#the links place in there lead to other fics that connect to this but they need to be read for this tbh

[halonicheart]

Last Smile

Summary: A brief Lovechefant ficlet of certain events in Heavensward, MSQ A Knight's Calling spoilers.

The world around was already twisting into a blurry sunset orange tango, coupled with the figures around him that were his comrades now becoming faceless silhouettes- blobs of sentient colors with faces that sound far off. It was almost comical when he weakly surveyed his surroundings that the only thing, the only person he could still make out more clearly than all else was her. Haurchefant cannot help but let out a weak, wheezing laugh at his own expense. Through his racing memories fogging his mind, he recalls the time he vouched for her and her company… in his fading moments, he admits to himself he mainly vouched for Lovette above everyone else, though he has his suspicions that his own father was well aware of the fact. At the time, he had called her a Beacon of Hope, a grand title for an even grander hero whose tales he will never get to hear. 

He meant every word of praise, he knew now that he had every right to call her such even when she looked at him as if moments away from shattering to pieces and the weight of the world crushing her heart, still she shone brightly in the abyss. Her tear ridden eyes glimmered like starlight, much like the way they did with joy the night they first met. In the midst of his reminiscing, he realizes her lips are moving- likely frantically babbling, a charming tendency of hers that makes him cough out another wet chuckle before reaching out for her. “Lovette…” 

She goes still, wide eyed for only a single heartbeat before she scoots closer to him, hands grasping onto his own. He wished so terribly to give hers a reassuring squeeze but try as might he could not muster the strength. “You.. you are unharmed? F-forgive me… I could not bear the thought of… of… ” Like the lovelorn fool he is, Haurchefant tries to sit up just to get closer to her only to pathetically wince. He cannot bring himself to laugh much more, the pain may be fading but so too is he, that much was evident when whatever remained of his grip loosened just enough that he could feel his fingers slip through her hands. Haurchefant could only smile when she clamped her hands tighter, for a mercy, the pressure kept his consciousness grounded just long enough to muster what he knew would be his last words to her. 

In truth, he wished to cry. The poignant aching his chest hurt much more than the gaping wound in his abdomen. All the promises he made her will go unfilled, the ventures he wished so dearly to be whisked away with her on were not meant to be. A distant thought reminds him he never even got to present the dress he swore to have made for her… Still, even had he known it would all come to this from the day he met her, he would not have changed a single aspect of his life. There was no greater blessing than to have been able to meet his Love and be loved by her in return. She will live past this moment, that was how this was meant to be, and she will shine ever brighter despite the hardships she will face, this he knows for certain. 

He breathes in deeply, one last time. “Oh, do not look at me so… a smile suits you best…” Haurchefant has lost all feeling in his body, he can only pray that he was actually smiling at her. Lovette hurriedly nods as she swipes fiercely at the fresh fat tears streaming down her cheeks. She sniffles, the ends of her lips curving into a strained smile. “... Please don’t forget mine…” His only selfish request of her. 

 “I won’t…” Lovette hiccupped between the sobs she tried so desperately to hold back. He can only hope she doesn’t feel guilty for crying in front of him. “I’ll never forget your smile… Ser Knight...” A single tear is shed from Haurchefant, one that Lovette quickly wipes away. If only she knew how happy it made him to hear her call him that one last time. A silly, misspoken name that was quite frankly redundant in meaning. He recalls fondly how humiliated she was when he had to break it to her. Silly as it was, he cherished it all the same. To be sent off this way… he could not ask for more. 

He wished to stare at her longer, for eternity if he could, but he was growing ever so tired. Haurchefant could no longer keep his lids from falling. The world has gone dark, his body cold. 

He could not see the light leave her eyes. He could not hear the wails of agony that spilled from her lips nor the chanting of I love you… He could not say I love you back. 

[acapelladitty]

take a drink from an empty cup

Pairing: Cooper Howard/Fem!Reader

Summary: Pursued by the infamous ghoul who is hunting you across the wastelands, you find that he has a very creative plan in place to punish you for your continued disobedience. (3.1k words).

(warnings for: cnc play, forced deepthroat, orgasm control, rope restriants, physical violence, oral sex, blood, threats of violence, unprotected sex, fingering, mild aftercare, dark humour, subspace, predator/prey)

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Link to AO3

Rapid feet kicking up soft plumes of red dirt as they pound across the dusty ground, the heat of the sun on your exposed skin bears down like a sheepskin blanket - your slickened skin feeling hot and uncomfortable despite the chill of anxiety which powers your frantic movements.

Panting as you duck behind the corner of a building, your ears strain for any sound, any whisper of your attackers whereabouts. Wearing only a tattered shirt and light-coloured panties, you're too consumed by fear to have any shame about your state of undress.

A low whistle forces your spine to straighten, eyes peeking around the corner as you watch him appear from the depths of a side street.

"Running ain't gonna save you, sweetie. Best give up before you really piss me off."

The Ghoul.

Cooper Howard.

The man hunting you with the casualness of a cat preying on an injured bird, certain of the victory to come.

You could hear it in his voice, in the way that his low tones carry with ease across the abandoned town as they swept across you with the breeze.

"If you're unlucky enough, you might catch the attention of the gang in the next town over. I hear they use their finds to entertain the dogs or sometimes the odd deathclaw if it's behaved well enough." Cooper paused, his head visibly scanning the ground as he sought out your messy tracks. "Hell, might even do that myself if you keep playin' so hard to get."

His footfalls are steady as they approach the corner you're hiding behind, the polar opposite of your own trembling limbs, and a surge of strength forces you to push off from your hiding spot and make a break for it. You don't dare turn around and look at him but you hear his speed increase as he zeroes in on his hunted prey.

He's faster, he always is, and his hands lock around your shoulders as the solid heat of him pulls you flush to his chest.

"Caught you, sweetheart. Now let's see about taking what's mine."

Body thrashing as the hard bulge of his cock presses against the lower end of your back, a feral howl - half fear and half rage - claws free of your throat and you slam your elbow back. It connects with his groin, and his hands drop from your shoulders like they had burned him as his face twists into a violent scowl.

"Motherfucker!" Cupping his cock through his slacks with a tender motion, you take the momentay distraction to run once more and refuse to look back at him as he recovers and continues to hollers his threats after you. "You'll pay for that, darling. Eye for an eye and I take mine with teeth."

You run on adrenaline, the frayed shirt whipping around your upper thighs with every quick turn as you seek out an escape route. Eyeing up a set of wooden stairs which lead to the upper level of a nearby building, you bolt for them with a sudden swing of your hips.

You don't feel the rope of the lasso closing around your foot until it's too late.

One moment, you're running, and the next you find yourself slamming into the wooden boards with a pained yelp - your knees and tits catching on the edge of the stairs as your mouth glances off the banister, bursting your lower lip in a sharp flash of pain as the taste of copper immediately fills your mouth.

Stunned as hell, you can't even catch a breath as you flip to your back, staring up at the unforgiving sun.

Cooper, his hand coiled around the other end of the rope, is just as unforgiving and he tugs the length with a vicious heave - the pressure enough to snatch you closer and pull you down a few stairs. The strong wood clatters against the back of your head with a horrid intensity, the bump of two stairs causing stars to flash in your vision as they leave a dull ache in their wake.

He's on you like a pack of wild dogs, his body dropping atop your own to pin you to the stairs by the sheer weight of him. Bruised and battered, you can't muster the strength to fight him off and instead the pathetic writhe of your body only seems to excite him more as his face swims before your own.

"Seems to me like you owe me an apology, little lady. Now," Cooper pauses and his hand wraps around your chin to force you to meet his eye, "I could be a bad man and treat you nasty, beating that lovely hide til it bleeds and glows even redder than mine, but that's not what's gonna happen here."

Whimpering, his knee drops to press roughly against your lower stomach, emphasising just how utterly trapped you were as his smug, leathered face blocks the sun from your gaze.

"Where I'm from, we kiss and make up, and since it wasn't my mouth you chose to smack up, I think you'll be better suited putting those pretty lips elsewhere."

"N-no." You stutter out, a low whine increasing in pitch as his other hand pulls at your hair, his grip igniting fire in your scalp. "Please, no."

His hand scores across your face, the blow not enough to cause any real pain outside of disturbing your busted lip, but definitely enough to put an end to your refusals as you gaze up at him with watery eyes.

"Bite and I'll take those teeth, mind." Cooper warns, his brow furrowing in warning as the hole of his nose flares. "One by one. I'm sure you've taken ghoul cock before, sweetheart. What's one more, huh?"

As he speaks, he frees his cock with an excited grunt and his grip on your hair grows even more rough while he yanks at the strands to encourage your lips to part, uncaring of the split lip which is still gently bleeding.

"Nice and slow."

Incapable of doing much more, you open your mouth and accept his cock with a low whimper. He's already excited and as the tip of his cock glances off your tongue, you can taste his pre-cum, the pearly liquid more acrid than anything you'd tasted before. His cock is thick, the girth of it already threateneing to make your jaw ache as he slides himself across your mouth a few times - testing out your limits with a tight control.

"Oh yeah." Cooper rumbles. "This'll do. Time to work on your breathing, sweetheart."

Canting his hips forward, the tip of his cock buries itself down your throat and the suddenness of the movement makes your body startle - reawakening the various aches of your earlier fall as you choke around his cock and desperately claw at his clothed thighs with your fingers.

He ignores your distress, instead focusing on his own pleasure as he alternates between using his hand to guide your head along his cock and thrusting his own groin forward; both actions merciless in their treatment as an obscenely wet noise fills the space.

Head bobbing along his cock forcefully, nausea rises in your chest as his textured skin rams into the back of your throat - sparking your gag relax as you swallow around his cock in open panic.

"Keep massaging my cock like that, darlin', and I won't make it to the main event."

Cooper growls the words, smirking down at your misery as your vision swims, and he snatches his cock free with one swift pull.

Coughing and spluttering, you inhale big gulps of air and they burn your lungs like fresh hell - a light-headedness making your skull pound as you desperately try to fix yourself.

Lying like a broken marionette doll, your strings well and truly cut, you can't do anything but whimper anew as his rough hands grip their way up your thighs to cup at your cunt though your panties.

"You'll not be needing these any time soon." Cooper grunts, ripping the panties from you with a wicked strength; the fabric tearing like paper as you shudder and attempt to close your thighs around his hand. A move which quickly draws a low cry from your lips as he responds by pinching at your clit roughly with two fingers.

"Play nice, sweetheart, or I'll play rough. And you won't like that as much. In fact-"

The world spins as he flips you from your back, strong hands easily maneuvering you to ensure that your body is positioned on the stairs to allow him easy access to your holes - your head pressing into a higher stair as you tilt your face to allocate the pressure on your busted up lip.

Something like a sob slips free of your lips as one of his hands presses down heavily on your lower back, forcing your ass to arch up higher, as his other hands cups at your sex once more.

"Hmm, but which hole to use? I'm sure that hole has seen enough action to make any ride as smooth as a whisky sour." His fingers tease along your slit, refusing to push any deeper as they trail up to your skin and brush along the rim of your ass. "But then, if I want a tighter ride then maybe this fine ass would be better, might even learn you a lesson about showing respect too. I ain't afraid of a bucking bronco and I'm sure you'd take it like a champ."

"Not there." You mutter out, voice defeated. "Please."

"Hmm, then you better be good and I'll see about giving the little whore what she wants." You can hear the smirk in his tone as he gropes your body like a butcher measuring up a fresh hunk of meat. "Say it, sweetheart, ask me to fuck you and I'll let you choose."

"Plea-please fuck me?" The words taste sour against your tongue, the heat from his body making your head feel fuzzy. That, or the multiple knocks on the stairs were finally getting to you. Regardless, tears threaten the corners of your eyes once more as you are forced to play his little game. "I want you to- to fuck me."

"Well now," giving a low whistle as he lines the blunted head of his cock up with your cunt, Cooper has the gall to sound smug at the ask, "what kind of gentleman would I be to ignore such a request from a pretty little thing?"

With a single thrust of his hips, he buries his cock to the hilt within your cunt and the sudden burn of your flesh as it's forced to stretch and give way to his cock draws a strangled yelp of pain from your lips. His earlier actions having sparked some arousal in your traitorous frame, you weren't fully dry and Cooper chuckled lowly as his felt the moisture surrounding his cock as he stilled his hips.

"Well, well, well." He growls, his groin hot against your own as his balls hang heavy against your cunt. "Looks like this little hellcat isn't as unwilling as she wants me to think. You're soaked, sweetie."

Hot shame making you slam your eyes shut as you adjust to the pressure of his cock, you feel the heat of your walls being pulled roughly as he starts to lazily thrust. Every stroke is awful in how determined it is to make you feel every textured inch of his cock, Cooper pulling free until only the head is breaching your hole before slamming deep once more - his cock glancing off your cervix painfully.

Worse than that, is just how good it feels.

The ridged and slightly rough texture of his cock stimulates every nerve in your heated hole and the betraying arousal only serves to make the growing band of arousal in your gut even more cruel in its intensity.

It's uncomfortable, it's hot, and it's so fucking good.

Body aching despite the distraction of his cock, you try to focus on the building pleasure as a means to escape the other more shitty feelings which afflict you. In spite of it all, the tight band of pleasure across your groin is undeniable and his cock seems to brush the sensitive spot inside you with pinpoint precision, every thrust making your toes curl while you whimper and whine.

You come with a startled gasp, waves of pleasure crashing through your body as your cunt spasms around his cock - pulling him deeper as your walls milk him for what he's worth. He seems to appreciate it though, as his pace - if possible - grows even sloppier and his groin makes a obscene slapping noise while it bounces off your ass.

Overly sensitive, you squeak in discomfort as he continues to fuck himself into you without mercy; dragging your orgasm out until you're cunt feels heated and your limbs ache from the constant flex of the muscles. He's vocal too - grunts and low growls of pleasure marking his movements as his thick hands pin you into place to give his cock unfettered access to your hole.

Eventually, you feel his cock give a very definite twitch within your cunt and you gasp anew as a fresh heat floods your walls; his release pumping itself as deeply within your hole as it can while he remains flush against your ass.

"Goddamn, sweetie. Ain't nothing like it."

He pulls his cock free, the hardened length only just beginning to wilt and you feel the mess that coats every inch as it slips free. Body feeling well used and deliciously uncomfortable, you stay in place, unsure of what he plans for you next and in no fit state to escape without further injury.

"Smooth as a whisky sour." Cooper repeats his earlier words, his voice sated and low with his satisfactory use of your hole. "But i'm sure you got another good one in you."

His hand is harsh against your back again until the pressure forces your ass up higher - the combined mess in your cunt dripping free to the wooden stair below.

Panic reignites in your chest as a sinking feeling alerts you to his plans.

"I can't- please, don't! Please!"

He ignores you and you feel his rough fingers pressing along your slit until he finds the target of his little game - your clit already swollen and making itself an easier target. His forefinger grazes the nub and the intensity of the touch makes you howl as fresh lightning scores across your spine.

It only takes him a few deliberate movements, rough strokes giving way to a more gentle circling motion and your cunt clenches around nothing as he easily pulls a second orgasm from you; your legs painfully tense as you bury your cries in the skin of your forearm and hump your cunt in the warm air, wordlessly encouraging his fingers to push you even further.

"Greedy little thing." Cooper chastises, enjoying how pathetic your movements are as the shame of being forced to come around his fingers only serves to make the pleasure all the sweeter. "Look at how shameless you are, darling', pretending that you aren't desperate to be wrapped around my cock again."

Denying it with a frantic shake of your head, you ride his fingers regardless until he takes pity and pulls his hand away from your overstimulated and aching cunt - your legs trembling and fists clenching against the hard grain of the wooden stair.

Cooper exhales deeply, his body rolling from your own as he lays flat out on the stair by your side. The scent of sex and sweat hands heavy in the heated air, a pungent aroma that speaks to just how roughly he had treated you and your fingers are quick to sink into the lapels of his leather duster as you inch closer to him.

Sensing your movements, Cooper extends his arm overhead and allows you to burrow in close to his side, your legs hooking within his own while a pained gasp slips free of your lips as the motion causes the ache in your sex to sting anew. The gasp forces a soft coughing fit, your abused throat really forcing its attention as you shiver in place.

Wordlessly, Cooper sinks his hand deep within his side pocket and pulls free his flask, handing it off to you with a pointed look.

"Thanks." You croak out. Taking a deep swig, the warm water may as well have been taken from the most pristine, crystal blue spring as the relief it pours through your gritty throat and aching, heated limbs is like pure heaven.

Thoroughly fucked and satisfied, the comedown of your activities draws a fresh shudder from your spine as you hand Cooper back his flask - his blazing eyes watching your every move with pinpoint precision.

"Need anything else, sweetheart?" His voice is low and raspy, saturated with the same satisfaction as your own and his features are loose as his arm wraps around your lower back to keep you close.

Shaking your head, you blurt out the first thing that springs to mind. "Didn't mean to hit you in the dick."

At that, Cooper chuckles; a genuine laugh that rumbles through his chest as his head tilts back ever so slightly. Like this, in the post-fuck haze, he's at his most muted and content - his expression open and relaxed as he enjoys the feel of you against him.

"Liar." He accuses without fire. "Suited me fine though, darlin', cause it made it easier to smack you down those stairs."

Your little games were an idea of your own making, his enthusiasm taking some time to come around until he was convinced that you were eager and willing despite your actions.

"Great." Tired and slightly nauseous, you can't help but smile at him as the ragged edge of his nose hole flares with his suppressed amusement. "You banged me up good. My lip is fucked."

"Fucked more than just that, sweetie. You almost got away this time."

"Liar." You parrot his earlier words.

"Gotta say though, you're getting much better at swallowing my cock down-"

Interjecting quickly, you roll your eyes at him. "Didn't have much of a choice."

"-getting a bit too good mind. Might have to start making some scratch from those skills. Put you to good use. What do you think?"

The sun beating down on your skin as the uncomfortably sticky mess from between your thighs continues to drip free of your abused cunt, a weariness sets into your bones as you cling to him with desperate fingers - a strong desire to drift off into a short nap clawing at your senses.

"You're too much of a jealous son of a bitch." You sigh out, closing your eyes as you focus on the beat of his heart as it thrums beneath your ears. "You'd kill the first man to look at me funny."

Sensing your fatigue, Cooper matches your exhale with one of his own as he fixes his hat across his forehead.

"Sleep, sweetheart. We'll pick this dumbass conversation up when you're not dripping like an old faucet."

Eyes slipping close, the nasty comparison draws a smirk from you regardless as you wrap your leg around his own with a tighter grip and settle in for a recovery nap.

[horanghaejamjam]

Jigsaw - {CS}

↪   Summary: You are the lead detective in an investigation surrounding one of the most infamous killers the city has ever seen. Unfortunately for you, Jigsaw knows you're onto him and has played you like a game at every turn, threatening the case and your status. Your determination to catch him finally gets you a lead, only for you to find yourself tangled in a special trap that he designed just for you. Let the game begin.

↪ Pairings: Jigsaw Killer Choi San x Female Detective Reader

↪   Rating: M 18+

↪   Genre: Non-idol/Slasher/Horror movie au/ Suggestive / Fluff/Friends to enemies to lovers

↪   Word Count: 5.7k

↪ Warnings/Contents: References to classic horror movies, mainly Saw, Silence of the Lambs, and Scream. Mentions of death/murder/being shot (not detailed). Seonghwa and Mingi both make cameos in this story with a few other members being mentioned. Swearing and implied smut (MDNI). San being a teasing little shit, makeout sessions, fondling over clothes.

↪ Side Notes: To the wonderful @pinkywritings hi darling I was your assigned Ghost Writer for the @atinyhalloweenproject. This is my first time writing for San and I had a lot of fun with it so I hope you enjoy it! Sorry it is so late I wanted to have it out by Halloween but due to the sudden weather change we haven't had power. I tried to make it longer to make up for that so hopefully it doesn't feel rushed and was worth the wait!

I honestly may do a part two to this or an expansion later on because I love the idea of Jigsaw San but we'll see.

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“Police officials are seeking any leads in identifying the man known only to the public as the Jigsaw killer. He is believed to be linked in multiple disappearances and murders that have taken place around Seoul for the past three months. The victims were all found in various handmade traps and had a puzzle piece drawn somewhere visible on their body. At this time investigators have no leads and are asking the public for any knowledge they may have on this public threat.” 

The reporter's voice faded to nothing as the volume on the TV was lowered to zero. You groaned softly to yourself as you tossed the remote to the side, running your hands through your hair as you sat forward on your couch. It had been just over a month since you were assigned the Jigsaw murder case, the last detective backing out after the man in question threatened to target his family. The case was quickly transferred over to you, one of the best detectives in your field, but it was very quickly starting to test your patience. 

Whoever this Jigsaw was, he was a clever man. He left no trace, no evidence, nothing that would allow you to track him down. You went through surveillance, interviewed the family and friends of the victims, tried breaking down his traps for any clues, but any lead always led you right back to square one. You had tried to be patient, hoping that eventually he would slip up and give you something, but it was starting to sound like wishful thinking. Even worse, he knew who you were and started calling you out directly. You would find notes addressed to you, pictures, voice messages, all calling you out and taunting you. It was like he was playing some cruel game with you and you had no choice but to play along or risk losing everything. You couldn’t even walk to work anymore without some reporter chasing you down demanding an explanation or any evidence you had in the case. It came to a point where you only went to the office when called, and the rest of your work you did from home. 

Various evidence pictures and case files were thrown across your coffee table, a few rough notes scribbled in between. You had been looking at the same files for the past couple of hours, dissecting every last word to see if you had missed any connections. Your last victim had been found 72 hours ago, and you knew you only had a day at most before the next one. There were a few things you had discovered about Jigsaw, and the main one was that he worked on a schedule. Once someone was reported missing, it would be three days before their body turned up and the cycle would start again. Whoever this man was, he clearly enjoyed his patterns, and that is what you found yourself looking for, any pattern you may have missed. 

“Working from home again I see?” you practically jumped out of your skin as you heard the deep voice of your roommate behind you, turning around to see his tall frame leaning over the couch. 

“For Fucks sake Mingi you almost gave me a heart attack!” you whined, reaching up to lightly smack at him, “what are you doing here anyways I thought you weren’t coming home tonight.” You and Mingi had been friends for as long as you could remember, having met back in high school and staying together through college and your time at the police academy. He was like a brother to you at this point and you trusted him so you didn’t mind if he saw your work, even if he technically wasn’t supposed to. Mingi always found your work to be fascinating and would bug you randomly about cases, which only grew more when you started investigating Jigsaw, though you assumed it was just because you got to bring your work home now. Just as you predicted, he made his way to the other side of the couch and took a seat next to you, picking up one of the crime scene photos to get a better look. 

“I was going to stay at Yunhos tonight but something came up and he had to cancel,” Mingi explained, running his thumb over the picture he was holding, “ouch this looks like it would have been painful, what is it?”

“That’s one of Jigsaw's latest traps,” you answered, snatching the photo away from him, “I’m looking through it to see if I can find any missing clues.” 

“Have you found anything?”

“Sadly no, he’s very good at covering his tracks. It’s been a month and we still don’t have any leads on this guy, it’s like he’s a ghost or something.” Mingi hummed softly as he continued to look through all the pictures, careful not to mess them up knowing you would yell at him if he did. 

“Now I’m no expert but, are you sure you’re only looking for one person?” he asked, catching you off guard. 

“What do you mean?”

“I mean all these crime scenes you’ve shown me have been pretty big and this says it only took three days, seems like a lot of work for one person if you ask me.” Mingi explained, “and that’s why your patterns wouldn’t line up like you want them to.” You blinked up at him dumbly for a moment as you processed his words, looking back down at the file you had basically memorized by this point. You didn’t want to admit it, but Mingi had a point. 

“You know that’s actually not a bad idea,” you muttered. 

“I can be helpful sometimes you know,” he bragged with a laugh, earning himself a punch to the shoulder. He didn’t have time to retaliate though as you were packing up all of your things and rushing towards the door, “Wait where are you going?”

“I need to check on something, don’t wait up for me!” you called back, pulling on your coat and running out the door as he called after you. In your rush you hadn’t realized that you dropped part of your case file on your way out, nor did you notice Mingi pulling out his phone to call someone as he closed the door to your apartment.

ღ ღ ღ ღ ღ

You made it to the crime scene in no time, an abandoned warehouse located just on the edge of the city. You parked your car a bit away and pulled out a flashlight as you made your way inside, ducking under the caution tape and pulling your jacket closer to yourself as you looked around. The clean up crew had gotten most of the scene cleaned by now, but the trap itself was still there. A weirdly broken mess of chains and blades that you wouldn’t have been able to put back together if you wanted to, making you wonder how Jigsaw even came up with the idea in the first place. You shook the thought out of your head and made your way to one of the blades, leaning down to inspect it carefully. It was sharp with a curve to it, but almost messy in design as if it was handmade. To test that theory you took a look at another one and noticed the same thing except this one was thicker and less curved despite being set up the same way. The chains themselves were also a bit sloppy when you looked at them closely, almost as if they had been done in a rush. It wasn’t as clean as Jigsaw's normal work, and now Mingis suggestion that you were dealing with more than one culprit seemed more plausible. 

You took your phone out to snap a picture just as the door to the warehouse opened, a new light pouring in and a familiar voice calling your name. 

“Over here!” you called back, flashing your light in his direction so he could see you. Quick footsteps made their way towards you before a familiar figure came into view. Park Seonghwa, a senior detective that had transferred over to your department a little over a year ago and assigned as your partner. You had been against the idea at first since your original partner had been killed only a few weeks prior during an investigation gone wrong. The chief had insisted it would be for the best though since you needed the help and Seonghwas cool and more collected nature would balance you out nicely which would prove to be true. Your impulsiveness had driven the older detective crazy a few times, but for the most part the two of you got along well and you could even consider him a friend. He was wearing a long black coat and matching gloves and his hair was long and falling into his face rather than slicked up like normal, probably because he had been at home resting when you called him. 

“Would you care to explain why you called me out here in the middle of the night when I haven’t heard from you in the last 48 hours?” Seonghwa questioned, unable to hide the annoyance in his tone. 

“I’ll make it up to you but I figured this couldn’t wait,” you muttered, going back to inspect the chain again, “I’m trying to prove a theory about something.” 

“That theory being?”

“What if Jigsaw isn't working alone?” you challenged, “what if it’s more than one person, that would explain why nothing lines up.” Seonghwas eyes widened a bit and you could have sworn you heard him mutter something under his breath, “what did you say?” 

“Oh nothing,” he brushed you off, “what made you so convinced of this new theory? Did you find something?” You froze for a second, not wanting to expose yourself for letting a member of the general public view the case file. 

“Just a hunch,” you lied, “but I mean look at the way this trap was built, it's messy compared to the others, almost as if it was made by someone else.”

“Or maybe Jigsaw just ran out of time and rushed on it,” he argued. 

“Can you just humor me for five seconds Seonghwa,” you groaned, “maybe I’m wrong yes but isn’t it at least worth looking into?” Seonghwa rolled his eyes but gave in, walking to the other side of the trap to get a better look. You were too distracted by your own work to pay much attention to him, meticulously looking through every detail of the trap despite not actually knowing what you were looking for. Your instinct was telling you that there was something there you were overlooking, something that was hiding in plain sight, you just had to figure out what that was. 

“Hey Y/N,” Seonghwa called out after a few minutes, “I think I found something.” Your head shot up and you quickly dusted yourself off before making your way over. Seonghwa was standing in the corner of the warehouse holding what looked to be a tape recorder. “I found it tucked away over here, may have gotten knocked around during the investigation,” he explained. 

“Does it say anything?” you asked, taking the recorder from his hands and pressing the play button. There was only static for a moment before a robotic voice spoke up, like someone was speaking through a voice changer. Despite that, you couldn’t help but feel like the voice seemed familiar to you, but it was hard to tell through the editing. 

“Hello Detective Y/L/N,” the tape addressed you, sending a chill through your body, “these past few weeks you have been running around in circles trying to discover who I am. You have been closer to the truth than you realize but you always end up blindsided by your work and, as a result, you overlook the answer that is right in front of you. I have enjoyed silently watching you up until this point but now it is getting quite boring so why don’t we make this a bit more fun? Do you like games, detective? I hope you do because I want to play a game with you. I have left a riddle for you, the answer to which will tell you all you need to know about who I am and what I do. You have 48 hours to find the riddle and tell me the answer or you will find yourself and those closest to you in a very undesirable situation. The timer starts the second this recording ends, let’s hope you are as clever as everyone says you are. Let the game begin.” 

  You felt your blood run cold as the tape came to an end, barely registering Seonghwas hand on your shoulder as you tried to process everything you just heard. Seonghwa tried talking to you but you ignored him, pushing his hand off and rushing back to your car, your partner not far behind you. 

“Where are you going? We should report this to the office first!” he called after you. 

“What good is reporting it going to do? You heard him Hwa I have 48 hours to figure out who this guy is or we’re all screwed, I can’t waste time.”

“So what you’re going to rush into something and get yourself killed?” he argued. 

“Better than doing nothing and getting everyone else killed,” you snapped back, “now if you’ll excuse me, I need to find this riddle he’s talking about.” Seonghwa called after you again but by this point you had gotten in your car and were already making your way back to your apartment. Part of you felt like going home was a bad idea, but you also couldn’t help but feel like something was pulling you to go there. The same feeling of familiarity that you got hearing the tape returned, making you feel more and more uneasy as you pulled into your apartment complex. Like you knew who Jigsaw was and yet the image of his face was blurred any time you tried to imagine him.

Mingi didn’t seem to be home when you got back, his shoes were gone and the light was off. You couldn’t focus on that though, as your attention was drawn to the stack of papers placed neatly on your coffee table. You carefully walked over and looked through the pile, recognizing pictures from all the different crime scenes you had investigated so far, each one marked with red ink. 

‘Y/N, doesn’t this random pattern seem a bit too random?’

‘This is quite close to home don’t you think?’

‘The truth has been in front of you the whole time.’

‘Why do I do what I do?’

‘Did you miss me?’

You ran your hand through your hair as you continued looking through the pictures, realizing that the riddle was basically going to send you on a scavenger hunt. It would take forever for you to go back through each crime scene and look back through everything to find out what he was talking about. Even worse, it was pretty late and you could feel exhaustion slowly taking over you, slouching over the coffee table and eventually laying against it as you fell asleep trying to decipher the riddle. 

You were jolted awake by the sound of your phone vibrating, groaning softly as you sat up and reached into your pocket for the device. You half expected it to be a call from Mingi or Seonghwa, but instead you were greeted with the same robotic voice from the night before. Only this time, you were able to hear his actual voice a bit more and it was one you swore you had heard before. 

“Good morning Sleeping Beauty, I hope my riddle didn’t keep you up all night,” the voice immediately woke you up, straightening your posture as you looked around. 

“Who is this?” you asked. 

“Aww I’m almost offended you don’t remember me, we go way back you know,” the voice responded, “I’ve missed you Y/N, and even if you don’t remember me now I know you miss me too.” You paused for a moment at his words before realizing now was not the time to worry about that. 

“Why are you doing this?” 

“That. my dear detective is for you to find out, you always did enjoy the thrill of a good challenge didn’t you? I figured you would have solved my puzzle by now but since I believe in giving people a fair chance I’ll give you another clue. One of those puzzle pieces doesn’t quite belong, once you find the answer I will be waiting for you in the place we last met, don’t keep me waiting Doll.” With that the call ended, causing you to groan in frustration and toss your phone to the side. 

“I’ve had about enough of these damn games,” you huffed, rubbing your hands over your eyes. You looked through the pictures again before one in particular caught your eye. It wasn’t one of the Jigsaw crime scenes, but instead it was a picture of an older house, one that you recognized from your last murder investigation with your old partner, San. The memories slowly came back to you and that’s when it finally clicked for you, the puzzle and the reason the voice sounded so familiar to you. That was impossible though, San was dead, you had been at the hospital with him when the doctors told you there was nothing they could do. There was no way that San was still alive, and yet you would recognize his voice anywhere. Shaking your head, you grabbed your phone and stood up, calling Seonghwa and telling him to meet you at the house in question as you left your apartment and got in your car. The whole ride there you tried ignoring the feeling of dread that came over you, hoping that your intuition was wrong. 

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Seonghwa was already at the house before you got there, leaning against the wall with a blank expression. “I take it you found the answer to your riddle?” he asked as you walked past him, leading him inside. 

“As much as I hope I am wrong I think I did,” you confessed, “and if I’m right the clue we are looking for should be here somewhere.” Seonghwa stood still in the middle of the room as you frantically looked around, digging through his pocket and following your movements with his eyes. 

“This isn’t one of the crime scenes,” he pointed out, “what exactly are we looking for?”

“Jigsaw said to find him at the place we last met and this place was the only one pictured that wasn’t one of the crime scenes,” you explained. Seonghwa hummed softly at your answer, but you ignored him as you continued looking around. 

“Why here then, what’s so special about this place?” you froze for a moment at the question, an action that didn’t go unnoticed. 

“This was the last place I investigated with my first partner,” you answered, “he was shot during the investigation and I thought he was dead but I’m starting to think I was wrong.” 

“You think it’s him,” Seonghwa stated rather than asked, to which you nodded. 

“I don’t know why he would do such a thing, but it all lines up.” Seonghwa sighed and glanced down at his watch before making his way towards you. 

“I’m surprised you know, you solved the riddle faster than we thought you would, we’re a bit ahead of schedule.” His words made your blood run cold, freezing as your head turned to look at him. 

“What did you just say?”

“I’m sorry about this Y/N,” Seonghwa apologized, reaching into his pocket and pulling out a syringe, “just know I don’t make the rules, I’m just the delivery guy.” Before you could react to his words he had grabbed you and injected you with what you assumed was some kind of anesthesia, your body going limp in his hold almost immediately and your vision going black. The last thing you remember hearing was his voice and footsteps approaching before you completely lost consciousness. 

When you returned to consciousness the first thing that you noticed was that you couldn’t move. Your arms and legs were handcuffed to a chair that also appeared to be bolted to the floor so you couldn’t tip it over. Tugging at your restraints, you glanced around to find that you were in some sort of workshop, various trap parts and gadgets tossed around multiple workbenches. At the front of the room were what appeared to be security monitors, each watching different parts of the city that you could just barely make out. 

“I have to hand it to you Y/N,” a voice said from behind you, “the last detective didn’t make it nearly as far.” The sound of footsteps echoed through the room before a figure appeared in your vision, wearing a full body red and black hood. Even though his face was covered by the hood, you could feel the presence of your former partner.

“How, I thought you were dead,” you whispered, not sure what to feel at the moment. In any other circumstance you would be over the moon to know he was alive, but how were you supposed to feel knowing he was the serial killer you had been anxiously tracking down. Shock, betrayal, anger, sadness, confusion, all of these emotions swirled through your brain like an endless whirlpool, pulling you in deeper and nearly bringing tears to your eyes. 

“Everyone did,” San replied, turning away from you to face one of his work benches, “the doctors said it was a miracle, that no one thought I would make it through the night let alone make a full recovery.” You could hear him messing with something, but couldn’t see what it was, struggling to look past his shoulder as he continued talking, “I tried to find you after you know? I thought you were the only one left that cared about me, and yet even you managed to turn your back on me.” 

“I always cared about you,” you argued, “that’s why I’m trying to understand why San, why did you do this?” It was at this point that he finally turned to face you, pulling the hood back so you could see him properly. He looked almost the same as you remembered, but there was a cold gaze in his eyes that almost made him feel like a stranger. This wasn’t the warm hearted and cheerful person you used to consider a friend, he was a killer. Despite this, however, you couldn’t help yourself from falling for his familiarity, almost as if you could convince yourself the old San was still in there, somewhere. 

“You never realize just how valuable life is until you are inches away from death,” he explained, “the adrenaline and the fight to survive, it almost feels like you are being reborn. The more I thought about it, the more I realized how corrupt the world we live in truly is, because no one really knows how to appreciate the life they are given until it is nearly taken from them. You may not understand it now but trust me my methods will help make the world a better place.”

“You’re killing people because you want them to appreciate life?” you questioned, wondering if he was actually being serious. There was no way a person's mind could be that twisted, right? 

“You think I’m a killer?” San asked, not needing a verbal response since your glare was enough confirmation, “that’s where you’re wrong you know. I have not killed anyone, all of my games are survivable as long as the player has the will to fight for it. Those who failed the games basically killed themselves.” You wanted to argue that putting people in these death traps still made him a killer but he cut you off, “Seven people have won so far, seven people who had that will to live and had the chance to be reborn. They understand what it truly means to be alive and now they help me spread my message. You may not understand me now, but I really do hope that you will be the next.” 

“So what, am I the next person that gets to be put in one of your death traps then?” you groaned, tugging at your restraints. San pouted a bit but shook his head. 

“Your game began the minute you took the case from Detective Kim,” he explained, “you and I always seemed to have an understanding so I had hoped you would pick up on my clues and join without a fight, but you were far too stubborn to listen. Eventually I had to cut my losses so I had my apprentices plant fake evidence to finally get you here, it was the only way.” Your heart dropped a bit at the word apprentices, your mind immediately going back to Seonghwa and how he was the one who brought you here. 

“So you’re telling me the whole time,” you trailed off. 

“Seonghwa was working for me, yes, Mingi as well, they both survived my games and agreed to help with the cause and when you took over my case I knew I could use them to guide you in the right direction,” San explained. He took a moment to glance at a clock on the wall before sighing and making his way over to you. San rested his hands on the arms of the chair and used them to prop himself up so he was leaning over you, “As much as I have enjoyed our little chat I’m afraid we do not have much time. I really do like you Y/N so I will give you a choice. Join me and together we can help change the world for the better.”

“And if I refuse?” you challenged. 

“Well then I guess we’ll have to play a game,” he hummed, leaning away from you, “The second I walk out of this room it will lock and a timer will start. Behind you are two doors, each with a different combination, one door will lead you to the exit, and the other will lead you to me. If you choose to leave then you will be free but you will lose your chance to catch me. If you choose to come after me, then you have a chance to learn the truth at the risk of your freedom. The combinations are hidden in this room and you will have exactly one hour to find them and leave through the door of your choosing, and trust me you don’t want to know what will happen if you run out of time.” San chuckled softly before pulling away and walking behind you, “This is your last chance to accept my offer Y/N, I would hate to lose you like this.” He waited for a moment but when you didn’t respond he sighed, “Very well, let the game begin.” You felt him place something into your hand, which you quickly realized was a key, before the door slammed shut and San was gone. 

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It didn’t take you long to unlock yourself, taking a second to rub your wrists as you stood up and made your way cautiously around the room. You did your best to stay calm and not look at the clock as you examined the doors and then looked around for the combinations, which you quickly realized were hidden on his tools. The question was, do you free yourself and turn your back on the case, or do you risk it all and try to go after San. The rational part of your brain was screaming at you to just get out of there and not look back, and yet you quickly found yourself moving on autopilot. Before you could really process what you were doing, you had entered the code for the door labeled “Truth” and ran through it, stepping into a dark hallway and letting the door lock behind you. 

You took a moment to compose yourself before heading forward, placing your hands against the walls to help feel your way through the space. All the doors were locked until you came to one at the very end that was cracked open, revealing what looked to be a makeshift office space, with nothing but a desk and filing cabinet in the room. You poked your head through first, looking around for any sign of life before slowly stepping inside and making your way to the desk, only to gasp as you felt another body pin you to it. 

“I knew you would come after me,” San whispered, spinning you around so that you were facing him. Your body was pressed between his and the desk, his arms caging you on either side as your eyes locked. 

“I can’t let you get away with this,” you argued, trying to wiggle away from him but San was stronger so he held you in place. 

“Come on Doll, you and I both know that’s not why you came after me,” he teased, “maybe it was at first but if that was the case now you would be fighting me harder.” He was right, even if he was stronger you knew you could at least hold your own enough to get him away or subdue him long enough to call for help. Yet you couldn’t bring yourself to actually fight him off, struggling against him enough to save your pride but not enough to actually push him off. “So tell me,” San continued, “why did you really come after me, was it because you were curious about my work? Or, was it because deep down you missed me?” Honestly, you weren’t even sure if you knew the answer, your body having reacted before your mind could catch up. 

“This isn’t right,” you argued, reaching your hands up to push at his shoulders. 

“And yet here we are,” he teased, backing up enough to wrap his arms around you and pull you closer to him. Your bodies pressed together and your arms instinctually made their way around his neck which made him chuckle. “I always knew you were special, you understood me in a way that no one else ever did. Stay with me, nothing will be able to come between us.” San leaned down until your lips were centimeters apart, his breath tickling your lips with every word. You tried not to give into him, knowing that this was wrong, but you also couldn’t deny the thrill that ran through you just from being near him. You had always cared for San when you two were partners, hell there was even a time where you could argue that you did have a crush on him. That was back then however, when he was the sweet and easy going detective that decorated his desk with mini plushies and would whine if you forgot to get him a pastry on your morning coffee runs. This version of San wasn’t like that, even if the allure was still there, he was cold, twisted, and a killer. 

“I can’t do this,” you argued, “you’re not the man I once cared about.” You tried to turn your head away from him, but he gripped your chin to force you to look at him. 

“Yes I am, behind all of this it is still me and I can prove that to you,” he whispered, “just let me show you.” When you shook your head again he huffed, loosening his grip for a moment before it tightened again, “Fine then, how about another game?” 

“I already won your stupid game though!” you challenged. 

“Yet you still haven’t learned,” he fought back, “the least you can do is give me a chance to convince you. If you don’t give in then I will go with you to the station and turn myself in, but if I win then you quit being a detective for good and you stay with me.” You gave him a questioning look, at this point more than positive that he had gone insane. However, if playing his dumb games meant putting an end to Jigsaw, then you were more than willing to oblige. 

“Alright fine, deal,” you reluctantly agreed. You only had a moment to register Sans smirk before he was pulling you against him again and connecting your lips. One hand stayed pressed against your back to keep you against him, while the other tangled itself in your hair, tugging slightly to get a reaction out of you. The kiss wasn’t rough or forced like you had expected, instead it was gentle and passionate, like he wanted to take his time with you. His lips were surprisingly soft against yours, and you began to slowly melt against his movements. You kissed him back and allowed him to have more control, whining softly against his lips when he tugged a bit harder at your hair. Your own hands trailed down his body, tracing his shoulders and chest for a few moments before daring to go a bit lower. San groaned as he felt you palm him over his robe, tightening his grip on your hair and deepening the kiss as his own hand reached down to grab at your thighs and your ass. 

All your resolve melted away at his touch and you found yourself giving into him completely, relishing in the way he invaded your senses. All rationality had left completely, replaced with an unusual desire as San explored your body. As desperate as he was, his touches remained soft and left you craving more whenever he pulled his hand away. San walked you back until you reached the desk, lifting you up enough to sit you on top of it and slotting himself between your thighs as he finally pulled away. You only had a second to catch your breath before you were pushed back slightly and pinned down by your hands. San hovered above you with a knowing smirk, taking a moment to enjoy your flustered expression before leaning down to whisper directly in your ear. 

“Looks like I won. Game Over!” 

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[j-nope-not-today]

Knight in shining armor

Fred weasley x female!reader

A/n: first harry potter fic. Be kind. I think this is a really cute fic so I hope you enjoy it!

It was a nice spring day, and for once, it wasn't pouring rain. So I made my way through the cobblestone courtyard with the idea in mind of finding a nice, quiet place to read, but then I caught the twins playing with some filibuster fireworks and I decided to join the growing crowd.

Watching the sparkly ball travel between the two ginger boys. My eyes mainly drawing to Fred.

We weren't exactly close, but we did pass each other in the halls and share a class or two together. If only I had the courage to say something to him, and yet every time he looked at me, I couldn't seem to find anything good to say. My nose crinkles up as I think about my latest attempt at a conversation. I had asked about the weather of all things.

My attention is suddenly drawn to the student beside me as I'm elbowed. I wince and grab my side. Side eyeing the boy who had all but shoved his way to the front. He shot me a nasty glare, and I rolled my eyes. Stepping a few steps to my left.

My eyes go back to Fred and his smiling face, and then yet again, I'm being shoved, and I huff and turn to the boy. Who had stepped closer to me, only to shove me out of his way

"Will you watch it?" I grit.

"Or what?" He snarls at me, and I roll my eyes. Going to walk away, and my arm is grabbed, so I turn around

"Hey let me go-"

"No way. Your the one who was in the way first." He steps closer and I scoff

"Please, as if. Just let me go. Seriously." I reach my hand into my bag to pull out my wand, but then as he's going to say something else, my attention is drawn to Fred

"Hey she said let her go. So let her go." His hand is set on the boy's shoulder. Fred has this scowl on his face. I'd never seen him angry before. Then the boy is shoving his hand off, scowling

"Maybe you should mind your own weasel." Fred's eyes narrow at the boys' words, and then the boy spits at his feet and walks off, pushing past people on the way, and Fred shouts

"Oi you wanna repeat that, you slimey git!" The boy turns on his heel and comes back. Shoving his finger in Fred's chest

"I said, mind your own weasel." Fred looks to George, and they seem to exchange a whole conversation in just one look.

"Alright then." Fred nonchalantly shrugs and goes to turn away, and in a split second, he turns back. Fist raised. I gasp as it connects with the boy's cheek, and he stumbles back, hand on his face. Then he's running at Fred.

A brawl breaks out. The boy shoving Fred, and then Fred is throwing him onto the ground and then their fist fighting. The crowd applauding and shouting "Fight! Fight! Fight!"

I'm frozen in my spot. Did he fight him for me? I couldn't help but feel a little flattered and albeit worried. Things were getting out of hand. Then, as soon as it started, it was over. Fred stands and grabs my hand and pulls me after him.

It's a whirlwind, really, but I let him lead the way through the halls and run after him. Our shoes echo down the corridors. My heart pounded in my chest. My stomach was in a flurry at our linked hands, and then we suddenly stopped in the corridor.

"Do you do that often?" I laugh, out of breath. Fred letting go of my hand, and I can't help but feel dejected at the loss of his palm against my own.

"Do what exactly?" Fred's chuckles and I raise a brow and Fred laughs

"Oh you mean defend pretty girls? Yeah that's a hobby of mine actually." I laugh at that and shake my head.

"Well thank you, but you know you di-"

"I did."

"What?" I pause and he runs a hand through his unruly hair.

"Well I wasn't gonna just let him do that to you..I mean your always so quiet and nice..and stuff."

"..and stuff?" I never thought I'd see the day Fred Weasley would blush, but he does, and then he's scoffing

"Well anyways your welcome." He looks to the side. As if he's trying to find an escape.

"Uhm..yeah. Thank you." I nod, and Fred walks a few paces away and then turns around.

"You know..I'd say you owe me." I roll my eyes and laugh

"Do I now?" And to which he nods adamantly looking a tad bit nervous. Was that something he experienced? He always seemed so confident.

"Yeah actually and I have just the thing." I wait for him to finish and he does

"You. Me. Honeydukes and then the three broomsticks?" I smile and nod at that.

"Yeah course..I look forward to it." I feel myself getting giddy at just the thought and then he walks to me and takes my hand in his.

"Well what are you waiting for?" A mischievous twinkle in his eye. His confidence souring back up.

"You mean now? But-" Fred smiles a wicked sort of smile.

"Trust me. I'll get us there. I know a secret way."

"Alright.." I nod hesitantly, and Fred chuckles and squeezes my hand.

"Don't worry, I wouldn't let anything happen to a pretty face like yours." My cheeks redden, and I nod reluctantly.

"Okay..whatever you say, my knight in shining armor." Fred smiles widely. If he smiled any wider, his cheeks might bruise.

"Oi..I do like the sound of that." He laughs. God I loved that laugh. I follow him down the hall in a sort of daze as he repeats

"Knight in shining armor huh? It has a nice ring to it." And he was right..it did.

[penvisions]

return the favor {chapter 24}

Pairing: Post-Outbreak! Joel Miller X Smuggler! Reader

Summary: The aftemath of Silverlake has Ellie contemplating the direction of where she wants to go, what she wants to do with her life. All you and Joel can do if offer your experiences and help her navigate the decision.

Word Count: 4.9k

Warnings: canon typical violence, canon typical language, cursing, insult, allusions to non con sexual advances, blood, take of injuries, talk of trauma, allusions to cannibalism, end of the world politics, end of the world rhetoric, allusions to pedophilia and grooming (bc of david), please let me know if i missed any!

A/N: this fic is coming to a close! i want to say there will be two more chapters and an epilogue. one more of the plain plot from the show and then a little bit beyond that, i just wanted to thank everyone who has been so kind and patient with me regarding updates, life's been a lot lately with so many different moving parts. but things are calming down and i am so grateful for everything ♡

ao3 link || series masterlist || main masterlist || ko-fi

It’s fucking cold.

The trek to safety is fucking long.

Emotions are running fucking haywire.

When they aren’t numb completely. Ellie has officially shut down, none the wiser of the world and what your little trio is facing. Her young mind rapidly working to process what exactly had happened, and while you could only infer based on your own interactions from the man, it wasn’t good. The only consolation is that when you had cradled her face in your hands, eyes searching her own for the answer on the top of your tongue.

‘The wind picks up, sending flurries of powdery snow into the air before it can settle and stick to the ground. Joel is holding his shoulder tight, rifle slung over the other, head on as swivel as you land on your knees in front of the distraught girl. She’s covered in blood, her nose broken, her hair half out of the band holding it back. Her breathing is still harsh, stuttering, her chest rising and falling as she tries to catch it.

Her hands are shaking as she reaches up to hold to yours, her fingers clutching tightly around yours where she manages to get a grip.

”Ellie, please. Tell me, baby, did he-?”

“N-no, he- he tried but…” Her eyes don’t leave yours, not even when you feel Joel move closer and cups your shoulder. A silent plea, a connection, an understanding that this was vital, this would determine what you do next.

“I’m so sorry, baby, it’s….it’s not okay, but it will be, I promise you.” She surged forward, the force of it knocking Joel’s oversized jacket from where it had been placed over her shoulders. She clings to you, small hiccups turning into little whimpers as you feel her bottom lip tremble against your neck. You try your best to hold all of her, her frame nearly as tall as your own. You murmur assurances, trying your best to blink back tears of your own. From the depravity of the situation, the frustration, the anger, the sheer desperation you had felt and only imagined what she had.’

“Joel…” You can’t help the feeling of trepidation that fills your chest, makes your breathing a touch too fast, gray edging at the corners of your eyes. He either can’t hear you or you didn’t speak aloud in the first place, but his broad shoulders continue to move in a steady rhythm of his steps as he leads the way through the snow that’s built up far too much for comfort. The storm picking up from a gentle dusting of snow to whipping, howling winds that pelt down hail and heavy drifts of snow. Ellie is between you both, her small frame huddled in on itself, she was beginning to stagger as well. “Joel, we have to stop.”

“I’m lookin’, but I don’t….I don’t see anywhere safe enough for us.” He turns a bit, to let you know he’s heard you. His broad shoulders the only thing you can see just up ahead. Everything else is a blur of white. Ellie barely visible in between you both, her body covered in layers, Joel’s jacket still over her small shoulders. She’s been…somewhere else. Mind still reeling, still in shock despite the hours that have passed since leaving that wretched town behind.

“Joel, please, I can’t- I can’t walk any further. We all need tending to. Actual tending to, someplace to lay down.”

“I know, darlin’, I’m tryin’.” He doesn’t sound upset or exasperated; he’s agreeing. He’s nearly pleading with you with his deep brown eyes when he looks at you over his shoulder. He wants you to see that he’s doing his best. He knows you know, but he wants you to see, that he’s been changed in the little time you were apart. He hadn’t…he had wanted for you to stay safe. Away from him seemed the best bet for that, he mulls over in his mind. He had been mistaken. He needed you, he needed Ellie. He needed the support he had found with you both and cultivated over your travels. He…wasn’t weaker without you but he wasn’t himself.

That first night, he guided you both through the snow-covered landscape, through the whipping winds and the biting cold. Until his legs ached and his lungs burned, body exhausted now that his adrenaline had waned away to nothing. Leaving him spent.

It was nearly a week before Ellie realized that the direction you chose to go was in the general direction of back up north toward Jackson. That it was decidedly not further into the desolate wasteland of the open country. She’s recognizing things or beginning to be aware enough to compare the things around her to the things she’s seen so far.

The first thing you do when finding safety that night was tend to everyone. Clean them of the blood that stained more than just their skin. More than just your skin.

“Joel…this, this looks good, all things considering.” You sigh in relief, the way he curls in on himself in a he stands at attention at one end of small clearing. He had guided you deep into the woods, hoping for coverage, hoping for the distance to be enough even if it felt like thousands of miles never would be. You had urged him to sit down with his back to a tree, peeling away the flannel from his skin to peer at the cut you had landed on him beneath. It was scabbed over, a touch too deep for your liking. You could see evidence of irritation of inflammation and where it reopened every so often with a pull to his shoulder.

“My stomach, Ellie did her best but-“

“She told me.” You whispered, fingers trailing down his front and feeling the muscles of his chest and stomach jump at the featherlight pressure. The heat and weight of his gaze was palpable as you unbuttoned a couple of the rungs at the bottom, lifting it up enough to see the puckered skin and haphazard stitching. You could see the thread, soaked with his blood and dried up now. It was puffy, a little swollen but most likely from exertion and friction, not from anything serious.

“She did a good job with what she had. But…honestly, I’d like to redo the stitches with wire. Just to be safe.” Eyes searching his own, you look up at him from where your leaned over low. His brown eyes dark as the only light that really shines down from the stars is faint. The flashlight you had aimed at him not reaching past his chest where it laid on the ground.

“Tomorrow.” He whispers, voice soft. His hands move from his sides to hold yours, his shirt falling back into place. He holds them gently, giving you the space to pull away should you want to, feel the need to…

“I’m okay.” You whisper, face softening as you see the silent question in his eyes. His gaze drops from your face and rakes down your body, the blood still staining your clothing and the rips in your jeans. It had been too much, to see you both covered in blood and feral. Survival instincts flared and on high alert, driving you through the moments he had finally caught up and found you. But he had been too late. Too slow. Again.

“Hey, I’m okay.” You repeat a in a firmer tone, even as his fingers twitched around yours.

"Your beautiful hair." He brings a hand up to skim it down the uneven waves. It's completely frizzed out and lackluster from the elements, from stress, from the jarring cut. He's trying to swallow down the lump in his throat, you can see it bob as he does so, his words going with it.

"It'll grow back, it's just hair." Your smile is wan, your own feelings on it too much to delve into.

“Need you to be okay, need you both to be okay.” Is his ragged exhale as you lean in and press your forehead to his. Cold skin to cold skin, sharing warmth in the late hour. You’re both too wound up to sleep, but you sit in a comfortable silence until the first light graces a new day.

“Bean?”

“Yes, lil gremlin?”

“Can…can I-“ Her eyes dart to Joel, the way his hands are busy stoking the small fire. Trying to revive it in the early hours of the morning. It was quiet, even if no one had been able to sleep for much longer than a few hours. There was evidence of Joel having gone out on a patrol around the building, a dilapidated visitor center for a state park somewhere in Colorado. Mountains loomed to the west, nothing to the north, white blinding in every direction even as it seemed to begin to wane. A storm finally calming.

A place of shelter finally found the night before, two weeks since all three of you had been reunited.

She was still a little nervous using her voice. The only regular instances of hearing it was in the small cries she let out in the middle of the night, when sleep claimed her and memories reared their ugly heads.

“What is it?”

“I don’t, um…” She stutters, eyes downcast as she looks at her worn shoes. It was time to search for new ones, something you hoped you could replicate for her. The favored red chucks she had from the first moment you met her a part of her and probably a comfort at this point were holding on but barely. Her voice lowers, something in her tone spikes your anxiety and you’re standing quickly. The movement catches Joel’s attention and he does too, by the fireplace. Eyes sharp and focused he could only watch as Ellie regarded her shoes, unwilling to look up or further explain.

Sighing, she finally glanced up at you. Her eyes moved to Joel, darting away as he watched on. Worry beginning to crease his brow and pull the corners of his mouth down.

“Do you have any…t-tampons?”

Joel’s turning around back to the fire as quickly as he had turned toward you both. You try to hide a chuckle at that, he really was such a man sometimes. Would kill and maim for you both, but the idea of a tampon shut him off from conversation completely. You pick up your pack from where they’re stored by the back door, ready for a hasty retreat. The memories of the last time you had been huddled up somewhere to get a way from the cold in the back of your minds. She follows behind as you go into the office, never wanting to be too far from you if you were in the same space.

But as you go to begin digging around inside, Ellie reached a steady hand out and laces her fingers through yours. Silently, you allow her to drag you to the bed. Reminiscent of that first night at Bill and Frank’s, she curls up into your side and you throw an arm around her cautiously. Slow movements allowing her time to voice if she doesn’t want something or if a line will be crossed.

“Can you tell me a little bit more about what Marlene’s plan?” Before your lips were parting, the teenager spurred on, voice a little small but very much firm in words. “I know you were mainly a smuggler and stuff, but you said you traded with her. Helped patch her people up sometimes.”

“Ellie…” It was late, the sun having set, and the night sky covered by thick coverage that promised another harsh snow. But with the estimated time of year, the length of the time you all had been enduring it, spring was sure to come soon. Hopefully by the time you had managed to travel to the next destination…which it seemed like Ellie was determined to figure out now with you. You both knew Joel would go along with whatever was decided, though you reserved the thought of what he would have to say should Ellie still want to go forward with finding Marlene and helping her out. It’s what started this whole journey after all…it’s what gave someone who was far too young with far too little a purpose.

Who were you and Joel to take that away from her? Regardless of your concerns about the efficacy and morality of what was at stake?

“Please, I…I need to know so I can make a decision.” She’s conflicted, the initial purpose of the journey lost in the wake of everything that’s occurred, everything that sees seen and been through. Marlene, the Fireflies, her former life; all of it a distant memory.

“We don’t have to make any decisions right now, we can just rest. It’s okay.” Soothing her as best you could, you rub a gentle hand over her back, the tension in her small body winding her muscles tight even as she breaths deeply and evenly.

“It’s…it’s heavy, the weight of her in the back of my mind. I need to decide if we move toward her or…. back home.”

“To Jackson?”

“To Jackson.” Her nose prods at your ribs where her head is tucked into your middle. “We can have a life there, all of us. I- I want that.”

“I’ll do everything in my power to make that happen, I promise you.” Shuffling down a little further, you press your nose into her hair, giving her everything you possibly could. You always would, she deserves it. She deserved every god damn thing she wants, no matter how trivial or silly.

“I’m not afraid of him, I hope he doesn’t think that.” She confesses, her voice taking on a different edge, an exhaustion that you knew all to well. You hadn’t thought so, neither had he. Her mind almost working against her with his presence, a natural response to not only what you had seen, but what you had inferred happened as she had been chased until the moment she had successfully fled.  

“No, honey, he does not. He just wants you to feel comfortable, so he’s letting you decide how to interact with him.”

“He’s a good man,” She mumbles, voice thick as sleep takes a hold of her. You smile into the crown of her head, heart skipping as you recall Joel’s lopsided grin, his dimpled cheek quirked up and his wrinkles deepening with the action.

“He is.” Her hand tangles with yours, fingers slack the second they do and you hold on tight enough for the both of you.

Hours later, you emerge from the room. It had been an office, but the cot in there with the collection of blankets and supplies told you it had been someone’s safe haven for a time. You tried not to wonder what had happened to them.

“Everythin’ okay?” He looks up from where he’s seated on the small couch in front of the fireplace. A lounge spot for guests once upon a time. Now a blessed place to rest that wasn’t harsh, frozen ground.

“Just girl stuff.”

“Girl..stuff?”

“Yes, Joel. Girl stuff.” You meet his eyes with a blank face, hoping he understood without explicit details, you didn’t want to embarrass Ellie anymore than she already felt. The subject matter probably something she didn’t want to discuss with him beforehand and especially now…You had noticed that the teenager was wary of every large shadow, anything that resembled a masculine figure. But Joel, she trusted wholeheartedly. He had never given her any reason to fear him, not beyond that first encounter.

She knew he would never raise his hand or voice at her. That he would never do so to you.

Sighing, you slumped onto the couch beside Joel. Dust flying up from the action, ingrained in the fabric despite the way you had seen Joel try to rid them of it.

“This okay?” His voice was low, almost hushed as he raised his left arm and put it along the back of the couch. You looked up at him, eyes connection and nodded before settling in beside him with your head on his shoulder and your hand on his chest. Neither of you had brought up deep conversation, questions that lingered in too-long gazes or lost in thought wonderings. Ellie was the focus right now, getting her to safety.

You sit in silence for a while, basking in the calm moment alone with him. His casual touch comforting, butterflies fluttering in your middle as you feel shy all of a sudden with him. It was out in the open, the connection you two shared, the one that had been deep enough to prompt him to see it as a weakness.

“She wants to find Marlene. But not to help her, to get more answers. To find out if the woman can be trusted.”

“She can’t be.” He’s so matter of fact, you know he’s had nothing but bad interactions with her. Bad memories of her. But so did you, despite actively trading with the woman long ago now.

“I know that and you know that, and she acknowledges that. She wants me-“

“You ain’t goin’ to see her alone.” His arm wraps over your shoulders, pulling you into him even more. As if he could physically restrain you from leaving even as you two sat together and merely discussed it.

“Joel…”

“Darlin’, she’s got too many men if the setup is half of what she had in the QZ. Too much fire power if she decides you’re the one not to be trusted and prevents you from leaving or sends them out in search of me ‘n Ellie.”

“I know…I can…I can spin a story about how Ellie got injured. That’s why you brought her to me, found me in one of my hiding spots in the city. That we- tried to keep her alive as long as possible but come winter her injuries were too bad.” You can tell he doesn’t like the idea, but it’s what you’ve got. She would have to believe it. The landscape unforgiving, the winter one of the worst in more recent years.

“She’ll wonder why it was you that came to her then, rather than me.”

“Joel…she’s…she’s going to kill her one way or another if she even so much as catches wind of a lie. I can lie, I can make the story believable, for all our sakes. She…she wants to go back to Jackson, she wants to have a home. She wants to be with us, to just…be a kid even if it’s a little too late.”

“Shouldn’t have left you there…especially the way that I did.” His voice dips, quiet and somber. A confession you already knew by the way he watched you, kept you and Ellie fed as best he could, stood watch every night so you two could rest.

“It’s…it happened. That’s all I can say.” You press your face into the crook of his neck, his right hand coming up to help you toss your legs over his own. It was quiet, it was comfortable, it was easy. Even if there was more to be said about what it all was. For now…for now you would have it, have him. You’re pretty sure you would for the rest of your life. “But…it did allow me to cross paths with some people.”

“Good people or bad people?”

“Family. Joel, I found my family.” He doesn’t say anything, though you can sense that his mind is working overtime, that worry is seeping into his thoughts, into his very being at the implication. “I sent them to Jackson, gave them my map with a note scrawled on it and the rest of my food. They…they had been traveling for a long time, no shelter for too long.

“My cousins, they…they told me how things went down back home. That my dad- that he…”

“’s okay, he’s at peace now.” He buried his nose into your hair, breathing you in. Comforting you with a press of his lips and tightening his hold on you as you practically laid in his lap. “Tommy, he’s good. He’ll take care of them. He’ll believe them, take them in and care for them like they’re his own.”

“The girl…Joel, I thought she would’ve been long dead by now. Wouldn’t even have the chance to be born. My aunt, she was still pregnant when the Outbreak happened. Had only been about four months along but, fuck…She’s so beautiful, Joel. She’s alive, her brother kept her alive.”

“Babies are a lot, but now…”

“Babies are a lot.” You repeat, thought the image of a young boy with wide brown eyes and thick curls bursts up into your mind. Freckled skin, gummy smile. Holding hands with an older Ellie…

“Without you we managed to get on the bad side of a group of….fucking religious zealots who moonlighted as cannibals. Some sick preacher who demands things of the children in his care, in his protection. What-“ He tenses beneath you, the rage and disgust he feels toward the very thought of the dead man’s mindset. “What kind of a man even thinks that way?”

“He was demented, before the end of the world. Turned into a monster long before the world turned others.”

“The way I’m imagining things going, even though you said he didn’t- didn’t do that- he still took you both, he still put his hands on you, thought about-“

“He’s gone now, let’s just…let’s just sit here, yeah?” You placed your hand over his racing heart, his adrenaline amping up and far too focused on something that was already dealt with. You knew about guilt, about shame, of carrying things with you. But this was something you didn’t want anyone to hold onto, you didn’t want it to define Ellie or Joel, didn’t want it to warp them or change the way they saw the world. Even though you knew it would, you would try your best to handle your own side of the experience and help them through theirs.

His hand rested over yours, the fire crackled on, and you both fell into a restful slumber for the first time in a long time.

The future doesn’t seem so bleak, with the younger girl still in tow. Intact and seemingly come to a decision. No more lingering questions, no more inquisitive comments, everything she had thought of and every errant thought addressed and talked about. It had taken days to hash it all out with you and Joel.

That was weeks ago, the weather warming since then. Though the nights were still stark and chilly, there was no more snow, no more storms and the ice that had taken over the landscape had melted.

It was finally spring. A season of new beginnings.

She’s been quiet when anything else was concerned, not asking after food or shelter, more layers, for someone to quit either humming or rambling as Joel had begun to do a bit to try and stave off the silence. He didn’t like it, he had confessed one night when it was late, you barely asleep and leaning against his chest in front of the fire. Quiet normally meant everything was alright, but the quiet that settled over the trio as of late, since…since that settlement, it was too quiet. Like the eerie stillness and lifeless quiet of a forest before a storm or the way birds flee the shores as giant waves build far out in the sea.

It was endearing, the way he wanted to fill the silence. To try and let Ellie know that it’s okay to ramble, to say something even if it didn’t mean anything, even if it wasn’t serious. Breaking the precedent he had set nearly a year ago now as the weather slowly warms, the crisp air becomes easier to breathe. And through it all, the time that goes on and the time spent together, it’s…it’s healing in more ways than even you anticipated.

You keep that all in mind, picturing the small smile she had finally cracked the night before. It had ben genuine; it had been real. And it meant the world to you now, even as your feet lightly scuffed along the blown-up downtown streets of Salt Lake City. The old, faded road signs that lead you here swam in your minds eye. The milage it had taken to get here, not just from Colorado, but from Wyoming, from Kansas City, from Lincoln, from Boston.

Your feet were the only two walking among amidst the city, it had taken a lot of convincing for Joel to stay behind with Ellie. The reasoning that you knew Marlene, even if he did as well by proxy from his brother’s old involvement in the Fireflies and the smuggling scene that seemed to be the center of life so long ago. You knew her, the passion she had for this project, this idea, this cure. It was damaging, the way she had prattled on and on. Asked after medical books, after your knowledge, your own ideas on the matter.

But you knew better than to put hope where things were useless. At least with this instance. There was no cure, there would never be a cure. Only adaption, from both sides. The infection changing with the environment, the spores that hung over cities in large clouds and overtook the very air evidence enough, if the different types of hierarchal mutations it made to different bodies didn’t. Runner, clickers, bloaters, all of it was bad. The simple bite transfer of infection was bad. And now it was evolving, but so was humanity.

There was no hope for help from a cure. Blood was blood, no matter if it was immune or not. It was more than just creating one, by some medical miracle. Some medical breakthrough. It was about supplies, equipment, the ability to distribute, to reverse the ways humanity and society had evolved in wake of the Outbreak. You only hoped that throughout more years, decades, lifetimes, it would prove to be the superior substance over fungi. Even you weren’t sure of it, but that was where you placed your hope.

Not in a cure sought out by a woman who would do anything to kickstart her research with a ill-devised plan. One that included killing her only source of immune antibodies at first light, which you recalled seeing in her notes long ago. You weren’t sure what that meant, but it sure as hell entailed a lot of trial and error that would rob Ellie of any kind of life she knew, a lab rat would be her future.That any chance she had at building a case, a base, a starting point; that she would use it to the full potential and not squander it away.  

You had told Joel as much, sparing Ellie that particular detail as she already had lost her interest in Marlene’s cause. It was enough to convince the man to stay back, in the wilderness around the city and far enough away that even if someone had picked up your trail and backtracked, it would allow for them both to get away without any interaction or altercation. He had never trusted her, even less so now. There was no way in hell he would let her fall into the woman’s hands ever again.

He had a purpose, he admitted to you, after having lost himself after failing the last one. A confession of a family member you had known about but didn’t know the details. Didn’t need to know the details other than that the event plagued him and set him on the path that had allowed your own to cross with it He had found another one in protecting you and Ellie, is ensuring your survival and that of his brothers, Maria’s, their child now. The hot tears that had trailed down his exhausted face had melted your heart for the man even more. The simple phrase you once said without abandon bubbling up into your chest and throat, warming you from the inside out. But you hadn’t uttered it, too afraid of what was still yet to come.

In Jackson, you promised yourself. You would tell him when you made it back to Jackson, to relative safety. You would whisper it into his lips, his skin, the broadness of his shoulders, the slope of his softening middle, the thickness of his thighs and in between. You would say it with purpose once again, for the man who you had never anticipated seeing beyond glimpses in an overcrowded and under sources quarantine zone.

You can feel them all around you, still following you even after you had downed at least three of them. A disguised nudge in the right direction, some of them recognizing you, some of them knowing from orders to leave you be. Tracking behind you as you found the hospital, followed the fait signs that had been made to look worn and aged. But you knew better, knew how they operated even if you didn’t approve of it nor support it.

The woman was hunched over an entrance table of sorts, no doubt where they tried to keep track of who was entering and exiting the building they claimed for their own. She stiffened as the door opened and your boots echoed on the tile floor. Turning to look at you in disbelief, you could tell she hadn’t believed the reports over the comm lines that it was actually you.

But you sure as hell could believe it was her and you were pissed.

“Your men should know better than to try and corner me, Marlene.”

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[the-pen-pot]

Merthur Fic Ideas & WiPs

So I have a Merlin fic ideas page over on Patreon but obviously I can't link direct to that from AO3. So I'm popping one on here so you all know what's incoming/in the works/rattling around in my brain.

Coming to AO3 September 29th 2024

The Water and the Wilds:

'Magic is as much part of nature as the earth, sea and sky. Other sorcerers who sought out the circle found that their power developed certain affinities. Their abilities became tied to the cycle of the year. There would be one season at which their power was at its peak and another where it lay almost dormant. They became more closely connected to the natural ebb and flow of the world.'

'But?'

'But they were not Emrys. His strength is beyond anything in living memory, and the heights he could reach are, as yet, unknown.' Aglain spread his hands, his shoulders rolling in a graceful shrug. 'I can only tell you that the Tir Na Lei means no harm. Three is the number: the ritual is set. The circle will not call on Emrys again.'

______

In a Camelot where Arthur is king and magic is permitted once more, Merlin's power begins to change. Can he and Arthur overcome the challenges thrown their way, or will their relationship be forever changed by the ordeal?

(Approx 50 k in length, rated E)

If you want to read what else is in-progress, check out below!

Works In Progress

(All drafts are currently available over on Patreon - first chapter free to read. The rest are available to patrons in the $5 tier and up. They WILL become available on AO3 eventually. See bio or pinned post for link if you're interested ♥)

King and Court - 24 chapters currently drafted and available on Patreon - this one will begin updating on AO3 next as it's the one I've written most of.

Summary: Loneliness is an insidious thing. When Merlin looks at Arthur, he sees not just a prince waiting for his time to rule, but a young man struggling to find his place in the world, with little help from anyone else.

The truth is, Arthur needs more than the friendship Merlin can offer. He needs people he can trust: men and women who will become his court and his confidants, and if he is going to survive to take the throne and lead Camelot into its golden age, he needs them sooner rather than later.

Finding loopholes in Uther’s laws is no easy feat. Court life is a dangerous game, but it’s one Merlin has every intention of winning so that Arthur can have knights of his choosing by his side.

And then there is the matter of his magic…

(In my head this is basically entitled *~shenanigans, love and a golden age~*. Canon divergent AU)

Love Is Never Lost - 11 chapters currently drafted and available on Patreon.

Summary: Uther Pendragon has never approved of Arthur’s friendship with Merlin. There had been disappointed sighs and whispered warnings, but Arthur had never thought it would come to this: scars on Merlin’s back and a manservant made hollow and thin by cruelty.

Yet Uther’s efforts to drive a wedge between them instead bring Merlin’s greatest secret to light, and once the wound of secrecy has been purged, their healing brings them closer together than ever before.

Much to Uther Pendragon’s horror.

When Merlin disappears, Arthur is left questioning the true honour of the crown and the value of a kingdom forever stained by his father’s tyranny. Will he answer the call of duty, or will he sacrifice everything to chase the cries of his heart?

Tags will include: magic reveal, corporal punishment, slavery themes (and all that may imply), missing presumed dead, good Morgana, Arthur's POV, slow burn, dreamwalking, happily ever after eventually plus whatever else shows up as I write these!

Sigh No More - 7 chapters drafted on Patreon. This fic is my beloved. My baby. I'm obsessed. Fantasy Age-Of-Sail AU

Summary: Prince Arthur Pendragon, Captain of the Llamrei, would far rather spend his days patrolling Camelot's Waters than assume his place on the throne. Yet when he finds the wreckage of a vast ship and one lone survivor on board, nothing can prepare him for the path his life will lead.

Nor the demands his heart will make.

Hiraeth Ideas

Additions to the Hiraeth universe ideas : Just some little bulletpoints to remind me about things I would love to add to the Hiraeth verse once it's actually done.

Gwaine vs. a lemon

Merlin gets flu (my biologist heart wants to explore Merlin's immune system vs. Camelot germs plus no modern drugs. Excellent hurt/comfort opportunity - not that Hiraeth really needs more of that.)

Merlin "tormenting" Arthur via the bond (Explicit,  definitely)

Merlin shows Arthur (and others?) modern London.

The knights of Camelot at the zoo (sort of)

Maps/globes/celestial bodies knowledge

💀 Agravaine 💀

The one with the eclipse (some king and his sorcerer are trying to show off said sorcerer's power. There just so happens to be an eclipse.They know what it is so Merlin cannot claim credit, but he totally fucks with them anyway.)

Non-Hiraeth ideas

Magic Reveal Via Time-Travel  (Added June 2024)

Merlin and the knights get themselves into some kind of dire situation. Merlin, in a panic and realising he's not strong or knowledgable enough to save them, pretty much demands that the universe in general sends someone who can help.

What actually happens is he gets flung five years into the future, and his future self (who is more capable, among other things) takes his place. He sorts out the dire situation, whatever it may be, and that leaves Arthur and the others with future!Merlin, who is not only very magically capable but 100% their Merlin with lots more confidence, as irreverent as ever, and unmistakably thrumming with magic. They can all feel it, because Merlin makes no effort to hide.

More to the point future!Merlin remembers this from the other side, when he was younger and the same thing happened. He knows this is when the others find out about his magic, and he is able to answer their questions and emotional responses calmly and rationally, because he already knows Arthur isn't going to kill him or hate him or anything.

(Quite the opposite, in fact, since he's having to hide the fact that Arthur's ring is currently gleaming on his finger. He is grateful, at least, that he wasn't a. Pulled naked out of the bath for this magical meeting or b. wearing his crown, which would have been hard to explain without breaking Arthur's tiny brain.)

Meanwhile, young!Merlin is in Camelot, five years in the future, and Arthur and the others are a bit older, a (very little bit) wiser, and are also doing a brilliant job of calming him down and letting him know everything will be all right. And actually showing him the golden age they achieve -- that it's not impossible and out of reach.

Possibly a long four parter from young!Merlin, young!Arthur, older!Merlin and older!Arthur's points of view. Assuming I can write it without being confusing 🤣

Merlin's Voice - possibly a bit dark

My desire to put Merlin inhurt/comfort situations knows no bounds, but this one actually stems from the fact that Merlin doesn't remember the hug after he's been missing in Servant of Two masters and I'm weak for Arthur being a worried angsty little lamb about his missing manservant.

I'd probably go AU and make Morgana good, with Merlin's magic being known, and just have Morgause basically taking Morgana's place, except she and Agravaine are trying to get information about Camelot's weaknesses, and who better to lean on than Arthur's idiot manservant.

Cue Merlin being missing for days, Arthur panicking, Agravaine being dismissive as usual, and Morgause growing increasingly frustrated at the fact that she cannot get anything of note out of Merlin.

In the end, she tries a spell to force him to speak, except that Merlin is so fiercely determined not to betray Camelot and Arthur that his own magic takes the spell and twists it, forging it into a spell of silence instead.

Morgause gets cruel in her frustration, but eventually, Merlin manages to escape and head back for Camelot. It's no easy journey, and more to the point, the spell silencing him will not come off. No matter how hard he tries. He was so determined not to say anything that his magic went overboard in an effort to meet his intent.

I want to write that hug so Merlin remembers it. I want to have Arthur initially teasing about the silence but getting increasinlgy distressed by it. I want the realisation that Merlin is so incredibly expressive that the others rarely need him to write what he wants to say, they can get the gist of it from just a look.

It's one of those ones with ~vibes~  I want to explore, but I have no idea how it ends.

The "Back To The Start" One

So I made this post on Tumblr and it did numbers (I was thinking 4 people would "hell yes" me, not 2000 +)

"Not me sitting here thinking about writing a fic where we start with Arthur dying in Merlin's arms after Camlaan and it's all tragedy and then the magic rises and they both end up back at that first day, in the marketplace, Merlin with "How long have you been training to be a prat, my lord?" dying on his lips as they stare at each other, fascinated, horrified, so fucking relieved because they both remember ALL of it and none of it's happened yet and this time they can maybe make it to a different, better ending.

And they can do it together."

BUT TO EXPAND

I want to explore how Arthur and Merlin would interact with each other having lived in one another's pockets for ten years, only to be sent right back to the beginning, while retaining everything they are to each other. Merlin's magic newly revealed from the confession by the lakeside. The two of them standing there with every mistake in their future rather than their past and realising that maybe "two sides of the same coin" means "you need to work together, dumbass".

I want the two of them shocked by how young the other is. How different Camelot seems from what they're used to. How harsh Uther looks now that they know it can be different (though not as different as it should be, Arthur realises.) I want them correcting their mistakes (and each other's mistakes) and taking all that they know of each other and rebuilding their relationship (all their relationships, actually) on that honesty.

And the others don't remember. Morgana is still Morgana, still struggling, but still hoping to be saved. Mordred's just a boy.  Lancelot never sacrificed himself and it's so clear in Arthur's eyes that Gwen loved them both but that she loved Lancelot first and in a different way.

The knights end up at Camelot earlier simply because Arthur and Merlin set out to find them earlier. 

("We need Gwaine." "Do we? Really?" "Yes, you great prat. Come on.")

And so much more.

The "Fake Favourite" One 

This is basically me having a desperate urge to write all the political whatevers of Arthur taking Merlin as a favourite, smashed together with a fake dating AU.

Basic premise is simple: in an effort to avoid the latest princess eyeing up his hand for marriage (and with Uther's blessing, because it suits him for now to put off marrying Arthur to someone) Arthur decides that he will pretend Merlin is his lover and favourite. They spend all their time together anyway, and half the court rumour already appears to think they sleep together, so it will hardly be any change to either of them.

Except all Arthur has to do is say the words to make it happen, but there's a lot more to being a favourite than that. Merlin can't continue to serve him, and then there's the whole situation of a new wardrobe (which Merlin and his magic both fight against) the political wheeling and dealing that comes with a servant being elevated in status, not to mention the subtle ways in which the court first tries to manipulate Merlin, and then is manipulated by him in turn (for the good of Camelot)

What starts out as Arthur aggressively but jokingly courting Merlin (because Merlin said he was bad at it) ends up much closer to *actual* courting.

And no, Merlin cannot sleep in the antechamber, because the chambermaids will notice they're not sharing a bed.

(This basically would end up being a story about Merlin no longer being a servant but becoming a valued member of the court almost by accident (but being very good at it) and the two fools falling helplessly in love with each other while they pretend to be lovers.)

Morgana, Gwen and the knights would be placing ridiculous bets and generally watching it all with disbelieving horror and delight because only these two idiots could make falling in love so complicated.

The "Stuck In Close Quarters" One 

Merlin and Arthur trapped underground in VERY close proximity (like lying on top of each other) and running out of air and Merlin’s magic is too weak (thanks to a battle maybe) to get them out but he can replenish the air but there is no way Arthur won’t notice.

Cue a magic reveal in close quarters and love confessions.

The Horn of Cathbad one

Merlin dies and due to some glitchiness with his magic, he doesn’t immediately come back. Instead, Arthur, in the freshness of his grief, reaches for magic.

He uses the Horn of Cathbhad to see Merlin again, knowing that if he summons Merlin’s ghost and looks back, then Merlin will stay. (Maybe Gaius warns him - but he doesn’t take it as a warning, but a blessing.)

And Merlin answers, and Arthur doesn’t dismiss his ghost. There are ghostly shenanigans and while it’s not the same as having his friend back, it helps. He doesn’t really have to grieve.

Except that Merlin’s spirit starts to become restless and angry, and it reaches the point where Merlin is *begging* Arthur to let him go. He doesn’t know about his immortality but something is pulling at him.

And Arthur finds the strength to let him go and it’s like losing him all over again.

And then, of course, Merlin comes back ❤️

Blind Merlin One

Arthur and co. suspect Merlin has magic but haven't spoken of it to him yet. While out on patrol, Merlin takes a curse meant for Arthur, one that effectively blinds him until "you see the truth". Arthur thinks it's about the magic and it dredges all that out into the open, but the curse doesn't leave. Merlin quickly adapts to using magic to "see" (in a manner of speaking) and keeps his eyes covered to hide their glow.

Of course, Arthur's threatened about Merlin's vulnerability and baffled about the curse etc. It turns out that the truth they need to see is how they feel for each other. Angst/hurt/comfort/fluff because I can.

Omegaverse One (Maybe a series? Sort of tempted to try out some MPreg)

Well off my normal beaten path, but I keep what-iffing it so I'm writing it down here (and will totally draw on some of the mechanics and plot points of Gilded Cage)

Not all magic users are Omegas, but all Omegas have magic, which means Merlin has more than one secret to keep, and he keeps it well. It "helps" that when he presented in Ealdor, one of the Alphas in the village attacked and bit him, forming enough of a bond to stabilise his biochemistry before he managed to escape. It was that incident that pushed him and Hunith into making him go to Camelot.

Merlin successfully hides what he is for years, thinking he's safe, but the Alpha who bit him never stops looking for him. The Alpha eventually tracks him down, threatens Merlin etc., but gets killed in a tavern brawl before he can make good on his threats. That, in turn, breaks the bond that's been keeping Merlin stable and able to pass, in general, as a beta.

Cue it all going a little bit to hell because Arthur thought he knew everything about Merlin and it turns out he really didn't, and now his irritating and attractive beta manservant who always smelled good is an irritating, attractive, sorcerous omega manservant who smells amazing... etc.

(and maybe this one sounded a lot better in my head? There's a whole heap of nuance I'm not putting down - but it's a possible future Merlin fic.)

Different curse fic

A sorcerer curses Arthur with magic in order to make the Pendragon heir everything that the king hates. He wants to see if he is a hypocrite who will spare his sorcerous son, or a tyrant who will damn the ties of blood and execute him.

Cue Arthur frantically trying to hide the fact that he has magic from everyone, including Merlin, except that's fantastically unsuccessful because Merlin has magic, knows magic, *is* magic.

Then you've got Merlin desperately trying to hide the fact that Arthur had magic from the court while concealing that *he* has magic from Arthur. He very small and tired and stressed about it.

But the upshot is that Arthur has a better understanding of magic - how it is not, in itself, bad or corrupt - and because his magic has no chill and absolutely adores Merlin it acts as the pivotal point that brings out all their secrets (and desire)

The Lancelot and a dead body one -probably shortish.

This is more a scene that anything, but I keep thinking of how to expand it a bit better (I did a text chat thing on tumblr about this plot bunny I need to write it one day)

Arthur and all the knights are in an antechamber off the armoury after an evening training session. The door is ajar. They hear Lancelot come in and Gwaine's about to call out to him when Merlin stumbles through the door.

'I need your help burying a body!'

And Lancelot doesn't squawk or demand answers but just says, in a "so done with this shit" voice: 'Again?'

Meanwhile Arthur and the others are like "What the hell?" and follow Merlin and Lancelot out towards the border of the Darkling Woods where there is a huge and very dead monster just.... lying there.

Then we have Merlin making desperate and really bad excuses, which Arthur would be more willing to pretend he believed if Merlin wasn't bloodied and swaying where he stood and also had flowers blooming around his feet, because Merlin used a lot of magic to take this thing down and it's kind of leaking a bit.

And then we go on from there with the knights spending all night trying to dig a big enough hole and asking questions and all that, and Merlin being too tired and beaten up to really put them off - and then I end it somehow. (I did say this was just a scene!)

[angelbitezzz]

Recently read Tilikum by Llama_Goddess on Ao3 (check out the link it's so good) and it gave me some interesting brainrot ideas

Fic under the cut

A day dawned like any other for Sans. Get out of bed, work various odd jobs, slack off at said odd jobs, and get home to sleep some more.

Today was a new gig—Janitor work at the local aquarium. It was good, easy work. He'd been all sorts of things in his time both underground and now on the surface, so he was largely left to his own devices practically since the first day.

Some kid spilled one of those themed ice creams on the floor in front of one of the siren tanks. Big attractions, those guys. Not quite human, too physical to be a monster, they sort of floated in this odd in-between state of natural existence. Word was that the song of one would easily lead you to your drowning death. It was a good thing that glass was thick and soundproof, otherwise any of the ones held captive would likely jump at the chance.

Sans mopped away at the spill slowly, dragging out the task. The place was closing for the night soon, he certainly didn't want to be redirected to something else when he had such an easy job right here. A whistle leaked from between his teeth, some song he'd heard on TV earlier in the day.

The room was empty now. With the evening settling in and closing time within the hour, no one had come by to this one since he'd gotten here. Probably since this specific siren didn't seem a fan of performance, or being seen. You were lucky to get a glimpse of it if it was feeling curious on a given day, or so Sans had heard.

He wrung the mop in the bucket and set about just mopping the entire room, still whistling away. But a chill ran up his spine, halting his movements.

The unmistakable, burning feeling of being watched.

He turned his head slow, pupils sliding up along the glass he stood next to until they connected with a bright purple gaze that seemed to peer right through him.

The siren.

It—She? She floated right there, hand pressed against the glass. Her pupils were blown wide open, though they dilated just a little when their eyes met properly. There was something curious about the look on her face, so human if not for the subtle shine of fine scales along her brown skin. Dark hair drifted around her face, some kind of kelp braided into it at certain spots, that same stuff even braided and tied together to make up the cloth she was wearing around her chest. Did sirens care for modesty? He didn't know. Her lower half was that of a fish, something tropical he hadn't bothered to learn the name of. Powerful muscles twitched the end of the tail, keeping her afloat in the same position with ease.

He wasn't sure when he'd stopped breathing. It seemed like time itself had stopped when he realized he was being watched. Was this typical of sirens? Did the gaze of one paralyze as much as the song?

No, that couldn't be the case. Otherwise they wouldn't bother with displaying them at all.

When he didn't react behind meeting her gaze, she seemed to relax just a little. Her eyes slid along his form, taking in the details of his Janitor's uniform and the bones that were visible.

"huh. you're, uh, curious, i guess?"

Sans wasn't sure why he was talking, it wasn't as if she could hear him. But the way his eternal grin moved with the speech seemed to fascinate her. She lowered herself to be more at eye level, both hands against the glass. He slowly put his mop back in the bucket and turned towards her, tugging at his gloves to pull them tighter before stepping closer. The siren didn't move, only followed every movement with that same burning gaze.

"heya." Sans gave a little wave, the way the kid had taught him.

The siren waved back, copying his movement exactly. Then she did something new—she pointed at him. He pointed at himself.

"me?"

She nodded and did something else, crossed her hands over her chest in fists, only the index and middle finger half extended. She bumped them together at the wrist, tapping the fingers to her shoulders and sliding them down to a point at her mid-chest. When he responded with a blank stare, she repeated it. His head tilted.

"now what does that mean...?"

The siren only did it once more before she seemed to give up. She made a recognizable motion this time, both hands in fists together and turning down as if snapping something. He almost frowned.

"that a threat?"

Her face broke out into a wide smile, revealing teeth sharper than he expected before she was laughing on the other side of the glass. There was no other explanation for what she was doing, she was laughing, entirely too amused by his reaction as her shoulders shook. His grin widened a little at that. Well, at least someone here was having fun?

The siren seemed to recover from her fit and gazed at him once more, pupils dilated again. Then they flickered up—an alarmed look flashed over her features before she was suddenly gone. There was a flick of her great tail and then she had twisted away into the kelp and seaweed populating her tank, only the waves of the greenery giving away how fast she'd moved. Sans glanced backwards, feeling oddly like a kid caught doing something he wasn't supposed to when he met the fascinated stare of a fellow janitor.

"hey, paul. uh. somefin the matter?"

"....I didn't see a damn thing."

The older human just turned and walked out, grumbling something about working here for too damn long just for a newbie to get the attention of one of the shyer sirens. Whatever that was about.

When the intercom crackled to life to announce the night's closing, Sans cast one last glance at the tank as he retrieved his bucket and mop.

The siren was nowhere to be seen.

[sydneys-adamu]

puzzlepuppy fic masterlist :) 

organized by series! gif by @chefkids

stay with me wherever you go: carmen (emotionally balanced) and sydney (also emotionally balanced) are well equipped for long distance and handle it very very well and very very normally.

not.

travel lightly, but keep me in your back pocket, okay?: sydney gets an offer and carmy almost fumbles his chances. again.

write me like it’s your last time, I’ll read it like it’s my first: carmy and sydney are an ocean apart. naturally they start exchanging love letters.

heal me when I’m hurt, I don’t care how far you are: sydney’s injured while away, all the while wishing her damn boyfriend was still with her at the very least.

tell me my love is enough, yours is etched on my heart all the same: sydney finally comes back home, and carmen makes a choice (for him, a no brainer.)

in another world it’s still you: a montage of sydney and carmen choosing each other again, and again, and again. (AUs in no particular order!)

forever alive, forever forward: sydney needs someone, and carmy is the one who tries to save her. (sheridan road au)

the singing of a body (electric): carmy and sydney are linked, for better and for worse. (soulmate au)

burn down the disco: syd and carmy want each other, even when the world tells them they're not supposed to. (black mirror hang the dj au)

this heart, with all its changing hues: rewind in time, sydney and carmen meet at CIA. it's not an instant friendship. (culinary school au)

wind and water; cloud and fire (meet me where the roads connect): sydney and carmy meet. sydney sees carmy. carmy sees sydney. not particularly in that order. (soulmate au)

the last five years: carmy, sydney, and a love story told in reverse. (divorce au)

the law of threefold return: bored and unassuming, sydney accidentally casts a love spell on her business partner. (love spell au)

a yellow blue countenance: in which carmy's desperate and sydney can't die with a perpetual witness by her side. right?

it starts with a swipe: boy meets girl, girl hates boy, boy is colossally screwed. (dating app au)

there we two, content: carmy and sydney get a cat. he’s the love of their life. send tweet.

maybe this is just the next step: carmy, sydney and the adventures of cat parenting.

time with you is time well spent: a holiday montage with sydney, carmy, and their cat by their side.

miscellaneous: canon compliant silliness

time nor place, distance avails not: it's not sydney's *first* choice to take her ex to get his wisdom teeth taken out, but so is the irony of life. at least carmy makes it easy (nope).

ceaseless musing (my soul is where you stand): sydney's dad makes an assumption, so she asks her very good friend carmen for a small favor.

a curious token (would the talkers be talking?): sydney and carmy's lover's quarrel through richie's eyes. maybe he helps, maybe he doesn't.

of cities fill’d with the foolish: mom and dad (sydney and carmy) aren't on the same page. at all. naturally this leads to an appointment with a couple's counselor.

an unknown want (the word of the sweetest song): the ever ambitious sydney asks carmy if he can teach her to draw.

as I ebb’d with the ocean of life: two airheads figure out what they are to each other. (post s3 tales to be told)

the long calm, the darkness, the swell: outside ever, carmy and sydney have the conversation they've both been avoiding. one conversation paves the path for more. and more. (post s3 fix it of sorts)

late in the autumn day: time passes. sydney and carmen have shit to figure out. and moves to make.

[acerathia]

Fics For Gaza

hello!! I finally got some time to participate in the initiative made by @ficsforgaza ! Down below are some WIP's which I have planned in some capacity to write during the summer/until the end of the year. I will also be accepting some requests for a limited amount of time, and for this one, please shoot me a message first beforehand.

How it works: The rate is set at 1$ per 100 words. The donation should go directly to a verified fundraiser and just send me the confirmation (personal information should be removed/censored) as proof with the link to the fundraiser and the fic sponsored as an ask. The wordcount (donated and writing status) will be updated regularly under the WIP's. As for the requests, send me an ask/dm first to discuss the content of it! For both I will try to be consistent and on time, but as there will be times where day to day life will get the best of me, but I will update accordingly also. Of course, consider looking at the list of other writers working on this initiative!!

current WIP's:

~your sweet return: gojo satoru synopsis: You love the forest, it was the place where you escape from everything haunting you. So, what could even happen if you discover a fairy circle, one oh so daunting, and you begin to hold a conversation with your invisible companion?

estimated wordcount: 8k written: 0.7k donated: 0.5k/3k progress: 0.5k/0.5k

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~eclipse: xiao synopsis: The souls filled with karma find relief under the touch of your skin. Yet, you've never tried to cleanse anyone, not since you've gained your freedom. Until the one you're indebted to asks you to help a certain Adeptus. And who are you to refuse?

estimated wordcount: 3k written: 0.5k donated: 0/1.5k progress: 0/0

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~Surviving the Tyrant: todoroki touya synopsis: Waking up in your favourite novel would be such a fantastic experience. That's what you thought until you actually woke up in one and found yourself engaged to the tyrannical prince Todoroki Touya. Your death was to be by his hands, and you are going to do anything to avoid such a fate.

estimated wordcount: 10k written: 0 donated: 0/4k progress: 0/0

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~The Lament of Erebus: Midoriya-centric synopsis: They appeared in the dead of night, ripping people out of their homes and lives, only leaving scattered clothes fluttering in the wind. There was nothing else left of the missing people. OR Midoriya Izuku is quirkless, despite his protests, despite the feeling churning in his insides. It seems like fate has a cruel way to show its affection, as this lead to a social death sentence. And he has lived like that all his life. That is until society began to shift, creatures of the night swallowing people residing in the dark. The question is, what is the connection between them and Izuku?

estimated wordcount: ? written: 6.2k donated: 0/2k progress: 0/0

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~Back against the Wall: Meta-Analysis for ORV using the reader-insert synopsis: What kind of effect might you (you and you and you) have on the way the plot unfolds? Can your voice (overlapping, echoing, not truly yours, but it is) be heard in the scheme of grander things?

estimated wordcount: ? written: 4.3k donated: 0/2k progess: 0/0

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requests:

Once again, before anything, contact me to make sure that I'm able to write the possible request. The rate is the same, and I'm going to tell you how long the request might be based on my own estimations. Please be aware that these requests are limited, both time-wise and quantity-wise, and that I might refuse any request based on my own abilities and comfort.

what fandoms: MHA, HSR, Genshin, Naruto, Touchstarved, Obscura, JJK, Love and Deepspace, ORV, AoT, and some others, feel free to ask! I am also okay with certain continuations of some of my work to be requested

[fighting-these-demons]

Royal Flush Haunted Honk - The Updated Bones!

Hello Internet Stranger looking up G Gundam on Tumblr dot com!

This is an idea for a Horror Alternate Universe involving Queer Non-Canon Relationships between the characters of the series.

It is based on the idea in the post that is linked above.

If you are not looking for this content please scroll on.

If you ARE looking for this content - and you're ok with reading my and other's Headcanons for this Alternate Universe I've haphazardly spun up -

Then go ahead and feel free to:

Check The Tags Of This Post For The Pairings

and click the Read More below!

Also the majority of the brainstorming is happening in the replies if you're so inclined.

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

Behold! The Update! It's the bare bones intro and the outline! It's 2.5K! Whoops! 😅

Some of this is just straight copy and pasted from the notes and other bits have been lightly reworded or built upon to connect to other bits.

I've gotten some scenes sent to me by @thedragonchilde that I loved and I think will fit in well with what we've got so far for the fic.

If you'd like to link or reblog them please do!

@amplexadversary feel free to message me or reblog with scenes you've thought up or written up! I can't wait to read them!

I think we've set the stage pretty well to start brainstorming the horror and whump! 😃

I'll see y'all in the replies for ideas on new plot points! 🪦💥🌩

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

This is backstory and general outline only.

It is barely edited. Typos abound.

The dialogue is extremely minimal and it is a framework upon which to build the fic. 💖

I am giving this explanation for the benefit of internet strangers as all parties working on this fic are already familiar.

Hello Internet strangers! 👋

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

Wherever the tendrils of the Devil Gundam hovered over the earth, and subsequently were destroyed, are places that may have had DG cells distributed through the atmosphere.

Atmospheric DG plumes have lead to DG infection in those areas. There's also likely tendril debris.

Neo-Japan, since the Devil Gundam's destruction,  has been working with Neo and world governments on a cure for DG infection.

At the moment the current treatment involves Kyoji or Schwarz controlling the DG cells of the individual and shutting them down; however, they are making breakthroughs with advancements on a nanocite injection that they're synthesizing with an executable program that shuts the DG cells down.

The biological compatibilities are the hurdle at the moment as evidenced in animal testing.

Kyoji and Domon are traveling to some sites in the USA that were affected by tendrils. Domon is there as a body guard since Schwarz is handling infection cases elsewhere (unspecified).

Chibodee is their escort. America is a Different Beast to Japan even in the future. So they'll need an escort to get through the militant landscape and across the sheer distance of it all.

Rain wanted to come with them, but with the volatility of the current landscape of the US - Especially where they're going - Kyoji didn't want to needlessly risk her safety.

He's assured her that Domon, Chibodee, and Chibodee's team will be watching his back.

Dr. Kasshu will be with them for the first days in New York to help with setup of the mobile lab before heading back to Neo Japan to continue working alongside Rain.

Once they've rested and are ready to head out, Domon, Chibodee, Kyoji, and The Gals will take Neo America's Core Lander and a mobile lab to the TD Site and it should be a fairly straight forward affair since they've gotten permission from the national and state governments, as well as permission from Gunsinto to be in the area.

They shouldn't be more than a few days travel to get there and retrieve samples and data and get back. He should be gone a week at the absolute most.

Kyoji gives rain the contact info to their hotel in New York as well as their sponsored Gunsinto accommodations in the Midwest and lets her know that he'll call once they've arrived palnetside.

He makes good on that promise the next day, letting Rain know that their shuttle landed, Chibodee and the girls picked them up without hassle, and lets them know that they're set to have a great dinner at a favorite restaurant of Chibodee's that evening.

Seeing Chibodee is like a breathe of fresh air that Domon didn't know he needed. Life has been so needlessly complicated lately but after Chibodee releases him from the bear hug given in greeting and throws an arm over Domon's shoulders they fall into step as if they'd never been apart.

Keeping in touch wasn't exactly easy. Domon doesn't respond quite as often as Chibidee would like, but every message Chibodee left was listened to and saved.

Ever since they got wind of this mission it's all either of them has had on their minds for days.

I need some help here with feelings and dialogue and inner thoughts but Basically

They both independently realize with clarity over the days leading up and the time in New York how much they've missed each other and how easy and comfortable it all is - being teamed up again.

Domons semi-recent revelations and feelings fresh on his mind. Chibodees crush ever looming.

Hearts racing. Feeling lighter than they have in God Knows How Long. Chibodee smiling so much his face cramps. Domon feeling so comfortable and nearly zen he loses his permanent frown from constantly thinking and just vibes. Smiling occasionally even!

Chibodee proposes they spar real quick before dinner "To work up an appetite! And C'mon! I wanna see what I'm up against in the upcoming Gundam Fight!" With a grin slamming his left fist into his open right hand. (He's left handed right? Or was that someone else?)

They Spar and there's Feelings

(I have a small scene outline put together for the spar for your consideration. @thedragonchilde has submit 2 scenes that would be great for just after the spar and are an awesome read! I'll include my outline for the spar scene in a reblog)

Then they have dinner together and later part to settle in their hotel rooms for the evening. 

The next day they focus on briefing the expedition and setting up the Mobile Lab that The Gals will be in charge of transporting. 

Once the lab is set up, they see Dr. Kasshu off on his shuttle back to Neo Japan that has been on standby since they arrived.

Kyoji volunteers to ride with The Gals under the excuse of getting a head start on some data processing - to give Domon and Chibodee some time alone together. 

Chibodee is not about to let himself be alone in a Core Lander with Domon for HOURS. He may blurt out something he regrets. He insists that Kyoji ride with them and leave the Gals to themselves.

As they make their way out west, Chibodee starts explaining why they'll want to keep their guard up. 

There's been a lot of unrest recently and especially the last 10 years since Gunsinto bought out the last of their land and displaced so many communities. 

Domon asks occasional questions but Kyoji isn't saying much of anything at all. Opting to rest most of the journey. Domon seems tense, which is understandable considering the events before they left New York. 

Suddenly they hear gunfire and what might be a canon of some kind. 

They expected resistance outside of Gunsinto territory but they didn't expect it after they crossed the border!

Aren't the Greenlords supposed to be patrolling the area???

So they're on the run from a group that blames Domon and Kyoji for all the bullshit post DG Incident. The group is made up of various parties working together to hold Neo Japan responsible for their crimes against humanity since nothing held up in court and Neo Japan is currently in control. Plus near endless bitterness at America's loss of Super Power status for decades and the effect that that has had on their economy and natural resources put under stress from these Big Space Battles. 

Chibodee and The Gals are aware of THIS group of violent individuals… but they're not aware of the OTHER group of violent individuals. (The Clown gangs are kept under wraps by the Greenlords - Gunsinto's private militia similar to to the Pinkertons as going public would be an embarrassment and an open invitation to more trespassers.)

They have a good idea of what weapons they have at their disposal and what their general tactics are. 

They decide to split up and have The Gals create a distraction to lure the majority of the aggressors off before rendezvousing close to the TD Site in this region.

After they split, the core lander has some issues and breaks down in the middle of nowhere. As they break down Kyoji has an awful headache. There's a terrible signal he can feel and he knows it affected the core lander's processors but he's not sure what it is. 

(It's a device that broadcasts a malicious signal that infects the processing units of hovering vehicles - was gonna be an emp but realized that would mess up their gps. It has only a very mild effect on DG cells it seems. Their GPS was made by the Kasshus with DG tech so it's unaffected. - Their communicator was issued by Gunsinto and was not so lucky - it's dead.)

Luckily for them their map data integrated into their GPS shows there should be a former town nearby.

The nearest town is seemingly abandoned. There's simply not enough water here according to Chibodee. 

The only building not completely crumbled is a lone Motel. Chibodee curses his Rotten Fucking Luck. (Clown Music!)

They're exhausted from carrying their emergency supplies through the heat of the day. They're not going any further. This will have to be it. Domon is clearly tense and Chibidee seems about to jump out of his skin but Kyoji doesn't really know why. He could be over sensitive after sitting with their tension in the core lander and then walking with them through the heat. 

Chibodee considers attempting to convince them to camp outside but with the wind picking up as bad as it is, he has no leg to stand on. They'll be sleeping inside. 

Strange though. There's a light on. That's odd.

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

Meanwhile The Gals have incapacitated the pursuers after radioing in help from the Greenlords who are cooperating on this mission. 

They're of course like “Whaaaaaat? That's Crazyyyyyyyyy.” And don't breathe a word of the Other Issue inside The Fields. Instead electing to simply refuel the mobile lab and send some extra men with The Gals as escort.

The girls start back on their journey to Rendevous with the guys. 

The arrive at the TD Site with no sign of the guys. After waiting 2 hours they decide to try and ping their location. 

There's no result. What they assumed was poor signal is worrying them now.

As they double back in the direction the guys should have been coming from they discover the crashed Core Lander and some prints headed South West.

They check their maps of the area which indicate a former town a few miles south west. They hop in their mobile lab and head that way. 

When they make it to the town, the only standing structure is a Clown Themed Motel that looks like it was pulled straight out of a historical classic horror film. 

They share a look. There's no way Chibodee would be here. They decide to check for other towns and head further south.  Eventually as it starts to get dark the escort advises that they head to the designated accommodations for the evening and the Greenlords will start a search.

Kyoji kept his word to Rain that he and his father would check in when they arrived in New York. When the second day stretches on with no word Rain starts to worry.

Her father has made it home, but she's still heard no word from Kyoji.

On Rain's 5th call in as many hours -at about 2:00 AM- The Gals answer.... it's Bad News.

They've been separated by a roaming militia group hellbent on serving American Justice to these Neo Japan Planet Destroyers. The Gals were supposed to Rendevous with Chibodee and the guys at the TD site but they never showed and they didn't find them on their way to the Gunsinto Accomodations either.

The Gals reassure her that the Greenlords and Gunsinto are starting a search and they should have word soon.

Dread starts to settle in the pit of Rain's stomach.

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

Meanwhile The Guys walk into the Hotel expecting it to be abandoned. It certainly looks that way from the outside. 

As they walk in though, they meet a rather average looking man smoking a cigar and watching some movies on a TV in the corner of the dark Lobby. 

He looks surprised (he isnt) and quickly stubs out his cigar in the ash tray nearby before walking into the only light in the lobby by the front desk.

He welcomes them with a smile and asks how many guests. Letting them know that unfortunately he's only got one room available and There's Only the One Bed. He asks if that's alright.

Chibodee sputters. Shocked that there's someone here at all. He asks as much and the man says that the Hotel is a side business of the Greenlords’ for “Employee Services” if you catch his drift.

Average guy asks after them as he's never seen them before. Kyoji has a bad feeling and smooths things over by advising that they're there as horticultural graduate students studying genetic modification with their Professor and a few other students. Kyoji tells a tale of how they got separated in the fields and this was the closest area with shelter according to their map data.

The Average guy is surprised to hear that they have a functioning GPS and says that this area has bad signal. It's a blessing they can find their way.

He directs them to their room and leaves back toward the lobby.

Kyoji has a bad feeling. He can sense a ton of corrupted DG cells nearby. Somewhere underground, but isn't sure why or what it means. 

He also keeps getting flashes of screaming men and women in clown costumes….

He relays as much to Domon privately as Chibodee is clearly already on edge and doesn't need any more stress. 

Kyoji asks Domon if Chibodee is alright. Domon informs him that clowns and clown imagery is a problem but there's really nothing they can do about it in this situation. His fists are clenched. Domon i's pissed they have to stay here.

Kyoji takes a moment to let Domon know he'll take the floor and for Chibodee and Domon to take the bed. This throws Domon for a loop, but before he can argue Kyoji insists that out of the 3 of them he can probably take the most stress and that Chibodee looks like he needs someone to sleep next to. 

Kyoji also mentions that he'll be blocking his hearing on a nano level to give them privacy in case they need to talk. Domon is a bit flustered by this but decides to take it in stride and go to Chibodee who is pacing and silently melting down. He looks like he's about to both through the window and back into the fields. 

Domon puts a hand on Chibodee’s shoulder and suggests they go ahead and bunk down for the night. 

He and Domon each take a seat on the end of the bed while Kyoji remains standing and they discuss Watch Rotation.

It'll probably be better to have 2 people awake and 1 person resting at any given time.

None of them trust this guy at the front desk. Especially not Kyoji.

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

Not sure how to segue from bunking down to the horror bit below gracefully; but I know we need to.

I feel like it's the perfect time for Domon and Chibodee to take Kyoji up on his offer of audible privacy to have a quick heart to heart..... before it's unfortunately and terrifyingly interrupted. 😨

Mostly because I'm mean. 😂

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

My first thought for 4 is that it probably looks like a normal-ass bed but in the middle of the night when both the guys are like half asleep, a clown hand bursts up from the center of the mattress in a classic zombie style Then an improbable amount slowly crawl out of that same hole as Chibodee drags Domon to the door (Domon for his credit is ready to beat a clown with another clown)

Since the FC does have the lightest touch of Newtype bullshit (mostly seen in the Schwarz/Rain chase scene where Schwarz gets the newtype flash), I'm interested in it being ghosts because the NT thing sometimes goes that way.

Ghosts usually have some kind of backstory as to why they're around, and I think it fits the setting to have a sort of clown culture war going on

so you have gangs like the one that killed Chibodee's mom, and then you get ordinary clowns going vigilante to hunt the ones that do that down for flagrant violation of the clown code

But the problem with vigilantism is you sometimes get the wrong guy, so that eventually happens and another group of clowns goes vigilante to go after the first group because they've gone bad (doesn't matter whether or not this is true for our purposes). And then you get more guys like the original circus terrorists playing themselves off as vigilantes as an excuse to kill people.

So now you have a clown gang war and more clown terrorists than you started with. And with the other problems Earth and the Colonies have it isn't *really* a big enough deal for anyone outside of the business to really care, so you get a sort of uneasy status quo with occasional bursts of clown violence.

The motel in question has a ghost problem because it's a former base of operations of a clown gang, where they would frequently dispose of their clown victims.

Chibodee is not at all aware of this. Or else he never would have agreed to this. He would have had some sort if Military backup. Gunsinto and The Greenlords have kept this under wraps to avoid broadcasting their farm territory as terrorist territory.

The clowns were affected by DG cells pre-murder and with Kyoji nearby they seem to be activating.

Yikes.

Kyoji can affect DG cells in a lof of situations... but can he affect them to his advantage here???

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

Stay Tuned to Find Out!

[jimercuryweek]

Welcome to Jimercury Week!!

The dates for the event are 21st-24th of June, 2024. In the weeks leading up to it, we will post and reblog things featuring our happy couple.

Where to post:

The main places to post will be here on Tumblr and on AO3! If you use other sites, post the link here on Tumblr and tag us here at @jimercuryweek and use the #jimercuryweek2024 tag to make sure we see it!

What we want:

Any fan media celebrating Jim and Freddie! Fic, art, phone wallpapers, playlists, anything! Just as long as it's focused on them!

.𖥔 ݁ ˖.𖥔 ݁ ˖.𖥔 ݁ ˖.𖥔 ݁ ˖.𖥔 ݁ ˖.𖥔 ݁ ˖

Day One: Friday - 21st June

Song: "Funny How Love Is" - Queen

AU: Missed Connection

Situation: My Cat is Stealing From My Neighbor

Day Two: Saturday - 22nd June

Song: "Man Made Paradise" - Freddie Mercury

AU: Drag Queen AU

Situation: Meet the Parents

Day Three: Sunday - 23rd June

Song: "You Take My Breath Away" - Queen

AU: Florist

Situation: Bad Rehearsal

Day Four: Monday - 24th June

Song: "Seven Seas of Rhye" - Queen

AU: Single Parent

Situation: DisneyLand

.𖥔 ݁ ˖.𖥔 ݁ ˖.𖥔 ݁ ˖.𖥔 ݁ ˖.𖥔 ݁ ˖.𖥔 ݁ ˖

Anything you'd like to write, draw, create- please make sure it's centred around the shipping of Freddie and Jim!

Make sure you tag your works appropriately! If it's NSFW, use the correct categories on AO3 and tag it as such here on Tumblr as well! We wanna make sure people know what they're getting into.

Prompts are just to give inspiration! If you have something else you wanna do, do it! Other AUs and situations are welcome and encouraged!

Please do not post or interact with the NSFW content if you are not 18+. Thank you.

Historical accuracy is not a requirement! That's the joy of events like these. Feel free to have fun with it all!

Please don't interact with hateful comments. Delete them as soon as you can.

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Feel free to reach out with any questions you may have!! Our inbox is open!

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[inthedayswhenlandswerefew]

Comet Donati [Chapter 3: Steal My Girl]

A/N: Hello lovely readers! Thank you so so so much for the love this fic has received. I wanted to give you a heads up that I will be co-leading a field trip to Japan from July 4th-14th and will therefore have much less time to write. HOPEFULLY I won’t have to skip a Sunday update, but I wanted to make you aware just in case. I hope you enjoy Chapter 3!!! 💜

Series Summary: Sex, drugs, boy bands. You are a kinda-therapist recruited (via nepotism) to help Comet Donati through a recent crisis. Things are casual with Aegon, very not-casual with Aemond. Loosely inspired by One Direction.

Chapter Warnings: Language, references to sexual content (18+), drugs, alcohol, smoking, mental health struggles, Aegon-induced chaos, ANGST, Iceland, you cannot escape the Cookie Monster pajama pants.

Selected Chapter Quote: “So what, you don’t like me anymore?”

Word count: 8.3k (wtf I need to chill).

Link to chapter list (and all my writing): HERE.

Taglist: @doingfondue @catalina-howard @randomdragonfires @myspotofcraziness @arcielee @fan-goddess @talesofoldandnew @marvelescvpe @tinykryptonitewerewolf @mariahossain @chainsawsangel @darkenchantress @not-a-glad-gladiator @gemini-mama @trifoliumviridi @herfantasyworldd @babyblue711 @namelesslosers @thelittleswanao3 @daenysx @moonlightfoxx @libroparaiso @burningcoffeetimetravel-fics @mizfortuna @florent1s @heimtathurs @bhanclegane @poohxlove @narwhal-swimmingintheocean​ @heavenly1927 @mariahossain @echos-muses @padfooteyes​ @minttea07​

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

Athens, Madrid, Porto, Vienna, Stockholm, and now: descending into Reykjavik through clouds like iron. The North Atlantic is an endless sheen of cold overcast blue, a mirror of the sky. The earth is rocky and anemic. There are no jewel tones here, no sapphires or emeralds or aquamarines or fire opals or topazes. It is impossible to look down at Iceland, this dominion of impassionate jaggedness, and not think of how the Vikings had to reap their treasures from every other corner of Europe, silver and gold and glass and slaves piled into ships to be rowed back to the hostile earth they clung to, perhaps just to prove they could.

Across the aisle of the private jet—more like a penthouse than a plane, posh neutral colors and hand-stitched leather—Luke is showing Aemond his latest lyrics, loops of silver on matte black pages. They’re good, from what you’ve heard. They’re really good. And that tells you what kind of person Aemond truly is as he helps Luke polish rocks into gemstones. Anybody can soften the blow of mediocrity. It takes courage to build ladders for people who might one day outclimb you.

Daeron is playing his Nintendo 64, which is hooked up to a 98-inch flat screen tv; Mario is leaping through paintings into worlds of lava, ice, sentient ticking bombs. Criston is answering emails. Cregan is sprawled across a couch with his sunglasses on, presumably sound asleep. Jace is leering at you, dark hair hanging in his face and slurping a Vesper.

You ask him half-mocking: “What tattoo are you going to get for Reykjavik?”

He yanks off his sequined red blazer—nothing underneath, as usual—and twists around to show you the puffin on his left shoulder blade. Comet, at some point in time that preceded you, has already been to Iceland. “Cute, right? Wanna pet it?”

You roll your eyes. “I’m sorry I asked.”

He grins. “No you’re not.”

Aegon kicks the back of Jace’s chair. He’s scribbling some notes of his own, which is unusual. In place of a spiral notebook with onyx pages, Aegon is writing on crinkled Starbucks receipts with a Sharpie. He’s wearing his favorite aviator sunglasses, khaki cargo pants, an excessively bright cyan tank top, and matching Crocs.

Baela stares blankly out the window for a few seconds—like she’s buffering, a lagging connection—and then she looks to you hopefully. “Shopping when we land?”

“Does Iceland have shops…?”

“Probably more than Kansas,” Aemond says, then smiles mischieviously.

“Missouri,” you fling back. He returns his attention to Luke.

“They totally have shops in Iceland,” Baela assures you.

“Then I am amenable. I need more concert outfits.” You mostly wear your boy band t-shirts from home, which has become a joke: One Direction, Backstreet Boys, New Kids On The Block, NSYNC, the Jonas Brothers, Boyz II Men, 98 Degrees, BTS…but never Comet Donati. Anyone but them. Aegon calls you a traitor. Aemond teases, smirks, tries to hide how much he watches you the same way people contemplate art on museum walls, a little confounded, a little entranced.

“Rhaena?” Baela says. “Hello? Hello? Hola? Bonjour? Rhaena?”

Rhaena startles, peering up from her novel: Jurassic Park. Once upon a time, as you’ve learned, she had planned to study paleontology. She wants to be alone in the middle of a field someplace digging up bones. Well, no great tragedy there; one is never too old to be a paleontologist. She can take off five years, or ten years, or twenty, or thirty to see Luke through his touring days and then pick back up her own ambitions like keys left on a hook. But Baela gave up a ballet scholarship to follow Jace across the globe, puddle to puddle, land to land, and in your albeit limited understanding, ballerinas age in something like dog years. Their career is a brilliant, lightning-brief flash and then long, anonymous decades running out their mortal clock as choreographers, backup dancers, personal trainers, instructors for blue-blooded five-year-olds. Baela won’t be able to reclaim that dream for much longer. It might be too late already. She is out of practice; but she misses ballet. When Jace is being snide or oblivious, you’ve seen her gazing out windows—Escalades, hotels, jets—wondering if it was all worth it. You gut yourself for someone and they don’t even have the courtesy to put up a gravestone. It’s only natural to develop a propensity to haunt.

“What?” Rhaena asks.

“Shopping. This afternoon. Interested?”

Rhaena’s eyes go wide. She fidgets: closing and then opening her book, touching a hand to her earrings, delicate strings of small silver hearts. “Um…I don’t know. Maybe.”

“Oh, not this again,” Baela groans.

“Just go without me. Bring me back something, you know what I like.”

“What’s the problem?” You are investigative but not accusatory. The tone is essential.

“She’s scared of store employees,” Baela says.

“Well you don’t have to make it sound like that—!”

“What’s so scary about store employees?” you ask Rhaena, calm, cool, collected, nonjudgmental. Aemond glances over, as he often does when you’re working, like he can’t get enough of watching that switch flip, when you slink covertly into therapist mode like a water moccasin weaves through swamps, subtle ripples in the muddied water and vigilant eyes.

“I just hate it when people are watching me,” Rhaena says, twirling an earring. “They’re always waiting right by the door—especially at the posh places like the ones Baela goes to—and they want to know what I’m shopping for, and they want to make suggestions, and they follow me to the fitting room and ask what I like and what I don’t. And I can’t get rid of them! Even if I’m like ‘Just looking, thanks!’ they’ll circle back every five minutes to check on me. I can’t stand it. I get so frazzled I can’t decide how I really feel about a skirt or dress or whatever because I’m too busy trying to make conversation with someone I don’t want to talk to anyway. I end up with a headache and a shopping bag full of regrets. I’d rather click a button on my MacBook Air and save myself the suffering.”

You nod sagely. “What is it about talking to the employees that stresses you out so much?”

“I don’t want to say or do the wrong thing. I don’t want to cause problems.”

“But it’s not like you’re going to do anything they haven’t experienced before. They see hundreds, maybe even thousands of customers a month. And even if you did something ridiculously, dementedly embarrassing, like…um…hey, Aegon, what’s the most embarrassing thing you’ve ever done while clothes shopping?”

“I fell asleep in a fitting room. I pissed on the floor. I set something on fire. I vandalized One Direction merchandise.”

“No, there was that other time,” Daeron says. Mario is swimming through rings of underwater coins; they chime gleefully as he collects them.

“What other time?” Aegon says.

Daeron grins. “Come on. You know.”

Aegon remembers. “Oh yeah. Once I bit a girl’s feet until I accidentally ripped off part of a toenail and she bled everywhere. But that wasn’t my fault. She was begging for it. It was consensual.”

Criston, not looking away from his emails, says: “And that’s why Aegon is now banned from all Michael Kors locations for life.”

“Right.” You turn back to Rhaena. “So you would never do anything that deranged. But even if somehow you did, what’s the actual worst-case scenario? What, realistically, could happen as a result?”

Rhaena considers this. “The employees will think I’m weird, I guess.”

“So what you’re so concerned about is that the store employees—who are literally paid to be inconvenienced by you—might think you’re weird? Which they’ll remember for, what, maybe an hour before some other customer gives them a more memorable calamity to focus on? You don’t think they’re more annoyed by purse-dog-toting heiresses screeching at them or cokeheads pissing on their floors?”

“Rude,” Aegon says.

Rhaena smiles guiltily. “I mean, when you put it that way, it does sound stupid.”

“Not stupid,” you insist. “Just out of proportion.”

“Okay,” Rhaena says. She takes a deep breath, steeling herself. “Okay. I guess I’ll go shopping.”

“Yes!” Baela cheers, already scrolling through Reykjavik shops on her iPhone.

“Hey, Stargirl,” Aegon says, and then hurls something at you like a frisbee. It’s an Amex Black Card.

“Oh no.”

“Oh yes.”

You raise an eyebrow at him. “What’s my budget?”

“No budget. As long as it’s slutty.”

“I will buy nothing but cardigans and mom jeans.” You crane your neck to peek at his receipts. The black Sharpie squiggles aren’t words; they’re shapes, pictures. “What are you drawing?”

“New merch designs!” Aegon holds up the receipts so you can see.

“Circles…?”

He is somewhat wounded. “Donuts!”

You don’t even know where to begin. “Why donuts, Aegon?”

“Because that’s his code word for doing lines in the bathroom,” Criston says.

“No!” Aegon objects. “Because Donati sounds like donuts! So we could have all these mini donuts, print them on hats or shirts or whatever, and then in the frosting where the sprinkles would be we can put tiny stars, suns, moons, planets, galaxies…and comets, obviously.”

Jace scoffs. “I think you spend a little too much time thinking about donuts.”

Aegon goes quiet. So does everyone else. Gazes flit nervously around the cabin. The only sounds are the roar of the jet and Mario 64, although Daeron has turned his back on the cheerful Italian protagonist and is looking pensively over his shoulder at Jace. Aegon resumes sketching his cosmic Sharpie donuts, his lips pressed tightly together.

“Hey,” you say to Jace, and then once you have his attention, wicked dark eyes: “Shut the fuck up.”

“What?”

“It’s a great idea. It’s a really adorable idea, actually. Let’s see you come up with something better. Go on, whenever you’re ready. I’m waiting. I’m still waiting. But you’re not much of an ideas guy, are you, Jace? Fortunately, you’ve always had other people around to pull that weight.”

Jace opens his mouth to say something, then snaps it shut as Cregan stands up. He towers over you both, as tall as Aemond but more muscly all over, in the chest and the shoulders and the legs. He lowers his sunglasses to show his eyes: greyish, cold, flinty. He glares at Jace, and then at you, and then at Jace again. Jace holds up both hands, showing his palms. You bow your head in capitulation. Cregan lies back down on the couch and repositions his sunglasses just as the pilot turns on the fasten seatbelts signs. As you click yours into place, you exchange a glance with Aemond across the aisle. He is smiling, foxlike and approving, as if he can’t wait to see what else you have left to show him.

“So!” Baela says. “Guess who found a shop in Reykjavik that sells Gucci!”

The jet glides through mist and fog to make a rather bumpy landing at Keflavik International Airport, fighting against gusts of wind coming in off the North Atlantic Ocean, the same water that swallowed the Titanic, the Faucett Peru Boeing 727, the Free Life hot air balloon, whaling vessels and Viking longships, countless cruisers and destroyers and submarines that blasted holes into each other during the world wars. As the band prepares to disembark, Aemond reaches into the front pocket of his shirt—black, with white circling koi fish—and slides out a pair of sunglasses. He doesn’t like wearing them. They limit his vision even more than it already is. But he never walks into an airport without sunglasses on, you’ve discovered. Just in case paparazzi are there snapping photos.

“You don’t have to do that,” you tell Aemond.

He gestures to his scar and his blind eye, a pale cloudy blue. “I’ve thought about just getting it cut out. But then I’d have to worry about shoving in a fake one.”

“I think it’s kind of beautiful,” you say. “It reminds me of Neptune or something.”

And the look he gives you, the look, like he’s never heard anything like this before, like he didn’t know that words could fit together in that order. You hold out your hand to him. He lays the sunglasses in your palm. You put them on, grinning up at him.

“Now I’m the one who looks like a multi-millionaire popstar.”

“Hey, we match!” Aegon says as he follows you and Aemond out of the jet, massaging your shoulders and clopping noisily in his Crocs.

There are paparazzi at the airport, but only two of them, young men in black hoodies who dart around loosing flashes into the stuffy, aggressively heated air. Jace, Baela, Daeron, and Aegon beam and wave, radiant, magnetic, born celebrities. Rhaena smiles politely but hides behind Luke. Cregan saunters and smolders, knowing exactly what his devotees expect from him. Criston and the security guards are loaded up with suitcases like pack mules. The paparazzi don’t pay much attention to Aemond—a former heartthrob, a cracked relic, a fossil or a ruin—but one of them snaps a few pictures of him. Aemond turns his face so they’ll get his good side, his unmarred side…and then he grabs for your hand. You try not to reveal how ecstatic you are, how wildly, uncoolly, over-the-moon thrilled. Your expression might end up commemorated forever in a tabloid, after all.

Shopping in Reykjavik is mostly wool sweaters, hiking boots, and weather-proof jackets, but Baela leads you and Rhaena to a boutique that carries something more her speed: Gucci, Burberry, Balenciaga, Valentino, Saint Laurent. You and Baela try to distract the employees as much as possible; still, they find time to nettle Rhaena with those bothersome, predictable, unnecessary questions. She gets a little flustered, but she fights the instinct to run and hide, to allow herself to sink into a frenetic puddle of self-inquisition. You can almost see the words scrolling behind her dark gentle eyes like a news ticker: They get paid to help me. They aren’t going to remember any of this in a few hours. I’m not on a stage. I’m not being judged.

In the fitting room, you take two selfies to send to Aemond’s WhatsApp account: one in a flowing neon yellow gown, the other in a short, velvet, sparkly black dress embroidered with silver stars.

You ask: Day or night?

He answers before you’ve changed back into your jeans and pink Harry Styles hoodie. Night, obviously. And then he adds: Which constellation are you? Vulpecula the fox? Cygnus the swan?

“God, he’s such a dork,” you murmur to yourself, smiling. You have to think for a while before you reply. You don’t know many constellations; that makes it difficult to rattle off something witty. Then you are inspired. You type: Definitely not Virgo :)

He responds immediately: :)))))

“What does that mean?” you whisper to yourself in the solitude of the boxlike fitting room. “What the hell does that mean???” He spends nearly all of his time with you, but he rarely touches you. He’s never made a move. He’s never even kissed you. You wouldn’t mind if he did. No, fuck the coyness that women are supposed to cloak themselves in to preserve their worth. You’re waiting for him to kiss you like someone drowning waits for a gasp of air.

Despite Aemond’s vote, you can’t help yourself. You buy both dresses. You don’t look much like an Aegon Targaryen, but the cashier doesn’t seem too troubled by this. Baela and Rhaena are still trying on outfits, so you swing your bag around boredly and wander over to see what Criston is up to. At Aemond’s insistence, he accompanied you on this shopping expedition and left the rest of the security detail back at the Reykjavik EDITION, a luxury hotel overlooking the harbor. Criston is in the jewelry section and holding up a medallion necklace, rotating it to see how the light reflects off the speckling of tiny gemstones, the wise golden face. His own face is distant and melancholy.

“Oh, that’s lovely, Criston!” you say. “All those emeralds. Who’s pictured on it?”

“Saint Jude. Lost causes.”

Interesting. “Are you religious?”

“Not especially. But Alicent is.”

“Who…?”

Criston walks off to the cash register. You watch him go, curious and perplexed.

Back at the hotel, you enter your suite to find a blond Targaryen lounging in your bed…but perhaps not the right one. Aegon still has his Crocs on and is, for some reason, clutching a plushie puffin. He glances over at you, noting your shopping bag.

“Fashion show?” he says. “I hope it’s nothing but miniskirts and bikinis.”

“Don’t you have places to be? Substances to snort?”

“Cregan is currently trying to locate some.”

“That’s really not good for you. Physically or mentally. You might be addicted.”

He barks a laugh, like it’s absurd. “You can’t get addicted to coke, Stargirl.”

“You definitely can.”

He suddenly looks panicked, like he’s never considered this before.

“So.” You hesitate. “Aemond.”

“Yes, I’m familiar with the concept.”

“He’s insecure. Very insecure, though he’s learned how to hide it.”

Aegon throws and catches the puffin, bouncing it off the ceiling. “I wouldn’t disagree.”

“It goes deeper than the accident, I think. The scar, his eye, what happened with the band…that awakened it again. That freed something that he’d had locked away. But where did it start?”

Aegon stares up at the ceiling. He tosses the puffin a few more times, abusing it terribly. “Whoever you are when you’re in high school…that’s sort of who you are forever, you know? If you’re popular and beloved and understood, you carry a certain self-confidence into the rest of your life with you like a suitcase. It’s an assumption that people care about what you have to say. It’s a conviction of your own value. It’s a presupposition the world would have to wrestle away from you. But if you’re a loser in high school, that stays with you too. And it’s one hell of a heavy suitcase to lug around.”

You try to imagine seeing Aemond through eyes that aren’t awed, craving, quietly adoring. It’s simply not possible. “He was alone?” you ask softly, dreading the answer.

“I had friends. He had grudges.” Aegon’s mouth twists as he tries to stop it from trembling. “My father…”

“I know, Aegon.” Your voice is gentle. “You told me in Kansas City, that night at the bar. You don’t have to say it again.”

He is relieved. “Yeah. So people respond to that in different ways, right? I lived in the present. I talked to anybody who would listen to me, and I partied and I got high and I got laid, and I was the antithesis of the kind of son my father would have wanted just to spite him. Aemond escaped into the past. He read books, traced bloodlines, collected old obsolete things. Maybe that gave him hope that a better place was waiting for him out there somewhere, a better time. He got to be cool for three years. That’s it, and that’s all he’ll ever have. He was the one with vision. He said he was going to audition for The X Factor, and I only went with him to meet girls. Then he made it through the first round and I did too. And when they were going to cut us, he found Jace and Luke and Cregan and convinced everyone to start performing together. The show wanted to replace Luke, did you know that? They thought he was too boyish, too innocent. Aemond fought for him. And then Comet finished in second place, and all the sudden we were signed to a label, and we were selling millions of records and we were touring, and we were winning Grammys, and we were buying our parents and siblings houses…and two months after our third album came out, Aemond was maimed at the Budokan and it was time for him to get off the ride.”

You stare at Aegon, tremendously sad, not knowing what to say. Sometimes the right words don’t exist.

Aegon smirks. “He really likes you.”

“Maybe.” And then, with guileless vulnerability: “I hope so.”

“That’s dangerous.”

Your brow knits into fearful grooves. “Why?”

“I know how to enjoy something without owning it. I don’t think Aemond does.”

You don’t want to ask, but you have to. “What was Shelby like?”

Aegon considers this for a long time before he answers. “She was simultaneously too good for him and not good enough.”

Too gorgeous. Too cool. Too Pinterest-board perfect, airy like summer. But not deep. A river, a glimmer, but with no understanding of the abyss. You aren’t sure how you know that this is what Aegon means, but you do. You don’t want to think about Shelby anymore. You pivot. “So Aemond is the past and you’re the present. Who’s the future? Daeron?”

Aegon smiles, lazy and warm. “I think you’re the future.”

“Yeah right. Get your Crocs off my bed.”

He complies, groaning, flopping onto the floor gracelessly.

“Where’d you get the puffin?”

“Some Icelandic kid recognized me in the elevator. He wanted to give me a present. In return, I signed an autograph and got him and his dad front row seats to the show tomorrow. So I’d say it was a very favorable exchange for him.”

“You’re a saint,” you say, and then find yourself thinking randomly of Saint Jude again. Lost causes. Lost causes.

Aegon grins at you as he crawls to his feet and makes for the door. “Patron saint of mayhem.”

~~~~~~~~~~

You’re watching old Comet Donati performances on YouTube when the hotel fire alarm goes off. And it’s strange, because the unscarred, clear-eyed boy on the screen is Aemond but also isn’t him; he smiles more easily, he looks at people without suspicion, he is ebullient and confident and carefree like kids blowing bubbles on front porches. When you open your suite door, dressed in your favorite Cookie Monster pajama pants and an oversized New Kids On The Block t-shirt, Aemond is just arriving.

“Oh good,” he says. “You’re still awake.” And then he walks with you to the nearest stairwell.

Outside, the hotel guests are clustered together with their travel companions, shuddering under coats and sweaters and blankets clasped around their shoulders like capes. Even at the start of July, Iceland is cold: fifties during the day as Americans like you measure in Fahrenheit, forties at night, nearly always overcast. It’s 11 p.m., but the sun won’t set until midnight, and even then only for a few short hours; the sky is wearing the colors of dusk, lilac, rose pink, pale blue, fire and gold. You’re shivering, rubbing your bare forearms and feeling the goosebumps that have risen there like braille. Aemond tugs off his black and white Calvin Klein hoodie and offers it to you. As you pull it over your head, you breathe in the pieces of him that have snared in the fabric: smoke and cologne, gin and soap and the brine of the seaside air. Now wearing only his jeans and his koi fish shirt, Aemond lights a cigarette and gazes up at the hotel, postmodern angles and semi-transparent glass.

“No one’s going to give me a hoodie?” Aegon says, quaking in his cyan tank top. Criston reluctantly unzips his bomber jacket and hands it over.

“Did you do this?” Criston asks him, meaning the fire alarm.

“What?! No! No way, man! It wasn’t me!”

Criston turns to Cregan for confirmation. Cregan shrugs, ambiguous. “I knew it!” Criston exclaims. He is distraught.

Several fire engines arrive, red lights strobing, and firefighters enter the hotel to investigate. Baela and Jace are standing near each other but not speaking, arms crossed, faces tense. Luke, Rhaena, and Daeron are watching an episode of The Crown on Luke’s iPhone. Cregan lights a cigarette and manages to take two drags before Criston notices and lunges to bat it out of his hand.

“Stop it!” Criston orders. “You’ll ruin your voice!” Nobody tells Aemond not to smoke. His voice doesn’t matter anymore.

Aegon asks you, his hands buried in the pockets of Criston’s jacket: “Would you run into a burning building to save me?”

“Why would you be in a burning building?”

“That’s really not the point.”

“I’d think about it.”

Luke says, the glow of his iPhone dancing across his face: “Wow, Prince Charles is a bitch.”

“You’d think about it?” Aegon says to you. “You’d think about it?!”

“You have no excuse to be in a burning building. You have now experienced an evacuation, you know exactly how to leave a building successfully, if you’re still in it for some reason then that’s your problem.”

“You hear that, Criston?” Aegon says. “This is a good thing. Now everyone knows what to do if there’s a real fire! And we’re in hotels all the time, so this is super helpful!”

“Please shut up,” Criston begs.

“Hey Cregan, share with the class, what did you learn about fire safety from this fortuitous occasion?”

“I already knew what to do.”

Aegon is grinning. “Yeah? What’s that, Cregan?”

“Get in the shower and wait for the fire department to come rescue me.”

Everyone laughs—even Jace and Baela—and Cregan’s lips quirk up in one corner, the only hint that he is joking. A parade of firefighters exit the hotel. One of them is carrying a toaster. Black smoke pours out of the slits in the top.

She says something in Icelandic that you can’t understand, then repeats in English: “Who was trying to cook hotdogs in a toaster?”

The guests chatter incredulously among themselves: Who would do such a thing?

You, Aemond, Luke, Rhaena, Daeron, Cregan, Jace, Baela, and Criston are mindful to look anywhere except at Aegon. You gaze out at the horizon, the kaleidoscopic midnight sun. Aegon peers down at his Crocs, hair tangled and blue eyes wide.

“Very well,” the firefighter with the toaster says, a little smugly. “We will consult with the hotel staff and see which guest was registered to that room.”

“Goddammit!” Criston hisses, and shoves by the band to go meet the firefighters. You can’t hear what’s being said, but his hands move in exaggerated gestures of humiliation, apology, restitution. Fortunately, the Icelandic people seem to be forgiving.

Daeron turns to Aegon. All he says is: “Why?”

“I couldn’t figure out the buttons on the stove!”

Criston comes trudging back to the band. Guests are being admitted into the hotel to return to their drinks, their television shows and mystery novels, their families, their lovers, their beds. “Alright, it’s taken care of. Go to your rooms. All of you, right now, go.”

No one has the heart to argue with him; he looks half-broken already. Everybody disperses. You and Aemond end up alone together as the elevator zooms to the fifth floor. He takes his small, square metal lighter out of his jeans pocket and toys with it, repeatedly flicking the lid open and then shutting it again.

You point to it. “Vintage lighter. Vintage bike. And yet you write with glittery gel pens instead of quills and ink. Poser.”

“I like old things,” he says, smiling. “I think history is important.”

And you hear Aegon’s words like an echo: That’s dangerous. You start pulling off Aemond’s hoodie to give it back to him.

“No,” he says, sounding pleased. “You keep it.” So you do, finding excuses to bring the sleeves close to your face—touching your hair, your lips, your eyelashes—so you can inhale him.

Aemond leaves you at the door of your suite, but you don’t go inside. You wait for another five minutes until Criston steps out of an elevator and into the hallway, alone and agitated. Still, he has concern to spare for you.

“You okay? Locked yourself out?”

“No. I was just hoping to ask you something.”

“Go ahead.” Criston is tired, but his eyes, dark like fertile earth, are attentive.

“When Aemond was hurt…when the label yanked him out of Comet…no one fought for him?”

“Luke did,” Criston says.

And then he continues down the hall, shoulders low, a man troubled by both the past and the future.

~~~~~~~~~~

The Blue Lagoon is like Aemond’s sightless left eye: a milky blue, opaque, something you could drown in. The band spends several hours splashing and wading in water warmer than the blood in your veins. The white silica mud that forms the floor is soft beneath your bare feet, squishing between your toes; people spread it over their skin like a skin shedding its scales in reverse. Criston orders strawberry-banana smoothies from the in-water bar, trying to distract Aegon and Jace from the beer and the wine. Currently, Comet’s most worrisome performers are locked in combat: Daeron is on Aegon’s shoulders, Luke on Jace’s, entangled in a spirited chicken fight. This is much preferable to their first choice, Marco Polo, which led to Jace ‘accidentally’—and repeatedly—bumping into various early-twenties female tourists, whereupon he would inevitably profusely apologize, introduce himself, and pose for selfies, beads of turbid mineral water dripping from his curls. Cregan has drifted to the other side of the lagoon, floating on his back and basking beneath the overcast midday sun.

“I can’t believe they made everyone shower naked before getting in here,” Rhaena says, drinking her smoothie, submerged in rippling blue up to her collarbones. She had nearly refused to go through with it—I’ll wait in the car! I’ll be fine! I’ll just watch The Crown on my phone for three hours!—until you and Baela offered to hold up your towels to shield her from view and insisted that none of the other guests (all female, as the showers are sorted by gender) were paying attention. Nudity is not a big deal in Iceland. It’s quite a far cry from Missouri.

“You gotta honor the local culture, babe.” Baela flashes Rhaena a teasing grin. “Scandinavians are super progressive. No shame about bodies or relationships. Very sex-positive.”

“Well Jace is certainly blending in.”

Now Baela isn’t grinning anymore. She frowns broodingly out over the lagoon. Rhaena, regretting that she said it but knowing it can’t be taken back, noisily slurps at her smoothie even when it’s gone. You and Aemond exchange an uncomfortable glance. Baela has never broached the topic of her relationship with you, but you know it’s coming. You can sometimes see her working up the nerve like a bucket filling with water, drop by drop.

You change the subject. “See, Rhaena? The naked shower thing wasn’t even that bad. It was over in two minutes, and absolutely nobody was judging you. And if you hadn’t done it, you would have missed out on this amazing experience!”

“You weren’t nervous?” she asks you. “Not at all?”

“I little bit, yeah. Of course. I’m an American.” Everyone chuckles. “But logically, I knew no one would really be watching me. I’m not that interesting. And also…I wasn’t truly naked.”

“Huh…?”

You wiggle your eyebrows and, smiling radiantly, spin around and point to the black-ink tattoo between your shoulder blades, underscored by the straps of your swimsuit that cross just below it: a comet with a streaming tail, lyrics that Aemond dreamed up in a kinder world. Rhaena laughs.

“Oh, right, of course.”

“You are obsessed with that thing!” Baela says, but she sounds relatively happy again.

“It’s true. I am. I admit it.” Sometimes you find yourself staring at it in hotel bathroom mirrors still foggy with steam, wiping away condensation to marvel at the irrevocable ways in which Aemond has marked you, ways you are thankful cannot be erased. When you wear anything that reveals your upper back like a spilled secret, you often catch Aemond gazing at it too. Now he reaches over and skims a fingerprint along the circle that his lyrics form around the comet:

I’ll come back for you if it kills me

Comets clip by again after eons and so can I

There’s a jolt down your spine like lightning, but more eager than jarring. All other thoughts vanish from you. You look over at Aemond, and he looks back, his lips slightly parted, his right eye beckoning to you. And you know it will be good with him, if it happens, when it happens. It will be more than good. It will be laced with an intensity, with a dire breed of necessity that you’ve never tasted before. All at once, you and Aemond realize what you’ve done and drift away from each other again, weakening gravity, elliptical orbits.

“No shame, guys,” Baela quips, raising her smoothie glass in a toast. “Sex-positive, remember?”

After the 45-minute drive back to Reykjavik, and after the concert, the band coalesces in Jace’s suite. There aren’t many hangers-on for this stop of the tour; Reykjavik is isolated and peaceful and not particularly desirable for friends of convenience who are more interested in clubbing and drugs than camaraderie. You wouldn’t trade nights like this for anything in the world.

Aemond is reading off his latest notes, white ink on black paper, stars on the backdrop of the universe. A Benson & Hedges cigarette smolders between two fingers on his left hand. Smoke curls up around his face. “Aegon, you were three steps behind the choreography for basically the entire show.”

“Yeah, that was on purpose.”

“It wasn’t,” Aemond counters, but he can’t help but smile.

“Women love a tragic disaster of a man who is screaming to be fixed.”

“Daeron,” Aemond continues. “I really like that hair flip you’ve started doing…”

Aegon is knocking back dark glass bottles of Gædingur Stout and slurring, very drunk and sinking deeper by the minute. In the absence of coke, he has resorted to other crutches. You are squeezed between Aemond and Baela on one of the couches. And Aemond isn’t really touching you, but he also is: the delicious subtle pressure of his thigh against yours, occasional nudges of his elbow, ostensibly unintentional grazes of knuckles and palms. He’s drinking his usual, a Bramble, and so are you, swirls of slow-moving pink like drops of blood in open water. And you think in a hazy bliss like listening to ground-level conversations from the bottom of a swimming pool: Tonight, tonight, tonight, he’s going to come back to my room with me tonight.

“Oh great,” you mumble as you check your Facebook messages on your iPhone.

“What’s wrong?” Rhaena asks. She’s nestled against Luke on the opposite couch, twirling locks of his hair around her benign, delicate fingers. Jace is sitting beside Luke, drinking a Vesper and trying not to make eye contact with Baela. Daeron is in the fuzzy white sheepskin lounge chair, Cregan perched on a bar stool, Criston standing watchfully with a vivid green bottle of Perrier in one hand. When he briefly steps out onto the balcony to take a call from the label, you can hear only the most dim, indistinct murmurings through the thick tinted glass, sounds but not words. Aegon is sitting—and occasionally crawling around—on the floor. The Backstreet Boys’ I Want It That Way is playing.

“I’m subletting my apartment in Kansas City and there is a strict no pet policy. But my neighbors snitched on the new tenant and apparently she’s got a Flemish Giant rabbit living there with her.”

“Not even a normal rabbit,” Baela muses. “A giant rabbit.”

You sigh. “All the rugs are going to be chewed up by the time I get back.” And Aemond glances over anxiously, like he doesn’t want any reminders that you won’t always be around.

“What’s your apartment like?” he says.

“Old. Vintage. Most of it hasn’t been updated since the 1950s. You’d appreciate it, actually. It would match your aesthetic.”

“Maybe I’ll have to see it sometime.”

You smirk at him, flirtatious, baiting, the silver stars on your dress reflecting golden lamplight. “Maybe. If I invite you.”

He leans in to whisper so only you can hear: “You will.”

“I think I’d be a landlord if I wasn’t famous,” Jace says, nursing his Vesper meditatively like an aspiring philosopher. “I’d just sit back and collect the checks as they rolled in. And you get to raise the rent every year.”

“Yeah, that sounds like you,” Aegon says, grinning up at him saccharinely.

“What would you be, Stargirl?” Jace asks; and you realize you hate the sound of him using Aegon’s name for you.

“I mean, a therapist.” And everyone laughs, even Criston.

Jace flushes, brushing his curls back from his face with one hand. “Oh yeah. Clearly.”

You look to Aemond. “You’d be a historian or an archivist or something.”

“Or a writer,” Luke says.

“Maybe,” Aemond agrees, a tad uncomfortable with the attention. “Or an animal activist, maybe. I’d like to do some sort of good in the world.”

Aegon shouts, far more loudly than necessary: “What would you be, Criston?”

“Thousands of miles away from you.” More laughter, riotous; but Criston is smiling a little.

“What about you, Cregan?” Jace asks. “What would you want to be if Comet didn’t exist?”

Cregan downs a shot of Absolut Vodka. “A plastic surgeon.”

“What? Why?”

Cregan shrugs. “You get to see tits all the time.”

There are scandalized squeals and guffaws. Baela says: “I would not let you anywhere near my tits.”

“And not just tits!” Daeron adds brightly. “Don’t they do, what’s it called, vaginal rejuvenation?”

Cregan points at him with his empty shot glass. “Exactly.”

“Oh God, that sounds painful.” Rhaena hides her face behind a flute of champagne.

“Yeah,” you say. “I don’t think I’m interested.”

Aegon snorts, drips of Gaedingur Stout flying from his nose. “Like you’d ever need it. You’ve got a pornstar pussy, fucking gorgeous.”

A hush sweeps through the room like a dust storm. Baffled glances dart around wildly. Immediately, Aegon realizes his mistake. He gazes up at you from the floor with large, glazed, drunken blue eyes that glisten with apology. You gape back, half-furious and half-petrified.

“Wait, what?” Aemond says. Ashes build on his cigarette, forgotten.

“Oh, wow.” Jace gestures from you to Aegon. “You guys…you guys have…?”

“It was once, a long time ago,” you say quickly. “Like, a really long time ago. Over a year ago.”

Aegon is trying to help. “Ages ago. Ancient history.”

“Where? In Kansas City?!” Baela gasps, stunned.

Aegon tells her: “You remember that bar we all went to after the show, right? The one on the roof?”

Baela is blinking at you, not comprehending. “You hooked up with him? In a bar?! Aegon?!”

“Um, yeah.”

Jace brays out a laugh, shaking his head. “Damn, Stargirl. I thought you had better taste than that.”

You feel like you’re fighting for your life. You feel like you can’t breathe. “It really wasn’t serious…” Not the sex part, anyway.

“No, no, it totally wasn’t,” Aegon agrees gamely. “It was like, what? How long were we in that bathroom? Maybe ten minutes total?”

Daeron is giggling. “Bruh, stop roasting yourself!”

As the chatter flies, you hide your face in your hands; beneath your palms, your cheeks are hot. You can feel Aemond pulling away from you, spaces opening up between your thighs and shoulders and arms like the ever-expanding void of the universe. When you steal a glimpse of him through the cracks in your fingers, he is staring down at the floor. He is silent, but you can see the thoughts—the images—riddling him like bullets. You can see him filling up with them like a punctured ship fills with seawater. He smokes until his cigarette is gone, and then immediately lights another.

Luke is the one to mercifully intercede. “Hey, Criston, where are we going next?”

“Uh,” Criston says, trying not to gawk at you or Aegon. “Let me think. Uh. Oh, right. Paris.”

Jace cackles. “The city of love! How appropriate!”

Criston ignores him. “You have some press interviews and then you’re doing two shows at the Accor Arena on July 7th and 8th…”

Aemond gulps down the rest of his Bramble and then walks out onto the balcony, closing the sliding glass door behind him.

“Fuck,” Aegon sighs miserably, then guzzles his Gaedingur Stout.

You bolt off the couch and go after Aemond. The heavy sliding glass door growls as you roll it open and then shut it again. Outside, Reykjavik is cold and windswept. The midnight sun is aflame. It’s still too bright to see the Northern Lights; even if they were there, you would have no way of knowing. Aemond is smoking with his back to you. He’s looking out over the boats bobbing in the harbor, sunbeams glinting on the crests of waves. Flapping gulls swoop and scream.

You say cuttingly, like a surgeon slicing away malignancies: “So what, you don’t like me anymore?”

Aemond flicks ashes over the balcony railing. “I just think I understand you better.”

“What does that mean?”

He whirls to you and says pointedly: “Why are you here?”

A disorienting question. Too easy. “I followed you out onto the balcony.”

“No, here with the band, here in Reykjavik, why are you here?”

You know how the truth sounds, but you can’t rewrite it. “Because Aegon asked me to be.”

“Because he asked you to come fix me, right?” Aemond demands. “To crack open my skull and stir things around until I’m okay with the fact that my life ended seven months ago.”

“No!” you shout into the wind. “I mean, yes, he thought I’d be able to help you, to help Comet, but that’s not what this is about for me anymore—”

“Why would I believe you? You’re a liar, you’re a confirmed liar, why would I believe a single goddamn word of what you have to say?!”

“I didn’t lie to you!”

“Friends!” Aemond roars. He doesn’t touch you, but his rage is horrifying, ageless and deep like lava bubbling beneath tectonic plates. “You said you and Aegon were friends!”

“We are friends—”

“No, you’re not. You met him, you fucked him, and then when he invited you to join the tour you dropped everything to do it, why, because you still want him? And I’m the charity case? Or I was just next in line? Maybe you were planning to work your way through the whole band. Who’s next, Jace? I don’t think he’d object.”

“No—!”

“You and Aegon. And you didn’t even have the guts to tell me.”

“Because I didn’t want to have this conversation, the one where you eviscerate me for something that happened before I even met you!”

“You chose him,” Aemond says, venomous. “At the bar in Kansas City, you chose him.”

“What?! Aemond, I don’t even remember seeing you, I don’t think you were there at all—”

“I was there.” He glares at you, thunderstorms, tornadoes, the earth splitting in two. “Last June. Rooftop bar. String lights. View of the river. I remember it, I was there.”

“Well then you didn’t notice me either and you probably spent the whole night with Pilates princess, Malibu Barbie Shelby, so what’s the fucking point?!”

He glowers at the horizon. Iceland DOES have jewel tones, you think erratically. But they only come out at night, like owls or bats. “It’s different.”

“It’s not different! You’re so convinced people don’t like you that you do insane, irrational things that make people not like you! It’s a self-fulfilling prophecy! It’s a fucking circle, you idiot!”

“I’ve had enough psychoanalysis, thanks.”

“No, you could use some more of it, you could use a lot more, you have so many demons it’s like Paranormal Activity in your brain, they’re in there all day tearing things off the walls and kicking over chairs and sabotaging anything you dare to care about and you let them!”

He turns away from you. “Just go the fuck back to Kansas.”

“I’m from Missouri!”

Aemond pitches the end of his cigarette over the balcony. His good eye flicks to the sliding glass door. The curtains rustle as the faces that hovered there just seconds ago disappear back into the suite. Very muffled through the thick glass, you can hear Criston chastising people.

You ask Aemond, embers in your throat: “This is really something you consider unforgiveable?”

He shakes his head, mournful, violently disappointed. “You’re just a groupie. You’re just a slut.”

Slut. It’s not the word, it’s the way he said it, with dismissiveness, with condemnation, the same way men love to use it as a blade to carve off every other piece of you—kindness, coldness, ferocity, loyalty, wit, passion, talent, triumphs, failures, ghosts—until that one little word is all that’s left. You’re dismantled into a clutter of loose bolts and bent nails. You’re a beef cow that was led into the maze of a gnashing, metal-and-blood processing plant and came out the other side a brainless, raw-pink patty just the right size to fit in a Big Mac box, something to be consumed but not remembered. “What did you say to me?”

He’s staring out into the twilight sky, both hands on the balcony railing. “I can’t believe you. I can’t believe I…”

“Are you kidding me?! I can’t believe I got your lyrics tattooed on my fucking back, what am I supposed to do about that now, rip my own skin off?!”

“So get it covered up. I’m sure Aegon would be thrilled to help you choose a new design, or Jace, or Cregan, or Daeron, or whoever.”

“You know what I think?” you say, caustic like acid.

“Don’t say it,” he threatens, low and dark.

“I think you haven’t fucked anyone since the accident, and you’re terrified to. But you shouldn’t be, Aemond. Because there’s nothing wrong with you. There has never been anything wrong with you.”

But he doesn’t hear that part. He only hears the first thing, what you never should have said at all. It’s true, but that doesn’t mean you should have said it. “I hate you,” he says softly, and you can’t think of a reply. The space between you fills up with wind, cold, dying sunlight. Aemond looks at the sliding glass door. “I don’t want to go back in there.”

“Well, we’re five stories off the ground, so you’ll probably have to.”

He studies the series of balconies that run along this side of the hotel, each separated by perhaps three feet of open air. Then he starts climbing over the metal railing.

“Aemond, don’t!”

But it’s too late. Fortunately, he has long limbs. He scrambles onto the next balcony, and then the one after that, and then one more, until he reaches the balcony for his own suite. He tries the sliding glass door—locked—and then sits down to wait for someone to open it. You go back inside Jace’s suite, where everyone pretends to have been talking about something other than you.

“Where’s Aemond?” Criston says, alarmed.

“He’s on the balcony of his suite. You should go let him in.”

“What?!” Criston yells, and then sprints out into the hallway.

You flee too. Both Baela and Aegon try to stop you, try to talk to you. They’re asking what Aemond said. They’re asking if you’re okay. You tell them you’re fine and that you want to be left alone. They argue. You insist. You walk back to your own room and start packing.

Your suitcase fills up with crumpled clothes and souvenirs: a Colosseum pencil sharpener from Rome, a tiny alabaster Apollo from Athens, a Spanish fighting bull refrigerator magnet from Madrid, handmade soap from Porto, a bar of chocolate from Vienna, a moose snow globe from Stockholm, a silica mud mask from the Blue Lagoon, a tiny stuffed comet that Rhaena crocheted for you. You reach back to touch your fingertips to the comet tattooed over your spine, tears biting in your eyes. If I had told him from the start, would that have made a difference? If I had met him first, would we have had a chance? You are gathering up your makeup when you hear a knock on the doorframe.

Cregan lurks there. When he speaks, he sounds startled; he sounds afraid. “You can’t leave.”

“I’ve literally never had a conversation with you, so thanks for the input but I’m still going.”

“No,” he says, persistent. “You can’t leave.”

“Aemond doesn’t want me here.” Your voice is fragile, shattering. “I can’t help him anymore.”

“It’s not just about Aemond. It’s about everyone. They’re all fucked up. They all need you.”

You stare at Cregan, not understanding. “I really don’t think I’m equipped for this.”

He fixes his cool greyish eyes on you. He is harsh but somehow not unkind. “You would never be able to comprehend where I came from. I’m not going back to that. The band has given me everything. I’m not going to let anyone take that away from me. You have to stay. You have to fix Comet. You can’t leave.”

He watches you, and you watch him, and you aren’t sure who has the upper hand here, who is the predator and who is the prey. Maybe it doesn’t matter. Maybe everyone is a patchwork of strengths and deficits, fields of gold strewn with landmines.

At last, you relent. And Cregan doesn’t vanish until you’ve begun taking your souvenirs out of your suitcase and placing each of them—carefully, reverently—back on your nightstand where they were before.

[theterrorreversebang]

Presenting, for your viewing and reading pleasure: the final collection of this year's Terror Reverse Bang, a feast of gorgeous artwork, beautiful fic, friendship, laughter, tears, …some horny. OK, a lot of horny.

You can find the AO3 collection for the event here. Summaries and links to the artwork below the cut.   

Thank you all for going on this fantastic journey with us.

Eat well and enjoy.

- ❤️, Charlie and Vio 

amateur operator (T, hickey/irving tozer/irving, 10.5k)

artwork and concept by entangled_system

fic by pointyshades

At an isolated research station at the top of a warming world, in the most inhospitable place on Earth for communications, John Irving studies signal propagation - and studiously avoids the obvious metaphor. John’s had a lot of practice at ignoring the obvious, but when an improbable random contact with an amateur radio operator calling himself "EC" leads to even more improbable regular contact with the same operator, not even John can ignore the ridiculous reality: a growing relationship with someone he knows only by their call sign; a relationship conducted half in Morse code.

John's real-life connections aren't going half so well, and neither is his research: his radio equipment keeps suffering accidents, and he can't stop getting into arguments with Sergeant Tozer, the man assigned to help him fix it. Frustrated, he turns even further toward his relationship with EC - and finds himself being urged down a path of paranoia as to who is actually damaging his equipment.

an arcane kind of murder (M, fitzier, 7.5k)

artwork and concept by pretendingday

fic by shakespeares_girl

At the Baronet Franklin's annual tourney, a series of murders begins. Francis is pressed into investigating, with the help of James Fitzjames. But Lord Franklin won't cancel the tournament, and the murders are getting more and more violent.

as per my last email (E, joplittle, 67.2k)

artwork and concept by mitarashi8

fic by manicpixiedreamjop

Edward Little has lived his life the way he thought he was supposed to. He went to a good university, got a good job as the head of PR at Erebus men’s magazine, and bought a home. He blames the fact that he hans’t dated since university on the fact that he doesn’t have time and not the fact that it terrifies him, and spends what little free time he has trying to pretend he isn’t miserable.

His neighbour Thomas Jopson has lived his life the only way he knows how. He fought his way from a childhood in foster care into a degree and a career that he loves, spending his days doing social work and his evenings volunteering with a local nonprofit supporting queer youth in the foster system. He plans his days down to the second, hardly allowing himself time for anything outside of work and sleep, but he is, at least mostly, satisfied.

When Edward’s boss is quoted saying something homophobic, it’s Edward’s job to clean up the mess, which leads him to the nonprofit that Thomas volunteers with. This new connection has the potential to turn both Edward and Thomas’ lives upside down. If only the two of them actually liked each other.

barghest. (T, joplittle, 10.3k)

artwork and concept by oughtnots

fic by derry_rain

Edward Little is a humble accountant in the late 1920s, but he has lately become haunted by visions of death: his own death, in the form of a great black dog not unlike one that bit him as a child. When his endless visions of ice and snow and the black dog won't end, he finds himself turning to a paranormal private eye: Thomas Jopson.

be that my cue to crave you (E, little/le vesconte, 9.6k)

artwork and concept by bilgewater01

fic by orchis

“If I could eat anything right now—”

“Henry.”

“Anything at all, from all the dishes and delicacies I've ever stuffed my face with—”

“Henry.”

“I think I'd go for an apple,” he finishes. “How awfully pedestrian of me. Nothing fancy, just an apple, and I don't even have the strong teeth for it anymore.”

“Henry.”

He huffs. “I hear you,” he says, and Edward can imagine him frowning, lips pursed. He wishes he could see him in the dark. “Tell me what you'd have, then, and I'll shut up about it.”

As the dark winters of the Arctic stretch before him, Edward yearns and craves and waits.

dear john (T, hodgson/irving/little, 16.6k)

artwork and concept by turnofthesentry

fic by mxjopsonfan

When John receives an anonymous love letter he resolves immediately to find the culprit. Little does he know that he is about to go on a voyage of self-discovery, realisations of deep affection, and three of her Majesty's naval Lieutenants showing how incapable they are of being Normal About Feelings.

ice wine (M, fitzier, 19.9k)

artwork and concept by o-rchidae

fic by melismata

Sir John, English wine pioneer, has survived every crisis since the 70s. Surely three bad harvests and a global pandemic aren't such a big deal? Fortunately, everyone else at Parable Wines agrees the business urgently needs saving. Unfortunately, no-one agrees how.

iceblink luck (M, fitzier, 30.4k)

artwork and concept by marella-moon - x

fic by perenial

October, 1987. With the Thatcher government entering its third term, Defence minister Sir John Franklin looks to offload two of his dockside London properties: one, a successful dance school directed by celebrated principal danseur James Fitzjames, and the other, a century-old boxing gym helmed by former middleweight Olympic hopeful turned disgraced misanthrope Francis Crozier.

In a show of generosity, Franklin offers Crozier the chance to buy out the gym he's poured over a decade of work into. It should be the opportunity he's been waiting for – except Crozier's barely keeping the gym afloat as it is, and Franklin's asking price far exceeds his means. With only one month to cough up the funds or forfeit the gym, Crozier finds himself backed into a corner, fighting for a piece of history he refuses to let go and against a past that's just waiting for him to give in.

matching such unlikes (G, fitzier, 7.5k)

artwork and concept by asparklethatisblue

fic by acephalous

In which Sir John tries his hand at matchmaking: after all who could be a more perfect match for his dear niece than James Fitzjames?

our flag means mutiny (T, hickey/gibson, 8.5k)

artwork and concept by o-rchidae

fic by borderparasol

Cornelius Hickey, William Gibson, and Solomon Tozer have successfully pulled off a grand mutiny, stealing HMS Terror to sail on the open seas and live their life free from the shackles of the Empire, plundering and making their living as pirates!

So...now what? And does anybody know how to fish?

provenance (M, jopzier fitzier silna/goodsir, 7.7k)

artwork and concept by kaupaint

fic by hangingfire

Three relics of the lost Franklin Expedition.

“Don't you get it yet? It must act like a recording, fixed in the floor and the walls. Right in the substance of them, a trace of what happened in there. And we pick it up. We act as detectors, decoders, amplifiers … It would have to be in the stone.”

—The Stone Tape, Nigel Kneale, 1972

reform your behaviour (E, irving/jopson, 9.4k)

artwork and concept by royaielfroot

fic by somelikeitred (ringofboubt)

After finding Hickey and Gibson in a compromising position, Lieutenant Irving intends to inform the Captain immediately. But when he finds Jopson first the Captain's steward persuades him to be lenient.

“Is it necessary to condemn the men -," Jopson considered his words, searching for the phrasing least likely to spook the lieutenant, "-over a desire for companionship? Is it so unforgivable for a man to be lonely?”

John studied him carefully; unable to formulate any response. Surely, Jopson could not be arguing that such vices were acceptable.

sent to the sea (E, annfitzrossier, 10.4k)

artwork and concept by brainyraccoons

fic by swanfloatieknight

After James Ross rescued them, Francis and James return to London in 1848. Francis lives with the Rosses in married bliss.

If only he could stop thinking about James Fitzjames, the bond they shared in the Arctic, and the last letter he sent that Fitzjames never replied to.

sweet to tongue, sound to eye (T, hodgson/irving/little, 10.1k)

artwork and concept by brimstone-cowboy

fic by unnecessary

After an Admiralty party bidding them farewell, the lieutenants get lost in Hampstead Heath. But not all is as it seems...

those wretched beings (M, multiple characters, 7.8k)

artwork and concept by melisusthewee

fic by notinmylab

A very literal take on the idea that colonialism is an infectious disease and that English ships are the carriers. Or, a zombie AU where Something Else is on the ice with them.

unerring devotion (T, jopzier, 7.5k)

artwork and concept by awhbeans

fic by yellow

Everyone else called Francis Frank, but in the quiet of their tent Thomas called him Francis.

Francis wore his two identities awkwardly, like an ill-fitting suit he couldn’t take off. He slipped into old fashioned speech and complained that people thought it affected. But Thomas liked it, just like he liked that Francis still let him call him Francis, and didn’t insist they were different people now. Quite the opposite.

If anything, Thomas was the one who had taken his two lives and separated them neatly, folded them and put them away. With Francis he could take out Thomas and put it on, like crawling into another skin. It was worn and battered but Francis seemed to like it best, and Thomas was glad of it.

---

Thomas Jopson and Francis Crozier are reincarnated. They find each other, and then they set out to find their missing men.

unknown by name or rank (E, joplittle, 17.1k)

artwork and concept by mitarashi8

fic by hypallepse

Years after the Great War, in a tiny illegal pub in the British countryside, Thomas met an awkward veteran and Edward a mysterious war nurse. They almost crashed in their desire to get to know each other, they shared an evening like no other, before having their night cut short by a police raid. How to find the other back with no memory of each other’s name or address? Why even try?

Both of them will stumble in the dark, battling the remnants of the war, unaware of the secret they will unearth in their effort to get that new chance at life.

[queen-haq]

Fic: Never You (Penelope x Colin) - Part 5

Fandom: Bridgerton (TV show)

Spoilers: S3 released scenes.

Summary: They may have been friends once but his callous words decimated their relationship. Determined not to have anything to do with him, Penelope is ready to move on. But Colin isn’t giving up, not at all. Friends or not, they are connected for life - and he intends to remind her of that.

Excerpt:

“You would hate me for not wanting to court you. You would be that selfish?”

“Of course you would think that.”

“What else is this if not punishment?”

Masterlist (contains links to previous parts and my other stories)

Part 5

“Open the door this instant, Penelope!”

Hearing the banging on her door and her mama’s voice yelling from the other side, Penelope quickly put away her writing materials. The newest Lady Whistledown column sheet was almost ready. She had planned to complete it while Prudence and Portia were busy entertaining callers this afternoon only to be interrupted repeatedly. Irritated, she walked to the door and opened it, allowing Portia Featherington to barge in.

In her mother’s hands was a lovely bouquet of lilies which Portia placed on the nearby desk.

“The Bridgerton boy is here.” There was no mirth on Portia’s face, her striking eyes gleaming as she confronted Pen.

“Is he?”

“Which, I know, you’re already aware of because Mrs. Varley came up here to inform you.”

Pen kept her mouth shut.

“Is there a reason you turned down his invitation for a promenade?”

“I don’t feel well.”

“Not good enough, Penelope! When a gentleman comes to call on you, you must always say yes!”

“Even on our deathbeds,” Pen muttered under her breath.

“Yes, even then,” Portia retaliated. “Martha!” She screamed, calling for Penelope’s maid. “Wear something suitable for your walk with that boy. There will be others who see you in the park.”

“I thought he left?”

“Fortunately, he did not.”

“Mama, he’s not courting me. We’re just friends. You know that, right?”

“It doesn’t matter. He’s a Bridgerton. Where he leads, others will follow and that is the only thing working in your favour in your advanced age.”

And with that statement Portia stormed out, leaving Pen alone with Martha in her chamber.

“These flowers are beautiful, Miss. I’ll put them in water.”

Pen watched as Martha busied herself with the vibrant, varying colors of the bouquet. In one of their letters she had mentioned to Colin about her newfound appreciation of lilies, and apparently he had kept that in mind.

“Shall I fetch the orange dress for you, Miss?” Martha asked, returning to her.

“No, the pale green one please. And the matching shawl.”

As Martha scurried about, Pen took a deep breath to calm her nerves.

***

Penelope exited her home and headed down the stairs, Martha following behind her. Her mother was watching them through the window, taking note of everything going on, and Pen didn’t want to give her mama anything new to harp about. Colin, of course, was using her reticence to his full advantage. He stood on the sidewalk, a wicked smirk on his face, looking more handsome than any gentleman had a right to. Pen ignored the flutter of butterflies in her stomach, reminding herself how angry she was at him. What she wanted to do was take him to task for calling on her when she repeatedly asked him not to. Instead, she was forced to greet him with a stiff smile.

“Mr. Bridgerton,” she said coldly, stopping in front of him.

His smirk transitioned into a full smile. “Pen,” he said with a deliberate languid drawl, trying to goad her no doubt.

“Mama is at the window.”

“I’m aware.” Colin’s eyes twinkled with mischief. “Shall we promenade?”

Penelope glanced over her shoulder and found her mother watching her like a hawk. She turned back to Colin. “Forcing me into this wasn’t very gentlemanly of you.”

He quirked his eyebrow. “Perhaps I’m no longer a gentleman.”

“Maybe you never were.”

She wanted to offend him but he seemed impervious to her taunts, instead offering her his arm for their walk together. Aggravated, she ignored him and started down the path by herself. Within seconds he was next to her, his long strides now matching her own pace, with Martha following behind them.   

“Did you like the lilies?” Colin asked.

“I did not.”

He simply smiled. “That’s unfortunate. Maybe I’ll bring roses in the future.”

“Absolutely not!” she huffed. “Mama will get the wrong idea.”

“We are friends, Penelope,” he reminded her. “Friends give each other gifts. We’ve exchanged them in the past.”

“Never in front of Mama!”

“And I’ve visited you before,” he insisted.

“No, you haven’t. We’ve always only spoken at your home or social gatherings. In fact the only other time you came with flowers was to call on Marina.” The grimace on his face made her heart squeeze with envy. Even after all this time simply saying her cousin’s name evoked such a strong reaction in him. But as much as the idea of him still harboring feelings for Marina hurt, she wasn’t going to let pain distract from her focus. “I can’t have you encouraging foolish ideas in Mama’s head.”

He clenched his jaw, agitated. “Is this really about Lady Portia or are you worried your mystery suitor will get jealous?”

She stopped midstride, turning to level him with a hostile glare. “He knows there’s nothing between you and me.”

Colin took a step towards her. The blues of his eyes darkened, blazing with emotion. “Even after last night?” His voice was a throaty murmur, his words only meant for her ears.

Her heart quickened, His gaze drifted down to her lips, pausing momentarily, as if he was remembering touching her, the feel of his hot mouth on her skin. And then his sight travelled lower, to where he licked and kissed her chest, and the lovebites he left on her breasts that she had to scrupulously hide behind a scarf this morning lest her mother noticed. The way he was looking at her set her body on fire, she felt it intimately between her legs.

They were surrounded by people, yet it felt like it was only the two of them. As she found herself drowning in the depth of his eyes, the world ceased to exist.

And then the image of his panic-stricken expression flashed through her mind, reminding her of how horrified he was after kissing her.

Instantly she pulled away, turning away from him. She started walking faster, trying to regain her composure in the few short seconds it took for Colin to catch up to her.

“You can’t pretend it didn’t happen, Pen.”

“You’re right, I can’t. But that doesn’t mean I’ll allow a moment of foolishness to sway me from what’s important.”

“I know you. You wouldn’t have kissed me that way if you really loved someone else.”.

It was the conceit in his words that infuriated her. “Is that so, Colin?” She turned to confront him. “Didn’t you proudly claim to have flirted with half the women in London? I’m sure you’ kissed many of them. Will you stand there and tell me you cared for all of them? That all those ladies held a special place in your heart? Or will you be honest and admit a kiss can just be a kiss without it meaning anything?”

His eyes narrowed onto her. “Do you expect me to believe our kiss meant nothing to you?”

“Don’t treat me like a naïve debutante, Colin. I’m fully aware passion can exist without love.”

“But that wouldn’t be true for us, would it?” He didn’t move, yet it felt like his body swayed closer, encroaching on her personal space, making it impossible for her to think. Even breathe. “Because there is love between us. There always has been.”

Her heart pounded in her chest. For so long she’d yearned for his love, ached for it. Over the years there were so many times she thought herself a fool for even thinking he could love her. But then he would seek her out in a crowd to dance with her, they would talk about things they dare not discuss with others, and the hope in her heart would bloom despite her insecurities. Just like it did now. “Speak clearly, Colin. Do you love me?”

“Of course I love you. I’ve loved you since we were children. You’re my dearest friend.”

“But are you in love with me?”

“Are you?”

She swallowed the lump in her throat. There were children playing in the park, families around them talking and laughing. Yet all she felt was Colin’s piercing gaze tear through her, the air thick with tension as the minutes ticked by. “Yes. Even though I desperately wish I wasn’t.”

His face ran the whole gamut of emotions, from utter shock to panic to fear. “I… Pen…”

“You’re not in love with me,” she stated matter-of-factly.

“No.”

His response didn’t come as a surprise, she had always known the truth. And despite the pain that wracked through her, she felt relief. Because she would no longer have to wonder. Now there was certainty and it brought with it a strong desire to move on.

There was much trepidation in his voice as he spoke next. “I’m sorry if I-”

“There’s no need to apologize.” Her voice was calm, steady. “You haven’t done anything wrong.” She glanced behind him, her eyes absently taking in the view behind. “We can’t help who we love.” There was a numbness that slowly spread through her, enveloping her heart, her very being.

“I care for you, Pen. And I know you, you’re kind and sweet and want to see the best in people. Which is why I’m worried-.”

“You don’t know me,” she replied, snapping out of her daze.  His face came back into focus, along with the rest of the world. “Not really. You’ve only seen certain facets, parts that I’ve chosen to show. I’ve always been so worried about what others would think, of being palatable to my family, to you and Eloise, to society… and for what? What was even the point?” She started pacing, her mind reeling.

As much as she aspired to be good, she could never fully commit to it. Lady Whistledown was borne from the part of her that wanted retribution against the ton for always ignoring her. In the clear light of day she was voiceless and unwanted, but in the shadows was where she thrived, where her words meant something and she had value and control. There was a time when she used to think the different parts of her could coexist and she could still be more good than bad, but Eloise’s words during their last argument proved otherwise.

“What are you talking about?” He blocked her path, forcing her to look up at him. A confused expression marked his beautiful face. ”I’ve always known who you are.”

She peered up at him. Everything he said about her – kind and sweet and only seeing the best in people – was actually true of Colin himself. He deserved someone who was equally beautiful and kind, and that would never be her.   “You’ve been a good friend, to me and my family. And I appreciate your concern but I can look out for myself. Arthur is a good man-”

“Arthur?” The sudden vitriol in Colin’s voice was sharp. “Arthur what?”

“That’s not important,” she said dismissively. “What matters is you no longer have to worry about me, Colin. I absolve you of that responsibility.”

“You do, do you?” Anger laced his voice, his eyes growing dark with contempt. “Because of this Arthur?” He took a step forward, crowding her, the proximity between them so close that she could feel his breath humming her skin, could almost feel the touch of his fingers against her gloves. “Tell me, Penelope, does he know you?  Did you show him all the parts of you that you claim to have kept hidden from the rest of us?”

Irritation surged through her at his mocking tone, but she reminded herself to be patient. “He understands me better than most.”

“A man you’ve known for mere months?” Colin’s eyes glistened with fury. “Why does he get that privilege? What has he done to earn your trust so easily?”

The hate in his voice took her by surprise. “Why are you behaving this way, Colin? I thought you would be happy for me.”

Jaw clenched, anger masking his features, his eyes roamed over her face. “You expect me to live a life without you in it and be happy about it?”

“So what should I do, be a spinster for the rest of my life to appease you? Do you not see how selfish that is?”

“I don’t give a damn!”

Penelope noticed the glances thrown in their direction, the look of concern in Martha’s face. Even though Colin hadn’t raised his voice, the tension on his face made it clear they were having an argument. Taking a deep breath, she tried to calm him down. “This isn’t who you are, Colin.”

“Isn’t it? Maybe it’s you who doesn’t know me.” He dipped his head lower, his eyes smoldering with rage. “Maybe I’ve always been unreasonable and selfish. Maybe I’m willing to do whatever it takes to protect the people who matter to me.”

She didn’t know if the threat in his voice was deliberately meant to scare her but it elicited the opposite reaction, provoking her anger. “You’re not my guardian or my protector. I’m not your responsibility. I don’t need anything from you.”

Instead of backing off, his voice grew more determined. “You don’t have a choice in this matter, Penelope. I will not lose you.”

“Except I’m not yours to lose. I do not belong to you. You don’t get to make demands on me when you don’t even love me,” she reminded him coldly. “I will marry the man I choose and live the life I want. And it’s you who has no say in that matter.”

Feeling strongly in her resolve, she turned and walked away.

To be continued...

A/N - Thank you for reading. If you have the time, I'd love to read your feedback!

[willinglyghoulified]

Excerpts from a new DA:TV fic I started

This fic is (so far) just for fun, and I don't have much written. Uploads will probably be sporadic, so I haven't published this anywhere yet. Depending on the response I get from readers here, I may upload more. ♥ Warning: a few spoilers in these.

First excerpt:

Lucanis carefully picked through the objects at the stall in the market, like a crow looking for the perfect shiny object for its nest. He wanted to find a gift that conveyed the subtle message that he cared for Rook, but he didn't want something that stood out like a sore thumb. Rook was particular and had few interests; for these reasons, it had to be perfect and tailored to her tastes.

"Just. Pick. Something!" Spite spat in his ear, an annoying presence that Lucanis alone had to bear. "I will, I will. Just give me a moment," he muttered quietly. The shopkeeper, to his disappointment, still heard him. "I'm sorry, sir, but are you talking to me?" "No, I apologize." He was tired of explaining away this exact situation. Finally, Lucanis pulled a small object out of the pile of trinkets. A striking silver feather pendant on a delicate chain. The tiniest bell hung from the top feather, connected through a small, rounded hole with a single delicate chain link. "I'll take this." Lucanis paid in a handful of coins. "But sir, you've overpaid --" "Keep the rest. Consider it payment for holding up your other customers." Lucanis still had other stalls to visit, and he was in a hurry. He hated being in a hurry, especially while food shopping. He liked to examine every onion, every potato, every chicken breast. He liked to smell all the spices and check the freshness of milk and cheeses. And he loved to sample wines. However, it had been a week since he was able to visit the Lighthouse due to getting his affairs in order as First Talon. The last time he saw her, she hadn't been feeling herself. That made him worried. Perhaps the necklace and her favorite chicken curry soup would cheer her up? He wasn't very good at this sort of thing. "All I know is death," he had told her, and he wasn't exaggerating, but he wanted to change that. Lucanis made his way back to the Cantori Diamond where the Eluvian lay nestled in the farthest corner in the highest room of the Diamond, away from prying eyes. He carried his groceries with him in burlap sacks and cloth bags from the market all the way back to the top of the Diamond, his arms beginning to tremble under the prolonged weight. He snuck his way past any Crows that may have been more than willing to stop him for polite conversation as he was still in a hurry. The Eluvian pulsed to life as his presence, the familiar bluish glow filling the small room with soft light. The Eluvian reflected a blurred view of the Crossroads on the other side. He stepped through, turning his vision searing white for only a moment before his surroundings changed to resemble a conglomeration of Arlathan-esque foliage and fractured elvish ruins. The floor beneath his feet changed seamlessly to a patchy dirt path with thin strands of dry grass blowing in a stagnant breeze. He wasn't far from the dock that would lead him to the center of the Crossroads, which was closest to the Eluvian connecting this strange in-between place to the Lighthouse. The spirit of the Crossroads, only known to those who dwell here as the Caretaker, awaited him on a boat that whisked him across the empty space between the floating land masses that made up the Crossroads.

Second excerpt:

Vera "Rook" Aldwir was stuck in the Lighthouse. Not physically or literally, mind you, but she was stuck nevertheless. Her "damned self-reproach" as Neve would call it. And this is unironically what bound her to the Lighthouse, not unlike Solas's regret had formed the lock of the Evanuris's cage. But how could she bring herself to leave? Everything in this place was so quiet  and peaceful as it floated amongst the nothingness. It was strange, yet familiar -- as if time had stopped completely, yet the sky still mimicked the daylight cycle of the physical world. Here, she could think in peace. Or at least that's what she told herself. Whether she was writing letters, sleeping, or simply staring at the nothingness above or below the floating mass upon which the Lighthouse stood, her head was abuzz with thoughts and her chest tight with emotion. And being alone simply made it worse. That's why she never told anyone that she still talked to Varric in her loneliness. She liked to think that he could still hear her somewhere out there in the in-between, even if he was far, far away. Maybe her whispers would reach him one day, even if it took decades to travel the vast spaces of the Fade, wherever he was. On this day -- or night, for she didn't know true time anymore -- Rook read a missive sent to her from the Inquisitor. She was hesitant to open it, truthfully. She almost didn't want to know what the Inquisitor and Solas were up to, as long as Solas stayed far away from her. The missive contained updates such as, "we visited Minrathos again today and the relief effort is going quite well," and "Solas and I are doing fine," and "we hope you're keeping well." Rook simply scoffed. The well-wishes of the Dread Wolf meant nothing to her. In fact, they turned her stomach. As days went by, she wished that she had stuck that dagger right into his heart. She had every right to. But, no. It would have brought down the Veil and the world along with it. No. No. His life force was needed to keep the world as they knew it intact. A lying, conniving, miserable excuse of an elf who nearly destroyed the world was now keeping the world -- or what was left of it, anyway -- from being torn asunder. It was almost laughable. Almost. And maybe it would have been if people like Varric and Davrin hadn't paid the price for his failings. If people like Neve hadn't lost their homes and everything they owned. If innocent creatures like Griffins and Halla weren't endangered because of the wars of humanity they didn't deserve to endure. Rook tossed the missive onto the floor and rolled out of bed. Her black hair, usually tied back in a thick braid, was a tangled, oily mess. Her head spun as she sat upright and got to her feet, unused to the change in elevation. Her left shoulder popped. A slight pain made its way down her arm and her fingers tingled. A wound from her war in Minrathos that still gave her a little trouble. She left her room and overlooked the empty entrance room of the Lighthouse from the balcony. The shadows of the floating bookcases above her head moved slowly without sentience. There were no creaks or moans of an old house, no shuffling of feet on the stone floor, no pages of books being carefully turned, not even the slightest wind moved her hair. She was completely and utterly alone. A sanctuary turned prison, for she couldn't leave of her own free will. Her mind played games with her, told her that she would be better off just staying here in the calm of it all, unbothered and alone -- as long as the food held out. Anxiety, anger, and grief were the locks of her self-made prison.

[axkirak]

Deal with the Devil

Pairings:  Raphael x f!Tav/Reader  [From Baldur's Gate 3]

Content Rating : Mature 18+  

Warnings: Spoilers for Act 3 (Baldur's Gate 3), NSFW, Smut, Manipulation, Drunk Sex, Dubious Consent, Unprotected sex, Vaginal Sex, Vaginal Fingering, Creampie, Rough Sex, Biting, Ownership, they hate each other but also fuck each other, (Raphael is a Man Whore)

Synopsis : Yes, making a deal with the devil was foolish, but fucking the devil you despise is even more foolish.

AN : This one-short fic is inspired by the quest ‘Deal with the Devil’ involving Raphael in Act 3. Raphael approaches Tav to make a deal at the Sharess' Caress (a situation conducive to writing smut fic Lol)

Yes, I know that Canon Raphael is bad in sex, but I don't care! hope you guys enjoy the full experience of ‘Man Whore’ Raphael in my fic.

also big thank to my lovely friend and smut fic expert (lol) @missmarmaladeth for being the beta reader for this fic. If it weren't for her help in proofreading and providing guidance, this fic wouldn't have been completed (tbh, it's very hard to write a horny fic)

Read in Ao3 : here

Two years. 

That's exactly how long since you left Baldur's Gate, your hometown. 

You reminisce about the past when you decided to escape, as vividly as if it happened yesterday. You had sworn to yourself that you wouldn't set foot in that wretched city again. 

But fate has a whimsical way of playing with your life.

Two years of tumultuous uncertainty, a journey you never thought would happen to your ordinary life. started with surviving the infection of mind-flayers, spreading madness into your brain. You joined forces with other survivors, embarking on an adventure to find a cure. Along the way, you get involved in local troubles, both intentionally and unintentionally. From goblins to witches, demons, and even confronting malevolent gods lurking behind schemes of dominion.

Who would have thought all of this would lead you back to Baldur's Gate once more, with a drastically different role from before.

The hero, the sole hope of the kingdom, defending the city of Baldur's Gate 

Quite amusing indeed. 

You sigh deeply, mocking yourself genuinely. As you follow your gaze along the densely packed houses and shops on both sides of the street, some built with bricks, some with wood, the salty smell of the seaside city mixes with the faint stench of fish stalls and the smoky haze from distant ironworks. The grumbling chatter of the townsfolk invites annoyance but is still pale in comparison to the beggars and street children attempting to pickpocket you at least five times, forcing you to handle it the way the hero of the city should—threatening to chop off their hands if they dared show their faces near you again.

After keeping an eye on the little delinquents skulking away through the alley and ensuring no one would disturb your peace again, you turn your attention back to Baldur's Gate once more, this time with a different sense.

Certainly, overall, the city remains as chaotic as ever. But you find it hard to articulate what you're feeling at the moment. It's like you don't really know and aren't familiar with this place at all, even though Baldur's Gate is your hometown.

You can't pinpoint precisely what is strangely amiss, from the people to the houses and in every square inch of the city. Yet, you sense deep down that there's something unsettling here. It's as if all the malevolence has converged on this city.

Soon, you discover where the root of that malevolence comes from

Sharess' Caress, the most notorious brothel in Baldur's Gate.

You didn't intend to come here to seek sexual pleasure for yourself. But one of the small quests you took on due to financial need is linked to the disappearance of a prostitute, which seems to be connected to the murder case of a prominent priest in the community, as well as the case of explosive-laden donation boxes.  Because The suspicious toymaker also seems to be lingering around this brothel as well

It's suspicious... Why do all the clues from three different cases point directly to this brothel?

But setting aside those minor quests, another interesting thing about Sharess' Caress is the special concoction Drink from the bartender named Hooligan, which has gained fame as the city's signature drink that one mustn't miss. You've never had the chance to taste it before.

Considering the burdensome responsibilities you've shouldered throughout the journey, facing life-threatening situations multiple times, would it be reasonable to reward yourself just a little?

However, bringing companions into the brothel seems somewhat unsettling. So, it might be better to let everyone separate and enjoy some relaxation in the city for a day before regrouping once again. Even though Baldur's Gate may not be the most hospitable place for you, it's still an exciting city for outsiders like Shadowheart, a rural dweller from Moonhaven, or Lae'zel, the warrior from the Githyanki tribe, who comes from Stardock, far away from here. It's not a difficult decision for them to explore the big city rather than drink their heads off in the brothel with you.

The white-painted wooden building may look compact from the outside, but it's much more spacious inside than expected. As it's midday, there aren't as many people in the brothel as you thought. You maintain a composed expression as a woman in a tight-fitting red and green dress with a high slit saunters over to greet you at the counter. Each step she takes reveals smooth white legs intentionally. Her golden, voluminous hair cascades down in waves, and her heavily made-up face resembles a glamorous mannequin, with a full-fledged business-like smile. She introduces herself as 'Mamzell Amira', the owner and madam of this brothel.

“A weary traveller, battered and bruised. You come for sustenance. No —Decadence. A mien cool as ice, yet eyes burning hot. Oh yes, I know your bliss.” She spoke in a melodic tone, akin to singing a song. Her captivating voice effortlessly sent shivers down the spines of those who listened, making them either enraptured or have goosebumps “A sturdy dwarf, a leather whip. She gives - you receive. Or have I misjudged you?”

You almost choked on yourself, having to fake a cough to clear your throat. You were somewhat relieved that your companions didn't come with you, as the current situation was quite awkward.

"I didn't come here for that," you clarified.

Amira raised an eyebrow, slightly surprised by the guest who didn't come for sexual purposes like others. She appraised you once more; Everything about you seemed contradictory—the youthful appearance conflicted with the worldly weariness reflected in your expression, and the luxurious silver brooch nestled in your light-colored hair hinted at your high-class status in Baldur's Gate.

Overall, you didn't quite look like an adventurer, more like one of those noble daughters dwelling on a grand estate. However, the silver-accented armor and the sharp-pointed sword hanging at your waist confirmed your profession as an adventurer quite well.

Nevertheless, there was something the madam was particularly confident about—you have money, and she wasn't foolish enough to let a heavy-pocketed customer like you slip away easily.

"Of course, my dear. We've other ways to fill your void. A drink, for one. A pair of Drows for another. or Devils, for those who desire to be scorched, Choose your sin."

"Devils?" That word struck a chord within you, and your unintentional display of curiosity was quickly noticed under Amira's keen observation.

“Oh yes,  We are blessed to have a devil in residence at the moment—a temporary guest, but he asked that I send any potential clients his way.” 

You listened to Amira intently and silently. With a face hard to read from Amira's perspective, However, the woman still seemed excited, thinking she could successfully entice the customer as she had intended. 

“Everyone who's paid a visit looks quite changed by the experience.” Amira continues to convince you, hoping to stimulate your curiosity even more. The madam was right that you were very interested in this devil, but certainly not out of infatuation or admiration.

This was because you had a strong intuition that you might know this mysterious devil very well. 

There was no point in keeping the doubt to yourself. You took a breath before firing the last question that lingered in your mind, "Tell me, did the devil give you its name?"

The corners of the lips, painted with red lipstick, widened into a broader smile than before as she uttered the name of someone—someone whose name you didn't want to hear most at this moment.

"Indeed, he did—Raphael."

Raphael 

Exceedingly handsome. and with a voice that could make the foulest blasphemy seem the sweetest hymn

Amira mentioned him like that without exaggeration, not even a bit. Raphael was the embodiment of mesmerizing allure, drawing mortals to worship him instantly upon meeting his gaze. You became aware of this when you first encountered him at the Emerald Grove. introducing himself to you as one of the Lords of Hell and Ruler of the House of Hope.

With sharp facial features and dark red skin like the evening sky, he was towering and majestic. He was always dressed in expensive attire wherever he appeared. He evoked a sense of unease in you at  first sight, reminiscent of the highborn nobles of Baldur's Gate that you despised deeply.

But beyond the despised feeling, there was also discomfort mixed in. Under the red-brown eyes of the devil, every time he gazed at you, it wasn't just surface-level scrutiny; it felt like he was delving deep into your soul, reflecting every sin you've hidden away.

You and Raphael have never crossed paths before, and there wouldn't have been much chance of meeting either. But because you've become a hero and have built up a myriad of adventures outside the city of Baldur's Gate, that drew Raphael's attention significantly. He appears before you, inviting you to visit his home and offering assistance in overcoming the imminent threats to the kingdom. All he asked for was a small pact from you.

You refuse without hesitation. Only fools would sell their souls to the devil.

However, your rejection triggered the ego of the Devil Lord intensely. From then on, the cat-and-mouse game began. He pursued you everywhere, like a shadow, lurking in the darkness and revealing himself in the light. His red-brown eyes watched your every move, waiting for the opportunity to intervene in your adventurous journey. Sometimes he helped you, while other times he intentionally made your life much more difficult. Your existence became excellent entertainment for Raphael, and he was determined not to let you easily escape from him.

You remember well when the devil stood before you, asserting that you had no way to refuse him. No courageous human would dare to reject him, and one day, you would have to crawl back to him in hell, knocking on the door of the House of Hope to beg for his help.

What an absorbed devil he was!

'Little Mouse' Raphael always called you that, with a tone of endearment like a generous person coaxing a child. But this devil was far from being akin to the term 'generosity. He always saw himself as the cat teasing a mouse like you, making you run around and struggle until exhausted before finally smacking you down under his paw, leaving you only to plead for mercy. That was his true desire.

There's no need to guess. Raphael is here because he wants to disturb your emotions, as usual. This thought made you so annoyed that you wanted to walk out and find another bar to drink at. However, escaping felt like accepting losing, and you hated defeat as much as Raphael did. So, you resolved to ignore the devil all day, as long as you didn't come face-to-face with him. There is no reason to lose your temper, right?

You lean back on the wooden chair in front of the bar counter, waiting  for a drink from Hooligan, who is busy concocting drinks for other customers. The contemporary music playing softly through the red curtains on the opposite side helps set the lively and relaxed atmosphere. You let yourself unwind a bit, until a customer sitting nearby turns and greets you in a friendly manner.

"Oh! It's Raphael's favorite misadventurer, aren't you?"

Although you intended not to pay attention to Raphael entirely, you reluctantly acknowledge that his name always manages to catch your interest. Glancing at the person beside you distrustfully, you notice she is a Halfling woman. She holds a large glass of beer in her hand and offers a friendly smile that seems more genuine than hostile. Despite the dark eyes that seem to harbor a hint of mischief, you observe her staff and expensive robes, making a guess that she might be either a witch or a warlock. Yet you're more convinced she's a warlock since she seems to know Raphael well.

"You've put me out of pocket, you know. Raphael bet me five soul coins you'd reach the city in one piece," the petite woman continued, unfazed by your silence and indifferent to your skeptical gaze that turned back to her. "He rented a room upstairs, in the hope that you'd drop by."

"First things first, who are you exactly?"

Finally, you asked what you had been wondering. You had only just met her here today. It was strange that she conversed with you as if you were old acquaintances. This made you even more suspicious because you knew she was connected with Raphael, and Raphael's people were never trustworthy to you. You thought so while touching the sword strapped to your side, ready to fight if necessary.

"Ah, I forgot we've never met. I've had my eyes and ears on you so long, we feel like old friends."

She glanced at your hand gripping the sword hilt and sighed slowly, almost mockingly, before extending her hand towards you.

"Korilla is my name. I'm Raphael's....assistant, shall we say."

You cursed Raphael inwardly. This was the reason he often appeared to you at inconvenient times. He had eyes and ears around you all along, sending people like Korilla to follow you everywhere.

Once, you wondered and even asked him directly if he was intentionally following you. But the devil just laughed and accused you of flattering yourself.

Raphael was quite a tricky devil, able to deceive you like this.

"Sorry, but I don't think I have any business with your master," you replied firmly, refusing even to shake hands with Korilla as a gesture of courtesy.

Korilla didn't take offense at your discourteous actions. Instead, she seemed to empathize with you a little, judging from your whacked expression. She knew you had been through a lot before getting in here. Watching you under Raphael's orders for a long time made her know everything about you, almost as much as she knew about her own master.

Raphael liked you a lot. Korilla knew that well, even though he never said it. and she herself liked you just as much.

"Take your time—have a drink, sample the good. Go see him when you're feeling refreshed."

The halfling warlock spoke before getting up from her seat and walking away. With just a blink of an eye, she disappeared as if she had never been here before, leaving only a faint scent of sulfuric acid, a trademark of the devils swirling beneath your nose, along with bits of hellish ashes scattered on the floor.

You are wondering why she was so confident that you would encounter Raphael.

Overthinking was futile. You brushed away the doubts from your mind and returned to the bar once again. Hooligan sent a business smile similar to Amira's as she placed the polished aluminum glass on the clean wooden table. She was a tall, masculine woman with short hair. You noticed the rough, scared hands, which definitely didn’t come from just poring drinks but from many tales of the battles. You know she’s just like you, or perhaps used to be like you.

"Miss, may I recommend a new drink for you?" Hooligan said as she reached for the ale pitcher nearby and poured it into the glass set in front of you until the thick foam almost spilled over. "My new drink is sure to knock you off your feet."

The rich, dark brown beer exuded a sweet aroma, tantalizing your taste buds. You raised your head to look at Hooligan, considering her offer thoughtfully "Sounds intriguing. How exactly does it knock one off my feet?"

"Oh, I couldn't tell you that! It's not that it's a secret, but I don't even know exactly how it'll turn out. Exciting, isn't it?" Hooligan winked, looking at you scrutinizingly "It might make you stronger, more alert, improve your palate, or knock you out completely. You won't know until its first drop hits your tongue."

You know both of your downsides very well: one - you don't like being challenged, and two - you're not hesitant to try new things, even if they might not sit well with your stomach (like eating glowing mushrooms from the Underdark that gave you a three-day bout of diarrhea).

You didn't take long to think before raising the glass to your lips and saying, 'I'll give it a try.'

'Oh, and don't blame me if there are side effects, like fingers turning into tentacles or your tongue becoming a piece of wood,' the bartender warned you at the end, but it was too late. You had already swallowed the liquid smoothly down your throat.

And you had no idea whatsoever about the side effects... much worse than what Hooligan had cautioned you about.

Everything was just too much. Too much.

You're not sure if this is drunkenness or not. But within seconds, the heat starts rising, scorching from the tip of your tongue down to your gut. Your face flushes with a deep red, and dizziness clouds your mind as if you've downed five glasses instead of just one.

Suddenly, every nerve feels strangely awakened, and emotions are overwhelming and difficult to control. Your senses expand to encompass everything within Sharess' Caress, whether it's taste, smell, sound, or even the pulsating veins beneath your skin.

And right then, you feel the sharp gaze piercing directly toward you, from somewhere neither near nor far.

You lift your gaze to the second floor of the brothel, peering through the oakwood ceiling. While the eyes of ordinary humans like yours couldn't penetrate beyond, you sense there's someone up there, someone with enough ability to observe you from a distance stealthily.

Raphael

For a moment, you recall Korilla's words from earlier

"Take your time—have a drink, sample the good. Go see him when you're feeling refreshed."

Perhaps it's the effect of the drink that makes you feel so invigorated, almost recklessly bold, mixed with a touch of annoyance since you learned you've been watched by the Devil himself from the start.

Suddenly, you feel the urge to tease Raphael.  It's not that you've never teased Raphael before, but this time, the alcohol coursing through your veins seems to be a significant factor in stimulating your mind.

Just the thought of seeing Raphael frustrated lifts your mood instantly.

Without hesitation, you rise to your feet, flexing your muscles slightly before relaxing them.  You do not forget to leave two gold coins for Hooligan as payment for the ale. Then you stride confidently towards the staircase, adorned with red carpeting. Prepare yourself for the confrontation that is bound to happen very soon.

Devil’s Dan

You read the name of the room with a small chuckle. You had thought it would take longer to find Raphael's room, but the letters inscribed on the prominent wooden sign next to the door immediately caught your eye. It was as if the Devil himself was shouting at you, saying, ‘I'm here!’

Korilla wasn't lying when she said her master was eagerly waiting to meet you. Raphael did everything to reveal to you that he was here.

You pushed open the large wooden door and stepped inside. The scent of incense and faint sulphur greeted your nose.

"Well, well, Little Mouse finally emerges from its hole. I thought you wouldn't dare to face me."

Raphael's soft voice echoed before you could see him.  You turned towards the sound and met the gaze of the familiar and handsome dark-skinned man in a sleek, red-lined noble's attire. From head to toe, he exuded refinement. He sat in a luxurious chair at the center of the room, with papers, ink bottles, wine glasses, and an unfinished chessboard on the table before him. His arms rested on the armrests, fingers interlaced in front of him. His gestures were graceful and confident, yet subtly commanding.

However, you couldn't deny that Raphael in human form was remarkably beautiful. He seemed more like an Aasimar than a Cambion.

Yet, a devil is a devil through, no matter what. His beautiful appearance is crafted to lure human souls, including yours.

However, you remained the only person who didn't fall into Raphael's tempting trap.

For Raphael, you were fundamentally different from the many mortals of Faerûn. Whether in centuries or millennia, you remained steadfast and never bowed your head to anyone, not even to a god or devil like him. You were stubborn yet willing to compromise, threaten, and negotiate when necessary, choosing to handle everything through diplomacy rather than force. And you did it all with remarkable finesse.

He still remembered the time when Astarion, the white-haired High Elf vampire who was your team companion, came to plead with him to help read the symbols carved on his back by his old master's hand. But because devils never helped anyone for free, Raphael offered to kill Yurgir, one of the Orthons who had escaped from him, as an exchange.  You were reluctant to agree with him, but you accepted to help your friend without realizing it was a suicide mission.

Yurgir was a fiend adept at slaughtering, one of the formidable of hell. Many brave souls had agreed to deal with Raphael to kill this fiend, exchanging fame, gold, and impossible desires—but none had ever succeeded.

Until you. You were the only one who succeeded effortlessly, using only your persuasive skills and wit to deceive the foolish Fiend into killing himself and staying in hell under his power once again. Fulfilling the pact beautifully and seamlessly.

That was just one of his impressions from many stories of yours that Raphael closely monitored, initially hoping to see your failures. Instead, you always left him fascinated with every feat you accomplished. Eventually, your name—a mere human—had been deeply engraved in his mind.

It's been a long time since Raphael has enjoyed anyone's company as much as yours. And it's difficult for him to let a little mouse like you slip away from his claws.

Surprise flashed on the devil lord's face as you walked in to see him so casually, without provocation or fleeing as usual. You sank into the chair opposite, crossed your arms, and looked at him with a strange smile before bursting into laughter, which only fueled Raphael's curiosity even more.

"What's so funny?" he asked impatiently when you still didn't speak.

"Nothing really," you shrugged, still chuckling, "I just didn't expect you to do something like this."

You stopped speaking intentionally, leaving the devil more curious than before. You always knew how to tease and surprise Raphael, making it a small, subtle entertainment between you and him.

"Amira said this place has new upper-level prostitutes, a handsome devil," you added mischievously.

You lowered your eyes in a gleefully mood when you saw Raphael's expression change immediately as you spoke. 

You didn't make up the story yourself; Amira told you so. It seemed the madam misunderstood severely, thinking that trading human souls was equivalent to trading sexual services. Also, Raphael hadn't revealed his true status to her because he didn't pay attention to lowly humans. So, in Amira's eyes, this devil was just one of the temporary prostitutes here for some sinful indulgence.

The grandiose ruler of the Nine Hells had turned into nothing more than a whore in Baldur's Gate. Isn't that funny?

"Amira said you have so many guests. I'm curious how much those people have to pay to fuck a grand devil like you." 

You paused abruptly. The seemingly comfortable afternoon air suddenly turned heavy, suffocating, and oppressive—as if you were just a tiny ant ready to be crushed underfoot at any moment. You trembled, feeling both cold and feverish, sweating profusely all over your skin. It felt like the scorching flames of hell were passing through your body rapidly.

You swallowed hard, struggled, and started to regret what you just said. It seemed like you might have gone too far because Raphael, who always enjoyed teasing you, chose to remain silent—ominously quiet.

You thought he was angry. Surely, he must be angry. Yet why did the one who should be angry crack such a strange and untrustworthy smile like that?

The hairs on your neck stood as the devil leaned closer. In the blink of an eye, the human form transformed into a full-fledged devil. Dark red skin returned to its fiery origin. Wide, menacing wings spread a threat. The devil's smile remained. He grasped your chin with sharp, clawed fingers, pressing hard enough to hurt but not enough to draw blood.

The yellow, fiery eyes gleamed vividly, refusing to look away. Flames flickered within those dual orbs, said to resemble venomous snakes, representatives of sin and vice. But Raphael was more than that. You thought he could drag you to hell with just a glance.

"Of course, my worth is quite high," he said, his voice both silky and dangerous. "But since you, little mouse, dare to ask,. I'll offer you a special discount just for you."

Before you could retort, every word was swallowed by the devil's lips, engulfed by the Lord of Hell's mouth as if claimed dominantly. Your breath is taken away and replaced by a strange new taste, burning like flames ignited by a matchstick.  arousing sensations of arousal from head to toe.

Your eyes widen, and your breathing quickens in sync with your heartbeat. You know this isn't right. Raphael is the devil, the person you should flee from the most. But your body responds in contradiction. The effects of the alcohol persist, and you're too weak to resist, even though you can't admit to yourself that you're content with this kiss.

The moment lingers, almost eternal, as the devil hopes to extinguish mortal life with the touch of his lips.

Finally, Raphael withdraws his lips, allowing you to catch your breath once more. His long nails still grasp your chin, studying the woman before him; your flushed face is now even more red and radiant than before.

"Little mouse, so impolite and uncouth. How fortunate you are to still be my favorite. If it were someone else, they wouldn't have a tongue or mouth to speak so freely like this again." Raphael smirked, trailing light kisses along the edge of your lips to your earlobe. Normally, he couldn't read your mind at all, but this time, it's as easy as reading the morning newspaper—Everything you think or feel at this moment.

Certainly, beer plays a part, but other components are just as important.

From the missing prostitutes to the mysterious priest murder and the toy bomb case, the evil deeds of humans are all connected to the devil, more or less.

And everything leads you here, falling into his hands.

You are overly confident. You always think you're the one in control of the game. But that's your mistake. No matter how hard you struggle, you're just a little mouse, dancing and following his plan. And he always enjoys the game of chasing mice with you.

"Why are you so quiet, little mouse? has the cat got your tongue?" Raphael teased you. when you, who have been skilled in provocation, keep silent. He found it somewhat amusing to see you trying to maintain self-control, as well as the little remaining dignity in you, even if it failed utterly.

Your breath stuck, and Raphael's touch felt like a paralyzing ray spell. You wanted to argue, to refute, to draw your sword against him, but you knew you couldn't. Every cause and effect had stopped working in your mind when you fell under the gaze of those yellow eyes, and his nails still lingered on your face.

You've been in dangerous situations many times before, and you know that what's happening right now is no less dangerous than escaping from the goblin camp or facing the God of Death. But what sets it apart from everything else is that you don't feel scared or angry, but rather, you feel the excitement coursing through every corner of your body as his hands explore, pushing beyond the boundaries that you and he usually tease each other with. It awakens something that you've tried to suppress all along.

For whatever reason, both he and you know well enough that he wants you just as much as you want him, especially at this moment—right now.

Playing with Raphael is like playing with fire. You know it deep in your heart. When he pulls you close with his tail, the curve of his lips forms a wicked smile. and those intense eyes of his gleaming with desire, resembling the fiery hell that attracts the lost souls towards him like moths.

With just a flick of his finger, Raphael can easily manage to unravel your armor. He's done it before with Astarian, mocking and revealing the marks from hell on the vampire's back.

But it's too easy for him, and the Devil Lord doesn't fancy anything that comes too easily. You know him as well as he knows you.

Each of Raphael's hands undoes some part of the armor, graceful and flexible, like the way he handles his luxurious cloak. The sound of metal hitting the wooden floor momentarily brings back the remaining shreds of sanity. Part of you wants to test Raphael like you tested Halsin—the archdruid from Emerald Grove who charm you. You just want to see how far it will go and where it will stop.

But it turns out that you are testing your own patience.

You bite your lip unknowingly as Raphael's finger moves up to your bare thigh. You want to reject him, to feel disgusted at the touch, but every part of you is calling out to him. You realize that being with him every second makes you feel like you're floating in the middle of a dark, endless ocean with no way forward and no idea where to stop. In the end, you'll probably succumb to drowning, for sure.

"I think I should ask Amira for a refund," you say, hating how hollow your voice sounds. "You're more drab than the drow twins downstairs." You didn't intend to utter the final sentence, knowing that you're at a disadvantage now to challenge him. But it's hard to resist, given the old habit between you and him of always looking for ways to annoy each other.

"Is that so?" Raphael chuckled softly, always admiring your boldness in every situation, even now. "No refunds unless you've already experienced the service."

You were about to retort, but the chance to argue was abruptly shut down when the devil's finger slid inside of you, teasing your clit so skillfully that you had to raise your hand to cover your mouth. Yet, you couldn't quite muffle the soft, moaning sound. Raphael responded to your expression with another laugh, leaning forward to plant a kiss on your smooth neck. His two fingers did a good job of continuously stoking your emotions.

The changes in your facial expressions and the huskiness in your voice as his finger part your fold and glide against your slick.  provided more entertainment for Raphael than any other time you and he faced off.

The heat enveloped your entire body. You could barely feel anything except the sinful delight and the hot breath beside your ear. Raphael's lips traced along your flushed skin, leaving marks everywhere. You couldn't stop the soft moans escaping through your parted lips anymore. Your mind is driven by escalating desires.

"Judging by the moans, I'd consider it a compliment," Raphael teased, seizing the opportunity to mock you. His hand pressed against your back, drawing your body closer to his. He enjoyed watching your contorted face with delight while his fingertips brushed against wet lips between your legs

He knows you're on the edge. and the devil never misses the opportunity to tease his favorite little mouse. Raphael abruptly stopped all actions, flashing a smirk at your frustrated expression and the lingering arousal he had induced.

"Raphael!"

You hissed at him, while Raphael remained feignedly indifferent. His claws dragged slowly over every curve of your body, leaving marks all over your skin, intentionally marking his ownership. It incited your desires slowly and ruthlessly. You knew he wanted to provoke you, but your mind was too empty to retort or even to curse back.

"I want to hear you beg me."

Raphael held your chin, forcing your gaze to meet his. Both authoritative and arrogant, you've always detested the way his voice held power, but now it sent tremors through your body. Emotions surged, nearly overwhelming you. You closed your eyes briefly, feeling embarrassed, wanting to disappear and be unnoticed.

Your voice is trembling desperately with every word that falls from your lips. "I need more," You whimpered. "Please, Raphael."

In the blink of an eye, before you could even react, you realized your role had been flipped beneath Raphael's frame. On the soft silk-covered bed, his arms became bars that caged you tightly. His rough lips aggressively bruise your lips with a taste of intense heat and the sting of expensive wine, intoxicating you more than Hooligan's ale.

"I have a new proposal for you," Raphael whispered, his lips linger at your ears. "I'll make you remember today forever. I will fuck you in a way no one in Faerûn has ever made you feel."

The hot breath brushed against your ear, sending shivers down your spine. "And in exchange for the extraordinary experience I'll give you after this, you'll belong to me and me alone."

‘It's unfair’. You gritted your teeth, suppressing the urge with boiling emotions. "You're so evil," you cussed, certain that he intended to torment you cruelly. with such an inequitable proposition, while you were closer to the edge

He wouldn't explicitly force you, but he wouldn't give you the chance to reject it either. Just like a true devil who seeks maximum benefit for himself in every situation.

"Of course, I am very evil." Raphael smiled, gladly accepting your compliment. "You should understand this is a privilege for you. Just know how honored you are that I lower myself to fuck you."

Raphael never let go of his haughtiness, even when it came to sex. Both Incubus and succubus knew well that Raphael never played the role of giving to anyone; he's only indulging in the pleasures offered by others. It wasn't his duty to bestow sexual pleasure on those inferior to him.

But with you, it was entirely different. From every devil he had ever shared a bed with, the moment you pleaded with him with a soft, desperate voice, and with tears of pure joy pooling in those beautiful eyes, Raphael immediately realized that this was the moment he had been waiting for.

He enjoyed excessively the fact that he could make you cry out and beg him desperately. It pleased him immensely to show you how much he could make you submit to him.

Greed is one of the sins and the essence of every devil. Spending time with you has awakened Raphael's greed without you even realizing it. He knows well that he wants more than this and even more. He won't stop until you - both body and soul - become his completely.

"Make it worth my while, and I'll consider the offer again." 

Your response widened the devil's smile. His intimidating golden eyes gleamed with a terrifying allure. "Challenge accepted."

There was no warning, as the mere chance to tease you was what Raphael enjoyed the most. He grabs your hips, pulls you close, and inserts his swollen tip into your entrance in one swift motion. The devil chuckled softly at your stunned expression, followed by a faint curse, until there was just a moan as he began moving slowly and heavily.

The rough touch of the devil's skin clashed with the softness of your thighs, repeatedly and rhythmically. Every movement accentuated the spot of ecstasy that made you groan louder. It filled you with an unexpected pleasure that you never imagined feeling. Raphael didn't exaggerate when he said he would fuck you in a way that no one in Faerûn could. He knew exactly what to do to make you feel so good that there was no way to forget this day. And it seemed like he was enjoying himself as well. Raphael breathed heavily, lingering at your hips, his girth slowly stretched your slick silky wall, embracing his length perfectly, as if it were made for him—for him alone.

"My little mouse... do you still want to say that I'm more boring than these prostitutes here?" Raphael didn't hesitate to mock you, alluding to your previous insults.  making you want to claw at his smug face or slap his arrogant mouth, but all you could do was tightly grip the bedsheet to vent the tingling that he relentlessly injected into you. Your helpless state seemed to please him so much. When you felt his cock inside you trembling and expanding slightly more, causing your legs to tremble when he slammed deeper into you

Seeing you overwhelmed by the taste of pleasure he gave you, Raphael felt even more delighted. His lips moved down to your neck, kissing and biting the skin aggressively, causing you to flinch with pain. But it also ignited your arousal. Excitement flowed through your core as Raphael continued to nibble on your neck. with each thrust into the tight, warm of your walls.

That's not enough for him. His fingers run up your legs, climbing up until they reach your chest. He squeezes the soft, pliant breast with full force. leaving bruises that you're sure will be evident the next morning. Yet, you don't protest. Deep down, you enjoy what he does, especially when Raphael's fingers tease your tits, increasing your arousal almost to madness. As his thick hips press against you, driving you nearly breathless with the overwhelming pleasure.

"Do you like it? Little mouse," Raphael asks, though he knows full well you're not in a state to converse anymore at this point.

Your arms cling tightly to his broad shoulders, gasping with the overwhelming feeling flooding your senses.  His forceful push makes your head spin, almost causing you to lose consciousness at every moment. Raphael's thrust becomes more intense, as if he knows you're about to reach climax, tempting you to scream again. However, Raphael's lips cut in before you could, slipping his tongue into your mouth, tasting you with a messy, tantalizing kiss and a feeling of odd intimacy.

With the final thrust, the whole world in your sight changes. Your vision blurs, lost in the mist of pleasure. You feel like you're being consumed by Raphael's touch, which expands to encompass every inch of you, inside and out.

Your nails dig into his broad shoulders. Your body trembles uncontrollably. A growl escapes Raphael's throat as he buries himself deep inside you, releasing white hot seeds of ecstasy, fulfilling and scorching your stomach, melting you until you can hardly resist, and succumbing under the complete embrace of the devil's sin.

Raphael doesn't miss watching you during this time. As your flushed face twists with lust, your rapid, ragged breaths cling to the lingering joy. Sweat covers your skin, making you shimmer and impressive. also seem so fragile and vulnerable. So fragile that he's sure he could crush you with just one finger.

But he won't do that.

Raphael muses to himself before easing himself beside you, pulling you into his arm. He finds some satisfaction in the fact that he can make you speechless for a moment. But he secretly misses the sound of your annoying voice as well

"It's time for our pact, isn't it?" 

Your brow furrows slightly as you look at the devil beside you, who has reverted to his human form. This is when your consciousness begins to settle in again, along with your resentment towards Raphael. You can't help but berate yourself. You've always thought making a deal with the devil was foolish, but fucking the devil you despise is even more foolish. 

And what's worse is that you don't even feel a bit of regret for what's happening.

"If being yours means I have to serve you and go out to kill someone for you, then I won't do it."

Raphael is almost laughing at your response. Despite being unarmed and vulnerable, you haven't lost your confidence, not even a little. That's why he finds you more impressive than any mortal. Because you always manage to make him intrigued.

"This isn't about your mission or mine," Raphael said, tracing his thumb along your lower lip before pressing a slow and lingering kiss to the corner of your mouth. "I just want to make sure we have these special moments like this more often, that's all."

One thing you learned about devils after encountering Raphael is that they always speak the truth, but never all of it. 

You lock eyes with Raphael in his full human guise. Though there's a hint of playfulness in some of his words, you can discern the seriousness and darkness lurking beneath the veiled sentences. Though you are not entirely sure what he wants from you, you sense that he anticipates your answers more than usual.

You don't have much choice because the heroes never go back on their words. And even though you're reluctant to admit it, deep down, you too desire moments like these again.

You nod unwillingly. Your reluctant expression makes Raphael smile broadly. Your small defeats bring him greater satisfaction. Although he knows you're too stubborn and too tough to easily succumb to him, and he knows even that you'll find a way to get back at him painfully later, for sure.

But that's why he's always been infatuated with you. Your conflict with him is part of the game you've been playing all along. It's the only amusement he'll never find from anyone, except in you.

And so begins the game of cat and mouse anew between him and you. A game with no losers or winners. But this time, Raphael is confident that it will be his. whether the game or you.

Because a pact is a pact, and he'll make sure you become his most prized possession, locked within the house of hopes, you will be his trophy that no one in Faerûn can admire except him.