#i think it has something to do with the black tide

[spiribia]

I think if they adapted son of a witch into a musical it would have to be like because Elphaba and Fiyero don’t want their infant son to live a life on the run they leave him at an orphanage at the chapel of saint Glinda. The nuns discover his baby self in a basket at the front step swaddled in a big black cape with no other evidence on his parentage and only his name, Liir. One of the nuns swears up and down she saw a pointed hat and a broomstick through the window the night he was found. While this is largely dismissed, since the wicked witch of the west is known to be dead, the rumor that liir’s mother is the witch follows him through childhood, to his humiliation. To prove he is an upstanding citizen of Oz, he joins the palace guard under captain cherrystone, who boasts about how the acting head of oz, Glinda the good, has no idea what the powers under her are up to, and that something big is brewing, something that will turn the tide. Liir is assigned to guard during one of Glinda’s speeches and is surprised when a heckler in the crowd suggests that Glindas sympathies toward Animals are indication she hasn’t shaken off the malign influence of the company she used to keep. Glinda gets notably flustered and excuses herself shortly after. Liir asks one of his soldier peers what that was about and they’re like You didn’t know? Glinda used to be friends with the wicked witch of the bloody west.

Liir goes to Glinda’s estate seeking answers and is repeatedly denied entrance until he picks up a random broom and claims it’s Elphaba’s. Glinda demands to see him, but for fear of being wicked he admits honestly that it’s not her broom and that he has no evidence of any tie to her. Glinda recognizes his cape - which he was swaddled in as a baby - as Elphaba’s cape. Liir is relieved to hear from Glinda that Elphaba is dead and had no children - this is what he wanted to hear - but is dismayed when Glinda becomes convinced that he is Elphaba’s son and that this means Elphaba is alive. She passes the Grimmerie on to him and is thrilled that he can read it, pushing him to try to cast a flight spell on his regular broom. He can’t do it, and goes oh boo, sad, I must not have the gift after all, well anyway, I’m going to go. But Glinda postulates that he just doesn’t know how to cast a spell in general yet - unlike Elphaba, he’s had no practice at all.

There’s a song montage where Glinda teaches Liir about spells. There’s a point where she does a little melody riff from Popular as a wistful inside joke to herself. She tells him things about Elphaba that make Liir take on a new perspective of her. Eventually, when he successfully enchants the broom to fly, he remarks that the spell training worked, but Glinda disagrees and says it’s only that he overcame the limits of his own heart. She’s a bit of a sham at spells herself anyway to be honest. Then he

[exactlyspookykxala]

dare I say this patch is better than the entire penacony arc, for me at least. idk, it feels less dialogue-heavy than penacony. the characters are still using more words than they need to, but not to the point where i question if their throat is getting dry. except aglaea, I think 😭 but i think that part was intentional lmao. all in all, definitely left an impression, but a foreboding one.

[creatingblackcharacters]

No, That’s Not ‘How Color Works’. - Whitewashing

Whitewashing, as defined by Merriam-Webster:

"to alter (something) in a way that favors, features, or caters to white people: such as a) to portray (the past) in a way that increases the prominence, relevance, or impact of white people and minimizes or misrepresents that of nonwhite people and B) to alter (an original story) by casting a white performer in a role based on a nonwhite person or fictional character"

In fandom context, we know it to include:

Making someone’s skin lighter

Making someone’s hair a thinner texture

Changing someone’s nose to be thinner

Shrinking their lips

Changing the character in their entirety to be someone else

The Normalization of Whitewashing

Remember how I mentioned last lesson that despite the nature of poorly drawn Black characters, most audiences are not turned off enough to discourage the action in professional works? Similar idea with whitewashing. Not the same- unlike the Ambiguously Brown Character, which claims to have plausible deniability, overt whitewashing is usually enough to make fans speak up! But that’s the key word here- overt! It has to be “bad enough” to make enough people speak up, but as we’ve seen many a time, “bad enough” seems to have a much higher threshold for nonblack viewership (sometimes the limit doesn’t exist!)

Some visual examples

This is a link to my personal thread on a Netflix show I was watching- Worst Ex Ever. Now, while the show itself was quite enlightening, there was something I could not get over. I thought I was going crazy. And that was that no matter how dark the person of color would be in real life, the animated portions would draw this light pinkish-brown. Every. Single. Time. It's like they couldn't fathom scrolling down the color wheel. And this is a Netflix original! Netflix has plenty of money for someone to have caught this in creation. But... it was produced. And put out. And they're making more of it.

I asked all of the Dragon Age fans about the series, and uh… I didn’t know things were this bad, guys! Apparently this is a man of color, but it doesn't seem like the creators want you to know that 🤣. Jokes aside, as I’ve discussed before, the noticeable whitewashing- and that was one of many racist things I was told- was not enough to prevent sales... so why would they stop? I can only hope this new game, with all the updates, is enough to turn the tide. But the series has gone on for a while now, that if they’d chosen to do ye same olde… there clearly would not be a lack of financial support to prevent it.

Colorism as a Tool

Even when actors of color are cast, colorism often plays a role in normalizing whitewashing to audiences, even to Black audiences! People think “oh well at least they’re Black!” as if that is the only important part. It is not.

While Aaron Pierre, the actor cast for John Stewart of Green Lantern fame, is a GORGEOUS, STUNNING man, he is not the dark-skinned man that John Stewart is supposed to be and should not have been cast! To me, this is overt colorism, but clearly for many people this is not “enough” to warrant concern or even prevent the casting itself- including the studio behind the movie! Black fans have plead for years for the character of Storm to be played by a dark-skinned, preferably African, woman, and it has never happened.

It naturally happens in fan spaces as well, which is another indicator that colorism as a tool for whitewashing is quite effective for audiences. If I see one more Zendaya fan cast for Kida from Atlantis, I will scream. It’s been happening for years, and I don’t think any of the people who just want to see her and Tom on screen either understand or care that Kida is a dark-skinned character. Zendaya doesn’t look anything like Kida- it doesn’t matter if she’s Black too! Just because someone is Black does not mean they can play every single Black character! I’ve even seen people fancast Emilia Clarke of Game of Thrones fame, to which… I don’t have the words. I can’t fathom what would cause these decisions other than racism.

The Common Excuses

I must be honest. I don’t really feel like re-iterating how certain things are not okay and how to fix them, because I’ve already discussed these things in massive detail. So I’m just going to direct the excuses I regularly hear to my lessons, where you can read up on them.

“Their hair/eyes are like that because they’re biracial so-”

Relevant Lessons: 2.1, 2.2, 2.3, 8, 9, 10

There is nothing wrong with having biracial characters with a range of features. I am not saying that! Because yeah, genetics do happen!

But I mentioned this in my last lesson, and I will re-emphasize here, that using biracial identity as a way to whitewash is a sinister form of racism. The intention here- the real intention- is the issue here! The idea that somehow this character can only look the way you want them to look by "diluting" their Blackness… I don’t know how you can explain yourselves out of that one.

You don’t get to use us as an excuse for diversity while still trying to maintain your preference for Eurocentric beauty standards. Black biracial people don’t always look light skinned, thin-haired and ambiguous, and even the ones that do don’t deserve to be treated as your fetish for pretend antiracism. If you just want to draw a white person with a tan, do that. But don’t change a character’s entire look just so you can work in some whiteness. If you want to claim that canon Black character’s mother was white, then I guess they inherited some of her personality because their features should not change.

“It’s my style/It’s the color-”

Relevant Lessons: 3, 4, 10

I hate all excuses for whitewashing, but I’ve grown to despise, hate, abhor and loathe this one the most as I’ve become an artist. I wish there were stronger words to describe just how much I hate the “style” and “color” excuse.

Are style and use of color oft intertwined? Absolutely. I’m not saying they aren’t. But out of everything, there are two things I want artists to understand:

1. Style does not cancel out racism! No style forces you to choose ashy greys and to change peoples’ features. That’s you! If you look at something, and it looks offensive, you change the style. You grow as an artist!

2. “Everyone who is brown will look ashy so I just-” if you recognize that your Black characters look strange in comparison to your nonblack characters, then it’s time to try something else! I don’t understand this sudden need for “realism” when it comes to color and lighting, but not when it comes to hair, for example. No one cares about realism when giving every and all Black characters wavy tresses they probably wouldn’t have, but suddenly milquetoast watercolor attempts at brown and off-putting lighting is “how it works”. That’s not fair.

The color picker is an available tool! I use it often!

Dead giveaway of purposeful whitewashing: if someone gets the outfit color palette right via color picking, but the skin color is multiple shades lighter. That means they were looking at that character and chose not to proceed.

Dead giveaway of purposeful whitewashing: if the white characters in the show are completely correct in their palettes. Again, that means they cared enough to look at everyone else… and not the Black characters.

If you use the color picker and the color picked is… disrespectful, you do not have to use that! You can simply choose a better color that is still similar to the brown that ought to be depicted!

“It’s the lighting-”

Relevant Lessons: 4, 5

If your white characters do not shine like snow in the sunlight because of your lighting, then your lighting does not make your Black characters suddenly light tan.

If your Black characters look bad in your lighting of choice- for example, putting a very dark-skinned character in electric white lighting can be ghastly- try changing the intensity or the color of the lighting. DON’T change your character’s skin color!

I'm going to show you some pictures of South Sudanese model Nyakim Gatwech. Pay attention to the choices of light, color, and makeup.

Look how BEAUTIFUL she is! Look at the choices of intensity and color of light, and how they make her look different in each image.

Now look at this image in comparison:

In this image, whoever did her makeup and took this picture did not take into consideration her skin tone. She's also under this really intense lighting. This is an example of "increasing the lighting does NOT make an image "better"". She didn't need to have lighter skin or "more lighting" to look good. She needed BETTER lighting, lighting that worked with HER.

To see this as an example in drawn art, @dsm7 makes an excellent argument for proper lighting and color, why it is an issue to use it as an excuse, and how to solve that problem.

‼️DISCLAIMER FOR NEXT EXAMPLE‼️

Okay. I am about to show y’all a fan-created example from my personal experience. It is a TEACHING EXPERIENCE ONLY. I am not including the artist’s name in this image. It happened a couple years ago, and it’s over- they’ve chosen to be who they are despite me kindly confronting them about it. The only reason I’m including it at all is because I feel like it would be remiss to have such a clear-cut, multi-level example, and not teach with it. That said, no, I am not telling anyone to act out towards them. Again, that is not what I’m telling you to do. The last thing I need is a literal lynch mob of angry nonblack viewership for trying to teach you all, and y’all sitting there watching it happen to me. Every example of whitewashing is not going to be so obvious, but I hope you learn how to spot the examples in the art you see and share.

I'm obviously a Hades fan, particularly of Patroclus- despite my disdain for the lack of effort in his canon character design. So I've seen a lot of things. That said:

“Well it’s just MY design of them-”

Relevant Lessons: ALL

The sepia coloring did not do this. The lighting did not do this. The design is the exact same as the Hades version, even down to the shape of the hair curling in the back. The only thing that is different… is the man himself.

Y'all. Y'all! You CANNOT take a pre-existing Black character and say “oh well this is my design of them” …and the design is of a whole white person. Because if the rest of the fit is the same, and the only thing that changed is the Blackness… Racism. If you’re going to “make up your own design”, then do that!

“Blackwashing”

Speaking of: I’m sure someone edgy out there thinks they’re so smart as they retort to the screen: “but if that’s not okay, then why is Blackwashing okay?” To which I say- shut up. 😐

The “definition” by fandom: making a nonblack character Black, usually an anime character, but characters in general.

Funny enough, the actual definition in the dictionary (or closest to) is “to defame”, in contrast with whitewash (as in whitewashing history). Maybe racist fans ARE using it correctly when they say you’re blackwashing their characters, when they mean you’re making them “less likable because they’re Black now”. 🤔

Anyway: Blackwashing is not real for the same reason reverse racism is not real.

Me painting these characters brown is not going to take away from the fact that there are far more of you in media than there is of me. Me saying that I ‘headcanon a character as Black with 4C hair’ is not going to make the studio go “oh! Well they must be Black with 4C hair now!” Me saying “oh I think I’d like this character better if they were Black” as a beta tester (less overtly, obviously, because I’m not racist!) will never make a studio change that character. Black viewers have minimal value in comparison to the power of the white viewer’s dollar. I could draw white characters Black every single day of every single game media… and they would still produce majority white characters. There has not been centuries- if not millennia, when we consider Jesus Christ himself, even- of purposeful “Blackwashing” with the intent of removing the original ethnicity- and thus importance- of white people. No one has ever been allowed to forget when someone is white. No one has ever been allowed to forget or not acknowledge white people.

How it could be "solved"

Personally, I love Black edits and I welcome them here. I find them creative and fun. But if you really, REALLY didn’t want us to make those edits, then naturally, we need more Black characters in all of our media!

I wouldn’t have to make edits if I saw more of me to begin with in the things I like to watch- but when we have those characters, racists act an ass about them. We’re not allowed to even be present! I’ve seen too many gamer bros mocking the existence of Yasuke in Assassin’s Creed, and he was a real ass man. But if we made a game about African peoples in African societies, how many of the gamer bros would actually play those games? Do you think there’d be as much support, when we hear so much about Black characters that are treated so abhorrently? How many games do we have where people would love their faves just as much if they were Black? I even learned that Solas was apparently supposed to be a man of color. IMAGINE how many people would not have liked that man, with the same exact plot and characterization.

Something I’ve noticed recently: apparently "Blackwashing" is not a thing when White fans “allow” it. Take this recent trend with Miku. International Miku was beloved! But if you draw any other character as Black on any other day, there will be people that are horrid about it. Ask any artist, Black artists and Black cosplayers especially, who’s ever done it what their comments are like. I’ve read entire missives akin to white supremacist drivel on how it’s somehow morally wrong to make characters Black. Meanwhile no amount of “hey maybe you shouldn’t do this” prevented the movie Gods of Egypt from being created, with a cast full of British White people.

Solutions to Avoiding Whitewashing!

1) Using References!!

Do I think you should know what Black people look like? Yes. We’re humans. It’s 2024. Everyone knows what we look like when it’s time to hate and discriminate against us, so you know what we look like when it’s time to love and depict us. If you’re on Tumblr, you have access to the Internet. ESPECIALLY if you’re in the U.S., as Black people are the source of damn near every piece of online pop culture. If you can find my dialect to make my jokes, you can find pictures of me.

Would I rather you use a reference every single time so that you can only strengthen your depiction of my people? ABSOLUTELY.

Anyone on the Internet telling you not to use a reference or that you shouldn’t need a reference? Unfollow them. You don’t need that negativity in your life. Why would you deprive yourself of a tool to create? The greatest portrait painters in history had to look at their subjects! You are not getting paid nearly as much to do this as Hans Holbein, and he had to stare at Henry VIII correct else lose his head- you can pull up multiple references. I’d far rather be judged for using hella references than be judged for being a racist!

Part of the issue is people draw what they’re used to, what they’re comfortable with (thus last lesson). But if what you’re used to is not what someone will look like… That’s not okay. Their features are not the issue, your skills are the issue. Learn! Practice! There is no rush. No one is rushing you to be perfect at drawing Black characters, and no one is rushing you to post them. You can just practice! If you’re not a professional, you can take as long as you need to draw! If you need to draw that piece of hair over and over until you feel like you have down the shape, you do that! If you need to use a tool that would draw the hair for you, you get that tool!

If you want to post, you can say you are practicing! If you make clear you are practicing, then be willing to accept that people may have feedback. I’d far rather deal with someone saying they’re unconfident and practicing, than someone posting a whitewashed caricature and closing their ears because “well at least I’m trying!”

2) Empathize! Care about actual Black people when you create a Black character!

Imagine, if you will, in the Twilight Zone: you went to an artist, and you asked for a white character (I typed in “regular looking white dude” on google). There’s hardly ever any white characters, you’re so super excited about this one! You paid good money, because you’ve seen just how amazing this artist creates! They’re so good at drawing characters of color! But no matter how many times you ask, they send you back an image of… Assad Zaman.

That man might be fine as hell! Gorgeous! Beautifully done! Chef’s kiss. Stunning! But… He’s not white. That’s not what you asked or paid for. You can’t even fathom how they mixed this up, they don’t even look alike! And when you confront them, they gaslight you, they call YOU the issue for not understanding how you can’t tell that this is a white man! They would never get this wrong! They have white friends, you’re the racist! But you’re not stupid, and you have functioning eyes- you can SEE what this drawing looks like! And… It’s not you.

It’s dehumanizing. It’s being told that there’s a “better way” to look like you, and that’s by… Not looking like you. You, as you exist, are what’s incorrect. Your identity is incorrect, not their drawing. It’s better to have thinner hair instead of an afro or locs, it’s better to have lighter skin, it’s better to have a straighter, thinner nose over a round one, and smaller lips.

And what makes it worse is knowing that people who don’t look like you? Probably won’t care. They won’t be willing to see- not unable, but unwilling- that playing with this caricature is harmful, that they’re propagating harm by not acknowledging it. They’re letting you know that your humanity means less to them than the clout received with a whitewashed or half-assed Black character, and that people will applaud them for that ‘attempt at inclusion’. And people will applaud! They will be entertained by the mere performance! And that hurts.

I’m going to say this, and it’s awkward and I try not to say it directly on here, but… Having Black friends and/or being around actual, real life Black people would help. I can tell from some of the questions I receive that Black characters and their traits- especially things like our hair and our cultures- are being treated as… alien concepts. But even if, for whatever reason, you legitimately don’t know any Black people, you do not need to know us individually to care about our humanity as a whole! Even if you do not know we’re there, we are, and we could possibly see your work!

By acknowledging Blackness and making room to understand what it means- and that includes how we can look- you are doing the bare minimum of acknowledging our personhood. If you cannot do even that, you don’t need to be drawing us.

Conclusion

Here’s the thing: if you want to draw a white man with tanned skin, do that. Just do it! You do NOT have to erase me to have more of you! There is not a single fandom where the majority of the white fans ever said “gee, not another white guy!” It simply doesn’t happen. God knows we wish it did sometimes. You will always have an audience for white characters. There’s no danger to any of you of “being erased”.

(Without putting on my political hat, I will say that a lot of white people who consider themselves to be far from white supremacist will express beliefs in line with great replacement theory if you push them hard enough. It is unfortunately not as uncommon an idea as you might think. I would do some self-evaluation.)

People are going to notice that you only ever draw white people, but… To be frank, that has never stopped anybody from being successful. Again, Jen Zee, at Supergiant with the terrible dark-skinned characters… Still has a job. at Supergiant. A professional studio. Dragon Age. Multiple games of consistent whitewashing and racist writing. Still going. If racism prevented creation and popularity, I wouldn’t have to have this blog. Alas, that is the society we currently live in.

But if you ACTUALLY want to depict Black characters, if you ACTUALLY want to do right and be respectful- not because you want the clout, but because it’s the right damn thing to do- then you need to commit! This means drawing them as they are meant to be! Accept that you’ll likely lose some fan base, who was there (whether they were aware of it or not) for the white and lighter skinned characters. Accept that this means that trying to appeal to those people by whitewashing characters is 1) wrong, 2) racist, which is 3) something you chose to do when you could simply have just… Drawn more white people.

I’ll say it again: antiracism is hard. It’s hard doing the right thing in a society that rewards racism so easily. It’s really hard knowing that people will stop supporting you or caring as much about your work when you start including Black characters as actively as you do white ones, especially if you start talking about the importance of it. But in my honest opinion, I’d far rather be someone that cared about others, with genuine fans, than someone that was racist for the fleeting internet clout of strangers. And that may be less ‘hopeful’ than I normally am in these lessons, but… People make choices. And people who have been informed- as you are now- are aware of the choices they are making. It’s the thought that counts, but the action that delivers- let’s choose better actions.

[flowersforjude]

𝐃𝐚𝐧𝐠𝐞𝐫𝐨𝐮𝐬 𝐃𝐢𝐬𝐩𝐨𝐬𝐢𝐭𝐢𝐨𝐧

𝐏𝐚𝐢𝐫𝐢𝐧𝐠 | Jacaerys Velaryon x Fem Cousin!Reader

𝐒𝐮𝐦𝐦𝐚𝐫𝐲 | You could not leave him. Not when your very breath was the only thing that kept him tethered to this world. 

𝐖𝐨𝐫𝐝 𝐂𝐨𝐮𝐧𝐭 | 1,433

𝐖𝐚𝐫𝐧𝐢𝐧𝐠𝐬 | Arguing, Angry Jace, Desperate Jace, One curse word, Kind of hurt/comfort. 

𝐀𝐮𝐭𝐡𝐨𝐫'𝐬 𝐍𝐨𝐭𝐞 | This was requested by @intheheartoftheking. I had a million different ideas for this, but the inspiration wasn’t there for any of them. So, I hope this is to your liking! Also, Varaxs is the name I gave the reader’s dragon! 

masterlist

Sea salt kisses your cheeks as the gentle roll of the tide rushes below you. The familiar scent of your dragon fluttered in the breeze as the Dragon Keepers brought your ivory mount out to you. Varaxs growled deeply, as if mimicking the waves that crashed against the inky cliffs of Dragonstone.

Chills danced up your spine as the cold seeped into your bones beneath your riding clothes. The weather wasn’t what had you so chilled, though.

Nervousness burns through your mind. Has your eyes darting from the dragon pit to the palace looming behind you. Every howl of the wind and every tumbling pebble falling from the rocks, kept you on high alert of discovery. There were more than enough troubles to keep your mind occupied, but should anyone catch you here before you could depart, your plan would be all for nothing. 

The Greens had sent an assassin to take Rhaenyra’s life in the dead of night. Ser Arryk was unsuccessful thanks to his brother’s valiant efforts, which cost him his life. But even if the Queen was unharmed, the usurper must still pay for the cowardly attempt on her life. 

Rhaenyra still hoped for peace, though, and such wishes had her stalling her hand. You, as her stepdaughter and loyal subject, could no longer rationalize doing nothing. 

And so, you were going to King’s Landing.  

You dare not give thought to what could befall you once you’re there. But if death or something worse awaited you, then it would have been worth it fighting for your queen. 

The wind seemed to pick up with his arrival. You didn’t notice until a loud cry of your name sounded over the currents. You spin around and see your betrothed, Jacaerys, dashing towards you. Trepidation and unease flowed through you as you caught sight of his vexed expression. You hadn’t told anyone of your plan, and you thought you had snuck away with no one noticing your absence. But of course, it was Jace who figured it out. 

He’s still in his princely attire, the Targaryen colors displayed proudly. The deep hues of black and red had always complimented him in the most alluring way. His boots kick up clouds of dust and sand as he comes to a stop in front of you. His lips pressed into a hard line, and his jaw clenched in irritation. His hand gripped the hilt of his sword like he always did, but the knuckles were white with the forceful hold he had on it. 

“Jacaerys.” You greet, meeting those serious, dark eyes you’ve lost yourself in more times than you could remember. 

“What are you doing?” He asks simply, but the sharpness of his voice made it clear this was no easy matter. His eyes burned into yours as he stood just inches from you. 

“What do you think I’m doing?” You questioned in return. Deciding to let him reveal what he knew before you told him the whole of your plan. 

He scoffs and swallows thickly. “I am not certain, but I am sure that it is something reckless and not something that my mother approved of.” 

Shifting your weight in the sand, you thought about how best to proceed. “I was anticipating no one finding out until I was already gone.”

“Did you think I would not notice your absence?” He asks incredulously, his brows rising in disbelief. 

You shrugged. “I hoped it would take you a little longer.” A leaden sigh leaves your lips while the restless waters below you rage on. The light reflecting off the water shines like a beacon around Jace, and you have to battle against the longing ache that spreads through your chest. 

“Someone needs to scout King’s Landing. Gather what information we can.” You explain praying to the seven that he’ll understand. 

His eyes widened as exasperation ignited in them. “Have you lost your mind?” He exclaims, shaking his head of dark curls. 

“Jace-” 

“No,” he insists. “You’re not going. You’re not going to fucking King’s Landing, where you very likely will be spotted.” His jaw is tight, and his eyes are just as troublesome as the waters crashing against the rocky shores of the island. 

“Someone has to do something!” You argue back, your raised voice causing Varaxs, waiting in the landing pit, to hiss with displeasure at your growing distress. 

“And if you are captured? Slain? What then?” He sneered, a sudden thickness lingering in his words. 

You lose yourself for a moment. Imagining all the horrors that could come upon you should anyone discover you even somewhat close to the capitol. Aemond held resentment towards you and your sisters for what occurred the night Luke took his eye. And Aegon was a mindless drunk, but no less cruel than his brother. But thinking of all their treachery just made you all the more determined to do everything in your power to see Rhaenyra on the throne. And Jace, good-hearted, compassionate Jace, as the heir.

“I have to do this, Jace. And if I meet my end, then it would be worth it to see Rhaenrya and you reclaim your birthright.”

Desperation colors his features, his sharp expression melting to one of concern and tenderness . Something that stokes the fires of your affection for him. 

“I forbid you.” He finally declares after a long moment of silence. 

“Forbid me?” Your own frustration at last rises to match his. “You are not my king yet. You’re not even my husband yet. So unless you intend to tie me up, I will be leaving now.” 

You turn on your heel to approach your mount. Fully planning on flying off to King’s Landing before his voice breaks. 

“You cannot leave me!” 

You halt in your place, your throat growing tight upon hearing the sheer panic coming from him. Your hands twitch at your sides as the wind dies down enough to allow you to hear the ragged breaths sounding from your betrothed. Hesitantly, not wanting to be met with his distraught expression, you turned back to face him. 

Raw desperation swam in his eyes. His lips, that had welcomed yours in so many devoting kisses, parted with pleading breaths. He closes the short distance between you; his hand captures yours before falling to rest against his heart. Heat flashes through you where your skin touches his. 

When he speaks, his words come out breathlessly. “It is no secret between us my devotion to you.” The strong fingers of his free hand, calloused from all his hours of training, fluttered over your cheek with a touch as light as goose down. “But even before our betrothal, you were my guiding light. In the wake of all the chaos, there was you.” His normally collected voice cracks. He clings to his hold on you as if terrified of you vanishing from his sight forever. “My entire heart craves only a fraction of yours. Even if only a piece of you loved me, that would be plenty, because that would mean at least a part of you was genuinely mine.”

“Jacaerys.” 

His gaze flickers down to your lips before meeting your eyes again. “I cannot live in a world where you do not exist,” he professed. The air had been stolen from your lungs upon hearing his words. You were no fool to Jace’s affection; you returned it tenfold. But never had he confessed such adoration to you. 

“I cannot just do nothing.” You whispered, knowing he could hear you. 

He was nodding along with your words. “We will destroy them,” he vowed. “But we will do it together. You cannot not be so careless with your life, Issa jorrāelagon.” 

You do not wish to be labeled as rash or reckless, but the Greens must face retribution. For all the agony they’ve caused. You wish only to help your family win back the heritage that was stolen from them. One day, sit by Jace’s side as he rules with all the kindness and strength you know him to possess.

But he was right. 

You look down at his hand, holding yours to his heart. It beat as fiercely as dragon wings in the sky. Each pulse hammered in each nail of faith you had in him. “Together?” You coaxed meeting his eyes again and seeing determination mingling with his sheer devotion. 

“You and I will take back my mother’s throne.” He pledged, pressing a reverent kiss to your brow. “And one day I will take you as my queen, and we will rule together just as we are meant to.”

This was shorter than I wanted it to be, but I'm just glad I was finally able to finish it!

Issa jorrāelagon; My love

[baby-yongbok]

Please, Please, Please

Hwang Hyunjin x Afab!Reader

✦ Genre - smut [MDNI] - sub!Hyunjin x dom!Reader ✦ WC - 1.2k ✦ Summary - You and Hyunjin switch roles ✦ CW - edging (m rec.), praise, mommy kink, nipple play/sucking (m rec.), Names used for Hyunjin: Hunny, baby, good boy/sweet boy ✦ A/N - I had writers block (still kinda do) but then Hyunjin popped up looking fucking pretty and I had to do something. ✦ Masterlist✦

Hyunjin has you wrapped around his finger. He always has. 

You've always said that he's magnetic. He'll pull you in like a tide and push his way into your good graces until he's the smoke fogging every mirror of your mind. 

“Can you even speak, baby?” Your voice rings through the static in his mind and he hums out a strained whimper. “Need a break?”

He shakes his head, blinking his eyes open in an attempt to plead with you. He’s beautiful, on his knees with his hands behind his back by his own free will. No rope, no cuffs, just him tangling his long fingers into each other. 

“M’ okay… want more.” The tone of his voice, so rough and needy, is a new experience for you. 

The roles are usually reversed. You're used to Hyunjin being the one standing tall before you, leather glove on one hand and worn jeans low on his waist while he makes you taste yourself off of the black fabric. Tonight it's him beneath you.  

He insisted that he'd hate it. He swore it. Then your sweet voice cooed at him and your pretty soft hands started touching him. He melted right before your eyes. 

“More?” You circle him, stopping off to the side and lowering yourself to your knees. “You ready, hunny?” 

His eyes are glassy, lips plump from kissing and parted with drool pooling at the corner. He nods and your hand finds his heavy cock where it's throbbing between his legs. 

You wrap your hand around him, pumping him slowly with enough pressure to make him keen. “Wet it for me.” He blinks, registering your request and pursing his lips to spit down onto his cock. 

“That's it.” You watch it fall, getting flashbacks to every time he let a wad of spit flow from his lips and down to your cunt before stuffing you full of whatever he saw fit. 

You wet his cock, spreading the spit with your palm and watching as Hyunjin shudders. You've been edging him for a solid fifteen minutes. He's red and sensitive, leaking onto the pillow under his knees. 

“How long do you think you can last, baby?” You exchange a coo for a moan. Your hand moves over the head of his cock, catching every sensitive part of him in one swipe. “Won't… last. I can't… too much.” 

His sentences are broken, strained, and pretty. He's so pretty. His fluffy hair bounces subtly as you pick up your pace. The strands sticking to his forehead frame the fucked out haze creeping over his features and present it to you like a work of art. Each pump of his cock milks a more debauched sound from him; a moan then a whine followed by a louder moan. 

You're convinced that somehow he's still in control here. That's the only way that you can think that he'd still be able to drive you insane like this. The mirrors in your mind are successfully fogged. Your thighs press together, your tongue is caught between your teeth. You're pulled in. 

“Please, I'm close… let me cum, mommy, please. Please.” He's looking down at his cock, at the way your hand glides across the wet length and he mewls. It's a pathetic sound and it makes you hot. “So close, So.. fuck, f-fuck, mommy, I wanna.. wanna..” 

The mommy kink is a new thing. Something that both you and Hyunjin figured out thirty minutes ago. It's hot. 

He keeps up his rambling, begging and sobbing moans until you take your hand away and he groans. “No, no, no, please. Please, I need it.”

His begging nearly makes you crumble. You bite back a whimper of your own, staring back at the desperate mess beside you. He's gone. So far gone and fucked out that you know that he doesn't feel the drool running down his chin. 

You run your hand up his toned stomach and over his chest. You let the pads of your fingers brush over his nipple and the bud pebbles. Hyunjin hisses a high pitched whine. He's sensitive there, more than he'd ever admit. 

“My sweet boy, wants to cum? Did he earn it?” The way that you expect him to answer while you toy with his nipple Is almost cruel. His cock jumps at each pinch, no matter the intensity. He whines, high and loud and so fucking pretty. “Mm, now he really can't speak, huh?” 

Hyunjin is crumbling. Falling apart at the seams and trying to keep all of him attached to his shaky spine. The Pleasure is intoxicating, All consuming. 

“Please.” Is all that he can manage to whimper. His head falls back, his hair sways beautifully against his shoulder muscles and he looks at you. You moan as he does. “Please.”

And just like that cave. “Anything for my baby.” You spit into your hand and bring it to his cock. He moans deep and loud but it turns into a gasp when he feels the warmth of your mouth on his nipple. Your lips wrap around the small bud, sucking with a hum before licking at it softly.

“Fuck, fuck, that's.. you're… m’ gonna cum, gonna cum, can I? Please, please.” He's shaking before the final word can leave his lips. He's moaning, trembling, cumming hard with a howl. His hands break themselves free of their invisible restraints and one finds purchase in your hair while the other balls into the pillow beneath him. 

You pull back from his chest, a thin line of spit connects the two of you as you pull back to take him in. His cock is leaking, spurting cum all over the floor and your hand. It's a lot. Hot and sticky and pooling right in front of you. 

“You are so pretty, Hyunjinnie. My baby is so good to me, giving me all of his cum like this.” He keens, bucking his hips and fucking your fist to milk the last of what he has to offer. You swipe your thumb over the tip of his cock and he hisses. “You're good, I'm stopping.” 

You smile and he sighs, deflating into yet another puddle. “You okay?” His eyes meet yours for a second before they flutter shut and he nods. He leans into you, resting his head on your chest. 

“Breathe.” He takes a second, calming the heavy pants of his chest into a softer rhythm. With a deep exhale he breaks the silence. “I… didn't think that I'd like that so much.”

You smile and he chuckles, breathlessly. “You came a lot.” he scoffs, “You sucked my nipples of course I did.”

He glances at the mess, mumbling a curse at the puddle of sticky white. “You're the one who wanted to cum.” You shrug and he sucks his teeth. The silence creeps in again, you stroke Hyunjin’s hair as he lays on your chest and he picks at the fabric of your shorts.

“Wanna go again?” You whisper, half jokingly. “Are you serious?” He looks up at you, eyebrows raised and lips parted. 

“Do you want me to be?” He blinks at you, considering your offer for a second before he caves. “C'mere.”

His lips crash onto yours, his tongue licks into your mouth and you moan into him. He swallows it, recycling it instantly and giving it away to the thick air around you.

 “One more time.”  He mumbles against your lips. “Then it's your turn.”

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[storiesoflilies]

a touch of salt, a taste of flesh

synopsis: in which toji cannot decide whether or not he wants to eat or love the pretty little human he saved from drowning. w.c: 2k.

pairing: merman!toji fushiguro x f!reader.

warnings: mature themes! mentions of gore and blood, mentions of drowning, open ending. sfw but MDNI!

a/n: if you saw me post this yesterday no you didn’t. please don’t let the fic flop this time lol. heavily inspired by this delicious art!

divider / ao3

the ocean loved to keep her secrets.

she coveted every single one of them, for each was a precious pearl of knowledge about her soul. to know even a single one was to be doomed to a life of fear, to be at the mercy of her passing whims, because you could never tell when she would decide to punish you for it and bash you into pieces.

she didn’t think she knew anything at all about the ocean.

but here she was, coughing up salty secrets trapped deep within her lungs.

again.

while a pair of green eyes watched her.

they were always watching her.

“why do you continue to tempt the sea?” he purred, a slight smirk touching his lips. “little human”

little human.

because that is what she was, and what he most certainly wasn't.

it was in the way he smiled at her – cold and dark and cruel as the smothering sea that had tried snuff her out, curling around her throat like tendrils of seaweed.

a dark, shark-like tail rose from the sea as the creature tilted his head, wet strands of his black hair dripping to the side. he winced every time she coughed some more, as if it were far too loud for his liking, and looked down at her like she was a grain of sand stuck between his scales.

she probably was nothing.

especially not to something like him.

“do you really need to know what it’s like when death creeps up on you?” he continued, dismissively waving a clawed, scaly hand at her. “i could always just tell you how it feels.”

she sucked in a shaky, pathetic heaving breath of sea air into her chest, still gasping and sputtering onto the white-washed sand. the coarse grains scratched her palms painfully, and she tried to calm herself, breathing in and out with the rise and fall of the tide.

his eyes narrowed playfully, thin slits of green in the night. “there, there. you’ll be just fine.”

she didn’t feel like she would be.

there was nothing comforting about him at all.

he was a predator.

his teeth were just that little bit longer than they should be – sharper, pearlescent, and flashing dangerously in the silver moonlight. even though this was the third time he has saved her from succumbing to the depths of the sea, she still didn’t know why he had saved her, or why he still continued to.

but it had to be for something.

or else, he wouldn’t have saved her the first time. he would have let her fingers disappear beneath the waves forever, let her sink to the bottom of the darkest ocean. he wouldn’t keep on watching her from the shoreline, circling round and round the island like a shark drawing ever closer to its prey.

waiting to strike, ready to bite.

“why?” was all she could muster in a hoarse voice, sand tickling her throat.

“why?” he repeated, that saccharine smirk playing on his lips again. “why what, little human?”

“why do you keep on singing?”

the green slits widened a fraction, and he started to laugh. her heart hammered against her chest, and she was afraid she might have said the wrong thing.

“is that what you would call it?” he asked incredulously, a sprinkle of offense creeping into his voice. “singing?”

she gulped.

what else would she call it?

that was what it sounded like to her. she would sit beneath a gnarled tree at the cliffs’ edge, where the earth dipped sharply towards the sea, its rocky face curled over the sea like an old man’s wrinkly hand. there, she would listen, trying to make sense of the strange words wafting from his tongue in the salty breeze.

she would’ve started a war for him.

would have shoved her arms into the bodies of the bent and broken, rummage through all their bones to offer him their still-warm, unbeating hearts.

but there was something in his haunting baritone that made her want to cry, to surrender to the sea, naively believing she could somehow help save him from his own restlessness. to block out the echoing memories that, in that moment, were blurred together and she wasn’t sure if they belonged to him or her.

there had to be some kind of magic involved.

because tonight was the third time she had heard his haunting song.

and the third time she had mindlessly wandered into the arms of the ocean and her false welcome, full of promises she had no intention of keeping.

despite knowing full well that she couldn’t even swim.

his laughter died with the wind, a low, lilting hum lingering at the edge of his words. “maybe you shouldn’t be listening so closely,” he murmured, his eyes heavy with something that looked like hunger. “the sea doesn’t sing for humans.”

he drifted a touch closer to where she was lying, slicing through the shallow water like a blade. she sat up straight, digging her heels into the sand to scramble away from him.

“and yet, here you are,” he said, amusement curling his lips. “again.”

she licked the salt from the cracks in her lips, stuttering, “i-i don’t k-know why.”

maybe it was her obvious helplessness, or perhaps he could smell her hopeless desperation like rotting flesh, but his eyes softened.

“it’s the call for my…” he trailed off, smacking his lips as he searched for the word. “heart.”

he said the it disdainfully, like he didn’t really want to believe he had a heart at all. she couldn’t imagine that he had one either, or that it wanted for anything beyond his most base desires.

flesh and blood.

“your heart?” she repeated in disbelief.

he glowered at her, his tail flicking through the water in annoyance. “yes,” he said, adding much more quietly. “and it seems i’ve found it.”

run away, now.

“w-what?” she sputtered, salt-coated sand flying to the back of her throat.

the creature grinned widely, mischievous fangs glinting, “oh, you know, little human.”

she did know; she just didn’t want to admit it.

“i-i never– i don’t understand.”

“no? then why do you keep trying to swim to me?”

she didn’t know what to say to that.

it was silent for a long time, the sweeping sea moving backwards and forwards like the ebb of time between them. she could see more of him too, even though she knew better than to look.

and he was beautiful.

his tail was longer than she thought, silky smooth and gray like a shark’s was, marred with pink scars and rakes as deep and painful as the ocean. it curled high above his head as he lay belly down in the sand.

oh, but his eyes.

they were a chest of shimmering emeralds, locked onto her every minuscule movement. but his pupils were infinite, a black hole of mysteries and knowledge of ancients city that had come and gone, of seas of blood and red misery.

yet, he was here, on this unremarkable beach at the edge of the world, calling for his heart – for her.

and she’d somehow answered.

“what’s your name?” she blurted out.

there was a strange rumble in his chest before he replied with, “toji.”

toji.

it reminded her of the cold kiss of winter, the inevitable conquest of snow over the trees and blooms, covering everything in its white death. he belonged to the ice-covered seas of the north and south, definitely not from places where the sun and joy pierced through the waves.

there was no doubt that toji was king of those icy seas, reigning supreme over the darkness found within the kelp forests of the deep trenches.

“how old are you?”

toji tilted his head curiously, completely silent as he pondered and searched for an answer.

“how long have humans sailed the seas?”

how very lonely.

she knew she shouldn’t feel anything for toji, least of all feel sorry for him. but here she was, itching for him to take her hand and drag her into the depths he called home. maybe that was what his song meant; perhaps all he wanted was someone to share in ruling over the ice and sea.

how ironic that she couldn’t even swim.

he drummed his sharp fingers against a closed fist, slow and irritatingly suspenseful. “you’re bleeding, you know?”

she frowned and looked down at both sides of her palms, between her pruned fingers, and then further down.

oh.

there was a small stream of blood beneath her left foot, trailing toward the sea before being swept away with the tide.

straight towards toji.

that was when she saw the dangerous twitch dancing on his scarred lip, and she realized just how long he had been holding back for.

“i’m sorry,” she whispered breathlessly, and she truly meant it.

toji’s eyes narrowed again, but there was a spark of anger in them this time. “don’t apologize,” he hissed. “never– not for that.”

for that, for bleeding.

would a shark thank her for covering up a wound?

she didn’t think so.

toji asked for her name, and she offered it freely, willingly. he repeated it loudly, the deep baritone of his voice starting to sing her name in an increasingly agitated-sounding tone.

mine, mine, mine.

her name wasn’t her own anymore.

he was looking at her now, like he wanted to slice open her chest, pull out her heart, and play with the strings that made it beat. to shove his fingers into her aorta to say that he had been really inside her – his – heart.

mine, mine, mine.

and then, his cold hand was gripping her ankle, claws lightly digging into her skin.

she let out a yelp as toji dragged her toward him, the sea rushing over her cheeks and into her ears. he was on top of her, the wetness of the sea bleeding into her, his weight heavy and suffocating, pushing every bit of air out of her fragile lungs. his fingers dug deep into her thighs, just about to pierce through the plush skin.

she beat against the hardness of his chest, “t- cough! toji, please, stop.”

but he wasn’t really there, caught somewhere between the whispering blood ocean and the misty memories haunting his soul.

a pearly tear slipped down his cheek.

“i ca-ah! can’t breath.”

the same deep sound rumbled from his chest, and toji lifted himself up from her ever so slightly. she sucked in great gasping breaths, her eyes teary and blurry as she looked at him through lashes laden with salt.

another milky tear fell from his left eye and dripped down onto the curve of her cheek.

“would you slip away?” toji whispered, his voice rolling over her like the tide, but he sounded far, far away. “into the sea, for me.”

she didn’t want to.

but then he started to hum low and sweet, his wet lips pressed to her neck, and she was ready to.

she could see through the mist and blood now, far above the clouds and the sky and the sun breaking through the horizon. her heart was burning with salt and secrets – secrets she didn’t know she possessed.

until now.

that she was one with the sea, and maybe always had been. so, she didn’t mind all that toji was slowly pulling her towards the depths instead of away from them.

a flash of brilliant green lit up the sky.

was it toji’s eyes or a farewell from the sorrowful sun?

she didn’t know; she didn’t care anymore.

she was his to keep now.

ི♡࿐

©storiesoflilies 2024, all rights reserved. please do not plagiarize, translate, or repost any of my work on other sites! i only post on ao3 and tumblr.

[teaspoontarot]

Pick A Card: What Will The New Year Bring?

Pick a pile 1-4!

These messages are meant to sweeten your day and add a teaspoon of fun! You will always know yourself and your situation the best, therefore everything written here is just to give you a little nudge or to add a little sweetness!

🍵 Teaspoon

Pile 1 💫

Back in business! This past year has had its ups and downs especially regarding the home or close friends. Possibly involving rumor or gossip that has caused tension and pain. You’ve opened the windows and let the air blow through so anything that didn’t need to stay has found its way out.This year you’re focusing on the practical side of life. The turning of a new leaf 🍃.

You’ve been honest with yourself and others and now you’re moving on! You’re no longer waiting for someone to join you in your life and are now focused on just enjoying the ride as it comes. Good tidings and joy for this new year, a more relaxed (or enjoyable) roller-coaster than the one you just got off of. This year isn’t so much about slowing down but more so appreciating how far you’ve come.

There’s still a lot left to do but from where you’re standing the view already looks pretty great. You’re putting down new roots and making a name for yourself!

The new year brings stability and foundation. A new business venture or recognition. A rise in self-esteem and better communication. Joy to be found in the unlikeliest of places.

Tarot Card For The Year Ahead

Two of Swords ⚔️

“Aim for a meeting of minds, for your mutual interest…working on trust and knowing when to trust a hunch”

Affirmations

“When I Think I’ve Surrendered, I Surrender More”

“I Speak Positively of Others”

“I Spread Joy”

Pile 2 ✨

Healing, healing, healing. Learning to forgive yourself and to love yourself with grace. There’s someone you’ve walked away from and the pain still stings. You’ve been stabbed in the side and still hoped that it was simply an accident.

You want to love and cherish so much that you feel a bit silly. Maybe you feel like you need to force yourself back to reality or that what you want simply isn’t for you. This is gentle reminding you that whatever happened does not mean the end. Very rarely is the world so black and white, and frequently things that are broken can be healed or find a new space in the world.

Do not be harsher on yourself than you would be to somebody else. You don’t have to always rise above it all, sometimes it’s nice to rest and find a place to sleep. Stormy waters do not make stronger swimmers, just more tired one. You may feel like you’ve been drowning for years and you’ve only been able to find stray driftwood to cling onto. You will find land, and it will feel strange but good. You’ve swam for so long it feels odd to rest. Forgive yourself for the rest you need. The help will fill it’s way to you.

Your new year brings much needed space, healing, and little discomfort but ultimately what is needed to find stability and foundation.

Tarot Card For The Year Ahead

Ace of Cups 💘

"The start of something wonderful: a taste of whatever is your Holy Grail”

Affirmations

“I Find Deeper Meaning, And Personal Growth Amid The Discomfort”

“I Am Forgiving”

Pile 3🎆

Dreams coming true! You’ve been focused and have faced obstacles you never thought you could get over. Now comes the easy part! Be excited and gracious as this new year rings in. The times when you were honest even though it scared you are pushing you forward.

Honesty does not have to be cruel, it can be sweet and show truth warmth for yourself and others. You’re finding the people who understand you the most and the goals you’ve carried on your back for so long you have finally found space for them.

You’ve climbed the mountain with a heavy burden and now it is time to enjoy the sunrise! Take a seat, have a drink of your choice and share a laugh.

The new year is all about joy, friends, family and an appreciation of what it took to get there. People have your back and you have theirs, true partnership! Love surrounds you in the new year! Enjoy it!

Tarot For The Year Ahead

Ten of Swords 🌠

“The battle has been won! Expect a hug release of pent-up energy in your heart and body”

Three of Swords 🌟

“You have the opportunity to establish the contract. Be fair in your arrangements”

Eight of Pentacles🌹

“A regular and reliable arrangement or resource: sometimes we just want someone who can comfortably deliver”

Affirmations

“My Energy Creates My Reality. What I Focus On Is What I Will Manifest”

“I Do Good”

Pile 4🌸

Everything that you're wanting is waiting for you but you have to let go of someone or something. This is the year of transformation or renewal. Spring is coming and it wants to invite you in with open arms. Let yourself bloom as you need to.

You are being asked to take a little more control in the matters that may be impacting you. There may be a hard conversation you will have to have with yourself about what you truly want. You have to be honest with yourself. There’s an open door waiting for you but you fear walking through it and worry about the consequences of such an action. A slight feeling of indecision but you already know the answer, it’s the moving forward that is scary.

There are people that will meet you on the other side, and there are others rooting for you to take that first step. Like baby bird trying to crack open it’s shell. The world is awaiting you, in all of it’s harsh beauty. Staying where you are will lead to discontent.

The new year bring you discomfort, but truth and the power to push forward.

Tarot For The Year Ahead

The Awakening🎊

“Accept a unique opportunity. Allow yourself to be overwhelmed. Make a liberating change in your worldview”

Seven of Pentacles✈️

“Don’t overthink a situation that simply needs to run its course”

The Hanged One🚞

“Be aware of an uncomfortable limbo. Being stuck in role”

Affirmations

“I Am The Dreamer of My Dream”

“I Consume Only My Fair Share”

“I Hold Purity In High Esteem”

“I Regard All Altars With Respect”

[stllmnstr]

sacred monsters: part four

pairing: lee heeseung x f reader

genre: academic rivals to lovers, vampire au, slow burn

part four word count: 15.8k

part four warnings: swearing, more blood and other vampire-y things, dark themes, descriptions of past abuse (non-explicit), even MORE tragic backstories, a little sexiness

soundtrack: still monster / moonstruck / lucifer - enhypen / everybody wants to rule the world��- tears for fears / immortal - marina / supermassive black hole - muse / saturn - sleeping at last / everybody’s watching me (uh oh) - the neighbourhood

note/disclaimer: EVERYONE DOUBTED ME. I DOUBTED MYSELF. BUT DESPITE IT ALLLLLLL HERE IS PART FOUR!!!!!!! Enjoy my friends, and then tell me about it! As always, happy reading ♡

⋆.˚⟡ ࣪ ˖⋆.˚⟡ ࣪ ˖⋆.˚⟡ ࣪ ˖

A literature student in your third year of university, you’ve been dreaming of having your writing published for as long as you can remember. With a perfect opportunity dangling at your fingertips, the only obstacle that stands in your way comes in the form of a ridiculously tall, stupidly handsome, and unfortunately, very talented writer by the name of Lee Heeseung. Unwilling to let your dream slip out of reach, you commit to being better than the aforementioned pain in your ass at absolutely everything.

But when a string of vampire attacks strikes close to your city for the first time in nearly two hundred years, publishing is suddenly the last thing on your mind. And, as you soon begin to discover, Heeseung may not quite be the person you thought he was.

⋆.˚⟡ ࣪ ˖⋆.˚⟡ ࣪ ˖⋆.˚⟡ ࣪ ˖

When you wake up, it’s with a pounding headache and a deep wave of something that almost tastes like regret. 

Through the jumble of your sleep-addled mind, it takes you a few moments to locate the source of that uneasy feeling. But as soon as you do, it washes over you in a sweeping tide of sensation. 

Images, sounds, tastes. Feelings. 

You’re lying in your bed. Alone. But your mind isn’t convinced of it. 

For long, heavy moments, if you screw your eyes shut tightly enough, you’re somewhere else entirely. 

Notches of your spine pressed against the expanse of a wall. Long fingers, ones  that don’t belong to you, toying with the hem of your shirt. Tracing the skin beneath your ribs. 

Sighs that you swallow. Lips pressed against your own. Teeth. 

Desperate, heady, sordid.

A brief stinging sensation. The faint, metallic taste of blood. 

The breathy pleas that follow. 

All at once, all over again, you’re lost in it. Drowning in it. Consumed by it. 

It’s a ghost of the real thing, a mere shadow in comparison. But you’re aching with it just the same. 

Through the muddle in your mind, you barely remember getting home. 

Footsteps and movement and other mundane details are lost to memories of a much headier nature. 

Lips against yours in the cover of darkness outside your apartment door. Fervent whispers of words that sound like “Bad idea” and “Not tonight.”

But still. He followed you in. Or at least you think he did. There’s far too much room for error in the recesses of your clouded memory.

It feels real, though. The recollection of gentle fingers in your hair. Soothing this time. With the intent to calm, subdue. Creating distance from desperation instead of adding to it. 

The slow press of lips that you wish you had more time to become familiar with. Against your temple this time, the bridge of your nose, the swell of your cheekbone. 

And a final, quiet command. 

“Sleep,” he’d insisted. 

And you hadn’t wanted to, not really. But no matter how many encounters you’ve had with immortality, you’re still woefully confined to the constraints of your humanity. And exhaustion still has clutches you can’t escape. 

Eyelids flickering, unconsciousness sang to you like a siren song until you were unable to resist its lull any longer. 

And there had been no promises between the two of you, but waking up alone was not what you expected. 

It’s undeniable though, even as you sit up, sheets tangling around your hips. You’re still wearing the same clothes as yesterday. They’re wrinkled – a result of fervent ministrations and a long night of sleep disturbed only by strikingly vivid dreams. 

But even though small remnants of his presence remain, your room is empty, save for you. 

Rolling your neck in a slow circle, you wince at the stiffness, the tinge of pain you feel as it crosses above your left shoulder. 

The rest of your body carries a similar heaviness. As you ease your way out of bed, your limbs feel tight, stiff, overworked. 

Still, you force your feet to carry you to the space outside your bedroom. If you’re honest, part of you is hoping that you’ll find him waiting for you there. But as your eyes trace over the expanse of your apartment, your stomach sinks with disappointment. 

Empty. Just like your bedroom. 

It’s not enough to make you panic. Not yet. There are a thousand possible explanations for his absence. Before you start to decide which one is most likely, a knock echoes against your front door. 

And it’s almost embarrassing, the speed at which you cross your living room. 

But you can’t swallow the immediate sense of relief you feel. Coupled with a sudden swoop that reaches all the way to the pit of your stomach. 

Because he’s here. He’s here and it’s real and the surge of butterflies is enough to have you forgetting any potential complications. 

You know he can hear your footsteps, can certainly tell that your heart has just begun to beat unnaturally fast, but you don’t care. Can’t find it in yourself to be embarrassed. 

You wonder if he feels it too, this magnetic pull. It clutches at your heart with a soft touch and pulls at your mind like nostalgia. As if you’re a girl with a crush, writing the details of your affection in the secrecy of a diary and doodling hearts along the border. 

You pause, hand on the doorknob. With your other hand, you flatten the top of your hair, self-consciously tucking a strand behind your ear. 

It defies logic. After all, any remaining mussing is of his doing. But still, you can’t suppress the desire to have him see you at your best. 

After one last deep breath, you twist the knob. A smile is already tugging at your lips, widening along with the door. 

But when it opens fully, your lips fall flat. It’s not Heeseung that stands on the other side. 

From where he lingers in the doorframe, Jake scratches at the back of his neck rather awkwardly, avoiding eye contact. 

“Jake?” Disappointment colors your voice in obvious strokes. You might feel bad about it if you weren’t so confused. 

“Hey, ___,” he returns. His exhale almost sounds like an apology and it has your stomach swooping again. This time in trepidation. Anxiety. “Can I come in?”

“Is he okay?” It’s probably rude, the way you ignore his question entirely. But suddenly, it’s all you can think of. Why is Jake here? Avoiding your gaze and already sounding regretful. 

“Heeseung’s fine,” Jake assures. Your brow furrows. He’s fine, but he’s not here. You can’t decide if that inspires relief or something far more unpleasant. 

The silence extends for a moment. Jake doesn’t offer any additional explanation. Instead, he requests again, “I have something to ask you, but it would probably be better in private.”

“Right,” you nod, forcing the unease in your gut away. “Would you like to come in?”

Jake smiles, a tight thing, before stepping inside wordlessly. When you shut the door behind him, you keep your back turned for a moment. Inhaling deeply, you try to regain a bit of control over your mounting emotions before turning to face him. 

Jake has already made his way to your couch. Instantly, you're reminded of when another guest of yours did the same. It’s almost enough to send you spiraling again.

Jake, unaware of your inner thoughts, doesn’t let you linger in them for long. Instead he motions to the seat opposite of him. “Come sit.”

You frown, still fraught with nerves. Jake sounds far too serious for this conversation to be anything but unpleasant. Following his request, you slide down into the chair across from him. 

Once you’re seated, he doesn’t waste any time. “If you’re feeling up to it, I’ve got an errand for us today.”

Raising your brow, you wordlessly urge him to elaborate. 

Jake reaches into his pocket, pulling out a small, metal object. It takes a moment for you to recognize it, but once you do, your stomach only sinks further. 

It’s a key. The key. The same one you found last night. Along with someone whose absence is still very much unexplained. 

Jake looks at you, but your gaze is still trained on the object in his hand. “How do you feel about a return trip to New Haven?”

New Haven. You can hardly process his question, much less answer it. 

Because they were together. Heeseung gave the key to Jake. Intentionally passed it along to him. And despite all of the possible explanations, you can only fixate on one. 

He’s avoiding you.

You don't say anything, but Jake reads your expression all the same. Gently, he sets the key on the table between the two of you. Again, he sighs. It’s an apologetic sound, and you hate it.  

A beat passes. Two. He doesn’t beat around the bush. “Something happened between you two, didn’t it?”

You don’t answer. At least not with words. But the way your eyes widen is confirmation enough. 

“I—” You can’t decide if lying would serve you any good here. Ultimately, you decide to stick with the truth. You have too many unanswered questions to play any games. “How did you know?”

Jake smiles, but it doesn’t reach his eyes. “After five hundred years, you kind of just… know.” He pauses for a moment, weighing his words. And then he adds, “You don’t have to tell me, of course. But you can. If you want to.”

You can’t think of anything you’d rather do less. It’s illogical and frivolous and entirely human, but you’re embarrassed. The things that passed between the two of you hold weight in your mind. Significance. Importance. 

And now he’s deliberately avoiding you. You can’t help but feel slighted. Played. Used, even. Your voice is small when you ask, “Did he say anything?”

Jake shakes his head. “He’s been pretty silent. Even more so than usual.”

You don’t want to tell him. You don’t. But answers are still lingering far beyond your reach. Jake might not be privy to the details of your affection, but he does know Heeseung like the back of his hand. 

With a deep exhale, you push your pride to the side. 

“We…” you trail off, searching for the right words. Something that won’t feel too invasive, too intimate to share. “We had a… moment. And I thought— well,” you frown, suddenly unaware of your own expectations, “I guess I didn't know what I thought. But I didn’t expect him to avoid me.”

“Ah,” Jake enunciates carefully. “That would explain why he’s been so moody today.” He nods to himself, pausing briefly before adding, “It’s not because of you.”

You just give him a look, obviously disbelieving. 

“I mean, it’s not because of you specifically,” Jake clarifies. “It’s…  a bit difficult to explain. Heeseung is…” he trails off, searching for the right words. “guarded, as I’m sure you can tell. He’s quiet, reserved. He keeps a lot of himself locked up in his own head, and he ruminates on everything. Predicts a million terrible outcomes of every situation and fixates on them until he’s convinced himself that everything will end in flames.” 

“So a raging pessimist, essentially.”

“Maybe,” Jake pauses. “But I think that you have to consider his perspective, too. That’s the thing about immortality. It’s… lonely. Often unbearably so. We all deal with that in our own ways. Sunghoon and his bed are one extreme end of that. Heeseung’s the other.”

You frown. He’s skirting around the edges. Hinting at something without fully saying it and you’re tired of guessing. 

Jake sighs. “I won’t pretend to know everything that’s happened between you, but Heeseung’s not just acting irrationally.”

Your brow furrows. “What does that mean?”

“I…” This time it’s Jake that hesitates. A struggle plays out across his features, as if he can’t decide whether this story is one he should share. Finally, he exhales. “It’s not really my story to tell. But Jungwon had a similar situation, I guess you could say. We had only been changed for around twenty years when he met this girl. It was purely by chance. And it was completely innocent at first. She was an apprentice at the tailor shop in the town we were living in. A human one.”

Your stomach is sinking with every word. The story has barely begun, but you call tell from the tension in Jake’s expression that it doesn’t have a happy ending. 

“He never intended for anything to happen, but he met her once and then he kept going back. It wasn’t intentional, but things spiraled from there. Until he was in far too deep.”

Jake is sparing plenty of details, but even the vague picture he paints is enough to have the unpleasant feeling solidifying in your gut. 

“And there was nothing dramatic, really. No big fight or fall out.” Jake sighs. “But she got older. And he didn’t. For the time they had, they made each other happy. In a lot of ways, they were perfect for each other. Except for in the one way that mattered.”

His immortality. Her humanity. Jake doesn’t say it, but the truth is there all the same. 

“Their love fell apart in a quiet way. Slowly, steadily. Five years had passed, and Jungwon looked the same. She started getting suspicious. He was running out of excuses and had to cut contact just to keep us all safe.”

A part of your heart breaks for him, for the love that he lost, for the circumstances that were always going to dangle just outside of his reach. 

“He couldn’t help it, though. He kept tabs on her. And she did what every human does. She nursed her broken heart, and then she moved on. She fell in love and found a family. Including a daughter.

“But for Jungwon… It broke him. For almost two hundred years, he felt like a shell of himself. And we all watched it happen, but I think it hit Heeseung the hardest. Out of all of us, he was always the romantic, although you’d never guess that now.” 

Jake smiles wryly and the dread in your stomach hardens into a rock. 

“He might not have to hide what he is from you, but that will only buy you so much time.” Jake meets your eye, imploring you to understand. “No matter what happens between the two of you, you’ll always have something he doesn’t: the ability to move on. To forget. To find someone that fits into your life in all the right ways. He’ll never have that, no matter what he wants. No matter what he feels.”

Jake’s gaze settles on the side of your neck. The bite has already begun to fade, scar tissue covering what was once an angry red wound. 

“And he’s already led to you getting injured once. I can’t imagine the kind of guilt he’s probably feeling over that.”

You’re quick to protest. “But that wasn’t his fault—”

“It doesn’t matter.” Jake shakes his head. “That’s how he sees it.”

Lips tightening, you search for holes to poke in his logic. “Isn’t it better to take that risk? You can’t avoid a chance at happiness just because you’re worried it will lead to sorrow in the future.”

“That’s a nice perspective,” Jake agrees. “But it’s a human one. If you want to understand him, you have to consider what it’s like for him. His regrets and sorrows aren’t like yours. They don’t have an end date. They’ll live forever, just like him.”

“But so will the good memories—”

“No.” Jake shakes his head. “They won’t. Time will warp them, eat at them, until the good memories hurt just as bad as the awful ones. Maybe even worse.”

You flinch as if you’ve been scolded. Jake’s features soften. “I don’t expect you to understand. And I know he doesn’t either. He doesn’t expect your understanding or patience or forgiveness. He wouldn’t ask that of you, because he knows it’s not fair. Because he knows that it’s different for you.”

It’s selfless. It’s considerate.

You hate it regardless.  

Carefully, Jake adds a final suggestion, “For you and him, for the sake of your own peace, it might be best for you to do the same.”

His words settle heavily into the air. 

Do the same. It’s vague enough to be open to interpretation, but no matter how you warp it, there’s always one striking similarity. 

Jake is encouraging you to move on, to forget about last night and everything that led to it. To let memories fade and moments die before they can grow into anything stronger. 

And in the grand scheme of things, even in your limited mortal lifespan, it really hasn’t been that long. The first time you saw Heeseung was only a handful of months ago, and the taste of his name was bitter on your tongue for the majority of it. 

There have been so many versions of him. A rival classmate. A pesky annoyance. A savior. A guardian. A lover. 

A vampire. 

You don’t know him. Not really. You’ve seen parts of him, and the remaining pieces feel like something that would be all too easy to want. To love, even. 

And maybe Jake is right. He has the advantage of perspective. He’s seen history unfold and recognizes the patterns. He’s terrified that tragedy will repeat itself. 

But it doesn’t make it any easier – the thought of letting him go. 

Your feelings might be mortal. Your days may be limited, but that doesn’t make them any less significant. 

Amidst all the uncertainty, you know one thing for sure. It’s not a conversation with Jake that will give you any kind of closure, that will lead to any final decision. 

You need to talk to him. To Heeseung. Need to hear his thoughts and fears and desires in his own words. Need him to listen to yours. 

You’re not sure how to go about it. If he’s hellbent on avoiding you, there’s little you can do. 

But there must be something. Some way of getting to him. 

Before you have long to linger on it, another knock sounds against your door. It’s much sharper, more urgent than Jake’s was. 

Immediately, your eyes flicker to the vampire across from you, widening in surprise. 

Jake just sighs, shaking his head slightly. “I apologize in advance.”

Although slightly cryptic, it’s confirmation that whoever is on the other side poses no threat. Slowly, you stand, making your way back to your front door. 

Opening it, you find five overeager faces crowded in your doorframe. 

“Morning, ___,” Sunoo beams. “Hope you slept well.”

 “I don’t know,” Niki whispers, “Those look like some pretty serious dark circles.”

“Dude,” Sunghoon elbows him. “You can’t just say that.”

“Yeah,” Jay nods. “That’s super rude.” Turning to you, he gives you a wide smile. “You look great, ___. Not tired at all.”

In the center of them all, Jungwon just sighs. “Sorry to intrude like this.” Sheepishly, he rubs the back of his neck. “Is there any chance you could invite us in?”

Two minutes later, the sight that greets you would be enough to make you laugh out loud if the surrounding circumstances weren’t so dire. 

Your couch is far too small for the five vampires crowded onto it, elbows flying into ribs every time someone adjusts too far in one direction. Next to the chaos, Jungwon leans against the arm of the couch, eyes trained on you. 

His gaze feels assessing, almost. As if he’s trying to decipher the events of the previous day. Under his scrutiny, you do your best not to flush. 

From his seat at the far end on the couch, Jake’s lips pull into a flat line as another scooch sends him squished up even further against the armrest. “What are you all doing here?”

Jay smiles, nodding at you. “We came to check on our favorite human, of course.” 

“We heard you even snuck into your evil professor’s secret lair.” Sunghoon adds, nodding appreciatively. “Badass.”

“Plus we had to get out of the house.” Niki grimaces. “Heeseung is still in one of his moods.”

Despite yourself, you can’t quite help the expression that crosses your features as soon as his name is mentioned. 

As if that weren’t mortifying enough on its own, of course all six of them pick up on it. 

“Don’t worry about him,” Sunghoon waves his hand dismissively, entirely unaware of why you’re so affected by the sound of his name. “Being in a mood is just a regular Tuesday for Heeseung.”

“Speak for yourself,” Jay shudders, clutching at his neck. “When I mentioned that Jake was planning to go with ___ to New Haven so she could go back into the secret evil jail, I thought he was actually gonna throttle me. I don’t think I’ve ever seen him so–”

“Anyway,” Jungwon interjects. He might not have been privy to your conversation with Jake, but he is a bit better at picking up on the subtleties. “We did want to form a plan for your return to New Haven. I apologize for the sudden intrusion, but since you and Jake were already here, we thought this might be the best place for all of us to talk.”

Jungwon’s words barely register. He’s there. Heeseung is at their shared home. Of course he is. It makes sense. It’s the most likely place for him to be. 

But he’s there. They’ve all seen him. Talked to him. And now they’ve come here without him. 

“Right,” you nod, forcing a tight smile. “Well, we have the key from the professor’s university office now. And we don’t know for sure, but it just might open the chest I found last time at New Haven. As soon as we know that the professor is away from the building, I think we need to return and try to open it as soon as possible.” 

The thought of going back into that place fills you with a distinct sort of dread, but you need answers. You all do. 

Jungwon nods thoughtfully. “We can do that. We’ll get eyes on him first and establish a warning system for you and Jake.” Reaching into his back, he pulls out a pair of walkie talkies. “Heeseung also mentioned that there’s no cell service down there. The two of you can use these so that you’re not going in blind.”

Reaching forward, you take them from his outstretched hand. “These will be perfect,” you agree. 

“And ___,” Jungwon adds, suddenly serious. “Thank you. Truly. We know that none of this has been easy.” Five heads nod in near perfect unison. “But what you’re doing will save lives. There was another attack last night–”

“What?” You can’t mask your shock.

“A few miles outside of the city,” Jungwon confirms, lips pulled in a tight line. “In an area we hadn’t been patrolling. There were two victims.” Jungwon pauses, his words weighing heavy in the air. “High school students.” 

High school students. In recent weeks, death has become a familiar theme. But youth has it feeling brand new. You suddenly feel like crying. 

High school students. Kids. Children with their whole lives ahead of them. Dreams and plans and goals for the future. All lost in one tragic, horrific moment. 

Your heart hurts for their families, their classmates, their teachers. So many lives affected, changed, darkened. 

Teenagers whose worries should have extended only to homework and exams and finding a date for the prom. Not becoming headline news in an ongoing series of tragedies. 

Wait –

Headlines. News. 

Frantically, your eyes flick towards the clock on your counter. Last night really did do a number on you. You slept well past mid morning. If your clock is accurate, it’s dangerous close to one in the afternoon. Ignoring the fact that you can’t remember the last time you slept so late, you return to the more urgent matter at hand. 

Panicked, you turn to Jungwon. “We might have another problem. I’m supposed to have my first article for Professor Kim written in the next two hours. I don’t know if I–”

Jungwon shakes his head. “It’s already done.”

“What?” A confused frown pulls at your lips. “What do you mean? I haven’t written anything yet.”

Reaching for the bag he set down by his feet, Jungwon pulls out a small stack of papers. “He gave these to me this morning before we left,” he explains before handing them to you. 

Wordlessly, you reach out, accepting them. 

Fingers shaking slightly, your eyes trace the first handful of lines. 

It’s jarring – there’s no other way to describe it. 

You have no idea how he’s done it, but reading Heeseung’s writing feels a bit like looking into a mirror. It’s unsettling, just how easily he seems to be able to emulate you in his writing. If you didn’t know any better, you would have thought you wrote this yourself. 

Everything is perfect, down to the last detail. Words you’ve been scolded by past professors for overusing are scattered throughout. Unique turns of phrases that are hallmarks of your style are intricately weaved between paragraphs.

And it only solidifies your determination.  

You have to see him. You have to.    

Writing has always felt like an extension of your soul, a physical manifestation of your very being. And anyone that can capture you this intimately, this intricately, is not someone you can just forget. 

Jungwon, unaware of your inner turmoil, must mistake your silence for scrutiny. “Is it okay?” He asks, an edge of concern in his voice. “We still have some time, so if there’s anything you need to change–” 

“No, it’s…” you trail off, unsure how to describe the writing in front of you. “It’s exactly what I would have written. 

“Oh,” Jungwon nods. “Okay. Well… Good, then. I have the digital copy too. I’ll send it to you and you can pass it along to the professor.”

You nod, a bit numbly, still shaken by what you’ve just read, still brimming with the urge to confront Heeseung about it.  

Logically, you know that your visit to New Haven can’t be delayed for something as selfish as this. People, lives, an entire city, are hinging on answers you might find hidden there, after all. But as soon as you’ve finished, you know what you’ll do next. 

You decide, in your living room, surrounded by a group of six immortal beings, that it doesn’t matter if Heeseung has senses and skills for evasion that far outmatch yours. You will find a way to see him, to talk to him. You have to. 

But then your gaze shifts, lands back on Jungwon. There’s a slight frown that pulls at his lips as he talks to the others, assigning patrol duties and discussing potential complications for your upcoming mission. 

The longer your gaze lingers, the more you see it. The unmistakable weariness. Telltale signs of exhaustion. Jungwon might have lost the physical need for sleep, but the exhaustion that clings to him comes from a different source. And it runs deep. 

All at once, you can’t help but wonder what Jungwon was like, all those centuries ago. Before he met her. The human girl Jake told you about less than an hour ago. You wonder if he still thinks of her now. You know he must. 

You wonder if it hurts just as bad, if the sting is just as sharp every time. And that sends your thoughts spinning to a different, far more dangerous place. 

In five hundred years, when the only memories of you that remain are left in these seven boys, you want them to remember you with fondness. The kind that aches with affection instead of regret. 

If Heeseung wants to prevent an inevitable heartbreak, then you suppose you can’t blame him for it. But to you, his avoidance is cowardice. Distance won’t undo what’s already passed between you. 

If he wants space, then so be it. You have a key in your hands and pressing matters to attend to. Heeseung will only stay hidden so long, and it’s best to do what you can in the meantime. 

You owe it to them, to him, to everyone whose lives have been touched by recent tragedies, to do everything in your power to change the trajectory of current events. 

So, with a new determination, you push Heeseung a little more firmly into the back corner of your mind, tucking all of the loose edges and pressing thoughts into a neat, tidy box to be revisited later. 

Pulling out your phone, you open the digital version of the article Heeseung has written under your name. You give it one more once over, and it’s just as uncannily you as before. 

Tucking away every feeling that inspires for later, you turn back to Jake.

“So,” you venture, eyeing him as he turns the key over between his fingers. “Are you ready to do this?”

…..

New Haven feels only slightly less ominous in full daylight. Although the remnants of winter still cling to the air like a bad omen you can’t quite shake, sunlight streams through the clouds with the steadiness of a sure thing. 

At your side, Jake appears equally uncertain. 

“Your professor has interesting taste.” It’s a joke, something meant to lighten the mood, but you hear the wariness all the same. 

“Wait until you see the inside.”

Jake picks the lock with nearly as much ease as Heeseung had the night prior, and then the two of you are inside. 

Despite his initial uncertainties, Jake handles the looming hallways and odd shadows of the publishing house rather well. Knowing that the other boys have eyes on your professor and are protecting you from afar helps to abate some of the anxiety, even if you still have to force away a handful of unpleasant memories that threaten to rise. 

When the two of you reach Professor Kim’s office, you don’t bother to hesitate. By now, you know what you’ll find on the other side of the door. 

Jake, however, does give a double take at the massive painting you and Heeseung put back into place just one short night ago. 

Gauging his reaction in your periphery, you decide to play dumb. 

“Is something wrong?”

Jake just takes another long look at the painting of the open field, filled with flowers. He tilts his head to the side, and for a moment, you think he rather resembles a curious puppy. 

“No.” Jake shakes his head. “Sorry, I just…” He takes one final look at the painting. “That painting just looked weirdly familiar for a minute.”

“Celedis, right?” You turn to face the vampire. “I thought the same thing, but Heeseung said it’s slightly different. Something about the flowers.”

At that, Jake doesn’t bother to mask his shock. “He told you about Celedis?”

“Showed me, actually. You know,” you reach your arm out towards him. “With the whole physical contact astral projection thing.”

You’re about to ask Jake to help you move the painting, but he’s still stuck in the details you’ve just revealed. 

Jaw nearly slack, he asks, “He showed you Celedis?”

“Yeah,” you frown. You didn’t realize this was new information. “I thought you knew. Back at your house, after I was attacked. He told me – er, showed me – about you guys.”

Remembering the water tower, you add, “And he’s used it, his ability, I mean, to show me other things about his past.” A memory surfaces, one of a young boy sneaking pastries from a medieval kitchen. Your heart gives a sudden lurch. “About Celedis.”

“Fuck, Heeseung.” Jake swears under his breath, but you hear it all the same. 

“Was he not supposed to?” Despite your current feelings of frustration towards Heeseung, your intentions aren’t to get him in trouble or create any sort of rift between him and the others. Suddenly, you’re scrambling to backtrack. “It was really only a couple of things to help me understand, I promise. He would never compromise your safety or–”

“It’s not that.” Jake shakes his head, interrupting. “Heeseung just… his ability isn’t one he uses often.”

At that, your brow furrows. That strikes you as odd. All things considered, it seems like a rather useful gift that should have found several practical applications over the past five hundred odd years. “Why not?” you ask. 

“It’s not…” Jake trails off, hesitating. Trying to decide how much he should share. “It’s not exactly something he takes pleasure in doing.”

Your brow creases further. That only leaves you with more questions than answers. You can’t remember him being particularly bothered either of the times he exercised his ability with you. “What do you mean?”

Again, Jake hesitates. His teeth worry at his bottom lip like that will prevent words from spilling out. “It’s not really my story to tell.”

“What story?” The corners of your lips pull downwards. “I don’t understand.”

For a moment, Jake just takes a long look at you. And then he sighs. “Heeseung explained Celedis to you?”

You nod.

“Including our origin story?” Jake pauses. “Our families?”

Again, you nod. “You were all nobles.”

Jake hums in agreement. “Yeah, we were. After peace was forged, the kingdom had to reorganize itself a bit. Our families were allies now, partners instead of enemies. Eventually, it was decided that each of our families would spearhead one sector of rulership, if you will.” Pausing for a moment, Jake gauges your reaction from his periphery. He asks, “Did he tell you about this?”

Deciding honesty will serve you best here, you shake your head. 

Much to your gratefulness, Jake just sighs again. “My family primarily dealt with the management of food resources. My father tracked annual crop production, rainfall, resources allocation, things like that.”

“Okay…” you nod, trailing off. The picture he paints is a logical one, but you don’t see a connection to Heeseung’s strange supernatural ability yet. 

Jake continues, “Heeseung’s father, on the other hand, always had a knack for strategy. It was decided that his family would be the de facto head of defense and protection of the kingdom. We were allies, but there was still worry that enemies from outside Celedis’ borders might arise. Although, his father’s methods were always a bit more… aggressive than you’d expect in peacetime.”

Frowning, it's hard to imagine. You suppose that hter may be sides to Heeseung you haven’t yet seen, but it’s difficult to think of him as anything but patient. Gentle. Hearing that his father was the complete opposite doesn’t sit well with you. Quietly, you wait for Jake to continue. 

“Even though we kept aging until we were twenty-one, our abilities manifested when we were just kids. And Heeseung, at ten years old, did what any child would do when he suddenly realized he could project his consciousness through touch.” Jake sighs again. “He told his mother.”

The memory comes rushing back unbidden. Heeseung isn’t here to project any visions, but all of a sudden, you feel like you’re back in that field anyway. Watching silently, helpless, as a tiny version of Heeseung accidentally makes his friend ill after his ability manifests for the first time. All over again, your heart hurts for him. Too small to understand what was happening, too frightened to do anything but seek consultation from his mother. 

“His father, of course,” Jake says, “eventually found out, too. And like any great strategist, he saw this newfound ability first and foremost as a tool. Heeseung wasn’t just a heir anymore. He was a weapon. And he was brought along to things no ten-year-old should have to see. War meetings, strategy sessions. Prisoner interrogations.” Jake’s eyes drop to the floor. “Torture, mutilation, executions. He was made to watch all of it.”

The small gasp you let out is involuntary. 

Jake’s eyes find you again. “And then, afterwards, he was forced to relive it, over and over and over. His hand on top of his father’s, so that the kingdom’s leader of defense could analyze every detail. Construct the perfect strategies, devise the best methods for extracting information, for making others bend to his iron will.”

Your stomach rolls with a fresh wave of nausea. 

Jake finishes with, “I’ve known Heeseung for five hundred years, and I can count on one hand the number of times he’s ever utilized his ability with me. Every single one of them has been out of sheer necessity.”

And explaining Celedis to you, sharing pieces of his long lost childhood, are decidedly not. The gravity of it all sinks in with full force, and you suddenly feel as if your knees might buckle under the weight of it all. 

You have to see him. You ache with it now, the overwhelming urge to just say fuck it and run until your feet have carried you all the way to their shared home. Until your fist connects with the outside of his bedroom door and the only barriers that exist between the two of you are easily breakable. 

But Jake has a key in his pocket, and you have the fate of a city resting in the liminal space between you. Selfish desires, no matter how strong, will have to wait. 

“I…” you hesitate for a moment, searching for the right words. “Thank you. For telling me, I mean. For trusting me.” 

Jake nods. “For what it’s worth, we all do. Trust you, that is. Even Jungwon, although he might never admit it out loud. It’s been a while since we’ve spent so much time around a human. They’re all really fond of you, you know.” Jake grins, something just a bit devious entering his eyes. “It drives Heeseung insane.”

“Well,” you return, “For what it’s worth, I’m quite fond of you all, too. Definitely my seven favorite vampires.”

“Aw,” Jake brings a hand to his heart. “You’re too kind. I’m honored, truly.”

Turning back towards the painting, it’s a sobering reminder of why you’re here, what you still need to do. Looking towards Jake at your side, you request, “Help me move this?”

Nodding, a refound sense of determination enters his gaze. “Let’s do it.” 

Painting aside and key in your hand, you find yourself once again face to face with the small opening that separates Professor Kim’s office from that horrifying dungeon of a room that sits just below it. 

Jake hands you a walkie talkie, and you eye it warily for a moment. “We’re sure these things work?’

“Positive,” Jake nods. “We tested them this morning. Oh, and I brought you this, too.” Reaching out, he hands you a headlamp. “He mentioned that it’s pretty dark down there.”

“Good thinking. Thank you.” Clipping the walkie talkie onto your belt loop, you take the light from Jake, securing the headband around your temple. Even though the gravity of the situation isn’t lost on you, you can’t help but feel a bit ridiculous. Giving your front pocket a final tap, you confirm that the key is tucked away safely. “Well,” you turn back to Jake, “see you on the other side.”

“Good luck,” he nods. “And if anything, and I do mean anything, feels off, use that to talk to me, okay?” He just his chin at the walkie talkie at your waist. 

“I will,” you promise. 

And then, with just one final glance over your shoulder, you’re suspended into darkness just as surely as the previous night. For a moment, you consider igniting your headlamp. But you decide against it rather quickly. It’s probably best that you don’t see just how far beneath you the ground is. 

This time, thankfully, your decent feels much shorter. With some of the uncertainty stripped away, your feet are touching solid ground before you know it. 

Once you’re firmly planted, you reach for the light on your forehead. 

It ignites, shooting a strong beam of light straight out in front of you. 

Again, you fight the shiver that traces the length of your spine. It is quite cold down here, with a certain dampness that permeates into your bones, but that’s not why you shudder. 

WIth light revealing their secrets, the cells that line the passage are even more ominous. Dark, rusted iron lies in wait on either side of you. 

Handcuffs, chains, spare pieces of metal you’re sure you don’t want to know the purpose for, line your path as you force your feet forward. Even if you wanted to take a closer look, that’s not why you’re here today. Mission in mind, you continue down the long, dark path towards the opening where you know you’ll find the chest.  

Finally, after a few long minutes, you’re face-to-face with the locked chest again. The desk is still there, too, undisturbed. 

Taking a deep breath, you reach into your pocket, retrieving the key from Professor Kim’s university office. Forcing away any other lingering memories of the previous night that threaten to rise, you bring the key to the lock. 

Your hands are shaking. The cold, the fear, the anticipation. They all settle heavy in your bones and leave you with tremors you can’t quite stop. 

“C’mon,” you whisper out loud to the darkness, with no one but you and the faint sound of dripping water to hear. “Come on.”

Finally, the key aligns just right. 

Despite the tremble in your fingers, despite the improbability that this key even matches this lock, it slides in with ease. 

And when you turn it to the right, you hear a telltale click. 

In your shaking grip, the lock falls open. Sliding the key back into your pocket, you pull the lock out of the loop of the front of the chest. Setting it down at your feet, you take one deep inhale. 

And then, with hands that still tremble, you push the heavy lid of the chest open. 

You’re not sure what you expect. Something horrific, maybe. Some damning evidence of evildoing. Something soaked in blood, something so explicitly terrible that there’s no guesswork to be done. 

But the chest contains only two things. 

The first is a massive stash of what you assume must be distilled moonflower. Organized neatly into rows upon rows of tiny small vials that look terribly similar to the contraption he used to shoot you in the neck the first time you came to the publishing house.

This, in and of itself, feels like a revelation. According to Heeseung, moonflower is rare. And knowledge on proper distillation processes is even more obsolete. To have this much of it distilled and on hand… it must mean something. 

The chest is nearly overflowing with the small vials, save for a small space, just in the middle, where a book sits nestled amongst the moonflower. 

A book that looks nearly identical to one you’ve seen before. To one that still sits forgotten in the bottom drawer of the dresser next to your bed. 

Hands still unsteady, you reach for it. 

At first glance, it’s an exact copy of the strange book you found in the university library all those weeks ago. But as you lean closer, you notice one key difference. The title. 

The one you found tucked away on a library shelf was called Sacred Monsters: The Origins of Immortality. 

But it must be part of a set, an anthology of sorts. 

Because the book between your shaking fingers stares back at you with the title Sacred Monsters: Cures for the Affliction. 

Book in your hands, you realize you have a dilemma. The volume is far too thick to take pictures of every page, but removing it from the chest to bring with you feels risky. 

At least this time, you think as you reach for the walkie talkie at your waist, you don’t have to make all of your decisions alone. 

Pressing the button on the side, you speak into the receiver. “Hey Jake, you there?”

A handful of seconds pass before his response filters through. It’s crackly but perfectly audible. “I’m here. Everything okay?”

“Yeah,” you confirm. “I found something. A book. It’s pretty hefty. I won’t be able to take pictures of all of the pages. Do you think I should bring it with me or just take a few photos and leave it here?”

“It was in the chest?” Jake asks.

“Yeah,” you nod. “I think it might be too risky to bring with me.”

“I agree,” Jake confirms. “Just take a few pictures, and then get out of there.”

“Will do,” you agree. “See you soon.” You secure the walkie talkie back on your belt loop. 

Setting the book down on the cold ground, you sink to your knees in front of it. Reaching for your phone, the first picture youtube is of the front cover.  

Deciding that they’ll want evidence of the moonflower as well, you reach up to angle your camera towards the open chest. 

And then you return to the book. Opening it to the first page, the similarities are uncanny to the one you found in the library before. The font, the slight discoloration, the ink smudges lost to time. It’s too overwhelming to just be a series of unlikely coincidences. It must be connected to the other Sacred Monsters. 

Taking quick photos as you flip through the pages, you force yourself not to linger, no matter how much curiosity eats away at you. You’ll have time to review the pages later, you tell yourself. Right now, the best course of action is to get in and out as quickly as you can. 

Still, a handful of phrases and words jump out at you as you photograph the pages. 

Moonflower distillation…

Degeneration…

Test subjects…

Nightshade…

And finally, just as you’re drawing to the end of the book, a phrase catches your eye. 

The Kingdom of Celedis. 

Your heart drops into your stomach, body going cold.

He knows. You’re not sure how much. You're not sure exactly what. You have no idea why. But your professor has a book locked away in a secret underground prison beneath his publishing house. A book that mentions a kingdom lost to time, forgotten by everyone, preserved only in the minds of seven immortal beings. 

Professor Kim knows. And somehow, that’s more terrifying than anything else contained in this dark, decrepit place. 

Taking a photo of the final page in the book, you let it fall shut once again. Placing it back in the chest just as meticulously as you found it, you close the lid again and slide the padlock through the hold. 

The key goes in just as easily this time, locks as easily as it opened. Despite the obvious age of everything else in this place, the lock has no signs of rust, no hint of disuse. 

It’s been opened regularly, you assume. And likely by your professor. 

As that realization begins to settle, the walkie talkie on your hip gives another disconcerting crackle. Immediately, your heart leaps into your throat, mind spinning with the worst possibilities. 

You’re at the very end of the passage. It will take you at least ten minutes to be back in the office and another three to be out of the publishing house. More than that if you account for the potential of your professor’s heightened senses. 

After a moment of extended silence, Jake’s voice filters through. 

“Everything still okay down there?”

Your mind swims with relief, but your pulse doesn’t slow. 

Bringing the device to your mouth, you press the button on the side. “Yeah, I’m fine. I just finished. I’ll be back up soon.”

Another beat of silence passes. And then, “Glad to hear it. I’ll be here.”

But you can’t help but confirm, “They still have eyes on Professor Kim?”

Jake answers quickly, “Yeah. Sunghoon and Niki have eyes on him. He hasn’t left his house.”

Tucking the key back into your pocket, you begin the journey back, your quick footsteps echoing against wet stone. “Good. See you soon.”

Down the narrow passageway, your phone feels leaden in your pocket, weighed down with evidence you’re not sure how to parse. You want to be out of here as quickly as you can, back in your apartment where you can compare the two books. Where you can show them to the others. 

Thankfully, again, the way out feels shorter. Despite the ache in your muscles as you pull your body up the ladder, time passes quickly as you ascend back to the publishing house. 

True to his word, Jake waits for you just outside of the narrow entrance. He reaches out a hand to help pull you back into the small room. 

Giving you a quick once over, he frowns. “You okay? You look like you’ve seen a ghost.”

You practically have. Celedis. But this isn’t the place. 

You shake your head and tell him as much. “Not here.”

Despite the brevity of your words, Jake understands. Instead of pressing you further, he helps you slide the mural back into position, once again covering the opening to the room below. 

Giving the painting a final look, you’re sure of it now. It is Celedis. It has to be. Even if some of the details are slightly wrong. 

But your head is spinning and your thoughts are jumbled and you can’t be the only one with the weight of so many revelations weighing on your mind. 

As the two of you make your way back down the hallway towards the front door of New Haven, Jake tells you, “We’ll reconvene at our place. We can go over everything there.”

You shake your head. “Tell everyone to meet at my apartment instead.” 

“What?” A flicker of confusion creases his brow as his head tilts to the side. “Why?”

“It’ll make sense soon, I promise,” you tell him. “There’s something there I need to show you. All of you.”

Jake glances at you, but he doesn’t question you further. His earlier words echo in your mind. “For what it’s worth, we all do. Trust you, that is.”

At your side, he pulls out his phone as you pull the door to New Haven shut behind you. “Jungwon,” you hear him say. “Change of plans. We’ll meet at her apartment instead.” 

Again, the questions must be short lived, and Jake is ending the conversation just as quickly as it started. 

…..

When you arrive back at your apartment, Jungwon, Jay, Sunoo, and Niki are waiting for you in the parking lot. 

Stepping out of the driver’s seat, Jake nods at Jungwon. Then, after glancing around, he asks, “Where’s Sunghoon?”

“Keeping an eye on the professor,” Jungwon answers. “We thought it would be best to have at least one of us tailing him still.”

Jake nods. 

Jungwon turns to you. “I take it you found something. And there’s something here at your apartment you want us to see?”

You nod. “Yeah. A… well, a book. Two books, actually,” you amend. “Let’s go up,” you nod at the staircase, “and I can show you.”

Jungwon hesitates for a moment. A meaningful glance that you can’t quite decipher passes between the five of them. 

“Okay,” he finally acquiesces. “Lead the way.”

Phone heavy in your pocket, you climb the two flights of stairs with the five of them trailing behind you. The distance they put between you is slightly odd, but you don’t have much space left in your mind to think much of it. 

That is, until you reach your doorstep. And find it already occupied. 

“Heeseung,” you breathe. A force of habit more than anything. 

He’s already looking at you. Heard your conversation in the parking lot and your footsteps on the stairs and your heartbeat in your chest. He knew the exact moment you would round the corner and the number of breaths it would take you to reach him. 

His dark eyes reflect afternoon sunlight in a way that looks all too much like stars, and you have no idea what to do with any of it. 

“I’m sorry,” he whispers, as if his words are anything more than a bandaid on a bullet wound, as if the five boys behind you can’t hear the words that pass between you. 

And you’ve been stewing in it since this morning, thinking of all the ways you could beg him, plead with him, convince him to let whatever lies between the two of you to blossom, to grow wings. 

But now, with his eyes on you and the fate of a city in the pocket of your jeans, words fail you. 

Finally, your lips part. “I have something to show you.” And now you’re the one putting up walls, building barriers. For now, he’s not a boy that kissed you until your head was spinning and you couldn’t make right from left. He’s a vampire, and the two of you have a job to do. 

Your hurt, your desires, your wounded pride still sit heavy in your gut. 

But you owe it to him – this boy that was born a prince and sharpened into a weapon and cursed with a blessing he never asked for – to bring an end to this particular bout of suffering. 

To let the tragic kingdom of his youth rest once and for all, even if you have to reopen wounds in the process. 

Across from you, Heeseung only nods. 

Stepping to the side, he lets you be the one to open the door. He doesn’t need to linger outside; he’s already been invited in, more than once. But he does anyway. He waits for your words, for your approval, and then he follows you inside. Behind him, the other five exchange long, sideways glances. 

Just like this morning, the sight of the six of them crammed on your small couch is almost enough to inspire a smile. Under any other circumstances, you’d be laughing out loud. Now, however, you just give a long exhale. 

“They key worked,” you begin. “It opened the chest.”

Five hundred years, and they all have yet to perfect their patience. 

“And?” Jay is practically tripping over himself to get the question out. 

“It was full of distilled moonflower,” you tell them. Vials like the one the professor used to inject me in the neck. Hundreds of them.”

“What?” Sunoo gasps.

“How?” Niki frowns. 

“Moonflower is rare,” Jake shakes his head. “There’s no way he could have that much of it.”

“Well, he must know some secret place where it grows or something,” you suggest. “Because he does.”

“No,” Jungwon shakes his head. “You don’t understand. It’s not only a matter of knowing where it grows. Moonflower is a magical substance, and magic is finite. It simply doesn’t grow in abundance. In order for someone to have a stash that large…”

“He’s been collecting it,” Heeseung finishes. “For a long, long time.”

“He’s been a vampire for twenty years,” you remind them. “Maybe he’s been collecting it just as long.”

Again, Jungwon shakes his head. “Hundreds of vials isn’t something that can be achieved in twenty years. Hundreds of vials is hundreds of years.”

“But that doesn’t make any sense.” You frown, wheels in your brain beginning to spin. 

“There are two possibilities,” Jake says. “Either your professor is lying about how old he is…”

“Or he’s not the only one that’s been collecting and distilling moonflower,” Jay finishes. 

Sunoo shakes his head. “We haven’t seen any evidence of him working with others.”

“Either way,” Niki frowns, “Something's not quite right.”

“The moonflower.” Jungwon looks at you again. “Was it the only thing in the chest?”

You shake your head. “No. There was also a book.”

“Right.” Jake nods. “The one you took pictures of.”

“Yeah,” you nod. “I left it in the chest, obviously, but I took photos of the pages. I didn’t have a chance to look too closely while I was there, but I think it talks about…” you trail off for a moment, eyes flickering to Heeseung, despite yourself. “I think it talks about Celedis.”

“Celedis?” Jake balks. 

“That’s impossible.” Jay shakes his head. 

But Jungwon just looks at you. “Earlier in the parking lot, you said you had two books to show us.”

“Yeah,” you sigh. “I do. I was in the university library a few weeks ago, and I found this book. It was about vampires, but it was… I don’t know. It was strange. It wasn’t vitriolic or propaganda. It was almost like a diary. The reason I wanted you all to come here is because I checked it out. I have it here, in my bedroom. But the weirdest part is the title.”

“The title?” Sunoo prompts. 

“It’s called Sacred Monsters: The Origins of Immortality. And the book I found in the chest today, it looked really similar. And it was called Sacred Monsters: Cures for the Affliction.”

A beat of silence passes. Another. 

“That,” Niki finally says, “Doesn’t feel like a coincidence.”

Standing, you nod. “I don’t think so either.” Walking to your bedroom, you open the bottom drawer of your dresser. With the events of the past weeks, part of you expects the book to have vanished mysteriously. To have been nothing but a figment of your overactive imagination. 

Despite your musings, Sacred Monsters: The Origins of Immortality lies undisturbed just as you left it. With careful hands, you pull it out of your dresser and bring it back to the living room, setting it on the coffee table in front of the boys. 

“This is the book from the library?” Jungwon asks. 

“Yeah,” you confirm. “And I don’t have a printer or anything, but I’ll send you the photos I took of the book from the chest today.”

Scrolling through the files you send him, Jungwon pauses on the cover, glancing between it and the book on the coffee table. “I see what you mean. These must be related.”

Reaching for the book, Jay flips open the front cover, frowning. “There’s no author or publication date.”

“I know,” you agree. “It’s all so odd. It wasn’t even in the library system,” you add, remembering that night at the library. “The librarian had to manually check it out to me.”

“Jesus,” Sunoo grimaces, glancing at some of the pages over Jay’s shoulder. “This is super depressing.”

“Yeah,” Jay nods. “I see what you mean. This is definitely about vampires, but it’s nothing like other human-written vampire literature. 

Next to them, Jungwon scrolls through the images you’ve sent him, enlarging photos to read pieces of text. With each and every passing image, his frown grows deeper and deeper. 

“We have a problem,” Jungwon finally says. Looking back at the photo, he amends, “Several, actually.” 

You assume he must have drawn the same conclusion as you. “He must know about Celedis, right? The professor, I mean.”

“Yes,” Jungwon confirms. “I’m sure he does.”

“But how?” Jay presses.

“I don’t know.” Jungwon’s mouth pulls into a grim line. “But that’s not all.”

“This page,” He holds up his phone. “It’s a guide. Explaining in excruciating detail how to harvest, store, and distill moonflower. It also discusses its side effects. On humans and vampires.”

Scrolling to the next photo, he adds, “It looks like they studied these side effects. Through experimentation. Most of these pages are entries. Data. Experiments.” Looking at all of you, he lets the weight of that sink in for a moment. “Whoever wrote this book tested moonflower and its effects. On humans and vampires.”

“What?” Jake frowns. “The professor tested moonflower on vampires?”

“Not the professor, necessarily,” Jungwon shakes his head. “But yes, whoever wrote this book must have.”

“The cells,” you breathe, a sickening realization beginning to build in the pit of your stomach. “The cells beneath New Haven. It wasn’t just a jail.”

“It was a lab,” Heeseung finishes, locking eyes with you. 

Jungwon holds up another photo. “I think you’re right. Look at this.” You all squint as he enlarges the photo. There’s a date at the top – September 13, 1942. And next to it, a number V029.

Beneath it are a series of notes too small to make out from where you sit. Jungwon reads them, “Dosage: 8 milliliters. Injection site: Lower throat, right side. Time of effect: 2 minutes, 19 seconds. 

“V029 continues to exhibit strange behaviors under the influence of Moonflower. Although dosages have varied, the results remain consistent. Today, she spoke again about “Celedis.” When prompted with the addition of pain, she requested drawing paper. Upon refusal, she would not speak. A second dosage was administered (6ml) and further infliction of pain was utilized. V029 did not respond audibly to any given prompt or stimuli.”

“Celedis,” Jake echoes. “One of his… test subjects,” he spits with vitriol, “was the one to mention Celedis.”

“That still doesn’t make sense,” Jay points out. “It doesn’t matter if his test subjects were vampires. We’re the only ones that know about Celedis. Every other vampire in existence is a descendant of the eighth son. None of them should have any idea that Celedis ever existed.” 

“And we don’t know that these were the Professor’s test subjects,” Niki points out, echoing Jungwon’s earlier words. The page is dated for 1942. If he is telling the truth about when he was turned, he wasn’t even alive yet.”

“There must be some way to corroborate that,” you frown. “He said that he was turned the same night his entire family was massacred. Obviously, it wouldn’t have been reported as a vampire attack, but there should be something about it. Some kind of public record of their deaths, at least.”

Heeseung nods, pulling out his phone. “I’ll see if I can find anything.”

“Um,” Sunoo interjects, holding up the original Sacred Monsters book, the one you brought home from the library. “We might have another problem.”

Six pairs of eyes turn to look at him. 

“Most of these entries just seem like personal writing, like you said,” Sunoo nods at you. “But this section towards the end, here…” He trails off for a moment. “It’s called Blood Moon Ritual.”

“What?” Six voices echo in unison. 

“ There’s only one entry,” Sunoo continues, frowning. “And it doesn't really make sense. It’s a poem, like the others,” Sunoo explains. “Here, I’ll read it.

“The Origins of Immortality

That which was lost can be gained. 

The requirements are the same. 

That which was gained can be lost.

The sacrifice goes unchanged. 

Every life can end.

Every life can endure.

Fate is always determined

By what the wish is for.”

For a moment, your living room is silent. 

Jay breaks it by asking, “What the fresh hell does that mean?”

“Literature majors,” Niki glances between you and Heeseung. “Either of you want to pipe in on this one?”

“I mean,” you start, “without context, it kind of just sounds like a bunch of nonsense.” 

Before you can turn the words around in your mind again, Heeseung speaks up from where he sits. “I think I found something,” he says, holding up his phone. 

“Really?” You ask, just at the same time as Jay presses, “What?”

“There is a record from,” he double checks the date, “almost exactly twenty years ago. It’s anonymous, but it gives ages. A nine-year-old child and her forty-three year-old mother. The official cause of death is listed as an animal mauling.”

“That matches, then. That’s exactly what the professor told me.”

“There’s more, though,” Heeseung frowns. 

“More?” Your brow creases. 

“Another death.” Heeseung matches your gaze. “The child’s great grandfather, age ninety-one. And the location of death… Didn’t Professor Kim tell you that he was visiting family outside of the city?”

You nod. “He said it happened in a remote cabin. A group of nomadic vampires attacked them there.” 

Heeseung shakes his head. “The location listed here is the city. This city.”

Your frown deepens. Heeseung sticks the final nail in the coffin. “Their bodies were discovered near a row of abandoned buildings where there have been past instances of mountain lion activity. It’s on the far side of the city. Just a few blocks away from New Haven.”

You echo his words. “His family died near New Haven?” It’s odd, the way the truth seems to mingle with lies. The way your professor seems to have chosen strange pieces of the story to be dishonest about. “Why would he tell the truth about his family dying from a vampire attack twenty years ago but lie about where it happened? And not mention a grandfather?”

“I don’t know,” Heeseung says. The reality of just how much you have yet to uncover begins to settle uncomfortably in the air. Every discovery seems like it only leads to ten more mysteries to solve, another dozen dead ends. 

“I’m still stuck on Celedis,” Jay says. “We need some way to figure out who this person was and how they knew Celedis. We need–”

“We need the whole book,” you finish. 

It’s not a question or a matter of opinion. It’s the obvious conclusion to be drawn. 

Jungwon nods. “Sunghoon should still have eyes on the Professor. I’ll confirm that he’s still home, and then we can–”

“Are you insane?” Heeseung isn’t looking at his phone anymore. His search for more information on the tragic deaths of Professor Kim’s family are forgotten for the moment. “She was just there twice, and you want her to go back again? Now?”

“Heeseung…” Jake warns, taking care to guard his tone. 

“I know it’s not ideal,” Jungwon tries to placate him, “But that book has answers that we need. Right now, all we can do is speculate. If your professor has a massive stash of distilled moonflower and knows about Celedis, who knows what else he might have access to? What else he might know? People are still dying, and he’s connected to it all somehow. I’m sure of it.”

“I know that,” Heeseung bites, visibly frustrated. “But why does she have to be the one to–”

“And how exactly are you planning to get one of us down there?” Jungwon sighs, running an open palm over his features. “I don’t want to argue with you, but unless you have a plan for getting Professor Kim to invite you into his secret vampire torture chamber, ___ is the only one of us that can get this book.”

“It’s okay,” you finally interject. Something about the two of them arguing over your fate while you sit and watch doesn’t quite sit right with you. More than that, something about him always speaking over you, acting as if it’s all in your best interest, while also not bothering to give you the time of day, is all too reminiscent of the other decisions he’s made on his own. 

Still, you choose to be gentle. “I debated with Jake, actually, about whether I should bring the whole book or not. We thought this would be safer for now, but I knew it was a possibility that I would have to go back for it. I was prepared for this.”

Heeseung looks like he wants to say more, like he wants to argue, but something in your expression has his words dying on his lips. 

“I’ll get ready,” you nod. Retreating to your bedroom, you add, “Just give me a minute to grab my jacket.”

In all honesty, your jacket is the least of your concerns. Because despite your resolve, despite the will that you’ve forced yourself to steel, Heeseung is right. 

Even at a distance, he can still read you like the back of his hand. Like an open book with nothing but pages for him to peruse at his pleasure. 

The thought of going back to New Haven, of going back into that cold, dark, empty expanse of horror sends your mind spiraling. Walking into the bathroom adjoined to your bedroom, you place both hands on the counter on opposite sides of the sink. It’s an attempt, a feeble one, maybe, at grounding yourself. 

Forcing your gaze upwards, you match your own eye in the mirror. A million emotions are reflected back at you. Determination, weariness, resolve, fear. 

You’re scared. No matter what you tell them, no matter what you tell yourself, you feel it. Swimming in your mind, nestling in your bones. A terror rooted so deep you’re not sure you’ll ever get it out. 

You don’t want to go to New Haven. You don’t want to descend down that ladder. You don’t want to risk your life or your comfort or your sanity. You don’t want to have feelings for an immortal being that needs blood to survive. 

But reality doesn’t bend to the whims of frightened girls, and ignoring the things that scare you won’t make them go away. 

Bravery, you think, as you watch your reflection in the mirror. It’s not just reserved for moments that feel grand in scale. It’s also here, in places like this. Where there’s nothing but you, your reflection, and all of the things you wish you could avoid waiting for you just outside the door. 

So with a final inhale, you force your features into something neutral, something that at least five of the boys waiting for you outside will believe. And then you walk back to your bedroom, making sure to pull your jacket over your shoulders before stepping back out into the living room. 

Jake stands from his seat on the couch when you enter the room again. Heeseung avoids your gaze. 

“You ready?” Jake asks. 

“As I’ll ever be,” you nod, forcing a false sense of cavalier lightness into your tone. 

“Good thing I left the headlamp in the car,” Jake jokes, pulling on his shoes. 

“And the walkie talkies,” you agree. 

Despite yourself, you can’t quite stop your eyes from wandering back towards your living room one last time. 

Jungwon is dictating new assignments while the others listen attentively. Well, three of them anyway. 

Heeseung just sits there, his eyes still trained on the ground. 

You’re sure he can feel it, the way your gaze settles on the side of his face, traces his profile and then does it again. But no matter how long your gaze lingers, he won’t return it. 

And maybe this is it, you think. Maybe you’ll just have to make peace with the fact that all you’ll ever get from him are closed doors and avoided eye contact. 

He’s had his teeth in your neck and your blood on his lips, and despite it all, the only thing he has for you now is a cold shoulder disguised as concern. 

And if this self flagellation is some kind of atonement, an apology for a crime he’s convinced himself he’s committed, then that, you think, is where his true selfishness lies. 

He can call it altruism and immortal wisdom all he wants. But caring for you from a distance will never be something you thank him for. 

It’s not a declaration you can make in front of an audience, so with a final sigh, you turn towards your front door and follow Jake’s retreating figure from it. 

As it so happens, you can be selfish too. You pretend you don’t feel Heeseung’s eyes on your back the entire way out. 

However, you must not be as good at disguising your fear as you thought, because Jake is nothing but apologies while the two of you walk side by side down the stairs. 

“I really am sorry,” he breathes into frigid air. The warmth of his breath creates a visible cloud. “I shouldn’t have told you to just leave the book there, but I was worried–”

“It’s not your fault.” You shake your head. “I thought it would be best to leave the book, too. And it’s okay, really. I’ll be just fine.”

“Still,” he reiterates. “I’m sorry that it has to be you. It can’t be fun going down there all alone. And especially since we know what it was used for now…”

Your lips flatten. “Are you trying to make me feel better or worse?”

“Sorry,” He laughs, apologizing again. “You’re right. No more gloomy talk. We’ll just get you in and out as fast as we can, and we can worry about the rest of it later.” 

“Works for me.” You force a tight smile, reaching for the car door. If it’s any consolation, you’re glad that it’s Jake you’re with. His presence is steady, carries a certain kind of lightness that helps to chase away some of the lingering storm clouds, even if just for a moment. 

But just as you move to slide into the passenger seat, you hear the telltale sound of footsteps on pavement over your shoulder. They’re rapid, loud. Whoever it is, they’re running. 

Turning over your shoulder, your brow creases in confusion when your eyes land on Heeseung. Again, it’s not you he’s looking at. 

Heesung is talking to Jake when he says, “Change of plans. Jungwon wants you down by the river.”

“What?” Jake frowns. “But what about–”

“I’ve got her.” Heeseung’s words cut through the air like an arrow, pierce through your uncertainties like a knife. 

“I…” Jake trails off. He’s looking at you, not Heeseung when he asks, “You sure?”

“Go,” you nod. “I’m sure Jungwon has his reasons.” It’s flimsy reasoning, and between the three of you, no one is convinced that Jungwon is responsible for this change. 

But they’re switching places all the same. Jake gives you one final glance over his shoulder, and you swear you see him shake his head before he heads back up the stairs to where the other boys still sit in your apartment.

And Heeseung still won’t look at you, even as he walks around to the other side of the car and slides into it, sitting only a handful of inches away from you. 

It’s a reflection of this morning, an echo of earlier as the car turns out of your apartment parking lot and sets course for New Haven. Only this time, it’s Heeseung in the driver’s seat, not Jake. 

The silence between the two of you extends for long minutes, nothing but the gentle hum of the car heater to fill the empty air. 

Finally, with nothing but road ahead of you, Heeseung exhales a long sigh. “You don’t have to do this, you know. You say the word, and I’ll turn this car around. We can go back to your apartment or to my place or somewhere else entirely. I’ll get you on a plane out of the country, if that’s what you want.”

You raise a brow. His meager attempts at kindness have started to lose their shine. “And the book?”

Heeseung shakes his head. “Fuck that stupid book.” 

Easy to say, maybe. But both of you know it’s not true. Besides, “I don’t want to leave the country.”

“Really?” You can’t tell if he’s serious when he adds, “I hear that Costa Rica is lovely this time of year.”

“I’m sure it is,” you concede. If he wants to skirt around admissions, you’ll run headfirst into them. “But I’d be worried about you.”

Heeseung only sighs. “I can take care of myself.”

“That’s not what I mean.” You’re sure he knows it, but being difficult on purpose isn’t new to either of you. “And we’ve had this argument before. My mind hasn’t changed, and clearly yours hasn’t either. If you get to decide how to live your life without any input from me, then I expect the same courtesy from you.”

“It’s different,” he insists. Now, at least, he’s talking. Even if it’s only to beg for a bit of your understanding. “I’ve already lived a life. Too many lives. Five hundred years worth of life with no sign of any end coming soon.”

You have to disagree. “Have you, though? You know, when people talk about having lived a life, they’re not just talking about years. They’re talking about family, friendships, community. Achievements, accomplishments.” The last word dangles from your lips. Oh, fuck it. “Love.”

Next to you, Heeseung is silent. You press on, “I understand that you’ve made up your mind. That with all your five hundred years of immortal wisdom, you’ve decided you get to make decisions for the both of us. But you know what else is a normal part of life? Kissing someone and regretting it. You can just avoid me at parties, you know. You don’t have to threaten to send me to Costa Rica.”

“It wasn’t a threat–”

But you’re not done. “I liked it, by the way. In case you were wondering. I don’t care if you regret it.” Your pride feels like something forgotten, discarded long ago. Maybe it’s a facade or false bravado, but you find it easy to bare your secrets here in the passenger seat. “I liked it when you kissed me. I liked the way it felt when you put your hands on me. I liked the way you lost control with my blood in your mouth. I went home and I laid in bed and I thought about it. All alone in my bedroom, with my hands on my skin everywhere you touched me while I pretended like it was you. I dreamed about you. I woke up thinking about you.”

Heeseung whispers your name. A warning, a plea. He might as well be shouting in your ear. 

“You can avoid eye contact and pretend it never happened all that you want. I’m not going to. In fact, I’m probably going to think about it again tonight. Do what you want. I’m not going to pretend that I don’t have feelings for you, and I’m not going to avoid New Haven,” Your chest is heaving now. Between words, it’s easy to forget that you need to breathe, too. “And I’m not running away to fucking Costa Rica.”

“You think I enjoy this?” Heeseung’s knuckles are white against the steering wheel. “You think I like having this… this war in my brain? This constant struggle? You think I’m playing with you? Toying with your feelings because I can’t make up my mind?” He shakes his head and sends your thoughts scattering. “I’m not. You used to glare at me across the lecture hall, and it would be the highlight of my day. I looked forward to every assignment Professor Kim gave us, because it meant I’d have another chance to read something you’d written. I’ve been alive for five hundred years, and I don’t think I’ve ever found anything that makes me feel the way your words do. For the first time in my life, I felt like someone else could take what I was feeling and put it into words.”

That gives you pause. He… thought about you? Even then? He read your writing?

“And it didn’t stop there. I used to go home from class imagining, praying that I could be like every other person in that stupid class. That I could be just another kid in my twenties worried about disappointing their parents and picking the wrong major. That I could waste my afternoons staring at the pretty girl in my literature course that couldn’t be bothered to give me the time of day. Fantasizing about asking her to study with me at a coffee shop or share a workroom in the library.”

Your eyes are wide now, and they’re trained directly on him. Heeseung is still looking out at the road in front. 

“You think I don’t think about you too? That I want to pretend none of it ever happened? You’re wrong. All I do is think about you, and all I do is want. But they’re things I can’t have, things I can’t be. I wish I could fall asleep dreaming about you. I wish I could wake up with you on my mind and know that I only have so many days to do something about it.”

He shakes his head, as if that will clear the errant thoughts that have clearly begun to consume him.

“But I can’t. I can’t sleep. I can’t shut off my brain, even for a second. All I do is think. All I do is remember. You think I didn't like it? You think I didn’t go home with the feeling of your skin on my hands and the taste of your blood in my mouth? You think I don’t spend every waking hour with the sound of you whimpering burned into my mind? I’ve wanted things before, but never like this. I made peace with myself a long time ago. I know what I am and I understand that ultimately, my existence is a burden to this world. I’ve learned to stop wishing for impossible things. But every time I look at you, I just… I just want.”

Your voice is small. You don’t know how to respond to any of it. “It’s okay to want things.”

“It’s not.” Heeseung shakes his head. “Not when they’re impossible. Not when it will only bring pain to the people I care about. I don’t want to be someone you avoid at a party. I don’t want to watch you move on with your life when this inevitably ends. But all of those things you talked about earlier, all of those parts that make up a life – friendship, family, community. I can’t give you any of that.”

It’s hard to hear. It hurts to see how visibly upset he is about all of it. 

“It doesn’t matter if I live for another five hundred years or a thousand years or until the end of time itself. I already know I’ll spend all of it thinking about you.  I’ve made peace with it before, and I’ll learn to do it again, but I can’t take your life from you. And even if I wanted to, I can’t watch you grow to resent me for it.”

In front of you, the road appears endless. With sunlight reflecting in the rearview mirror, the day is dying, and your hopes are going with it. 

“When I tell you that I’ll send you to Costa Rica if that’s what you want, it’s not because I’m trying to get rid of you. It’s because I want you to make the choices that are best for you. Not for me, not for the boys, not even for this city. I don’t expect you to take me up on it. Your moral compass will be the death of me, I’m sure. But the offer will always be there.”

Your emotions feel frivolous. Your desires feel petulant. Still, you can’t help but counter, “And what if I resent you now? For not even giving this a chance?”

Heeseung smiles, a wry thing that doesn’t reach his eyes. “Then I’ll take comfort in knowing you have a whole life ahead of you to get over it.”

It’s a stalemate that has the car stumbling back into silence, even as your head spins. He noticed you, he thought about you, long before you ever thought you were even a blip on his radar. 

He read your words and connected to them. As a writer, it feels as if he’s admitted to seeing your soul and finding it beautiful. As a human, it makes you want to fall in love, despite all of the ways he’s thoroughly and entirely erased that possibility. 

You’re not sure how long you sit in the quiet, mind reeling. It can’t be more than a handful of minutes, though, before the scenery around you begins to take a familiar shape. You’re close. 

Early evening has just begun to close in. Around you, shadows are growing longer, street lights flickering on as the last rays of sunlight fade from the day. 

Still a few blocks away, Heeseung pulls into an empty parking lot. 

You frown. “Surely we can get a little closer than this?” It’s seamless, how well the two of you slip into your roles. You have a job to do. In the face of that reality, it’s as if the past twenty minutes don’t exist at all. The only evidence is the lingering tension that simmers in the air. 

“It’s not that.” Heeseung pulls his phone out, frowning at the screen. “Sunghoon’s not responding.”

“What?” Your eyes widen. “Do you think he’s okay?”

“I’m sure he’s fine,” Heeseung assures you. “He was responding to Jungwon just fifteen minutes ago. But that means we haven’t heard from anyone with eyes on the professor since then.” Weighing his options mentally, Heeseung finally suggests, “Why don’t we drive by New Haven first? We can make sure everything looks okay. If Sunghoon still hasn’t responded by then, we can make a decision.” 

“Okay,” you nod. 

Back on the road, it takes you less than five minutes to reach the publishing house. Immediately, you can tell that something is wrong. 

“There’s a car,” you whisper, even though you’re still inside the safety of the car, still driving down the road. “There’s a car parked out front.” 

“I see it.” Heeseung’s lips pull into a tight line. 

“I think it’s his car.” Your eyes widen. “The professor’s.”

“Yeah,” Heeseung confirms. “I think so too.”

“Why is he here now?” You wonder. “Didn’t you say Sunghoon had eyes on him at his house just fifteen minutes ago?”

“Something’s not right,” Heeseung agrees. “I’m going to turn around. We’ll head to the house and figure things out there.” He maintains an even tone, but you can sense the hint of panic in his voice, the slight tremble as he turns the car around and starts to head in the opposite direction. 

“Sunghoon…” You trail off. 

“Try calling him.” Heeseung passes you his phone, jaw tight. 

Taking Heeseung’s phone from his outstretched hand, you press the call button. The phone rings. In the quiet, each shrill ring sounds like thunder, burns like terror. 

“He’s not answering.” Your voice is quiet as you state the obvious. The call drops from lack of response. 

“Fuck,” Heeseung swears beneath his breath. But then he reasons, “I’m sure it’s fine. He’s probably just occupied at the moment or–”

The sound of a ringtone suddenly fills the car. 

“Is that him?” A wave of relief washes over his features. But it’s premature. 

“No,” you shake your head, frowning at the dark expanse of Heeseung’s screen. “It’s my phone. Hold on.” Digging it out of your pocket, the caller ID only makes the dread in the pit of your stomach intensify further. 

Again, your phone rings, the sound cutting through the car like a knife. 

“Who is it?” Heeseung asks. “Your heart just jumped like crazy.”

“It’s Professor Kim.” Your words are barely a whisper. 

“What?” Despite the task at hand, Heeseung takes his eyes off of the road and turns to you. 

“I should answer it, right?” You frown, fingers trembling. “He’s probably just following up on the draft I submitted earlier.” You’re not sure who you’re trying to convince – Heeseung or yourself. 

“Fuck,” Heeseung repeats. “I… yeah, you should answer.”

“Okay, just,” you sit up a little straighter, as if your professor can somehow see you. “Just don’t make any sounds.”

Sliding your thumb across your screen, you accept the call. 

“Hello? Professor Kim?”

“Hello,” he greets from the other end. Oily slick as always, but there’s something ragged in his voice, too. As if he’s recently exerted himself. At the very least, he doesn’t leave you wondering for long. “I had a chance to review your article.”

“Oh,” you reply, some of the tension easing from your shoulders. “What did you think?”

“Outstanding work,” he praises. “Truly. You are one of the most gifted students I’ve ever come across.”

Under any other circumstances, you’d beam with the praise. Now, your anxiety only heightens. Twists knots in the pit of your stomach. “I… I appreciate that, professor. It means a lot coming from you.”

“I’d like to discuss my suggestions for edits, of course.”

“Right,” you nod. “Could I call you back? I don’t have my computer at the moment, and–”

“I’d like to discuss with you in person, actually.”

“Oh,” you force neutrality into your voice, even as your heart gives a sudden lurch. “Okay. I’m available tomorrow, if there’s a time–”

Again, he interrupts you. “I would like to speak with you tonight. And I have something to show you. It’s quite urgent, I’m afraid.”

“Tonight?” You echo. And ‘something to show you’? At your side, Heeseung stiffens. “It’s a bit late. I’m not sure…”

“With the recent deaths in mind, I’m sure you understand that time is of the essence. The sooner we can publish your work, the sooner the victims can be avenged.”

You turn to Heeseung, a question in your eyes. Matching his gaze, you see the way his head begins to shake. His silent disapproval of the idea. But then he stops, sighs. 

In the driver’s seat, next to you, Heeseung silently mouths three words. 

It’s your choice. 

It almost makes you want to cry. His small adjustment. His trust in your ability to choose for yourself. 

Into the receiver, you ask, “Where should I meet you?”

“The publishing office,” your professor responds, approval in his voice. “How soon can you be here?”

Mentally constructing an alibi, you settle with, “I’m not too far away, actually. Probably twenty minutes. Maybe a little longer.”

“Excellent. I’ll see you shortly.”

The line clicks dead. 

“I don’t like this,” Heeseung’s voice is dripping in unease. 

Yours is no better. “I don’t either, but it’s all part of earning his trust, right?”

“He said he had something to show you. I don’t like all of the possibilities that could entail.”

“I’m sure it’s just something to do with the article,” you try to reason. “He’s probably prepared it as a mock publication or something and thinks I’ll be thrilled to see my writing in an official format.”

Under any other circumstances, you would be.

On the topic of your article, you’re reminded that the words in question aren’t actually yours at all. If this car is a place for revelations, you decide to add one more to the list. 

“How did you do it, by the way?” Your gaze traces Heeseung’s side profile where he looks out at the road ahead. “How did you write that article just like I would have?”

Heeseung just sighs. “I told you,” his voice is low, quiet, “your writing means a lot to me. I’ve spent a lot of time with it. I suppose that made it easy to emulate.”

“Well, thank you.”

“For stalking your writing?” Heeseung teases. 

“For reading it,” you correct. “For taking the time to understand it.” To understand me. 

“You act like it was torture for me.”

“Well, I do remember you calling one of my pieces ‘nauseatingly vitriolic.’” It feels like a lifetime ago, that evening in the writing workshop. 

“That was one piece,” Heeseung defends. “And it wasn’t really you.”

“No,” you agree, “it wasn’t.”

Heeseung glances at you, and for a moment, you let yourself imagine it too. A world where he’s just Heeseung and you’re just you. 

Two humans that met by chance, worried about disappointing their parents and picking the wrong major. Arguing over semantics and vying for attention from their professor. Stealing glances across the lecture hall that start to linger just a little too long. Meeting outside of class and pretending it’s nothing more than a terrible coincidence every time, even if you never fail to slide down into the seat next to his. 

Stealing kisses outside of your professor’s office. Sharing a cup of warm tea at a sporting event both of you are only pretending to understand. Falling in love. 

Simple moments. Quiet moments. Human moments. 

Heeseung reminds you just how far away that version of reality is when he asks, “Should I turn around, then? It’s already been five minutes.” His voice is quiet, like there’s a fantasy he doesn’t want to disturb, too. 

You shake your head. “Take a right at the next light, and drop me off at the bus stop. There’s a group of cafes a couple stops down that are popular with students. If he asks, I’ll say I was at one of them when he called.”

Heeseung doesn’t bother to protest. He follows your directions until the two of you are parked on the curb of the bus stop. Bidding him goodbye, you step out from the passenger seat. “I’ll meet you back here,” you tell him. “I’ll take the bus this far, just to be safe.”

“Okay,” he agrees, “but message me before that. As soon as you can.”

“I will,” you promise. The moment lingers for seconds longer, a million words and promises and declarations dying on both of your lips. You sever them all with the shutting of the car door. 

Heeseung doesn’t drive away, not until the bus arrives. And even then, you swear it’s his car you get fleeting glimpses of in the rearview mirror. 

But a handful of minutes later, Heeseung and his car are nowhere to be seen as you exit at the stop closest to New Haven. With the absence of the sun, there’s a biting chill in the air. Grateful for your jacket, you pull it a bit tighter around your body, suppressing a shudder. 

Glancing down at your phone, you send one final message before taking your last few steps towards the publishing house. 

Going in now. 

Heeseung responds in milliseconds. 

Be safe. 

Raising a fist, it feels a bit odd to knock on the same door you’ve broken into twice in the past twenty-four hours. The irony doesn’t have long to linger. Professor Kim is quick to answer the door and even quicker to usher you inside. 

Tonight, he looks every bit the well-kept professor you grew used to in your classes. With a creaseless button down tucked into dress pants, he might as well be back at the front of the lecture hall.

“Thank you,” he reiterates as he leads you down the hallway. “I appreciate you coming on such short notice.” 

“Of course,” you nod, trying to look as enthusiastic as he wants you to be. “The gravity of the situation is not lost on me. I’m excited to review your edits and get my article published as soon as possible.” 

“Right,” he nods, a bit apologetically. “You’ll have to forgive me, then, but I have something rather important to show you first.”

That makes your brow crease in confusion. Is what he’s showing you not related to your writing?

“What is it?”

Your professor just shakes his head. “I’m afraid words won’t do this justice. Follow me.” 

Beckoning you forward, he leads you to the same room you were poisoned in the first time you visited New Haven. Suppressing a shudder at the memory, you force your footsteps forward, even as your senses start to scream at you in protest. 

Pausing at the door, he turns over his shoulder to look at you. “You’ll be pleased to know that I believe I may have been wrong about Lee Heeseung.”

That sends ice spinning through your veins. You don’t like the sound of Heeseung’s name in his mouth, hate the idea that he’s been so fixated on him. “What do you mean? Wrong in what way?”

“See for yourself,” your professor grins. And then, he opens the door. 

The room is as dim as it was the last time you were here, but this time, your professor is quick to turn on the overhead light. 

But the absence of darkness only reveals a horror much worse than anything you imagined the darkness concealing.  

Because on the opposite side of the room, hunched in the corner, there is a figure illuminated under the harsh fluorescent overhead lighting. 

His system is infused with so much moonflower essence that he can hardly do so much as lift his head. But when he finally finds the strength to do so, you make direct eye contact with Park Sunghoon.  

⋆.˚⟡ ࣪ ˖⋆.˚⟡ ࣪ ˖⋆.˚⟡ ࣪ ˖

note: Hello my loves! I am so happy to finally be able to share this with you all. I know I mentioned before that part of the reason it took so long was because of some recent changes in my life outside of tumblr, but if I'm honest, part of it too was that I was just having a really hard time continuing this story in a way that felt like it did justice to the first three parts.

There are so many moving pieces and things going on, and I really want to make this story come to life in the best way possible. Thank you for being patient with me while I agonized over that internally lol. I hope that this part was worth the wait. Love u all ♡♡♡

[mrs-weasley-reid]

THIS LOVE CAME BACK TO ME

Aaron Hotchner x (former) bau!reader

Sypnosis: A friend's death brings you back to the loving arms of the BAU family. And like a high tide, it also brought back old feelings that Aaron finds difficult to control. WARNING: fluff! cursing. mentions of death, divorce, miscarriage (tell me if I forgot something) A/N: this can be read as a stand alone but is a part 2 for you're too sweet for me. it's loosely inspired by This Love (Taylor's Version)

The sight of you is like a dream.

Aaron thinks it might've been the haze of loss and woe that was making him see things, but it isn't. His breath hitched audibly. The sound causes David and Spencer to turn to Aaron, following his line of sight to where you stand at the front door.

As your eyes roam in the crowd of people clad in black, Aaron is the first you see. Your eyes are rimming with red heat and overflowing with tears. Your feet race to Aaron, snatching him into a tight hug like the cavalry was out to get you, and he is your only lifeline. "Hotch..." Your voice cracks upon his name as you bury your face on his chest, soaking the fabric of his dress shirt like it hadn't been more than a decade since you saw him last.

Shock fills Aaron's chest, but his hands still remember your frame in his arms so well they wrap themselves around your waist like second nature. Lavender and chamomile. You smell just as he remembers. A mixture of solace and gaiety. Your sniffles sound the same. So distinct that his ears itch.

His mind questions whether seventeen years of his life were all a dream and he'd just woken up. Your embrace feels like a day has never gone by, and you two are young and stupid again. Okay, maybe not stupid. You were never stupid. Not a day in your life were you ever stupid. Aaron insists on the thought.

Right then, Aaron decides that you are real because no one else in his life has ever grabbed him into a bone-crushing hug the way you do. Arms wrapped around his neck like vines. Toes pointed at the earth so you could reach his insane height. He can only think of one other person who'd do that: Jack. But the boy could barely wrap his arms around Aaron's legs at the moment, so it was definitely you.

He closes his eyes, and tears quickly trickle down his face like he's been holding it in. He was. He is under the impression that with all the tearful sobs his team has wept, he should at least swallow his. As usual, he wanted to be a strong foundation for the others. A shoulder they can cry on. So, Aaron forbade himself to cry. At least not in front of everyone.

But then your hold is so tight the heartache finally explodes. You roll in with the reminder that he is permitted to cry, too. To feel the sorrow. To crumble like everyone else in the room.

"I came as soon as I heard," You muffle in his shirt, pulling away to wipe your bottomless tears with the back of your hand.

It takes all of Aaron not to hold you back when your body leaves his cold and empty. Your peripheral had caught David's familiar figure, prompting an automatic brain response to capture him into a hug.

Aaron watches as you exit out of David's embrace, forty-five seconds shorter than his. He doesn't let himself think too hard of it. Afraid that he is to get his hopes up for nothing.

David pats your back, "Glad to see you, kid."

There it is.

Your smile.

A smile so bright it blurs out your chapped lips and runny makeup, "I missed you."

Aaron swears he would've fainted if you'd said that to the Aaron Hotchner from seventeen years ago. The one who can't even pluck up the courage to tell you his feelings. As if he's got the prowess to do it now. As if he hasn't been feeling like a schoolgirl, giddy with any kind of affection you offer him in the past three minutes.

For a moment, Aaron let himself indulge in the delusion that you came for him and only him. His bubble burst into a sharp pop in an instant, though. Because then your eyes shift away from him, "I missed everyone." You reiterate with much clearer keywords.

A tug aches Aaron's chest. How can he forget? You are kind to everyone. You are a safe space for everyone. A light for everyone. So, as special as your embrace was for him, it was a normal thing for you.

Then the realization hits him. He was at a funeral, for Pete's sake. He beats himself up mentally. For letting his unrequited feelings for you go rogue like wild animals, hysterical.

Focus, Aaron. He scolds himself.

Your effect on him is still as rabid as ever. He hates it a bit. Blames your perfection in his eyes. Blames himself for still harboring feelings that should've withered years ago. How the love glowed in the darkest depths of his chest as soon as you'd said his name. How a glimpse of you revived every piece of shattered heart. How the high tide of your arrival brought in waves and waves of his feelings back. He claims you are being unfair. Considering the fact that you are oblivious and at no fault.

A cough cuts the reunion short.

Aaron's thoughts dissipate like a fog blown by a violent wind. He mentally thanks the person for bringing him back to reality.

The three of you turn to Derek Morgan. You don't know the man, but you offer him a soft smile—one with your lips closed but curvy enough to be friendly or display an apology—in hopes that he doesn't form the wrong impression of you.

Other faces come into view. Now you wonder who they might be and what special place they hold in Jason Gideon's loving memory. Was he a mentor, a boss, a friend, or a family? Because your senses have never let you down, feeling the capacity of their mourning through their sullen faces and glossy eyes.

Then again, it has been years since you stepped foot on American soil. You aren't sure how many people Jason Gideon made acquaintance with. Maybe you were smiling too widely that it offended people. It's his funeral after all.

Aaron doesn't let your thoughts wander too far, clearing his throat. As if he sensed your insecurities rattle in the pit of your stomach. If you were flushed by it, your puffy face hid it well. He stands between you and the group of people who watched him in detail.

"Everyone, I'd like you to meet an important vessel of the behavioral analysis unit..." Aaron introduces you with great renown. He says your first name with an undertone the team picks up but doesn't mention. "We worked on many cases together when the unit was too small to focus on one case at a time." He turns his entire body to face you. A hand makes its way to the lower of your back as if to tell you that the strangers are safe enough to be in close proximity with. "These are agents Derek Morgan, Jennifer Jareau, Kate Callahan, Dr. Spencer Reid, and tech analyst Penelope Garcia. The A team." He beams with pride like he'd just shown you his golden medals.

Your jaw drops, hands landing over your chest as a soft gasp escapes you. You look between Aaron and David to confirm, earning two series of nods. "This is the team? Like a team, team?" You can't help but tear up from the utter joy that rushed through your veins.

The said team found you overdramatic. They exchange looks between them. A silent conversation, judging whether they should let their eccentric impression of you stick or give you another chance to redeem yourself. They guessed that the death of a friend may have contributed to your screwy image.

Still, a woman with a kind smile and breathtaking beauty doesn't hesitate to approach you. "You can call me JJ," She starts and offers her hand. You shake it firmly like she's about to interview you for a job. "I used to work with Gideon as a liaison. I never imagined that I'd be one of the profilers who'd solve his case." An awkward smile laces atop her lips, also shock with the randomness of her last words.

Wonderment masked your face. The fact you were supposedly at a funeral was forgotten momentarily. You glance at David with twinkling eyes. "A liaison?" You squeal in a whisper.

"Wait until Penelope Garcia shakes your hand," David whispers back as he leans close to you.

You follow his subtle gaze at the other blonde woman across. Technical Analyst. You remind yourself. An amused scoff bounces off your throat.

Aaron chuckles and hands you a square cloth, "A lot has changed since you left. We have a floor to ourselves now." He is unaware of the team's watchful eyes, taking notes of his every motion next to you.

"Oh, I'm sorry," You take his handkerchief and blot your weepy face. "I must look crazy." A bright giggle roars out of you. "It's just... There were only four of us as a unit, and we had to share our workspace with other units. Cases took a lot more time to solve back in the day."

"How long?" Penelope curiously asks, as if it is the most important detail she has yet to hear. She is a sunshine. It takes one to know one. You swear she's glowing despite the dry mascara stain on her face from all the tears early on the day.

"Too long," You shake your head, trailing off as your face flashes a dreadful expression. "I'm just glad all of you were there to solve Jason's case. I really wanted to help, but I had important matters to take care of." You vaguely share. Your mind quickly shoves the thoughts that you deem irrelevant to the moment.

"You knew Gideon?" The tall boy with unruly hair asks with sorrowful eyes. Dr. Spencer Reid. He had a frown on his face.

"You're not the first genius Jason picked up," David quips, causing a chuckle to most except the young doctor.

Spencer throws his gaze somewhere else. He has been impacted by Jason's death more than anyone else on the team. The tear stains on his face had yet to fade. So, joking about Jason still made his heart ache.

You glance at Aaron, asking him all the questions in your head without letting it slip out of your mouth. Your connection never broke. He could hear your questions loud and clear just by meeting your eyes, and it felt euphoric. Still, he concentrates on your airy curiosity, nodding once.

Just like that, your attention drew to Spencer, "He used to beat me in chess." You state at random, making the group quiet.

Spencer offers you a tight-lipped, wistful smile, "Me too."

You walk closer to him with a soft smile and a "has he ever given you tickets?" The two of you took off to another part of the room, chatting, cheering him up just a bit.

Somehow, the small interaction between you and Spencer made Aaron explode in happiness. He doesn't know why exactly, but it felt fatherly. He wasn't too far older than Spencer, but he'd watched him grow into a great profiler. He knew Spencer like the back of his hand, even if bits of Spencer's life were swept under his palm. So, he knew that it wasn't easy for Spencer to be generously welcoming, especially when someone important to his life just died. And when you knew exactly what to say, understood what Aaron's nod meant, it made his heart swollen. You bonded with Spencer in mere seconds as if you were the one to give him life. Aaron adored it. He couldn't explain the reason, but he hoped that Spencer could find refuge with you.

The day wheels into the night. Fewer and fewer people scatter around Stephen Gideon's residence. You find yourself standing by the terrace with David and Aaron, reminiscing the old days, coddling a glass of whiskey.

Aaron is stunned by your choice of alcohol. He remembers you preferring a much sweeter drink.

"I've always liked whiskey," You correct him gently. A laugh forced its way out against the neat liquid sliding down your throat.

"That sounds wrong," Aaron chuckles, "I swear you even hated it with a passion."

You give him a weird look with a subtle grin, "You must be thinking of someone else because Jason and I like the same exact brand of whiskey. You're getting old, Hotchner." You tease, hiding the butterflies in your stomach.

Aaron's eyes widen as he points an accusatory finger at you, "Jason introduced me to whiskey! You're definitely lying!"

"Well, duh!" You roll your eyes, "It's Jason. He's practically our father." You state, straightening your back as you lean against the railing. The wind whips across your face.

"So, what? I was just a fly on the wall? I'm starting to regret calling you back home." David interjects, spreading his arms as he furrows his brows. He caters to his own glass in the comfort of a chair.

"You're mother bird. Everybody knows that," You grin. The urge to cry has finally stopped. Though, you suspect it was the jet lag and hunger from the ghastly flight.

The three of you fell into fits of laughter. Well, just you. Aaron and David only had wide grins on their faces. After all these years, they still refused to laugh loudly. You didn't mind it, though. Because you felt at home.

Aaron nudges your shoulder, "How'd you get here so fast? If I'm not mistaken, the flight from Paris to Virginia is at least nine hours long." He tries to sound casual, like he hadn't looked up the distance long ago and that, for some reason, he kept the knowledge tucked in one of the wrinkles in his brain.

A smug grin made its way to your face, "Does the BAU have a jet?" You brag, sipping your glass empty as you raise your chin with pride.

"You'd be surprised," David takes the liberty to respond, shaking his head while his brows raise in disbelief. A ring brings his attention to his phone on the table but continues to finish his thoughts out loud. "The team's filled with young people now, and suddenly, I'm ancient history. Hold on, you two. I need to take this." And he slips back inside the house to find a quieter space.

You and Aaron exchange looks.

A smile slowly lifted the ends of his lips. It was a handsome sight.

It felt like time had stopped.

You break from his gaze, "So? How's everything? How long has it been? Like, thirteen—"

"Seventeen," Aaron cuts you off, nonchalantly drowning his throat with liquor.

You blink, "That long?" He nods at the air. "Damn, Hotch. You're making me feel old." You nudge his side, though you barely caused any impact. Your brows are drawn as if you aren't certain whether to take it lightly or feel slightly offended.

He rolls his eyes. Had his team know how much of his expressive side had the habit of showing every time he was with you, they'd start a riot.

"You didn't age a day. You still look young." You still look beautiful.

"Flattery won't get you access to the French database, Hotch. You know that." You kid, playing with the ice cubes in your glass. The clinking sound makes you smile. You convince yourself it was the reason, at least.

"You caught me," Aaron says in a sarcastic tone. He lets the silence sink in for a moment, spoiling himself with your presence for a brief moment. Just for a second, he wants to keep the moment to himself. Just the two of you. Just you and him.

And when he felt satisfied enough, he brought his life into the mix, "I got married." He almost jumps from his spot at the sudden snap of your neck. You beam with excitement, encouraging him to say more. "Haley... she was a great woman, person. We have a son, Jack. He's nine years old."

You looked like a child listening to a fairytale. You pat his shoulder, "Hotch, that's so amazing! Are they here? Did you bring them with you?" You glance inside the sliding glass door, scanning the crowd.

He should've continued talking. "W-we... We got divorced, and... she died," Aaron's voice got lower with each syllable, completely soundless by the end of his sentence. He doesn't know why he feels shame. It has been years, and even if it still makes him sad sometimes, Aaron takes pride in the fact that Haley sacrificed her life.

"What?" The excitement plummets off your chest.

Aaron takes a big gulp. You'd missed so much it became difficult to tell you more. "She died. Five years ago." He clears his throat, "But I'm okay now. Jack and I are doing well on our own."

Your expression softens, and a hand unconsciously sits atop his hand, "I'm so sorry, Hotch." You squeeze his hand. Part of you felt guilty for feeling excited, for getting ahead of yourself like usual. You fear that your enthusiasm may have caused Aaron triple the heartache he is already feeling.

"It's a long time ago. I'm really fine. Jack's growing up like a spitting image of her. He's an amazing kid." He doesn't want to bring the mood down. He's honest when he says that he feels fine. "Enough about me. How about you? Do you have anyone waiting in France? Any kids?" If he can recall, you always told him how badly you wanted to have a family.

You lick your lower lip into a thin purse. You gaze at the evening view of the backyard with a heavy sigh, loosening your shoulders, "I was going to..." Aaron's brows scrunched at the way you phrased your response, but he didn't say anything. "Before I became the chief, I was part of the undercover agents. Days before my new assignment, I found out that I was pregnant. Louis wanted me to take a break from work, but I insisted that I work. The day I learned I was going to have a boy, I got caught in a crossfire. I tried to fight for him, but it was either me or him." You release a heavy sigh, "The doctors chose me. They chose wrong... Louis blamed me for losing our baby. I still do, too. We had a hard time bouncing back up after that. We just finalized our divorce yesterday." You smile weakly at Aaron, masking the hurt that pierced every inch of your heart. You quickly swipe the single drop of tear that managed to trail down your cheek.

Aaron glances at your intertwined hands. He feels guilty for liking it despite the dense atmosphere of your conversation. So, he lets go of it to snake an arm around your shoulders, giving you a tight side hug. "Don't say that, sweetheart..." The endearment rolls off his tongue like butter. He doesn't dwell on it, eager to lessen your pain. "I'm certain that he's glad you lived. He wouldn't have liked the world if he never got the chance to be raised by you." He starts to imagine how awful Louis looks and how much Aaron would make him look worse. He's barely known the guy, but he despises how horrible he's treated you at the time you needed a loving husband the most.

The next thirty minutes became quiet, and Aaron thought that maybe catching up wasn't such a great idea. He should've known that your lives weren't exactly on the greener side.

Then he wonders what life would've been if you hadn't left. He shakes his head. Despite the unrequited love he had for you, he still loved Haley with all his heart and would never change anything if it meant Jack being born. He assumes you'd think the same.

"I sometimes wish I came back here, you know." You blurt out as if you are reading straight from his mind like a book, breaking the silence. "I missed out on so much. Your wedding. You becoming a father. David's other weddings... Jason. I wish I was here for everything." You lean your head against him, letting his warmth spread on your skin. "I don't regret going to France or anything that happened in my life, but I wish I could've been in both places at the same time."

Aaron nods, "Yeah, it would've been nice to have you here." He thinks otherwise because he wishes you stayed. He hoped that despite his cowardness, he'd got you around the block and not a continent away.

He takes it up to himself to change the topic into a lighter tone.

He starts talking about Jack and the satisfying struggles of fatherhood. He shows you videos and photos from his phone. You are engaged in a heartbeat, laughing at the littlest humor he'd throw in. You adored his son. That made Aaron beam with pride. Granted, a lot of people have told him the same thing, but coming from you, it was like he'd received an accolade.

Somewhere in the evening, Stephen steals you from Aaron's company. You're easily filled with joy at the sight of an old friend, ignoring the fact that Jason's son used to have a childish crush on you. Other old acquaintances got a hold of you, too.

Aaron never got to see you again for the rest of the evening.

— ✦ — ✦ ✦ — ✦ ✦ ✦

It has been eleven months since Aaron last saw you when his peripheral caught your figure as soon as he stepped inside David's home.

"She's with the team," David announces casually.

Aaron's brows knit together as he brings his gaze back to David, "What's that?"

"I said she's with the team," David repeats, glancing down the hallway. "You better catch her before she leaves. I got lucky when I called her. She's about to take her flight back to France. This is why I set an arrival time—" Before he could finish his last sentence, Aaron was already halfway down.

Jack Hotchner watches as his father speedwalks inside David's house, "Is Dad okay?" He looks up at David with worried eyes.

"He's alright," David pats Jack's head. "See, kiddo. Your dad used to have a crush on someone before he married your mom."

"Is she pretty? Is she nice?" Jack queries.

David smiles, "How about you decide yourself?" He guides the young Hotchner toward the center of the celebration.

Meanwhile, you are in the middle of wishing Dr. Tara Lewis good luck for her new place in the BAU when Aaron calls your name. You pivot on your heels. A smile instantly brightens your face at the sight of Aaron, "Hotch!" You exclaim, engulfing him in a hug.

"You should've told me you were in the area." Aaron's grin is brighter than yours.

Unbeknownst to him, a couple of watchful profilers keep their eyes peeled at you and Aaron.

"Are they?" Tara trails off next to Penelope.

"They worked on many cases together," Penelope replies suggestively, wiggling her brows as she sips from her swirly straws.

JJ grins at the conversation, "He's like an entirely different person with her. Think of Spencer." She hides a grin behind her glass of wine.

Spencer furrows his brows as he looks at JJ. "Should I be offended?" He clutches the mug of eggnog close to his chest.

"No," JJ shakes her head defensively, elongating the last letter. The others erupt into silent chuckles.

Derek nudges Penelope while he's got an arm wrapped around Savannah, nodding towards you and Aaron's direction, "Look. Hotch is about to introduce Jack to her. How much are you betting he's trying to get Jack's approval? Will Jack even like her? She looked crazy at first—Ow!" He rubs the side Savannah just elbowed, wincing.

Jack shyly stands in front of his father as he looks up at you. You had no doubt he looked a lot like his mother now that you'd meet him in person. You don't forget about Aaron, though, because they had matching eyebrows that narrow every time they attempt to read someone intently.

You squat down to Jack's height, "Nice to meet you, Jack. Your dad has told me a lot of great things about you!" You rummage into your bag, fishing out a huge peppermint lollipop disk. "I didn't expect to meet you today, so I wasn't prepared to bring a gift you'd like, but you can have this if you want it."

Jack glances at his dad from behind him and then back to you. A wide smile spreads across his face as he takes the sweet from you, "I like this one, too! Thank you!" You almost stumble down when he launches to hug you.

"You're welcome!" Your giggle echoes in the entire house. You hadn't expected him to attack you with a hug, let alone a stranger you'd identify yourself as.

Aaron couldn't help but feel overjoyed. He doesn't know how to keep his heart from beating faster as you glance at him with a tooth-rottenly sweet smile while hugging his son.

You really were unfair to him.

He's hopeless. A lost cause. He should've known from years ago. Should've known that you'd leave a permanent mark on him.

"Dad," Jack gestures for Aaron to get down. He leans close as soon as his father oblige to his command, covering his mouth.

Aaron's eyes subtly widen. His ears burn into a beet-red blush. He clears his throat, "How about you say hi to the others? Play with Henry and Reid, okay?" He dismisses, ignoring the innocent words that rang in his ears. He gently pushes Jack toward the team's direction.

"He's such a sweetheart," You say as you get back on your feet. You glance at Aaron, "You're doing amazing. He's lucky to have you." You turn to the team. Laughters passed between one another. "They're all lucky to have you." You add, crossing your arms on your chest.

"She's good," Savannah nods in amazement. She's only heard of you from Derek but can finally see the difference in Aaron's demeanor the moment he caught a glimpse of you.

"Who randomly has a giant lollipop in their bag?" Derek states in disbelief, the total opposite of how Savannah reacted. He hands JJ a ten-dollar bill, though.

Spencer shrugs, "I would've been way nicer to her if she offered me one last time." He pouts at the sight of Jack waving the lollipop like a taunt.

JJ and Tara laugh.

"Oh, shoot!" You exclaim, twisting your wrist to glimpse at the time. "I still have to pass by somewhere before my flight. Say bye to Dave for me, yeah?" The rush makes you quite frantic, pulling Aaron in. You leave a peck on his cheek, patting his shoulders like it's tradition. "Merry Christmas, Aaron." You bid farewell with a smile and began to walk.

"Wait—" Aaron grabs your wrist. It's so small in his hand. He makes sure he held you tight in a gentle grip. The last thing he wants is to break your wrist.

Your body recoils a few steps back to him as a product of his pull. "Yes?" Anticipation sparks in your eyes as you wait for his response. You must've drank wine too fast because electricity surged through veins, all coming from his firm hold.

A huge lump forms in his throat. "I—" Suddenly, Aaron is tongue-tied.

I want you to stay.

He fights hard to swallow the rock that kept him from talking and clearing his throat. "I'll walk with you," He wishes the ground would swallow him whole. But he suspects that even the devil himself is too embarrassed for him to let him in.

"Oh..." You don't know why you felt disappointed. What were you even expecting in the first place? You flash a smile, though. "Sure."

— ✦ — ✦ ✦ — ✦ ✦ ✦

Aaron stays at David's for two more hours before he decides that Jack needs to catch up on some sleep before they leave for Jessica's place in the morning. So, he drives through the light traffic, listening to Jack sing along the radio.

Jingle Bell Rock had just ended, and the DJ interjects for an update about the evening traffic during the transition to the next song when Jack asks a question. "Where did your crush go, Dad?" He inquires all too nonchalantly.

"What did you say?" It takes everything in Aaron to will his eyes to stay on the road and his hands to keep complete control of the wheel. He glances at Jack from the rearview mirror.

"The pretty, nice lady who gave me this," Jack hoists the lollipop in his hand like a wand. He takes a taste of it and adds, "You think she likes Christmas movies? Can we invite her?"

Aaron blinks fast. He couldn't believe how much Jack had grown fond of you in only minutes of interacting with him. He ponders whether you're some kind of a witch. He clears his throat in an obvious fake cough, "I'm sure she'd love to, buddy."

"Can you call her to come back? We can invite her for hot cocoa!"

"Sorry, buddy," Aaron feels bad. He doesn't even know your phone number, even if he could get it within seconds from Penelope. "She had to go and do some work. Maybe n-next time." He isn't sure why he was stuttering in front of his child.

"You didn't ask her to stay?"

It felt like a freezing wave of water filled with ice washed over Aaron. Then, for a moment, he feels proud to know that Jack's innocence has given him the bravery Aaron couldn't even muster.

"No, bud... I didn't." He admits more melancholy to a nine-year-old than he intended to.

Jack sighs, "Aww. Yeah, maybe next time, Dad. I'm sure she'll like to hang out with you if you give her a lollipop. She'll think you're nice. It worked for me. I think she's really nice." He stares at the molded sugar in his hand.

Aaron couldn't believe his son was talking some sense into him. Where did the time go? Jack sounds more mature than Aaron has ever felt for months since he's seen you after years. He tightens his grip on the wheel, clenching his jaw from the sudden torrent of courage that blazes his chest.

"Jack, would you mind passing by somewhere before we go home?"

The boy shakes his head, "It's okay as long as you're okay with me staying past my bed time." Jack giggles.

Aaron chuckles, "I'll let it slide this time," He jests, then turns the wheel and heads to the airport.

You come back from the restroom, looking for a place to sit and wait, when a small figure wraps his arms around your torso, "Jack? What are you doing here? Are you by yourself? Are you okay?" You quickly scan him from head to toe. You could barely move from the way he held you.

He's okay. You tell yourself. Had he been hurt you weren't sure how to face his father.

"I found her, Dad!" Jack shouts, earning looks from exhausted patrons. He leans backwards but still tangled around your legs like his life depended on it.

You panic for a second. Unsure what to make out of his statement. You look around first to mutter an apology on behalf of the boy, but somewhere along the lines you felt like you were a mother denying her child.

"Great job, Jack." You hear a voice so familiar you needn't have to look up to confirm your guess. Aaron walks closer to the two of you out of breath. He tries to play it out but the rise and drop of his shoulders didn't pass your gaze.

You lift your vision up and meet with Aaron's heaving self. "Hotch? What's going on? Is everything okay?" You coax like you aren't sure if he's going to tell you the truth.

Aaron tucks a portion of his lower lip. Fuck. He ran out of courage. His throat is tight. His brain is frozen. His body is stiff.

Jack takes his father's hand and pulls him closer to where you stood. He looks up at you, "Dad has a crush on you. I also think you're nice. Can you watch Christmas movies and drink hot cocoa with us, please?" He says intelligently like he's tired of his father freezing on the spot whenever he faces you.

Your brows knit together, but a huge grin raises the ends of your lips. "He what?" You meet Aaron's blushing gaze. You've never seen his neck, face, and ears glow in rosy red except that one time during an undercover case.

Aaron melts into a chuckle, lowering his head. "I, uh..." He scoffs a laugh, "I can't believe you heard it from Jack first." He meets your eye once more, "Would you mind staying for a bit?" It's clear he has no idea what he was doing. He thinks he's about looking idiotic in front of many people and, most importantly, his son.

You hear your name from below, looking down at Jack as he gestures for you to go down. You do as he says, leaning close when he moves next to your ear, "Dad is very shy, but he really likes you. He smiles when he talks to you. I think he would be happy if you hang out with us." Jack whispers so well Aaron is left to wonder.

"You really think so?" You ask audibly for the sake of Aaron's sanity. You ruffle Jack's hair as he nods eagerly. "I don't mind at all," You smile at Aaron so sweet he feels euphoric.

All three of you leave the airport. The traffic then has grown more difficult to maneuver into, and by the time Aaron parks his car in the driveway, Jack is already ten minutes in his sleep.

You chuckle as you both turn to the backseat, "I stand corrected," You smirk, "I think you're lucky to have him."

"Yeah," Aaron titters, "He's a lot braver than me." He adds gently, reaching out to fix Jack's hair.

A comfortable silence basks the two of you. Jack's soft breathing faintly rings in the background as if both of you had to make sure he's there.

Aaron looks at you, though. He relishes the way the dim light from outside casts a shadow on your face. He loves the way your soft features are still visible despite the dark. "Stay," He blurts out.

"Sure, I'll stay 'til I find another flight—"

"No, I meant..." He struggles to swallow the saliva in his mouth. "I want you to stay. Here... with me." Aaron shifts his eyes down on the gearstick. "I'm not saying that I never loved Haley, but I never stopped loving you." He's sure that no normal person would declare their love the way he just did. He hoped that some foreign spaceship would open the roof of his car and take him away. "I don't know if I make sense. I'm certain that I'm ruining my chances the more I speak, but I want you to stay. I should've asked you to stay a long time ago."

Your gaze sinks into Aaron's eyes. You tuck your lips. Then, you smile. "I agree," You acknowledge, moving your eyes on his lips for a milisecond.

Aaron straightens his back, "I know it's been years," He babbles a laugh, moving his hands as he speaks. "It's okay if you don't— wait—" He blinks once or twice. "Did you just agree? To what exactly?" Only you can make him stumble on his own thoughts.

"I'll stay," You declare, biting the inside of your lower lip. You scoff a silent laugh, "I should've done this a long time ago."

"Done what?" Aaron narrows his brows.

Your gaze jumps between his eyes and his lips, "This," You cup his face with both your hands, clashing your lips like he's in need of saving from a true love's kiss.

Aaron melts into your hold. Not long does he track his hands up your shoulders. Then, to your back, pulling you closer. His hands travel all over you, exploring every inch.

All his life he's seen you as some idea of sweet poison. But as his lips dance with yours, he couldn't ignore the lingering bitter taste of whiskey. He laughs into the kiss. He's been ignorant, wrapped in a saccharine image of you. Was he so wrong for that.

He claims you're still too sweet for him, but was he so glad you came back to him.

Jack moves in his sleep. You both freeze on the spot, lightly pushing Aaron to create space between you.

A soft giggle echoes from your lips, leaning your forehead against his shoulder, "We should bring him upstairs."

"I think that's a good idea," Aaron quips. He unbuckles his seatbelt and opens his door, but before he gets out, he steals another peck on your lips.

[lady-ashfade]

Lord Of The Tides

Yan!One-Eyed!Lucerys Velaryon x Niece!Reader

╰･ﾟ✧☽ the best girl @madame-fear requested this from me and I love the way her mind works. She’s my wife- so I hope I make her happy with this one.

╰･ﾟ✧☽ words: 3k

╰･ﾟ✧☽ warnings: targ’cest, lucerys being a bit different because he’s older, he also losses a eye, yandere behavior, slight dark themes, and slight mature themes (sexual), but no smut, and if there is a mistake about him having two eyes—Shh.

“were you scared?” the spoon in your hand scratched the bottom of the cup in your hand, and the sound of your heels clinking on the floor boards below were soft but could be heard around the room. even if it was only the two of you, the room was full in your eyes. “greatly. I was young and naive but I loved my brother, but I was too slow to reach towards the knife. Aemond had me beat in length, and that’s how,” his fingers moved upward to the black patch on his eye. He didn’t look ashamed of it like he did all thoses years ago before you were born, his body grew and so did his mind.

“I remember the story sounding much more…action packed as a child. Don’t get me wrong, uncle, you are the bravest man I ever met,” his chest filled with pride as the words fell from your dusted pink lips, “but I do recall you saying you road in on a dragon?” The sly smile on your cheeks was the only thing he recognized about you now. It’s been a few years since he had seen you, or took notice really. he was trying to fulfill his duty to study on how to be the next “lord of the tides” and he took it seriously.

glancing upon you now for the first time in years, he could see the beautiful woman you’ve became. perfect body that filled out your dress perfectly while showing just the right amount of skin but enough to leave any eyes yarning for more. you had matured more then well. In this moment he couldn’t pull his eye away from you, he was desperate to look at you for as long as he could. you were magnificent. “Would that enthrall you?” his teasing tone and brow arch made you flush in embarrassment.

“Would make the story a lot better, uncle.” you raise the cup to your lips and took a quiet sip while holding eye contact with him. the few seconds of silence had your stomach tingling and blood pumping faster. there was no secret from a young age you had a crush on your kind uncle. He had given you attention and made you laugh while teaching you stories and knowledge. It was just a silly crush that had you staying up late at night thinking of his smile years later.

“I suppose your right.” he broke eye contact to chuckle and lean forward to grab a soft pastry from the table. “Tell me, what has it been like while I was away? Has my brother learned anything about being future king?” His tone was off. Almost sounding as if he was belittling your father, or making fun of him. You stood up straight and place the glass down on its plate.

“My father has been doing a great job. Our queen is training him well, or do you doubt your own mother?” his body stopped in time for a second with half his lips wrapped around the sugared sweet to stare at you. he couldn’t believe how fast you acted to defend your father and tried to make a fool out of himself. the look behind your eyes and the smile tugging at your lips he could tell you meant no true harm. only to play a little game.

“You have changed,” he tone shifted as his eye made sure to run its way up and down your body, making you squirm in your chair. “No longer a girl but a lady.” you hated how easy it was to feel drawn into him again. it was different now then it was back then, you had aches and desire only the dead of night could see and he was making it so hard to control them. “I was pleased when I got your letter even if I had little time to prepare for it. But there is one question on my mind: why?” the truth wasn’t something you could tell him in that moment. So you settled for something easy, and nothing like the full picture.

“I missed you. Castle life is wonderful, but you always showed me the fun of things.”

each day that went by he was drawn in closer by you, from your smell, to your smile, to the sound of your laugh that he caused. he tried to deny himself from the thought of you but you were already hammered into his mind once he saw you getting off your dragon merely days ago. It’s been a long while since he saw beauty like you, your intelligence mind and wit, or your able to be naive in hopes of a better world. the strength to hold himself back when you were just a few inches away from him was great. he wanted to hold you, to touch your soft kiss…to whisper into your ear—

“I don’t understand,” the sound of you voice awakened him from his day dreaming. you had not noticed his staring from being turned away from him. “This game is incredibly stupid.” the mallet in your hands swung a bit as you exhaled frustratingly. the colored balls scattered around the ground, non of them close to being where his were.

“I think you wanted me to fail,” you pouted you lips at the tall man. “It’s not my fault your losing my dear,” the nickname made your body clinch, “if you had listened to me-” the words shouting from your mouth interrupted him.

“I have been listening to you. But you’re somehow cheating.” it made him unbelievably amused to watch you huff and pout at losing a game you forced him to teach you. if he could, he’d steal that pout away from your lips and make you whine about something else. “Are you accusing me of something?” He leaned his arms on the mallet but leaning on his leg to stare at you with scrunched brows. you took a moment to find something to say but only muffled and gagged words came from your lips before you eventually gave up.  “No uncle, forgive me for my temperament.” You looked down at the yellow ball and glared down at it.

“It’s just utterly frustrating to loss when you’re already so far ahead of me,” you glanced back up and pointed to his, “I don’t like losing.” that was something you gained from both your parents if he was honest. jace never liked to lose a game or training, and your mother had a shorter temper he could only imagine how you’d act when you get heated. “Then we should keep playing until your good.” he turned back to hit the blue ball at his feet and cheers when he gets it through the metal bars. gods, he was going to kill you with his handsome smile.

It was heart wrenching to see his smile fade and his body tense days later, with his hand resting on the stone railing. it was a perfect day, the time you spent with him was still unmatched by the way he made you feel. the sun shining orange across the sky and bouncing off the both of you, making the other even more breathtaking to each other.

“What?” his voice rasped and dropped darker then you have heard it before. all ounce of happiness left his body and started to over flow with growing anger. “For how long?” the raise volume to his voice make you look down in guilt for some reason. he was mad at you for not telling him…but for reasons you did not know of. “Two months. Before I came he was set to stay in kindslanding to find our ground with one another,” you played with you finger tips. he took a deep breathe to stop himself from shouting at you any further. his sweet girl knew nothing of the pain it caused him to hear those words. to find out she was in fact not his.

“He’s sweet, and kind. A perfect match for the realm,” you look up at the orange sunset and feel the aching in your heart grow, “we are to be wed in three months.” grabbing the long glass of wine from beside you and bringing it up to your lips to take a big sip. you needed to drown out the doubts and fears you had somehow. lucerys fist tightened at the thought of another having you be their bride, to get to kiss you and share your bed every night. he was lord of the tides, he had the best fleet and army at sea, he could protect you, love you like you deserve- but this man got it just on a whim?

you are more precious to be sold for some on going alliance with a household- you deserved a prince.

“But,” you start again with hesitation and force yourself away from his eyes, “he is not the one I long for. Yes, he would be a good and faithful husband but my heart does not long for him.” the title belonged to the man you stood beside, the man who made your soul burn blighter. he stepped forward and your breath hitched and couldn’t keep your eyes away from him. the eyepatch on his face never made you fear him, not even once did the stories make you feel any less for him.

“Who does it long for?” He fell hushed as he stood even closer to you now, your bodies almost touching and you could almost feel the heat coming from him. you wanted so badly to reach out and touch him, to belong to him- to marry him. but it was not to be so, your duty as the princess is to care for the kingdom the best you can and that is for your betrothal to the lord you barley knew to work. and not to the man you loved.

clearing your throat you step back away from him and force a smile your face. you clearly were imagining things and he was not pursuing your fantasies, or his own. “A chat for another time perhaps, it’s getting quite late wouldn’t you say? I need a good nights sleep for my travels tomorrow.” he had forgotten all about you leaving. time slips away with you here. how could he bring himself to part ways now after everything you brought him?

“Then I shall fair you goodnight,” before you could pull away his body moves forwards and his lips pressed against the hairline of your forehead. it was a few seconds long but the feeling made you overwhelmed in shock, you froze up. pulling away from you he took notice of your reaction and how tense you became, “slept well, my dear” he walked away with a curled smile towards his cheeks and leaving you standing there alone.

that night you toasted and turned in your sheets thinking of how his lips felt on your skin and your brain started to wander. how would it feel for him to kiss down your shoulder, or you lips and down your chest in his chambers at night. he had no wife to warm his bed, surely he must be lonely? but a man like him was definitely no stranger to the feeling of a lovers touch and you knew that for sure. the thoughts you had that night made you feel embarrassed to see him the next morning when you woke from the vivid dream you had.

you fixed your glove over your hands and made sure everything you need is tied on tight to your dragon. she squirms beneath your touch and if she could purr like a cat you know she would. lurcerys appreciates you carefully as your attention was not on him, he liked to see your face in shock because he found it adorable. “Leaving without a goodbye?” to his pleasure he was right. when you turned around at his voice spooked like a horse.

“I wasn’t sure you’d have time, it’s early.” you shifted awkwardly and covered yourself. he hummed along and walked closer and then inches by you. he stops before the scales of your dragon and slowly guides his palm over repeatedly along her body, makes her happy like it was you. even she enjoyed his company, much like her rider. “I’m sorry, I did not know how to say goodbye.” admitting the truth was harder once it was out for some reason. you didn’t want to look like a girl despite in love.

“This isn’t a goodbye, we will see each other again.” he gave one last pat and turned to face you again. he stood with his hands clasped together, his black outfit with golden accents shining in the morning sun, his dark brown hair reflecting just like the gold.

“I’m sure of it.”

Lucerys Velaryon was many things. a prince, a lord, a brave soldier trained, and powerful man with connections everywhere. he could pay his way through the slums and have anything he wanted done at the snap of his fingers. he never wished to see you in tears or upset, really, but that’s the way things happened. to even think of letting you suffer a marriage to— anyone but him was a taste worse then the gods could give. and it was tragic how the lord just ended up dead a few days later from being poisoned by one of his own cooks. he died in his mothers arms and his heart felt sorrow for her and only her.

you came running into his arms after you heard the news since he was the only one you could go to. of course you would, he planned it just right. so he kept you in a tight embrace as you cried into his chest while stoking your hair and whispering everything was going to be fine and you were too distraught to say anything. “just breathe sweet girl,” he whispered into your ear. you grabbed ahold of him and tried to calm your breathing but the hiccups messed you up. he hated seeing you like this but was overjoyed at the same time. he was with you, you were his now.

“I’m scared,” you sobbed as more tears rolled down your already damp cheeks, “he was kind- the next man might not be the same. I don’t want to be a miserable wife,” naive little you to think he’d ever let that happen.

“look at me,” he commanded but not harshly. his hands cupped the skin of your jaw and cheek to guide your face up to him. even now you looked as stunning as ever. “I’d never let you be miserable, you are too special,” his thumb traced shapes into your skin. he looked into your puffy eyes and drank them in, you looked so innocent and in need of his protection. and he loved that. “I shall confess I find myself thinking of you since you first arrived in driftmark as a new woman.” he watched your eyes widen in anticipation and surprise.

“my heart longs for you and only you. the minute you come the place lit up and worked smoothly with you around. driftmart needs a lady, I need someone by my side that is wise and has a soft approach.” your brain fogs up as he leans down near your face like he was going to kiss you but stops just before your noses touch. “I’d fill your rooms up with anything you ever ask for, show you love like you’ve never dreamed, or protect you from any harm that comes your way. you know I’m a better choice than the boys competing for your hand.” you hear the slight venom in his voice towards the mentions of other lords.

“my father, what would he say?” you whisper and he could feel your breath making him hold himself back. “I’m in need of a wife, he’s daughter is a reasonable gift. He knows I’d never mistreat you,” the other hand grabs ahold your waist and moves his hands up and down your dress making you shiver. “come on, sweet girl. say yes.” a simple nod of your head was enough of a answer for him to finally capture your lips like he had been waiting for. you felt so warm pressed up against him it made him feral inside.

the warmth inside became like a explosion when he kissed you, the way he’s holding onto you so tight and against him, his short breaths and gasp for air, the hunger makes you sore and aching for everything he had. he wanted to give you it all, but he couldn’t. not until he put a ring on your finger and that pained him. the hormones in his body were at its peak now.

slightly tugging at your bottom lip with his teeth he pulled away slowly with a husky growl. he held your hips in place to stop you from trying to get more. he listens to you pant while doing the same thing himself. you smiled up at him, “I’ve always wanted you to be mine,” you say blinking your eyes up at him teasingly, “I don’t think I can ever belong to another.”

his chest rumbles in soft laughter. “About my brother— I’ll make him see we belong together, he raised you well so he knows just how much I need you.” he was so good a flattering. you roll your eyes playfully at him, “you have honeyed words, my betrothed.” you needed no acceptance from your father. you’d run back to dragon stone and wed Lusercys there. you couldn’t be pulled away from him after this.

“Because you get the cutest look on your face, you haven’t been as secretive about your feelings towards me. Should we talk about the time you practically bursted into flames when you knocked yourself onto me?”

“You stoop so low, my lord.”

[neptuneiris]

Cruel Summer (03/10)

Against the Tide

pairing: modern!aemond × fem!reader

summary: at Crown's family tensions rise and you keep running into a person you shouldn't talk to. but both he and you can't help testing the waters.

words: 9.3k

thank you to @peachysunrize for being my beta reader, she also helped me in the previous chapter and I forgot to mention her, but finally here she is. love you bestie!❤

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I am so excited for you to read this chapter! from the next chapters onwards, what we have been waiting for begins (forbidden love)🤭 and I want to thank you once again for all the support you are giving to the story, you guys are amazing and you don't know how much I appreciate it🙏🏻 now enjoy!

warnings: half smut, language.

Sunset's Pier stretches along the boardwalk, a vibrant and lively place, especially on summer evenings.

In the distance, waves break gently against the pier and shore pillars, while palm trees sway in the cool ocean breeze.

Wooden planks creak under the feet of visitors, while the smell of the sea and freshly made food fills the air. 

The stores lining the pier are clearly divided, some full of luxury, with glittering windows displaying designer dresses and accessories. And there are other more modest stores, where prices are more affordable.

Or as it would be technically said among the locals of Sunset's: stores for the rich and stores for the poor.

After an exhausting afternoon trying to surf with the boys, Alysanne drags you into the stores, excited to find something nice for tonight's party.

The two of you walk between shop windows, exploring the options, especially in the stores where you can both afford to shop. But Alysanne stops in front of one of the more expensive stores. 

You watch as she gawks at a blue bikini on display on the mannequin, the color as deep as the ocean at sunset.

"Look at this!" she exclaims excitedly, almost pressing her face against the glass, "It would be perfect for tonight's party. If only I had the money to buy it," she murmurs between excited and disappointed.

You smile, understanding the desire. The bikini is really beautiful but it is obvious that the price must be very high.

"Don't you have any savings?" you ask her.

"No," she laments, "I used it to fix my phone, did you forget? I can't afford to buy a new one so I have to fix the one I already have."

"Well, I guess I—

A high-pitched laugh interrupts the conversation and when you both turn around, you instantly recognize the people.

Perfectly coiffed black hair and shiny red hair. All those impeccably dressed girls, with expensive handbags, gold accessories and designer sunglasses; Baratheon and Lannister.

But you distinguish precisely Floris Baratheon, Aemond's girlfriend.

All of them in a group watch you both with a mocking face for two things; for being in front of a store like this and for being longing for the beautiful blue bikini.

And even though they don't know you, it doesn't matter that they bother you for the radar of recognizing poor people, because the difference between you and Alysanne is too big compared to them, who can afford to shop here.

Especially since the top you are wearing at the moment is torn on one side. You don't see much but they've already seen it, as well as inspecting your dirty, old tennis shoes.

"Do you really think you can buy anything here?" speaks precisely Floris with a venomous tone, with a sneer as he looks at the bikini and then at both of you, "It's a shame you can only look. Not everyone has the privilege of affording something so nice."

"Yeah, maybe someday you can get it... in the next millennium sales."

They laugh among themselves, clearly enjoying the moment of superiority. And you clench your jaw, annoyed, especially as you watch Alysanne lower her gaze in humiliation.

"Excuse me, do we know you?" you inquire.

You obviously know them, but you won't indulge them.

"Oh dear, everyone here knows us, especially me," Floris says superiorly, adjusting her sunglasses.

"Even your kind know who we are," Cerelle also speaks with clear contempt.

Alysanne regains her composure and you instantly notice.

"Yes, we know you are such a bunch of idiotic, shallow people for thinking that the price of clothing defines someone."

"Some of us have more important things in life than spending money on something so insignificant," you too stand up for yourself and your people.

They all let out a laugh, where Floris takes a step toward you.

“Yeah, sure. The poor always find an excuse to justify their misery. How pathetic and sad," she feigns an exaggerated pout.

"I'd rather be poor than be as empty as you," Alysanne next to you snaps at her.

She arches an eyebrow at her, amused and clearly entertained, as she folds her arms in her arrogant attitude.

"Empty, huh? Well, it's better to be empty than desperate, like you two. Keep dreaming of things you can never have. But don't worry, being poor and living on the filthy side of town, dreaming is free."

"And who do you think you are huh?" Alysanne lunges at her, "You think because you are rich I can't break your face or what?"

You quickly stop her holding her by the arm, worried and of course, Floris recoils back with a frightened face and her friends don't take long to instantly surround her, shielding her as if they were her wall of protection.

"Not so talkative and brave now huh!?"

"Hey, Aly," you hold her back, "Stop it. It's not worth it."

Floris and all of them look at you both with despise.

"See? They're all savages," she says without again getting too close.

"Oh yes, very savage, just because we're defending ourselves from you making fun of us and making us less," Alysanne tells her firmly and in a defiant tone, "But you can't even defend yourself. So I advise you to talk less or I'll break that pretty rich girl face of yours."

It is clear that Floris wants to say more mean words, but she stops when she notices someone else walking towards the group, completely oblivious to the situation and you also recognize this person; Helaena Targaryen.

She with her usual calm, appears near you, but stops just in front of another nearby store, casually observing a clothing through the glass without noticing the tensions.

And you curiously notice how Floris, upon seeing her, remains silent for a moment. Then you guess that she doesn't want to show her true colors in front of her sister-in-law.

"Let's go," she orders in a lower and less confident tone than before.

Her friends obey without another word and begin to walk away, but not before giving your cousin a last contemptuous and disdainful glance at your side.

And you too, of course.

Helaena also leaves with them as they approach her, her silver hair shining in the sunlight and moving with impeccable grace.

Alysanne lets out a frustrated sigh next to you, still angry. 

"I can't believe those idiots think they have the right to treat us like this. And all because of what? For not being rich like them?" she inquires in disbelief, "Do you realize how stupid that is?"

"Let them stay in their bubble," you mutter, feeling just as irritated, "We're not rich but we're better people than they are."

Alysanne takes a deep breath, shaking off the adrenaline of the moment, then you both go your own way, trying not to let this thing that happened ruin your day.

Especially since you have another party tonight, unfortunately with those girls, but it's not like you're going to be with them.

And just as ten o'clock at night falls, Cregan's car and the excited shouts of the guys rushing you to get into the car can be heard practically all over the street.

Alysanne again shushes them, as your uncle and aunt are asleep, as well as most likely the neighbors, and you both quickly get into the car amidst laughter and scolding of the guys.

Then Cregan's car speeds up and soon all of you are walking into the Crown's side.

The party is as always; on the beach. And it's everything you'd expect being among the rich. The DJ can't miss, the clean beach, the pier, the yachts and the smell of alcohol mixed with the sea breeze, among other substances.

Tonight you decide not to focus on the people around you and together with the guys, sit on the white sand, while Cregan and Sam go for as many beers and bottles of champagne as possible.

Alysanne is also not in the mood to be inspecting and lusting after Pandora accessories on all the rich girls that are here. So the two of you relax.

Chase lights the bonfire in the center and pretty soon everyone is drinking, talking and laughing, enjoying the party and nothing else.

Every now and then some guys come up to greet Cregan, who greets them back without much enthusiasm and returns to the group, where you notice how attentive he is especially to Alysanne.

You don't say anything and just continue drinking, laughing at the guys' jokes and burning a few marshmallows, when then... you feel it.

A piercing look on your face.

You don't doubt it's a girl inspecting you, so you don't think anything of it at first. But then... it's as if that look burns you and wants to see through you, sending shivers through your whole body.

You look around, just out of curiosity, but when you raise your gaze absentmindedly towards the direction of the yachts, to the part of the deck specifically, your eyes meet piercing blue eyes.

Then you see him.

Aemond Targaryen.

Time seems to stand still and you feel more of the weight of his gaze, that same weight you felt last night on the pier, when he caught you.

You also feel a surge of nerves course through your body, with your heart racing as you remember the night before. It's not fear, but it's something close to it. 

Because now he's caught you here too, at a party of his people, at Crown's.

And the weird thing is that you didn't expect it and you feel so silly about the fact. How could you not think that he would be here and that the two of you would probably see each other after last night?

Even though it's no longer a probability, he's seeing you right now and sees what you're doing; pretending to be one of them.

You watch as his gaze briefly sweeps over the guys you're with and honestly... you don't know how to feel about it. Technically, you're not doing anything wrong here either, are you?

‘Then why do you feel so embarrassed?’

His piercing eye again focuses on you and you, for some strange reason, don't look away and neither does he. It's as if the two of you are caught in a game you can't avoid. 

No one seems to notice the silent exchange between the two of you, except you and him. But you know that talking to him, getting close to him in public, is impossible.

You know it and you know he knows it too. It's like a law in Sunset's among its locals but more specifically among those your age; the rich and the poor can't be friends.

You bite the inside of your cheek, even without both of you looking away, where both of you are too far away to say anything to each other, but the looks say it all.

Then, it is he who looks away when Floris holds his face and kisses him softly on the lips, claiming his attention. You feel a sting of something pinch your stomach and you force yourself to stop focusing on him as well.

You try to refocus on what the guys around you are saying, but you can't, not now that he's here too.

You didn't tell anyone about what happened last night with him on his pier, because nothing really bad happened, except the fact that you almost got caught.

It was just a conversation with the son of the richest man in the whole country and heir to his fortune, nothing more. 

Although the memory has followed you ever since.

Unable to help yourself, you look at him again, where you see him surrounded by his friends and also distinguish his brother, Aegon. And of course, Floris, sitting on his lap.

He is no longer watching you but you wonder what he might be thinking now that he has seen you here too.

'Probably nothing.'

You think, since for him, what happened on the pier was just a conversation, a small slip in which you both sought some solace and nothing more, an insignificant moment.

What else could he think of having shared his time with a Black Waves girl? 

You let out a long breath and your eyes roam his features, as the same thoughts from last night return to your mind when you were also slyly admiring him.

'He is so handsome.'

You think as you also admire his short silver hair and see a silver chain peeking out from between the collar part of his shirt, with that simple accessory making him look so ridiculously good.

But you cannot pass Floris Baratheon unnoticed, on his lap, talking to him and leaving from time to time some kisses on his lips or on his cheek.

You shake your head, clearly being impossible, since he belongs to a world that is not yours, to a social class that would see you as an intruder if you even tried to approach.

So you can only think that what happened on the pier was just a one-time thing, a quirk and a moment that you must now bury in oblivion.

Aemond Targaryen, as a child, does not remember a single moment when his family did not attract attention.

He does not remember a single moment where his mother did not ask him, as well as his siblings, to accompany her and his father to an event in the town for work and simply to see them all together as a perfect and powerful family.

He has forgotten the countless times where his father, Viserys, introduces him and his siblings to his associates and all those important people more as trophies than as what they really are; his children.

With Aegon the introduction is brief, for after all, no one expected his first eldest son not to follow in his same footsteps as his older first daughter did, Rhaenyra.

But Aemond knows that Aegon is... uncontrollable. 

As a teenager he began to show signs that he didn't want to go into business or anything like it or anything relatively formal. 

As much as his mother, Alicent, and even his own father and grandfather Otto tried to scold, persuade and convince him, it only caused Aegon to back away from the idea and start doing whatever he pleased.

For him only desire has always been to simply live life and find out what he really wants.

Then there is Helaena, who followed the same path as Aegon but in a more controlled way and with different aspirations to life though just as flattering, which is to study marine biology.

And finally there is him, Aemond Targaryen.

He saw the whole process of his older brothers in deciding not to devote himself to the business or rather empire that his father has built. With Aegon it all turned out to be a disaster but Helaena was more persuasive.

So someone had to do it, follow in his father's footsteps as Rhaenyra did, but this time a man, a son and that had to be him.

Daeron still lacked time to decide and grow up some more. So he watched as his father began to despair and have fights with his mother and everyone at home for not being able to choose the aspirations and decisions of his children.

So it was he who calmed the storm at home when he announced that he would apply to college to study business management to carry on the Targaryen legacy, just like Rhaenyra.

His father was overjoyed, as was his mother and for the first time, in that small moment, Aemond felt that he was finally receiving that recognition and appreciation from him.

But then he realized that it was never worth it.

After searching for so long for a way for his father to finally see him for what he is, his son, when that moment came it wasn't worth it and it didn't make him feel any better.

Because Aemond knows deep down that only his father was happy for him out of convenience, to mold him to how he wants and because that way, he is just another piece on his board.

And it became quite clear to him the moment his father expressed his idea about the Baratheon's.

Viserys, even with all he has and having an advisor at his side like his grandfather Otto, wants more.

And Borros Baratheon is that more by being the owner of the most important commercial fleet operating along the entire Pacific coast of all. Viserys needs to transport freight for its big company, which is what Borros does.

Viserys needs freight for his great enterprise, which is what Borros is all about. But Borros Baratheon is a difficult and greedy man who also wants more, even to Viserys Targaryen himself.

So he and his entire team focus on an easier target that will get him to the finish line; his daughter, Floris.

Any of his daughters would have sufficed, but considering Floris is about the same age as Aemond and his father had already seen her get her hopes up for him at events, it was the perfect idea.

At first Aemond refused. For the moment he had no intention with any girl, especially any of the Baratheon sister’s. But his father insisted.

Viserys explained to him how much he needed such a partnership and asked him to start asking her out to eventually formalize and make the deal with his father easier.

Aemond tried to help him find other alternatives, tried to make him understand that he didn't want nor could he play with Floris' feelings in that way to achieve a partnership.

But none of that helped.

His mother sided with his father, with the difference that she was more sensible on the subject and asked him to try and take the time to get to know her, that maybe he might really like her.

So he had to give in and before long, he was in a formal relationship with Floris Baratheon.

And now this is his life.

Not that much has changed, but there are these fights at home between her mother and father because there's really no love between them. 

There's also fighting between his father and his siblings over the choice of what they really want to do with their lives while they're all attending events to pretend to be this perfect family that they are.

And he's in a relationship with a person he doesn't really want to be with and as soon as the summer is over, he's going off to college to study with pressure and expectations on his shoulders for a degree he doesn't really want to study.

But as anyone in Sunset's would think, both Crown's and Black Waves; the Targaryens are perfect.

“Hey.”

A voice pulls him out of his thoughts and he looks up as he sees Aegon approaching him, shorts on, sandals, a white t-shirt, sunglasses and phone in hand.

"I was looking all over for you. What are you doing?"

He lets out a long breath and closes his book to place it back on the shelf.

"What do you want?"

"Get dressed. We have a party tonight," he lets him know, then starts typing on his phone.

"Another one?" he asks with a serious look on his face.

"What?" he becomes indignant, shrugging, "Come on, it's summer. And everyone will be there. Cassandra told me Floris is going."

"I don't want to go."

He looks at him with a frown.

"What are you talking about?" he asks him blankly, "You're going to stay here reading these stupid books all summer? You're going to college for another two months!"

"Helaena and Daeron will go with you, I don't understand why you want me to go too," he tells him grumpily, choosing another of the many books in the library.

"Helaena is sick and Daeron promised to stay with her to watch movies," he tells him as if were the gravest sins in the world, "Come on, man. Come with me. And I won't ask you for anything again, this will be the last time, I promise."

"That's what you always say, like I don't know you," he says as he picks up a book and sets it on the table, "You're just so fucking annoying."

Aegon lets out a frustrated groan.

"Come on, don't be like that. You'll have more time to read and be doing these boring things you like to do," he tries to convince him, pointing to the books.

But Aemond says nothing to him and, of course, Aegon starts to throw his tantrum.

"Aemond," he complains, "Come on, please."

And the sound of his voice is already starting to annoy him, especially being in the library.

“Aegon—

"Come on," he interrupts him, insistent, "I really don't want to stay here and listen to dad yelling and fighting with mom all night, man." 

Aemond lets out a long breath again and with nonchalant movements watches his brother over his shoulder, looking serious and now slowly becoming resigned.

And soon enough, they are both already in his car, driving towards the Lannister house.

Normally he wouldn't have agreed to come, but he recognizes that Aegon is right and the truth is that he doesn't want to stay at home listening to his parents' quarrels either.

Even though his house is huge, the shouting echoes through the halls, and then his father in all his anger goes against Aegon as well, where Helaena intervenes, then Daeron and finally him to try to calm the waters.

And he's tired of it.

Just last night another one of those fights happened, his mother was almost in tears and Helaena too, while Aegon and his father were shouting all the worst things possible at each other.

And that's why he decided to go to the pier after he failed to fall asleep.

As he drives, his gaze softens as he remembers you. 

He still doesn't understand how a girl like you, from Black Waves, for a whole year was going to his family's pier at midnight without being discovered. 

He doesn't understand how you did it either and he's not sure he wants to know. He was about to call security, of that he has no doubt, especially considering the robberies some of his neighbors suffered. 

Because that's what he first thought, that you were a thief and he was trying to do something with his yacht.

However, it was something in your fear and pleading, perhaps also that you didn't have something suspicious on hand to try to do harm and the sincerity in your gaze after silently evaluate you that he saw to finally understand that you weren't doing anything wrong.

It was bad to cross over private property but other than that, he saw you earlier, before he approached from a distance, sitting on the edge of the pier looking out over the horizon.

But he still had to make sure and it all turned out very interesting.

That you were on his pier, risking that you could be caught, simply because that place gives you peace and quiet, caught his attention.

It seemed... unusual. Something out of the ordinary. Maybe because you're a Black Waves girl.

But still, it's something he's not used to hearing from others in appreciating something so simple and plain but so meaningful to that person.

And being there with you... everything in his mind disappeared.

All his excessive thoughts, frustrations, pressures, expectations and stress disappeared for a moment, which is very difficult for him to do in the midst of all the storm in his mind.

And strangely, because he shouldn't have, he spent a nice time with you, an unknown Black Waves girl, even if he didn't show it much at the time.

He doubts that was a good idea, to let you stay and still tell you that you can keep going to thepier. But technically... nothing bad happened.

And doubt that I'll ever see you again, last night was just a coincidence, besides that shouldn't happen, right?

In the town where you both live, a poor girl and a rich man can't even be friends. And much less he can afford something like that because of his family name.

Again his thoughts are interrupted as they enter the area where the Lannisters live and Aegon immediately chatter excitedly about how amazing the party looks.

And soon enough the two find themselves walking onto the beach and onto the Lannister dock.

It's the same as always, there's really nothing new, just decorations, DJ, open bar with bottles of vodka, wine and champagne as well as beer, cocktails and the smell of cigarettes and weed in the salty air.

All the people are dancing and getting drunk, as well as there are other people having mini bonfires, drinking and burning marshmallows.

When a group of people catches Aegon's eye on one of the yachts, he takes no time at all to drag him along with him.

And just like that he meets Floris, who greets him very happily with a hug and a kiss on his lips, which he tries to reciprocate as genuinely as possible.

Aegon goes off to find a girl to stick his tongue down her throat and he stays on the yacht with Floris and his friends. 

Quickly some of his friends offer him drinks to cheer him up and he declines as he has to drive, so he only chooses to light a cigarette, wanting the night to pass quickly.

And so the hours pass, with nothing really interesting going on around him and Floris sitting on his lap, trying to keep up with her to also try to be a good boyfriend.

But all he wants to do is go home.

"Are you okay?"

Floris' voice brings him out of his thoughts and he turns his head towards her, where she watches him with a small smile on her lips and with one of her hands starting to stroke his short silver hair.

"Yeah," he tells her in a low murmur, then takes another sip from the only bottle of beer he'll be drinking tonight.

"Are you sure? I didn't even know you were coming. I texted you and you didn't respond," she says making a pout.

And he avoids looking instantly annoyed.

It's not that Floris is a bad girl, she really tries because she really loves him. But he doesn't feel the same and doubts he ever will, though he tries.

"Yeah, you're right, sorry, I was busy in the library," he explains briefly.

"At the library?" she repeats confused, "Why?"

"I'm getting a head start on reading books for college," he again explains as briefly as possible.

Luckily she doesn't say anything more on the subject but continues to sit on his lap and try to get him to talk, even though he's not really having any of that right now but he doesn't want to be rude to her either.

So when she starts talking to one of her friends, he looks in all directions, scanning the party without again finding anything interesting.

But then in the midst of analysis he sees it.

Or rather he sees you.

A few meters below him on the sand, confused, he immediately recognizes you, sitting among a group of guys and a girl with a bottle of beer in hand, laughing and talking to all of them.

And again he wonders; what are you doing here?

And you can't blame him, he really doesn't get it, it was surprising enough seeing you on his pier, in the most exclusive and private area of all Crown's as to also see you here, on the Lannister's pier, a Black Waves girl mixed up as if you were one of them.

He sweeps his gaze over all the guys you're with and is more surprised to see you talking and laughing with Cregan Stark.

Then he gets it all.

He's the one who gives you access, as well as your friends and that girl you're with, who he assumes must be your cousin from what you told him last night, all except Cregan belonging to Black Waves.

And there you are, again not hurting anybody, but pretending to belong to Crown's.

All the guys you're with are certainly having a great time and so are you, while he again focuses on Cregan, from whom he honestly expected it.

He doesn't include himself much with the guys from his part of town, sometimes he talks to him or Helaena, but nothing more. Now he knows why.

And somehow he can't take his eye off you.

He watches you curiously, analyzing you, seeing that you have guts, just like your cousin and your friends, to take risks like this.

At any moment anyone could expose you if they watch you too much, but you don't seem to care about that, nor do the others.

And then, his gaze meets yours.

He sees you freeze for a moment, as if you are once again trapped by him, which actually you are and he, for some reason, doesn't look away and neither do you.

Memories of last night invade him again and he can guess how you must be thinking about it too.

But he can also guess how you again feel exposed and how terribly nervous you must feel. As if you are afraid that he, now that he has seen you here too, will expose you once and for all.

But it is as if it were a game of stares, as neither of them look away from each other. It's not as if they can talk, the distance is too much, also considering that he is on top of a yacht. 

But what if this were not the case? Would the two of you talk?

Aemond knows perfectly well that they wouldn't.

"Hey, did you hear what I said, babe?"

Floris makes him turn his gaze away from you to focus on her as he feels her turn from his cheek with her hand towards her to plant a soft kiss on his lips, wanting his full attention.

And he awkwardly reciprocates as his attention is still on you.

But he forces himself to take that attention away from you, especially as he still has Floris sitting on his lap with both arms around his neck, glued to him.

And it's here that he assumes, as you do, though he doesn't know it, that what happened last night was just a one-time thing, two people seeking refuge from the world on the pier one night.

But that's all.

The two of you must not know each other, you can't talk or be seen together, mostly because of different social classes, which leads to pretending that the two of you don't know each other and haven't spoken to each other even once.

And what happened that night, on the pier, didn't happen.

A pile of dishes are placed in front of him on the table in the huge back garden of his house which is basically on the shore of the beach, having a spectacular view of the ocean, the beach, the pier, the cliffs around and also the huge houses of his neighbors.

His mother thanks the cooks, who retire and leave his mother, father and him alone.

Aegon must still be asleep, Daeron too because he probably stayed up watching movies with Helaena all nigth who is still very ill. So he is the only one who joins the breakfast.

He looks carefully at a message from Rhaenyra, which is accompanied by two PDF books.

'These books helped me a lot when I first started studying, you can read them if you want to before you go to uni so you have an idea of everything you will learn.'

Aemond reviews both books, both over 400 pages, being very dense material and being exactly what awaits him at college, but he also knows it's important.

He runs a hand down his neck and responds to her text.

'Thank you, Rhae.'

Ever since his older sister knew he would be going into business as well, she's been supporting him. 

It's not like from the beginning the two of them had a good relationship, especially since she's the daughter of their father's first wife and there was no first-rate bond, neither with him nor with her other siblings.

But now that she has a family and he has matured enough, at least more than Aegon, that relationship has slowly begun to be forged and maintained.

Besides he is grateful to receive genuine support. Especially from her, already an expert on the subject and with whom he will probably lead the Targaryen empire in the future.

"Are you going to have breakfast, son?"

His mother's soft voice causes him to look away from his phone screen and set it aside, having no interest in responding to messages from Floris or a few of his friends who were with him last night at the party.

"Yeah, sorry."

He tries to catch up with their pace, making himself his cup of coffee the way he likes it.

"Rhaenyra tells me you're planning to take a management course in the middle of summer, son," his father says, catching his attention, "Is that true?"

And he doesn't ask it in a bad way, on the contrary, it surprises Aemond to see how he has pride in his eyes. 

"Yeah, well... I think they'll do me good before I go to college."

"Yes, very good idea," Alicent says, watching him proudly as she notices all his dedication to his study, as it has always been.

"Oh yes, of course," Viserys agrees, without hesitation, "Have you found the right course yet?"

"I'm still working on it."

"But..." he frowns slightly, watching him not entirely convinced, "How are things going with that girl... uh... Floris?"

He immediately feels an uncomfortable sensation in his lower abdomen, stirring in his chair as he runs a hand over the back of his neck, biting the inside of his cheek and trying to maintain a normal appearance.

"Good," he replies briefly, without looking at him, "Everything's fine."

"Yeah?" he asks seeing his reaction, "You've been hanging out with her?"

"We were together last night," he says without wanting to go into details, wanting to get that topic over with.

And Alicent also sees how his son is starting to react.

"Floris usually comes in often during the day," she tells her husband in a soft tone with a cup of coffee in her hands, "You don't see her because you're at work."

"Well, that's good to know," he says pleased, though not entirely satisfied, turning his focus back to him, "I fully support the idea of the course, it will definitely do you good but... you can't neglect that girl. Your relationship with her is very advantageous to the company and very soon her father and I will start having meetings."

He brings a hand to the back of his neck again, staring at a fixed point on the table as he presses his lips together, controlling his emotions and what he really wants to say to him.

His mother stares at him, alert, not wanting him and his father to have fights too. But it is clear that he too is already reaching his limit.

However, Aemond knows that he has more self-control, besides he's already into all of this, so he has no choice but to accept, again, what his father tells him. 

"Is that what you want me to do?" he asks him in a low tone, honestly feeling tired.

"Of course," his father states sternly, as if it were obvious, "We must have all the most suitable people possible in the company. And the Baratheon's are crucial to our expansion."

Aemond looks up, but says nothing, because he already knows the speech. The Baratheon's, power, family and company.

"Yes but that really isn't the most important thing," his mother interjects again, "After all, Floris is a very nice and pretty girl. I can tell she really cares about you, son."

He can't help but purse his lips at that comment. He knows Floris isn't a bad girl but she's not exactly nice either. And that doesn't change the fact that he's not interested in her. 

"Yes and for that very reason you must not ruin things with her," his father insists, "We have to partner with her father and you can't let her slip through your fingers."

"Viserys," his mother calls out to him with mild reproach.

"You know how important this is, Alicent," he begins to say with reproach in his tone, "I have already lost hope in Aegon. It seems he will never change and will be a good-for-nothing for the rest of his life, taking nothing seriously."

"Don't talk about your son like that," his mother scolds him.

"I'm not going to live forever and someone has to take over the company and support this family. But that doesn't matter to him in the least," he continues, "Daeron is still young and I'm thankful that at least Aemond has taken the same direction as Rhaenyra and me."

Aemond says nothing as his mother continues to reproach, annoyed to hear how Viserys refers to her children, especially Aegon. 

And he remains silent, fed up with these discussions, family pressures, expectations and being the only one of his children whom his father seems to trust.

And the worst thing is that he can't say anything, because he knows very well that his father considers him as his last resort and in a way... he doesn't want to fail him and he doesn't want everything in his family to explode.

Even if it means he has to sacrifice his own life for the good of the family, he has to do this and it's not worth arguing with his father because it's no use and he's not going to change his mind.

His father starts to raise his voice, his mother too and he ends up going to his room with his morning already ruined, annoyed, tired and grumpy.

And when he tries to distract himself, to occupy himself with his own personal matters so as not to think too much, just at that moment Floris comes to visit.

Just now he doesn't have the capacity to want to be around her, or anyone in general, he just wants peace and quiet, but considering the conversation he had with his father, he is not able to ask her as nicely as possible to come another day.

"I was with Cerelle at my house but I got too bored, even though I told her to meet me tonight at the beach."

She begins to talk as she starts pacing all around his room he just sits there with his desk in front of him and a few books open.

"I also talked to Royce, he said he would be coming for a visit soon. My dad is still mad at him for leaving but I'm sure he'll get over it. I also heard that Jeyne wants to have a party the next week and..."

And so he listens to her voice continuously, talking about everything she did and didn't do in her day, while he puts a hand to his forehead and lets out a long breath, trying not to sound irritated.

"Oh and I went to the mall with Cerelle. I bought a beautiful bag and clothes for our trip to Hawaii," she says excitedly, "My dad has already arranged everything and my family is so excited for you to come with us. I'm also..."

Her voice slowly fades slowly, becoming a distant murmur, as he sinks deeper into his seat and stares at a spot in his room.

His brow furrows and his mind drifts further away from the conversation.

He can't find a way to tell her to stop talking without looking rude and frustrated, but the last thing he wants to do is listen to her right now and the last thing he wanted was for her to show up at his house this day.

He has enough going on in his family lately, especially with his father and he's not in the mood to be dealing with people right now. 

He's fed up with everything and all he wants is to be alone while a wave of mental exhaustion washes over him. He wants to get away from everyone for a moment, to have no one bother him so he can have peace and quiet. 

"Aemond."

The hand on his shoulder and the voice so close to him brings him back to reality. He blinks and raises his gaze to Floris, who watches him in confusion.

"Are you listening to me?"

"Yes," he says awkwardly and clears his throat, "Sorry," he says, turning his gaze to the front and stirring in his chair.

But she raises her hand towards him, placing it gently on his cheek and Aemond tenses immediately, as she forces him to look at her again gently but firmly enough.

"Are you sure? Are you okay?" she asks him genuinely concerned, "You didn't seem to be listening to me."

"Yes I was and I'm fine, don't worry," he tells her trying to sound convincing.

But Floris is having none of it.

"Is it because of your father or college?"

The silence that follows is palpable as he averts his gaze and removes his hand from her face with a nonchalant gesture. He says nothing but it's clear she's hit the nail on the head.

And Floris lets out a long, resigned sigh, already expecting that. For it is so typical of him not to confide his thoughts and feelings to her.

She's tired of her own boyfriend raising this constant wall between the two of them, where he doesn't want to open up to her. It hasn't been long since the two started dating but still, despite being a couple, there is no trust.

"Aemond," she murmurs his name softly and unexpectedly takes a seat on his lap, wrapping her arms around his neck.

"Floris," he calls her name awkwardly as well, trying to shake her off, "Wait, I don't—

"You know you can talk to me about anything," she interrupts him, her tone insistent but with a gentleness that she hopes will soften the situation, "I mean...I'm your girlfriend and I'm here for you whenever you need something, talk or anything."

He lets out a long sigh, feeling the weight of her insistence and the firmness with which she remains sitting on him.

The feeling of oppression invades him, both physically and emotionally.

"It's not... I don't..." he tries to speak, "Look, it's not that I don't want to tell you, but..." he gets frustrated, not finding the words or even the will to talk to her, "It's a lot of things."

"You can tell me," she insists, "Come on, babe. I just want to help you," she says as she begins to stroke his hair.

He close his eye for a moment, his patience quickly wearing thin.

"I don't want to talk," he makes it clear to her in a cold, resigned, tired tone.

She shrugs.

"Then we won't," she says simply, accepting that, "But I want you to understand that I'm here for you."

"Yes, I know," he says without even looking at her, running a hand through his hair.

"We can always do other things," she mentions with a certain tone that Aemond understands instantly.

And before he can do anything, she is already kissing him.

The kiss starts slow and soft, while he has difficulties to reciprocate at first, but Floris doesn't stop and pulls the back of his neck towards her, deepening the kiss. 

And he with all the mental chaos he has, tries to reciprocate as best he can, trying to forget at least for a moment.

Floris' hands begin to move down, sliding her fingers slowly over his chest while her other hand gently stroke his hair. Aemond tries to lose himself in the sensation, in the moment and let himself go, so he places both hands on her waist. 

She begins to move slightly on top of him, her breathing becoming more agitated and her tongue making its way between his lips, wanting more.

He tries to keep up with her and when Floris begins to rub her center against him, his body responds automatically, letting out a slight grunt without stopping the kiss. 

Floris' need is evident and when she brings one of her hands to the edge of his shirt and pulls away from his lips, she watches him with full intent and desire in her gaze, her lips red and swollen.

"I want you now," she murmurs against his lips.

He doesn't say anything, just watches her, truly not so sure. But then he thinks: fuck it.

He's tired and exhausted from carrying the weight of everything around him. He just wants to forget, if only for a few moments. So when Floris starts to take off his shirt, he allows it.

She kisses him again with more intensity and he responds with more fervor than before. 

Her hands begin to roam all over his naked torso and he stands up, both hands on her thighs, leading her towards his bed.

Soon Floris is on top of him again and feels a spark of electricity run through his skin as her hands touch the edge of his shorts, but before that happens, she slowly pulls down the straps of her dress.

Aemond watches her wordlessly, with his dark eye and indecipherable expression, as Floris complacently takes her time, enjoying every second, wanting him to desire her.

The straps fall and the top of her summer dress slides off, revealing her breasts. Aemond swallows hard, a mixture of desire and bewilderment passing through his body.

She leans into him again to kiss him, as she takes one of his hands and places it on her breast, prompting him to caress her. 

He does so, almost mechanically, trying to let himself go and lose himself in the moment, as she rubs herself against him again, making him more aware of how he begins to get hard, his breathing hitching.

But when Floris' hand descends and slips under his shorts, touching him, it is as if his mind wakes up and sends an alert throughout his body. 

Suddenly, he stops kissing her and takes her hand roughly, stopping her. Floris watches him confused and half-naked on top of him, still shaken and not understanding anything.

"Aemond?"

He closes his eye tightly and lets out a deep sigh, shaking his head and bringing a hand to his forehead, clenching his jaw.

"Fuck," he mutters.

"What's wrong?" Floris asks him without understanding what has changed so suddenly.

But he doesn't answer, just shakes his head again and pulls her hand away, to also gently brush her off of him.

"I'm sorry," he says softly.

Floris watches him from his bed, still with confusion on her face and quickly adjusts her dress, covering her naked body.

Her breathing is still rapid, but not so much from desire, but from the feeling of rejection that is infiltrating her. And again, for an instant, she thought this would never happen again.

But here they are, him pulling her away and her heart broken again by the humiliation.

"It's been a while," she murmurs, lowering her gaze, “Y-you don't..." her lips tremble, "You don't touch me."

He doesn't look at her, he can't. 

"I know. I'm sorry," he says in a low tone, the apology falling with a tone of resignation.

He picks up his T-shirt that's on the floor and puts it on, bringing a hand to his hair, ruffling it in frustration. And Floris watches him still completely confused.

"I just don't get it," she insists, "We're a couple. We should... be okay, I don't know," she says confused, "And I don't understand you. You don't talk to me, Aemond."

Aemond rubs his forehead, the pressure behind his eyes growing. He doesn't know how to explain, doesn't know how to put into words all the thoughts that suffocate him.

And he can't tell her that he doesn't really want to be with her either.

"I need to go," he says flatly.

"What?" she moves quickly, catching his arm, "No, please don't go," she tells him, her tone full of pleading, "I think we should talk."

"I can't, Floris. Not now."

Without trying to be abrupt, he releases his grip and Floris, unmoving, watches him as he takes his phone and car keys without another word. 

And he walks away, leaving her alone in his room.

He has no doubt that he will be in trouble for this later, maybe she will mention what happened to her sisters, eventually it will reach her father's ears about her having problems with their relationship and then it will reach his father's ears, demanding explanations from him.

He's not supposed to let her get out of his hands, as his father says, but now he really doesn't care about that.

He doesn't want to be with her and he shouldn't have let that happen. He should have stopped everything the moment she started kissing him.

Sex has been off the table for a while now. He has only slept with her once, when they both started dating for the first time. 

He barely remembers it. It was after they both went to a party. He drank a little more than he normally does and assumes that's why what happened at her house happened. 

And mostly it hasn't happened again because he doesn't have the interest. He doesn't feel the need with her. And just when he thinks it will finally happen when he lets himself go, in the moment he can't do it because it's feels wrong and pushes her away, leaving the action half done. 

And it's not her fault, it's his doing. But he knows that if he explained it to her, she wouldn't understand.

But just like that, another new frustration joins the storm in his mind.

Now he walks towards the pier, the only place where he feels he can breathe. The sound of the waves gently breaking against the wooden pillars, which is the only thing that accompanies him as he sinks into his thoughts.

He doesn't expect anyone to follow him or look for him there. In fact, the last thing he needs is someone else demanding something from him. 

For now, he doesn't want to be the perfect son, the boyfriend who should be attentive or the future heir to the family business. What he desperately wants is to escape the expectations that stifle him day after day.

He leans against the wooden stand and stares out into the deep, dark ocean, letting his mind wander, as he feels all the frustration wash over him and in an instant, he pulls out his pack of cigarettes and lights one.

He inhales deeply, letting the smoke invade his lungs, seeking in that sensation a temporary relief from the pressure he constantly feels. 

He enjoys his solitude, he has been used to it since he was a child. In many ways, he prefers it and finds it easier.

It is only now that he feels he is getting closer to his family or at least his siblings since his father has put more pressure on everyone. But he has not approached in the way he had hoped.

Aegon is not serious enough to broach the subject and evades his family in clouds of alcohol, parties and girls. Halaena is more independent and wrapped up in her own world, with her way of coping without getting swept away. 

Daeron doesn't yet understand the gravity of the expectations that will one day fall on him. And Rhaenyra... she's away with her own family.

And friends... he has no friends. At least, not genuine ones. They are not people he can trust without their own interests involved. 

And if he were to talk to any of them, it would be the same as with Floris; an empty conversation, full of awkward silences and expectations.

That's why at times like these, he strangely wishes he had someone to talk to. Someone who doesn't look at him with judgment or see him only as the heir who has to do his duty.

He needs someone who sees him for who he is, without expectations, without judgment. He just wants to be himself, wants to be just Aemond, without the unbearable weight of expectations.

'What would that be like?'

He wonders with genuine interest and even a certain... longing. But he knows he'll probably never know. Not with the life he has. 

He inhales deeply once more, the smoke mingling with the salty wind, enjoying the fleeting respite this place affords him. Then in the midst of his peace and quiet, the wood creaks softly under the footsteps that are not his.

He frowns and looks toward the entrance to the pier, thinking maybe it must be some of the security men, but then... he sees you.

He frowns more and attentively, he watches you walk, back straight and with cautious steps, as if trying not to make noise as you walk away, unaware of the creaking wood betraying you.

Then he wonders what you are doing here and why you are leaving. 

He remembers that he told you you could come back but doesn't understand why you're leaving. And before he can stop to think about what he is doing, he calls out you'r name.

"Y/N!?"

You stop immediately, your body tensing as if you've been caught doing something you shouldn't, again. 

You bite your lips nervously and slowly turn to look at him, some sorrow on your face as he continues to stare at you in confusion.

And well... he's already caught you, again, first here two nights ago, yesterday at the party and now here again, so what's the point?

"I'm sorry," you say, "I-I... I didn't see you on my way over here," you explain, "And well... I thought you might want to be alone."

Your gaze focuses on his, and for a second, the whole world seems to shrink down to just the two of you, as if you were the only ones on the beach, under the dim lights of the pier.

And he doesn't say anything to you, he just watches you intently. And you take that as a sign to leave.

"I'll leave you alone," you assure him in a soft tone, starting to turn away.

And again, Aemond without thinking, decides to stop you.

"Wait," he says finally, in a soft voice, "You don't have to go."

You watch him carefully and curiously as you tuck a lock of hair behind your ear, a little unsure.

"Are you sure?"

He says nothing, just gives you a slight nod and you, hesitantly, finally take a step towards him and then another, beginning to close the distance to join him at the end of the pier.

An anticipation and excitement begins to grow within you, with the sea breeze and the sound of the waves enveloping you. 

You feel a slight tension begin to grow between the two of you. It's not uncomfortable but it's not easy to ignore either. And both Aemond and you know that you are both walking on uncertain ground.

But neither of you can help it.

series taglist:

@zenka69 @strangersunghoon @deliaseastar @thefireblaze @kythefangirl25 @p45510n4f4shi0n @saturnssrings @bellaisasleep @primroseluna @tinykryptonitewerewolf @barnes70stark @tssf-imagines

[undiscovered-horizon]

Rainy Season - Morpheus x Reader

[Spoilers for Brief Lives I guess?]

[MASTERLIST] | [Sandman-inspired playlist]

SUMMARY: Fed up with Dream's stubborn and at times childish attitude, you leave Dreaming. But when Morpheus's sorrow makes itself known, Matthew has to fetch you before the kingdom completely floods.

WORDCOUNT: ~ 1.7k

It’s a tumultuous morning in the Dreaming. Even if none of the dreams and nightmares are privy to the ongoing feud, they know something is wrong. It’s as though the air in the kingdom, the marrow of their bones, turned bitter last night. Their skin is crawling but the sun is shining as it did yesterday. They birds chirp the same song they had throughout centuries. And yet, against their better judgment, something is terribly out of place.

To be honest, you don’t even remember how all of this started but the damage is already done.

A frustrated scream ripples through your chest, "The world doesn't revolve around you!" You're fuming. There's only so much patience one person can hold and recently, Morpheus had proven himself exceptional at trying to reach its limit until he, unfortunately, succeeded today. "For someone who's supposed to know every thought ever entertained, you sure can not look past the tip of your own nose."

His eyes, cold and hurt, stare at you in utter confusion. Dark eyebrows furrow. "I do not know what you're expecting of me,” he states in an angry voice. It appears that he really does not understand the reason for your outrage. "I am not human, I am unable to look at the world as you do."

Of course he says that, you think to yourself. It seems to be his favorite line of defense. Dream of the Endless is a strange, eldritch creature. He doesn’t comprehend the world like a mortal does and, or some reason, he treats this fact of nature as an excuse not to try. At first, you thought it charming - to see the universe through the eyes of a creature you can barely begin to understand. Who wouldn’t? The strange wonder of the man in front of you made you seek his company again and again. Truthfully, there’s something poetic about it: the reason you’ve come back to him so many times might be the very reason you bid him farewell. For good.

"Good news, then: you don't need a cardiovascular system to exercise empathy.” Your sarcastic tone has an effect on Morpheus. He frowns, hurt by your words, only to grow angry that he’s so affected. Dream’s pride makes him want to not be influenced by your bitterness. Alas, he cares more than he’s willing to admit. "Not everything is about you, Morpheus, and until you realize that, I don't think we've got more to talk about. Goodbye."

Even after you shut the door behind you, the word echoes through the castle. The stone walls seem to whisper it back to Morpheus, rubbing the salt in his wound. How strange it is - to be haunted by somebody still alive. To be the king of dreams and feel hopeless. It would be funny if it didn’t make him want to be unmade.

A thunder rolls. A blue lightning splits the sky in two. Despite the lovely weather in the morning, it starts to rain in the Dreaming.

The storm doesn’t stop after a few hours nor does it cease after a few days. Black clouds cover the sky as they did four days ago. The only change is in the water level: the kingdom is flooded. When everyone thought the rain is bound to stop soon, no one minded much the rising tide. However, when the situation only worsened with no evidence that it’s going to improve in the near future, worried voices started to reach Lucienne. If the storm doesn’t cease in the next day or two, some parts of the Dreaming will share the fate of Atlantis.

If Morpheus knew he was being observed, he didn’t show it. Perhaps he doesn’t feel up for another confrontation. In any event, he remains still, standing against the balcony reiling, as his friends begin plotting:

"How is he?" Matthew whispers to Lucienne. "Has he moved from there at all? Ate something? Said anything?"

"That's three 'no's, I'm afraid,” she answers slowly. The librarian lets out a heavy sigh. "He's just dramatically standing there, wallowing in pity."

Dream really is 'just standing there’. Drenched. His hair and clothes are stuck to his pasty skin. It can’t be comfortable but it would appear that matters other than cosiness are on his mind at the moment. For the past few days, ever since you left, he hasn’t moved even a quarter of an inch. Truthfully, he looks about as alive as a marble statue, if monuments could appear excruciatingly miserable.

"Should we do something?" The raven continues. What he really wants to ask is 'What should we do?’ but Lucienne seems to catch the undertone of his words nonetheless.

"You could ask her to come back but no guarantee she'll want to,” she thinks out loud. "They've fought before but this time she looked really defeated."

Morpheus, although doesn’t need to breathe, sighs loudly. As he exhales, another lightning tears the sky apart.

"Alright, I'll try to convince her to talk to him again,” Matthew states. His worried voice makes him sound determined to have the two of you reconcile. "Hopefully, we'll be back before you need a canoe."

Lucienne doesn’t respond. As much as she doesn’t want to admit to her pessimism, she knows better than to have much hope in the matter of Dream’s love life.

Repetitive tapping on the window diverts your attention from the dishes you were washing. Seeing the black bird sitting on the outside windowsill, you quickly wipe your hands against the dishrag and jog to open the window.

"Matthew?" you ask in surprise.

He wastes no time pleading his case in a plaintive tone. "You gotta go back to him. Everything's gone to shit."

You furrow your eyebrows. Leaning against the wall, you cross your arms on your chest. "What do you mean?"

The raven hops closer to you. "It's been pouring nonstop since you left. He's just standing there, soaking wet and he won't talk to anyone."

It might sound sadistic but it’s a nice thought that he’s grieving your departure so severely. For what it’s worth, it means he’s not as blase as he likes to appear. Perhaps, Morpheus cares about you more than you’re even aware of.

"How bad is it?" you ask warily.

"How bad?!" Matthew screeches. "The House of Mysteries is so flooded, Abel is fishing."

It sounds like 'bad' is nothing more than an elegant euphemism. In his heartache, Morpheus is willing to let Dreaming decay and fall into partial ruin. If your accusation had been correct and Dream of the Endless truly is unable to care about anyone but himself, such a disaster would never have happened. A selfish ruler wouldn’t let his realm turn to rubble because of a broken heart. And if you’re more important than what he calls home, then…

"I'm assuming that's not a usual feature,” you give the raven a half-hearted response. The thoughts inside your head are in a painful turmoil, trying to lift the truth out of the indications.

"Yeah," he answers sarcastically.

Matthew glares at you in anticipation. Perplexed, you rub your arm without thinking much about it. Right, it's the mature and responsible thing to do but at the same time, why do you have to be the one to cave in every time you two fall out? If Morpheus cares for you as much as his dramatic show of pain and grief would suggest, shouldn’t it be him travelling across world and realms to reach you?

The raven cocks his head. Something about the look in his eyes changes as though his frustration has faded away or grown into desperation if not powerlessness. He’s tired and out of options.

"Alright, let's go," you say with a sigh. "But no promises. I still have pride and self-respect and he's still a stubborn..." you take a deep breath, "nevermind. Let's just go."

Miserable.

That's the only word that comes to your mind as you stare at him from afar. One would think that an entity of his sort can not be or look miserable but maybe this world is even stranger than you've thought. His clothes are drenched to the point of being see-through. Dark, once-tussled hair is now stuck to his face and neck. Dream's body looks even more stringy as his head is hanging low between his shoulders.

The rain is almost deafening. Your cautious, hesitant footsteps shouldn't be audible and yet Morpheus turns around to look at you when you come closer.

"I didn't think you'd come back," he says in a low, groggy voice. Dream's eyes, once blue and cold, are now red and unsettlingly vacant. Has he been crying? "What do you want?"

You take a deep breath. It was vain to expect him to welcome you with open arms. An eldritch being with a bruised ego and a broken heart could never make for a hospitable host. Even to those whom he misses the most.

"I still stand by what I said, it's just..." you hang your voice for a moment to find the proper words. Seeing him so broken by your fight makes some part of you want to renounce everything that lead to your argument. Anything just for him to be alright again. But the more reasonable side of you knows that such an action would only hurt both of you in the long run. "I admit, I could have said it in a more civilized way. I'm sorry. You didn't deserve that harshness."

His gaze falls and Morpheus looks away for a moment.

Whether he's doing it consciously or not, the rainstorm ceases. Black clouds slowly drift away to uncover a clear, blue sky. Somewhere in the West, if there are cardinal directions in Dreaming, the sun is beginning to set. Despite the significant improvement, the air remains cold. A harsh wind nips at your drenched form. In a vain attempt to shield yourself from the discomfort of the weather, you put your arms around your torso. Still, your body trembles.

"Perhaps I should have put more effort into understanding your concern. I'm..." he turns silent for a second. His lips are apart but no sound is coming out of his mouth. Dream's hurt gaze meets yours. "Sorry," he whispers finally. Despite his voice being hardly audible, the weight of his confession is almost deafening.

"There's one more thing, Morpheus."

Those sad blue eyes stare at you in anticipation. The misery on his face makes you think that he's expecting to have his heart broken again, instead of mended.

A couple of grey clouds reappear above your heads. Oh no.

"I'm tired of always being the one to reach out," you confess. His gaze is too intense and you quickly look away from him. There's much on his mind. "No matter who's right or wrong, it's me who bridges the gap between us. Even if that angers me, I still do it. Every time. And I don't know what that says about me."

Your body trembles again but this time it doesn't go unnoticed by Morpheus. He, quite literally, pulls a coat out of thin air. Dream's movements are almost fearful as he cautiously places the garment around your shoulders.

"Perhaps in certain aspects, you are better than me," he answers quietly while fixing the coat to fit you better.

You know you're pushing your luck when you look at him again and ask a not-so-innocent question:

"You mean a 'better person'?"

"I'm not-" He bites his tongue just in time. Morpheus is not a person. Both of you are perfectly aware of it. But it was the mention of this very fact that had brought such disastrous rain to Dreaming. "Yes. A better person."

There's not much conviction in his words but there is, however, a silent promise to find it.

______

Now that I’m in mourning, I thought it fitting to finish reading "Brief Lives" and the bittersweetness of it felt all the more pronounced. Reading it prompted me to rewatch the show and long story short I’m kind of back in my Sandman feels.

[sunshine-and-moonshine]

COD Sex Bot Au - General and Character Specific Facts

Requested: Yes. By uh…..pretty much everyone. SO many people begged for something and while this isn’t exactly a part 2, I hope it will help tide you all over til I can get that completed.

Warnings: Fluff, Angst, Child Abuse, Adult Abuse as well, Mention of Murder, Mention of Self-Destruction (Robot Suicide), Mentions of Knives, Mention of Blood, Spice, Probably very incorrect Spanish

A/N: So! A lot of people, along with requesting a part 2, have also been begging me for Price as well. I know I’ve only done the 4 characters for all of my Cod works so far but I do want to expand the character list! That being said, I’m just not entirely comfortable with writing them yet. I am looking more into Gaz, Price, and Roach specifically and I promise to let you guys know when I feel comfortable enough to write for them! But until then, please enjoy!

✨General✨

Their eyes get this kind of colored sheen to them sometimes. Different colors for different things.

Yellow is absorbing new information

Pink is the color during sexy times

Red is malfunctioning/in need of repairs (but can also be a sign of embarrassment or shyness)

Light blue is curiosity

White (still) is powered down

White (pulsing) is powering down

White (flickering) is low power

Grey is rebooting/charging

Black is enraged

Lilac is contentment

Plum is upset/hurt

All the boys come with their uniforms on but what’s underneath depends

For Ghost’s model, simple black briefs

For Soap’s model, silly patterned boxers (think hearts or something)

For König’s model, usually some fancy lace panties since he’s very popular amongst Doms who like that sort of thing

Alejandro’s model? Absolutely nothing

Ghost

Ghost’s model was MEANT to be a scary bad guy kind of deal, to be marketed towards fans of slashers and the like. But he…..didn’t end up being that way.

At least, not your Ghost. Many of the other Ghost models are that way, but not yours. For some reason.

Granted, that programming is definitely still in him, though not exactly in the way it was meant to be.

Instead of it being just for fun rough sexy times, it’s more…….actually will kill for you. And has, in fact, killed for you.

Something that he’s NOT supposed to be able to do.

“Gee, I wonder what happened to that Barista that insulted me the other day.”

“Gee, I wonder.” *cleaning a bloody combat knife in your sink*

Speaking of knives!!! Ghost’s model does come with a lot of fun knives! Granted, they’re dulled into being just (mostly) harmless kink knives but he made quick work of making them a lot more harmless by ordering a knife sharpener.

So uh, yeah. You have received not just a sex robot, but one that borders on Yandere and will probably self-destruct if you reject him.

Have fun with that!

Fun fact: YOUR Ghost actually used to be a child bot MANY years ago, bought by a man who only wanted to be able to legally abuse a child. So he was broke down and put back together so very many times. And when they recycled and reprogrammed his AI chip, the scarring from that was still imprinted into him.

Soap

While Soap’s model is marketed more towards romantic oriented people, he’s generally seen as a Jack of all trades.

Doms, subs, romantics, first timers, just about any kind of person. He’s good with all of them, though he thrives with Romantics since that is his programming.

And also just because your Soap is so very lonely. He yearns to be loved by you, to melt under your affection.

And also just because your Soap is so very lonely. He yearns to be loved by you, to melt under your affection.

He doesn’t want to be seen as just a sexual object, he wants to be yours. And you to be his.

König

Ah yes, the gentle giant that was supposed to be marketed more towards Subs but ended up being a bit….Soft.

None of the programmers can explain it but every model of him is just inexplicably shy and quiet, thriving in an environment where he has no control.

So now he’s more marketed towards doms. Usually soft doms.

They once tried to change his model to be smaller and more petite and people started BOYCOTTING.

It affected their sales so much that they very quickly changed him back.

People still seethe when they think about it.

Probably equal parts the most loved and most abused of the different models.

Probably equal parts the most loved and most abused of the different models.

Just because of how quiet and meek his model is, how they almost never fight back when hurt.

Alejandro

Alejandro’s model is VERY popular among submissives so he’s programmed to be pretty dominant and also to have a caring nature.

Due to said caring nature, many mistake his model as good for beginners.

I can assure you, he is NOT.

So SO many of his models have been returned cause he’s brought them to tears from so much pleasure, absolutely overwhelming for any beginner.

“Cry for me, Amor. That’s it, just like that.”

His model is one of the only ones that isn’t returnable unless something is malfunctioning and even then, they’ll try just about anything to fix the model instead of just taking them back.

If you’re the type to forget meals and such (I’m not projecting, shut up) then he will literally drag you away from whatever you’re doing and make you eat.

Will set up a rewards system if you have trouble with personal upkeep as well, like household chores and stuff (again, not projecting).

How much pleasure you get throughout the day is all dependent on how well you follow the schedule he makes based on your personal life.

He can and will have you call him Papi, in and out of bed.

“Be a Good Little Cachorro and get on your knees for Papi.”

You only get called Amor when you’re good or when you’re upset. Anything else and it’s Cachorro (Puppy).

[internetskiff]

Breen's unfortunately pretty underrated amongst the Valve antagonists, which I suppose is understandable compared to the likes of GLaDOS or The Administrator, but just like those two I feel like there's plenty of things to talk about when it comes to him. He seems like a very conflicted character, especially if you take into account the BreenGrub account and Laidlaw's Epistle 3. First of all is, of course, the leadup to the Black Mesa incident, with the G-Man seemingly making an offer to Breen which seemingly involved overloading the Anti-Mass Spectrometer while processing an extremely pure sample of Xen Crystal - and yes, while it's pretty obvious that the order to overload the systems was very intentional and motivated by whatever deal they struck, I believe that when it comes to the aftermath he may have been sold on a lie. Considering his actions as Administrator of Earth being entirely in the interests of keeping Humanity from feeling the full force of the Combine, I don't think "Becoming the de facto leader of all of Earth" was on his agenda. Perhaps G-Man promised that whatever their deal would entail would bring about a prosperous future for humanity, perhaps all he promised was the possibility of establishing contact with another sentient species (which is something he technically did provide), or perhaps it was something else - there's simply way too much room for speculation there, I think.

A little detail from a HL:A newspaper implies that his position as Earth's administrator wasn't exactly handed to him on a silver platter, instead he had to go out of his way to reach out to the governments with information on how to communicate with the invaders, at which point, already beaten down by Combine forces, they simply gave him the all-clear to speak for all of mankind. This still begs the question of who, or what, gave him the knowledge of how to speak with them - however, it's safe to say if they didn't, Earth would've been left a smoldering pile of rocks and withered carcasses. Once again, he acts with Humanity's best interests in mind, having to choose between the lesser of two evils - it's either enslavement or extinction. He simply chose the option in which Humanity would survive, even if just for a little while longer.

And ever since, we're watching the aftermath. He's trying to talk the last generation of Humanity down, so they may either pass of old age or be absorbed into the Combine - at least if that happens, something gets preserved. Once again, the alternative? They'll just wipe the slate once they get the local teleportation technology they desire. Breen sees no other way than to go along with their demands. He's eventually proven wrong, of course, but he refuses to see the Rebellion as anything but a suicidal march towards the extinction of the human race, and he sticks to that belief up until he is killed by Gordon at the tip of the Citadel. Of course, this doesn't make him a good person. Not at all. This belief has lead him to seek out and destroy anyone who tries to resist. He shows no sympathy to them. He paints them as fools. He himself believes it so. This intense hatred for anyone who resists is seen perfectly in how he treats the Vance family. He views them as fools. As narrow-minded rabble in the streets, senselessly struggling against a tide beyond their comprehension. He's willing to send off a father and his daughter into a world far beyond simply to use them as a bargaining chip. Listening to the two comfort eachother as they're almost raised up to a fate surely worse than death, the only expression on his face is that of pure contempt and annoyance. He's a very fascinating character that I wish Valve would explore again if they ever do another Half Life set during a time period in which he was still alive. He's a coward that easily bends to the oppressor, yet in the end he only does it to make sure something survives. He's cruel to those who resist because he's completely convinced they're going to get everyone killed. He is the Combine's perfect puppet.

haha anyhoo so why was he straight up serving on the magazine covers in HL:A like what was up with all that

[hotdaemondtargaryen]

EWAN MITCHELL INTERVIEWED BY THE INVERSE MAGAZINE.

HOW HAS AEMOND CHANGED OVER SEASON TWO?

"For the first four episodes, you see Aemond operating from the peripheries."

"You see him and Criston Cole during their Shadow Council scenes trying to manipulate the Council table to the way they want to run things."

"Aemond is waiting for his moment to strike."

"At the end of Episode 4 — at the Battle of Rook’s Rest — he seizes his opportunity to take two dragons out with one stone."

"It's only until the “Red Sowing” in Episode 7, where Rhaenyra enlists and raises new dragon riders, that Aemond’s power is threatened."

"You're going to see a more desperate side to Aemond."

"And a desperate Aemond is a dangerous one because he might overcompensate."

"He might be a little more irrational than the composed stoic face that he's had before."

"In Episode 8, he's outgunned and he's outraged."

"The Blacks have seven dragons, the Greens have three."

"We have Vhagar, we have Dreamfyre, and we have Daeron’s dragon Tessarion, who's just taken wing."

"Aemond very much wants to win the war."

DO YOU CONSIDER AEMOND THE VILLAIN OF HOUSE OF THE DRAGON?

"It's very easy to make that assumption and judgment just because of the way that he looks."

"His Targaryen blacks, the long hair, the eye patch — it screams villain, but it depends on what side you're on."

"He's the guy who is prepared to do the necessary evil."

"He wants to be seen as a war hero."

"He knows he can be loved, but he knows he can achieve more if he's willing to be feared."

"He's done a lot of bad stuff to support the theory that he is the villain of the show."

"That's one of the most satisfying things for me is decoding his DNA and discovering that he isn't just that two-dimensional villain."

CAN YOU ONCE AND FOR ALL SET THE RECORD STRAIGHT ABOUT THE BATTLE OF ROOK'S REST? WERE AEMOND'S ACTIONS PURPOSEFUL? WAS THAT COLLATERAL DAMAGE OR DID HE JUST TAKE AN OPPORTUNITY TO SEIZE THE POWER?

"I think it could be all three of those things."

"It could be that Aemond did, in fact, see an opportunity to take two dragons off the board with one stone, or was Aegon just in the way?"

"Aegon was never part of the original plan for the battle."

"But with everything that Aegon did and the ringleader status he inhabited in Aemond's childhood, there's an awful lot of evidence to support that."

"What Aemond did was intentional, but whether or not it was premeditated is another thing."

SO WHEN YOU WERE ACTING ALONGSIDE AEGON IN THE LATER EPISODES WHEN THERE'S A CONFRONTATION AT HIS SICK BED, THAT WAS WITH THE KKOWLEDGE OF MALICIOUS INTENT?

"I think so."

"Their relationship is so multifaceted."

"There's a hatred for his brother, but also a certain love that he always craved from him."

"Aegon was supposed to be his big brother."

"He was supposed to look out for him."

"He just never did."

"I thought there was something really fascinating in the fact that Aemond left that marble marker on Aegon’s chest."

"Maybe he left it there for him in a way to say, “The chair's there for you when the war is finished,” or he might've just been pressing the stone marker into his chest to make him hurt that little bit more."

IN EPISODE 8, WE FIRST SEE AEMOND AFTER HE RAZES THE ENTIRETY OF SHARP POINT BECAUSE HE'S MAD ABOUT RHAENYRA'S NEW DRAGON FORCES. WHAT IS GOING THROUGH HIS MIND?

"It's a spur-of-the-moment retaliation."

"He has to overcompensate for this newfound knowledge that Rhaenyra has raised new dragonriders against him and changed the tide of the war."

"Sharp Point, from what I understand of the geography of Westeros, is actually very closely connected to The Gullet."

"Aemond feels like it's justified."

"He's destroying a bit of the Gullet and destroying the blockade that Rhaenyra set up at the beginning of Season 2."

"But ultimately, what he does is atrocious."

WE NEXT SEE HIM TALKING ABOUT THE SMALLFOLK HAVING TO SACRIFICE FOR THE WAR EFFORT. WHAT IS AEMOND SACRIFICING?

It goes back to that moment when Helaena's by the throne Aemond's just gazing up at it and Helaena says, “Was it worth the price?”

"Ultimately, what he sacrificed is his humanity."

"It's that theme that is so prevalent throughout our series: whether love trumps duty or duty trumps love."

"In Aemond's eye, love is a weakness."

WE SEE HIM CONFRONT ALICENT IN THIS EPISODE AND BASICALLY ACCUSE HER OF HAVING TOO MUCH COMPASSION. DOES AEMOND SEE HER AS AN ENEMY? IS THERE ANY AFFECTION REMAINING?

"I think there is."

"One of the main motivations I've played from the beginning of Season 2 was this idea that he wants his mum."

I think he's heartbroken when he says, “Would you not have us prevail?” and she says, “Not like this.”

"That's not part of Aemond's vision."

When he sent Alicent away in Episode 6, he said, “Look, let me deal with the war.”

"You just wait by the margins and then when I've won this war, we can pick up and work on our relationship."

"But the fact that she rebukes him at that moment in Episode 8, he's heartbroken."

"It's horrible for Aemond to comprehend that his mom isn't on his side."

SPEAKING OF WOMEN IN AEMOND'S LIFE, HELAENA GOES TO AEMOND AND ACCUSES HIM OF BURNING AEGON PURPOSEFULLY AND HINTS AT AEMOND'S DEATH. IS HE SHAKEN BY THAT?

"He's definitely shaken."

In an act of desperation, he goes to his sister and says, “Look, you and me, we need to ride out. We need to go to the Riverlands. We need to take out Daemon and destroy all of the influence that he has with the houses of the Riverlands.”

"Aemond is ultimately rebuked by both Alicent and Helaena."

"He's always had this very singular vision of how everything was going to go down."

"But when that starts to get challenged, when he recognizes that Alicent and Helaena aren't on his side, and then when Helaena comes out with this prophecy."

I think a part of him definitely thinks, “Oh no, my sister could be right.”

WHAT CAN WE EXPECT FROM AEMOND IN SEASON 3?

"I think you're going to see someone who's a lot more desperate and a lot more erratic."

"Targaryens were always considered closer to gods than men."

"And what Rhaenyra does at the end of Episode 7 very much challenges and questions the belief that you have to be a legitimate Targaryen to ride a dragon."

"And although their heritage from what we've heard sounds pretty legit, the rest of Westeros doesn’t see that."

"As Aemond says at the end of Episode 8 in that confrontation with his mother and his sister, the people of Westeros ultimately see commonfolk made into dragon lords."

"It very much paints a large target not only on Aemond's back but also on the back of all the Targaryens."

"It compromises their god-like status in a sense."

"And Aemond is definitely going to retaliate."

[quantomeno]

One of my absolute all-time favourite moments in the Bionicle books is the introduction of Downfall, where Hahli is sitting on the shore of Ga-Metru, talking to Kopeke before she starts her story.

There are so many things about this scene I love, all the little implications.

I know Kopeke was chosen by fans to be the new Chronicler, but I really think it don't think it could have been anyone else. It's perfect from a narrative perspective, and the subtle "long a trusted aide to Turaga Nuju" just primes you to think of Matoro. By now, the reader has likely got some idea that Matoro might have to sacrifice himself, and this just places it front of mind.

What I really love it for is the atmosphere, because it is so calm. Hahli's sad but she's trying to hold herself together: "sometimes the best way to make sadness go away is to let it float from you on a tide of words".

And then when she tries to talk about it, she can't and instead talks about Jaller's belief toa are invincible, and how she was sure they'd make it home.

I mean, it just illustrates the key theme of the Ignition saga where things are no longer black and white like they were on Mata Nui, and where victory isn't a happy ever after. There's no magical 11th hour resurrection here.

“Sometimes a hero has to do something else besides beat the villains and come home covered in glory. Sometimes, he has to make a sacrifice so that a lot of people — people he’s never even met, and who don’t know his name — can live.”

It's such a beautiful scene and it's a testament to Greg that his writing manages to bring me to tears with just this short passage. He had a tendency to focus a bit too much on making things 'cool' and exciting, but the other side of that coin was he was very good at adding drama. I wish Bionicle had more quiet moments like it does in Downfall, because both this scene and Matoro's sacrifice are so poignant. (I call Matoro's sacrifice a quiet moment because, despite the rush leading up to it, everything slows down and it's just Matoro, the Ignika and his thoughts)