#wait i lied. THREE branches

[fisheito]

im takin those

@fisheito is partially to blame for this one

[wholoveseggs]

Dark Star {Part One}

18+ ---- {Masterlist} {Tag-List}

Part One

{Elijah Mikaelson x f!Reader} Bound by love that defies centuries, Elijah Mikaelson will do whatever it takes to resurrect his lost wife. Even if it means forsaking everything he believes in. Once the north star guiding his family, his shattered heart now leads him down a darker path, transforming him into a version beyond redemption. A damned soul, drawing his family into an abyss they may never escape.

♡♡ Hello my lovely followers! This will be a six part series inspired by @njeancastro316 post about red door Elijah (Girl, I've been writing this non-stop since you tagged me! thank you for the inspo). I really put my whole heart into this one, {I even made a playlist to capture the vibes} exploring the depths of Elijah's character and his struggle between love and darkness. Enjoy! && expect pain... ♡♡

6.8k words - Warnings: angst, angst and more angst, grief, heartbreak, intense violence, red door Elijah, emotional turmoil, so much Mikaelson family drama {the whole gang is here && some faves from Mystic Falls will show up later}, No smut in this part, but prepare for plenty of darkness... oh! && croissants...

{Part Two}{Part Three}{Part Four}{Part Five}{Part Six}

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@myanmy @xflowerbombxo @maryvibess @always-and-forever-daydreaming

@spnaquakindgdom @amournoir @meeom @damienmorton @wickedmuse

@cs-please @complicatedandconfusing-25 @youcanhavemybuckanyday @akala6670229 @yeaiamme2

@itsjulzandmydiamonds @witch-of-letters @elijahstwink @rosecentury

@amanda08319 @starshipcookie @li-da-savage @veggie-eggrolls @spideybv28

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@loving-and-dreaming @fancycassie-stayfancy @hcqwxrtss123 @iamawkwardandshy @ziayamikaelson

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@xoxo-shy @nova-j @decaffeinatedparadisepost @fandom-princess-forevermore

Prologue ~ Europe 13th Century

"This way!" A boy laughed as he darted beneath a low-hanging branch. Behind him, a small girl hurried along, lifting her skirt to keep up, her breath catching in short gasps.

"Slow down! Wait for me!" she called, tripping over roots and brambles in her haste. "I can't run as fast as you!"

The boy glanced back, grinning. "Then hurry, will you."

"We ought to be home by now." She replied, frowning.

"We are almost there," he replied, leaping over a fallen branch before turning to face her, eyes gleaming. "We can get home quicker through the woods."

"I don’t like it," she murmured, clutching her skirt tighter. Shadows crept over the path as the sun sank lower, casting an orange glow through the dense branches. "The hour grows late."

The boy shook his head, catching her hand with a reassuring squeeze. "We’ll be fine. It’s only a short way."

Reluctantly, she nodded, holding onto him. "If anything ill should happen, I’ll tell Mother."

He only laughed, tugging her down the narrow path. "If something ill happens, you may not get the chance!"

Their laughter echoed in the stillness as they raced ahead. The trees grew taller, their branches clawing toward the darkening sky, while thick underbrush crowded the trail, rustling with each step. Yet the children, lost in their game, scarcely noticed, laughing and squealing as they chased one another.

Then, a sound, a subtle, almost a whisper, seeped through the quiet. The girl stopped, clutching the boy’s arm. “Did you hear that?”

“What is it?”

“Shh,” she hissed, pulling him closer, her wide eyes searching the shadows. "Listen."

They stood in silence, the air heavy and still, broken only by their own quickening breaths.

“It’s nothing. Perhaps a deer-”

“No, it’s more than that,” she whispered. Somewhere ahead, faint and distant, came the flicker of firelight. And with it, laughter. Wild and strange.

“What is that?” the boy asked, his voice barely a breath.

“Quiet,” she said, creeping forward, pulling him toward the light.

They peered out from behind a tree, breath catching at the sight before them. A great fire blazed, roaring into the sky as shadows twisted around it. Two figures danced wildly around the flames, naked, their skin smeared with red and ash. Their laughter, sharp and otherworldly, pierced the night air.

The girl’s scream barely escaped her lips before the boy’s hand clamped over her mouth, pulling her back. They stumbled, clutching one another, then turned and fled, racing down the trail as fast as their little legs would carry them, branches clawing at their clothes.

By the time they burst into the village, their faces were pale, their breaths ragged. Villagers gathered around as the children stumbled forward, pointing frantically toward the woods.

“Demons!” the girl gasped, clutching at the skirts of the nearest woman. “They’re out there! In the forest!”

There was a hushed sadness over the compound. The lights seemed to have dimmed, and the atmosphere hung heavy, cold and suffocating. It had been that way since the night Elijah found your lifeless body on the cold pavement. The night that changed everything.

Rebekah didn’t like it here anymore. Her home felt more like a tomb than a residence. It was too quiet, too full of memories and emotions too painful to confront. Her big brother was suffering, and there was nothing she could do to help him.

She found Klaus sitting in the courtyard, staring blankly at a chessboard. The pieces were scattered, mid-game, but his focus seemed to drift in and out. Normally, this contemplative silence from him made her nervous, but today she couldn’t muster the energy to care. The weight of everything was too much.

“Any news?” Rebekah asked, her voice barely a whisper.

Klaus didn’t move, didn’t speak at first. He shifted a chess piece absentmindedly and shrugged.

The sound of Marcel’s footsteps echoed through the stillness of the courtyard. She felt one of his warm hands rest gently on the small of her back, and she leaned into him, drawing comfort from his presence.

“I���ve been asking around. Only lead I have is that he’s somewhere in Europe,” Marcel said, his voice sounding hollow.

“Well, where in Europe?” Klaus finally spoke, his gaze never leaving the board.

“Don’t know. Haven’t pinpointed his exact location yet,” Marcel sighed. “But he’s been killing low-level Strix members, leaving bodies in his wake.”

Klaus scoffed softly, moving another piece on the board. “Keep looking,”

“You almost sound like you care,” Rebekah hissed, glaring at him.

“Don’t start with me, little sister,” Klaus warned, his voice low and sharp.

“Elijah has always been there for us,” she snapped, “And when he needs our help, where are you? Sitting here, playing chess with yourself.”

Klaus’s fist slammed down on the chessboard, sending the pieces flying across the table. He stood abruptly, stalking toward her, his eyes blazing. But Rebekah didn’t flinch, didn’t step back. She held his glare with her own, unrelenting.

“What do you want me to do?” Klaus roared, his voice cracking as his anger gave way to the grief simmering beneath. “Tell me, Rebekah. How do I fix this?”

“I want you to find him!” she screamed, tears stinging her eyes. “He’s our brother, Nik!”

Klaus’s shoulders slumped. His rage deflated, leaving him hollow. “I don’t know how to fix this, little sister,” he admitted quietly.

Marcel cleared his throat, stepping forward. “Maybe we should give him some time. Let him mourn her.”

“He’s not mourning, Marcel,” Klaus growled, clenching his jaw. “He’s murdering. He hasn’t even accepted that she’s dead.”

Rebekah and Marcel exchanged worried glances.

“We can’t just let him destroy himself,” Rebekah argued, her voice breaking. “Wherever he is, whoever crosses his path... they’re doomed. He’s out of control.”

“He’s changed,” Marcel muttered, rubbing his temple. “I’ve never seen him like this. So violent, so volatile.”

“That’s why I’m worried, Nik,” Rebekah said, her tone deadly serious. “If he’s not stopped, the Elijah we know will be gone. He will become a monster.”

Klaus looked down at the shattered chess pieces scattered across the table. “We are monsters, Rebekah,” he whispered, his voice raw.

“No, Nik,” she said, her voice trembling. “Not like this.”

Klaus remained silent for a moment, then lifted his gaze to meet hers. “Suppose someone took Marcellus from you. What would you do?”

“I would raze this earth and dance on the ashes,” she answered without hesitation, the fire of her love and loyalty burning bright in her eyes.

“That’s what he’s doing,” Klaus said darkly.

“Yes,” Rebekah agreed, “but Elijah would come for me. He would find me, and help me, keep me from losing myself. Now he’s the one who needs help.”

“How do we stop him?” Marcel asked, though his voice was laden with doubt.

Klaus shook his head slowly. “We don’t.”

“Nik…” Rebekah started, her voice pleading.

“We contain the damage,” Klaus cut her off, the steely resolve returning to his voice. “I’ll go to Europe. I’ll bring him back.”

Rebekah exhaled, relief flooding through her, and she pulled Klaus into a tight hug. She didn’t say anything, just held him as though her arms alone could keep the family from falling apart. He hugged her back, and for a moment, the cracks in their family seemed to close.

Marcel stood behind her, placing a hand on her shoulder and squeezing gently.

When she finally pulled away, Rebekah gave her brother a sad smile. “Be careful.”

Klaus nodded. “I will.”

His eyes flicked to Marcel, and the two men exchanged a knowing look. They both understood how dangerous this was. That if Elijah couldn’t be saved, they might lose him forever.

Or worse... they might have to put him down.

Two members of the Strix walked side by side, their steps echoing off the marble floors. One glanced around nervously, eyeing the high-tech security measures surrounding them, cameras in every corner, reinforced steel doors, layers of magical barriers.

"Is this really necessary? I can't stand being cooped up here. What's the point?" the taller vampire complained, his voice echoing through the empty corridor.

"Protocol," the other replied, his tone bored. "You know how paranoid Tristan can be. But I’m telling you, no one's getting in here. Not even him."

"I don’t get it. We had nothing to do with her death. Why are we hiding?"

"He doesn’t know that." The second vampire shook his head, his eyes flicking toward a monitor displaying multiple feeds from around the compound. “And he doesn’t seem to care about guilt or innocence anymore.”

They stopped at a reinforced door, pressing their palms to the scanners. As the heavy doors slid open, the two shared a final glance, the reality sinking in that even their supposed impenetrable defenses might not be enough.

They stepped into the dim room, illuminated only by the flickering light of the chandelier hanging above a long oak table. Strix members filled the chairs, their faces tense and uneasy. They had gathered in secret, far from prying eyes. Whispers of fear and uncertainty drifted across the room, but no one dared to speak above a murmur. The air was heavy with dread, and no one felt safe.

At the head of the table, Aya stood, her sharp gaze cutting through the room like a blade. She had always been the picture of composure, a pillar of strength, but now, her patience was thinning, her power waning, cracks in her armor where fear leaked through. Beside her, Tristan de Martel leaned casually in his chair, an amused smile playing on his lips, as if this was all a game to him. His eyes scanned the room, taking in the faces of his fellow Strix members, reveling in their discomfort.

“We all know why we’re here,” Aya began, her voice cold and steady, but there was an underlying tension to it, like a string about to snap. “Our ranks are thinning, and the reason is no secret.”

A murmur rippled through the room. Heads turned, glances were exchanged. They knew. Everyone knew.

“Elijah Mikaelson,” Tristan added, his voice smooth and casual, as if he were discussing the weather. His eyes gleamed with a cruel delight. “The noble brother has gone rogue. It seems the death of his beloved has… unraveled him.”

"That's an interesting way of putting it," one Strix member commented, his voice dripping with disdain. "He ripped apart fifty of my men, left a trail of bodies and witnesses, it took me days to cover it all up,"

"And how many vampires has he killed since then? Hundreds? Thousands?" another voice chimed in, sounding bitter.

"You're just scared," another vampire challenged, his tone mocking.

"Of course, we're scared. Do you know what he's capable of?" the first vampire hissed, baring his teeth.

"Silence," Aya ordered, her tone icy. The room fell quiet, the air crackling with tension. "We cannot defeat him, nor can we sit by and wait for him to tear us apart. He has lost his humanity, and it's clear that we must take action."

"We have already taken action and all it does is piss him off," the Strix member grumbled, "I have no interest in fighting a losing battle."

"You're a coward," Aya snarled, her eyes flashing with anger.

"What would you have us do?" another vampire spoke up, their voice strained, "We're no match for him."

"Perhaps we should consider a bargain," Tristan suggested, a sly smirk creeping across his lips. "Find the killer, deliver them to him, and save ourselves the trouble of being murdered."

The members murmured amongst themselves, some seeming open to the idea, while others still appeared wary.

"I cannot fathom why someone would be so foolish. Surely the person who did this knows the repercussions," a member said, a hint of fear in their voice.

Tristan's smile widened. "They were foolish indeed, and now they are the most hunted man, or woman, in the world,"

Aya's face was impassive, her mind racing. She had no doubt that Elijah would tear down the world to find his killer, and if the Strix didn't deliver them, he would do the same to their ranks. Tristan's indifference infuriated her. While he sat there with a smile, the Strix were suffering the consequences of his poor leadership.

A soft little cough pulled her from her thoughts, and she looked up to see a small girl standing at the other end of the table. She looked no older than twelve, with delicate features and wide, doe-like eyes. She looked lost, and this wasn't a place you could just wander into.

Other members noticed her presence and got to their feet, the scraping of chairs echoing off the walls. Aya narrowed her eyes, taking in the girl's appearance.

"Who are you?" Aya asked, her voice sharp.

The girl was clearly terrified, her hands shaking, and she looked like a deer caught in the headlights. Aya found it strange. She didn't sense the power of a witch coming off her, she was just a girl, and a very young one at that.

"I-I'm sorry," the girl stammered, her voice barely a whisper, "I don't know why I'm here. I just woke up here and now, I-I'm scared,"

"How did you get in here?" Aya questioned, her voice low and menacing.

"A nice man told me to come here," the girl mumbled, her eyes darting around the room, taking in the tense, hostile atmosphere. "He wanted me to talk to you."

Aya raised an eyebrow. "And why would he want that?"

The girl shrugged, her eyes brimming with tears. "I don't know, please, I just want to go home,"

"What did he look like?" Aya pressed, her voice growing louder.

"He had dark hair, and brown eyes," the girl sniffled, trying to hold back her sobs.

Tristan's jaw clenched, his eyes narrowing dangerously. The room was suddenly silent, the tension now unbearable. Aya stared at the girl, her face an unreadable mask, but inside, her mind was racing.

"What did he want you to say?" Aya asked, her voice quiet, dangerous.

The girl’s breath hitched, her words barely audible. "That... he will give all of you a slow death."

The temperature in the room plummeted, and a cold shiver ran down Aya’s spine. She struggled to hide her unease, but the implication was clear: Elijah had infiltrated their sanctuary.

"A-and that... if I can get in..." The girl gulped, her small voice quaking, "He can too."

The room fell into a suffocating silence as the weight of her words settled on the group. Tristan shot up from his chair, his face dark with fury.

��Lockdown procedures. Now.” Tristan barked, his voice commanding and harsh.

"What about the girl?" Aya asked, her eyes narrowing as she looked at the trembling child. Her instincts told her something wasn’t right.

"Kill her," Tristan spat, his voice cold and merciless. "She’s served her purpose."

The room erupted into chaos. Sirens blared as the compound went into immediate lockdown. The lights flickered, dimming to an eerie glow. The Strix moved quickly, vanishing into the shadows, their bodies blurring as they scattered, heading for safe rooms or exit points.

Aya hesitated for a moment, her gaze still fixed on the girl. She started toward her, but a voice in her head warned her against it. With one last glance, she turned and hurried toward the safe room.

The little girl stood trembling in the darkness, tears streaming down her face. The once-imposing vampires had fled, leaving her all alone in the icy silence.

"It's okay, sweetheart," a voice purred from the shadows, smooth and calming. The girl gasped, her heart racing as she felt a hand on her shoulder, firm yet oddly comforting.

She turned to see a tall man standing behind her, his dark hair framing his sharp features, his kind eyes watching her closely. "Run along now," he said softly, giving her a gentle push toward the door.

The girl nodded quickly, wiping her tears before scampering away, the door sliding shut behind her with a soft hiss.

Elijah watched her go, his kind smile fading as the room returned to darkness. His eyes glinted coldly, the warmth in them vanishing like smoke. Slowly, the veins beneath his eyes darkened, spreading like cracks in the surface of his calm exterior.

He was already inside.

As the sirens echoed, he vanished into the shadows once more, his presence like a gathering storm. And what followed this storm, was pure, unrelenting destruction.

The soft drone of a news broadcast drifted through an abandoned loft, dust floating through the air. The heavy velvet curtains were drawn, the room dark and shadowy, save for the light of a flickering TV. The anchor woman's face was somber, her voice solemn.

“Une tragédie a frappé Paris la nuit dernière... un incendie dévastateur a détruit un immeuble historique, laissant peu de traces de ce qui s’y trouvait. Les autorités locales confirment que l’origine du feu demeure inconnue, mais la rapidité à laquelle il s’est propagé soulève des questions.”

Subtitles scrolled across the bottom of the screen in English: "A tragic accident struck Paris last night... a devastating fire destroyed a historic building, leaving few traces of what was inside. Local authorities confirm that the cause of the fire is unknown, but the speed at which it spread raises questions."

The camera cut to images of the smoldering wreckage. Blackened stone, twisted metal, and fire trucks still spraying water over what little remained.

Elijah wasn't paying attention to the TV anymore; he had his head in his hands, hunched over in a chair, his body wracked with sobs. Bodies were strewn about the room, blood spattered on the walls and floors. A macabre painting of violence and rage. The sight of the lifeless forms weighed heavily on him, a chilling reminder of his own actions.

He didn't know how long he had been there, but it felt like an eternity. Each day blended into the next, the hours stretching into a meaningless void. Days would go by where he felt utterly detached, lost in a sea of grief and loss, and then the anger would return, awakening him to a new trail of bodies. There were so many, too many, and yet it wasn't enough.

“Les témoins affirment avoir vu des ombres avant que l’incendie n’éclate, mais aucune preuve tangible n’a été trouvée. Des sources proches de l’enquête évoquent une possible attaque ciblée, bien que les détails restent flous.”

"Witnesses reported seeing shadows before the fire broke out, but no physical evidence has been found. Sources close to the investigation say there may have been a targeted attack, though details remain unclear."

"You used a child? My love, what has become of you?"

Elijah didn't flinch, didn't react as he felt your arms wrap around his shoulders, your lips pressing a gentle kiss on his cheek. Your voice was soft, tinged with sadness and disappointment. He hated himself for it.

"She's fine," Elijah said, his voice strained, barely able to meet your gaze.

"You don't know that," you sighed, your hands moving to his chest, trying to soothe him. "And you know this isn't the way,"

"There is no other way," he replied, his voice cracking, desperation lacing his words.

"You used an innocent child, one not much older than Hope," you said, a hint of anger breaking through your sadness.

Elijah stiffened. He knew you were right. It didn't make what he did any better, and he felt his self-loathing increase tenfold.

"They killed you; I did what I had to," Elijah defended, but the words felt hollow, a pitiful excuse.

"This isn't the way," you repeated, your voice pleading, "and you don't know who did it, or why. This is all just a guess, a hunch."

He let out another quiet sob, then grabbed his glass of blood and threw it against the wall, the shards falling like crimson rain. He stared at the stain on the wall, watching the liquid trickle down, and he couldn't help but feel a sick sense of satisfaction.

"You have to stop," you whispered, appearing in front of him, your hand cupping his cheek, trying to pull him away from the dark, destructive spiral he was on.

"I can't," he said, his voice breaking, unable to look at you, this ghost haunting him.

"Please," you begged, your hand moving to his neck, gently stroking his skin, trying to comfort him. "I know this pain. It's agony, it's consuming, but I promise you, it will fade."

He pulled you onto his lap, his arms wrapping around you, holding you close, trying to breathe in your scent, to feel your warmth. But he couldn't. You were an echo, a phantom he couldn't grasp.

"You can't bring me back. You know that," you whispered, your voice barely audible, a soft, sad reminder.

He didn't respond, just held you, his fingers digging into your skin, his eyes closed tightly, fighting back tears. He had spent so many nights like this, crying himself to sleep, waking up to nothing, just an empty bed, a cold room, and a hollow, broken heart.

He opened his eyes and let out a gasp as he realized he was clinging to one of the dead bodies on the floor, the vampire's skin gray and decaying, the body long since gone cold.

Elijah released the body and staggered to his feet, his head swimming with despair and self-loathing. His pain and sorrow gave way to anger and frustration, fueling the urge to hurt, to destroy anything and anyone.

"Par ailleurs, une jeune fille a disparu après ne pas être rentrée chez elle. La jeune fille, qui aurait douze ans, a été vue pour la dernière fois dans la zone de l'incendie,"

"In other news, a young girl has gone missing after failing to return home. The girl, who is reported to be twelve years old, was last seen in the area of the fire..."

Elijah snapped, grabbing the TV and throwing it against the wall, the sound of shattering glass echoing through the room. His rage burned bright, a hot, white flame. His heart raced, his breathing ragged, his body shaking with fury.

He wanted to scream, he wanted to kill, but more than anything, he wanted you. He wanted to hold you, to feel your warmth, to hear your voice. He couldn't take it anymore; he was falling apart.

Klaus was never a big croissant fan; he preferred something heartier for breakfast. But here, in France, the flaky pastry seemed to taste infinitely better. Maybe it was the morning sunlight filtering through the café windows or the distant sounds of bustling streets.

He took a sip of his espresso, his eyes scanning the crowded café, absorbing the lively atmosphere. Freya sat across from him, her brow furrowed as she read a spell book, her expression thoughtful.

"Anything in there about wrangling wayward siblings?" Klaus teased, a wry grin playing on his lips.

Freya glanced up, a slight frown creasing her forehead. "That's more your area of expertise."

Klaus let out a huff of laughter. "Fair enough."

Freya’s expression softened, a small smile breaking through. "It will be okay. We'll find him."

Klaus nodded, biting into his croissant, the flakes melting in his mouth. The clatter of dishes and murmurs of conversation surrounded them, along with the distant strains of a busker playing a violin.

"Then what? I’ve never known what to say to him," Klaus said, a hint of sadness in his voice. "He’s always the one with the wise words, not me."

"Honesty is all we have," Freya replied, her tone gentle. "We tell him we miss him, that he’s our brother, and we want him home."

"And that we need to have a funeral, or at least a memorial. Hope is very confused about what happened to her aunt," Klaus added, his gaze drifting to the people walking by the window.

"We'll do it together, as a family," Freya reassured, reaching across the table to squeeze his hand. Her touch was gentle, a lifeline in the turmoil. "He needs to know we’re here for him."

"And if he doesn’t want to come back? What then?" Klaus asked, his voice heavy with concern.

"We will cross that bridge when we get to it." Freya pointed at the spell book, her expression brightening. "I’m looking into ways to calm his mind. Perhaps if he can control his rage, he can start to heal."

"I don’t wish to subdue him," Klaus said, frowning. "He deserves the right to his pain, to grieve in his own way."

Freya’s eyes widened, surprised by his response. It wouldn’t be the first time Klaus had tried to force Elijah or the rest of their family into doing things his way. Yet, despite his brashness, she knew Klaus was a man of deep, powerful emotions, capable of empathy.

"What?" Klaus asked, quirking an eyebrow at her.

"You’ve grown," Freya smiled. "It’s good to see."

"Don’t get used to it," Klaus quipped, taking another bite of his croissant and washing it down with a sip of his espresso. "I wish for us to go back to normal, where I’m the problem."

"You’ll never not be a problem, Nik," Freya grinned, a mischievous glint in her eyes.

"Rude," he scowled.

"But true," she sighed, returning to her book with a smile.

Klaus took another sip of his espresso, his gaze drifting to the TV hanging in the corner. A news broadcast caught his attention, the images of a fire flickering on the screen. He leaned forward, his expression sharpening as he listened intently.

"De nouvelles informations proviennent de l'enquête sur l'incendie du centre-ville de Paris. La police a désormais identifié plus de deux cents corps retrouvés sur les lieux, sans aucune indication pour l'instant du nombre de personnes portées disparues. Il semblerait que les victimes étaient toutes membres de une société privée de conservation d'œuvres d'art, possédant des participations dans plusieurs pays. Alors que les autorités enquêtent toujours sur la cause de l'incendie, il a été suggéré que l'incendie avait été allumé délibérément.”

"There is new information coming in from the investigation into the fire in downtown Paris. Police have now identified more than two hundred bodies recovered from the scene, with no indication yet of how many are still missing. It's believed the victims were all members of a private art curation company, with holdings in several countries. While authorities are still investigating the cause of the blaze, it's being suggested the fire was set deliberately."

Klaus’s stomach dropped, a familiar dread creeping in. The timing was too convenient, and this 'art curation company' sounded like a cover for a secret society. He gestured to the screen, espresso still in hand, splashing a few drops onto the table. "Looks like a place for us to visit, wouldn’t you say?"

Freya looked up, her brow furrowing. "Do you think Elijah has anything to do with it?"

"If this organization is the Strix -sorry, was the Strix- then absolutely," Klaus replied, a grim smile forming on his lips. "Perhaps they gave him the answers he was looking for. Answers we weren’t able to find."

"I can’t imagine it would have been a pleasant reunion," Freya sighed, shaking her head. "I can’t say I blame him."

Klaus’s smile faded. He had tried his best, searching for months through the ashes of Elijah’s rage. He had gone from city to city, country to country, even continent to continent. And now, as he stood on the brink of discovery, he couldn’t help but wonder what condition Elijah would be in when they finally found him.

"Well then, no point in wasting any more time," Klaus said, taking a final sip of his espresso.

Freya nodded, closing her book, quickly downing her coffee before stealing the last bite of Klaus’s croissant, earning a playful glare.

"Oi!" he growled, "I was going to eat that."

"Too slow, brother," she smirked.

Klaus rolled his eyes and stood, tossing a wad of cash on the table without bothering to count. The two of them hurried out, the waiter shaking his head as he picked up the money and Klaus's empty plate.

"Americans," he muttered under his breath.

The site of the fire was a blackened husk, the acrid smell of smoke still heavy in the air. Klaus and Freya walked along the sidewalk, watching the firefighters douse the smoldering remains with water. Distant sirens echoed, a haunting reminder of the chaos that had unfolded.

"Can't believe it's still burning," Klaus mused, a slight frown on his face.

"Must have been quite the inferno," Freya remarked, her expression thoughtful.

"Magic?" he asked, raising an eyebrow.

"No, I don't sense any," Freya said, shaking her head. "Whoever started it didn't use magic."

Klaus glanced at her, a smirk on his lips. "I thought you didn't think Elijah had anything to do with it?"

Freya shrugged. "Maybe he did, maybe he didn't."

Klaus wrinkled his nose, his keen sense of smell picking up the lingering scent of blood beneath all the ash and smoke. Human, vampire, a mix of the two. The fire had raged through the night, burning hot and fast, devouring everything in its path.

"I do sense death, though," Freya murmured, her brow furrowing, her expression darkening. "Lots of it."

"Well, I can't imagine there'll be much left for us to find, considering how thorough my brother is," Klaus muttered, his gaze roving over the ruined buildings, his stomach sinking.

"Why are you so sure it was him?" Freya asked, her eyes narrowing.

"Because I can smell his cologne, no1 passant guardant," Klaus replied, wrinkling his nose.

"Kinda weird that you can smell that, Nik," Freya smirked, giving him a sideways glance.

"I'm a hybrid, love; it's one of my many gifts," Klaus replied, his tone matter-of-fact.

Freya shook her head, a wry grin on her lips, suppressing a giggle as she watched her brother sniff the air, his eyes closed, his expression one of intense concentration.

"Could be someone else with the same taste in cologne; you never know," she teased, nudging him with her elbow.

"It’s very difficult to come by; only a handful of stores carry it," Klaus muttered, ignoring her teasing. "And... she bought it for him just before... you know."

"Ah," Freya's expression softened, her amusement replaced by a mix of sadness and understanding.

Klaus opened his eyes, his gaze sweeping over the destruction once more, the weight of grief settling on his shoulders. He missed you. Your laughter, your wit, the way you could put him in his place. He admired your loyalty, your strength, and how much you loved his brother.

"What are you thinking about?" Freya asked, her voice quiet and cautious.

"Our departed sister-in-law... the cause of all of this," Klaus said, a sad smile on his lips.

"You can't blame her, you know," Freya murmured, her eyes filled with understanding and sympathy. "I miss her too."

"It's hard to be reminded, is all," Klaus replied, a hint of pain in his voice.

Freya gave him a soft, sympathetic smile, her hand gently squeezing his shoulder. "You know... I never learned how they met," she said, trying to steer the conversation toward something less melancholy.

Klaus laughed, shaking his head. "Oh, it's quite a tale, and some parts I'm not privy to. But I can tell you that she was a novice in a convent," he began, a sparkle in his eye.

"A nun?!" Freya exclaimed, her eyebrows shooting up.

"Indeed, although she hadn't taken her vows," Klaus chuckled, amused by the surprised look on her face.

"So, what happened? How did they end up together?" Freya asked, intrigued.

"For all parties involved, it was quite a dramatic affair," Klaus continued, a wistful smile forming on his lips. "But we have more important things to focus on, don't you think?"

Freya sighed, rolling her eyes. "You're no fun."

Klaus let out a huff of laughter and returned to focusing on the scents around him, trying to find a trail, something that might lead him to his brother. He caught the faintest whiff of blood, the scent leading away from the fire, and deeper into the city.

"This way," he said, striding confidently down a street, away from the site of the fire.

Freya hurried to catch up, her long legs making short work of the distance, her boots clattering on the cobblestone streets.

"How can you be so sure?" Freya asked, falling in step beside him, her voice low and cautious.

"I just am," Klaus said, his tone brooking no argument. "That bloody cologne of his is everywhere. No one else has such atrocious taste in fragrances."

"Nik..." Freya cautioned, her tone warning, her gaze flickering to the passersby, making sure no one was eavesdropping. "We don't know what's waiting for us. We can't just charge in."

"I know; that's why you are going in first, my dear sister," Klaus smirked, a mischievous glint in his eyes.

"Nik," Freya protested, her expression indignant.

"Don't worry, I'll be right behind you," Klaus grinned, giving her a playful nudge as they rounded a corner.

The two of them came to a stop outside an old building, its stone façade crumbling, the windows boarded up. Klaus gestured for Freya to go in, and with a roll of her eyes, she did.

"This place is creepy," she muttered, her boots echoing on the cracked tile floor.

"There's blood, a lot of it," Klaus said, sniffing the air, his eyes closed, his body tensed. "Upstairs."

They made their way up an old spiral staircase, the steps creaking under their feet. They reached a landing; the hallway was dark and narrow.

"Down there," Klaus said, pointing at a closed door at the end of the hall.

Freya nodded and slowly approached the door, her senses alert, her magic tingling under her skin. It was eerily quiet; the silence weighed heavy in the air, pressing down on her.

She stopped at the door, her hand hovering over the handle. She looked back at Klaus, his expression calm and composed, but she could sense his nervousness, his apprehension.

"Ready?" she whispered.

Klaus gave her a curt nod. Freya took a deep breath and turned the handle, the door opening with a creak.

"Elijah?"

The two of them were met with the sight of a massacre: body parts strewn across the room, blood splattered on the walls.

Freya gasped and took a step back, Klaus's hand gripping her shoulder. His eyes roved over the carnage, landing on a lone figure in the middle of the room, standing motionless.

"Elijah," Klaus breathed.

His brother was wearing an old T-shirt and jeans, tattered and bloodstained, covered in dirt. His hair was matted and wild, his eyes haunted, the light dimmed within them.

Klaus and Freya stepped inside, careful not to slip on the blood, the floor sticky and wet. They approached Elijah slowly, his gaze fixed on the severed arm in his hand, his eyes dull and lifeless.

"Brother?" Klaus said, his voice barely above a whisper, his hand reaching out.

"You are not real," Elijah murmured, not taking his eyes off the limb, his expression vacant and distant.

"Elijah, we're here," Freya said gently. "It's time to come home."

"I won't be fooled again," Elijah hissed, his grip tightening on the severed arm.

Klaus took a tentative step forward, one arm stretched behind him to protect Freya, the other held out, placating and non-threatening. "We're not illusions, brother," he said softly, reassuringly.

"Freya," Elijah breathed, his head snapping up, his gaze finding hers.

"Yes, Elijah, it's me," she replied, giving him a gentle smile.

He blinked, his eyes flicking from her face to Klaus's, his brow furrowing. "Have you found a way to bring her back?"

Klaus and Freya exchanged glances, their expressions sad and resigned. It wasn't something Freya wanted to do... to tap into such dark magic. She had been searching for you on the other side but found no trace. She believed you had found peace, and to tear you away from that would be a cursed, evil thing, an affront to the balance between life and death.

"Elijah, there's no way, not without consequence," Klaus said, his tone firm, his eyes filled with regret. "We discussed this."

Elijah dropped the severed arm, his hands clenching into fists. "You're wrong. There is a way."

"Elijah," Freya began, but he cut her off.

"Bring her back," he demanded, his eyes burning with intensity.

"I can't," Freya said, her voice quiet and regretful. "I'm sorry, Elijah. She's gone; she's at rest."

"No, no, no," Elijah growled, his hands coming up to grip his hair, tugging at the roots, his chest heaving, eyes wild.

"Brother, she's in a better place," Klaus tried, his tone firm and reassuring. "I think it's time you come home... You need to let her go."

Elijah shook his head, his breathing ragged, his whole body trembling. "No, no, no," he chanted, his eyes darting around the room, looking for something.

"Elijah," Freya murmured, her brow furrowed, her expression concerned. "Please, come with us. She wouldn't want this for you."

"No, no, no!" he growled, his voice echoing off the blood-spattered walls, his face contorted in a mask of rage.

He grabbed a nearby table and threw it against the wall, the sound of splintering wood reverberating through the air.

"Bloody hell," Klaus growled, grabbing Freya and yanking her backward, shielding her with his body.

Elijah lunged at them, his fangs bared, a murderous look in his eyes. He tackled Klaus, sending them both crashing into the wall, the plaster cracking under the impact.

"Nik!" Freya exclaimed, her magic sparking at her fingertips.

"Elijah, you've gone mad," Klaus grunted, shoving him away, sending him careening across the room. "She's dead."

"Niklaus," Elijah growled, his body vibrating with anger, the haunted, hollow look in his eyes replaced by raw, unhinged rage. "Bring. Her. Back."

"We can't, and you know it," Klaus spat, his eyes flashing yellow, his face shifting into the hybrid’s feral features. "She's at peace, Elijah. We need to let her go."

"I won't, I can't," Elijah raged, his body trembling, his eyes filling with unshed tears that threatened to spill over. His voice broke. "How can you ask me to do that?"

Freya’s heart clenched at the sight of her brother unraveling, his usual restraint shattered. "Come home, please," Freya pleaded, her eyes welling with tears, her voice thick with desperation. "We can help you."

Elijah's chest heaved, his wild eyes shifting from Klaus to Freya, barely recognizing them. "Get out," he growled, the words vibrating through the bloodstained room. His gaze locked on Klaus, his voice turning into a vicious snarl. "GET OUT!"

Klaus stared at him for a moment, his expression conflicted. Freya watched him pull a silver dagger out of his pocket, the familiar glint of the cursed weapon that had subjugated their family time and time again. She hadn't even known he had brought one with him, and her heart clenched at the sight. She didn’t want this for either of them. But given Elijah's state, she knew it was necessary.

"I'm sorry, Elijah," Klaus said, his voice solemn. He rushed forward, his movements a blur, and before Elijah could react, he buried the blade in his brother’s chest. The gasp Elijah let out echoed in the empty, ravaged room. The look on his face was heartbreaking, a mixture of shock and pain. Klaus had to steel himself against the emotion threatening to overtake him, reminding himself it was for the best, for all of them.

"Rest now, brother," Klaus murmured, pulling him into a tight embrace, cradling his body as Elijah slumped, his strength leaving him. His big brother, the north star of the family, now lost to grief.

"I thought you didn't want to subdue him," Freya whispered, her voice shaky, her eyes wide with shock as she pressed a trembling hand against her mouth.

"It was a last resort," Klaus said, his voice thick with emotion, trying and failing to hide the crack in his composure. "I couldn't bear seeing him like this any longer. I didn't think... he would be so... unhinged."

"He's grieving," Freya said softly, her eyes filled with sympathy as she knelt beside them, brushing a hand through Elijah’s matted hair. "He loves her, Nik. Losing her... it's broken him."

"I know," Klaus muttered, his arms tightening around Elijah, holding him close as if he could protect him from the demons he was fighting inside. His voice cracked, and before he could stop it, a tear slipped down his cheek. Quickly, he wiped it away, trying to maintain his strength.

"Time to go home," Klaus said, his voice barely above a whisper, thick with sorrow. "For all of us."

Freya reached out, gently taking Elijah's limp hand in hers, squeezing it tight as they prepared to leave the nightmare behind. She hoped and prayed that Elijah could feel her love through the numbness, that somewhere, deep within the wreckage of his mind, he knew they would never give up on him.

That the battle to bring you back hadn’t been in vain. It had only just begun.

{Part Two}{Part Three}{Part Four}{Part Five}{Part Six}

[authorred]

Frostbitten | Li Shen/Zayne x reader | Love and Deepspace

➺ Preface: Taking a trip with Zayne up to the snowy mountains was something you were looking forward to. Spending time with him and taking a break from your busy schedules are what you both need. But halfway through your trip, the aether core in your heart acts up, and your weakened heart begins to give.

➺ I was inspired by the one scene in Zayne's branched route trailer where he runs up to MC and carries her when she collapses TEEHEEHEHEHEHEHEHEHEHEHEHE IT'S SO HOT SEEING MEN WORRY LIKE THAT HOOOYYY MMMMYYYYY GAAAWWWOOUUURRRDDDDDD

➺ Part 2

Warning(s): As angsty as I can make it. You almost die, good luck

As you step off of the train and onto the slightly snowy platform, you stretch your limbs and take in a deep breath. “Ah, finally,” you sigh in relief. “It’s no fun being cramped in a booth seat for three hours with nothing to do.”

Zayne comes up behind you wordlessly, carrying the few bags you brought with you on the trip. “Impatient as always,” he says. “Like a child.”

“I should’ve brought my laptop but I decided not to in the moment,” you sigh again. “I should’ve brought it for the actual travel time. Now I feel restless.”

“There’s plenty of things to do while we’re here,” Zayne assures. “It’s a small village, but I’m confident that you’ll find something that piques your interest. It’s rather easy to do.”

You roll your eyes and grab a bag from Zayne’s arm to help him. “Yeah, yeah, okay. I get it. I have the attention span of a goldfish.”

“Not quite a goldfish. Perhaps a small dog or a bird.”

You playfully shove him and his body follows through, stumbling a step or two away. You know he could’ve resisted a bit more, easily, but where’s the fun in that? “Shut up and let’s go already. We got a cabin waiting for us.” With that, you begin to stalk off in the direction of the station exit. Zayne doesn’t say anything and trails behind you like a shadow.

~

The cabin is much nicer than you originally thought. A cozy lounge, a small kitchen and dining area, and a loft upstairs with only one bed ;). There’s a nice fireplace in front of the small sofa with firewood already sat inside of it. It smells slightly of the outside trees, wood, and some hints of smoke.

“Oh, this is nice,” you say, placing your bags on the floor in the foyer. “Cozy and warm. I wonder if the kitchen is filled.”

“Just like you to be thinking of food.”

“It’s getting close to lunch—can you blame me?” You throw him a look over your shoulder before bouncing into the small, but homey kitchen. After inspecting all the cabinets and the small refrigerator you can see some left over nonperishables, bottles of water, pots and pans, and other miscellaneous items. “Mm, seems we’ll have to go into town if we want to actually eat food,” you say. “I’m glad it’s not that far from here.”

Zayne joins you in the kitchen and glances around. “It certainly is quaint,” he says. “Not bad.”

~

After an hour you and Zayne manage to make a small lunch just enough to tide you over. Afterwards you were planning to walk to the town store to buy more groceries for a proper dinner.

Halfway through your small lunch, you pause your eating. You take a moment, shifting and adjusting your body, rolling your shoulders out. You feel an uncomfortable feeling in your chest—as if the muscles are contracting. It’s a small point of discomfort but one you can’t ignore.

Zayne eyes you curiously, giving you a moment to assess whatever it is that’s wrong. After a few seconds of slight discomfort on your face he asks, “Are you alright?”

“Yeah,” you reply. “Just a weird feeling is all. Maybe I haven’t stretched enough. It feels like a cramp.”

“Where?”

“My chest.” You subconsciously rub where there’s pain, your fingers gently massaging into the skin above your heart. Immediately, Zayne’s face drops in concern.

“Do you have pain in your jaw or left arm? Do you feel tired? Nauseous?”

“What?” You blink at him. “No. It feels like a cramp. I probably didn’t stretch enough after my shift yesterday.”

Zayne doesn’t relax, though he takes your word for it. “I see,” he replies quietly. “Stretching after strenuous exercise is important in keeping muscles from straining or tearing. And to reduce soreness. Please make sure to do it whenever you can.”

You nod, the pain fading, but never disappearing. “I know. I will. After this I’ll do a few stretches and see if it helps.”

~

Despite your earlier complaint of having chest pain, you still insisted on taking a walk to the town store. Zayne was hesitant, preferring to do it himself or to make sure you’re okay. But your insistence won out, and now you two are traipsing down a beautiful snowy trail to the town.

“It’s so beautiful here,” you say. “Cold, but beautiful. Snowy mountains and terrain are always so picturesque.”

Zayne hums in agreement and looks around at the surrounding area before turning his head to look at you, who’s admiring the distant mountains. His gaze is uncharacteristically soft. “Some things truly are beautiful no matter what.”

You let out a chuckle and nod, still unaware of his eyes on you. “Yeah, it is.”

Halfway through your walk, you start to slow. You pause, taking a moment to breathe. It’s hard to breathe. Like you can’t catch your breath. Every time you attempt to take a deep inhale it’s like your body is stopping you. Dread wells up inside of you but youl try to calm yourself down. The pain in your chest that never fully stopped blooms again, and your face scrunches up in slight discomfort. You take a step back, attemping to collect yourself from the sudden slap of lightheadedness that just hit you.

Zayne stops a few feet away from you and turns, his face scrunching up in concern. “What’s wrong?”

“Zayne, I don’t feel good. . .” You start to stumble, and Zayne immediately strides over to you. You reach your hand out to which he grasps tightly. He cradles your cheek in his other hand and looks down at you. His eyes flit over your face, taking in your expression and current physical condition. Your complexion is completely off, and you’re on the verge of losing consciousness. Your vision is blurry and you can make out his face through the lightheaded haze. Your chest hurts a lot.

Without a word, Zayne picks you up bridal style and begins to march back to the cabin. His brows are furrowed in determination and worry, lips pressed in a thin line. He’s not dumb. He knows what it is—it’s your heart. Most likely cardiac arrest from all the issues you have regarding it. He needs to get you medical attention—immediately. If he doesn’t, then—

Zayne shakes his head, clearing it of any unnecessary thought. His focus is making sure you’re okay. His steps are driven forward with the single thought of keeping you alive; heavy and steady. The nearest hospital to the cabin is close to 40 minutes away. He prays to whatever god there is to keep you from death in that time.

“Zayne,” you rasp out, your vision beginning to grow bright and contrasting. “My heart hurts.”

“I know,” Zayne replies softly, walking up the wooden porch of the cabin. “Hang on. Everything will be okay.”

You don’t realize you fall unconscious until the sense of impending doom vanishes.

~

Everything that could go wrong did go wrong. The aether core in your heart destabilized and that caused your heart to give. Fluctuations of your evol forced your body to become unstable, and therefore unpredictable. Zayne managed to contact help but by the time it arrived your body was under so much stress from your heart growing weak, that it became borderline dangerous to perform any intervention on you.

Zayne is but a cardiologist. As brilliant as he is, this is not something within his realm. He knows about Protocore Syndrome and how it can affect the body and the cardiovascular system, but never before has it evolved in turning you into an unstable core yourself.

They had no choice but to intubate and isolate you. Specialists who had an idea of what’s going on said you very well could be a ticking time bomb (you can imagine how that went over with Zayne). Your body pulses and glows, following the veins in your flesh and circling around your heart like koi fish. It would be beautiful, if not for the fact you could possibly explode in a flux of evol so strong you could level the area.

Zayne watches from the observation mezzanine, his brows tightly knit together. He can feel his ice begin to spread across his neck and shoulders, the feeling a burning cold that forces him to look away from you. Taking a few deep breaths, he forces the ice to recede. It hurts. It always does. But he can’t help it. He can’t stop.

His eyes slowly slide back over to you. He knew he should’ve pushed you to take care of yourself more—or done it himself. Why didn’t he do it? Why do you never listen? He knew your heart wasn’t strong to begin with and yet you became a Hunter, go on dangerous missions, ignore instructions. . . something has to be wrong. There has to be a disconnect.

Is it him? Is he too cold? Too detached? If you die—

If you die. . . what then?

Zayne stands there for a moment before turning his head and walking from the observation window. He has a meeting to attend to; one that will decide on how to proceed with this issue. On how to care for you.

His Hunter will not die. Not under his care. Not while he’s alive.

[toon-tales]

Here it is! Part three! Omg, I'm so excited for this!

Let's begin!

Ok, so, I know a lot of people say that Poppy hasn't changed a lot in the third movie but let me stop you right there!

Here's our girl, our happy-go-lucky queen cutely dressed and if I may, waiting for her boyfriend to compliment her looks like he always does

But then she notices something is wrong

You can see in the third pic, she was thinking how to approach the matter, because this, after all, is her boyfriend's old home, where he used to live with his grandmother. And in the fourth pic, her brows are even more furrowed

And here, oh my gosh this scene:

Can we look at Poppy, PLEASE?!

She's paying her full attention to Branch. She wants him to talk, to open up to her. HER EYES ARE FILLED WITH HOPE SHE'S ENCOURAGING HIM TO TALK TO HER

Skip, skip, skip, skiiiiiip, annnndddd here:

"I'm not hearing no!"

Branch doesn't look sad, he doesn't look mad, he doesn't look scared, he doesn't look uncomfortable, and most importantly, he doesn't look forced

True, Poppy was all "We are so in!", but unlike in Twt, she actually listened to Branch when he wanted to talk to her, and Branch actually talked when something he didn't like was going on. Do you even see how much they've grown?

Now, Poppy knows how hard life is without a sibling, and she doesn't want her boyfriend to just take his family for granted. Her heart was in the right place, people

And Branch didn't say no! He didn't refuse! They talked, different opinions and different thoughts and different mindsets, yet they worked things out

And yeah, I know Branch was probably thinking 'what have I gotten myself into' in this scene

But the entire movie was just Branch having issues and dealing with them. And Poppy was trying to help him. Also, in case you haven't noticed, things do not work out the way Poppy has imagined, just like in Twt, but the difference? Later, she didn't leave Branch alone to go save Floyd, she went with him. Now, I hear you saying: she went because Branch didn't say anything to her, while they fought in Twt, that's why she left him

Wrong!

Let me remind you that Branch lied to her, kept things from her, kept his feelings from her, didn't open up, and literally was being sarcastic and you can see she was hurt in this scene

And they're in a new relationship which Branch is already beginning with hiding stuff, yet she put all that behind because -I'm not gonna say boyfriend - the man she loved, needed her. So, yeah. She's changed

Takes a deep breath

Now, let's move on, shall we?

I just wanted to point out how Poppy was looking at Branch when he was trying to yet again hide his feelings. She knows what's up

Moving on to this scene:

The way she's telling them to include Branch? The pure happiness and excitement on her face for him! PLEASE?! May I remind you that SHE WASN'T SINGING WITH THEM BUT WAS THIS HAPPY FOR BRANCH?!

Now, I've already talked about the scenes I'm going to talk about now in the analysis posts, but I'm gonna copy-paste them here because I don't want you people going to those posts, then return to this one and lose your focus and vibe

You have Branch, whose brothers' return has reopened scars he's been trying to close for so long, and has just found out his brother is being held captive, and is now in a rescue mission to save him and sing the perfect family harmony, the same thing that they failed miserably at the last time so they walked out and never talked to each other again, comforting his girlfriend. Poppy needed time, needed him, and he was ready to give her all the time she needed and stay with her. Proof? He didn't move until she has left first, ensuring she was ready to leave

Then we have Poppy, who has just found out her boyfriend has been hiding secrets from her, and watched as he reluctantly agreed to reunite with his brothers, and discovered she had a sister that she knew n o t h i n g about, and that this sister was so afraid to leave her safe place and go with her, deciding to go help Branch save his brother. She took one last glance at the walls separating her from Viva, then walked towards Rhonda, silently signaling she was ready to leave.

They were both dealing with stuff, needed time to open up/stay, yet each one thought of the other

Then this scene was SOMETHING ELSE-

"Where are you going?"

"To save Floyd, alone. I didn't need them growing up and I don't need them now." He didn't even look back when he said, "What are you doing?"

And the look of disbelief on her face. "What do you mean? I'm coming with you!"

He literally gave her a blind eye, didn't look at her. He didn't want to get weak. "Why bother? Aren't you gonna leave me eventually anyway?" He was certain. He didn't wait for any reassurances because he didn't want to hear any and live a lie again. "Everyone else does."

But despite that, Poppy did NOT give up on him

"I have been by your side from the moment we've met, and you've been by mine. Let's give each other some credit here."

'and you've been by mine' this wasn't about her, but about THEM. This line has so much depth and meaning for their relationship

"You're right, I'm sorry. Thank you."

He started with the apology because he knew what he just said was WRONG. He knew she wasn't leaving, they've always been there for each other. And I don't think he thanked her for coming, maybe for reminding him? I mean, that's Branch we're talking about, he would surely have thoughts and insecurities about people leaving him

But Poppy's always there to remind him that she's always there

His mission is her mission. She was willingly going for an insane rescue mission, and face people BRANCH HIMSELF didn't know anything about, all the while trying to deal with the separation between her and Viva. But she was going with him. Because that's just them

All they wanted was for the other to be happy

And in the end? It worked out just fine

So, to sum up this post, and the previous two: no, Branch isn't perfect like we claim, nor Poppy is, too. Hiding things? Sure, that happens. Lying? Happens as well. Disagreements? Oh, yeah, lots of those. But in the end of the day? They work things out

Branch is perfect for Poppy, and Poppy is perfect for Branch

That's just love, and it doesn't have to be perfect all the time

Sooooo, that's it? Omg that was fuuuun!

Anyway, as usual, feel free to add or comment on anything!

Part one

Part two

[mystverse]

♡ THOSE THREE DAYS : : 이 동혁 [LEE DONGHYUCK] | YOUR GALLERY

♡ 120322 - YOUR BIRTHDAY : : No, you didn't tell him that it was what you wanted but he knew it. How? Because, he listens as much as he speaks. He loves it when you tell him your interests and he thinks that he should know. How else would he know that you'd be the happiest if he took you to the bookstore? Ever since he knew, he plans these dates that revolves around reading. He gets you a book and lies on your lap while you read it to him. He got that little moon lamp you wanted for your study table. Anything that makes you comfortable. He even tries to get into it, though he's more of a movie person. But who would have thought he would just show up at 10 in the morning asking you to get ready and take you to the bookstore on your birthday? He'd have the whole day planned, and you can just relax and switch off your brain. (He'd not forget to take a selca from your phone to set it as your wallpaper, though. It is to shoo away people he says.) The day will end with you talking to him in your softest voice as you scroll through bookstagram and him staring at you with so much love.

♡ 060622 - HIS BIRTHDAY : : It's your time to plan. A day to celebrate the sunshine in your life. It's one of those outdoor dates you planned. Take him to a nice outdoor restaurant which has a killer view and delicious food. What you had thought would be a romantic date turned into a mini circus? You watch him be silly and adorable while you wait for the orders to arrive. One minute he is sitting and next he's hanging off a tree branch. There's never dull moment around him. You click pictures all throughout the day to reminisce because you had been the happiest while watching him. You'd say he's the weirder one out of you both while you watch him pose in intriguing ways. This is that one hell of a day that you'd never forget.

♡ 090922 - THAT DAY THAT HE LET EVERYONE KNOW : : You didn't think that he would. Your relationship with him had always been private, and you had been satisfied with that. On a random day, he asked you if you minded making your relationship public. You had said no because as much as you loved the 'private but not secret' game, you've always wanted to play the 'public and don't give a fuck' game. You are dating Lee Haechan, and you are flexing it because he's that good of a lover. But you hadn't really thought that he would just say it. You thought it was a fleeting thought that comes and goes whenever he sneaks into your bed at 3. You still remember how it went on that day and you understood why he bought you VIP tickets to that concert, THE DREAM SHOW 2, IN A DREAM in Seoul. You had been taking pictures of him all night charming everyone in his rockstar like glory. It was during the last ment he had spoken about you, and his words still are carved into your heart.

"여러분 오늘 밤에는 중요한 사람을 소개하고 싶습니다. 그녀는 내가 달려가는 팔이었고, 내가 울부짖는 어깨였고, 내가 꼭 안고 있는 마음이었다. 그녀는 나를 태양이라고 부르기 때문에 나는 그녀가 나의 달이라고 생각한다고 여러분에게 말하고 싶습니다. 달에 대한 사랑을 숨겨야 한다는 건 억울한 일이겠죠?"

[ Everyone, there's an important person I want to introduce tonight. She has been the arms I run to, the shoulder I cry on, and the heart I hold close. She calls me her sunshine, and so i want to tell you guys that I think she's my moon. it's unfair that i have to hide my love for the moon, right?]

The spotlight is on you as Haechan smiles and walks closer to the side you are in, looking up ardently. That playful smile never left. No one noticed the tremble in his voice but you did. You place your hand against the glass and look at him with a soft smile. You see his glassy eyes and you tell him not to cry.

"달이 참 아름답죠? 너희들은 내가 달을 가지고 있는 걸 부러워하지?"

[The moon is beautiful, isn’t it? You guys are envious that I have the moon, right?]

He chuckles while the rest of the dream laugh at him, all because he's looking not the moon but at you, just you.

: MYST

[nerd-who-likes-cats]

Akanda Tsum! Or wait... is it Akedya? ... Siam Tsum!

@rakiah has an adorable set of twins. Which twin is this? They won't tell you.

I considered doing both twins, but I realized there could be even more opportunity for chaos if it was just one, but nobody knew which twin it was. (Story under cut)

Akanda and Akedya were sitting outside ramshackle dorm when the portal opened, waking Kat, who they'd been intending to mess with while he slept. They looked up at the bright light as tsum after tsum fell from the sky. Akanda spotted one with red hair set to land nearby, and the two gave chase. They lept after the terrified tsum, only to bonk into each other as the red-haired tsum fled into the undergrowth.

The pair were lashing their tails, ready to pursue it, when they spotted something in another bush, a small pair of ears poking out for just a moment. They darted over, only to find the bush empty, and a small tail peaking down from the branches of a nearby tree. Each time they caught up, it was somewhere different, and they chased this catlike tsum onto the roof and around the chimney until-

Crash! The two boys had chased the tsum over a rotting piece of roof that couldn't hold their weight, and fell into the building. A laughing purr came from above and they looked up to see blue eyes much like their own looking down at them.

As the twins and the tsum locked eyes, a bond and agreement was silently made.

"Let's get out of here before they realize the roof's collapsed" said Akanda.

"I'll carry you since our legs are longer" Akedya told the tsum. And the trio were off.

Once a distance away, the tsum leapt out of Akedya's arms, and dashed off. Right under the feet of some poor guy running across the yard. Noting this man had hair in his face and likely couldn't see well anyways, the twins took the chance to try to show up the tsum and each other, until Akanda saw Rook in the distance watching them, and correctly suggested they run off again before getting dragged back to Pomefiore.

Their phones buzzed at the same time. And they checked to see: "Students, it has come to my attention that the tsums have returned to Night Raven College. All students who encounter one of these small creatures must bring it to the headmages office posthaste."

"This'll be fun" Akanda smirked

"Let's go meet the other tsums" Akedya grinned.

The three were the first to arrive, and Crowley looked between the two of them and the tsum "do you know which of you this tsum takes after?" He asked in a tired voice.

All three smiled at him.

"Its hard to say" said Akanda

"You'll need to know though, won't you" added Akedya.

"Yes I need to know. It's school policy that tsum-alikes are the responsibility of those they take after so I need to know who I'm assigning it to!" Crowley frowned at them.

"Can you tell us apart in the first place though?" One of the boys asked innocently.

"Of course I can!" Crowley lied.

"Then you should have no trouble telling who this tsum takes after" with how the twins moved about, even someone who could identify the pair would have trouble keeping track of who was who.

"This isn't a game." The headmaster said sternly "I am your headmage, so you are going to answer my question."

"Well..." Akanda began.

"Its hard to tell for us too..." Akedya said with a smile.

"But there's an easy way if only somebody could catch him" Akanda lied.

"Yes" Akedya continued "Akedya has a mole on his back left shoulder that I don't, if you caught the tsum we could check."

"But we haven't been able to catch it ourselves. It'll follow us, but won't let us touch it." Akanda shrugged.

Crowley looked at the tsum, which was knocking things off his desk. And the twins sat back to watch what would unfold next. This would be fun.

[iwriteiguessandiloveit]

BJ's Gift (part 1)

and the post we've all been waiting for...

BJ's Gift (part 1)

“C’mon baby, not even after all I've done for ‘ya?” Beetlejuice clasps his hands together like a begging man and dramatically falls to his knees. “Three little words, that's all it’ll take.” You lower yourself down so your face is level with the town model. “No, BJ. Every time I let you out, you do some crazy shit I have to fix.” 

He put a hand to his chest, mock offended. “You were the one ‘ta ask me to get rid’a your nasty roommate. I just followed orders.” A small bright yellow circle rings his head and he gives what you think is supposed to be an innocent grin before it turns red and breaks. “Woops.” 

Before you can stop it, a smile forms on your lips and you giggle. “I didn't ask you to possess her and make her suck on the landlord’s toes. He had a fungal infection, for goodness sake.” 

He shimmied up a plastic tree to be more level with you, lounging on a branch with his feet kicking through the air. “I never said I'd be humane about it. Besides, I’d tried the normal spooky poltergeist shtick. She was a toughie.” 

You shook your head. ‘Mmmmmm… I guess.’

It was true. You’d found a poster advertising Beetlejuice, claiming he could scare any living being into leaving your house top-speed. You were so fed up with your nasty roommate making snarky comments, not picking up after themselves, etcetera; That you’d taken a shot in the dark. And somehow it worked. But he’d gotten rid of her in the most disgusting way possible, and yeah, you were a little put out with the Ghost With The Most. 

Ever since that ‘little incident’, he'd been a constant presence in your life. Harassing you through the bathroom mirror while you were in the shower, glitching out your computer screen with his special pop-up ads, begging you to let him out again so he could go feral. You never obliged, of course, considering the amount of havoc he wreaked on your life the first time you met him. You kept telling yourself to ignore him, get rid of him through any means necessary; But somehow after a long day, you'd find yourself walking up the creaky attic stairs, crossing over to the model town, squatting down and whispering-"BJ? 'You there?" It was infuriating that you were so attached. 

Turning on your heels, you made a show of leaving. “Bye, BJ.” 

“Wait-WAIT! There's somethin’ I got for ‘ya!” The urgency in his tone made you turn around. 

‘That got your attention, didn't it?’ Beetlejuice chuckled. ‘Pop those three B-words and it’s all yours.'

‘This better not be a trick.’ 

He put his hands palms-up in front of you, shrugging. ‘When have I ever lied to ‘ya, Babes?’ 

You shouldn't have done it, but he had the dopiest, most shit-eating grin on his face. Maybe you were just tired of his begging, or maybe (just maybe) you were a little curious of what he was on about. So despite your better judgment, you threw your head back and dramatically sighed-‘Beetlejuice…’ 

He dropped out of the tree and landed on his ass. ‘I knew you’d come around! We’re gonna have the time of our afterlives, I promise-’ 

‘Beetlejuice!’ The room began to spin and floaters flashed across your vision. 

‘C’mon, just one more…’  through your hazy vision Beej was bouncing up and down pumping his fists in the air.

‘BEETLEJUICE!!!’ You heard a faint ‘it’s showtime!’ and the world exploded into a burst of acid green light; The floor slipped out from under you and you plummeted down a spiral of black and white. 

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

~thanks for reading! Stay tuned for part 2, where things get better~

(Thanks to Voidgoulette, who inspired me with her asks on 'anything Keatlejuice')

-IWIGAILI

[anyamaris]

Secrets of the Heart

Pairing: Guardian!Baekhyun x Guardian!F!Reader

Dark Academia Career: Mystical Guardians/Keepers of Ancient Knowledge

Summary: For ages, a secret society has kept the darkest, most dangerous mysteries hidden from the world to keep it safe. By training guardians who show the capability to fight and protect these ancient relics from falling into the wrong hands, two compatible students are placed in hidden vaults after extensive training. You've longed for this your entire life, but then you find yourself trapped with the one man you never wanted to see again.

Word Count: 4827

Genre/Trope: Dark Academia/Non Idol AU, smut/angst, magical au

Warnings: Adult language, magical references, reader is a grump, Baek is Baek 💕oral (f. receiving), implied rough school years, overarching ideas of dark, dangerous secrets in the vault.

Tags- @lapydiaries @ksmutsociety @cafekitsune for the amazing dividers!

Thank you @pars-ley @yoonguurt and @frenchkisstheabyss for beta reading and helping me get this done!

A HUGE thank you to @potatomountain for the gorgeous banner, you're amazing!

A/N: This is for the @ksmutsociety Dark Academia event The Velvet Vault. This is part one, so I hope you all enjoy and I want to thank all the other participants for all the fun we had together working on these! I can't wait to read them! Check out other authors here!

It has taken you days to decipher the clues, but you’ve finally arrived at your destination.

Your heart almost leaps from your chest in excitement as you walk through the unassuming doors before you.

The tension in your shoulders seems to abate the tiniest bit as you take in the vast interior of the actual vault.  

From the outside, it only appears as a maintenance door in an otherwise abandoned area.

Yet here, beneath the acres of wilderness in the middle of nowhere, lies a wealth of knowledge and secrets that only few in this world will ever even be aware of.

You think back on the letter you’d received for your posting weeks ago.

“Guardian 1485, you’ve been assigned to your post. Consider this your final test, and thank you for your service.”

From the outside, such a letter would give nothing away, but everything you needed to find your way lay in the inconspicuous note.

Using everything you’ve learned during your time at the academy, you’d left the populated world to inhabit this subterranean utopia.

It didn’t need to be said that failing would result in the very treasures of wisdom you’re now raking your eager eyes over to be locked away from your gaze forever.

You’d descended the timeworn stairs for what felt like ages, until you found yourself before the ancient doors that symbolized the culmination of your hard earned efforts.

The vast open room before you looms stories high, shelves of books appearing to disappear into the reaches above you, rolling ladders positioned here and there to take you up to the next little balcony to access small areas.

Makes sense now why I went down so many stairs, you think to yourself as you take in your new home.

Home…you think, your eyes fluttering closed at the comforting thought.

Hitching the strap of the duffle bag higher on your shoulder, you smile softly to yourself as you slowly turn around in a circle once more, enjoying the beautiful view of what is likely just the surface of what hides down here.

A large table sits amidst the open space in the middle of the cavernous room, as well as small alcoves here and there to perch and work.

Sconces adorn the dark paneled walls, allowing you to appreciate how vast the massive room actually is. 

Before long, you find yourself wandering away from the library area, noticing the small halls branching off in three directions from the large room.  

The first hall seems to lead to kitchen and dining areas, so you head towards the middle hallway.

You pause briefly before you head down that way, eyes drawn to the third hallway.  

A shiver runs down your spine as your thoughts run wild about what lies that way, as there's a scrawling script carved into the threshold.

Both excitement and apprehension mix as you decide to settle in first, before getting swept away by your curiosity.

I wonder if my partner has arrived, you think to yourself as you finally set your feet on the path to your new lodgings.

An open framed doorway shows off a common area, filled with comfy looking couches, a few small tables as well as some bookshelves that appear to have board games, and much more modern books for leisure reading.

A small television adorns the far wall and you smile as you notice there are even a few gaming consoles on the shelf beneath.  

You can only assume that your unknown companion is either already further down in a room, or hasn’t arrived yet.  

Turning to continue down the hall, you take in a dining room, what appears to be a small storage area, then two doors opposite one another at the end of the hall.  

As you head towards them, a soft humming fills the silence, and you realize you’re not alone.

Ah, they must be here already, you think to yourself as you notice the door on the left is open a crack.

The melodic voice draws you in, and you can’t stop yourself from taking a peek through the gap to seek out the owner.

Wide shoulders grace your sight, short dark hair skimming the collar of a black shirt.

The figure looks to be unpacking his own personal duffle as he sings, and you feel yourself enraptured by his lovely song.

You know that the assignments are random, so this man could be from any of the academies around the world.  

Hopefully he’s-

Your thoughts die in your mind as the figure turns, and you notice you’ve pushed the door open further without even realizing it.

It wasn’t the abrupt end of the melody that has your entire being sinking into the depths of despair opening up beneath you. 

No, it was the man that the glorious ballad belonged to that has you begging to be swallowed whole by the void.

The dark brown eyes dance merrily, completely freezing your tongue as a voice you know all too well shatters your dreams.

“It’s you! What a surprise!” 

It’s as if your very soul slowly seeps out of your body, as his voice knocks you right back to the life you’d left behind at the academy. 

Of all the people, of all the Guardians you could have possibly been assigned with….

His big goofy grin breaks you from your frozen trance as he approaches you, looking as if this isn’t the worst thing to ever happen.

Finally managing a weak semblance of a smile, you just let out a soft breath.

“Yeah…great.” you all but groan.

The one person you thought you’d finally been rid of.

Byun Baekhyun.

Weeks have passed and you’ve done your best to settle into this new, fascinating environment.

This was everything you’ve longed for, worth every agonizing minute spent in the harsh preparation you were subjected to at the academy.

Solitude, tranquility, exhilaration.

All things you feel as you inhale the ancient parchment of the script before you.  

Diligently translating the forbidden text, you find yourself lost in reverie, pondering what type of person belonged to the hand that had penned this.

The chime of the large lock startles you from your focus, drawing your gaze from the yellowed pages before you.

Arching your back as you look up, your jaw crack open in a large yawn.  

Midnight already? You think, rolling your shoulders as you rub your eyes with a fist.  

It was sunlight before you’d sat down with this set of tomes, but clearly the day had gotten away from you.

Smiling to yourself, you gently place the silk ribbon between the pages, closing the heavy tome before standing to allow your blood to flow a bit better to your legs.

“It’s like we’re right back at the academy.” A cheerful voice breaks the silence, and it takes everything within you to not groan out loud in annoyance.

Baekhyun just grins at you, perching in one of the narrow alcoves with his legs extended, a laptop resting on his thighs.

“Not quite.” You mutter, turning to ignore the man as you ponder when the last time you ate was.

“Did you want to eat?” Baekhyun’s voice seems to pluck the very thoughts from your mind, raising your irritation even more.

“Fine.” You grumble, not even turning to look his way as you head towards the kitchen hall.

Even though it’s been weeks since you’d walked through those doors, you’d barely spoken a handful of words at the man.

He acts as if we’re friendly, as if he’s completely clueless that it’s better not to interact with one another.

“Did you want to try the-” He starts.

Finally feeling your frustration build, you snap at him,“Will you please just stop?” 

Your voice is soft, yet cold, not even turning to address him.  

The air stills around you as a moment drags by as a small twinge of guilt teases at your heart.

There’s nothing to feel bad about, you think.  

“Alright.” 

His voice is hushed, almost sad and you can’t help but feel as if you’ve kicked a puppy.

Goddamn it, you think, why’d it have to be him?

Taking a breath, you shake your head, back still to him.

“I’m just hungry and tired.  I’ll cook something.” 

“Awesome!” 

There it is, that god's awful cheeriness that seems to come so easily to him.

Weariness washes over you, making you sigh as you head to the kitchen, hearing him bouncing along behind you.

The large restaurant style kitchen is a dream, you think as you head to the large walk in cooler to see what you can find to throw together.

Gathering ingredients, you do your best to ignore the man who is now kicking his feet from the tall stool he’s sat on, watching you curiously from the island in the middle of the room.

At least he seems to get that I don’t want to hear his annoying voice, you think as you start cooking.

It was a long way from the big dining hall you’d eaten in at the school.

Your thoughts drift back to all the times you’d longed to be invited into the groups of kids who were talking and laughing with one another; bantering about the rankings, coordinating meetups, discussing classes.

It’s not that you’d necessarily chosen to eat alone, solitary and quiet as you watched on, but it’s also not as if anyone had even made an attempt to-

That’s not true, a small part of your brain reminds you.

The twinkling eyes of the man watching you cook just brings back all the frustration you felt as you recall that very look from across the dining hall.

He was always smiling, laughing, bright and bubbly.  

Uncaring.

Must be nice to not have to work for anything, to not have to prove yourself…

Old resentment churns in your gut, as you try to put it all out of your head.

It doesn't matter now, and you’re stuck here with him no matter how you feel.

The least you could do was attempt to coexist.

He finally breaks the silence between you, his voice heard easily over the noises of the pan on the stove.

“You don’t talk much.” he observes, “I was always curious about that. At the academy  students used to say you don’t like people, but I always thought-” he rambles, as you tap the metal spatula, clanking it loudly against the pan,, clearing your throat, you feel your old instinct to run away creep in.

“You always thought what?” You ask softly, your shoulders tense as you wait for him to say the worries in your mind.

He pauses before continuing, slowing down and seeming a bit more subdued by your sudden gesture.

“...that you just really liked to study and focus.”

Blinking at the odd words you hadn’t expected to hear, you finally glance over your shoulder at the man staring back at you.

His big dopey grin only confuses you more, as it always has, as you release a soft breath.

He didn’t say the words in your head, the words you always heard whispered amidst your “peers” at the academy.

“Why doesn’t she speak to anyone?”

“I heard her gift was strange, I’m surprised she got in here…”

“I’ve never even heard of her family.”

“Family? I heard she’s an orphan, she doesn’t even have a surname-”

They didn’t even have the decency to laugh at you or giggle at your expense as they said these things.

It was the horrible pity behind those condescending eyes, the whispers of doubt as they seemed to avoid you.

Well…all but the strange man currently tilting his head at you.

“I did. I still do.” You tell him, unable to break his gaze as he beams at you.

Shaking off his weird conversation and unwelcome memories, you turn back to check the food.  

“Ah, well that’s good! I mean, I don’t know how you don’t lose your mind after hours of that, but if you like it…” He shrugs.

“It’s my task, as you know.” You state simply, turning back to the food, then grabbing some plates to serve it to him, then your own.

“Of course. I just figured…we could get to know one another more” he says, looking at you with hopeful eyes.

“Ask anything you want about my work here, I’m happy to answer.” you tell him, taking a seat, making sure there’s one between you.

His hopeful smile falters as he slowly nods, turning to eat his meal.

“Ah…well…okay, we can talk about work,” he says.

Shaking your head, you dig into your own meal, not understanding why he’s going so far, even here, to pity you. 

You just didn’t know how to tell him he didn’t have to bother.

You both eat your meal, mostly in silence, not quite sure what he wants from you.

Things have been quiet in the common area and you can’t help but find it almost stifling.

Who knew you’d end up craving a break to the monotony, when usually you relish in it?

Despite your resistance to his attempts to get to know you, you find yourself searching Baekhyun out as you glance up from your vial.  

More and more as time passes, you find your gaze straying from whatever it was you were doing to seek him out.

It was just curiosity, seeing as he’s the only one around.

It definitely isn’t interest in him, as much as the distracting man tries to get to know you.

You’ve been employing some of the chemistry from your transmutation book for a few hours now, but you can’t seem to focus enough to get it right.

Blowing out a frustrated breath, you try to stop yourself from wondering what he’s doing.

Maybe I’ll go check my plants, you think, gently placing the glass vessel back in its rack.

You stand and make your way down the long hallway, idly pondering what lies behind some of the locked doors.

As you brush your fingers across each door frame, you can feel the shimmering tension of strong magic protecting the secrets within.

Suppressing a shiver, you finally reach the glass doors that lead into the underground garden where the herbs grow.

A smile already plays across your lips as you slip inside, breathing in the fragrance of the thriving plants.  

How they did so well down here was a mystery-

Your thoughts are cut off as you hear the familiar soft melody of singing, eyes immediately seeking the only other being that resides here.

A gentle white light illuminates an area off to the right, down a pathway overhung with branches from the trees.

Furrowing your brow, you slowly approach the crouched figure of Baekhyun.

White light glows from his outstretched hands as he seems to almost caress the plants growing in front of him.

Your breath catches as you watch the tiny sprouts react, seeming to almost lean towards his open palms, stretching to bask in the light.

Taking in a rare moment to observe, you can’t help but admire the way his dark hair falls over his brow, the muscles in his broad shoulders flexing as he gently sings to the growth.

Without even looking at you, his song trails off and he speaks softly.

“This particular patch was infected with a blight,” he informs you, “I’ll likely change the setup a bit so they aren’t getting affected by the fungi nearby…”

Blinking yourself out of the little trance his voice has put you in, you just swallow and nod, feeling silly as it’s not like he can see you.

“Okay,” you whisper, finding yourself drawn forward to crouch beside him and watch the process.

Within the academy, it was forbidden to share any personal powers amongst your fellow students; it was ingrained in you from the start that the most important thing was keeping your posts safe.

That included never knowing what others were capable of, until you were placed.

You had wondered why you weren’t told who your partner was, and weren’t informed about his powers.

Everything is a test, you think wryly, sighing.

As always, it was for you to find out on your own, as he was likely not informed about yours.

“How…?” You ask him, still whispering as if speaking in any tone louder than a whisper will break the spell he seems to be holding over the plants.

Your eyes are locked on him as he finally looks away from his work, his eyes caramel in the glow of his magic as they meet yours.

A gentle smile plays on his lips, and he studies your face for a moment before responding.

“Photosynthesis...it’s a lucky side effect of my gift.” 

“I had no idea that you were the reason they were thriving.” You feel the strange warmth of something in the pit of your stomach as you watch him return to tending the fragile herbs.

Minutes tick by, and what should feel awkward as you watch him only feels calming and comfortable.

You’re unsure how much you like this unexpected feeling.

The oppressive darkness cradling you in its grasp is suddenly broken by a sliver of white, cutting through the comforting cloud.

Groggily, you open your eyes to see a shadowy figure in your now open doorway.

Before reacting on impulse, you take stock of everything around you like you were trained.

You are lying in your bed, deep within the vault.  

Counting the beats of your heart, calming your breathing, you watch as the figure slowly steps forward.

“Baekhyun?” You whisper softly, hoping desperately that it’s the only other person that resides here with you.

The figure doesn’t utter a word, but a soft white glow begins to emit from his palms, then almost forms a soft aura around him as he slowly approaches your bed.

Sitting up, you furrow your brow in confusion.

Certainly, something has happened, he wouldn’t come into your room otherwise.

“Say it again.” he hums, finally reaching your bed.

Yet instead of stopping and waiting for a response, he’s climbing onto the mattress with you, one knee at a time as he slowly crawls his way up to you.

“What-say what…Baekhyun, what are you-?” you manage, before his lips are on yours.

He takes advantage of your open mouth when you gasp in surprise, his tongue searching for yours.

The fugitive muscle ignores the logic of your mind as it meets his eagerly, as do your arms as they wrap around his neck.  

A soft whimper leaves your throat as the man pushes you back onto the bed, dragging the covers off of you before settling his weight between your wantonly parted legs.

“Shh…” he hums as he breaks the kiss, his lips skimming along your jawbone to nip over to your ear, “I can’t stop myself, I want you…”

Warmth pools between your legs as you feel the stiff bulge grind against your core.  

“Baekhyun-” you whine out as he tears at the flimsy nightgown, his hands kneading and grasping your breasts, your sides, touching everywhere as the tiny buttons give or fly off to gods knows where.

“Yes, my name…keep saying it…” his voice has dropped to a lower tone, his heavy breathing causing your hips to lift.  

Mind swirling with desire, you can’t help the way your body reacts to his touch.

As much as the academy prepared you for, this was not one of the things you had ever expected to encounter.

You didn’t have the will to stop him.

This was exactly what you wanted.

The realization has your eyes flying open, looking down at the handsome man as he parts your gown, exposing your naked body to him.

Even his eyes seem to glow with that heavenly light as he looks up at you, letting his gaze rake slowly down your body.

“I may not be able to get you to talk to me, so I’ll make you scream instead…” He rasps out, then your legs are over his shoulders as he slips his hands under your ass, lifting your cunt to his face like you’re his feast.

Whatever words you could have responded with are lost as his lips wrap around your sensitive clit, tongue flicking gently in a circle as he stares up at you.

The glow surrounding him allows you a full view of what he’s doing and it causes your eyes to roll back in your head.

Reaching down to grasp tendrils of his hair, you use your other hand to grab at the pillow under your head; unable to stop your hips from bucking up towards him, and encouraging his wicked mouth.

Shadows flicker along the edges of his light as you feel the need to touch him, to return the same pleasure but he only doubles down, burying his face into you.

His tongue slips down to tease at your entrance as his nose nudges your delicate bud, and you should feel shame at the pooling moisture he’s gathering and swallowing up.

Yet his eyes are brazen, silently pleading with you to let go and scream for him.

So you do.

Your thighs tighten around his head and his eyes blaze with heat like you’ve never seen, white hot and burning as he moans into you.

It doesn’t take much to make you lose complete control.

Just one finger replacing his tongue, his teeth nipping gently at your throbbing clit before he’s sucking and licking you into insanity.

Thrusting deep within you, his impossibly long finger curls and you’re crying his name for all the slumbering creatures beneath the earth to hear.

Hips lifting, thrusting into his face, his palm cups your ass as he helps you ride your way through your orgasm.

“Baekhyun, fuck I-”  

His glowing eyes flicker, your head swimming as confusion overcomes you.

“Hey…hey-” you hear, and startled, you feel yourself gasping for air as you sit up.

“Hey, you were screaming for me? Is everything okay?”

Blinking, looking around, you realize that you're still in your bed.

But looking down, your nightgown is still intact, buttons perfectly placed.

Covers are drawn over you, and Baekhyun hovers near the door, looking confused and concerned.  

“Was it a nightmare?” He asks tentatively.

Trying to calm yourself, you merely nod, taking in a deep breath.

“Yeah…” you answer, covering your face with your hand at the memory…and the soaked panties you’re currently concealing beneath the blanket.

“Yeah…nightmare…I’m fine.” you tell him hollowly, and he just nods, pausing a moment before he’s turning to close the door behind him.

“Fuck…” you say, flopping back on your pillow, cheeks heating with the memory of the “nightmare.”

What the fuck is wrong with you?

The following days, you swear Baekhyun senses something is off.

What the hell possessed you to dream of him in that way? 

Why the fuck are you upset, it was only a dream??

You find yourself going over the same line for the 15th time, still unable to comprehend it and you just lean back in your chair to run your hand over your face.

Before, you’d have heard something from Baekhyun like, “Is something wrong?” or “Is everything okay?”

But now…

You glance over, catching him looking away right as you do, going back to whatever it was he was documenting.

He’s been especially withdrawn, not his usual exuberant self since the garden…since the night you woke up screaming his name.

Feeling the heat travel up your neck at the thought, you clear your throat and rub the spot as if that will help it disappear.

Who knew you’d be missing his normal annoying banter.

“I can’t focus…I…maybe I should eat…” you say out loud, eyes darting to him as he sits in his little alcove.

His eyes meet yours, seeming to search for something, but you have no idea what.  

“Come if you want...I’ll likely make more than I can manage anyhow.” You toss out, turning to walk towards the kitchens.

Not sure why, but your heart sinks as silence meets you, but then seems to bob right back as you hear his feet hit the tiles and he slowly follows behind you.

It’s just a meal, you think, chastising yourself as you go about pulling out ingredients.

You can feel his eyes on you as you set about preparing your meal, and you glance over to study him.

“I’m sorry again about waking you the other evening.” You say, flinching at how your voice shakes.

He merely shrugs, settling his elbow on the counter and placing his hand on his palm as he studies you.

“Nothing to be sorry about.  It happens.”  

Frowning, you just turn back around to pay attention to the food and not burn anything.

“When we were at the academy, you used to do this late at night.” He finally breaks the silence.

Turning to give him an odd look, you try to think about all the late nights you ended up in the kitchens there.

“How…how do you know that?”  You ask him softly, swallowing at how his cheeks redden and his gaze drops, suddenly finding the counter interesting.

“I used to have nightmares too…sometimes I still do.” He whispers, fingernail tracing the patterns in the glossy marble.

“Occasionally, I would wander to clear my mind.  One night…I came across you in the kitchen cooking and humming.”

A smile teases at his lips, his eyes unfocused as if remembering, “I got curious and looked inside to see who was up so late.  I’d…never seen you smile before.  No matter how many times I tried to talk to you…but that night…” he shrugs again, his eyes flicking up to meet yours before looking away again.

Raising an eyebrow, you can only wait for him to continue, oddly fascinated to be told he’d been spying on you.

It doesn’t feel invasive like it should, no…it just has you wondering what he thought, what he saw…what he felt.

“I smiled?” You ask him gently, encouraging him.  

He looks up at you, eyes flicking back and forth as they study you, his corners of his lips lifting slowly.  

“Yes…you were beau-” he starts, but then his eyes widen, standing abruptly as he points behind you.

“Oh shit!” you exclaim, turning as you finally register the smoke pouring from the dry, burning food in the pan.

“Hold on, don’t panic-” he says, yet before his words get through to you, you’re grabbing the metal handle with your bare hand.

The clatter of the pan hitting the burner echoes through the room as you gasp, your hand throbbing with searing pain.

“Oh god, fuck, I’m stupid-” 

“Wait, don’t move.” He hums, calmly turning off the burner before turning to grasp your wounded hand.  

“It’s so fucking cliche, burning my hand, I’m an idiot-” you find yourself rambling.

“Shh…” he whispers, turning your palm up in his hands, studying the long angry burn on your skin.

Swallowing heavily, you can only nod, heart beating quickly at his proximity, at his gentle touch as he leans down to softly blow on your injury. 

The soft glow that surrounds both of your hands is warm, then cool as you feel relief.  

Startled, you watch the welt that was forming slowly fade until only unblemished skin remains.

“You…you can heal?” You ask him, stunned into stuttering your words.

His eyes are still on your palm, his thumb gently tracing the memory of the now healed burn before he nods.  

“Please be more careful.” He asks, glancing up at you as his fingers linger on your skin.

Blushing, you just nod back at him, your brain racing with confusion.

“How cliche of me, grabbing a pan without a mitt, of course I’d do something like that.  I don’t normally burn food, you know.  Now I’m going to have to-” you rant, pulling your hand from his as you attempt to turn around and clean up the now ruined food.

“You are beautiful when you smile. I wish I could see it more.” He blurts out, freezing you in your tracks.  

Eyes wide, you turn slowly to stare at him in disbelief.

It’s his turn to go beet red, fumbling for his own words as he seems to realize he said that out loud.

“I mean, you’re beautiful anyhow but I like when you seem happy…fuck…I just don’t want you to hate me like you do and I don’t know how to make you more comfortable…” 

Dumbfounded at the outpouring of confusing words, you can’t manage to get a syllable out before he’s rushing from the room.  

“I’m not hungry, I’m fine, I’ve got things to do-” the door swings shut before he finishes, leaving you standing dazed and staring off after him.

You’re not sure what is going on here, but things just got that much more confusing.

[muzzlemouths]

Hello hello, @chaoticgouda! It is I, your very very (very) late Secret Santa! Terribly sorry for keeping you waiting as long as I did — the story got away from me, and by that I mean I went slightly over the necessary wordcount.

You mentioned a love for horror, angst, and hurt/comfort, which I consider myself quite versed in, so I pulled out all the stops for this one. Hope you enjoy it! But, uh...do heed the warnings.

Dream-Eater!Moon x Insomniac!Y/N

Word Count: 8,540 Warnings: Fear and anxiety, isolation trauma, unreality, eye and mouth horror, body horror, (brief) gore, psychological horror

Three days, now. Three days since you’ve slept. Three days since that unblinking stare first crawled through the gap beneath your bedroom door, eyes like scarlet diamonds in a deep pool of nothingness and narrowed with an ire you couldn’t explain. Three days since you showed some spine and told it to go away. You’ve never suffered with sleep paralysis before, and you saw no reason for it to start now, yet you failed to come up with any better explanation for the thing at the foot of your bed. 

A flicker of motion draws your eyes to the far side of the room. The sweetgum outside waves with the breeze, gnarled branches contorting like ugly, knotted limbs, their shadow dancing across your wall under the full moon.

You’re acting like a child. No one else would flinch at a tree tapping its spindly fingers against the glass, or feel their shoulders tense in the stillness of an otherwise too-quiet room, the perpetuation of which is immediately interrupted by the softest ting of a bell. This brief distraction is all it takes. Your gaze snaps again toward the familiar set of eyes as if on cue only to find them missing. A bleak, damning emptiness in their place. 

Three days since the eyes first appeared to watch you strife with a good night’s rest.

Not once, in that time, have they ever moved.

It isn’t as though they possessed a body to carry them between positions, after all. The eyes were discarnate. Incorporeal. They had appeared in the darkness and in the darkness is where they stayed, with not head nor tail of any proper frame. 

Yet you are unequivocally aware of the hands that draw from the darkest part of your room to flatten against the foot of your bed — painted in a blue so deep it challenges the very night itself — and the gangly wrists that follow, knuckles sharp like jutting bone under stretched skin. Narrow shoulders that taper into a waist almost skeletal, pinched around a ribcage that doesn’t exist, digitigrade legs that go on for longer than they should. A ghastly body that wafts between tangible and formless, its crude excuse for flesh coming away like smoke and fading into the surrounding darkness of your bedroom. It is a struggle to see the ghoulish thing among the shadows, even as it climbs ever higher along your mattress, yet you find yourself incapable of looking away.

Perhaps this demon has you paralyzed, after all.

It certainly feels that way as the creature looms closer and closer, still, ascending your body where it lies frozen, scarlet eyes fixated ahead, until its smooth, expressionless face comes to rest dangerously close to your own. Again, that foreign bell rings out as it goes still.

You swallow your tongue and taste nothing but dread. Words collect uselessly behind your teeth as it raises a hand from beside your torso and brings it against your jaw, claws — carved into a needlelike point and inky blue as the fingers they’re attached to — trace a path along your cheek. A whisper on the skin, and only that. The strange sensation might even tickle if your heart weren’t threatening to squeeze between the bars of your ribcage and burst through your chest altogether.

This creature, whatever it is, awkwardly thumbs against the skin beside your eye and back down again. A bizarre hush, “Shhh shh,” spills between lips that aren’t there.

The tenderness it performs is decisively unpracticed. Even still, at the third and final ring of an invisible bell you suddenly find it entirely too difficult to keep your eyes open. Time appears to slow, a warm grogginess seeping between your bones as you continue to fight a losing battle, the siren call of sleep luring you in. Lower and lower do your eyelids fall, heavy with exhaustion, until you are able to convince yourself that the cold and unfamiliar weight against your chest is nothing more than a dream.

Then its maw comes open with silent resolve.

You aren’t sure how you missed them before; the teeth. Two rows of jagged canines that grin impossibly wide, its poor excuse for skin stretching upwards, eyes rolling to sit at the back of its scalp to accommodate a mouth that opens like a serpent’s unhinged jaw.

Adrenaline surges through your spine like thunder and ripples along the skin of your palm as it rushes through the shadow’s body and bashes into the switch of your nearest lamp. Yellow light floods your room in a blink, shooing darkness back into the corners as you look frantically for a demon that isn’t there. 

You are unbearably alone.

-

The following evening starts with the last cup in the coffee pot — it falls from the pot’s mouth with a sluggish dribble that heralds the emptied bottom, four mugs worth of the stuff with three chugged down already over the course of the afternoon.

It has been four days since you last slept.

This self inflicted torture is not without reason; regardless of how ridiculous said reason is. Nevertheless it had you doing everything in your power to stay awake. Currently, that meant surviving on a frankly excessive amount of caffeine and running circles through your apartment, desperate for any task that stimulated the brain and kept you from giving in to the sweet embrace of your bed.

These tribulations are not meant to be endured alone. The companionship of someone — anyone, be it friend or family — surely eases the burden of such a daunting task, but it isn’t that simple.

And you aren’t sure where to look for the camaraderie you so desperately seek.

The sun has already begun its downward path when you finish washing out the emptied pot and set it in the rack to dry, your drink forgotten save for the one gulp you savored before deciding that dishes needed to be done. The water runs too hot as you bow the head of a fork under the spout and scrub it clean between the bars. Even now you remember the static which paraded down your fingers the night before, rushing through your skin until it singed, the taste of fear so thick on your tongue that not even the coffee could outrun it. 

You dreaded the thought of returning to your bedroom later in the night and contesting with the thing that tried to devour you whole only a matter of hours prior. Maybe you could keep to the couch tonight, instead. Or, better yet, not let yourself rest your feet in any way to begin with.

Rest led to idleness and idleness led to sleep and sleep led to—

Thwack!

Your head snaps upward from the sink where your hands have begun to prune, watching through half-lidded eyes as the steller's jay outside your kitchen window throws a second twig against the glass. 

It’s a pretty little thing. A head and beak black as onyx, vibrant blue blooms proudly across its chest and down its back to the very base of its tail, which extends further than the average. Actually, the longer you look, the more it seems…off, somehow. Wrong. Its body is too large, its beak far sharper than necessary, and the eyes—

You break away from the window with a fierce shake of your head and firmly reprimand yourself for thinking that the eyes which stared back were scarlet. That isn’t possible. You’re sorely in need of a full night’s rest and it is this fact alone that prevents you from thinking clearly, already jeopardizing your ability to tell what is and isn’t real, apparently. You needed to get a grip.

The faucet bleeds money down the drain as you turn from it and find your beloved mug on the counter again, hands tender from the scalding water and trembling slightly as they bring the ceramic to your lips. 

But your coffee returns cold.

You’re confident that no more than a minute or two had passed since you last abandoned the mug — certainly not a lengthy enough time that your coffee should feel like ice against your lips.

Just another delusion brought on by fatigue, you decide. Time begins to lose its meaning when you refuse to keep your internal clock on track. You’re lucky this is the worst your symptoms have become with the strain that’s been collecting in the bags under your eyes already.

Nothing the microwave can’t fix, at least. It’ll lose the wonderful bite of a freshly poured cup, which is always unfortunate, but it’s better than trying to doctor this thing into a proper iced latte. 

You turn on your heel, narrowly brushing the sharp divide between your illuminated kitchen and the dark room beyond it, shadowed furniture staring back at you — dusty from a lack of guests — and make for the small radioactive box on your kitchen counter.

Narrowed eyes watch your back. A shred of the night comprised of knobbly joints and a starving mouth hung slightly ajar, scarlet gaze unblinking. It remains in place as you walk past it, just out of reach, keeping still like a wandering corpse in the corner of your livingroom.

It’s better that you don’t immediately sense its presence beyond a shudder at the base of your spine.

The microwave door opens with a pop, the slide of your mug along the plate grating against your already strained nerves. You slam the door shut harder than you mean to and see a scarlet glow staring back at you in the reflection.

Twisting on your heel exposes nothing but a dark, empty room.

You are unbearably alone.

The microwave screams at your back, announcing the completion of its task  — beep, beep, beep

beep

beep

beng

ting

ting

Silverware on a wine glass; a toast. The hurried look over your shoulder reveals an extravagant ballroom where your kitchen once stood. Mahogany furniture carved with intricate detail that stands over a polished floor, radiant and brilliantly gold under the eyes of an enormous chandelier. A crowd in lavish gowns, masks adorning each stranger’s face. Their waltzes slow to a stop as a glass of chardonnay lifts into the air.

Startling, you blink in rapid succession and peer from side to side in an effort to find the subject of this beautiful tribute, only to see all eyes turning in your direction. The stranger congratulates you to the sound of an uproarious applause — for what, you aren’t sure.

A familiar pair of eyes stares at you from the reflection in the glass.

Your heel swivels for the umpteenth time, neck snapping to catch a glimpse of the figure you know is there, now, refusing to be fooled a second time.

For whatever reason, the creature does not bother hiding itself from your stare. Perhaps because, despite its inherent familiarity, the form it takes now is nothing like the nightmarish frame it boasts in the shadows. 

Rather, it — he? — dresses in regalia akin to the rest of the masquerading crowd; sleek trousers and a poet's blouse, deep blue, cinched neatly under a bone-white corset at his waist. An enormous cloak hangs over their shoulders, bridged with silver chain, black as night on the outside with the promise of vibrant color hidden underneath.

A silvery mask carved into the shape of a crescent moon is fitted atop their face, and blue silks flow from behind it, spilling down his shoulders and tapering into a point like a vibrant comet, its end adorned in a large, pearlescent bell.

His scarlet eyes are damning on their own, but the ring of that bell is all you need to confirm his identity — you could recognize its song in your sleep. 

The irony of it all is lost on you.

The orchestra continues, the stranger's waltz continuing with seamless fluidity around you. A spinning pair blocks your line of sight for only a moment and just like that, he is gone. 

Nevertheless, the bell persists. Louder than boisterous laughter, sharper than the click of heels and clinking glasses, it echoes from every angle until you're made dizzy from spinning yourself in circles. Round and round you go, following each chime and always finding him just a second too late. Your effort to hunt him out of the crowd becomes desperate until you drive yourself mad with the sound, until its formerly pleasant ring becomes overwhelming. 

You throw yourself into the thick of the party at the barest whisper of its silvery voice and run yourself directly into a guest, their mask coming loose from the impact and falling with an ear-shattering clatter, harsher than it ought to be.

The instruments halt their song, heralding a pin-drop silence.

You're quick to stutter an apology and quicker, still, to crouch and pluck the thin decorative wood from the floor. It is light as a feather between your fingers, hardly weighing a whisper for the violent sound that pours through the room a second time as your eyes raise to meet the guest's and the mask falls again from your hand.

A smooth face stares back. Barren, colors bleeding together where the eyes, nose, and mouth are meant to be, like an oil painting — but the artist forgot to draw up the features, or there was an accident and their hand smudged through where the face normally goes. 

You shake another apology from your tongue and stumble backwards, your back meeting with the shoulder of another guest. The incessant thump thump thump of your heartbeat quickens still as you turn around to face the stranger, who shares the same fate. So, too, do the remaining guests lose their masks, each and every one of them falling away in comparative silence to reveal nothing behind them but stretches of empty flesh.

A scream climbs up your throat and rattles your teeth, trapped behind tight lips. You swallow around it like bitter liquor and squeeze your eyes shut, blocking everything out as best you can despite still feeling their voiceless stares burning into you, pleading for mercy between shaking breaths as realization strikes. You need to wake up. Wake up.

WAKE UP.

Your eyes snap open to the chime of a bell.

Scarlet eyes watch you from the back of the room. The figure turns, seemingly indifferent to what is happening around you, and makes for a door that hadn't been there a moment ago, disappearing through it without so much as a secondary glance in your direction.

A way out. Perhaps your only way out. You had no choice but to follow him.

Your knees threaten to buckle as they take you through the faceless crowd, idle bodies who turn to follow your escape but thankfully make no move to stop you even as you burst through the door and spill out the other side.

A single room greets you, empty of furniture and only half as bright. No bell accompanies it, the masked figure having disappeared already, and that remains true until you tiptoe forward and hear the click of the door shutting behind you.

The figure — Moon, you decide —stands before it, scarlet eyes wide and hungry as they settle on your trembling frame. He narrows the space between you with one smooth step and you respond in kind by replacing the distance with one step back, so on and so forth with increasing persistence to bridge the gap until he's walked you against the wall.

“That was almost too easy,” they hum.

The voice that answers you isn’t the one you were expecting. Actually, you weren’t expecting a voice at all. Thus far this creature has been nothing but growls and metallic rings. They’ve never encouraged the idea that they are capable of words.

“Why are you following me?” You swallow the quiver in your voice to demand.

“You followed me through the door, did you not?” He asks, and you can feel the way his grin splits behind the mask. “Come, now, don’t give me that look. I’m only trying to help.”

You can’t help the scoff that cuts from your throat. “In what way is this helping?” You exclaim. Then, thinking better of it, you shake your head, “Actually, don’t answer that. If you’re so willing to talk, suddenly, then I think I deserve to ask some questions myself.”

He stops in place where he had been encroaching on what small distance remained between you, the click of his heel lapsing into silence, as though the notion actually surprised him. Then, inevitably, the smile returns. He offers you a slow nod and gestures wordlessly for you to continue.

“Who—” your cheeks puff out in frustration, “what are you?”

His eyes light up, an expression that twists your gut in the face of his excitement. “I am a star,” he answers easily, “extraterrestrial dust, or something akin to it. A collection of atoms. Memories, thoughts, and concerns. A construct which underlines that which has happened, will happen, and is never meant to be.” He takes a bow, extending the cloak’s wing in his right hand to expose the whirling galaxy that shifts and stirs on the underside. “Somnium devorator, as your kind call me.”

The edge of your fear is replaced with the barest notion of curiosity — and beyond that, anger. This guy is talking straight nonsense as far as you’re concerned, and it doesn’t provide the answer you’re looking for, it’s only created more questions.

“Why should I believe you?” your eyes flicker between him and the remaining three walls, hopeful for another escape route — you don’t miss the way he moves forward each time you aren’t busy with words, “Better yet, why decide you’re going to take on an appearance like this,” you gesture vaguely towards him, “when you’ve been all too content with imitating a walking shadow until this point?”

Their head tilts sloooooow to the side, fingers twitching. The resemblance to a cat stalking prey is almost uncanny. “Thought this form might be less frightening,” he answers, notably skipping right over your first question, “are you not charmed?”

You dislike his choice of wording. More than that, you hate the laziness in his gestures, as though he has all day to play with you. If you were to believe him even in the slightest it would mean you were running around in his mise en scène — he has every reason to take his time.

It’s your turn to refuse him an answer, instead swiftly moving on with your long list of questions. “Alright, let’s say you’re telling the truth. Why go through all of this effort?” Your search for an alternative door returns with terrible news. Only the one exists. Effectively, you are trapped between two nightmares. You need to keep him talking. “What is it you want from me?”

Their mask begins to splinter, a sharp cheshire smile shining through the cracks. Moon’s voice lowers into a pitch that makes your stomach curdle. “I’m hungry, little dreamer,” shrill laughter escapes between his teeth, “and I think you’ve kept me waiting long enough.”

Alright, screw talking.

You break past him and shoulder your way through the door, more than willing to relive the horrors on the other side if it meant getting away from a creature that would have you for dinner if you stuck around any longer. Only when you’re past the threshold do you spare a glance behind you to see him stood in place, only those same, scarlet eyes following your path as the door shuts again. Turning around, you are met with the presence of an entirely different room.

Rather, a hallway. Bright and vibrant as the ballroom itself, it stretches on endlessly with no clear escape in sight, offering a parade of doors on either side, each door no different from the last as you pace forward. 

The door you first came from opens with an audible click, and you need not waste time looking behind you to know who enters through it. The chime of a silver bell sings to you outright.

Your brisk walk turns into a run.

The hall goes on for miles, still, offering you no relief in the form of escape when you enter through a door at random only to end up on the other side. An endless maze that leads you no further away from the masked creature, who follows you down the hall at an easy, nonchalant pace, happy to let you run yourself ragged like this.

Behind him, the room begins to crumble. As though the strings of reality were being snapped one by one, step by heel-toed step, the dream is devoured in his wake — it leaves nothing behind.

The small flame which started in your chest has crept between the gaps in your ribcage and set fire to every limb, now impossible to ignore, it burns and burns and burns. Your lungs spasm in a desperate attempt to suck in air as though every breath will be your last. Your legs plead for relief as they carry you through another door and this one, against all odds, leads to a room most familiar to you.

You’re right back where you started.

The empty room is different this time if only by the secondary door across from you, and although you are just plain sick of doors, by now, you aren’t going to curse a gift when it’s given. Instead, you march forward, pausing at the door you exited from only briefly to lock it in place. You aren’t hopeful that it will stop a reality devouring demon, but you can buy yourself some time at the very least.

Or maybe not. The doorknob twitches when you’re not two steps away from it, a low and frustrated growl slipping through the gaps, and suddenly you can’t get across the room and to the other door fast enough.

Your hand catches on the knob and gives it an earnest twist. Nothing. It refuses to be turned more than half an inch, evidently locked from the other side, and in a brief moment of outright hysteria you wonder if you’re struggling uselessly with the same door that stands behind you, having just locked it yourself only a moment ago. How cruel, in that case, to give you a false sense of hope.

The door at your back rattles and splinters at its sides as Moon rages just beyond it. Then it stills, all at once, and everything falls silent.

You dare not allow yourself to think they would give up so soon, your sigh of relief held hostage until you know for sure that you're in the clear only to hear the telltale ring of a bell echo through the gap beneath the door. So, too, does the shadow follow. A misty presence that you're more familiar with which pries its way into the bright room and recollects itself once its through, mask and all, and you are left trapped for what is likely the last time.

"Silly, silly me, thinking you might make this easy for me," Moon tuts, "are you quite done running now?"

“I wouldn’t be running if you weren’t chasing me,” you retort, nose wrinkling at the accusation. Your back presses up against the door as he ventures a step closer, but only that. You don’t bother trying to hide the noise you’re making as your hand wrestles fruitlessly with the doorknob behind you.

“You’re being ridiculous,” the demon sighs, “this could all go away if you would only let me help you.”

Back and forth, back and forth, the metal twists in your palm like your life depends on it. “Sure, I’ll just lie down and let you eat me, then,” you scoff, “I’m not stupid!”

Scarlet eyes blink behind the mask, quick with surprise. He stares at you with a look as though maybe you are a little stupid. If he believes it, he has no intentions of vocalizing the thought. Instead he deflates at the shoulders with another long, tired sigh and moves the cape aside so he can better reach for you — that is, he extends a hand in your direction, palm side up. Fitted in masquerade regalia like he is, it almost looks like he’s asking you to dance.

“Don’t be scared,” their voice lowers into a murmur, small and harmless when compared to the sharp grin that splits their cheeks. “I need you to trust me.”

You hardly have the time to consider it.

The silver knob finally gives in with a violent crack of metal screws and the door flies open behind you, pulling you back that final step into the embrace of nothingness — not a hall nor a ballroom nor anything at all catches you, rather, an endless abyss carries you down, down, down.

 Moon watches your plummet from the illuminated doorway until you fall out of sight.

Your body jolts awake with a start. You’re back in your house again, sitting on your kitchen floor and slumped against the cabinets. Just a dream. Just a really, really weird dream. 

Looking up, you notice the microwave still awaiting your input. The cup remains cold where it sits on the other side. Despite hearing its digital response clear as day — and the rhythmic beep beep beep that follows — you evidently never even got around to punching the numbers in. 

When had you fallen asleep?

You rub the remnants of shock and crusted sleep away with the heel of your palm and then use the counter for support to force yourself back to your feet, fitfully ignoring the way your muscles groan with a soreness that has no sane reason to be there.

A quick glance at your microwave lets you know that you were out for just under an hour. An alarming discovery, really, because at the time it felt as though you had been trapped in that hallway for years, and plunging through darkness for centuries.

You can’t risk falling asleep a second time.

You decide against drinking that last cup of joe, thinking better of it, since it’s bound to be stale by now and, anyway, all that caffeine might have been what gave you such vivid dreams in the first place. 

Still, you can’t help but wonder just how real any of it was, and the first thing you do upon picking yourself up from the floor is warily check around the corners for any signs of the shadowy figure…finding nothing and no one. How silly; it really was just a dream. 

You make your way out of the kitchen and into the livingroom, instead, turning on the lamp beside the wall on your way in so it basks the small room in light. The couch springs bounce as you slump against them, eyes already scanning the area for the television remote after deciding that you need some kind of distraction from whatever the hell all of that was. 

The feeling of its eyes on you still lingers.

Determined to ignore it, you continue digging along the seams until you find the remote between two cushions, and bring it forward with an exhausted sigh, hopping through channels one by one with no clear intent in mind and for only a few seconds before the screen abruptly cuts to black.

Confused, you try again, digging your thumb into the power button and getting about as far as you had the first time before the power cuts. Again, you turn it on, and again, the same thing happens. You’re less patient with the third attempt and must remind yourself that throwing the remote into your screen won’t solve the issue when it inevitably fizzles out before your eyes. 

Irritated, you spring from your couch on borrowed energy and pace forward to look behind the television, just to see if maybe the cord is hanging halfway out of the outlet, seeing as that’s the only conclusion you can think to come to. Everything looks to be in its place, though, and this does nothing but frustrate you further. You just wanted to relax, damn it.

Behind you, the familiar ring of a bell.

You turn around to find nothing there at all (a party trick that doesn’t exactly surprise you, anymore) and march back to the couch on tired legs, adamant to pretend the creature isn’t watching you from somewhere as you slump against the cushions again and reach for the remote. But it’s gone — of course it is — and you search everywhere for it; between the cushions, on the floor, even peering across the room to see if you brought it with you to check out the television, but no. Nothing. 

It is with a great and mighty sigh that you leave the couch for a third time, lowering yourself to the floor and climbing onto your hands and knees, deciding to check the space under your couch as a last ditch attempt at finding the damned thing.

A pair of scarlet eyes stares back.

You scramble backwards with an ear splitting shriek, narrowly avoiding the shadowy claws that swipe at your retreating form and tear a stripe through the hem of your pant leg when they catch. 

From a safe yard away you see the creature withdraw back into the darkness under the couch, its eyes narrowing in unmasked frustration. A thin line of shadow paces behind it like a metronome, left, right, left, right, the chime of its bell following suit.

A cat lashing its tail in agitation. Charming — cute, even, if this thing weren’t trying to eat you.

Perhaps it is the delirium from lack of sleep or perhaps only spite that drives you to do what you do next, which is to laugh. A noise that has the demon’s eyes losing their beautiful scarlet color, pupils dilating into pinpricks and leaving behind empty pools of black.

“Look who’s trapped now,” you sneer. “Can’t get me in the light outside of in dreams, can you?”

Thoroughly invested in your patronizing, you're much too distracted to notice the way he slinks further into the darkness, disappearing entirely only to resurface a moment later in the extended shadow of your lamp.

The laughter dies in your throat, replaced with a wary silence as you watch the demon slink formlessly around the light's base and up its long neck, careful to stay on the side bathed in darkness. A spindly body peels itself from the shadows and clings to the wall by the palm of its hands, then — with one smooth kick from half-formed legs — your only source of light meets the floor with an enormous clatter…plunging the room into darkness.

Well, shit. 

Moon is at your throat before you can think to crawl away, a towering presence that pins your back to the floor and snarls low into your ear. Strings of inky drool collecting between his teeth are the last thing you see before your head turns away, eyes squeezing shut, resigned to becoming the dreaded beast's next meal.

Until the presence of its hand at your cheek brings you to look again.

A noise not dissimilar to a purr dribbles from his throat as long, disjointed fingers comb through your hair, razor-sharp nails kept at bay with each slow, careful stroke. 

"I nnnne—" Moon's head shakes from side to side, words drawn with a sharp and tedious hiss, as if each one requires effort to form, different from the ease with which he spoke in your dream — after all, a shadow isn’t meant to talk. "Need you to trussssst me."

That was easier said than done. Still, they make no move to lash out at you, keeping, instead, to brushing his knuckles along the roof of your scalp and down the other side. If you didn’t know any better you would think he was attempting to soothe you, like a parent might comfort a child after a nightmare. And then it dawns on you.

That's exactly what he's doing. Or trying to do, anyway, as awkward and unpracticed as it is. You wonder how many times he watched humans perform this song and dance — if maybe he considered it a ritual, or just something that made the tears go away.

You search his eyes for anything trustworthy, and find the smallest twinkle of light within. "You...you aren't here to eat me, are you?" 

Again, Moon shakes his head. "Jussst the nightmare," he promises, "I will not hhharm you."

Swallowing around what small amount of fear you can, opting to trust him, if only for now, you answer the demon with a slow and wary nod. "A-And you’ll leave, after? When you’re finished, um—”

“Devouring, yesss,” His mouth parts to make room for a wetted tongue. It protrudes from the back of his throat to swipe over hungry teeth — glistening like stars in a midnight sky — drips of sticky black crawling down his jaw to land soundlessly against your skin.

You resist the urge to close your eyes again, decisively holding firm, even if your voice is anything but. “I — I can’t be the only one having dreams, even nightmares, around here. Why not move on to someone else?” You watch them pause, considering. It’s hard to keep the chastizing tone out of your voice. Demon or not, this thing is acting ridiculous, if not a little childish. “You could easily find someone else to hunt, right?” A grimace pulls on your face at the poor choice of words but, well, that’s basically what this whole week has been. Endurance hunting. They’ve only been waiting for you to tire yourself out — while exhausting themselves in the process. “I just don’t understand. Why are you starving yourself of a meal?”

An annoyed chitter clicks from between their teeth. “Why are you starving yourself of sleep?”

You bite the inside of your cheek hard, not wanting to let the ‘touche’ be spoken aloud. “You know why,” you say instead. “You saw the nightmare too, didn’t you? It’s worse than anything my brain has come up with in years. Worse than the ballroom, and the faceless strangers, and the endless hallway. Worse than—” your teeth clack painfully under the force with which your mouth snaps shut, decisively keeping that thought tucked behind you, but it’s obvious by his flinch that Moon knows what you were going to say, regardless.

The nightmare that crept into your mind four days prior was worse than even him.

Silence answers you. You aren’t sure what you expected, really. Why would a demon, even the tailed, belled, poor-attempts-at-comfort kind, have any sympathy for a bad dream? If anything, you’re sure he encouraged its existence. 

“What about it scares you so much?”

His voice jolts you from your thoughts, catching you off guard. Your answer is interrupted by the quiet voice of a newscaster as your television roars back to life and blue light pours from the screen — forcing him back under the couch with a weak hiss. Evidently, his strength to mess with your electronics is finally all used up.

“It’s…stupid,” you begin, attempting to sound bored as you lift yourself by the elbows and shrug. You consider twisting around to power off your television manually, but the short length of distance between you isn’t terrible. It allows you some breathing room — and an excuse to not look him in the eyes as you continue. 

“There’s no monsters or faceless crowds. It’s just me in this big, empty space, and I’m…alone. Unbearably alone.” You smile; a wry and pathetic attempt at pretending even as your own words betray you, hushed into a whisper. “That scares me more than anything.”

Your eyes search his own for any sign of empathy. You’re sure the implications are not lost on him; the single pillow on your bed, the absence of texts from friends or calls from family, your furniture left to grow dusty with no one around to impress. The lack of evidence that you aren’t already living the nightmare you’re so desperately trying to avoid.

The bell rings through their continued silence, tapping gently against the floor where their tail sways, his expression unreadable from under the couch. You fidget awkwardly with the torn hem of your pants and decide to continue, if only to fill the silence. “I don’t expect you to understand,” you admit, “it’s natural for you to be alone — hazards of your line of work, right?” 

The words come off as a joke — lighthearted, even if the laugh that follows is dry — but his bell falls silent.

“...It can get lonely, sssometimes.”

Your mouth goes dry, all attempts at humor dying in your throat at once, and you frown. Their awkward form of comfort immediately comes to mind. How long have they been watching humanity from the sidelines, you wonder. Curious if not hopeful for a glimpse of that life. What it might feel like to be comforted, or to hold someone’s hand, or even just have someone to talk to. Even in the crowd — even in your dreams — he kept his back against the wall, entirely alone. 

Maybe he understands more than you think.

“You know why, then. Why I don’t want to risk falling asleep and— and going back to that.” Your eyes betray you. Despite your best efforts you can not stop the tears that brim at the corners, thick with frustration and a bone-deep exhaustion, they burn hot against the dark circles beneath your eyes. You swipe at them with the bottom of your shirt, refusing to let them carry down your cheeks. “Even if you promised to get rid of the nightmare for good, I— I cant. I don’t want to experience it again.”

More silence answers you. God, this is humiliating. You begin to wonder if it was childish of you to assume the monster under your bed would pay your worries any mind. Those scarlet eyes only stare, apathetic and cold as the day you first saw them. You decide he isn’t going to give you the answer you want and so move to stand, but his throat offers a whine, halting your retreat, and his eyes are suddenly wide with thought.

“What if I show you something scarier?”

A funny noise slips between your teeth; something between a laugh, and a scoff. You crawl forward to lie down beside the couch, stomach to the floor, placing your head on your arms so you can stare him down at eye level. “Scarier than my nightmare?” You ask, “I doubt even you would be able to pull that off. I’m desensitized to all of your tricks, already.”

The creature’s grin is wide and sharp, that of a truly frightful thing. You wonder, then, why his eyes look so terribly sad. “Not all of them,” he tells you. “How about we ssstrike a deal?”

Your mother had always warned you about making deals with demons. Well, she hadn’t, but it’s common sense not to. That said, your common sense left the stage three nights ago, at minimum, and your curiosity currently ruled the intermission. You wanted to see where they were going with this. “What did you have in mind?”

There it is, again — that shrill laughter. “If I scare you, mmmore than even the nightmare,” Moon begins, “you will sleep for me.”

Your brow creases, eyebrows pinching together. “And if you can’t?” You ask, “If my nightmare is still worse than whatever you manage to come up with?”

“Then I’ll leave,” he promises, “and I won’t return.”

Oh. Well, that certainly sweetened the deal, didn’t it? Especially since you’re completely sure he’s just talking out of his ass. He might have scared you a few days ago — and admittedly, he still does, now — but nothing compares to the dark recesses that have kept you up for three straight nights, of that you are certain. With this confidence in mind, your answer comes easily. 

Your hand extends toward them, disappearing into the shadow beneath your couch, and cool, boney fingers snake around your palm in turn. 

“You have a deal.”

-

The curtains in your bedroom are pulled shut, the door closed, and the overhead light turned off. Moon crouches like a stone-still gargoyle in the far corner of your room where the soft light of your bedside table lamp can’t get to him.

Lastly, you climb into bed. “Remind me again why I’m doing this?” The covers are pulled back, but you don’t yet get under them. “I don’t like the idea of being a sitting duck, you know. When you told me to turn the lights off I didn’t think you meant all of them. Silly me, I guess.”

“Hushhh,” Moon hisses. They nod towards the bedside lamp. “That one too.” Seeing your eyes narrow with suspicion, they have the gall to sneer, showing their teeth as they finally stands to full height. Even slouched as he is, his shadowed head brushes along your ceiling, too-long limbs hanging limply at his boney sides. They watch your hand reach for the light and hesitate, still, only risking one step forward to plead their case, scarlet eyes aglow. “You trust me, don’t you?”

You very much do not trust him, though you want to. In fact, in order for this to work, you need to. He knows this as well as you do, and you believe he is hoping you’ll cut him some slack, maybe. It’s fortunate, then, that you’re too deep into this mess to turn back now. 

“Just this once,” you tell him, and with the flick of a switch your bedroom lapses into darkness.

It takes a moment for your eyes to adjust, and it is for this reason that you hear the transformation before you see it. 

A sound like stretched wires and loosened, plucked seams carries through the room, his shadowed form beginning to lose its shape all at once. Scarlet eyes liquify cartoonishly, dripping like candle wax down his cheeks, mouth sagging in tow like a burlap sack coming undone. The space between their eyes purses open with ease, a gap just wide enough for tapered claws to snag against the flesh on either end and— 

Their skin is split open and shred like a viscous cocoon, peeled away to reveal something inchoate, a grotesque assembly of viscera, blackened entrails wrapping around a wiry frame of jagged, mismatched teeth, thin like cords and cables, bleeding together into a blistering excuse of a carcass that drips and oozes and spills along your floor, and it is alive, pulsing along his anatomy like winged insects smothering the bark of a tree

— and from every bend there is a humanesque face, featureless as the masked strangers and protruding as though they are trapped behind skin, and between each shallow crevice there grows an eye, swollen and frantically looking in all directions, the veined tissue stretched thin across the expanse of their chassis, each a vibrant red like the blood pounding in your ears. His macabre torso swings forward on backwards legs, crawling forward on all fours, the remaining six limbs dragged behind like deadweight as he reaches the foot of your bed.

You are not winning this bet.

The mere sound they make — a long, suffocated groan — is enough to make your blood run cold. Goosebumps swarm your arms, every hair standing on end. You retreat against the frame of your bed and face them with a whimper as the tears begin to pour, you can do nothing but sit there, knees tucked to your chest, confused and pitifully lost for what to say for fear that you’ll simply open your mouth and gag. A cold sweat builds along your skin and soaks into the sheets that are pulled taut under daggered claws as this—this thing ambles onto your mattress.

A pleading, vehement shake of your head makes them freeze in place. Your heart hammers out of your chest as all eyes twist forward to meet you with a hideous squelch, and suddenly the very act of breathing feels impossible.

Moon — or whatever has become of them — extends a single hand in your direction. Throbbing bone meets your cheek and brushes away the tears, stilling only when you flinch, and though his ever changing face gives nothing away you can tell, near-immediately, that you’ve wounded him.

You finally understand the careful wording behind his proposal. ‘If I scare you’, they had said. Indeed — worse than even the nightmares, Moon was a terrifying, monstrous thing.

Again does that familiar, shrill laughter fill your ears. "I wwwin." 

It's bitter. There is no victory in his voice. He knew the odds and played them well in his favor even at the cost of exposing the uglier side, and now you’re here, pressed against the headboard and faced with a dripping maw that is just ghoulish enough to make you forget about the way he smiled at you only a short while ago.

Your head shakes for another reason entirely, this time. “I—I’m not scared,” you insist, desperate to ignore the tremble lining your throat, “I’m not.”

Admitting it would mean losing and losing meant having to face another nightmare all together, but more than that, you force the lie between chattering teeth because the way he looks at you is devastating, as though he’s realized only now the damage that’s been done. You will never look at him the same way again.

Yet he remains firm, answering you with a murmur. "Come nnnow, firefly, a deal is a deal,” he tells you, “it’s time for bed."

The demon in your bedroom, heinous and ugly and towering, guides you softly beneath your many covers. He fluffs your pillow. He tucks you in. He considers another stroke through your hair, a kiss to your forehead as he’s seen time and time again — he decides against it. Instead, Moon draws himself away from you, imagining that you can’t bear to look at him for a moment longer. Prepared to wait by the empty corner of your room, instead.

You reach out — catch him by the hand. One of many. Viscous muscle dribbles over your fingers, cold to the touch, but your hold remains steadfast.

The sight he is met with when he turns around is that of you propped up on one elbow, eyes wide with fear of another kind, and he can’t help but return to your side. 

"Stay here?" You ask. "...I don't want to be alone."

His motley of eyes blink in perfect unison, though he says nothing, at first, thoroughly shocked to silence. Why call a nightmare to the foot of your bed? Was it a trick? An excuse to smother your guilt? They can’t imagine another reason. Yet, undeniably, they watch as you lower yourself against the mattress again and use your other hand to raise the covers, inviting him inside. 

And he nods too eagerly — climbs onto the bed in a hurry as if scared you will change your mind, and only then does he squeeze your hand back. 

“You’re not,” they promise, “I’m right hhhere.”

Inky puddles trickle against your sheets as they tuck themselves under your offering of blankets, disappearing to the space at your feet if only for a moment, and returning, again, with familiar scarlet eyes that blink at you from the darkness.

Smooth shadow fits against your palm and curls between your fingers, refusing to let go, and as you hold hands with this strange creature — who has brought himself to the very brink of starvation for your sake — you begin to wonder if your nightmare isn’t so impossible to face after all.

“Promise me,” you cram the words around a yawn, “you have to swear to me that you won’t let the nightmare go on for long.”

Moon smiles with both sets of teeth, extending a shadowed hand to you, and offering his pinky. “I won’t leave a crumb behind,” he says, “you have my word.”

Your laughter is wary, but there all the same, a weak and hopeful smile playing on your lips. You want to believe him. You have to believe him.

An unavoidable weight tugs at your eyelids as your pinky curls around his own, four days of exhaustion catching up with you at last, and finally, tucked against shadow, your eyes fall shut. And everything

goes

quiet.

This abyss is dreadfully familiar. The expanse around you is black as the night without any stars to offer relief, and when you cast your voice into the darkness, looking for someone — anyone — to call back, not even your own voice returns.

You are unbearably alone.

A cold chill runs through you, aching within your chest like a broken heart. Your body makes itself terribly small, arms tucking around themselves as tears threaten to spill over your cheeks once more, the feeling of isolation too much, already. It eats away at you until even the darkness feels like a comfort, and you want nothing more than to be swallowed up by it, so that you might never have to feel this loneliness again.

How wonderful it is, then, to hear the chime of bell.

Your whirl on your heel to see Moon before you, dressed again in masquerade regalia, bent at the waist and with his arm outstretched, a charming grin splitting his cheeks behind the mask. His offer to dance is left unspoken, and he will wait as long as you need, but you hardly hesitate for even a moment this time before accepting with a smile of your own.

He sweeps you into a dance immediately, humming the tune of a familiar waltz and he carries you around the dark expanse, hand braced against the small of your back, whisking you this way and that until laughter builds in your throat and the room doesn’t feel so empty anymore.

The stars beneath his cloak escape from the fabric to dance overhead.  Galaxies of purple and blue and orange, nebulas that are red and brilliant gold, constellations which illuminate the darkness until the surrounding color reflects underfoot, and you dance across a sky of stained glass.

He dips you with a flourish, cloak tails soaring above their shoulders like wings pulled straight from the night sky, and as his chin tilts to look your way you want nothing more than to draw the mask from his face and see the smile that lies beneath.

He is visibly wary as your hand reaches for its silvery frame, though he makes no move to stop you. Perhaps he is scared that you will hate what you find on the other side — scared that he is too frightening, too monstrous without something to cover his face. 

But as it comes away, and you are met again with those scarlet eyes, you think of nothing more than how happy they’ve made you. Your hand frames their cheek with another bout of laughter as you mind the many eyes and teeth under your thumb, and when his smile widens so, too, does your own, because for the first time in forever you don’t feel so alone.

And you think that maybe, just maybe, you never want this dream to end.

[honeyhae-svt]

On My Command

SEVENTEEN FANFICTION (SERIES)

AFAB!READER x SEVENTEEN - MNID!!!

GENRE: Mafia, Businesses, Dark Romance, Smut, Gangs, RomCom, Action, Fem!Reader x Mafia!Seventeen, Baddie!Reader x Businessmen!Seventeen

⚠️ WARNINGS ⚠️: Language, Kissing, Making Out, Persistence. -warnings for this chapter

♡-Mention of other groups like TXT, EXO, ENHA, G-IDLE, LE SSERA, NCT DREAM, RIIZE (this is a series so ig i will be adding more to than these warnings) - MDNI OR I WILL BLOCK THOSE WITHOUT AGE INDICATOR ON BIO.

READER IS NAMED LI MEI QIANG!!!

>>>> IMAGES ARE FROM PINTEREST so yeah, ctto. Enjoy babies. ♡

On My Command - Masterlist (Chapters)

CHAPTER 2

"I heard our rival's CEO is either Chinese or Japanese," Wonwoo remarked, drawing the group's attention. "Who did you hear that from? And why didn't you share it as soon as you knew?" Jeonghan demanded.

"We weren't sure yet... so we decided to wait until Minghao and Hoshi could confirm it," Wonwoo explained. "What we know for sure is that they're not Korean," Soonyoung added, and Minghao and Hoshi nodded in agreement.

Xu Minghao is a Chinese member of Seventeen, known for his skills as both a hacker and a slasher. He's adept with blades, particularly nunchucks, and excels at coding. His contributions to the company include producing, design work, and managing store branches throughout the city alongside Mingyu.

Minghao shut his laptop and whispered something to Soonyoung, who nodded in response.

"I swear, if you keep another thing from us, I'll be the one to cut your tongues off," Seungkwan said, rolling his eyes at their exchange.

"S.Coups told us to keep quiet until now," Minghao clarified, and Wonwoo and Soonyoung. "But we need confirmation soon. The shipments are arriving in three days, and we can't afford any sabotage," another voice chimed in.

"We're aware," Jeonghan replied, glaring at the hacking team. "These hackers are too slow and don't take their jobs seriously."

"You can't blame us entirely. We've already done a lot for the group," Jihoon retorted, clearly annoyed.

"Jun, Dino, have you found any information yet?" Joshua asked, cutting through the argument. "We just returned from another mission, so apologies for the delay. We've confirmed that the rival company is indeed Chinese," Junhui said, tossing an envelope onto the table.

"You had this information all along and didn't share it sooner?" Jeonghan asked, grabbing the envelope and scanning its contents.

"We only just got it ourselves. Don't put the blame on us," Junhui replied.

"Well at least you guys did better on your researching than the hacking team," Seungkwan says, side-eyeing the team mentioned which makes Hoshi want to leap and beat Seungkwan up into a pulp, but of course, he wouldn't do that. Seungcheol would kill them if they caused another trouble.

Wen Junhui, another Chinese member of the group, is renowned for his research skills alongside Dino. He contributes to both planning and production and is responsible for disguises, which he handles with great expertise. His insane visuals are enough to make you think he'd bring no harm.

Lee Chan Lee Chan, known as Dino, is the maknae and excels in cons and disguises. He plays a key role in the group's planning and production and is known for his charisma, which enhances his disguise work.

Jeonghan, Joshua, Woozi, and Deokyeom left for their separate meetings, leaving the remaining eight members in the room.

"This is our first mission failure," one man said, disappointment evident in his voice. "It's not a complete failure yet. The deadline isn't up," Soonyoung assured him. "We were split into three groups, each with four members. We might have managed better if we had worked together."

"Ay, ay, it's alright, Vernon-ah. We just need to learn from our mistakes and do better next time," Seungkwan said, patting Vernon’s shoulder. "Besides, we all had different missions, so we couldn't assist each other."

Chwe Vernon, the American member, has high expectations and views 'failure' as unacceptable. He is involved in both business and gang operations, excelling as a strategist and sharpshooter.

"Even so, it's okay to be disappointed," Wonwoo said, standing up. "I'm leaving," he added before walking out."I’ll leave too," Vernon said, also rising from his seat and exiting. "Those two really have such huge egos," Seungkwan remarked as he watched them go.

You were at work at the beauty store, successfully convincing a customer to buy three products. The sale boosted your confidence.

"Mei, our boss is visiting today because of yesterday's incident," Yuqi informed you, and you acknowledged the news.

Li Mei Quiang / YN, the protagonist, is a persuasive and observant 22-year-old Chinese who has lived in Korea since age six. Your expertise in psychological thinking and sociability makes you effective in your job.

Song Yuqi, a Chinese who moved to Korea four years ago, has become your close friend. She often calls you 'Unnie,' meaning older sister, as she is two years younger than you.

Choi Beomgyu, Choi Beomgyu, your best friend and a part-time store employee, is a year older and works as a musician. His social nature and connection to his band add to his role at the store. He also has his own set of other friends that is part of his band, and is practically a social butterfly.

Lee Heeseung, one of the people that you hold close with, your guardian since you were six, took you in when you were lost at the airport. Though his family needed convincing, he became your legal guardian and treated you like his own sister (once he reached his legal age). Ever wondered how a six year old even got there? Well, you were lost at an airport, you didn't know how to speak korean, so he took you with him.

He works at a small company, enough to make a living while taking care of you. He is five years older and treats you like his real little sister.

—AEYA HERE!: Count this as one of character introduction! Hehe, and, oh.

Choi Seungcheol is the boss of the Seventeen group, known for his stern and commanding presence. He has successfully led the group in both business and gang activities for five years.

3 days later.

The tension in the air was palpable as you stood in front of the manager, his eyes drilling into yours with an intensity that made your skin crawl. “You didn’t recover the stolen products, did you?” His question was pointed, almost as if he was challenging you.

You raised an eyebrow, biting back the urge to lash out. “No, sir...” you answered, your tone laced with thinly veiled sarcasm. His hand shot out, gripping your chin, forcing you to meet his gaze. He smirked, a sinister glint in his eyes. “You know what that’ll cost you, right?”

A dangerous grin curled your lips. “And why exactly am I the only one getting punished? It’s not my fault your damn store doesn’t have any security.” You swatted his hand away, your voice dripping with defiance. Yuqi and Beomgyu exchanged knowing glances—they’d seen this side of you before.

The manager’s eyes narrowed, caught off guard by your audacity. “You little—do you want me to fire you?”

You didn’t back down. “Fire me? Because your store doesn’t have the budget for a single security guard? Or is it that you’re pocketing the money instead?” You tilted your head, feigning innocence, your voice cutting through the room like a knife.

For a moment, he was speechless, his bravado crumbling. “W-what are you implying?” gulping in his words at the sudden statement you had made. You grinned in a smug kind of way like the proud and confident woman that you are.

“You know exactly what I’m implying,” you shot back, leaning in just enough to make him uncomfortable. “The company’s successful nationwide. There’s no way it can’t afford proper security unless someone’s skimming off the top. Should I take this up with the CEO?”

Yuqi and Beomgyu were silently cheering you on from behind. Your boldness was nothing new to them, but it never failed to amaze. The manager, realizing he was backed into a corner, stammered out a weak excuse before scurrying off, tail between his legs. Of course, he could've defended himself, but you knew too much and he just couldn't find the words to deny it. He'd get away from more humiliation. As the manager, he'd have more power over you, but you towered over him so quickly he didn't have the time to escalate things. He didn't see that coming, he was the new manager after all.

“Damn, that was epic,” Beomgyu whispered, a smirk playing on his lips.

“Seriously, unnie, you’re my hero,” Yuqi added, eyes shining with admiration.

You waved them off, checking your phone as it buzzed. The manager had sent you a message, instructing you to handle an incoming shipment at the airport. A sly smile crept onto your face as you replied with a curt, “Send me the details.”

Jeonghan, Joshua, Woozi, and Deokyeom were sipping their coffees, scanning the bustling terminal. They were waiting for the arrival of a critical shipment—a shipment they suspected had been compromised by their rivals.

“There,” Jeonghan muttered, nodding towards a woman talking to a man who matched the description of the dealer they were expecting. His eyes narrowed as he noticed something off. “That’s not the manager.”

“What do you mean?” Joshua asked, following Jeonghan’s gaze.

“The manager is supposed to be a guy,” Jeonghan replied, suspicion growing in his chest. “Could they be using someone else to do their dirty work?”

Woozi was already tapping away on his laptop, pulling up information on the mystery woman. “Li Mei Quiang... She’s listed as an employee from one of our branches, but there’s not much else here.”

Jeonghan’s mind was racing. “Why would a manager delegate something this important to a regular employee?”

Woozi’s eyes widened as more information came through. “It’s possible the manager’s a spy. He’s only been with the company a month—just before this whole mess with two groups started.”

Joshua frowned, piecing it together. “It was all planned. They sent him in as a mole.”

“And what about her?” Deokyeom chimed in, nodding towards you. “She could be part of it, too. There’s so little info on her, and she’s been working there for two years. Seems like a perfect candidate for a spy.”

Jeonghan sighed, his gaze still locked on you. “We’ll keep an eye on her, but for now, let’s make sure these products don’t end up in the wrong hands.”

The four men watched as you and the dealer loaded boxes into a truck. The tension was high as they followed you to the store, where they intercepted you just as you were about to offload the shipment.

Woozi approached you with a steely determination, flashing his ID. “These products need to be examined first.”

You glared at him, blocking his path. “And who the hell are you to make that call?”

Woozi’s irritation was palpable, but he kept his cool as he showed you his identification. Reluctantly, you stepped aside, arms crossed, watching as they took the boxes.

---

“So, we managed to stop the sabotaged shipment,” Soonyoung said, slumping into his chair, a sigh of relief escaping his lips. “But I’m still not sure about that girl,” Jeonghan muttered, pacing the room.

“You think she’s working with them?” Chan asked, leaning back in his seat.

“Possibly,” Jeonghan replied, rubbing his temples. “She might be more involved than we thought.”

“Relax, hyung,” Chan said, trying to ease the tension. “They wouldn’t send someone important out in the open like that. It’s too risky.”

Before Jeonghan could respond, Wonwoo and Mingyu entered the room, looking drained. “Turns out the ones who sabotaged our products were from EXO,” Woozi announced, breaking the silence.

“EXO?” Chan echoed, incredulous. “What the hell do they want with us?”

“They see us as competition,” Seungcheol said, his voice grim. “They’ve started a business here in Korea, and we’re in their way.”

Their company has been going well for the past 5 years, yet this commotion started about a week ago, making the rest of Seventeen members alert at the suddenness. EXO was a chinese group gang who had recently started their own business here in Korea a few months ago.

“Great, so now we’re dealing with a bunch of sore losers who resort to sabotage,” Seungkwan scoffed.

Seungcheol nodded, his expression dark. “We’ve lost a lot of money because of them. But this isn’t over. We’re going to double down on security and make sure every shipment is checked thoroughly. And as for that girl...”

Jeonghan straightened, his eyes narrowing. “We’ll keep a close watch on her. If she’s working with EXO, we’ll find out soon enough.”

He knew something was different too, but they also could be wrong. Wasting a time on that is just a big no for them given to the situation they're in for now.

Seventeen knew that they've already sent a few spies to their company to take note of whatever they had planned, so EXO was practically one step ahead of Seventeen.

A tense silence settled over the room as the members of Seventeen prepared for the inevitable confrontation. The stakes had never been higher, but they weren’t about to let anyone bring them down.

---

You walked back into the store, still reeling from the encounter. Your mind raced, wondering what the hell just happened. But there was no time to dwell on it—you had a job to do. And something told you this was just the beginning of a much bigger game.

The sun barely broke through the clouds that Sunday, casting a muted light across the room as you moved with purpose, determined to clean every corner of your apartment. Heeseung wasn’t home, so you had the place to yourself—rare time to get things in order on your day off.

As you wiped down the countertops, the silence was interrupted by your phone buzzing on the counter. You glanced at the screen: an unknown number. Ignoring it was second nature; you never took calls from numbers you didn’t recognize. But the phone buzzed again and again, the persistent vibration grating on your nerves.

“The hell is this?” you muttered, irritation creeping into your voice as you prepared to block the number. Just as you were about to hit the button, the phone buzzed again, your thumb accidentally grazing the answer key in your frustration.

“You finally answered,” came a hoarse voice, instantly familiar and unwelcome. Your heart skipped a beat, a cold realization sinking in. “Who is this?” you demanded, now holding the phone to your ear.

“Baby… Please… Come back to me,” the man’s voice cracked, punctuated by the sound of soft sobs. Recognition hit you like a wave—this was your ex, the one you broke up with over a year ago, his obsession clearly as strong as ever.You hung up abruptly, a frustrated sigh escaping your lips as you massaged your temples, trying to stave off the headache that was beginning to form. The phone buzzed again, the same number flashing on the screen. You blocked it immediately, your frustration bubbling over. “How did this guy even get my new number?” you muttered. You’d changed it twice, yet somehow he’d found you again.

Hours later, the apartment was finally spotless, and the only task left was to take out the trash. You had missed the janitor’s usual rounds, so you grabbed the bag and headed for the stairs. As you descended, the faint sound of footsteps echoed behind you. At first, you brushed it off as someone else taking the stairs, but as you reached the third floor, a hand suddenly gripped your arm, spinning you around.

Your instinct was to fight, to kick the assailant away, but then you saw his face—Riki, your ex-lover. Your body tensed, recognizing him instantly.“Riki…?” you muttered, eyes narrowing in disbelief.

Nishimura Riki, the same guy you’d dated for three months before calling it quits. Heeseung’s friend, a year younger than you, with a reputation for being far too obsessive. Even after a year, he clearly hadn’t moved on.

“I told you, we can’t,” you said, your voice firm with frustration. “Babe, please, just one last chance,” Riki pleaded, his voice desperate as he grabbed your hand, ignoring the trash bag you were holding. “I just held the trash, don’t touch that,” you snapped, yanking your hand away. “Let’s talk some other time. Not now.”

But Riki wasn’t about to give up easily. He lunged forward, wrapping his arms around you from behind in a desperate hug. “Riki! Let go of me or I’ll cut both your arms off!” you yelled, your voice echoing off the stairwell walls.

“Baby… I don’t know what I did wrong, why did we have to break up?” Riki’s voice was filled with pain, his grip still tight around you. “I swear, this guy is so stubborn,” you thought, pushing him away with all your strength until you were finally free.

“For the thousandth time, you didn’t do anything wrong. We just didn’t work out, okay?” you said, putting as much distance as possible between you and him.

Riki was a good guy—too good. Caring, loving, understanding, he had every quality someone could want. But that was the problem; he was too nice, and you didn’t feel like you deserved it. You didn’t take things seriously, and you knew that if you didn’t end it early, it would only hurt him more. But looking at him now, you realized how wrong you’d been.

You shouldn't have dated him in the first place, right? Your brother had set you up with him, on which you did agree to go on dates until you found it to yourself that you weren't that serious about it, which made you regret your decision.

“I’m sorry, Riki,” you said, your voice softer now as you turned to finally head downstairs. You hurried to the ground floor, feeling his gaze on you until you reached the exit. You placed the trash bag with the others by the side of the building, taking a deep breath as you bent over, hands on your knees.

You watched as Riki’s figure retreated, driving away, his shoulders slumped in defeat. Just as you felt a slight relief, another figure caught your eye—a man dressed entirely in black, with a mask covering most of his face and a cap pulled low over his eyes. You’d seen him around the complex before, always looking out of place. You decided not to get involved—whatever his business was, it was none of yours.

Back in your apartment, exhaustion washed over you as you slumped onto the bed, scrolling through your phone mindlessly until sleep finally claimed you.

Across town, in a dimly lit meeting room, a man entered, his footsteps echoing in the silence. Eleven figures were already seated around a large table, their faces obscured by shadows. The man took his place, and the one next to him leaned in, whispering, “What took you so long?”

“Seventeen has upgraded their security,” the man replied, his voice low. “The new system’s protection is too high—I can’t hack into it anymore.”

The leader at the head of the table slammed his hand down, the sound reverberating through the room. “Shut it. Because of your reckless actions, they found out about the shipments! Now you can’t even stay focused!” he shouted, his voice filled with barely contained anger. “Contact those seven boys and the three spies I’ve placed in each of their stores. Seventeen is already on to us.”

The group nodded in agreement, the tension in the room thick enough to cut with a knife.

The following Tuesday, you were back at work, talking to Yuqi about the argument you had with Heeseung the day before. “Typical sibling fights,” Yuqi remarked with a shrug, while you rolled your eyes in response.

“Even if I’m mad, I don’t have the right to be. He’s the one who raised me,” you said, sighing as you fixed the shelves, Yuqi nodding along.

After a brief silence, Yuqi suddenly perked up. “Oh, unnie, do you have any plans for your birthday tomorrow?” she asked, her tone light.

You thought for a moment before shrugging. “Not really. Heeseung said he’s busy, and Beomgyu has something going on, so I guess there are no plans this year.”

"But unnie, we should still celebrate!" Yuqi insists, her excitement has not diminished. "How about we go clubbing? You're stressed, and maybe a night out will help."

You considered her suggestion, a small smile tugging at your lips. “Not a bad idea. I didn’t have anything planned, but I guess this could work.”

The next day, Shuhua picked you up in her luxurious limo, Yuqi and Minnie already inside. You wore a simple black dress with white off-shoulder puffed sleeves and a slit up the side, practical yet elegant. Your makeup was light, accentuating your natural beauty.

As soon as you stepped into the car, the girls squealed in delight, their eyes wide with admiration. “You guys act like you’ve never seen me before,” you quipped, rolling your eyes as you took a seat.

“We just wanted to give you extra attention since it’s your birthday,” Minnie said with a chuckle, the other two nodding in agreement. “Happy birthday, pretty girl,” Shuhua added, handing you a pair of designer bags.

“Thank you, girlies,” you replied, smiling as you accepted the gifts. Shuhua, ever the generous CEO, had picked out something luxurious, while Yuqi handed you a small box containing a delicate necklace engraved with all your names.

“Aww, this is really sweet,” you said, giving Yuqi a hug before slipping on the necklace. The car ride was loud and full of laughter, the four of you enjoying each other’s company until you arrived at the club.

The night was going well—too well, perhaps. A few hours in, the girls were already passed out, Minnie was nowhere to be found, Yuqi was slumped over the table, and Shuhua was making out with some random guy. You found yourself alone at the bar, the night still young but already feeling drawn out.

It was just after midnight, and you watched the crowd from above, perched on a stool with your legs crossed and your chin resting in your hand. You were starting to feel the effects of the drinks you’d had when a man walked into the room, instantly drawing everyone’s attention.

He was striking—tall, around 178-180 cm, dressed in a slim-fitting, jet-black suit that accentuated his lean frame. The suit’s fabric caught the light with a subtle sheen, perfectly tailored to his body. Underneath, a crisp white shirt contrasted sharply against the dark suit, the collar open just enough to reveal a glimpse of his collarbone. His deep burgundy tie added a splash of color, and a simple silver tie pin completed the look. His hair, slightly tousled yet meticulously styled, framed his sharp jawline, softening the intensity of his gaze. The way he carried himself—with a quiet confidence and a subtle, knowing smile—commanded the room’s attention.

His presence was magnetic, and despite yourself, being tipsy, you found yourself drawn into his presence. He started a conversation with you, offering you a few more drinks, making you feel more tipsy and you just couldn't help but feel drawn to this man in front of you. After a few moments of talking, the next thing you knew is that you had your lips all over his already.

~~~You've reached the end. Wait for Chap 3 ;)

On My Command - Masterlist (Chapters)

—AEYA HERE!: YNNIE??? WHAT ARE YOU DOING??? ಥ⁠‿⁠ಥ and who is that man? (⁠人⁠ ⁠•͈⁠ᴗ⁠•͈⁠)

—AEYA HERE!: your likes, reblogs, follows are very much appreciated. it boosts my dopamine and makes me want to upload asap so yeah, interacting with me really helps ^^

-NOW OPEN FOR TAGLIST!!! MESSAGE ME / COMMENT YOUR @ AND I WILL BE TAGGING THOSE WHO WANTS TO BE UPDATED ^w^

[quietblueriver]

**Update: now 1k longer, edited, and with two additional nights' worth of obsessive CR thoughts. Much like how to hit post/publish without going back to change a million things, I have yet to figure out the line between rb and "so different it deserves a new post" and maybe never will!

Also now on AO3.

----

Three cheers for the surprisingly lengthy, emotionally complex conversation in Ep. 96. Still thinking about that devastating rooftop moment, and never not thinking about Imogen Temult, so here's this, in which Imogen visits her favorite place without her favorite person, gets a surprise visitor, and has some thoughts about Laudna and their future. Some light spoilers for Ep. 96.

-

There was a cool breeze ruffling the fabric of her skirt against the skin of her leg, and Imogen took a moment to bask, eyes closed, face turned up to the warmth of the sun. When she blinked open her eyes, she found exactly what she expected: the old oak that took up a corner of the sprawling yard, a faded-white bench swing hanging from one sturdy branch; the little shelter for firewood, empty at the moment, a green wheelbarrow parked just beside it; the raised garden beds bursting with color that framed a pathway to the porch steps where she sat. The most familiar place she had never been. 

Home. 

“Of course,” she breathed out. Her mind’s decision to bring her here was at once almost unbearably cruel and a kindness she was surprised she could grant herself, and tears burned at the back of her eyes as she ran her palms over the smooth, dark-stained wood of the step next to her hip.

The sound of her own voice made her realize exactly how quiet the world around her was–no birds chirping, empty hitching posts, bees gone from the thriving patch of wildflowers. The house behind her waited still and free of the whistle of the kettle and shuffle of stockinged feet, missing the absent-minded humming and chorus of mundane thoughts that made Imogen feel most at home.  

 “Of course,” she said again, a little louder and a lot more resigned. 

It didn’t seem right, that the chasm in Imogen’s stomach, already bottomless, could somehow grow deeper, but that was what was happening, her mind returning to Laudna’s skin under her lips on that rooftop, Laudna’s body wrapped in blankets and shifting quietly away from Imogen. 

She felt like a coward, letting her go again, flying back through that window, turning her own body into itself in bed. She could’ve stayed, should’ve stayed, should’ve pushed. But then, it was Laudna’s choice. That was the whole point, wasn’t it? Giving Laudna the choice, the control, the autonomy she’d had taken from her for so long? 

This wasn’t the first time she’d prepared herself to lose Laudna. She had watched FCG, well-intentioned, try to force her back to them at Whitestone. She had understood, even as she’d wanted to kill them a little. But when it was her turn, Imogen made sure Laudna knew it was her choice and that Imogen would never try to take that from her. It was still true. Imogen loved Laudna far too much to try to force her hand. 

Now, though. Now there was the green ghost of Delilah Briarwood, sharp voice chasing Laudna’s like a wolf after its prey. Closer and closer and closer. 

It felt less and less like giving Laudna a choice and more and more like leaving her to be eaten. Imogen worried, always, about what that bitch was saying to Laudna, what she was doing to Laudna. She worried about how much influence she had and about whether Laudna could see it. 

But then Laudna had been the one to say that she didn’t know if there was much point in distinguishing between them anymore. 

That was it for Imogen. It was one thing if Laudna couldn’t see Delilah, couldn’t understand that her choices might not be fully her own. But Laudna knew. Laudna knew she wasn’t alone, knew Delilah was more than just a passenger, and Imogen had done all she could to be clear about Delilah’s lies and Laudna’s own power, to offer Laudna perspective on who she was to Imogen without Delilah. 

And with all of that, she had made her choice. Imogen didn’t understand. She didn’t understand how Laudna could see Delilah for what she was, for what she wanted, and still believe she could control her, still choose to try. Then again, of course she didn’t. It was so fucking messy and it had been for longer than Imogen had been alive, and anyway, it didn’t matter. It wasn’t her choice to understand; it was her choice to respect.

She could do that. It had broken her, was still breaking her, but she would always, always respect what Laudna chose for herself. She had nodded, cracked open on that rooftop. She had accepted what she heard and what it meant, for Laudna and for her and for the future she had thought they both wanted. 

I’m going to miss our little cottage, though.

She hadn’t meant it as a shot. It was grief over something she thought, hoped, Laudna might be grieving, too. It’s not like Imogen thought Laudna’s decision had been easy. 

Still, she hadn’t expected the look she received in return, the surprised, broken stare, the shaking sob and flood of ichor that Laudna tried to stem. It was like Laudna hadn’t realized that their future was there to lose. Maybe she hadn’t. Laudna never did seem to understand how much Imogen loved her, no matter how clear Imogen tried to make it. Maybe she’d heard Imogen’s very real dreams as passing thoughts. Maybe Imogen’s concession of their future had been the first time Laudna had seen it clearly. 

Or maybe things were right fucked up, and Laudna needed to cry about it. 

Either way, Imogen wasn’t fool enough to expect that Laudna’s possible moment of comprehension would change anything. Sure, she’d sounded different with the Hells, less like she was expecting death, a dead end, and more like she wanted to take back control, but Laudna also knew the rest of the Hells were less likely to respect her choices than Imogen, that any hint of her willingness to let Delilah take control, even on a suicide mission, might lead them to push Laudna away. Imogen had no doubt that Laudna loved her, had no doubt, really, that if she was right about Laudna’s realization that it meant something, but Imogen wasn’t hanging her hope on that. 

Laudna had made her choice.

“So,” she said aloud, voice soft as she took in the green grass stretched before her, the fence line separating their cottage from the forest, Laudna’s thriving tomatoes and okra, supported in their little cages. “Just me then.” 

And wasn’t that a dangerous realization. 

Because Imogen’s whole life was about control. Her mind, her body, her emotions, she knew all of them needed to be held tightly, that letting go meant danger for anyone around her. But here, now, all alone? The small, steady voice of reason inside of her lost to the reality of her isolation. “Just me,” she whispered, and in a snap, her scars burned, light flashing under and around her skin, tears falling hot down her cheeks. A storm of fear and anger and desperation and hurt let loose. The bursts of lightning that crackled around her did not set the house on fire. She might be alone, but she could never, would never, hurt what was theirs.

Instead, she stood, still burning, and walked to the top of the stairs, staring at the post that ran from the tin roof through the floor of the porch. She considered, watched little bolts strike out harmlessly at the porch and the railing. 

She’d been six years old the first time she wrecked the cleaning station in the barn, tiny, furious body pushing buckets and tack and brushes, flipping the table in a show of strength that followed her for years through drunken stories from the other stable hands. At her daddy’s hard order, she had stomped her way to her room, slamming the door with tears streaming down her face.

Imogen’s daddy hadn’t understood a lot of things about her, but he’d understood her that night. Relvin, who had all of her anger and none of her magic, had come to get her from her room and taken her to the back of the old storage barn, where he’d used a rafter to hang a densely packed sack of hay at her height. He’d taken her hand, still small enough to fit fully in his, and shown her how to make a fist. 

Now, just like he’d taught her, she curled her scarred fingers and folded her thumb across the outside, squared up to a cut of wood that was absolutely going to win this fight, and swung as hard as she could. Sure enough, with a grunt and a flash of pain, Imogen pulled back to find her knuckles bloodied and the wood smeared with dark red but as solid as ever. She contemplated her unblemished right hand, and it was only the sound of rustling grass that stopped her from another round. 

Her head shot up and toward the corner of the house and the source of the noise. She was in her own mind, her own dream, but that didn’t mean shit, really. She wiped at her eyes, hissing at the pain and glad for it and for the blood now surely on her cheeks, and she let the heat crackle the air around her. She was ready and out of patience for any bullshit. No matter the evidence of her weakness now marring the wood next to her, this place was sacred, and she was going to be pissed if somebody had come here to fight. 

Imogen relaxed, air cooling, as she took in the figure that loped toward her. He was horrifying, a mass of patchy dark hair and exposed bone, dripping ichor and torn flesh. His eyes glowed and his deadly teeth showed through his half-torn jaw. As Imogen walked down the steps to wait, she felt deep fondness at the wagging tail and lolling tongue that felt so incongruous to the rest of the hellbeast. Fun scary. 

“Hey, baby boy,” she said affectionately as he got closer, and his tail wagged harder at her voice. She leaned forward when he made it to her, cupping his face to scratch behind his jaw, wincing at the pain in her hand. His fur was mostly intact under her fingers, although the jaw itself was a blend of bone and ichor and random thin patches of hair against Imogen’s palms. “What’re you doin’ here?” 

As if in answer, he pulled back and whined, licked at her cuts and the forming bruise, the familiar sticky, black liquid cooling and covering the split skin. 

“I’m okay,” she reassured, aware that even beyond the evidence of violence, the intermittent purple static around her body probably wasn’t particularly convincing. She was right, it seemed–the tilt of his head was skeptical, and he huffed at her loudly, but his eyes were fond. Imogen saw Laudna in him so clearly in that moment that she lost her breath for a second. 

“Fuck.” 

Another whine, another lick, and Imogen conceded the point. “Yeah. Yeah. Okay. Maybe I’m not doin’ so good. You come all this way just to check up on me?”

He moved forward and pressed his head into her thighs, and she scratched at the parts of his back and ribs that she could, stopping when she noticed the pain in her hand was gone. Flexing, she pulled it back to look more closely, wiping the blood and ichor off carelessly on her shorts. Sure enough, the skin was healed, and Caviar was staring at her, tongue hanging from the open side of his mouth. 

She could’ve healed it herself. This was her mind, after all, and it wasn’t one of those dreams where she felt like a passenger. She could’ve stopped the pain entirely, stopped it before it ever started. She hadn’t.

Not as herself, anyway.

It wasn’t a surprise, really. It only made sense that the kindest, gentlest parts of herself would manifest this way. It had been Laudna who taught her how to love herself, and it was Laudna she wanted with her now. 

Big eyes blinked up at her, and just like the cottage, just like her knuckles, Caviar’s presence was a welcome wound, and one she’d inflicted on herself. 

Imogen fought a sob, only half successfully, and Caviar whined again. “Kinda fucked up, sweet thing,” she rasped. A drop of ichor fell from his tongue to the packed dirt in front of the stairs. She wiped her eyes again and sighed, reaching down to smooth the hair between his eyes with her thumb. “How about a little walk in the garden, yeah? And then maybe a snack?”

-

It took a minute to pull off her boots, toss them a little carelessly on the uncharacteristically empty shelf inside the door. She had nothing to hang on the shiny, empty brass hooks that waited above it, and she didn’t dwell, following Caviar through the living room to the little kitchen in the back. The kettle rested on the stove, and she filled it and set it to boil before moving to the shelves on the opposite wall. 

“Okay, Cavvy. Let’s see what we’ve got, hmm?”

There was a glass jar filled with cookies that Imogen knew were for Cav; they were fresh, and they smelled like pumpkin and cinnamon. He scarfed down two happily while she found the tea leaves. She turned to the shelves near the window where she knew her favorite mug was waiting for her next to Laudna’s. Her hand fell back to her side as she took them in, her mug and Laudna’s and the small collection of others, all in a neat and tidy line with their rims up. Imogen stared until the water boiled and the kettle whistled, stared until Caviar bumped her leg.

She put a hand absently on his head, felt bone under her ring and pinky fingers. “Your mama did that,” she said evenly, blinking and looking down at him. “This is our house.” He pressed up into her hand, and she scratched obligingly. “This is our house.” 

She ignored her own mug and pulled Laudna’s down, setting it on the table and filling the strainer in the yellow ceramic teapot. She poured the water and waited for the leaves to steep and then sipped her tea in silence as Caviar settled by her feet. A blue tea towel embroidered with a small white oleander in the corner rested over the top of one chair, smudged with orange-tinted batter and smelling of cinnamon. 

Imogen never had been a very good baker. 

-

“I think Orym was lyin’ to her.” 

Caviar’s head rested on Imogen’s thigh, just above her knee, as she lay with her arms spread wide on the worn blue and gray rug in their living room. He lifted it slightly at her words, and she brought a hand down to finger the tip of his good ear, the one without a chunk missing, the way that he liked. 

“I know he loves her,” she assured, and Caviar pushed himself up on his massive paws and shifted so that his body was pressed into hers, Imogen’s arm resting on his surprisingly dry, largely exposed ribs. “I don’t mean that. I just,” she traced bone with her index finger, staring at the wicker basket full of yarn beside the chair that Laudna favored, a cousin to the one at Zhudanna’s, “I heard them talkin’ about her, about trust, and I think Orym…He knows Delilah won’t let him close if she doesn’t trust him. He knows she’s listnin’ whenever she can. It’s about Delilah. Always fuckin’ Delilah.” 

She rolled onto her side, moving her arm so she could rest her head on her bicep and curling the other across Cav’s body. He huffed out a sigh, breath a harsher reminder of death than his mother’s, decomposition to her sweet decay. Imogen didn’t mind it. 

“He doesn’t wanna hurt Laudna.” Goosebumps formed where his cold body made contact with the exposed skin of her legs. “But he will.”

A low growl started in Caviar’s chest and Imogen made a soothing noise, noticed a stray sock under Laudna’s chair. “I know, baby. You’re a good boy.”

He was a good boy. He’d come as Delilah gained a better foothold, Imogen knew, a manifestation of Laudna’s anger and fear and hurt and power, her desire to protect.

And maybe Laudna saw him as further evidence of Delilah’s power and usefulness but Imogen knew better. Delilah would protect them only as much as it benefitted her, and it was a complicated balance when weighed against the need for Laudna to give her as little trouble as possible, sure, but one that definitely would’ve left at least a few of the Hells dead and buried several times over.

There was no calculation for Laudna. Caviar sprang readily, her body literally tearing itself open to be of use, and he snarled and snapped for the people Laudna loved. He was Laudna’s beast. 

His hackles now were built from Imogen, from love and a desire to protect that Laudna did not often extend to herself. She liked the look of it on him. The growl continued, a comforting rumble, as Imogen spelled Laudna’s name against his fur. “We’ll keep an eye on it.” 

-

She hadn’t wanted to go upstairs, but Caviar made the decision for her, interrupting her carpet brooding and disappearing around the corner to the staircase after a pointed look back at her. She followed, resigned, but stopped halfway there, eyes stuck on the pair of boots next to her own and the one now-occupied brass hook. She knew them, boots black and worn and scarf maroon and soft, big enough to use as a shawl if she wanted, Laudna’s frame so small it wrapped around her easily. She took a half-step toward them but at the impatient bark from upstairs, she tore herself away and started to climb.

He was waiting for her by Laudna’s bedside table, which was exactly as it should be–a paperback novel, spine bent so many times the title was hardly legible between the yellowed cracks, sat waiting next to another wicker basket, this one containing an embroidery hoop and some fabric. A small pin cushion peeked out of the top, clearly custom-made, the glinting metal protruding from the stuffed rat skull making Pate look even more disturbing than usual.

A white quilt with an intricate pattern of overlapping rings covered the bed, the green and gold and blue and purple striking but not garish. She sat on her side, smoothed a hand over the fabric, felt the dips and ridges of the stitches in the pattern. Caviar’s deadly claws clicked against the wood as he made his way to her, and she bit her lip for a minute before scooting over onto Laudna’s side, breathing in the smell of her on the pillow and patting the bed next to her. With menacing grace, Caviar joined her and spun once before settling, nose tucked under his tail, the curve of his spine just touching Imogen’s torso. 

She watched the rise and fall of his body, eyes moving across the ragged realities of him. A hound of ill omen, and he looked like one. He was fierce and violent, a weapon, but Laudna, who knew what it was to be used and feared, who didn’t seem to be able to see him fully as herself, had given him a name, opened her chest for him and fussed over him and, at one point, asked Imogen whether putting him in a sweater would be “undignified.” 

“Your mama’s ridiculous,” she said quietly, gratified when he remained still and unbothered. “I’m very in love with her.” A beat, her palm scrunching the quilt at her side. “I thought she knew, y’know? I thought she heard me when I…” 

She flattened the fabric again, traced one of the rings with two fingers and thought again of Laudna’s face on that rooftop. What had she thought Imogen meant all those times? What had she meant when she said Imogen could have this? That they could have this? 

She turned her head, ear against Laudna’s pillow, and stared at her own bedside table. It didn’t have anything on it aside from a small lantern, but it wouldn’t, would it? Laudna would hand her the book, and Imogen would read aloud as she worked on whatever project or rested her head on Imogen’s stomach. 

The chasm widened this time, maybe finally out of depth to reach, and its growth brought along the urge to reach over and shatter the lantern. Instead she turned her head to the other side, took in Laudna’s dresser pushed under the window, the pitcher and glasses, the glazed speckled bowl full of feathers and small bones, and a lonely sock waiting for its pair forgotten under Laudna’s wingback. 

“Real subtle,” she said to herself, less quiet than she had been with the annoyance seeping in, because what the fuck was she supposed to do about it anyway? Caviar remained undisturbed. 

Rolling her eyes, Imogen took a few deep breaths and took stock. She very well might wreck herself again, thinking about how she couldn’t have this, trying to understand why. On the other hand, she was laying in an imaginary bed in an imaginary cottage next to an imaginary version of the monster that sometimes jumped out of her girlfriend’s chest, and if she was honest with herself, she didn’t want to leave this place or the little pieces of Laudna in it, so it seemed more likely than not that the wreck had never actually stopped. 

She did not fight the turn from that thought back to Laudna on the roof. 

I’m a dead end. Laudna had said that phrase several times in the last few weeks, and Imogen hated it, scoffed at it every time, but she should’ve understood sooner that nobody calling herself a dead end really believed she had choices. Not real ones, anyway.

The only thing that was certain for Laudna was Delilah, and at the root of it all, she believed her choice was Delilah or nothing. 

And Imogen had been clear about how she felt about Delilah.

You told me once that you hate the idea of her watching you, watching us. I’m guessing that hasn’t changed?

She hadn’t heard that question for what it was: Can you really love me this way?  

Imogen shifted on the bed, hot and anxious, and Caviar whined lowly, displeased at the movement. She ran a hand through the fur at his shoulder and then stood, pacing the space between the bed and dresser.

Laudna, shaking and unable to believe that Delilah had chosen her for a reason. Laudna, crying slow, black tears as Imogen told her she hated that Delilah was there, watching them, when just a few minutes before Laudna had admitted she wasn’t sure how to separate herself from Delilah any longer.

Imogen had let this go because she thought Laudna had made her choice, had all the information and chose her own path, and Imogen didn’t want to try to take that, but she also should’ve known that for Laudna it hadn’t felt like a real choice.

“It’s not takin’ her choice to help her understand that she has one.” Her voice was an agitated murmur, and she heard the shift of Caviar’s body on the bed, saw that he had uncurled and was watching her, still mostly relaxed but attentive. 

Fuck. Fuck. Of course Laudna couldn’t imagine their future, because she couldn’t imagine herself without Delilah, and Imogen hated her, openly and vocally and with all her heart. Delilah, who was there all the time, who had been there for thirty years, and for most of that had been Laudna’s only constant, her only company, her only protector. Delilah, who’d had all the time in the world to convince Laudna that she should be grateful to have her, that she was alive only because Delilah let her be, that she was walking around purely on the luck of the draw. 

Of course she thought her value was Delilah, thought the best she could do would be to try to take as much of Delilah’s power in service to her friends, to Imogen, as she could, even if it meant she herself would disappear. Imogen knew Delilah must love that, must love Laudna’s thoughts about self-sacrifice. The bitch.

A growl issued from the bed, and Imogen turned again to the hound, whose eyes were on her, his body now in a rigid, ready line and his lip raised in a snarl. Sighing, Imogen sat, offering her hand for him to sniff.

“I know. I know. I hate it, too.” The growling slowed although he remained tense, ready, teeth glinting. “I don’t think this is somethin’ we can fix on our own, baby. We can’t scare her away from your mama.”

But she had to go. Or, they had to give Laudna the option, a real option, to live without her, so that she felt like the choices in front of her were more than just smoke and mirrors to Delilah’s stone.

“But we’ve got help, don’t we?” She kept her voice gentle and flipped her hand slowly until his cold nose was moving along her palm. “Lots of people who love your mama. And lots of people who hate that woman.”

No matter Orym’s fears, Imogen knew Fearne had spoken for all of them when she said they’d kill Delilah as many times as it took. They just had to figure out how.

Imogen could work on that.

Well.

There were some things they had to do first, but if they survived Predathos, surely the Tempest, surely all of those people at Whitestone who hated Delilah so much, would jump at the chance to help get rid of her for good. Lord Percival was kind of a dick, but Lady Vex’ahlia seemed to have him under control, and if they couldn't help, they had to know people. Someone could help, and Imogen would absolutely fucking leverage Ruidus and Predathos and everything the Bells had done and sacrificed to get what they needed. 

They could make a plan, and Laudna could decide how she wanted to live her life. Yeah, it would hurt badly for Laudna to choose Delilah again, but at least then she and Laudna could both be sure it was a real choice. Laudna was worth the risk. Always. 

In the meantime, Imogen could hold onto this for the both of them. She wanted this, and she was ready to fight for it if Laudna wanted it, too. The spark of hope she'd tried to snuff out earlier flared back to life, and she let herself start to believe that Laudna did want it, would want it, would fight right beside her if she believed it could be real. Maybe she just needed a little hope too. Imogen could share.

Caviar licked at her, and she let him, moving to lie back down as he moved away from the edge of the bed and relaxed a little.

She put a hand on one of his front paws, and he raised it up, laying it over her arm, the rough pads scraping her skin. “We’re gonna try this again, okay? I’m gonna try this again.” Hard bone and wet sinew pressed against the inside of her elbow as he lay his head and neck over her, a comforting weight. “For Laudna.”

A bird chirped happily outside their window, and Imogen closed her eyes. 

She woke in their bed, still facing away, still curled into herself, and she turned immediately, reached out to Laudna as she stared at the sharp point of her shoulder and the plane of her back. 

Laudna? 

The response was immediate, concerned. Imogen? Are you alright? 

I love you.  

Laudna turned, and Imogen watched her eyes take her in, her teeth worrying at her bottom lip in a way that made Imogen itch to reach out and soothe her.

When their eyes met, Imogen put a hand between them. 

I love you so much. No matter what. Even if she’s with you forever, with us forever, I don’t care. I want you, okay? If you want that, want me, I’m yours. 

She was crying, dark stains moving down pale cheeks, and she was still bundled into herself, small and in her own blankets. Imogen eyed her hand between them and thought about choice. 

I…I’d like to hold your hand, if that’s something you want.

Nearly immediately, Laudna’s hand was out of her blankets and on Imogen's, cold and perfect. 

It is. It is. I…I thought you would want space. After…

Imogen shifted so that their fingers laced, traced her thumb over the skin at Laudna's wrist. 

I don’t want space from you, darlin’. I want…

She stopped because it wasn’t the time for a full conversation, but she shifted closer, lifted their hands to press a kiss to the back of Laudna’s, did it again when she heard Laudna’s small sound of relief. She laced their fingers again, thumb over knuckles this time, and moved closer still, until their feet were nearly touching, sighed happily when a cold ankle moved to rest on hers. 

Caviar came to visit in my dream. 

Oh? Laudna lifted her eyes from where they’d been fixed on their joined hands. Tell me about it?  

We went explorin’, she offered, and started with Laudna’s garden.

[sunjaesol]

saeon x heejoo | childhood friends | fluff | drabble

⋆౨ৎ˚⟡˖ ࣪

JONGNO-GU, SEOUL, 2004

BAEK SAEON (14 YEARS OLD)

"Hello... my name... is Saeon... I am... 14 years old..." Saeon slowly signed in front of the mirror.

His fingers moved in a clumsy fashion, similar to a child's chicken scratch. But it was legible enough. Heejoo would understand him.

He repeated it. "Hello, my name is Saeon. I am 14 years old..."

Glancing at his textbook, he tried the next set of signs. "How are you doing? I'm okay."

KSL was surprisingly easy to get a grasp on. It definitely beat studying Latin or French, like his parents expected him to. A lot of the gestures corresponded with actual actions and his facial expressions carried half the load. Flipping to a different page, he wanted to see what some common concepts looked like.

Acceptance. Intolerance. Hate. Friendship. Love.

He went over the words, signing each of them. But he paused on the gesture for love, the slight hesitance betraying emotions buried deep within his subconscious.

To sign 'I love you', he had to make a fist and use his other hand to caress the fist. It was akin water gliding over and embracing a rock in a creek. He repeated the gesture three times, staring intently into the mirror, as though signing it to someone else.

The families didn't often meet up, especially since Ina was deaf and wouldn't be able to communicate smoothly with Saeon. It was sort of weird that she didn't learn KSL like Heejoo, but that wasn't his business to dig into. He had his own stuff to worry about. But he hoped that by the time they met again at some awful dinner, he would be able to chat with Heejoo on her level.

They had little in common. Heejoo was only ten. At the last party, she hid under the table with dolls to stay undetected from her mother. (And he had lied to her mother, pretending he didn't know where she was.) But Heejoo didn't snap at him to eat gross fish, or force him to wear scratchy sweaters and pleated trousers. She just let him exist.

In a way, he wasn't even 'Baek Saeon' in her presence. Just... a boy.

⋆౨ৎ˚⟡˖ ࣪

Saeon and Heejoo had found a tree in the back of her garden with low hanging branches, thick enough to keep their weight, and long enough that allowed them to sit comfortably.

They went four metres high, which was a considerable height for two sheltered children living in the richest suburb of Seoul. Saeon felt a streak of rebellion each time he placed his hands on the rough bark.

(His hands had lost its thick and dirty calluses. They were soft now. But he remembered.)

They each sat on their own branch, facing each other. Heejoo was annoyed, signing fast and erratic about something her mother did. Saeon monitored her gestures and expressions closely, gluing everything together in his head.

He responded, asking follow-up questions. His signing went slower than Heejoo, but she patiently waited for him. He'd never seen Heejoo be impatient.

He could talk as well. Heejoo wasn't deaf. But... well... he liked the quiet. The rustling of the trees, her breaths, faraway cars and little birds scurrying at the tops of the trees had a calming effect on him. No one yelled or scoffed, or anything like that. Heejoo didn't even roll her eyes.

Saeon responded to her, signing: "That sucks. Your mom should just learn KSL."

Heejoo paused, thinking for a beat. And then: "She's thinking about pulling me out of school. She wants me to be home schooled. I guess she doesn't want to pay for my extra needs at school anymore."

His heart dropped to his stomach. He repeated her just to be certain. "Home school?"

Saeon and Heejoo didn't even go to the same school. He went to an all boy's secondary school. It had no impact on his life. And yet, it felt like a personal offense.

The girl nodded, her mouth pulling into a sympathetic smile as though he needed the comfort in this situation.

Saeon frowned. "Let my family pay for it then. They won't even notice the extra expense."

Heejoo smiled. "We're family friends," she signed. "Not married. You can't do that."

A shiver passed through him at the gesture of 'marriage'. The thought repulsed him. Marrying someone with the name 'Baek' attached to himself? No thanks. However, with the way the Baek's and Hong's were mingling, he had a sick feeling about his future. Ina and him were the same age. He wasn't stupid.

She continued signing: "Why don't you speak anymore? I'm not deaf."

Saeon flushed in embarrassment. "I like the silence," he signed. "And I want to get better at KSL."

"You're already good at it."

"You're better," he argued, his gestures firm.

Heejoo paused, her cow eyes staring at him with an indescribable look. It unnerved him. She was very much alive, but she sometimes reminded him of a haunted child from ghost stores.

Her fingers were lethargic—no: hesitant—as they moved. "I like your voice. Speak and sign at the same time."

Saeon's jaw fell slack, stunned, and he stammered out his first actual words of the day: "My voice– it's– whatever!" Resisting a scoff, he spoke and signed, like she asked. "My voice is squeaky nowadays. It sucks."

Right on cue, his voice shot up.

The girl smiled, her nose scrunching, like she was about to laugh out loud. She didn't. "Funny," she signed.

He rolled his eyes. "Whatever..."

[hayatheauthor]

A Step-by-Step Guide to Crafting a Compelling Storyline

I'll warn you, this is a long one. I kind of took 'comprehensive guide' a little too seriously.

You have a fantastic concept burning at the edges of your imagination, a collection of characters whispering their stories to you, and a world just waiting to be explored. But how do you weave all these elements into a story that grips readers and refuses to let go? The answer lies in effective plot planning.

A well-crafted plot isn't just a sequence of events; it's a carefully orchestrated symphony that takes readers on an unforgettable ride. Whether you're an experienced writer or someone trying to start their first book, here are my personal steps to crafting a compelling storyline with good plot planning. 

Step 1: Idea Generation and Conceptualization

Every great story begins with a spark of inspiration. It's that moment when an idea ignites in your mind and beckons you to explore its potential. The journey from a fleeting thought to a fully-fledged concept is an exhilarating one, and it all starts with idea generation and conceptualization.

Techniques for Idea Generation

Mind Mapping

Grab a piece of paper or use a digital tool to create a mind map. Write your central idea in the middle and branch out with related concepts, characters, themes, and settings. Mind mapping can help you visualize the connections and possibilities within your idea.

Bullet journalling

Bullet journalling is my personal favourite way to generate ideas for your WIP. Get a piece of paper or open a Word/Docs document and create three different sections: world, characters, and plot. Now add facts to each of those sections that you've come up with so far. 

You can even go a step ahead and create more detailed sections, for example, you could do this for your different characters or different places in your world. Usually, one bullet point leads to the next and once you have an idea of everything you've already established you'll naturally start adding more to it. 

Blurting

Talk to someone about your WIP, or pretend that you're talking to someone and write down everything that comes to mind. You can even use AI tools like ChatGPT and ask it to hold a conversation with you about your WIP. Tell it to ask you questions along the way, this will get the wheels turning and even help fill plot holes. 

Prompts and Challenges

Explore writing prompts or challenges to spark your creativity. Websites, books, or even random word generators can provide the nudge you need to generate fresh ideas. 

Refining Your Concept

Once you have a collection of ideas, it's time to refine and shape them into a cohesive concept.

Identify Themes

What themes or messages do you want to convey through your story? Is it a tale of redemption, the power of friendship, or the consequences of ambition? Pinpointing your core themes will guide your storytelling and also give you a clear image of the end goal. 

Find Your Angle

Consider what makes your idea unique. How can you approach a familiar concept from a fresh perspective? For example, if you're doing a classic murder mystery, what makes your book different from others? Take some time to look up titles similar to your WIP and find any repetitive themes/patterns. 

Maybe most murder mysteries end with the partner being the killer, or maybe the fantasy books written in the same mythology as your WIP's all involve a war. Knowing what is currently a popular trend in the market can give you a clear idea of where you can be different from comparable titles. This is especially important for genres like horror and romance. 

Develop a Premise

Your premise is the foundation of your story. It's the "what if?" question that drives your narrative. For instance, "What if an ordinary high school student discovers they have the ability to control time?" You need to have a solid premise before you even think about writing your story. 

Step 2: Character Development and Motivation

Characters are the beating heart of your story, and crafting them with depth and authenticity is key to creating a narrative that truly captivates. Your characters often leave more of a lasting impact on your readers than the plot itself. 

Think of it this way: a good plot will get you readers, but memorable characters will get you fans.  Some of the largest communities in the book space all run on the readers' fondness for certain characters rather than the story itself. Yes, your story and the way you tell it is very important, but nobody wants to listen to the story of a boring person. 

Bringing Characters to Life

Personal Histories

Delve into your characters' pasts. What experiences shaped them into who they are today? A traumatic childhood or a life-changing event can influence their motivations and behaviours. Maybe your antagonist has a soft spot for single parents because their mother was the only person who cared for them. Maybe the love interest seems like a sunshine character because they feel the need to always seem put-together and perfect.  

Physical Traits

This might sound obvious enough, after all a character's appearance is the first thing people think of when visualising, however, many authors fail to have a clear image of their character's physical traits which can lead to inconsistent or boring descriptions. Sure, your protagonist can have bushy hair and brown eyes, but what else? 

Think about their body type, height, fashion sense, the way they carry themselves, walk, and sound. Do they have a random mole at the back of their neck? Do they always smell like a certain perfume because their dead father gifted it to them? It's important for you to have a clear image of who you're writing.

Strengths and Flaws

Just like real people, characters have strengths and weaknesses. These traits affect their decisions and interactions. A courageous hero might also struggle with recklessness, adding complexity to their personality. It's easy to create 2D characters by using tropes or shallow descriptions 'an all-powerful villain' 'the chosen one who trained their whole life and is perfect', but 3D characters are what will actually catch your readers' attention. 

There's a reason why people often love the grey characters, the anti-heroes or anti-villains. Those who have complex personalities that make them seem human. This makes us empathise with the characters, and as a writer, it also helps you think of your characters as real people with flaws and problems. 

Motivations: The Why Behind the What

Goals and Desires

What do your characters want? Their goals drive the plot forward. A detective's desire to solve a mystery or a scientist's quest for a groundbreaking discovery sets the narrative in motion. Why is your protagonist doing what they are doing? 

You could simply give yourself a generic answer like 'they want to save the people' or 'they're a good person' but this can lead to confusion in the long run. If as the writer you yourself can't understand your character's goals it will get very hard to showcase them to your readers. Try to pick apart each character and genuinely consider why they are the way they are. 

Inner Conflicts

Characters often grapple with inner turmoil – the clash between their desires, values, and fears. This inner conflict adds layers of intrigue and reliability. Maybe your protagonist realises the antagonist's qualms with the government are actually valid and suffers from moral conflicts as they contemplate whether or not they are the 'good guy'. Inner conflict adds dimension to your characters which in turn makes it easier for your readers to empathise with them. 

Step 3: Outlining the Key Plot Points

Now that you have a clear idea of what you want to write and who you want to write it with, it's time to consider the how. You have a story, but how do you want to tell it? Break down the key plot points that shape your narrative, creating a roadmap that guides your characters through their trials and triumphs.

The Building Blocks of Plot

The Inciting Incident

The spark that ignites your story. It's the moment when your protagonist's world is disrupted, setting them on a path of change. For example, in "The Hunger Games," Katniss Everdeen's sister being chosen for the Games is the inciting incident that propels her into the arena. 

This can be a little harder to recognise in genres outside of SFF and horror. For a thriller novel, this moment could be the moment your protagonist uncovers a sketchy detail in their relative's death. In romance, it could be the moment your protagonist is introduced to the love interest.  

Turning Points

These are pivotal moments that shift the course of your narrative. They introduce new challenges, reveal secrets, or force characters to make crucial decisions. Think of them as the gears that keep your story machine turning. It's important to have some sort of turning point in your story to keep things interesting. 

Maybe the character your protagonist was suspecting throughout the first half of the book ends up having a solid alibi, or a seemingly innocent character suddenly seems sketchy. 

The Climax

The peak of tension and conflict. It's the moment your characters face their biggest challenge and must make their ultimate choice. In "The Lord of the Rings," the climactic battle at Mount Doom decides the fate of Middle-earth. In a murder mystery, this can be the moment the real killer is unveiled, or in a rom-com, it could be when the love interest moves to a new city to follow the protagonist. 

Falling Action and Resolution

As your story winds down, the falling action ties up loose ends and provides closure. Readers witness the aftermath of the climax, and the characters' arcs find resolution. This is the bit where you make sure you aren't leaving any plot holes behind. Remember that random character your protagonist suspected at the start of the book? What's their alibi, why did they suddenly get out of the picture? 

Structuring Plot Points

Introduction of Stakes

Introduce what your characters stand to gain or lose early on. This creates a sense of urgency that propels them forward. What if your protagonist fails to complete their missions? What if the detective never unveils the killer's identity? What if your protagonist doesn't win over the love interest? Show your readers the worst possible outcome early on so they know why they should be rooting for your protagonist. 

This doesn't necessarily have to be something big or scary. In Harry Potter, many of us wanted Harry to stay at Hogwarts because his life with the Dursleys was cruel and he deserved happiness. That was a small yet significant stake that made the readers empathetic and silently root for Harry. 

Foreshadowing and Setup

Plant seeds of future events throughout your story. Foreshadowing builds anticipation and adds depth, making later plot developments more satisfying. I have written a lot of blogs that either cover or briefly mention foreshadowing so I'm going to keep this point a little short. 

Foreshadowing helps your readers slowly piece everything together and have that 'I knew it!' or 'how did I not see this coming?' moment. It might also encourage them to turn back and reread your work to focus on the little hints you left throughout the book. Foreshadowing is especially important in murder mysteries. 

Step 4: Subplots and Secondary Storylines

Subplots and secondary storylines are the secret ingredients that transform a good story into an unforgettable masterpiece. They add layers of intrigue, provide character development opportunities, and keep readers eagerly turning pages. If you're confused about what is a subplot and how to create one you can visit my previous blog that focuses on this topic. 

The Role of Subplots

Enriching Character Arcs

Subplots allow secondary characters to shine. They can showcase different facets of your characters' personalities, revealing their strengths, weaknesses, growth, and relationships.

Theme Reinforcement

Subplots can explore and reinforce your story's themes from various angles. For instance, a romantic subplot can underscore the theme of love and sacrifice, in turn making your protagonist’s heroic death at the end of the novel seem more impactful. We all know Pepper’s reaction to Tony’s death in End Game made the moment more emotional. 

While creating subplots and considering which one might be relevant to your book you should think of how this subplot would impact your end goal and whether it would help emotionally connect with your readers. 

Parallel Journeys

Subplots can create parallel journeys that mirror or contrast with the main plot. This dynamic adds depth and resonance to your storytelling. Maybe the antagonist’s assistant has a similar backstory to your protagonist but while the protagonist was rescued by the government they were taken in by the antagonist. As the two geniuses face each other your protagonist can’t help but consider whether they would still be fighting for the ‘good’ side had their roles been switched.  

Balancing The Main Plot and Subplots

Interconnectedness

Subplots shouldn't feel disconnected from the main plot. Instead, they should interact and influence each other, creating a harmonious narrative flow. Your subplot could help bring a satisfactory end to a certain arc of your story, or it could sow the roots for the important climactic moment of your book. 

Pacing and Tension

Strategically introduce subplots to maintain pacing and tension. They can provide moments of relief or heightened drama, enhancing the overall reading experience.

Character Integration

Ensure that characters involved in subplots maintain relevance to the main plot. Their actions and decisions should contribute to the overarching story, even as they pursue their own paths. You should also think about whether or not your character is overshadowing the protagonist. In Harry Potter there were several characters such as Ginny, Luna and Neville with subplots and backstories of their own, however, they never overshadowed Harry’s tale. 

Step 5: Crafting Scenes and Sequences

Welcome to the realm where the magic truly comes to life – crafting scenes that resonate, captivate, and propel your story forward. Scenes are the building blocks of your narrative, each one a window into your characters' world and emotions. They help infuse your story with tension, emotion, and unforgettable moments. 

Again, this is a topic I’ve covered separately in another blog so I won’t go into too much detail here. 

Scene Structure and Elements

Objective and Conflict

Every scene should have a purpose – a clear objective that drives the characters. Introduce conflict that challenges their goals and motivations, creating tension that keeps readers engaged.

Emotion and Stakes

Characters' emotions are the heartbeats of scenes. Amplify emotions by highlighting what's at stake for the characters. Whether it's a heated argument or a tender moment, emotions draw readers in.

Sequences: Crafting a Flow

Cause and Effect

Scenes connect through cause and effect. Each scene's outcome sets the stage for the next, creating a seamless flow that propels the narrative. A character's choice in one scene can reverberate and shape subsequent events.

Rising Action

Craft sequences with escalating tension. The stakes should intensify, drawing characters deeper into challenges and dilemmas. This creates a sense of anticipation that keeps readers eagerly turning pages.

Step 6: Mapping the Journey: Creating a Visual Plot Outline

Visualising your plot, characters, and world can be very hard sometimes. Let's be honest, words can only do so much and if you don't have a clear idea of what you want to show your readers you can end up going down a path of 'telling' them everything. This can take away from the point of your story and end up boring your readers. If you find it hard to visualise where you're going with your book, here are some tips that can help. 

Visual Tools for Plot Planning

Timelines and Flowcharts

Create a timeline that outlines the sequence of major events, from inciting incidents to resolution. Flowcharts visually depict the interconnectedness of plot points, making it easy to track the evolution of your story. You can also cut out or add bits depending on how far along you are. This will also help you keep track of what scene/development should be introduced when and why. 

Index Cards or Post-Its

Write down key scenes, plot developments, and character arcs on individual index cards or sticky notes. Arrange and rearrange them on a board or wall to visualize the narrative's flow. You can also do this if you're confused about the climax of your novel by adding different ideas to the post-its and putting them alongside the rest of the book's plot to see what things would look like from a reader's perspective. 

Infusing Creativity

Playlists

Curate a playlist that captures the mood and emotions of your story. Music has the power to transport you to the heart of your narrative, helping you channel the right atmosphere while plotting. You can listen to this playlist every time you sit down to write WIP. With time, this will also help you overcome writer’s block since you can put on this playlist every time you struggle to get into the right writing mindset. 

Moodboards/Pinterest Boards

Create a visual feast by collecting images, aesthetics, and visuals that embody your story's essence. Platforms like Pinterest allow you to craft moodboards that serve as visual touchstones. I would recommend creating a separate pinboard for every character so you can get a clear idea of their vibe and appearance. You can even refer to these every time you're writing about or from the perspective of a new character. 

Step 7: Flexibility and Adaptability

As you embark on your writing journey, remember that stories have a life of their own. Embracing flexibility and adaptability is your compass through uncharted territories.

Allow characters to surprise you, let plots pivot, and themes emerge. Balancing structure with spontaneity ensures a dynamic narrative that resonates deeply. Listen to your characters, explore ethical complexities, and evolve alongside your story.

By staying open to the unexpected, you infuse your writing with authenticity and richness. Your plot outline is a guide, but your characters and themes have the power to shape the course. Embrace the unpredictable, and watch your story flourish beyond your imagination.

I hope this blog on A Step-by-Step Guide to Crafting a Compelling Storyline will help you in your writing journey. Be sure to comment any tips of your own to help your fellow authors prosper, and follow my blog for new blog updates every Monday and Thursday.  

Looking For More Writing Tips And Tricks? 

Are you an author looking for writing tips and tricks to better your manuscript? Or do you want to learn about how to get a literary agent, get published and properly market your book? Consider checking out the rest of Haya’s book blog where I post writing and publishing tips for authors every Monday and Thursday! And don’t forget to head over to my TikTok and Instagram profiles @hayatheauthor to learn more about my WIP and writing journey! 

[creative-kny-fics]

Take ur time, just take ur time, idrc when this comes out nor how long it takes, I don't mind waiting at all :3 (that's if u do it, I am totally fine with you declining ofc!)

Can you do:

Lee: 3 small butterfly girls? (Ones who helped tanjiro train after he met the hashira)

Ler: Shinobu, Kanae

Switch: Aoi

I forgot the 3 girls' names, but I still think you will know who I'm talking about (I hope)

Oooooh I like the idea of it! (I hope it didn't bother you, but I also added Kanao)

Lees: Kiyo Terauchi, Naho Takada, Sumi Nakahara

Switchs: Aoi Kanzaki and Kanao Tsuyuri

Lers: Kanae and Shinobu Kocho

A morning at the butterfly farm is not always peaceful.

A new day meant new patients injured and to be attended to, there was no rest, minutes were crucial and they couldn't just be relaxing while the lives of others were at risk.

'Aoi-San... I'm tired...'

'You can go rest, Kiyo. I told you that it is not necessary for the three of you to wake up at the same time as me, it is too early and you need to sleep your hours', Aoi caressed the girl's head to take the clothes basket again and walk away.

But, even with all the fatigue, the three little butterflies wanted to help, so when they saw a basket with sheets to be washed, the three of them decided to take them so that Aoi wouldn't have to keep coming back for them.

It sounded like an innocent plan, until...

'How strange, I swear I had left a basket with white sheets to wash, where could it be?', Aoi sighed and turned around, to find a little ghost, making her fall in surprise.

The young butterfly calmed down when she heard some familiar giggles, so she got up and smiled sweetly when she realized that the ghost was just the three little girls who had put the sheets over themselves.

'What is this? Hehehe, girls, you gave me quite a scare.' 'Sorry, Aoi-San! But Kiyo, Sumi and I wanted to help you!'

'Well, that would explain why some sheets started mysteriously appearing in the laundry room, but I repeat girls, I can handle this alone.'

The girls puffed out their cheeks and put their hands on their hips, Aoi laughed at it and patted their heads again but when she was going to return to the laundry room, something pulled on the sheets and her clothes.

'Girls, what's going on? I have some work, if you guys want, we'll play later, okay?' 'Aoi-San! You work too much! You prepare food, wash clothes, care for the sick and you don't take time or days off! We miss you playing with us!'

'Naho, please... I promise I'll finish this task and we'll play, okay?', but no one believed her anymore.

It was always the same, "we'll play after it's over," but there never seemed to be an end.

This time, the three little girls were stubborn and refused to let Aoi go to the laundry room, starting to pull her to go out for a while or play with them, causing Aoi to smile tenderly at their behavior. 'Hehehe girls... Come on... I need to finish this, let me wash these last sheets and we'll play! Hey!'

Aoi let her guard down for a few seconds and the girls took the opportunity to pull the sheet and run out of there yelling at Aoi to catch them.

The girls didn't exactly have anything planned, but as long as it allowed them to play with Aoi, it didn't matter that much.

'Kiyo, do you see Aoi-San?', asked Sumi. 'Actually, I don't see anything. The sheet covers my eyes. What if we hit each other?'

'Don't worry, I know the way! We'll escape from Aoi-San and make her play with us to reveal where we keep the sheet she's missing!', Naho exclaimed, laughing as she led the others.

Until they arrived outside and realizing where they were, they decided to leave the sheet on a somewhat high branch so Aoi couldn't take it.

Between the three of them, they climbed on each other's shoulders and achieved their goal, now Aoi could play with them.

'Girls, seriously... Where is the sheet? Shinobu-San and Kanae-San will be arriving soon and I'll have to help them' 'Play with us and we'll tell you!', Aoi sighed.

The three little girls laughed when Aoi finally agreed, allowing her to choose the first game.

The girls passed right by the blanket's hiding place, something Aoi noticed, but instead of telling the girls, she decided to take advantage of the privilege that she would choose the first game for her benefit. 'Well Aoi-San? What will we play?'

'The game is very easy, you will close your eyes and I will limit the sound of an animal, you will have to guess what animal it is! Is that okay with you?' 'YES!', the three minors chanted at the same time.

It didn't seem like anything out of the ordinary, Aoi started with something easy, a dog, then a cat, a cow, a canary, and so on until she let out a growl.

The three girls had different opinions, Kiyo said it was a lion, Sumi believed it was a dinosaur and Naho believed it was a bear, but none of the answers were correct.

'Awwww, what's up girls? Do you give up?' 'What animal is it?!'

'Hehehe, well, the answer is... THE TICKLE MONSTER!!'

Sumi was quick, but Naho and Kiyo were not so lucky, since immediately, both girls were taken to the lap of the eldest, who began to poke her cheeks and then went down to Kiyo's armpits and Naho's hips, giving light squeezes and delighting in the laughter of the little ones

'Aohohoi!! Ahahahaha!! You ehehehe trihickehehed uhuhus!!' 'Suhuhumi!! Ruhuhun!!', Aoi looked at Sumi and smiled, pretending she was going to catch her and laughing as she ran off

Sumi hid, but she couldn't deny that she was having fun, so she couldn't help but laugh when she heard some footsteps approaching her hiding place and covered her mouth as she tried to "not get caught."

'Sumi? What's happening?'

'Kanao-San! We have to help Kiyo and Naho! The tickle monster has them!'

Kanao didn't have time to say anything because the little girl pulled on her uniform to get closer to the place.

They both looked out, seeing how Aoi was still holding both little girls on her lap, as soon as Aoi saw Kanao, he winked at her and she nodded. 'I'm sorry Sumi, but Aoi told me first...'

'Eeeeh? Kahanaohoho! Ahahahaha!!'

'Well done Kanao! Bring her here with the others!', Kanao nodded and picked up Sumi while bringing her closer to her friends.

It wasn't what the three girls expected from the game, but they were happy in a certain way to be able to play with Aoi and Kanao, something like that had happened in a while.

Both elders were so focused on their attack that they did not notice the gaze of certain sisters, who were giggling as they watched the scene.

'Oh, Shinobu-San! Kanae-San! Welcome.' 'Hello Aoi! Looks like there's been a little game, huh?'

'Well, the girls hid a blanket, I guess that's fair'

Both girls stopped and ruffled the minors' hair. Kanae smiled at Shinobu and she accepted, approaching them and sitting next to them, pretending they wouldn't do anything.

It was a serious mistake that Kanao and Aoi let their guard down with the small pats on the head, because quickly, both were in the same place as the younger ones and began to laugh while both Kocho tickled them and helped the little ones do their work. 'Kanahae-Sahahan!! I nehehehed to ge-gehehet back to wohohohork!!'

'Work can wait! It's time to relax!'

'Shi-Shinohobu-Sa-Sahahan!' 'Don't try to hide your giggle Kanao! I know you're ticklish!'

Minutes passed and when both sisters decided that it had been enough, they let them both free, smiling when they realized that the five butterflies had fallen asleep, without a doubt, a good day of rest.

[evita-shelby]

Chase

part 2 for Vēnor and a conclusion for the Look Both Ways one shot

Lucy Winters belongs to @mischievouslittlecreature

taglist: @justrainandcoffee @mischievouslittlecreature @zablife @thegreatdragonfruta @wonderlanddreamer @kmc1989

cw: mentions of past murder, trauma, suicide attempt, mentions of a suicide, complicated feelings

Tommy hadn’t meant to hurt both women like this.

And yet, Lucy left him anyway, making him wonder if this was fate. It was a coin toss that had first led him to Eva's door after all.

As much as he still loves and yearns for Lucy, her departure had felt like a sign that perhaps he needed to try again with Eva and be the husband she needed the first time around.

He had done the impossible to make Eva reconsider, he had delayed the hearings, bribed the judge to force her to wait until Charlie was born and then nearly two years after that fateful day, Tommy could only watch her shut the door on him forever.

He loves Eva, even as she rages and rejects his every attempt at reconciliation, he loves her enough to give her his word that it will remain only the two of them if she’d only give him another chance to prove it. He used to be loyal to Greta once upon a time, he could be loyal to Eva if she only let him.

“You say that now, but the moment Lucy returns I would lose you again.” She had said and as always proved he’d find no better advisor than Eva Shelby, the witch had a space in his life that not even Polly or Lucy could fill. “The three of us would be miserable, I would be your bitter wife who hates the two of you, you would hate me for keeping you from her and she would hate me for the woman I would become because of you.”

She has never lied to him and wouldn’t do so now. Eva wanted out and he owed her that.

And yet, he refused to accede to her terms once again. He hated being alone and it didn’t help when everyone seemed to agree he should take his errant wife back and remind her that those who marry a Shelby die a Shelby. To them it was less about feelings and more about the reputation they’d lost because both Eva and Lucy left him.

His family had mixed feelings about Lucy, especially Polly who loathed Lucy and blamed her for the whole debacle with Grace and now, his failed marriage. Polly felt the direction he was taking in his life needed a woman who could make blue bloods eat from her palm, a woman who knew the future as well as she knew herself and most importantly, not Lucy.

“But you will always want Lucy, and I will never be enough for you. I need a husband who has no space for anyone else in his heart nor his bed.” There had been a note of resentment there.

The women had been warm to each other, friendlier than Lizzie had been with Lucy by a mile, but Eva could not love Lucy like Grace claimed she did. Eva had then admitted she never had the intention of sharing him when she said yes and whatever cordial feelings the women had would not survive Eva’s feelings of inadequacy and need for a man to be entirely hers.

“I can’t let you go.” Not you too.

Perhaps if Lucy had never left it would be easier to let Eva leave, but because his red demon was gone too, he knew he’d die without his witch.

Then there was her choice in men.

Tommy knows what he is, what he does and the number of people he has killed whether they deserved to die or not. He had never killed a woman, never would if God doesn’t hate him enough to force his hand.

Brilliant Chang had seduced his wife just as he had seduced the countless of women he had then discarded like yesterday’s garbage. Eva loved playing with fire, believed that because she is as otherworldly as Tommy is, she would remain unburnt.

She was fucking him; the Chinaman had let him know he’d taken her to his bed even if Eva moved with as little presence as a ghost. Chang had given him an olive branch in the form of a steady supply to the Eden after showing him its weaknesses, but Tommy Shelby will never trust that man especially with his wife and son.

Eva may not forgive him for this, but she’s left him no choice.

Taking the letters Grace had sent with her address in London ---because ,somehow, she’d known Eva had left him--- he asked to see her. And just like he’d known it, Grace readily takes up the offer to comfort him and believe she is woman enough to replace his darling witch.

Tommy could’ve taken May, or Lizzie or any woman he desired, but no other woman awoke Eva’s wrath like the blonde woman on his arm.

He doesn’t intend on fucking her, he can fuck without feelings, but Tommy knew he’d lose Eva forever if he even thought about doing it.

They loathed each other, knew they would be enemies because even when he and Lucy took her to bed, it was Eva who he desired as much as he desired Lucy.

Eva simply hated Grace because she lacked empathy for those not of her class and represented everything Eva loathed. Hated her even more when she set the police on Freddie for the crime of being a Jewish Communist and then for cashing in the bounty on Eva’s head by telling Campbell about it.

“You are perfect tonight.” He tells the woman on his arm who has no idea he is merely using her like she used him.

The Barmaid he and Lucy fell for was an illusion, Eva and Lucy were the real thing. Like comparing a light bulb to the sun.

Billy’s notoriety had taken a strange turn after she gave him every question he’d be asked at the trial.

Freda Kempton had been a loose end threatening to destroy his empire, Brilliant went from becoming the cruel lover who killed her to the friend who had tried to help her only for her to become the scorned woman intent on framing him for her suicide.

A cruel thing to do to the poor girl, but the dead have no notion of what goes on after anyways. Besides, she had been about to rat out Billy and, as horrid this business is, too many people were at stake.

But the man survived to see another day and his reputation survived just enough to keep him in Regent Street and change the way he runs things. He won’t do any of the recruiting personally anymore, now the more charming and good-looking soldiers in his triad would be doing that for him. As far as the world will know, Brilliant Chang really is a businessman who had been the victim of a poor mad girl in love with him.

His infamy had allowed Eva to weasel an invitation to a party in Charlie Chaplin’s honor out of her not quite distant cousin, Wag Macdonald.

The dress had been in the style of Shanghai, a cheongsam, that didn’t follow the modern fashions enough to hug her figure and make the women here die of envy. Black satin with gold embroidery and piping to match her simple yet costly jewelry.

“It looks better on the floor.” Brilliant comments as they steal the show from the man of the hour.

Eva has rather liked this.

The freedom to do as she pleases with a man who excites her and has no desire for anyone else. The thrill of the hunt and best of all, knowing Tommy’s yet to ruin this for her.

“Soon, we do not have to stay long, just enough to---” Eva cannot finish her words before she sees them.

Tommy with the blonde bitch on his arm.

Eva knows him like the back of her hand, knows that he is doing this to cause such a scene it will kill any desire Brilliant could have for her. Tommy wants to push her into letting her loathing of Grace appear like jealousy towards him and ruin her relationship with Billy with her own hands.

But Eva will be damned if she let him win like this.

“Mr. Shelby, at long last we finally meet.” Brilliant towers over her former husband being just a whisker away from being six feet tall.

Eva would say this was intentional, as it had been with her previous lovers, but she had never seen the man upright until that day he left his private room to join her. That his height allowed him to prick Tommy’s jealousy even more was a pleasant surprise.

Once upon a time, Eva had viewed her being the same height as Tommy as another sign they were soulmates and equals, but now it served as a weapon to hurt him for continuing to hurt her.

“I am not fond of meeting those my wife—” Tommy begins only to be corrected by the two women.

“Ex-wife.” One said it as a reminder it was over for good, the other trying to be seen as something else beyond an ornament on his arm.

He hadn’t needed to finish the sentence to let Billy know he thinks he will be anything more than a flash in the pan and have Grace piece together why Tommy would seek her out.

“Brilliant Chang.” Billy ignored the jab and introduced himself to the two of them.

“The murderer?” the blonde asks with interest and Billy winces at being known as only that.

“Acquitted.” Eva answers cutting their talk short. Tommy wanted her to cause a scene, for her to be the one driven to madness and yet she would not give him that.

“He wants a scene; I will not give him the pleasure.” The witch tells the man beside her who smiles agreeing with her strategy.

“Shall we enjoy ourselves at his expense, sweetheart?” Billy asks, leaning close enough for her to feel his breath at the shell of her ear.

“Great minds think alike.” Eva moved slightly and kissed her date knowing it’s killing Tommy to see her be happy with Brilliant Chang of all people.

Fuck him. Fuck Tommy and his blasted possessiveness.

She is an adult woman who has killed more people than Tommy, Lucy and Brilliant have combined, Eva knows what she’s doing and has the fucking foresight to know Billy would not hurt her. Hell, he hasn’t even fucked other women since they began seeing each other –which could not even be said about Tommy.

The witch should just tell him where Lucy is and make him her problem.

The redhead had found her aunt and mother through some Lees, this time with them would allow her to heal in a better environment. It would allow her to choose Tommy knowing she is free to have opinions and desires that do not always align with Tommy’s.

Lucy had been in such a state when Eva found her, ready to pull the trigger because Polly mistakenly blamed the Red Demon for ‘ruining’ their marriage. It had taken a lot of effort from the witch to explain that the fault was Eva’s for not thinking things through and focusing on her survival instead of the fact that their arrangement would destroy her.

Tommy and Lucy could love others and have no issue with that. Eva could only see it as not being enough just as she was not enough for Diosdado, who fucked any woman that looked his way, and Antonia, who loved Francisco and the safety of a husband more than risking it all with Eva in Paris.

Eva needed a man ---while she loved both men and women, she had to agree with Toña that the security a husband provided was vital for living in this time--- who is satisfied with just her, someone who can give her his heart and soul as wholeheartedly as the witch does.

And now that she has found him, Tommy is hellbent on ruining that.

When his initial strategy does not work, he corners her in the lavatory while some investors hang on to Billy’s words about taking a risk with his import business.

“Do not fuck her, she is here for fertility treatments and a reason to leave her husband for you.” Eva doesn’t look up knowing she’ll want to break the mirror the way she’d want to make his and Grace’s heads explode with her mind.

“Don’t fuck him, I do not want to be the one they call to claim you at the morgue.” Tommy makes his argument as clear as he did when he confronted her in the parlor of her house.

“I have killed more people than you and him combined, I am more like him than you think.” The dark-haired woman reminded her former lover and husband of her past. She abhors the idea of taking another life after all the killing she did in the war and what she did to Leopoldo Carranza.

Leopoldo who loved her and believed her to be true. She had made him believe he was Haemon to her Antigone and his father the cruel King Creon, so when his father quietly ordered her assassination mere days before her escape, the young man killed himself from the horror of it all.

He was the last life Eva took and would ever take.

“You did not do that on purpose. Billy Chang---”

“Eats and drinks everything he buys for me to prove he has no ill intentions, agrees to keep away from Charlie to assure you he won’t harm him and no longer seduces chorus girls to deal his cocaine for him.” the witch assures the devil, she is in safe hands with the lady-killer waiting for her outside.

“Could be an act for all you know, it was how he got his victim.” The gangster points out as if Eva didn’t know better.

“Freda was going to turn him in, and his uncles demanded he silence her. Billy didn’t know Campbell expected him to do exactly that so he could have something on him.” Brilliant could’ve explained it himself, but Tommy wouldn’t have let him get a word in. “You’re not the only one he’s come after, apparently.”

“Noted, but it still doesn’t make it better. I could make you happy if you let me.” His pained looks used to weaken her defenses enough to let him try and change her mind. They no longer held the same power over her as it did then.

They finally get to the part where its not a matter of safety but the heart.

“You are only saying this because you don’t have Lucy.” The witch finally deigns to look at him though the glass. “She still loves you, she is just finding out who is as an individual, you know. The Lovells are exactly who she needed to do that, being her kin and all.”

He had no idea who she was traveling with, he knew her mother was a Lovell, but he had never been able to track them down. Always too late and never knowing where they’d be going next.

And then when Charlie was born, he stopped looking for her because if Lucy wanted to be found, the red demon would’ve let it happen already.

“Do you think she’ll come back with me?” Tommy Shelby asked knowing everything that leaves Eva’s lips is nothing but the truth.

“Eventually, women fall too easily into your arms, your next wife should be allowed all the time she needs to look both ways before she jumps.” The witch smiled and turned to face him knowing this is the last time he will ever try to stop her from seeking her own happiness.

Hopefully Tommy will take the hint and make an honest woman out Lucy instead of unintentionally making another woman as miserable as Eva was with them.

“You know what she thinks about marriage, but you have never lied to me and if you say Lucy will be the next Mrs. Shelby, then it will happen come hell or high water.” Tommy Shelby’s sorrows melt away as her words sink in. He fears he is too fucked up too love ---as if Eva and Lucy couldn’t give him a run for his money--- a very real fear all three share strangely enough.

But Eva has always known the sun always rises again and just like she told them, it has.

At long last, their chapters in each other’s life come to an end. Eva returns to Brilliant and enjoy the rest of the night while Tommy leaves to find the fairgrounds Lucy will be at tomorrow morning and hope she will choose to share her life with him after looking both ways.

[blingblong55]

If I didn't know better- 141

Based on a request and a personal need:

hi! i was wondering if you could do heavy angst for a fem reader? i’m not sure what but uggg i love angst

Angst, F!Reader, death of character, Platonic!Relationship

A/N: I recently cried over Marjorie by Taylor Swift and this request came up at a great time.

If I didn't know betterI'd still think you were talking to me now If I didn't know any better I'd think you were still around

Grief (noun) deep sorrow, especially that caused by someone's death.

They say people can die from a broken heart and maybe that would be the best option for you at this point. They also say that at some point when you lose someone you love, perhaps just maybe you would start to hallucinate. And at the funeral, where now he lies, dressed in his best suit, you might begin to think this was just some imposter, that maybe he was alive. Some kind of dream.

-------

Three days ago, the task force was assigned to make the most challenging decision. Infiltrate into a Russian base. It was meant to be easy until Ghost and Gaz were ambushed and safe, but the trio in which you found yourself had much different luck.

You had told Price you had a bad feeling about this mission. You wanted to pull out of it, felt something in your gut, telling, no, begging you to stay at the base.

Communication systems broke down. You were stuck in a confined space, limbs weak. Price and Soap trying their best to get them and you out of that space.

"It's okay, Bonnie, I'll get us out, just wait and see." He reassured you, Price trying to push the vast wall that collapsed on you three, Soap holding your hand. You, well you see you had gone through something similar as a child, except, you were surrounded by other children, 12 trapped, 3 survived.

Soap was the one who knew the whole story, Price knew bits of it. That's why they fought hard to get you out, not them, but you. After 13 hours of continuous struggle, you all got out, "Told ya, Bonnie" he kissed your cheek.

It was hell after that though. Ghost and Gaz are back at base, stuck in the hard bed of the med-bay. Nurses and doctors had to tame them, they would wake up, screaming and fighting. Took many soldiers to put Ghost back into that bed.

They hadn't heard from any of you since their ambush. At some hour, Ghost feared for the outcome. Gaz on the bed next to his, "They'll be a'right mate, I know it." he tried to reassure his teammate.

Once the three of you reached a safe house, things were calm, for a while. "Think Gaz and Ghost are doing well?" Soap spoke first, breaking the silence. You all three sat on a sofa, staring into nothing.

"Maybe" you softly answer. "Better be." Price spoke next.

After that, you snuggled into soaps side, resting as he watched over you. Always your guardian angel.

Three hours into your sleep, you wakened up by an alarmed Price. "GET YOUR WEAPONS, ITS TIME TO MOVE!" He yelled over a loud sound, possibly a bomb.

Soap took you by the hand, guiding you out, you coughed through the smoke. Bullets being shot at what you thought was the enemy. You all ran, gaining bruises as you passed by rocks and tree branches. At some point Price signals you two to run faster, guns in hand.

Smoke and fire surround you. Enemy soldiers rushing at you three. Price and you start to shoot at the enemy, taking some down. Soap is being protected by you two, he builds an explosive strong enough to take a few of them down.

"GET DOWN!" He commands, Price and you obey, the bomb goes off, and at least 7 enemy soldiers scatter to bits from it. Blood falling from the sky. 19 more to go.

Mud, so much dust and blood on your uniforms staining your soul. And it's true what they say, war is never fun, kind or welcoming to those who fight it. It's not even rewarding, it leaves you scarred and nearly dead every time you pick a gun up. You die with each bullet you fire, not physically but mentally you do.

It's war and it will never be fair.

"GO, GO, GO!" Price commanded, he ran behind you two, leaving no one, at least you two, behind.

You hide by some creek, and you all sit there, waiting for the next attack and listening to the water flow down. You took some of the water, cleaning your face which was full of nothing but mud and some blood. "Think Ghost has been tranquillised, by now?" Soap never fails to know his teammates. Price chuckles, "No doubt that kid is giving 'em hell."

"19 left," you softly say.

"What's that about, Bonnie?"

"19 more enemy soldiers," you look up at them, the cold wind now hitting your face.

Long limbs and frozen swims You'd always go past where our feet could touch And I complained the whole way there

"I told you Price, this one would be hard, I knew it'd be."

"Look kid, this is war, nothing will be fucking easy, we are soldiers, we follow orders and execute them to absolute precision."

Soap gave you a kind look. He was always the one to trust your gut, knowing you had a reason to feel this.

For hours after, you all walked in silence. Boots making the noise, it was now around 2am, so close to the base, yet so far. At some point you find yourself in the cold mountains of the country, only surrounded by the snow and stones.

You all sat down, looking at each other, not saying a word. "Shit couldn't get any worse for us." he chuckles,

Soap and you chuckle with him. You all start to tell stories, about the days of your young years in the military. These were the conversations worth keeping for years to come.

The car ride back and up the stairs I should've asked you questions I should've asked you how to be Asked you to write it down for me Should've kept every grocery store receipt 'Cause every scrap of you would be taken from me

An hour passes the cold stormy weather, messing with your vision. "This is the plan, we go south for now, try and avoid attention, understand?" Price asks, looking at you both.

For the next thirty minutes, you walk, jog and run. Desperately wanting to find some ally to help you. Unfortunately, one met their demise.

5 soldier,s left to just three of you, an easy task. What happened next left the two of you empty.

Price took out two, you one. Only two left, Soap and you take out another, the scope in his gun finally being of good use. One left, what's more, to ask.

All your closets of backlogged dreams And how you left them all to me

"Bonnie!" Soap pushed you to the ground, and a gunshot echoed around. "Enemy down!" Price walked to the two of you. The three of you now stand there, breathless yet victorious.

"Soap?"

You asked once his smile was wiped off. Blood gushed from his mouth. He fell on his knees, looking up at you, you kneeled down, holding him close. Price shot the actual final enemy. "Soap, stay with me, c'mon, don't do this!" You panicked, all he could do was look at you. With the ghost of a smile on him, he cups your cheek, "I always did love you, r/n" he barely let out. He fell on his side, Price and you trying to stop the bleeding and trying to keep him warm.

"Soap? please don't leave us...don't leave me," you whispered, there was nothing more to do, but watch him die.

"It's time for me to go home, Bonnie"

You shook your head, trying to cancel out his words, "No, not yet, you stay here, with us...me....please Johnny, please." you begged knowing damn well all was lost.

Price took his hat off and rested it over his chest, looking at his comrade.

"Rest, you have earned that, son"

Soap sighs, his hand holding yours, grip loosening. He looks at you, with a small smile as he closes his eyes.

What died didn't stay dead You're alive, you're alive in my head

"I love you Johnny, my favourite friend." You kiss his cheek, and he finally let go. Finally met peace.

It's been now three days since his death. Only Price has seen you since then, you have been sleeping in Soaps bed. Wearing an old jacket, but not touching the rest of his stuff. Although the love you two had for the other was platonic, you kept thinking of the what if's.

Maybe if you loved him more than just a friend, maybe he could stay just a little longer. If you didn't know better, it was him humming you to sleep each night.

His ghost dances with your shadow, kissing you good night, wishing you could stop crying and blaming yourself. His favourite girl in the whole world. The one he could never stop loving.

Even in his last moments, he loved you.

At his funeral, you sobbed into the arms of the three men. You swore he was there, and felt some weird warmth on your shoulder when you looked down at his grave.

What died didn't stay dead You're alive, so alive

He was alive, in you, he is alive. He still tells you his jokes and makes comments on Ghost's stupid masks. Right now, he is right there, hand on the small of your back as you put a white rose and an orange tulip on his coffin. The Family walked away, but you stayed there. You grabbed some of the dirt and threw it at the coffin once it was lowered.

Sat by his now grave, been a full year now. Some moved on, others didn't.

And if I didn't know better I'd think you were singing to me now If I didn't know better I'd think you were still around

"Hi, Bonnie, how are things at the base?" he sits beside you, playing with the grass and flowers.

"Price let his beard grow a little more. We have a tattoo of you," you chuckle, "Gaz got it too, you know how he hated tattoos" You look at him.

"Can't believe it took my death to get a bloody tattoo" he laughs a little, hand on your back, his head resting on your shoulder.

"Ghost and I are getting more along now, he talks about you a lot" You too play with the grass underneath you.

"Hey, you better not replace me"

"But not to worry, I'll never replace you"

"How are you?"

"It's been hell, Johnny, I forgot your voice" Your voice cracks, tears running down your cheek. His hand wipes them away, and you feel a cold breeze pass by.

"I'll be waiting for you, Bonnie, and I bet you'll get tired of my voice."

"You'd be 29 now, Happy birthday Johnny." You kiss the tips of your fingers and place them on his stone.

He kissed your cheek, another cold breeze you feel.

I know better But I still feel you all around I know better But you're still around

------

Tags: @screamonic

A/N: I think I had a mental breakdown as I wrote it, so...yeah..if it's shit...sorry