dependent Relationship. Smut and Angst. Takes place before the main timeline of the film.

The main spooky thing about this one is the fact that Vanessa is very much a sociopath in this, and who doesn't love a dark fantasy where a serial killer fucks your brains out. I really need to write more fics like this, because this one was so much fun to write - I love writing dark characters to their extreme.

Ghosting - Mike Schmidt x Fem!Reader (Five Nights At Freddy's) (3,700 words)

Mike has been in love with you for as long as he can remember. For about as long as the two of you have been best friends. He always thought he would have more time to work up to confessing those big, dangerous feelings for you - until something more dangerous swooped in and stole any time he had left with you. Mike Schmidt x Fem!Reader. Star-Crossed Lovers. Pure Angst. Set during the events of the movie.

Again, this is one that brings horror movie dread - I think that angst is really great for Halloween, especially because this is based off a great Halloween movie. This won't be for everyone because it doesn't have a happy ending, but if you are looking for something very angsty, I hope you enjoy reading this.

These next ones are on AO3, and like I mentioned, my account is archive locked, so you will need an AO3 account to view these fics. But I think they are really great and deserve a shout out too. Also, these fics don't have covers that have been made by me (except for one lmao) - so thanks to Tumblr's gif search system for these ones.

Hold Me Tight Or Don't - Glenn Rhee x Fem!Reader x Maggie Greene (The Walking Dead) (7,200 words)

Everyone should get one last wish. Right? Well, that’s not exactly something you wanted to be thinking of in the middle of a musty old prison library when you have a pack of Walkers crawling up your ass. But you’ll work with what you’ve got. And you have the loves of your life at your disposal and the remaining time that God has given you. Glenn Rhee x Fem!Reader x Maggie Greene. Established Relationship. Major Character Death. Smut and Heavy Angst. Set during Season 3, Episode 4.

This one I put on the list because of the mixture of angst, gore, and smut. I love fics that have a mixture of gore and sex (it's something that I really should do more often) because I feel like sex and death really have such a natural relationship. And this one, unlike the Daryl fic, really brings the zombie aspect to the forefront. It's one of my favourite fics I have ever written, and I think it is perfect for the spooky Halloween mood.

No Brainer - Derek Cho (Steven Yeun) x Fem!Reader x Melanie Cross (Samara Weaving) (Mayhem (2017)) (7,100 words)

When the ID-7 Virus, aka the Red Eye Virus hits Towers and Smythe Consulting, it throws the entire office building into chaos. With a mandatory quarantine from the CDC in action, that chaos builds in on itself, and somehow, you, Derek, and Melanie get everything that you want. aka You have something Derek and Melanie need. Derek and Melanie have something you want. You all agree to make an exchange, and everyone ends up more than happy. Derek Cho (Steven Yeun) x Fem!Reader x Melanie Cross (Samara Weaving). Strangers to Lovers. Smut. Set during the canon of the film Mayhem.

This one is perfect for Halloween because it's based off of an amazing horror movie. Also, it's no coincidence that there's two Steven Yeun fics on fics on this list. He looks really good covered in blood.

Arms Tonite - Bee (Samara Weaving) x GN!Reader (The Babysitter (2017)) (2,100 words)

Sunrise is fast approaching with every second that ticks by - another second you spend with Bee, another second you lose in the fight to gain more time with her. The deal you had made was impossible to complete, and the Devil was eager to get his claws on your immortal soul. But of course, Bee was brewing up some plans of her own. Bee x Gender Neutral Reader. Friends to Lovers. Angst/Horror. Set outside the events of canon.

This was one of my first shorter fics, and I am still really proud of it. Also, it's great for Halloween cause it involves literal human sacrifice. This was actually one of my first fics to experiment with major gore and violence elements - which was largely inspired by the film. And I would love to write a longer (smut) fic with Bee sometime. I love her character so much and I feel like she is so underappreciated.

Very Good Bad Thing - Antisepticeye x Fem!Demon!Reader (8,200 words)

Valentine's Day is a busy time for you, seeing as you're a sex demon, and you close most of your deals when people are feeling lonely and vulnerable. Of course, Anti just had to interrupt you. To give you his stupid... "present". Anti x Fem!Reader. Exes to Lovers/Frenemies. Smut and Gore.

So, technically this is a Valentine's day fic - because I got the idea that I wanted to post a seasonal fic on Valentine's day on one of my old blogs and this monstrosity came to mind. But this fic is a heavy mixture of gore and smut, so I feel like it would be perfect for Halloween too. This is actually my first ever smut fic that included any gore (and it's my only youtuber ego fic, though I would like to write more of them, because they are so much fun) - and I had so much fun writing it. I love writing about demons and characters who are amoral on their basis, because there is no rules. And that just makes it so much fucking fun.

Anyway, if you read any of these fics, I hope you enjoy them! And I hope you have fun and have a great Halloween!!

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dapper-lil-arts · 4 months ago

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You know, everytime I see an argument about rather or not Cozy Glow deserved a redemption arc, I always remember that the only reason Discord got one is because Celestia claimed that she had use for his power. And yet I can't think of a time when his powers were actually put to use to help all of Equestria until we got this in the season 9 premiere:

Discord: Listen to me. You don't need me. You don't need the princesses, and you certainly don't need the Elements. Fluttershy, you will always be kind. Applejack, you will always be honest. Rarity, you'll always be generous. And Rainbow Dash will be loyal as can be. Pinkie will always bring laughter wherever she goes. And Twilight you are and always will be the embodiment of magic. You lost sight of what's in front of you. You're here, together, willing to give everything you've got for Equestria. Nothing and nopony can ever take that away from you, because that's who you are.

Of course his speech was bs considering what he was doing behind the scenes throughout season 9. Anyway, Cozy Glow definitely deserved better.

watching that episode pisses me off in retrospect because he put sombra there. He set everything up and hurt so many people and he was the only person that wasn't in danger, all for some kind of rehearsed speech that is pointless when twilight's friends die of old age.

And knowing that he actually influenced and tricked Cozy Glow, yknow, a kid, into becoming worse and more evil n shit all for the sake of giving twilight a final boss?

I have no goddamn clue what the writers were thinking but jeez its weird!!!! Like, the most ironic thing is that they could have maintained the entire finale, if they only changed Discords motivation. Like, hear me out: he's a reformed villan, he knows he can change. So why wouldn't they want to help others change too? what if he tried getting those 3 bad guys to be friends just so they'd see what theyre missing out on and try to be better? You immediately make it so that he had good intentions and made a mistake

but nope! goddamn he just did everything because he WANTED insane chaos and dreadful stakes because the show needed a final boss!!! THATS WEIRD I digress, those final seasons be the final seasons. Twilight shouldn't have been a solo ruler, yall know my stance.

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peachiejeongin · 26 days ago

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The Phantoms Part 2: Wake Up | Bang Chan

Synopsis: It was supposed to be a huge night for Chan, Changbin, and Han; they would be playing their biggest show yet at the Orpheum! Yet, it all slipped from their grasp within a matter of a few seconds, as all three passed away just hours before the show. What happens when they end up on their old garage floor and meet a someone who can make their dreams come true again?

Pairing: phantom!Bang Chan x fem!reader [Occurs somewhat in this chapter]

Genre: Julie and the Phantoms/3RACHA AU, Crack, Angst, Fluffy Moments

Warnings: Mentions of death, grief and loss of a parent, slight bullying

Notice: Hello, my loves! I decided to split episode one into two chapters so it would not be as long! I feel as if this part is a bit repetitive and perhaps a tad rushed, so I do apologize :,) I would also like to clarify that a few aspects of the plot have been edited or removed to fit the concept of this imagine and for brevity! As always, I do NOT own the rights to 'Julie and the Phantoms,' nor any of its characters!!! Enjoy the story!

"Alright, we have one final performance. Y/n?"

The sound of your name snapped you out of your daydream, your pen freezing mid-doodle on the back of your sheet music. The teacher's eyes were fixed on you, expectant and unyielding. Panic shot through your chest like a jolt of electricity. You had been counting on the bell to save you, to delay your performance just one more day; however, it seemed as if luck was not on your side.

Growing up, you loved music; your mom, ever so patient and passionate, had taught you how to play every instrument possible, from piano to guitar even going so far as to learn a few drum beats to turn you into the ultimate musical prodigy. Of the plethora of instruments, piano was your speciality; your mother always joked that you could play a Mozart composition with your eyes closed. Music was always the niche for you and your mom.

Now, your mom had passed away, and with her died your passion for playing.

Your newfound disdain for music had not just seeped into your personal lift; it was starting to dismantle the diligent work you had put into your high school’s prestigious music program, one you had worked tirelessly to get into. Motivation to participate in performances, showcases, or even simple rehearsals had evaporated, leaving you adrift. The consequences of your disengagement were becoming painfully clear. Just yesterday morning, the program’s director had pulled you aside, her tone sharp and uncompromising. She made it clear: if you did not perform in this week’s showcase, you would be removed from the program.

Thus, you found yourself rising from your seat in class, the screech of the chair legs pushing back cutting through the silence of the classroom. Your heart pounded against your ribcage, each beat seeming as if it were a signal of the impending doom ahead. You dragged your feet against the ground, anxiously gazing at the piano placed directly in the center of the classroom; the class's gaze followed your heavy, hesitant steps. As you reached the instrument, your trembling hands fumbled with the sheet music, placing it on the stand with an almost imperceptible shake.

"It's okay, y/n," your teacher gave your back a slight pat. "Take your time."

Her words echoed in your mind, yet they did little to ease the dreading ache in your heart; you felt as if every action you took was being rerecorded in slow motion. You hesitantly sat down on the piano bench, the familiar creak of the wood grounding you momentarily. You shakily adjusted your sheet music, perfectly aligning the papers. Your hands shook lightly as you hovered your fingers over the piano keys, hesitating in your dormant abilities, perhaps even questioning them. The weight of expectation bore down on your shoulders, and you felt a pricking sting in the corners of your eyes; tears were threatening to spill over into the vulnerability you were trying so desperately to suppress.

In that moment, all you could think of was yourself as a little girl, perched on your mom's lap. You remembered the warmth of her hands as she gently guided your small fingers to the keys, her voice soft and encouraging as she taught you your first ever composition. The memory was so vivid, it almost felt as if you could hear her voice again, but your heart aching pulled you back into the present.

Your fingers twitched as you attempted to play a note, but your hands came into contact with your lap instead of the instrument, frozen in hesitation. You let out a deep, aggravated sigh and hung your head down, the pressure of your failure too much to bear.

"I'm sorry," you mumbled to your instructor. "I can't do this." The teacher's gaze saddened, her sorrowful expression laced with understanding. She gave a small, sympahtetic nod before gently instructing you to head back to your seat. Swallowing the lump in your throat, you hurriedly gathered your music sheets, the papers messily fixated in your grip. Keeping your eyes fixed on the floor, you quickly navigated your way back to your chair, where your best friend, Flynn, waited. Her presence was postulating and comforting, offering quiet reassurance as you sank into the seat besides him.

"Hey, it's okay." Flynn reached out, her hand rubbing soothing circles into your back. Her demeanor was mellow, a blend of sadness and empathy as she leaned closer. "You tried. That's all that matters."

"Is this the part where we clap?" A shrill, grating voice pierced your ears. There was no mistaking it; it belonged to Carrie, your ex-best friend, who seemed to envy your every breath.

"Watch it, Carrie," Flynn warned, side eyeing her deviously as the bell to dismiss class sounded.

It was surreal to think Carrie had once been your closest friend, someone you entrusted every secret with. Yet, everything changed when her father struck gold; he was a musician, and an incredibly famous one at that. The release of his first album catapulted him, and subsequently his daughter, into a wealthy lifestyle; this newfound luxury altered Carrie entirely. The warmth and loyalty you once knew were replaced by traits of arrogance and a biting jealousy that only grew with time.

Flynn motioned for you to walk with her, but you stayed behind for a minute, dejectedly looking towards the teacher. She gave a sad smile, her eyes conveying her despondent tone before she even spoke.

"I'll miss, you, y/n."

---

You pushed open the front door of your home, the familiar squeak of the frame echoing in the quiet entryway. With a weary exhale, you shrugged off your backpack and tossed it down in the corner of the living room, not bothering to check if it landed upright. The events of the day replayed begrudgingly in your mind as you trudged your way towards the stairs, each step feeling heavier than the last.

"Oh good!" you heard your father exclaim from the kitchen. "You're home. I was about to go watch your brother's game, but then I got a phone call." As you reached the top of the steps, you paused and turned around, your gaze landing on your father's stance in the doorway; he had his camera in hand, yet the familiar device seemed almost out of place with the tension rising in the atmosphere. His expression was undeterminable, but the weight of his stare made your stomach churn with guilt. A regretful look crossed your face, figuring he already knew about your removal. from the music program

"Yeah, I figured as much," you confessed, your eyes glued to the ground.

"Well, it was my realtor friend."

A wave of relief washed over you, the weight on your shoulders lightening; for a fleeting moment, you were grateful for the small miracle. Yet, as you looked up at him and noticed the optimism on his face, a knot tightened in your stomach. Taking into account the gravity of his statement made your solace disappate.

"Oh, right. That." In hindsight, this phone call was not any better. Since your mom's passing, your dad had constantly brought up selling the house, convinced it was the best way to get a, "fresh start." He thought moving away from the place that held so many memories of her would help him escape the grief that lingered in every room. But to you, this house was more than four walls; it was the last place where everything still felt whole, where her presence could still be felt.

"Yeah, and she says if we are serious about selling the house, then she wants me to take some pictures for the website." He motioned to his camera briefly. "Which means we'll have to do a lot of cleaning and get rid of some stuff, and I was hoping maybe," he stopped speaking for a moment, taking what seemed like a reluctant breath, "you could tackle mom's studio? I mean, you're the expert. Your brother and I wouldn't even know where to begin."

Your eyes widened and your gaze was back to staring at your shoes. You felt a lump in your throat as you anxiously pondered the idea.

Since your mom’s passing, you hadn’t been able to bring yourself to step back into the garage she had lovingly transformed into her music studio. The guitars stood untouched, their strings quietly gathering dust. The drum kit sat still, its once lively rhythm now replaced by the soft whispers of the wind. Even the piano keys, once vibrant under her fingertips, were now dulled by neglect. You had tried to go back once, but the memories overwhelmed you before you even reached the stone path leading to the building. Now, knowing that your family home, and your mom’s studio along with it, would soon be sold made the weight in your chest unbearable. The thought of losing this last physical connection to her filled your mind with an ache you couldn’t shake. Your dad, watching you wrestle with the turmoil, caught onto your fearful hesitation, his expression softening as if he could sense the storm raging inside you.

"Honey, if you don't want to, it's okay," he reassured you. "I can always-"

"No, it's fine," you interjected. "I'll start on it tonight." You nodded, a blend of hesitance and determination flickering across your face. Deep down, you were not sure if you were sure that ready to face the ghosts of your past, but you were sure that you were tired of letting fear hold you back. Even if the weight of your emotions felt insurmountable, you knew you could not let cowardice define you, not when it came to your mom’s musical legacy. You at least owed it to her to honor her craft. You had to do this.

"Yeah?" your dad inquired hopefully. You nodded your head and your dad clasped his hands together in delight. "Awesome, sweetheart, thank you!" He made his way to the front door before suddenly stopping and turning back to you. "And uh, don't forget the loft. You know those old instruments that were there when we moved in? Like, the drumkit and the red bass and such? They need a new home."

"Mom would like that," you agreed, reminiscing on your mom's kind heart.

"Yeah, she would." Your dad checked his wrist-watch, his solumn expression quickly changing into one of worry. "Oh no, I am going to be late." He scrambled around the living room in search of his car keys.

"On the counter," you called to him; his gaze shifted to the countertop in the kitchen, and he caught sight of the silver key ring.

"You're a lifesaver!" He snatched his keys and shot a playful finger gun towards you as he made his way out the front door.

---

Night time came much too fast.

You begrudgingly trekked down the cobblestone path leading to your mom's studio. The night was quiet, the stars and moon being the only sources of illumination down the path. Your hand quivered as you reached for the door handle; you paused for a moment as you fully grasped the handle, taking a deep breath before opening the door and flicking on the light switch.

The studio looked untouched, frozen in time, exactly as it had been the last time you stepped inside with your mom. The faint scent of wood polish and sheet music still lingered in the air, like a fragile whisper of the past. You stood in the doorway for a moment, taking it all in, your eyes scanning the familiar space as if seeing it for the first time. Every detail, from the neatly stacked sheet music, to the instruments resting in their usual places, felt both comforting and saddening; it was a bittersweet reminder of a world you could not bring yourself to fully return to.

Your feet carried you to the piano first, your finger absently tracing a line through the thin layer of dust that had settled on the keys. The instrument, once vibrant with life, now seemed like a relic of a distant past. Your gaze drifted to the small table beside it, landing on a framed photo that had remained untouched. It was a picture of you and your mom, taken on a sunny day at the amusement park. The two of you were grinning ear to ear, your laughter practically radiating from the image. Now, the sight of those bright beams brought a hollow ache in your chest. You picked up the photo, the cool metal of the frame grounding you as your thumb gently brushed over its corner.

"I'm so sorry, Mom," you regretfully apologized as you made eye contact with her photograph. "I'm sorry I haven't been out here." You delicately sat down the picture frame and made your way to the opposite corner of the room. Here lay your mom's "treasure chest," as she referred to it. Truthfully, it was a chest that contained all of her collectibles from over the years, from music albums to band t-shirts she had decorated with shimmering sequins and jewels.

Curiosity tugged at you as you knelt before the chest, its lid creaking slightly as you pushed it open. You began sifting through the items inside, each one layered with the dust of forgotten time. Your fingers brushed over fabric, paper, and finally something smooth and hard. Your nails clinked against the plastic, piquing your interest. Gripping the object, you pulled it free and held it up to the light; it was a CD encasing. Its cover was black with bold, curving white letters spelling out the band’s name across the front.

"3RACHA."

'"I guess some music while I'm cleaning wouldn't hurt," you thought aloud. You walked over to the coffee table, sat in front of the brown, leather couch in the center of the studio; sat atop the table was a retro CD player your mom had found at a garage sale about five or so years ago. Carefully, you removed the disc from its casing and deposited it into the player, pressing the play button once it was fully inserted. You began making your way up to the loft, deciding to tackle that area first as the music began to play...

"Take off Last stop Countdown till we blast open the top Face first, full charge..."

It was here that the music began to sound a bit strange. The melody began to warp, becoming almost unrecognizable as it was gradually overtaken by a disturbing sound that sounded like...screaming? At first faint, it quickly swelled, rising to an unbearable intensity that made your skin crawl. The screeching noise clawed at your senses, so sharp and overwhelming that you instinctively clamped your hands over your ears, desperate to block it out.

There was a flash of light, and three guys appeared on the garage floor out of nowhere. They groaned in pain, their bodies stiff as if waking from a long slumber. You let out a bewildered gasp, the scene before you surreal. The three of them got to their feet, their eyes wide as they took in their new surroundings. They looked around, dazed and amazed

"Woah!" the middle one spoke, his tone laced with a moderate Australian accent. "Woah! How did we get back here?" he inquired to nobody in particular, pointing at every facet in the studio.

A horrified, prolonged scream escaped your mouth before you could comprehend the sight in front of you, causing all three boys to look at you; fear was present in all three of their gazes as well. Before you knew it, they were screaming as well, squirming around in terror and holding onto each other for dear life. You were still shrieking as you ran out of the studio, fleeing back to your house as fast as your legs could carry you. You only ceased your sprint when you ran into your dad.

"Woah, slow down!" he chuckled while commanding. "You look like you've seen a ghost!"

"I have!" you spit out without thinking, making your brother express his intrigue. You did not respond, however, fleeing up the porch stairs and running into your bedroom. You immediately pulled out your cell phone, texting Flynn your emergency code.

'SOS!'

---

"Come on, Flynn," you groaned as the minutes dragged by. "SOS means SOS! Why aren't you answering me?"

"Sweetheart?" you heard a knock at your door and squealed at the noise, instantly calming down once you saw that it was your dad. "Sorry. Just wanted to make sure you were alright." He took a seat besides you on your bed, looking down at you concerned.

"You don't believe me, do you?" you inquired, your gaze intently focused on your pillows.

"Of course I do, honey," your dad responded. "I see your mom all the time!"

"This isn't like that."

"I know, it's different for everybody, but-"

"Dad, you're not listening to me!" you interrupted, exasperated out of frustration. "I saw something out there, something that wasn't mom."

"Okay, I'm sorry," your dad threw his hands up. "Tell me what you saw. Nobody else is listening, and this is not a judgmental environment."

"You sound like the psychiatrist," you told him bluntly.

"Yeah, well maybe seeing the psychiatrist again isn't such a bad idea," your dad attempted to crack a joke, but the comment riled you up further.

"Can we just drop this?!" you asked, your voice rising to an octave near a yell, the frustration and confusion in your words impossible to contain. Your dad let out a heavy sigh, his shoulders slumping as he stood up, the weight of your question settling between you.

"Okay. Dropped."

---

You tried to talk yourself out of returning to your mom’s studio, but curiosity gnawed at you, pulling you back. You needed to understand what you had seen, to prove to yourself, and to your dad, that you were not losing your mind. With a hesitant breath, you made your way down the cobbled path until you stood before the familiar door of the studio. In your hands, you gripped a makeshift crucifix, hastily crafted from sticks

"Are you still here?" you quieried the empty building. "Whatever you are?" You spun in every direction, your eyes scanning the shadows and corners, searching for something—anything—that might explain what had just occurred. stopping when you turned back to the front entrance. When you finally turned back toward the front entrance, you saw nothing. The room was still, silent, as if it were mocking you. A wave of frustration washed over you, and with a defeated sigh, you dropped your hands, letting them fall to your sides. The emptiness around you felt suffocating, and you wondered if you were just imagining it all.

"I know I saw something, I'm not crazy!"

"Well, we're all a little crazy, mate." You heard the same Australian accent from earlier behind you; you swiftly circled around to see the same three boys standing behind you. They all had small smiles plastered on their faces. Reflexively, you began to scream once more, holding out the crucifix in front of you; this time, you were quickly shushed by the Australian boy.

"Please stop screaming!" he pleaded with you, and you did as demanded, albeit reluctantly.

"W-who are you?!" you interrogated. "What are you doing in my mom's studio?"

"Your mom's studio?" the Australian bewilderedly asked as he took a few steps toward you; you swiftly pointed the crucifix towards him, chasing him throughout the middle section of the garage as if he were some demonic being that was about to possess you.

"This is our studio! Trust me! Okay sure, the grand piano is new, and..." Your efforts caused the teenage boy to scramble over the aforementioned instrument; however, his attention quickly fixated on the couch. His eyes widened, seeming as if he was looking at an old friend for the first time.

"MY COUCH!" he yelled in delight as he threw himself onto the piece of furniture, kicking his feet up onto one of the arm rests. His eyes closed in a restful manner; when they opened once more, they trailed to the guitar beside the couch, the sight of which made him stand up once again. His eyebrows knit together as he pointed to the unfamiliar instrument. "But that is definitely not my six-string." He hurriedly shuffled back over to the other two, confusion rattling in his brain. "Give us a second," he gave you a brief, somewhat phony smile before turning around and forming a huddle with the guys. You listened in on their conversation:

"Guys! What is going on? How did she get her stuff in here so fast?"

"Maybe she's a witch? I mean, there are chairs on the ceiling," the shortest of the three suggested, pointing up at the ceiling; he was buffer than the other two, sporting a white, tight fitted t-shirt, a leather jacket, and a red flannel wrapped around his waist.

"Okay, witches aren't real," the boy who you could best describe as looking like a squirrel shook his head in disbelief; he had on a black backwards cap with a pink hoodie snug under a jean jacket.

"You sure? Because I used to think ghosts weren't real!"

"Fair point."

"Okay, so we're definitely going with witch," the Aussie decided, looking in between his mates for reassurance on the claim; he was wearing a white band tee with the sleeves cut off and a blue oversized jacket over top.

The buffer boy nodded his head in agreement; however, the squirrel knitted his eyebrows togehter, waving his hand dismissively in contrast.

"No, we are not! Okay, she is not a witch; she is clearly just scared. So let someone with a softer touch handle this!" He concluded his monologue with a sharp clap of his hands toward the other two, the sound echoing in the stillness. He began to approach you, his steps slow and deliberate, dragging as though he had all the time in the world. The air between you thickened, and you couldn't help but feel a sense of unease as he drew closer, his movements unhurried but somehow foreboding.

"Why are you in our studio?" he asked, accentuating his mouth in a strange motion. In a burst of sheer fear, you thrust the makeshift cross forward, driving it straight into his middle. You gasped in horror as the crucifix passed through his form as if he were nothing but a faint, shifting hologram.

"Oh my gosh!" you shrieked as you pulled the cross away; your panicked eyes flickered first to the cross, then horrifiedly shifted back to the boy. "How did you do that?!" He looked back at the other two narrowing his eyes out of conclusive annoyance.

"Okay, clearly, you're not getting it," he condescended, rubbing the corners of his eyes once he turned back towards you. "Okay, we are ghosts," he motioned to himself and the other two. "We're just three ghosts who have no idea how they got back home but they are really happy to be here! So thank you for the new decor, it really brightens up the room, but we've got it from here."

"We're actually in a band called 3RACHA," the Australian chimed in, causing you to swiftly adjust your head in order to get a good look at him while the shorter boy chimed in with, "Tell your friends!"

Woah, he was hot. Not in the typical high school heartthrob way, but more in the supernatural sense, like someone you would never expect to develop a crush on, yet here you were, inexplicably drawn to him. His smile was dazzling, cheeky, and almost too perfect, while his loose band tee couldn't quite hide the way his slim yet muscular frame moved with an effortless confidence. You found yourself lingering on every detail, but you snapped out of your daze when he spoke again, grounding yourself back in reality.

"Last night was supposed to be a huge night for us," he explained. "It was supposed to change our lives."

"I'm pretty sure it did," the short one responded, earning a flick on the back of the head from the Aussie. You were convinced you were losing it, even if everybody was, "all a little crazy."

"This is freaking me out," you exclaimed. In order to prove their claims, and reassure the doubt lingering in your gut, you pulled out your cellphone from the back pocket of your jeans.

"What is that? What are you doing?" The Australian peered over your shoulder, motioning to your cellphone.

"It's my phone," you started to expound, but quickly caught yourself, biting back the words before they could spill out. Instead, you shifted the conversation, turning the focus back to yourself with an awkward yet determined attempt to regain control. "Nope! Stop talking to them! They aren't real! There's no such thing as cute ghosts!"

"Aw, she thinks we're cute!" the shorter boy cooed. His adoring realization elicited a warning eye from you, prompting him to silence as he pressed his lips into a thin line. Your attention refocused on your phone, and you scrolled through social media applications and gaming selections until you found your search engine. Your fingers fidgeted as you typed the band's name into the search bar in a rushed manner.

"Who ya calling?" the boy with the squirrel-esque features inquired. You jerked your head up to face him, annoyance washing over you after being inquired for the second time that night.

"I'm googling the band Sriracha."

"THREEracha," all three of them corrected at the same time. You jumped back slightly, quickly correcting the name in the search bar. As soon as you typed in the band’s name, the first result that popped up was a news article titled, "3RACHA: A Hollywood Tragedy." Intrigued, you clicked the link, and within seconds, a photo of four boys appeared on the screen. Three of them were unmistakably the ones standing right in front of you.

"Okay! There is a 3RACHA." You spoke to yourself, relieved that this was not just your imagination. The three guys nodded as if to say, "Obviously!" You read the first paragraph of the article, which stated as follows:

"Last week the music industry lost an up and coming band that could have taken the world by storm and topped the charts. 3RACHA was a local band out of Hollywood having sold out its showcase on Saturday. Unfortunately, the band never made it to the stage. Three of its members, Chan, Han, and Changbin, tragically died when they ate bad street hot dogs. It was supposed to be their biggest night, opening live at the Orpheum Theater on the Sunset Strip. They were only 17. There was a surviving band member, Hyunjin, but no one has been able to track him down and talk to him about his friends dying that fateful night."

You focused particularly on the date the article was released: July 29, 1995.

"You did die," you muttered upon seeing it. "But not last night. You died 29 years ago." As the words fell from your mouth, all three boys exchanged glances, their faces twisted in confusion, eyes wide and mouths slightly agape in disbelief.

"What? No way. That's not possible. After we floated out of the ambulance, all we did was go to that dark room where Han cried." Upon the shorter boy's statement, the squirrel-esque boy began to stammer.

"Well," he prolonged his high-pitched voice. "I don't think, I think we were all pretty upset, y'know?"

"But that was only for like an hour," the Australian boy jerked his head up, the look in his eyes nothing short of perplexation. "We just showed up here."

"Look, I'm just telling you what my phone says." You turned your phone around so they could read the article for themselves. "You died in 1995 when you were all 17. It's now 2024. All three boys looked at each other, their expressions a mix of utter confusion, as if their very souls were trying to make sense of what was happening.

"So, it's been 29 years?" the squirrely boy raised his hands behind his head, his posture tense, as if he were on the verge of a breakdown. "I have been crying for 29 years?! How is this possible?!"

"Well, you're a very emotional person," the shortest attempted to put his hand on the boy's shoulder in hopes of comforting him, but it was immediately shrugged off.

"I AM NOT."

You sighed in frustration at the boys' conversation, turning to leave the studio. But before you stepped out, you paused and glanced back at them, your brow knitted in vexation.

"Look," you began sternly, "I am very sorry for what happened to you guys, but this isn't your studio anymore. You need to leave." You attempted to exit again, but the Australian member called for you to wait.

"We never got your name," he tilted his head and slightly smiled in an attempt to be friendly.

"Y/n," you answered bluntly.

"Cool, I'm Chan..." he moved towards you, resulting in the crucifix being raised once again, "...by the way, and this is-"

"Changbin! Hey, I'm Changbin," the short, buff boy introduced himself, his soft voice not matching his build in the slightest.

"I'm Han, how's it going," the squirrel-esque male was the last the greet you. You shrugged your shoulders and pursed your lips.

"Okay?" you muttered, shaking your head before storming out of the studio. You slammed the door behind you, leaving the three boys standing there, dazed and speechless.

"Y/n seems nice!" Changbin beamed after a few seconds. Chan raised an eyebrow, a puzzled frown tugging at his lips, while Han’s gaze flickered between Changbin and him, clearly thrown off by the awkwardness of the situation.

"Did you miss the part where she kicked us out, Bin?"

---

After setting the table and blessing the food, you tried your best to settle into what should have been a normal family dinner. As normal as it could be, at least, considering the bizarre events of the day; after all, encountering three ghosts that no one would believe you about was not something you could easily put behind you. You poked at your plate absentmindedly, lost in your thoughts, when suddenly, you felt a hand clamp down on your shoulder. You jolted, glancing up to find your aunt standing behind you, her face serious. She had come over for dinner, but now her presence seemed even more weighty, as she leaned in and whispered how she needed to have an important conversation with you.

"Now, sweetie," she began sugarly, "I want you to know there is absolutely nothing to be ashamed of?" Your eyes widened in alarm, a cold wave of realization washing over you. You could feel the weight of her words hanging in the air, and you knew exactly where this conversation was headed.

"Uh, that's so funny of you to say!" you tried to blow off the conversation.

"Well, honey," your aunt continued, her voice soft yet firm, "all I was going to say was that now that you aren't in the music program anymore, you can focus on your academics!" You let out a quiet breath you didn’t realize you were holding, your body unwinding with the release of tension. But as your eyes flickered toward your father, you immediately sensed the disappointment etched across his face, further proven by the way he dramatically cleared his throat. The action hung there like a shadow, unspoken but heavy, and it made the room feel colder. Your aunt looked at him, her expression etched with confusion.

"You got the email from the school, yes?" she asked.

"We're still discussing it," your dad replied harshly. His angry, piercing stare never left your solemn gaze, causing your heart to sink down to your stomach.

"Eh, no matter," your aunt dismissed. "Now, excuse me. I have to run to the restroom." She strutted away from the table, seemingly in attempts to escape the conversation she had started.

"So, when were you going to tell me?"

Before you could formulate a response, a sudden blast of rock music pierced through the air, reverberating from somewhere in the distance. The unmistakable beat of the guitar and heavy drums echoed from the garage, loud enough to drown out the quiet tension at the table. It was jarring, almost out of place, and it drew your attention away from the conversation.

"What is that?" your father inquired, his voice laced with alarm.

"Uh, I must have left the stereo on in the garage!" you exclaimed. "Let me go turn it off!" You darted out of the house and out of the conversation. Your heart raced as you made your way toward the garage, and as you rounded the corner, the noise grew louder. You froze for a moment, eyes wide, as you took in the sight of the three boys. They were completely immersed in their music, jamming out with an ease that left you speechless. Somehow, they had found their instruments and were tearing through an old rock song, the sound of their music filling the air like an electrifying presence.

"Guys, cut it out!" you yelled. They did not listen to you, however, drowning your command out with a crescendo of music. You rolled your eyes, reaching down to unplug Chan's guitar from the speaker; you threatened to do the same with Changbin's bass, but the music halted before you resorted to that measure. "The whole neighborhood could hear you! I thought I told you guys to leave." To your surprise, the band looked more delighted than depressed.

"People can hear us play?" Chan asked, a cheeky smile spreading across his face as he looked at you. His confidence was almost teasing, as if he were fully aware of the effect his music, and perhaps his presence, was having on you. It took every ounce of willpower to keep yourself from blushing, your heart suddenly racing for reasons you could not quite explain. The playful glint in his eyes only made it harder to focus.

"Yes! My dad specifically!" you snapped, your voice a little sharper than you intended. You tried to mask the shy undertone with feigned anger, crossing your arms as if that might make the situation feel less awkward.

"So, only you can see us, but everybody can hear us?" Changbin asked rhetorically. "What kind of ghosts are we?!"

"Who cares man!" Chan yelled out enthusiastically. "People can hear us play!" The three of them came together at Han's drumset, fistbumping and high fiving one another.

"We may be dead, but our music isn't!" Han remarked. You sighed, frustration bubbling up as you stood there, irritated by the bizarre turn of events. Everything about this situation felt off, with your dad, and now the ghosts casually playing rock music in your garage. It was all too much to process, and yet, here you were, stuck in the middle of it all.

"Why can’t you guys be normal ghosts?!" you shouted, your voice higher and sharp with frustration. The words burst out before you could stop them, making all three boys flinch in surprise. "Hang out at an old mansion! I hear Pasadena’s nice!" Without waiting for a response, you stormed out of the studio, the door slamming behind you with a force that seemed to shake the walls.

"I've always wanted to go to Pasadena," Changbin muttered, completely oblivious to your frustration. Chan was the first to react, teleporting out of the garage with Han close behind him. Changbin, still lost in his Pasadena fantasies, followed after he snapped back to reality. Within seconds, all three of them appeared in front of you just as you reached the steps leading up to your house. You squealed in shock, your heart skipping a beat at the sudden appearance of the ghosts. But before they could say anything, annoyance quickly washed over you, the frustration you’d been holding back resurfacing in full force.

"What now?!" you asked them, your tone encapsulated by rage. You crossed your arms, your gaze impatiently moving between all three of them as you waited for an answer.

"Look, I know this is all completely insane," Chan began to tell you, "but you do know how rad this is? People, actual people can hear us play!" He was absolutely stoked, contrasting your sorrowful demeanor.

"Yeah, it's just I've just had a really, really awful day. I gotta go." You attempted to evade the pep-talk, but Chan began again before you could get too far.

"Well, I'm sorry you had a bad day, but three guys just found out that they had a bad 29 years," he retaliated, "and then they found out that the one thing they lived for in the first place they can still do. That's pretty rad."

"You're right. It's just..."

"Your bad day. Yeah. I know," Chan interjected. "Look, I'm sorry we came into your life, but what I just felt in there actually made me feel alive again. We all felt alive again. So, you can kick us out if you want, but we're not giving up music. We can play again. That's a gift no musician would ever turn down."

You sighed, the sound a mixture of irritation and a lingering sadness that weighed heavy in your chest. The frustration from earlier still simmered, but Chan’s words caught you off guard. "You gotta know that. Clearly, your mom was into music." His voice was gentle, almost too understanding, and it only made the ache in your heart grow stronger. You shifted your gaze from him to the ground, the quiet pressure of his statement settling in. It felt like a reminder you were not ready to hear.

"Was," you corrected softly, your voice catching slightly. "She passed away." The words hung in the air, heavy and final. The boys exchanged a glance, their expressions shifting from playful to somber.

"I am... so sorry," Chan murmured, his voice filled with genuine regret. He moved as if to place a comforting hand on your shoulder, but his ghostly fingers passed straight through you, the gesture falling short. Despite the ethereal nature of his attempt, the warmth of his intention still made your heart skip a beat, leaving a strange mix of comfort and sadness swirling within you.

"Yeah, we didn't know," Han explained, his mind racing with panic.

"It's all right," you breathed out, regret now present in your voice. "You guys haven't seen her anywhere, have you? From wherever you're from." You figured they would not have, but it never hurts to ask.

"Um..." Chan hesitated. "No. No, I mean, you're kind of the first person we've seen."

"Yeah, but she's not dead, so it doesn't answer her question," Changbin put his two sense in, earning an irritated side-eye from Han.

"Yeah. I think she knows what we mean. I'm sorry for your loss," Chan commented once again, his eyes just as dejected as yours were.

"Thanks," you shook your head in understanding. "Sorry I got mad. You guys are kinda good."

"Kinda?" Chan sounded playfully offended. "Y-Y-You know that's like 29 years of rust just getting dusted off." For the first time since meeting the boys, you smiled at them, and your grin made Chan's eyes light up.

"Yeah," he mumbled, his gaze lingering on you with an almost admiring intensity. He didn’t say anything more, until Han, with a knowing look, smacked his shoulder to snap him out of it. Chan blinked, visibly shaking himself from the moment. "Uh, do you play the piano too?" he asked, his voice suddenly more tentative, trying to shift the attention away from his earlier slip. The change in his tone was almost too obvious, but the question itself felt genuine.

You dithered slightly before responding: "No. No, I don't play. That was my mom's stuff in there. She's an amazing songwriter." You puzzled yourself by the lie, knowing full good and well you could play.

"She was," Chan nodded in agreement. You looked at him, furrowing your eyebrows slightly.

"Wait. How would you know?"

"There's a song on the piano," Chan explained. "If it's hers, then your mom was really talented." His tone had a certain fondness to it, as if he knew your mother like an old friend; it made your face go hot. The compliment of your mother's abilities caused you to reconsider your prior statements.

"I guess," you began while grinning, "if you guys need a place to stay, you can stay here." The boys widened their eyes in delight, their mouths forming into bright grins. "There's a bathroom in the back and a couch that turns into a bed if you still use any of that stuff." Upon finishing your words, Changbin instantly threw his hand up.

"Dibs on the shower!" You side-eyed the boy but laughed at his strange actions. "I just really like showers and sometimes the occasional bath."

"You are so weird," Han commented while throwing an arm around the boy and leading him into the studio. Chan giggled at the actions of his bandmates before turning around to face you.

"Thank you, y/n," he nodded, his close-mouthed smile warm and sincere, as if your kindness meant more than words could express. "See you tomorrow?" His voice was gentle, a hint of hope behind it, but you could not bring yourself to meet his gaze. You looked down at the ground, your heart beating faster as your timidness took over.

"Yeah, you will," you finally nodded meekly; Chan bit his lip excitedly before joining Han and Changbin in the studio. You shook your head in disbelief, smiling at nothing in particular.

"This is too weird."

---

All night, you thought about what Chan had said:

"There's a song on the piano. If it's hers, then your mom was really talented."

What song could it have been? You thought back to all the songs your mom had written before her passing. She was undeniably talented, but most of them were not the kind that would have evoked such deep, overwhelming emotion. With this thought spinning in your head, you reluctantly woke up early for school the next morning. The darkness outside still held onto the quiet of night, the sun just beginning to grace the horizon with its pale light. You dressed quickly, your movements automatic as your mind continued to race. Despite the overwhelming sense of dread you felt every time you approached the studio, there was something else undeniable pulling you back. It was ironic, really, that this was your fourth visit to the studio in just two days, and yet it still felt like stepping into a place that had been off-limits for years. The weight of it all settled in your chest, but you could not shake the nagging feeling that you needed to be there.

You walked straight to the piano, the familiar coolness of the keys beneath your fingertips positioning you as you hesitated for only a moment before pressing your fingers gently against them. The sound was quiet, barely a whisper, but it was enough to settle your nerves. Your gaze quickly found the song Chan had mentioned, your eyes scanning over the notes as if searching for something you could not quite name.

This song was new; it was not like any other one your mom had taught you how to play. You read the lyrics, tearing up as each word resonated deep within your soul; it was almost as if this was her departing message to you. Your eyes flicked to the bottom of the page, a handwritten note from your mom reading: "Never give up, y/n. I love you, forever."

You sat down on the piano bench, your fingers finding the starting notes. Taking a deep breath, you began to play, adding your own rhythm as the melody unfolded. As your voice joined in, it felt natural, almost as if the song had always been inside you.

"Here's the one thing I want you to know You got someplace to go Life's a test yes But you go toe to toe You don't give up no you grow."

The lyrics poured out softly, carrying the weight of memories and emotions you hadn’t known you were ready to face. For a brief moment, it was as though your mom was right there with you, her presence lingering in the music.

"And you use your pain 'Cause it makes you you Though I wish I could hold you through it"

The last line caused your voice to waver, the emotion swelling in your chest. You wished, more than anything, that your mom were here with you now—holding you through the grief that had been building for so long. The ache of her absence hit harder than ever, and for a moment, the music felt like the only connection left.

"I know it's not the same You got livin' to do And I just want you to do it

So get up, get out relight that spark You know the rest by heart"

The notes grew stronger as you reached the chorus, your fingers pressing the keys with growing intensity. A sense of pride swelled within you for your mother’s songwriting talent, and with it came a surge of confidence. As the music enveloped you, it felt like a reclamation of something you had lost, a reminder of your own strength through the melody she had left behind.

"Wake up, wake up if it's all you do Look out, look inside of you It's not what you lost It's what you'll gain Raising your voice to the rain"

"Wake up your dream and make it true Look out, look inside of you It's not what you lost Relight that spark Time to come out of the dark Wake up Wake up"

The sun began to rise over the treetops as you reached the bridge, its golden light spilling over the landscape. Unbeknownst to you, your father stood on the porch, bathed in that same light. His eyes sparkled with quiet joy, a soft smile on his lips as he listened to your voice carry through the air. In that moment, he knew: his daughter was back. The music had returned, and with it, the hope he had thought was lost.

"So wake that spirit spirit I wanna hear it hear it No need to fear it you're not alone You're gonna find your way home"

The final lyric soared into a high note, your own subtle twist on the song. With each note that filled the small studio, you felt your passion for playing reignite. The music flowed through you, every chord more powerful than the last. You finished with a dramatic low note, the sound lingering in the air. Your eyes remained fixed on the sheet music, drawn to the note at the bottom. You read it over and over, as if trying to unlock a secret it held just for you.

You did it. You woke up.

You woke up and rediscovered your love for music. You woke up from the long, paralyzing nightmare of your mother's death and escaped the grief that was holding you back. You woke up and found yourself, realizing who you were:

You were Rose's daughter, the child of a musical genius, and you were not going to let her legacy pass on with her.

You breathed in deeply, joyful tears filling your eyes as your heart pumped with a newfound courage.

In that moment, although you were not aware of it, four pairs of eyes shimmered...

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