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haec-est-fides · 4 years ago

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Filodox’s Trials of Apollo Reactions [Part I]

Welcome to part one of a reflective journey through Trials of Apollo ft. my original ebook annotations! I’ll be your host, 2020!filodox.

For this first episode, we’ll be going back to May 2016, the beginning of it all: The Hidden Oracle.

Annotations for this round are brought to you by 2016!filodox.

Is there anything we should know before we begin, 2016!me?

2016!filodox: I swore on the Styx never to read another Riordan book after he killed Octavian. And yet here we are.

... Alright then! Let’s get started.

But first, a more detailed overview on how this series will work: I will excerpt bits and pieces of the books based on what I highlighted / annotated on my first read. Beneath each quote, I will share what I wrote in the annotation. Below that, I will (occasionally) laugh at my past self, clarify the note, or say how my view has changed.

I encourage questions, comments, and concerns (of which there may be many), so go ahead and use that replies feature if you feel so inclined! However, these are just my opinions and (occasionally) emotional reactions, so no hate pls. <3 (Or, if you do send hate, pls make it funny.)

Now, diving right in with Riordan’s dedication!

To The Muse Calliope. This is long overdue. Please don’t hurt me.

2016!filodox: Hurt him. He didn’t even name the chapters.

As you can see, I had yet to experience Lester’s haiku and was already mad based on the table of contents alone. I went into this series very salty...

I inflicted a plague on the Greeks who besieged Troy.

2016!filodox: At least he did something right. Once.

I was just,,,extremely ready to die on Octavian’s hill. (Though I was a huge Troy / Aeneas stan before all this, just to be clear.)

Is anything sadder than the sound of a god hitting a pile of garbage bags?

2016!filodox: I actually find this particular god crashing into a dumpster quite amusing.

I also blamed Apollo for what happened to Octavian. I think that had a lot to do with how Apollo acted on Delos in Heroes of Olympus, basically disowning Octavian and whining about how some “creature” scammed him? That was bullshit. Apollo needed to own the fact that he blessed Octavian, but he just abandoned him and denied all the blame. TL;DR I had a grudge, okay?

My mind stewed in confusion, but one memory floated to the surface -- the voice of my father, Zeus: YOUR FAULT. YOUR PUNISHMENT.

2016!filodox: Wait, is this bc everyone blames Octavian and therefore Apollo? Bc lol but also no?

*cough* Octavian did nothing wrong 2k16 *cough*

Zeus will reconsider, I told myself. He’s just trying to scare me. Any moment, he will yank me back to Olympus and let me off with a warning.

“Yes...” My voice sounded hollow and desperate. “Yes, that’s it.”

2016!filodox: Apollo is a self centered frat boy, I forgot...but it is slightly...endearing? *narrows eyes*

Ah, how close I was to stanning Lester in the first chapter, when he was at his most “goddy”. You know, I actually made a rule for myself when I started reading Trials of Apollo that I would not under any circumstances stan Apollo. That was a naive goal, because it was never really a danger.

Regardless, Zeus had held me responsible for Octavian’s delusions of grandeur. Zeus seemed to consider egotism a trait the boy had inherited from me. Which is ridiculous. I am much too self-aware to be egotistical.

2016!filodox: I am going to Murder him.

*chef kiss* the hypocrisy ! the lack of self-awareness !

“I just...I assumed -- I hoped this would be taken care of by now.”

“You mean by demigods,” Percy said, “going on a big quest to reclaim the Oracle of Delphi?”

2016!filodox: That sounds like a decent quest, or you know, QUESTING FOR THE SIBYLLINE BOOKS

I’ve always said I can see the future but an inch to the left. Also, I don’t like Ella.

It warmed my heart that my children had the right priorities: their skills, their images, their views on YouTube. Say what you will about gods being absentee parents; our children inherit many of our finest personality traits.

2016!filodox: AND HE’S MAD ABOUT OCTAVIAN?!

I mean ?

Apollo, when Austin and Kayla show ambition: THEY GOT THAT FROM ME <3

Apollo, when Octavian (or Nero, or Caligula) shows ambition: srry i don’t know him ??

He had a weak jawline, an overlarge nose, and a beard that wrapped around his double chin like a helmet strap. His hair was curly and dark like mine, except not as fashionably tousled or luxuriant. His lips curled as if he smelled something unpleasant. Perhaps it was the burning seats of the bus.

2016!filodox: Nero ???

Not quite sure how to feel looking back at this moment. Call out post @ myself for instantly recognizing Nero, when afaik this scene was before we had any hints that Roman emperors were even a plot point? But here’s the thing: I don’t remember why I could recognize him so easily. I don’t remember where 2016!me obtained this ancient Rome knowledge. A mystery.

On another note entirely, did Nero really like,,,astral project into Apollo’s fever dream to address him directly? Because Rhea does. And sometimes Python does. But Nero? Can he do that?

The man laughed as flames licked at his purple sleeves. “You’re not sorry yet, but you will be. Find me the gates. Lead me to the Oracle. I’ll enjoy burning it down!”

2016!filodox: I too enjoy burning things down. # Nero confirmed

My only comment here is “oh you sweet summer child,,,”

Oh. Perhaps some of you are wondering how I felt seeing [Will] with a boyfriend rather than a girlfriend.

2016!filodox: No, actually. I wasn’t wondering. I was plotting how to kill you, them, and quite a few other people. Do you think I could trade you for Octavian?

Oh man, back at it again with the salt. XD

I could only remember my conversations with Octavian, the way he’d turned my head with his flattery and promises. That stupid boy...it was his fault I was here.

A voice whispered in the back of my mind. This time I thought it might be my conscience: Who was the stupid boy? It wasn’t Octavian.

2016!filodox: I can’t really...explain my emotions upon reading this. I’m still not quite okay, but this...it’s bittersweet in a way. I don’t know if this is a poor attempt at a proper closure, the author’s way of beating a dead horse, or just a way to make Apollo seem pitiable. Whatever it is... Octavian was important enough to remain in Apollo’s mortal memory. He somehow made promises to a god and had Apollo wrapped around his finger. And despite being so much like Apollo, the god blames him. Like everyone blames him. But Apollo also realizes, accepts on an infinitesimal scale, that “it wasn’t Octavian”. He wasn’t perfect, but neither is Apollo. Apollo is (at least) subconsciously admitting his own guilt in the whole affair.

...yeah. I will note that this bit isn’t meant to develop Octavian, but rather uses Octavian as a prop to support Apollo’s development? Which is why it still stings. Like thanks, I guess.

“Your judgement in the past has been...questionable. I wonder if you have chosen the right tools for this job. Have you learned from your past mistakes?”

2016!filodox: Nero has made plenty of mistakes to learn from

Love how I just assumed it was Nero back in chapter 10 and went with it, zero hesitation. Also love how I heard Python say Nero has made mistakes and went “oh absolutely”. In fact, here’s something funny in retrospect that will become more and more apparent: I did not like Nero in 2016. Or, at least, I thought I didn’t. There’s something really odd going on here that baffles me, looking back...

“A triumvirate is a ruling council of three,” I said. “At least, that’s what it meant in ancient Rome.”

“Which is interesting,” Rachel said, “because of this next shot.” She tapped her screen. The new photo zoomed in on the building’s penthouse terrace, where three shadowy figures stood talking together....

2016!filodox: Is it bad that I’m smirking? Because it’s getting interesting ~ *clear malicious intent*

Wow, edgy. Triumvirates are just a neat, Roman thing and I stanned.

“The last triumvirate I dealt with included Lepidus, Marc Antony, and my son, the original Octavian. A triumvirate is a very Roman concept...like patriotism, skullduggery, and assassination.”

2016!filodox: THIS IS WHAT I’VE BEEN TRYING TO TELL EVERYONE. MODERN OCTAVIAN IS A VERY GOOD ANCIENT ROMAN. POLITICS, ESPECIALLY SHADY AF POLITICS AND POWERPLAYS, ARE QUINTESSENTIALLY ROMAN. Also, I’d like to note that it’s confirmed, in this universe’s canon, that Augustus was a son of Apollo.

Ohhhh, wait. I think I’d watched the HBO series Rome by 2016, which would at least partially explain my ancient Rome knowledge. (Amazing tv show btw!)

“He heard them talking in Latin.”

“Latin? Were they campers?”

Pete spread his hands. “I--I don’t think so. Paulie described them like they were adults. He said one of them was the leader. The other two addressed him as imperator.”

2016!filodox: !!!! (obligatory 💕)

I was such a simp for Latin in high school. And the Roman Empire. Still am, but hey.

“The Beast is planning some kind of attack on your camp. I don’t know what it is, but it’s going to be big.”

2016!filodox: Runs in the family I guess

The Octavian / Triumvirate parallels are everywhere... 👀

“The emperors made themselves gods. They had their own temples and altars. They encouraged the people to worship them.”

2016!filodox: # deify me

*smacking my past self with a stick* You stop that! Edgy child!

Anyway, a much better point here is like,,,the Imperial cult was huge in the ancient Roman world. Looking at Apollo’s explanation here, why did only the “worst” three emperors get to be immortal? Did famously “good” emperors like Augustus and Marcus Aurelius have the option of becoming minor gods, but they chose Elysium or something? Are there slightly less infamous emperors just hanging around anywhere as minor gods? A lot of Roman emperors live on in human memory is all I’m saying.

“Wait!” Will said as I reached the door. “Who is the Beast? Which emperor are we dealing with?”

“The worst of my descendants.” My fingers dug into the doorframe. “The Christians called him the Beast because he burned them alive. Our enemy is Emperor Nero.”

2016!filodox: I honestly can’t believe it took this long to reveal this? Was anyone surprised?

Nero’s reveal is rather late in the book compared to Commodus, Caligula, and even Tarquin iirc? But it makes sense, being the first book of the series. Also love how 16-year-old me was like “this reveal is silly because everyone, like me, recognizes Nero on sight” and didn’t question that assumption at all.

“Germani.” Instinctively, I moved in front of Meg. The elite imperial bodyguards had been cold-blooded death reapers in ancient Rome. I doubted they’d gotten any sweeter over the centuries.

2016!filodox: BITCH. See? This is why I love Rome. They knew what they were doing.

Ngl, as someone of Germanic heritage, I felt really represented by the Germani, which is hilarious on so many levels.

He tried to compensate for his ugliness with an expensive Italian suit of purple wool, his gray shirt open to display gold chains. His shoes were hand-tooled leather, not the sort of thing to wear while stomping around in an ant pile. Then again, Nero had always had expensive, impractical tastes.

2016!filodox: I don’t exactly like Nero, and actually think he was quite the shitty emperor, but I guess I mildly respect and “like” him on principle (in this book at least).

OH YOU SWEET SUMMER CHILD. I was so convinced that I didn’t actually like Nero, despite all of the lowkey evidence to the contrary? Who hurt you, past me? (Lmao, it was Tacitus, Suetonius, and Cassius Dio.) My working theory is that I was too much of an Emperor Augustus stan at the time to admit liking Nero. It’s hysterical. Look at me equivocating like a champ.

I’d been so proud of my son, the original Octavian, later Caesar Augustus. After his death, his descendants became increasingly arrogant and unstable (which I blamed on their mortal DNA; they certainly didn’t get those qualities from me).

2016!filodox: I’m glad Apollo and I can agree on something. Augustus was amazing and those who came after him...significantly less so.

See! The propaganda really got to me, what can I say?

Nero clasped his hands as if in prayer. “Oh, my. It seems we’ve had a slight miscommunication. You see, Apollo, Meg brought you here, just as I asked her to. Well done, my sweet.”

2016!filodox: This was obvious but I still find it...gods, the only word I can think of is “delicious”

. . .

“The Beast killed my father. This is Nero. He’s -- he’s my stepfather.”

I could not fully grasp this before Nero spread his arms.

“That’s right, my darling,” he said. “And you’ve done a wonderful job. Come to Papa.”

2016!filodox: Okay, but we should have known this since it became apparent her weapons were Roman. Also, oof. Also also, WHY did Riordan feel the need to add that last line? Why?

ASDFGHJKL: I CAN’T

“After the fire, we’ll rebuild,” he said. “It will be glorious!”

2016!filodox: The amount of times I have used this very logic is worrying.

For (some) context, Firelord Ozai is my favorite character from AtLA. <3

The scene might have been funny except that the Germani were now back on their feet, five demigods and a geyser spirit were still tied to highly flammable posts, and Nero still had a box of matches.

2016!filodox: Oh, I find this plenty amusing!

The emperor stared at his empty hand. “Meg...?” His voice was as cold as an icicle.

2016!filodox: The various ways his tone / voice have been described throughout this conversation are just 💕

*looks at camera like I’m on The Office*

Seriously, though. Nero’s voice is like the central descriptive element of his character because he’s so manipulative. It’s really cool and a great use of detail.

[Meg] turned to Nero. “You told me never to lower myself to my enemies’ level.”

“No, indeed.” Nero’s tone had frayed like a weathered rope. “We are better. We are stronger. We will build a glorious new world. But these nonsense-spewing trees stand in our way, Meg. Like any invasive weeds, they must be burned. And the only way to do that is with a true conflagration -- flames stoked by blood.”

2016!filodox: Real 👏🏻 Gods 👏🏻 Require 👏🏻 Blood👏🏻

I was way too enthusiastic about this whole situation, wasn’t I?

Nero grinned. “Good-bye, Apollo. Only eleven more Olympians to go.”

2016!filodox: Wait, shit, WHAT

Having read Tower of Nero, this probably had something to do with Python interfering with the Fates, huh? But does that mean it’s more Python’s plan or Nero’s? If this was Nero’s plan (with his 12 kids literally replacing the Olympians) that’s,,,really fucking bold.

Then I heard the screaming from Camp Half-Blood.

2016!filodox: Music to my ears ~

I’m presenting every edgy detail of my annotations so I have a proper case file when I inevitably have to face the question “On a scale of one to ten, how relatable is Emperor Nero and why should you have realized it’s a ten sooner?”

In a flash of silver light, the camp’s magical barriers collapsed. The Colossus lurched forward and brought his foot down on the dining pavilion, smashing it to rubble like so many children’s blocks.

2016!filodox: Payback! Dear gods, I can’t stop smiling! I’m just like “YES!” I know this will all probably get fixed or whatever but I’M HAVING A MOMENT.

I’ve learned to appreciate the small wins. <3

Percy grabbed one of the crown’s sunray spikes. He sliced it off at the base, then jabbed it into the Colossus’ forehead.

2016!filodox: As much as Nero is FAR from my favorite, I really don’t like defacing ancient (or replicas of ancient) statues and art...

This is where I just start laughing at myself tbh. I was so insistent on not liking Nero. Like, I sound like I’m in denial. Peak equivocation. What happened to that heart emoji a few chapters back? Why did I suddenly make it about *checks notes* ancient art? Updated translation: nooo don’t ruin the Colossus Neronis it’s so sexy aha

Just as the [arrow] reached its apex and was about to fall back to earth, a gust of wind caught it...perhaps Zephyros looking kindly on my pitiful attempt. The arrow sailed into the Colossus’ ear canal and rattled in his head with a clink, clink, clink like a pachinko machine.

2016!filodox: HOW MANY EX MACHINAS IS THIS ?! The dryads, the arrow, Percy, the enchantment, and THIS ?

One of my criticisms of Trials of Apollo in general is just that the stakes are so much higher and Riordan usually solves that problem by having his heroes win on long odds. The chances of them succeeding at like,,,anything they attempt are astronomical, but of course they manage. It’s not surprising but it does get a little tiring.

“Yo, Nico,” Leo called, “please tell me that’s it for the physical abuse.”

“For now.” Nico smiled. “We’re still trying to get in touch with the West Coast. You’ll have a few dozen people out there who will definitely want to hit you.”

2016!filodox: Oh I’d love to hit him. With the flaming, Imperial gold payload of an onager. Preferably WITHOUT the Pontifex Maximus attached to it -- unless of course you mean the false pontifex, Jason Grace.

Leo was the salt in the wound for this one, ngl. He rekindled my undying ire over Octavian’s death. As I said at the beginning of this, I was extremely ready to die on Octavian’s hill after Heroes of Olympus. That sentiment sticks around for a while...

And we can call that a wrap!

Though it may seem like it, my annotations are not, in fact, a compilation of Nero’s greatest hits. There are a lot of scenes of his that I love (naturally) but I didn’t have anything to say about them when I first read the series. Maybe I’ll share those another time.

In any case, I hope you got something out of this ridiculously long post! Until next time! <3

#trials of apollo #toa #filodox!#I don't know what any of you were expecting but this is what I've got #no these are not all of my annotations #I tried to pick the best ones #oh also #I'm sorry to everyone with hard copies of the books #since I have ebooks it's no problem to search for quotes and page numbers are imaginary #if you want me to put chapters with the quotes I can

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holy-mountaineering · 5 years ago

Note

I’m the OP and thanks for answering my question. I do have one more - you mentioned that astral lead initiations are not legit and just UPG. What about the the issue of hereditary traditions based off family mysticism? Granted, this can be a can or worms if not handled with any collective care with healthy boundaries. But is it possible? What about solitary occultists who don’t really have access to fellow practitioners? Thanks for being real!

Hi OP, good questions!

Hereditary traditions/family based stuff is out of my league to be honest. 99 times out of 100, such claims can be thrown out the window, because I’ve almost exclusively seen such claims as completely unverifiable and used to justify UPG bullshit. Here’s the thing (in my opinion, of course) if hereditary magick or even astral initiation aid in your Work: AWESOME! If they help you move forward and into your practice that is amazing and should be cherished and used like a sharp tool. HOWEVER, I have nearly exclusively seen such claims used as laurels which the claimant uses to rest. And that being said, the inverse, ie, belonging to Orders and Magical Fraternities, should also not be laurels which you rest upon. Absolutely NOTHING replaces the Work that Magick requires. I don’t care if your great great whoever got burned in Salem OR if you are a 44th degree Expensive Mason, if you can’t SHOW YOUR G-Ddamned Work, you’re a fuckin’ hack.

As far as “not having access to other practitioners” goes, look harder. I would be fuckin’ shocked if one had ZERO access to other folks on your Path. This is where the internet actually becomes useful! Look hard, dig in, keep your eyes open and post on this-a-here internet and chances are you’ll find some like minded folks in your area. And you might have to do some travelling out of your immediate area. This can be prohibitive for those of us who’re broke, but if you prioritize it, you can and will make it happen.

So, remember, all these things are tools that you can use for your Work. Some are born with/into/near these tools, but you still have to take time to learn to use them correctly.

Think about it this way: Anyone can claim to be a carpenter. Anyone can go out and buy power tools and supplies to build a patio. Anyone can claim to have made many patios in the past or that their mother taught them to build patios and patio building is a family tradition. But, until they actually start building patios that other people can see, it’s a moot point and there’s no goddamn patios for us to sit on and talk about building patios.

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androidsfighting · 6 years ago

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The Adventure Zone fic rec masterlist!

surprising no one, I read WAY TOO MUCH FIC so here’s an incomplete list of some of my fav fics in this fandom! mostly Taakitz and Taagnus, of course. Not in any particular order - adding most recent additions to the top. i made an effort to provide commentary but as you can see i gave up quickly

UPDATE (7/24/19) - added a bunch more fics i’ve read recently, and a couple amnesty fics at the bottom :)

Taakitz

The Winter Prince by tactfulGnostalgic

Taako is nobody’s saboteur. He’s just an ordinary assassin just trying to make ends meet, staying out of trouble (mostly) and keeping his nose clean (sometimes). But when a mysterious buyer makes him an offer he can’t refuse in exchange for the head of the neighboring prince, he ends up falling headfirst into the tangle of a foreign court — and the arms of its ruler, Prince Kravitz.

Blood and Bones and Photos by Evitcani

Kravitz has always dreamed of cities: wrapped in vines, streets peaceful and empty. He never knew the world before the end. Still, life goes on and on and on. The homes he's known are in compounds of chain-link fences patrolled by armed guards, feral zombies creeping around the edges who sing to him in the unsettled night.

There is no cure. There is no hope. There is only what little the survivors scraped together.

Then there's Taako.

And the new world that Kravitz was born into ends too.

Wrong Number by argentoswan

Taako texts a wrong number. Kravitz responds. Everyone else is confused, but they're going with it.

(6:32) so we have moved from strangling to murder (6:39) This is… still the wrong number. (6:41) i know i’m crowdsourcing ideas. quick, best way to hide an extremely tiny body?

A Bit Alarming by argentoswan

Taako gives up his freedom in exchange for the safety of his friends, and ends up locked in an enchanted castle with a surprisingly polite skeleton. Beauty and the Beast AU.

"'I’m afraid your friends were trespassing on my property. It was exceedingly impolite.' 'Yeah, and it’s super polite to lock them in the fucking dungeons.'"

study in light by weatheredlaw

He tells you things, things you don’t know what to do with. They fall out of his mouth and into your open hands, and you fumble them.

Deflection Toward The Relative Major by AuthorGod

He means to say all of this, but all that comes out is, “Why? Why choose me?” Instead of someone better suited he means; a warrior, a wizard, a priest.

I come back to this fic constantly. I love Kravitz-centric fic (surprise surprise) and this is one of the best there is I think

of aspen crowns and catskin down by mildlydiscouraging

The streets of London are slick and dark, and not just literally, although they are so often that too. Here there is not only murder, mystery, and mayhem, but magick as well. Here people go through their everyday tragedies and refuse to see the depths behind their troubles. Here two (and a half) detectives search for the truth.

In the dusk of autumn, with wind slicing down alleys, the good people of London are disappearing. It's up to Kravitz and Taako and, honestly, mostly Angus to solve the case, and maybe a couple other mysteries along the way.

SPOOKY VICTORIAN AU aka MY ENTIRE SHIT

those afternoons and evenings and does he project, does he have ideas? by mildlydiscouraging

The moments and years in between, in which feelings take root despite the constantly changing landscape. Alternatively: The world has been ending for forty years and Taako and Kravitz can't stop falling in love.

tazswap with Kravitz on the Starblaster, absolutely gorgeous prose

Reverie by Itdominic

There was a time Taako really could have taken or left it - life, and the world and whatever. Things aren't like that anymore, he tells himself, luckily, because this whole situation might get to be a real fucking drag otherwise.

heartbreaking but absolutely gorgeous

finale by teacuptaako

After everything, the distinction between alive and dead fades to a confusing grey.

In the wake of ‘The Day of Story and Song,’ Taako and Kravitz start to build their futures together: a labour of love, compromise, trust, and a slowly unravelling web of secrecy.

While the two of them grow closer and closer together, they and the rest of the world get further and further apart.

kravitz centric again, this is such a WEIRD fic and i literally haven’t stopped thinking about it since I read it

Drag Your Cities to the Sea (No Light, No Light) by Desiree_Harding

"The months in Her retinue are long, and the work is hard. Her standards are high, and to satisfy them, Kravitz must be ruthless. But his conviction never falters. She is omnipotent. She is the avenging force of Justice, and Kravitz Her hand. She will keep the kingdom free, and for Kravitz to do her bidding is the greatest honor on this earth."

"Taako’s fingers curl tightly around the ropes of the Starblaster’s rigging as the ship cuts smoothly through the waves of the Sea of Souls below, his heart pounding in his chest and his eyes on the horizon...In these moments, it’s freedom that hangs sweet on his tongue and settles in his lungs, and Taako loves nothing better."

It's a pirate AU! You know the rest!

i live for AUs

All the Things You Prayed For by @anonymousalchemist and @marywhal

Taako's been dead for two years. Taako's been dead for seven decades. Depends how you count it.

Her brother is dead and Lup’s a whole lifetime into the future. It’s a brave new world out there and she’s trying not to think about it too hard. She gets the feeling that if she starts thinking, she won’t ever stop, and she can’t afford to be out of commission. She's the only Captain America the new century’s got.

Lup is Cap, Taako fell from a train, and eventually all ghosts come in from the cold. You guessed it—it's a TAZ/Marvel shakeup baby. We're bringing the party to you.

THIS FIC OWNS MY ENTIRE ASS

The Shape of Our Days Neverending by anonymousalchemist and marywhal

After the epilogue, Taako and Kravitz have a really good day.

just some heckin good fluff amidst all this angst

Other Lives by marywhal

When Kravitz signed up for the job in Phandalin, he didn’t expect adventuring to become his life. He was bored playing for the well-to-do of Neverwinter, sure, but not this bored. He was supposed to make some quick cash, pay off his gambling debts, and go back to his comfortable existence as a bard. He wasn't supposed to join a secret organization trying to save the world.

But here he is, paralyzed on the floor of a crystallized laboratory, and he has yet to keep a suit intact through a single adventure

more tazswap! this is unfinished rn but it’s real good so read it anyway

Bury the Lead by marywhal

Taako’s senior year at Neverwinter High could be going better. Faced with a choice between joining the school’s floundering newspaper or being expelled, he opts for a career in journalism.

Lucretia, the paper’s editor, kind of wishes he'd gone the other way.

if you haven’t read this yet what are you doing with your life

These Unfinished Creatures by marywhal

Someone in Neverwinter is stealing souls from the astral plane. The Raven Queen’s favourite reaper is undercover and on the case.

Relearning how to be human is entirely incidental.

MORE spooky Victorian AU what did i do to deserve this fandom honestly

(you should read everything by marywhal but these are my favs)

our get-along suit by anonymousalchemist

"So, let me get this straight," the reaper says, scythe held flush against Kravitz's neck. A trickle of blood drips down toward his collar. Kravitz swallows shallowly. "You picked up a suit, and the suit happened to be a lich, and the lich wouldn’t let you go, so you just rolled with it?"

"His name is Keats," Kravitz says. "And. Er. Sort of?"

Our own, soft hearts by Wildgoosery (series)

Stories involving a Moon Wedding, its attendees, and its aftermath, written in wildly different formats.

you should read everything Goose has posted but this is one of the first Taakitz fics I read so I have a real soft spot for it

The Body Eclectic by SpaceJackalope

In which Kravitz has many feelings about being dead, having a body, and liking people and things.

A Quiet Refrain by @inkedinserendipity

It starts with some of the most mediocre eggs Taako's ever clapped eyes on. Seven out of ten for taste. Zero out of ten for plating. Somehow, they're still the best damn eggs he's ever eaten.

(Or: Taako realizes he loves Kravitz back.)

it was your heart on the line by @inkedinserendipity and it’s sequels (links here)

one of many fics that inadvertently inspired synecdoche

Istus must be laughing. by writersstareoutwindows

"Whenever people talk about tattoos, Taako rolls down his sleeve. They’re sitting in a circle, usually drinking, laughing and elbowing and sometimes kissing. Whenever they realize Taako hasn’t said anything, he sips his drink, arranges his hair artfully over his shoulder, and says, 'Nah, nah, nah, my dudes, I don’t hold to that,' wiggling his fingers, 'mumbo jumbo tattoo fate-or-whatever bullshit. Chaboi Taako’s a free agent.'"

The present going forward. Memories in a jumble. Not a very neat story, but it's theirs.

another fic that inadvertently inspired synecdoche which i forgot until now!!

things left in the stars by mechanicalclock

You don’t collect things from places that you will never visit again, that’s foolish. It's about learning to let go in all the new ways, adapting quicker and quicker, having fun and forgetting.

Taako and Lup learn to remember.

a moment to bathe in our victory by AnonymousPuzzler

The apocalypse comes and goes. In the aftermath, Taako takes a bath, Kravitz worries too much, and some new feelings are reflected upon.

Taagnus

The end of the word does come and go, Page of Cups, Reversed, and Taking the dogs home by anonymous

About how the world is still here, and how going on can be done.

yellow by weatheredlaw

Washing the dishes, their fingers brushed in the soapy water of the sink and Taako felt a jolt.

Magnus turned and gave him a smile.

Strange Bedfellows by treshornybros (IamJohnLocked4life)

It quickly becomes a habit, and then routine. Magnus is oddly good natured about it. But then Magnus is good natured about everything, so maybe it's not that odd. No one else seems to notice.

They always sleep back to back.

Taako should find that comforting, and he does, at first. It's just like sleeping with Lup.

Sort of.

unremembering by bluebatwings (series)

Their lives divided up into three parts: before, unremembering, and after. Love stories.

At the Interval by AuthorGod

Time grows stagnant. Taako watches as world become fractured and consumed, cultures and civilizations wiped out. All the potential a single person is capable of in a lifetime, just ripped away in a moment.

It doesn't get to him, and it doesn't get to him, and it doesn't until it does.

breaking the same old heart by tardigradeschool

Taako and Magnus in triptych: before, during, and after the Bureau.

The Blue Hours of Morning by daisybrien

Refuge takes its toll. Magnus and Taako talk it out, drunk on the living room floor.

Taagnitz

the only life you could save by @epersonae and hops (series)

this could also go in the Other category bc it’s All The Ships (including magcretia which isn’t even my thing but they write is so so so well that now it is my thing!) but I’m digging through my ao3 history and not finding much taagnitz that’s not pwp/mine (a travesty) so it’s going in here. it’s also about taako and lucretia working their whole Thing out and it’s VERY VERY GOOD

no blinding light by provocation

Elves live much, much longer than humans. By the time most humans die, elves are just reaching adulthood.

Kravitz, on the other hand, is going to live forever.

the fic that made me ship taagnitz

in the focus by weatheredlaw

The sky was clear and the arms of the galaxy that surrounded them arched overhead as they lay in their sleeping bags, staring at the stars.

or: Kravitz knows there's room in all this for something between him and Magnus — he's just not sure what that looks like.

Dust by levelone

It was supposed to be simple: Taako was on TV, and Kravitz is a writer here for some pull quotes. Instead, when they meet in an empty diner in the middle of a desert, Taako says something impossible—and Kravitz believes him.

Oak and Mahogany by hideki16seiyuu

“Don’t try to pull one over on me, handsome. He’s going gray already.”

“He’s in his fifties now, Taako.”

“How much longer is left?”

“Longer than you’d think.”

---

Human lives can never match that of elves in length.

Take Up a Place Beside Me by goodnicepeople

"It's gonna be hard," Taako says, when they're alone again. "You can't... do that. Every time."

Or: Taako and Kravitz move in. Others move on. Some get dogs.

you are the life i needed all along by iwillbeyourgoal

along with the other memories he's gained from the stolen century, taako starts remembering his relationship with magnus on the starblaster.

these small hours by ShowMeAHero

Taako and Magnus get their memories back, and now they need to negotiate some emotions, because they're having a hell of a lot of them all at once.

Other ships/Gen

I Have Seen the Fields Aflame by Desiree_Harding

She hadn’t meant to disappear. Had she known what was going to happen, that one weekend was going to lead to seven entire years without her brother, she never would have gone. But that was all it took.

A modern au in which Lup goes missing, and discovers that the coming home is maybe the hardest part of all of it.

i cried for like an hour after reading this

a thousand points of no return by anonymousAlchemist

Since wizard's daemons often settle as birds and urban legend says that elves are separated from their daemons, no one looks too closely at the fact that Taako and Lup are both single entities, missing the other halves of their hearts. They walk like people, they talk like people, and if they're hard to read because their daemons aren't fluffing up their feathers or swatting playfully with their paws, well, elves are notoriously enigmatic anyway.

This lasts until their first death.

All deaths on the Starblaster are strange. When Magnus first died on the animal planet, I'morko followed right after, both of their bodies dissipating into golden sparks, a strange inversion of the natural order. The pattern holds. Year after year, person and daemon alike dissipate into a fine mist of dust, knit together by the bond engine in the new plane.

During their fifteenth year, Taako is shot through the heart with a well-aimed magic missile. Lup screams and casts one last firebolt, spell-sculpting around their bodies, before unspooling into a fine golden sand.

snake eyed, with a sly smile by faehunting

The circus is a mystery that sets itself up for people who track its movements, for people who are desperate to find it, to find anything. The circus is a mystery that sets itself up for people to stumble upon.

In the morning, the circus is nothing but negative space and the revellers it left behind. They sit up. They try to wet the dust in their mouths. They start the journey anew.

creepy fae weirdness!!!! yes!!!!!

I’m With The Band by redqueentheory, Wildgoosery, and Woven_Gulch (series)

A series of connected stories, equal parts sentimental and horny, about how Brad and Taako and Kravitz fall in love.

wacky BDSM crack ship becomes Greatest Romance Novel I’ve Ever Read, has made me cry multiple times

these strange creatures by anonymousalchemist

Taako sweeps himself into the common area of the Starblaster with all the drama and panache that he reserves for alternate Tuesday afternoons. Barry ignores him with all the practice he has from a decade of alternate Tuesday afternoons.

“I’m exhausted,” Taako whines, draping himself across Barry’s shoulders, the sharp point of his chin poking into Barry’s collarbone. “I’ve been up since for-ev-er, working on this dumb transmutation thing for Lulu.”

“Go meditate, then,” Barry says, absently reaching up to pat Taako’s head.

“Meditate?”

“You know, meditation? Isn’t that, uh, one of your elf things??” Barry finally looks up from his book, barest hint of a wrinkle in his forehead. Taako shakes his head.

“Never heard of it, homeslice. Musta skipped that day at elf practice.”

Barry laughs.

“Elf practice, sure.”

you know... elf practice

all your saints and saviors by anonymousalchemist

It’s not so much that she wants to die per se, as much as it is that she’s done living. The female human life expectancy is seventy-two years on this plane (it was seventy-four years on her home plane) and she’s lost count of her birthdays. But the math is easy. She was twenty when she boarded the Starblaster. A hundred-twenty when they landed in Faerun. A hundred-thirty when the Hunger was defeated. She’s fifty six years overdue.

She’s done her job, is the thing. She saved the world, in exchange for youth, friendship, family. She gave up everything but determination. She considers it fair trade. But now Lucretia is a single-use tool whose purpose no longer exists.

In Her Bones by epersonae

She lives through the destruction of her home, but still they're separated, until Julia sees the green light, and the blue light, and has to figure out what to do next.

better give that heart a listen by tardigradeschool

Barry needs a fake husband if he wants to stay undercover. Magnus is more than willing to help him out. Davenport needs a vacation.

herald of a new dawn by inkedinserendipity

When Lucretia is five years old, she meets her familiar. At seven, she remakes it; at eight, she remakes it again.

Seventy years later it saves her from an unkind world. And a Century after that, it fixes a family that had started to break.

from me to you, with love by inkedinserendipity

Magnus shuts the drawer and says, almost absently, “Tell her I love her, okay?”

Kravitz pauses, debating. He takes a deep breath. “Magnus,” he says, and Magnus, detecting the shift in his tone, looks up immediately. “You know that she already knows, right? She knows that you love her,” Kravitz says gently. “You do tell her every time.”

Magnus chuckles, rubbing a sheepish hand along the back of his neck. “I know,” he says, turning a bit pink. “I just - I love her, you know? I really do. And I guess, when you love someone, you want to tell them that every chance you get.”

your stitches are all out (but your scars are healing wrong) by tardigradeschool

When it’s over, and she can barely feel what makes her herself anymore, the umbrella is tattered beyond repair. With her last traces of energy, Lup grasps for shelter, reaching out for somewhere to store her torn soul until she can be helpful again. At the edge of her awareness, she feels a familiar shape, a familiar warmth -- in her exhaustion she could almost mistake it for her own body. She reaches for it and pulls herself clumsily inside.

Safe and contained, she lets consciousness go.

Voidfish (Reprise) by inkedinserendipity

Angus McDonald is many things — the boy detective, for one. The youngest member of the Bureau of Balance. The unofficial little brother of the THB, however Taako insists he's actually their mascot. He’s a researcher, and a scholar. He's not a fighter. He’s not a hero.

But he can save the world all the same.

Patterns of Migration by goodnicepeople

Magnus builds a house. Angus finds a home. Migration brings things back, in turn.

Hard to Starboard by BlueColoredDreams (series)

In the best world, it ends like this:

By starting over.

and the warmth will never die by Junkyard_Rose

Taako's been gone for maybe two years when Lup thinks she sees him shoplifting from a Hot Topic.

you ever read something that makes you astral project and you can't think about anything else for the rest of the day? me too

(in this category because it's mainly about the twins but it's also taakitz and blupcretia aka the ideal fic)

and at a certain age the child is grown by bimaukery

There are people in his grandpa's house.

AU where the IPRE family all moves in together and find the place less empty than they've been led to believe.

Amnesty

i left a light beside the bed for you by SyllableFromSound

"If she stares at the ceiling without blinking long enough, it starts to look fuzzy. Like there's a grainy film of static over the surface of the plaster. It makes her think of mist outside a window, of the big old tube TV that had sat in the living room of her house for her first few years of life and that had tingled warmly when she pressed her hand to the screen. Everything feels a bit fuzzy now, maybe because it's 3AM. Everything feels warm and a bit familiar.

Finally, Dani says, quietly, 'This is what I imagined it would be like if...if things had gone differently.'"

In which a couple of outcasts have some late-night chats and Aubrey ingests a foreign object to prove a point.

older than the trees by lamphouse

Summer is returning to Kepler, bringing with it humid late nights, not as many tourists as there used to be, and a certain moth man. Unfortunately, they're not the only ones.

Duck talks some shit out. Aubrey chills. Ned gets grifted. Indrid learns to see.

#fic rec #taz: balance #taakitz #taagnus #taagnitz #taz: amnesty #updated 7/24/19

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evangelene · 6 years ago

Text

Despite What You Are (3)

Summary: Vampires don’t feed on blood, they feed on fear. So, why is yours so potent? Why were you saved by the most dangerous of all vampires–Kim Namjoon?

Based on this request:

“Can i ask for a ff where namjoon is a vampire mafia boss and has a spft spot for you. And you get into trouble woth a rival gang and he goes crazy? Fluffy and angsty 🌹”

Part One / Part Two / Part Four / Part Five

Namjoon, after releasing the information-dump monster that was stewing in his chest for so long, finally decided to open up your world beyond the four walls of your captivity. Granted, the space was still limited—if only because he wasn’t ready to bring you to the bottom floors of the compound. It made sense, because, you know, you were a human in a fucking vampire compound. Hey, there were no complaints from you; you had zero issues with keeping distance between you and the vampires who were, probably, not as kind and thoughtful as the ones you’d met recently.

A.K.A: You liked your head on your shoulders and your blood in your body thankyouverymuch.

You supposed it was also nice that Namjoon didn’t just open your door and murmur something like “go, have fun,” but with a better palette of words than your feeble brain could put together. Perhaps, he too felt that it would be akin to releasing a tamed rabbit into the wild. Instead, he decided to show you around your new expanded quarters.

However, you decided quickly that Kim Namjoon was a shitty tour guide.

You felt more like a student being walked to a restroom by a teacher mid A.C.T instead of being shown a place around a place for you to…exist in…live in?

Live? Where you really planning on living there?

For how long?

Forever?

Damn, you really needed to start thinking ahead a bit more—like more than the next hour, more than the next day. Planning wasn’t your forte, it was as if it was built into your character that you were weak-willed and destined to go along with whatever painfully kinked road life paved for you.

“There’s a bathroom here as well.”

You nodded; raising your eyebrows like this was a new revelation. Toilet + shower + sink = bathroom. Got it.

Honestly, you felt like you were learning the alphabet for the first time.

L is for Library.

K is for Kitchen.

T is for the tortured screams of humans being fed from two floors down.

Yeah, you could hear that shit too—Namjoon promised to try and soundproof as best he could, but you told him not to worry about it, you know, like an idiot. It was almost as if you believed that this man next to you was human. It was almost as if you believed that, if you pressed your lips into a tight enough line, it would make him unable to sense your fear.

The ghastly scream of a woman dying only tightened your gut.

He looked at you over his shoulder, frozen with a quickly paling face and an expression that screamed ‘are you serious?’

You only mimicked his expression, raising one eyebrow but never loosening the purse to your lips. “What?” You tried to make it sound like nothing was wrong, but you were shifty and refused to meet him eye to eye.

It also didn’t help that the man you were trying to hide your fear from was the one species that could sense it better than any other.

“Y/N.”

“Mm?” You stared at the wall, admiring the shitty picture that all office buildings seemed to have. You know, that one same scene of a cabin in the woods with a nice little creek and a boat with no person in it. Was this warehouse/compound/vampire-lair an office complex before? Or did Namjoon choose this painting of all paintings to stare at every fucking day?

“Why?”

“Why what?” You squeaked out, nearly jumping out of your skin at the howl of a man in pain.

“Y/N.” It was a command, one forced out through his nausea—and, consequently, one that only increased your fear.

Wiping your sweating palms on your jeans (new jeans that were apparently brought in by Yoongi, if only because he said his mate was the same size as you and she wouldn’t notice if some of her mountainous clothing went missing), you swallowed. “Well, um...like…you know? I’m human and they’re human and…like…that could be me.”

“That will never be you.” He growled—the safety of which would have been attractive were it not predator to your prey.

“B-but it could be.”

“Why is this bothering you now?”

You stared at him, blankly, like he was stupider than you were. “Well, when I was in that room I couldn’t hear a man scream for help. That room’s pretty damn sound-proof you know, which is even more scary to think about now so can we like talk about something else before you throw up and I pee my pants.”

He sighed, pinching the bridge of his nose as he swallowed down whatever meal-less bile was rising in his chest.

Before you realized it, those moments of listening to real life horror movies playing out beneath your feet ended as quickly as you noticed them--your fear disappearing along with them. You had this hunch that Namjoon had made his clansmen feed elsewhere in the compound—a place out of earshot and without an echo. It fit the bill of his character, at least the only version of himself that you’d seen. Selfishly unselfish, if that paradox made any sense.

What hadn’t changed with your newfound freedom was the fact that Kim Namjoon was adamant that you couldn’t properly take care of yourself if left to your own devices.

So, okay, yes, it might have been absolutely true, but it wasn’t like you were complaining anyways—just stating the obvious. When he entrusted you to be a normal adult and be self-sufficient, he found you curled up with a bag of goldfish crackers instead of an actual meal, cry-laughing at a romantic comedy because…reasons. You may or may not have been on your period at the time and you may or may not have been unable to find any chocolate in the vicinity.

And that was how Seokjin, a pretty damn good cook for someone who didn’t actually eat like a normal human, became your honorary babysitter.

Again, you weren’t complaining—you were fed, had more freedom than you’d ever had at the Hunter’s Association and, more often than not, were graced with company that wasn’t a jock-head moron too full of themselves to note your strengths outside of a fear-filled realm of vampires.

Since when did you stop wanting to escape?

Probably when you started crying for the sake of a vampire mate you shouldn’t care about but inexplicably did.

The only immediate downside to your predicament was the damn near constant dad jokes.

“You know, for the pasta few days it’s been really nice getting to gnocchi you.”

You let out a sigh that had been slowly building for the past half hour stuck in the same room with Kim Seokjin, forgoing face-palming if only to keep hold of the book in your hands. “Do you even know what gnocchi is?” It was mumbled more to the pages than to the man trying not to almost steam his face off with boiling water. Though a brow-less Seokjin would make good blackmail fodder for later, you wanted to avoid the danger if only because you were shit useless when it came to helping heal vampiric wounds.

“No clue.” He shrugged, hissing when he grabbed a metal pot with his bare hand like an idiot (like you would have but, you know, this isn’t about you). “I just saw the word in a human recipe book and I thought that it fit nicely with the joke.”

“Okay now I dare you to try and make a pun out of cavatappi.”

“Pass.” He waved you away as you let out a bark of laughter to the ceiling. However, the fact that you laughed at all—even if it was at him rather than with him—seemed to goad his ego. “Hah! I win!”

“I only laughed because you’re stupid.”

“Still a win, stupidity or no stupidity.”

Rolling your eyes, you turned the page over only to come face to face with an illustration more baffling than understanding atomic diagrams in school—well, the schooling that was considered ‘normal’ instead of the Hunter’s Association’s vampire-killing training. You probably (no, you know) you looked like a doofus, your lip curled in confusion as you stared at the image; you were positive you would be able to grow wings on your forehead sooner than you would be able to make sense of the gibberish information spread out before you.

“And I thought human anatomy was difficult.” You frowned at the book. “What the hell is a vesticular astral plane manifestor? And why are there like seven of them? Gah! Does anything about vampires make sense?”

“We’re not any more complicated to understand than you, Miss I-have-203-bones.”

“Its 206.”

“Well you don’t know what a manifestor is.”

“Because humans are normal!”

He scoffed, though his lips were turned up in a smirk. “Yeah, sure ‘Normal’.”

Part of you really wanted to throw the 1800’s equivalent of “vampires for dummies” that you were straining your feeble brain over at him; but, the smarter part of you said that you were hungry and you weren’t willing to risk angering him.

However, you doubted that Kim Seokjin ever actually got angry—he was surprisingly levelheaded for someone who tripped over his own foot every two seconds.

Of course, you were one to talk.

“So like—is this a diagram of a mated vampire then? Or like?” You twisted the book sideways, as if seeing it from the different angle would make it easier to understand. All it did was make the legend harder to read.

“There’s no difference in the anatomy of a mated and an unmated vampire, Y/N.”

“Liar.” You furrowed your brow in concentration. “There’s got to be something to explain cranky-pants.”

“It’s called having a human mate.”

“Bullshit!”

“Do you ever refrain from swearing?”

“Rarely.”

He sighed, shoulders dropping at your proud grunt of victory. “Namjoon is just worried about you, that is all.”

“Hmph. Yeah right, then why does he always make Taehyung and Hoseok go do his random shit just to make sure I’m alone. I swear, if he could make you go away too, he would. What is the point of keeping me if I’m to have no contact with anyone outside of himself? Which is another thing--” You sensed yourself trailing off into a tangent, and, instead of finishing it, you let your voice wander off with your thoughts as you squinted at the tiny print of the legend.

Seokjin laughed, stirring the pot with one hand as he reached up in the cupboard for a strainer. “Yes, probably. Though, it doesn’t help that you are rebellious for someone who got scared of me opening a box of noodles.”

“I was focused!”

“Sure you were.”

Dropping your head to curtain your face with your hair, you let the redness of your cheeks heat and cool down outside of Seokjin’s gaze. “Shut up. I don’t get him.”

You could feel Seokjin’s eyes on you as he turned away from your dinner. “But you’re trying to, right?”

“I--” More redness, more shriveling up within yourself to hide the fact that you were now more tomato than human. “It’s only fair, right?”

Seokjin cocked his head. “Cute.”

You flipped him off.

“Why are you showing me your finger? Is there something wrong with it?”

You sighed, shoulders caving in defeat. “I’m hungry.”

With a roll of his eyes, the elder turned back to the pot to strain the pasta into the sink. “You know his crankiness is just how he shows affection—vampires aren’t known for outwardly caring.”

“Well it’s confusing.” You mumbled to the book, flipping the page if only because you felt a migraine building in your temple from staring at the jumbled image for so long.

“What’s confusing?”

You nearly jumped out of your skin at the sound of Namjoon’s voice, turning to see him leaning against the doorway, face screwed in disgust. Clutching the fabric at your chest, you relaxed enough to let out a sigh that somewhat calmed the erratic heartbeat slamming into your fingertips. “You deserve every bit of that.” You glared at him.

Swallowing the nausea, he raised an eyebrow at you with the smallest of smirks. “I suppose I do—however, it would be much appreciated if you learned to be less afraid of everything that comes your way; specifically, of the harmless factors in your life.”

Halfway through his speech, you turned back to the book splayed out on the table with a grunt that neither confirmed nor denied his statement.

Silence blanketed the room for only a few seconds, and then you sensed the agitation from the man in the doorway mere moments before his voice echoed across the room. “So you’re just going to ignore my question?” He lifted his gaze up from you to Seokjin who was currently too busy dumping pasta back into the pot via strainer.

Seokjin only shrugged.

Your attention was focused on the text rather than the clan leader, purposefully avoiding him for the sake of your own pride.

“Y/N.”

“Mm.”

He sighed, on the verge of banging his head against the wall just to get your attention. Part of you fully believed that he was attempting to direct his thoughts at you in the hopes that maybe—just maybe—you would be able to hear them; but, alas, you were human.

And even if you weren’t, you were denser than clay.

He licked his lips. “What is confusing?”

Ah, so it was like that.

He was a man that didn’t like to be left out of the loop—which was probably one of the traits that made him so crazy successful at being a clan leader. You were at least thankful that he was much more polite than people you’d met in the past who held a similar character trait. It might have been unwanted wishful thinking, but you wanted to believe that this unashamed desire to know what was going on was a trait mostly reserved for you and you alone.

The majority of you wanted to ignore the fact that you were becoming that much more intuitive to him.

“You are.”

He visibly relaxed when you finally answered, though the actual response seemed more troubling than your grumpy silence. “How so?”

You pursed your lips at the book, unable to formulate the answer in a way that would pass your lips aloud without your face turning the color of the pasta sauce Seokjin was grabbing.

Your affection is strange and confusing. I don’t get it. I just don’t understand why… You paused, head snapping up. Hey wait—doesn’t pasta sauce normally…

“Seokjin!” You nearly screeched, chair slamming to the ground behind you as you dove over the table with enough force to nearly flip it completely. Heart pounding against your sternum with adrenaline, you clasped his hand tight on top of the lid he was about two seconds away from unscrewing from the jar, nails digging in tight enough to bruise but not to cut—you were a nail biter, so there wasn’t much there to actually cut with. “Don’t!” Was the only thing that you could manage to say past the blood rushing in your ears.

Heaving in air like you were freshly drowned, you stared at Seokjin as if he was the biggest idiot on the planet. Out of your peripherals, you could see Namjoon torn between puking and being frozen in a pose that suggested that the building was about to burst down in a hail of bullets.

It was strangely comforting that his first reaction was for him to come towards you rather than out the door, despite the fact that your fear made him sick as hell.

“What?” Seokjin stared back at you, wide-eyed and with concern knitting his brow.

You removed one of your hands from the lid, slapping his away with it in order to take the jar from his grasp. Spinning it towards you, you squinted at the ingredients label.

“There’s garlic in this you moron.”

“What?”

With a shaky sigh, you sat back on your heels and let out a laugh that was enough to relax both you and the males in the room. “Pasta sauce usually has garlic in it, idiot—did you not check it before hand?”

He shrugged. “How was I to know? I don’t eat human food—besides, I did see some sauce recipes that included garlic and some that didn’t.”

“So you didn’t think to check?” You repeated, clutching the jar to your chest like the garlic could seep through glass and hurt your babysitter and infuriating savior.

“It didn’t say so on the front so I assumed it was fine.”

You wanted to facepalm and/or throw something at the male; it was like talking to a two year old—but you supposed you had to give them the benefit of the doubt considering they didn’t know any better. They weren’t human.

It was probably the same thing when they spoke to you about the concerns of vampires.

“I…” You pursed your lips, holding onto the jar tighter in your death grip as if they might try and wrestle it from you and hurt themselves. “Just the noodles are fine.”

Seokjin cocked his head. “I’m sure we can make something that’ll taste better—I’ve read that noodles are bland on their own.”

You chuckled, feeling Namjoon’s eyes on the side of your face as you shook your head. “Its fine, Jin, I’m just thankful for the food as it is.” Climbing down off the table, you spun the jar around in your grasp as you analyzed the kitchen, deciding what to do with it. Because you were dumb and because you had no willpower to figure it out after that heart attack, you stepped towards the farthest cupboard to tuck the jar back up and away—out of sight out of mind, for now.

“But—“

“It’s fine, really.” You grinned at the elder man before turning to finally face Namjoon. You hated how his stare made your heart do strange gymnastics in your chest despite you doing everything in your power to stop it. “What?”

He raised an eyebrow at you, his head cocked to the side. “Nothing.”

There’s obviously something.

He only hummed in response and you didn’t have a spine strong enough to pursue it further.

~.~

Now that the world was open to you—well, now that you could exist in more than one room and one room only—you liked to sit next to the window when you read. Though, it was really only as close as you could manage to get to said window. Namjoon, being a clan leader, had gone through extensive preparations in order to ensure your safety.

Even if it felt more like baby locks on a cabinet door versus protection for yourself.

There were bars on the windows to stop things from getting in—or out, but you know, he glossed over that part—and on top of that, there was shit blocking the windows and a nice, strict line taped directly to the floor to indicate where you weren’t supposed to stand. The furniture blocking the immediate access to the window was even bolted to the damn floor; so, unless you were a spider monkey (you tried, you were not much of one), you couldn’t directly disobey.

Sitting on top of the tape—more on the side you shouldn’t be on than the side you should be on—you thought that it was kind of cute how worried he was about you. Also kind of borderline new parent in a game of “why is my child trying to kill itself?” but you know, cute nonetheless.

“Y/N, what if someone has a gun? That glass isn’t bulletproof!”

You stared at him like he was the most idiotic person you’d ever met—and damnit you had to meet yourself every single day of your life. “What vampire uses a gun?”

“Y/N!”

You had the same book in your hands—a book that you were beginning to look at with fondness now, maybe because it took so damn long for you to make sense of any of; or, maybe, it was because it made you that much closer to understanding Namjoon a tiny bit better.

Why you wanted to was a forced secret between you and your subconscious.

Flipping past the anatomy section, you moved onto the middle bit—the one you only opened when you knew you were absolutely alone. To be caught red-handed reading about vampiric mates would be embarrassing, especially when you’ve spent so long in denial.

Vampires are not creatures whose relationships strive off of physical affection. While monogamous, they focus on their intellectual connection and reserve touches for necessary occasions or for procreation.

You flipped to another page, enjoying the sunlight warming your face. It was nice to see something other than brick, drywall and the same four vampires.

Mates are the source of life for each other. While a mate’s fear is nauseating, there is power in having a mate by one’s side. This source of energy far outweighs any benefit gained by feeding from a human’s fear via death; one’s abilities are near limitless in presence or defense or their mate.

You pursed your lips as if you could actually comprehend that—it didn’t add up enough with your current experiences to make any sense. All you’ve noticed is that you have only ever been a hindrance to Namjoon. Annoying, loud, injured and afraid of everything that comes your way—none of those equaled power of any sort.

Despite the disagreement, you devoured the words page after page, the expanses of unread passing and decreasing in the blink of an eye. The book captured your attention to the point that the world dropped around you, transporting you somewhere far away from the compound—from the sun and the ground.

To touch a vampire is a rare occasion; one that should be cherished fully, for it is foreign. Be thankful, even if touched as nothing more than a meal. To any human who may have stumbled across this book written by vampires about vampires, it is a pity that your level of comprehension is lacking and therefore you cannot understand just how complex the workings of vampire communication are.

I pray that this book leaves your hands before you are made a meal of.

And, to any vampires who have found this, may this book bring you a greater understanding of self and may our future be prosperous—may our kind be pulled out of the shadows to rise once more.

“Okay, dude, you had such a good thing going and then you just had to shit on us humans, didn’t ya?”

You grumbled to the pages, still too lost to notice that you weren’t alone in the room. Still too lost to notice that Seokjin’s piercing gaze from the doorway was catching you in a place where you were obviously not supposed to be and reading a book you obviously weren’t supposed to be interested in.

Okay, the latter was only obvious to your ass backwards human emotions that said “FUCKING RUN DON’T LET HIM KNOW” anytime you showed interest in another human being…well...in this case…being.

“Is there something you wish to know about mates, Y/N?”

You nearly jumped out of your skin, the fear screeching up your spine and out of your body in a flash so quick that not even Seokjin had time to digest it; at least your recoveries were getting quicker.

“I appreciate the morsel, but you are off limits to feed from.”

You threw your finished book at him, the old leather creating an arc of dust that left a trail of sparkling particles lit up by the beam of sunlight. “If y’all would wear heels or something so I could at least hear you coming it would be great.”

He only laughed and, for a moment, you expected there to be fangs despite being well aware that the stereotype was incredibly false.

“Asshole.” You muttered, your calming heart allowing you to lean back so the weight of your body rested on the heel of your palms. “What do you want?”

“Well I came in pursuit of inquiring about supper, but now I’m more curious as to why you are investigating mates.”

Your head dipped to your chest, the rising heat of your skin causing you to want to put a barrier between you and Seokjin’s gaze.

“That’s a nervous tic of yours, you know that? You always try and hide your embarrassment.”

“No shit Sherlock, you think I’m unaware of this?” You curled your lip at your dusty, jean-clad knees. “You know, you don’t have to point out the obvious just because you notice it.”

“Who the hell is Sherlock?”

You groaned, rolling your eyes. “For fuck’s sake.”

“You swear quite a lot too, humans are honestly so vulgar.”

You really wanted nothing more than to flip off the vampire, but you knew that he wouldn’t understand the offense to the gesture and so you curled your hands into fists if only because, if you were going to go through the effort, you wanted him to feel your spite.

“What is on your mind, Y/N?”

You winced. Why did you wear everything on your face? You wondered if Namjoon was able to read you just as well, or maybe Seokjin was just well versed in the language of idiot. “It says vampires hate touching.”

There was silence for a moment while Seokjin gathered his words, as if sensing this was a sensitive subject for you. Why was it so sensitive? You didn’t know? Did you really want to hold Namjoon’s hand? Cuddle with him? Take long walks on the beach hand in hand?

Brain don’t you dare answer that, don’t betray me now.

Yes. Yes you did.

Fuck you.

The inner war had you making yet another face at your knees.

“Well, yes, we’re not fond of it. To us, it doesn’t really make much sense.”

You grunted, screwing your eyes shut to the memory of his hands on your face, brushing away your tears as you nearly hyperventilated in his chair. “Interesting.”

“What is?”

“Nothing.” You shook your head, ridding yourself of the memory with a shrug as you swiveled yourself to properly face him. “Actually, it’s nice timing that you found me. I have a proposition for you.”

He settled into his hips, one eyebrow raised. “Mm? But is this a proposition I’ll be interested in?”

You laughed, eyes sparkling with a dangerous fire. “Probably not, but I can be pretty persuasive.”

“Well, I shall be the judge of that.”

You smiled, tilting your chin. “How confident are you in human medicine, Jinnie?”

“Why do I not like the pet name? It sounds like you want something that I don’t want to give you and that is scarier than any vampire out there.”

“Answer the question.”

He frowned at you. “Why?”

You refused to pull your stare from his, nails digging into the wooden floor. “I want you to take out whatever bullshit you found in me. I want you to put me under—if you can, if you can’t do it while I’m awake—and open my chest and rip out that fucker. Preferably, I would like you to close me back up and make me better afterwards.”

His eyes widened with each sentence, growing even wider at the lack of a joke in your expression and the utter seriousness to the wicked glint in your stare.

“Y/N…Namjoon—Namjoon’ll—“

“He doesn’t own me.” You cut him off, shoulders relaxing as the elephant in the room finally reared its head and left. “This is what I want. This is what I need you to do for me.”

“Y/N—I don’t know…I don’t know if I’m able to do that without killing you. I’m not a surgeon, not a healer—nevertheless for a human. I’d have to read up on it and even then…”

“Then read. Figure it out. I don’t care what happens, if I’m—“ a spike of fear that you swallowed, it undoubtedly didn’t go unnoticed by Seokjin. “—if I’m going to be irreparable, if I’m going to be damaged or maimed afterwards, that’s fine. I would like to be alive—and unharmed—but if that doesn’t happen, it’s…” You screwed your eyes shut, remembering those warm gold eyes. “It’s what it is. I’m not going to watch him get hurt because of me.”

“You’re doing this for Namjoon?”

“I’m doing this for me, Jin. I’m doing this for me.”

“What happens when you die? What happens to me when Namjoon finds out what we did?”

You pursed your lips, raising one challenging eyebrow. “You won’t let me die that easily.”

He sighed, licking his lips as he stared at the wall, the bookshelves, the window—anything that wasn’t staring directly back at him and would allow him a moment’s contemplation. “Y/N, do you honestly trust me that much that you are willing to put your life in my hands? I am a vampire, I have control over my urges but…I—“

“I trust you.” You said with the utmost certainty. “If there’s anyone in this whole compound I trust, it would be you.”

He nodded, more to himself than to you, and finally, finally, lifted his gaze back to yours. There was a softness in his eyes that hadn’t been there before.

“I told you,” you chuckled, “I’m pretty convincing.”

Laughing on a mini-eyeroll, he crossed his arms over his chest. “I haven’t made my mind up about that. However, I believe that I will agree to your proposal—on my terms. Firstly, it will take preparation. I need to read more and gather the necessary materials without Namjoon’s knowledge; secondly, I presume you don’t want him to be aware of this proposition?”

You cocked your head. “How likely do you think this would actually happen if Namjoon were to know?”

“Alright then.” He nodded. “I will also need time to find a space to do this in, and you will need to craft a proper time to allow this—a time when Namjoon is not around. I will leave that one to you as you are more aware of his movements than I am.”

“So, it’s a deal?”

He grinned. “We have a deal.”

~.~

There were a lot of things that you didn’t expect to happen when you found out you were captured by a vampire. You didn’t expect kindness, you didn’t expect someone to claim to be your mate and then not love you at the end of it. You didn’t expect to be healed and then treated like a precious pet. You didn’t expect to find friends and understanding in creatures that had only shown you pain and agony.

And honestly, the last thing you expected out of everything was to find the biggest, baddest clan leader of the entire continent huddled up under a blanket like an absolute child, his eyes glued to a television set positively blaring a really shitty romance movie.

Okay, maybe it was supposedly a good romance movie—but you cringed easily and thus you preferred romantic comedies because laughter eased awkward situations.

That wasn’t the point anyways, the point was that the room he had holed himself in screamed anything but good—like there were ghosts in the walls of people who had died and/or been tortured to hell there. It was a room that he probably thought that you would never go in, considering you were literally afraid of everything and this room screamed doom and terror. However, fear didn’t mean that you weren’t stupid enough to explore places you shouldn’t.

And thus, the idiot in a blanket watching two humans make out in a room with bloodstains on the wall and deep-rooted marks on the floor looked up as you threw open the door, his eyes wide and glowing gold at the scent of your momentary fear.

They dulled to a brown when your fear subsided at the absolute absurdity of him.

He paused the screen as if he wasn’t caught red handed watching something that would embarrass most human men. You had never seen Namjoon embarrassed, and he didn’t appear to be so now either.

However, he didn’t look entirely comfortable in your presence.

Adorable.

The two of you stood like that for a moment, him on the floor of the torture chamber and you standing in the doorway with the hall-light illuminating your back. There were no words—hell, not even a coherent stream of thought--bouncing around inside your skull.

Just confusion, lots and lots of confusion. Especially as your eyes took in the makeshift bed, the pillows, the things that suggested that you had finally figured out where Namjoon had been sleeping all these months.

Why here?

More confusion.

“You shouldn’t be here. You should be smart enough to know that this wing brings no good—you weren’t allowed to come down here.”

Your thoughts collided into clarity with your sudden sense of defiance. “And since when have I ever listened to where I can and can’t be?”

You thought of the time he caught you leaning against the window, having climbed over his barricades just to get some sunlight. He had been so angry and you had been so terrified that it should have prevented you from doing is a second time, a third time, the thirty-first time….

Well, it didn’t.

And the lack of amusement on his face now, surprisingly, didn’t make you feel afraid—instead, it only created plenty for yourself.

“Why are you watching this?”

He frowned at the television, his gaze refusing to meet yours—you had to say, that was the closest you’d ever seen the man come to your ‘human embarrassment’.

“I wanted to understand something, and I was told that this would be the best option to try to do so.”

You cocked your head, taking a deep breath as the pieces clicked just far enough and you stepped deeper into the room towards him. You tried your best not to jump as the door shut behind you and locked you in almost darkness, but you knew you failed when your steps skipped and you nearly fell on your face.

Namjoon only watched you approach him, his eyes never leaving you as you made your way towards him and lowered your ass to the cold, hard ground next to him.

You tried not to think about the bloodstains; luckily, it was easy enough when you had Namjoon next to you.

Even easier still when the glow from the romance movie hit your face as he pressed play on the remote by his side. Seemed he was one, enjoying the movie and two, impatient when it came to getting back to it.

“What did you want to understand?” You said finally, watching the couple on the screen run into each other in the rain, their kisses passionate and utterly cringey to you who could barely even touch the person who cared about but didn’t love you.

“I wanted to understand human affection, since mine is apparently so confusing.” His voice almost made it sound like he was pouting, and, to be honest, it was kind of cute and comedic to imagine that a clan leader was pouting over something so stupid.

His hands tightened around the blanket.

“So you did this because of me? And you didn’t want me to find out?” You curled your knees to your chest, the cold of the floor seeping through the fabric of your jeans, sending a freezing hand down your spine.

He nodded.

You wanted to tell him that it was fine, that he didn’t have to do all of this for you. He didn’t have to try and understand your version of affection, he didn’t have to pretend like he loved you, he didn’t have to do anything more for you than he’d already done. However, you couldn’t get the words out because the locked emotion in your chest prevented you from letting any of the lies escape.

It would be false, it would be wrong.

If you were to be stuck with someone, if you were to have someone claim to be your mate, you wanted them to love you. You wanted to be able to love them—you wanted that contact, skin to skin and heart to heart. The past few years devoid of any sort of care, touch or conversation at the Hunter’s Association made you want all of those even more. You wanted to care about someone, and you wanted them to care about you.

For some reason, you still had enough fight in you to believe that you didn’t actually care about Kim Namjoon.

The fact that you cried over his safety was enough to prove that your head and your body were at a disconnect and you desperately wanted your brain to be the truth teller.

You knew it wasn’t.

It never was.

“Thank you.” You murmured, suppressing your shiver as you rubbed out the goosebumps on your forearms.

Both of you watched the couple on the screen, watched how they kissed, how they spoke to each other and held each other’s hands. You watched them hug, watched them huddle on a bed and speak with their parent’s about a dramatic engagement that was fated to be disliked by whatever awful future-in-laws and evil bitches were trying to break it up.

God, honestly, romance movies were so damn dramatic.

“Why aren’t you afraid?”

You cocked your head at him, pulling your gaze from the television long enough to see him staring at you from the corners of his eyes.

“This room, by previous standards, should terrify you—but you’re not afraid. Not at all.”

There was heat creeping its way up your neck, spreading across your ears. For once, you didn’t have to duck your head to hide it from him—the room was dark enough as it was. “I—It’s not scary.” You murmured, trying to force the words from your mouth instead of your head—but, you were weak and it was easier to think them then to say them.

I think it’s because you’re here.

There was a moment where you almost believed that he didn’t hear you, that suddenly whatever mate bond the two of you had didn’t allow him to detect that string of thought. However, after a long pause, after a moment of studying the couple’s next kiss, he let go of one side of his blanket.

Suddenly, there was access to his flank.

You stared at him, confused and unable to read the nonverbal cues he was giving you.

“It’s cold.” He said, like that made any sense for him to no longer have a blanket on one side of himself.

“Yea.” You wanted to spit something else sarcastic at him, but for whatever reason there was a moment there between you that you didn’t want to shit on.

At least not yet.

“Humans get cold easily, do they not?”

“And vampires don’t like to touch. Why are we stating the obvious?” You said equally as stupid as the man besides you.

Seemed he, too, had a hard of a time getting out cheesy phrases.

“Y/N.” He sighed.

You ran your tongue along your teeth, opting for the coward’s way out since it was easier and you were terrified of the way your heart constricted at the thought that this was what you thought it was.

Can I?

Without looking at you, he reached his arm around you and brought your shoulder to his, winding the blanket around the both of you.

Surprisingly, he was warm. It shouldn’t have been surprising, they still had circulatory systems—they still had a heart that beat; you blamed the fact that everything that was associated with the word vampire before 2048 screamed cold. The chill from the floor was nothing compared to the furnace that was Kim Namjoon.

You kept your hands in your lap, if only because you were positive that, if they weren’t, they would find his—and this had to be enough. It was going to be enough for you. You were going to make sure that this was enough for you.

Maybe he would never love you, maybe he would never reach over to hold your hand or kiss you—maybe he would never tell you anything about how he felt. Maybe it would never be like how your parents were; maybe it would never be like the movies. Maybe he would never understand you and maybe you would never understand him.

But this was enough.

And you were starting the long journey of being okay with that.

“Why do humans kiss? It doesn’t make any sense and it seems incredibly unsanitary for beings that fall ill so easily.”

You groaned. “Don’t ruin the moment.”

“What moment?” He frowned, turning to look at you like you were speaking gibberish. For once, it might have been helpful if he could read your thoughts like a normal mate.

With a sigh, you reached up and gingerly touched his face with two of your fingers, forcing his expression back to the television. “Just watch your movie.”

“Do you like courtship movies?”

You let out an unintentional bark of laughter. “It’s called romance, dumbass. And not particularly, I like romantic comedies but I prefer action oriented movies in general—considering I’ve got the attention span of a squirrel.”

“You’re about as brave as one too.”

You contemplated smacking him, but you were too comfortable to put in too much added effort, so you resorted to making a stupid face that had him laughing without ever even looking at you.

~.~

The bedroom that you almost died in suddenly felt too cramped and too full—considering all seven aware of your existence were piled in there like it was some party. Lucky for you, Hoseok and Taehyung seemed adamant on making it one by inviting you to play a shitty board game they found in an abandoned apartment complex. You didn’t know whether to call this bedroom yours or Namjoon’s, considering he had probably used it before your ass came running down the street with a child in your arms and a vampire on your heels. However, you’d never seen him sleep there.

You assumed he resorted himself to holing up in that awful torture chamber of a room for your peace of mind at night.

He still thought that you couldn’t be vulnerable around him.

For once, the man that was usually right was dead wrong.

You had no idea why they all suddenly decided to burst in on you and the idiot brigade’s fun time. But, with Hoseok’s knee a millimeter away from touching yours and six other vampires in the room, you thought that it was interesting just how damn different they could be when it came to contact.

Taehyung avoided touching you, though you had this inkling that he was secretly a hugger. Hoseok hated, hated contact but enjoyed being almost there at all times. And then, well then there was Yoongi. Yes, granted he had a mate, and granted he was a grumpy son-of-a-bitch most days, but he was an outlier in the mix. If you thought Namjoon was bad when it came to physical contact, Yoongi, who only ever sat in a corner avoiding everyone’s advances, was a trillion times worse.

Rolling the dice to the game, you looked up as Namjoon made up the last and final of the seven by stepping into the room. Honestly, you didn’t mean to look up to him—you didn’t mean to be drawn to him—but it was like it was natural. He had that aura that exuded ‘leader’; it was impossible for all eyes to not be on him. Everyone was drawn to him—at least, that was the excuse you gave yourself as you tried to quickly look away.

As you tried to make it seem like you weren’t swept up in how nice his clothing fit him today.

“What’s with the emergency meeting?” Seokjin wasted no time, speaking before anyone else could even utter a word. You supposed it made sense, Jin was the eldest in the room and, as a result, he was the only one with a backbone strong enough to meet the clan leader eye to eye.

Or you know, piss him off without dying.

“I’ve made my decision.”

Seokjin’s jaw locked and you couldn’t help but look like a lost dog between the two men, their glares bouncing tension thick enough to cut in the air. “On that?”

“Yes.”

You, being you, blurted stupidly. “What topic? What the hell are you talking about?” However, you only received a passing glance as Taehyung looked on with you, seemingly as confused as you were. Hoseok turned to give you a warming smile that didn’t touch his eyes as he lifted his chin to stare back up at his leader.

“Good.” Yoongi muttered from the corner. “It’s about time.”

Seokjin’s eyes darkened, receiving his answer after deciphering Namjoon’s gaze. The elder man’s hands tightened on his biceps. “I think that this is a stupid idea.”

“I didn’t even say what my answer was.” But there was no anger in Namjoon’s voice, no annoyance—just a fact.

They were that close.

Sometimes, they felt closer than you and your damn mate.

I’m not jealous.

Mmhm, sure Y/N, keep telling yourself that like it makes it true.

“But you’re going to tell them.”

Namjoon sighed, rubbing the back of his neck to smooth out whatever stress had kinked it as he peered down at you. You hated how pity warmed in the depths of his gaze, as if his words were going to break you later.

If that isn’t some fucking shitty foreshadowing for the doomed-ness of my life then I don’t know what is. Your inner thoughts grumbled before you could get a reign on them.

“Yes.” He murmured. “I’m going to tell the rest of the clan about Y/N.”

Taehyung’s stare flit between you and Namjoon, his eyes growing comically wide.

“How long?” Seokjin sighed. “How long do you think you can fend them off if they choose to rise up?” He raised an eyebrow, nodding to the room. “Sure, we’re all here for you—we’re all here for her—but you do really think seven vampires against an army is a risk you’re willing to take?”

You could feel Namjoon’s gaze on you, expectant. It was as if he expected you to burst out into a fit of fear at any minute now. He seemed poised to grab you and run the second you showed any hint of being afraid of the situation—mainly because not all of the vampires in the room had control over their urges.

However, you didn’t even look up at him and instead moved your piece across the board upon the prompt of the die.

When you realized the entire room was holding its breath for your reaction, you looked up and shrugged. “Yeah I should be scared; maybe if I was the same girl I was six months ago. But I’m not.” You chuckled, lifting your chin to meet Namjoon’s gaze.

You won’t let me die, right? You won’t let anyone torture me—you said so yourself. So what is there to be afraid of?

“I think it’s a good idea.”

Seokjin’s gaze was wild, his own fear causing a knee jerk reaction that had Yoongi’s nose crinkling and Jimin holding down Jungkook before he could feed. “Y/N—“

You held up a hand to stop the speech you could sense coming from a mile away. “Hey, this has to happen eventually, right? How long do you think you are all going to be able to keep me a secret? How long do you think I’m just going to sit here like a locked up pet? The humans already know; why not the vampires too? Honesty’s better anyways—builds more trust or something like that.”

“Not all vampires are as tolerant as we are, Y/N.” Yoongi warned, causing you to shrug more to yourself than to anyone else.

“Kay, and? Any of you planning to side-step out of the way of the next vampire that charges at me?”

“No—of course not,” Taehyung murmured. “But Y/N—“

“Then come what may.” You grinned, hoping to relax the tension in the room—all you got was a strained expression from Taehyung and a scoff from Seokjin. “Hey, I didn’t ask for any of this, okay? But I’m here now and this is the sort of shit I’ve got to do. Deal with it. I’m fine with it; you all need to be too.”

“So that’s it then? The decision is made?” Seokjin growled.

Namjoon looked down towards you, eyebrows raised as you let out a harrumph of distress, handing the die over to Hoseok. “She’s made it. I am easily swayed by her opinion—so if this is what she wants then yes, it’s official.”

You looked up at him out of the corner of your eye.

“I must abide by what my mate decides.” He chuckled, watching with fascination as you ducked your head once more, the barest hint of red lighting up your ears.

~.~

Apparently, this ‘introducing you to the clan’ was more like ‘the king and queen of the fucking world have an announcements for you peasants’ but like, if the king and queen ran a gang.

Okay so a clan wasn’t a gang, but like, close enough.

Namjoon was on this balcony that jutted out over a warehouse floor, leaning over a shoddy railing made of metal and chain link as the entirety of his clan stared up at him.

You knew it was a big clan, like the biggest on the whole continent but holy shit it was big. The warehouse floor was covered wall to wall with bodies and they were all looking up expectantly for whatever big announcement was to come.

You, however, weren’t allowed out on that balcony with Namjoon. Since your fear was far more potent than others and since you had the heart of a jackrabbit you were forced to stand behind a layer of two vampires and watch from the hall. Surprisingly, there wasn’t any fear.

Mostly, you were just awed that there were so many people under the thumb of one man.

Your man.

I’m gonna throw up if you pull that shit one more time, brain.

Namjoon looked over his shoulder at you, raising an eyebrow.

You made a face at him that had him laughing, seemingly causing him to relax.

Was he nervous too?

God, Y/N, how stupid could you be? Of course he was, he was just a hell of a lot better at hiding it than you were. Kim Namjoon looked so damn strong facing this army of a clan. He looked like he belonged there, like he deserved every bit of work and blood that had gone into getting where he was.

And he did.

If there was one thing that you knew about Namjoon, through all of this mess, you knew that he deserved everything he’d achieved.

But, if you squinted, you could see the slight tilt to his shoulders—you could see the way his hands tightened on the railing before him.

If you were stronger, and less afraid of being out in the open in front of a hundred plus vampires, you would have gone out there with him. You would have stood there to try and encourage him as if you actually had the ability to do so. It was so complicated with this man, because you knew you shouldn’t want to encourage the murderer—but while most of you knew the reasons why you were so torn, the stronger part of you adamantly refused them.

You were not and would never be in love with someone incapable of loving you back.

Keep telling yourself that, Y/N.

You knew that stronger part of yourself would eventually tire itself out, and you had to say, you were curious as to what would be the straw that would break it.

But you also didn’t want to find that out either.

Humans are so god damned complicated.

“Alright.” Namjoon’s voice silenced the hum of the crowd below, erasing your thoughts with just a single word. It helped that you could almost sense the fear of those below you, probably because they thought this meeting was held out of anger rather than due to an announcement. Either way, their fear allowed you to leak a bit out of yourself, allowing whatever emitted from you to be swallowed immediately by the two in front of you.

Namjoon straightened.

“Today, I have summoned you all here to inform you of my current situation—seeing as it is out of the ordinary for our kind. Be aware, before I start my message, that I am allowing those who no longer wish to be a part of this clan after today to leave of their own free will. If you choose to do so, after I have finished speaking, no harm will come to you unless you are stupid enough to taunt. May you know that, if you do choose to leave this clan, there will be no mercy shown to you the next time we may meet.”

You could tell that the people below wanted to whisper—they wanted to speak amongst themselves and ask questions that were going to be answered in the next instant. However, they were a well trained clan, hushed by the mere presence of Namjoon. It should have been frightening just how damn powerful the man before you was.

However, you could only imagine him wrapped in a blanket, watching a couple kiss in the rain.

“Don’t humans get sick from this easily? Why on earth are they daring illness for something as trivial as human contact?”

“I have found my mate.” His voice boomed across the crowd.

A chill slipped its icy fingers up your spine.

That was you—he was referencing you.

Yeah, no shit Y/N. Of course it is you.

Still, the millisecond of fame was flattering—though entirely unwanted amongst vampires.

“However,” his voice silenced your inner ramblings, “she is human.”

Once more, the world broke into silence—complete and utter silence as every single person in the room bit their tongue in confusion, in awe, in shock. You were sure that they had things to say, but even in this moment, Namjoon scared them.

And he, giving them every bit of the leader he was, never once pulled his gaze from the crowd. He never ducked his head, he never hid. “You may speak.”

A thousand voices came from the walls, bouncing off one another. You heard bits and pieces, phrases from different people in different places. It was a cacophony of sound, of anger and betrayal—some of acceptance, but not many. Insults were thrown like bombs, and you let each one hit you with the force of a freight truck.

“A pathetic human?”

“Well where is she?”

“So weak she cannot even face us?”

“This is blasphemous!”

“It has to be a lie!”

“Stop joking with us, humans and vampires can never!”

“Where is this bitch?”

You lifted your chin when Seokjin turned over his shoulder to look at you, a small grimace of a smirk on your features. You shrugged.

You could take insults, slurs, threats. You were known to take a lot of things without fear—verbal wars were the only kind of wars you were good at.

The only kind of war you weren’t afraid of.

Now, maybe if you could see their anger on their faces, see the flashes of red in the crowd, you would find it in you to be afraid.

But again, you were a weak pathetic human hiding behind the protection of vampires.

And then you started to hear the verbal shots fired towards Namjoon.

“Pathetic.”

“I can’t believe he became our leader? How long did he know of this?”

“How could we ever follow a man like this?”

“He’s nothing better than those humans.”

“How dare he?”

“He doesn’t deserve to be clan leader.”

It was a slow boil for you, blood rushing in your ears until that very last insult hit too hard for you. Your anger peaked too quick to be able to stop, the rage burning every last trace of fear from your bones as you gathered your hands into fists at your side.

Without thinking and without any warning—at least, without any warning enough that would allow Seokjin and Hoseok to hold you back from the sheer idiocy of what you were about to do—you burst forward out of the hall and into the light.

You made yourself visible, without a shield, without anything other than you and your anger acting as a barrier between a whole fucking warehouse of killers. But you didn’t stop there. No, you rushed the metal railing, almost as if you were going to launch yourself over the damn thing and into the vampire’s nest below. Thankfully, your better judgment kicked in and only allowed you to crash your hips into the chainlink fence next to Namjoon.

“Shut the fuck up!” You shouted, your voice nearly breaking with the force of your rage. “Shut up!”

Namjoon startled by your side, his eyes boring holes through the side of your face and, were you not too enraged to notice, you would have seen how damn angry he was at you for foiling literally everything.

Plan wrecker Y/N, the only thing you were good at besides tripping over your own foot and cursing for no good reason. Wasn’t it plan wrecking that got you into this mess?

“Who are you to decide that? Huh?” You snapped, hands tightening around the metal dangerously, borderline about to pierce the skin of your palms. “Who are you to decide who deservers what? Did you fight tooth and nail to stand here? No? Are you a god or some other bullshit deity? Huh?” You weren’t giving them time to answer, because, if you did, your nerve would go away and be replaced with fear at your own stupidity. “No, you’re not even close to being a clan leader yourself so why don’t you all just shut the fuck up!”

The crowd was quickly decreasing their volume, if only because there was a crazed human daring to taunt them—you liked the phrase ‘put them in their place’ better but it wasn’t really fitting; it was more like an ant crawling across your barefoot in the middle of summer.

“You followed him long before you ever knew of his mate, and now, because there’s suddenly a human involved you think that he’s lost all sense and can’t be trusted? And you dare call him weak because at least he accepted his fucking fate and did something about it. What the hell are you doing? Are you fucking insane? Do you know how stupid you sound right now?”

The gazes from the vampire’s nest below conveyed a whole array of emotions that you didn’t dare decode or pick apart—probably because you knew that the equation didn’t come out to anything good.

You almost came down from your momentary rage right then and there—if it weren’t for the peanut gallery in the back.

“Human bitch, come down here and we’ll see who thinks they’re a god. You can’t be protected forever!”

Namjoon tensed next to you, about a second from tearing the moron a new one. However, before he could even properly react, you were leaning deeper into the metal railing as you shouted loud enough for the metal walls of the room to echo your voice. “I never claimed to be a god, asshole! At least I’m not saying who deserves what because if I had a damn choice I would be down there shoving a clove of garlic down your throat!”

Hoseok, who had approached you in the hopes to at least force you to let up on the chainlink fence, took a huge step back to fold over to the ground with sputtering laughter.

Apparently a couple other vampires in the crowd found you equally as funny, because you could hear mixed chuckles.

“Y/N—“

But you cut Namjoon off, you weren’t done yet. Not by a longshot.

It takes more courage to deal with humans than it does vampires.

“Say whatever the hell you want about me—I’m the new factor here, the new thing you can’t trust. Your leader is the one that hasn’t changed. He’s the one that you should believe in and put your faith in and continue to follow until the end of your days because I am human and that is exactly what I plan on doing!”

Slowly, you settled back into your heels, your eyes scanning the room for any more complaints as if daring someone to say something more. Like you were actually going to be able to do anything.

What would you do? Fear them to death?

As if coming down from a possession, you felt like you shrank to five times your previous height, your eyes widening as you flit your gaze over to Namjoon. His golden eyes never left your face for even a moment, his lips parted with words he couldn’t say. You thought that, if you could read his mind, you would find all those dead words on his tongue just floating around in his brain.

“I...um…yeah.” You nodded to him as if you could actually read his thoughts. “Yeah.”

“Yeah?” He had a small smile on his face.

You nodded again, this time more to yourself than to him. “Yeah.”

The crowd, after the second half of your speech, broke out into a fresh bout of murmurs—voices rising louder. You couldn’t tell exactly what they were saying, you were too scared to try and discern what was what, who was approving and who wasn’t. You didn’t want to know how many people your existence had caused to leave, you didn’t want to know how much you devastated Namjoon’s efforts simply by being who you were.

And then, you were forced to come face to face with it when the same guy you threatened with garlic you didn’t have, scoffed.

“Are you all really going to let a human’s words affect you like this? Are we now sheep—cattle? Are we now just as weak willed as those we feed from?”

Before another word could leave his lips—before you could retaliate—the world around you erupted into a flash of pure, blinding white. In that moment, you honestly believed that you died. You believed that the compound had been struck by a bomb, the humans had finally hit. This was the end for you. If this was heaven—or hell, you were pretty sure everyone and their grandmother in this life were going to hell (though the last time you said that out loud the heavy Christian population at the Hunter’s Association literally flogged you)—you didn’t care; it was warm.

It was comforting.

When the brightness passed, when your eyes adjusted to the regular florescent lighting, the world was still alive. You were still alive.

And Namjoon was next to you, his eyes dark with anger.

You followed his gaze to the man who had made it his mission to verbally oppose you every second he got, the peanut gallery in the back who was now folded over, clutching the side of his head. Blood seeped through his fingers, dribbling down his arm. Between his pointer and middle finger was a flap of skin hanging on by a thin stretch, the mangled flesh vaguely resembling what used to be an ear.

“What were you saying, Jisung?” Namjoon’s voice was hard, violent in a way that you had yet to hear. You knew of his capabilities, of how deadly the man that named himself your mate could be when pushed or bored. However, hearing and seeing were two different things.

You said nothing, if only because you were unable to find words anymore. The man, Jisung, only grit his teeth and looked up at the pair of you with anger.

Namjoon looked down at him, his gaze piercing in a way that you had never known it could be.

Perhaps that was because you were the lucky one.

Perhaps that was because you were his mate.

“All who wish to leave this clan, you may do so now.” Namjoon’s voice echoed across the room, quieting the murmurs once more.

There was a dreaded pause, a prolonged silence that continued until the door slammed behind Jisung and his crew, until bit by bit, one by one, vampires left. It wasn’t a lot, but maybe you didn’t want to know just how many people you caused to leave the man you knew was more than capable to lead them to the end. Each person that walked through the door was another apology muttered in your mind, each person that stepped away from the clan another reminder that whatever cloud you had been floating on thinking that life would be peachy-keen was dissipating around you.

Without thinking, you slid your hand towards his on the railing, close enough to link your pinkie with his. Sure, vampires didn’t like touches, they didn’t appreciate the feeling of hugs or hand holding—but this was the only thing you knew you could give him without overloading him.

As if on instinct, his pinkie curled around yours as he peered at you out of the corner of his eyes.

You gave him the smallest of smiles.

To ruin the moment, if only because they could and if only because it was in their archetype to do so, Hoseok and Seokjin came on either side of the two of you, leaning on the railing to assess the crowd.

“It’s a lot more than I thought would stay, I’ll give you that.” Seokjin chuckled.

“A hell of a lot more.” Hoseok murmured. “But you know, Y/N had a point and vampires respect fearlessness.”

You turned to make a face at him around Namjoon. “Since when have I ever been fearless?”

Namjoon’s hand never moved to pull away from yours—despite the fact that your pinkies were still intertwined together. “I didn’t think I’d ever see the day, but you were fearless back there.”

For me.

The unspoken words hung above your head, as if you were both thinking them but not saying them aloud. You didn’t know how, but for a moment, you almost heard the phrase in his own voice—as if you were gaining access to his mind for the first time. You doubted it, but the fact that you knew it was a thought running through his head was telling enough to have you ducking your head to hide your blush.

~.~

The announcement to the clan had allowed you more freedom—well, slightly at least. If you were to go anywhere besides your original level, you were required to have one of the seven with you.

Well, one of the six; Jungkook, despite your positive relationship, still wasn’t trusted to be alone with you—he wasn’t known for his control.

So, it was Seokjin who walked down with you when you decided that you wanted to meet a few of the clanspeople who chose to stay. Namjoon, who insisted otherwise, wanted no part in you risking your life. So, instead, he watched from above on that same railing, his eyes never leaving your form for a moment.

He probably let you go if only because Seokjin was allowed to cherry pick the people that you got to meet.

The first person you were brought to, under the guard of Seokjin and Hoseok, was a clanswoman who was murmuring to a group. She was thin, tall with these sparkling eyes that only intensified when she turned to face you. You couldn’t help the spark of fear nonetheless; however, she seemed to drink it in without reaction. Her eyes flashed red for only a moment before it was blinked away and replaced with a warm brown.

“I’m Jiwoo.” She smiled at you, taking your hand to shake it before Seokjin could even properly introduce you to her. You stared at the point where her skin met yours in baffled confusion. “This is a human greeting, right?” She tilted her head in concern, furrowing her brow on you. “Am I doing this wrong?”

You shook your head, which only seemed to make her smile bigger.

“Y/N, Jiwoo here is Yoongi’s mate. Jiwoo, this is the source of your missing clothes.”

“Ah! I was wondering why he kept thinking he was so sneaky taking things out of my closet! I’m happy they’re finding a good home!”

You, however, were dumbstruck, staring up at the side of Seokjin’s face like he just spoke gibberish. The two couldn’t possibly be more different from one another—but you supposed that you weren’t one to talk when it came to mates. Still, imagining the frowning Yoongi holding hands with the girl who seemed to enjoy contact and smiles was beyond your realm of capability.

“I—“

Her grasp tightened on yours, until she was holding your one hand in both of hers. “Do the boys take care of you okay? They’re all quite hopeless when it comes to the opposite gender.” Her eyes flit between you and Seokjin, worry creasing her brows.

“They do.”

She smiled.

“Why are you holding onto her, Jiwoo?” Seokjin raised an eyebrow. “That isn’t natural.”

“Mm. She’s soft, I like it.” She chuckled. “I like her. “ She grinned in the most adorable way and, for a moment, you honestly contemplated your sexuality. “I mean, I liked her already just knowing that she was our leader’s mate, but I found her endearing up there—I’ve never seen a human so protectively brave before.”

“I’m…I’m really not brave.”

She shook her head, chuckling. “Bravery isn’t measured by quantity, Y/N, only quality.” She winked at you, turning to peer over her shoulder. “I’ll have to see if the boys will allow me to visit with you some more, for now, I have a very grumpy mate somewhere in this room that is trying to find me.”

“I’d like that.”

Her smile only grew as she squeezed your hand once more before letting go entirely. “I’ll see you around.” And then, she was gone, disappearing into the crowd.

You were glad that Seokjin introduced you to Jiwoo first, since she seemed to pave the way for the rest of them—making vampires as a whole become significantly less scary. If there was one vampire with sparkling eyes who appreciated contact, then could they really be terrible creatures?

However, despite how many kind ones you met, how many gruff ones, how many strange ones, how many quiet ones Seokjin facilitated your interactions with, they were all quickly blurring together. You couldn’t remember which one was which; after Jiwoo, the names were gone from your brain, replaced with faces you could only vaguely make out.

Seokjin, angel he was, tried to point out which would be safe for you to go to if need be and which ones you were not allowed to be alone with, but your mind was on the brink of overloading.

“Hyung.” Hoseok murmured when you nearly went cross-eyed and collapsed. “I think she’s reached her limit for today.”

You nodded, looking up at the boy in a way that had him laughing. Seokjin only chuckled when that puppy dog stare of yours shifted over to him.

“Okay okay, no more. But before I take you to bed I have to make sure you’re fed first—Namjoon will kill me if he hears your stomach growling again.”

Feverently nodding, you let Seokjin lead you away from the warehouse floor. Despite yourself, you snuck a glance up towards the railing only to find that Namjoon had already disappeared down the hall.

~.~

You, being you, had carelessly thrown open the door to the bedroom after eating, surprised to find that you weren’t alone. Yes, you supposed your mate would search you out to check on you; however, it seemed that said mate was passed out spread eagle on the bed before you.

Quietly, you muttered a soft. “Namjoon?”

He didn’t respond, rather, he seemed more dead than alive—if it weren’t for the telltale rise and fall of his chest and the gentle snores.

Gingerly closing the door behind you, you padded deeper into the room.

He was probably tired, you noted as you studied his face. It was difficult to sleep in an area you weren’t used to, why should vampires be any different? Since he had holed his ass up in some damn torture dungeon for the sake of your comfort and fear, you felt some sort of responsibility for this exhaustion of his.

Logically speaking, it shouldn’t be entirely your fault—he was a clan leader, he made his own choices, blahblahblah…

However, you weren’t a being built on logic. Instead, the raw emotion tightened something in your chest as he slept.

He was asleep, so it was fine. It was fine. If he couldn’t see, then it was fine to give in to yourself just a little bit.

Just a bit.

It was fine.

Keep repeating that to yourself, Y/N like it makes you any less creepy.

One toe in the waters before you ultimately jumped in—unless your denial was stronger (it wasn’t).

Brow furrowed, you tiptoed your way towards the bed, extra careful so as not to wake him. It seemed he didn’t wake easily, but you weren’t about to take that risk. Very carefully, with the smallest of movements, you inched your way up onto the bed, forcing yourself to the very edge—to the point that you were nearly falling off the bed in an attempt to not interfere with his space.

This was a better position to watch him, like a stalker, but ya know. When else would you get this chance? For once, you could look at the man who saved you without feeling shame or that surge of denial that turned your face red and had you looking away. For once, you could truly see the person who took you from the human world and brought you into his own.

You had to admit, he was handsome. Maybe it was because that pull of fate was so damn strong, but you couldn’t help but find the way his eyelashes hit his cheek adorable, the way his dimples dented his cheeks when he smiled or got excited. You couldn’t stop picturing those gold eyes as they looked at you with curiosity, sadness, happiness, amusement…

Something else?

You found yourself wanting to reach out and touch him—you wanted to hold his hand, you wanted to have that contact that was the line in the sand between you. You stopped yourself if only because you didn’t want him to wake up. You didn’t want him to see you wanting to be close to him.

Instead, you stared at the curve of his lips, laughing at the small bubble of a snore that came out more gurgle than anything else. So maybe this man wasn’t as handsome when he was asleep—but did anyone? You were sure the sight of you drooling on your pillow with one hand buried in your rat’s nest of bed-head was anything but model status.

Your gaze drifted to his shoulders, as if you could remember him folding you over them to bring you inside, to set you against the wheel of a tire. But it wasn’t ever his shoulders you remembered.

Your eyes drooped.

He still had the same smile though.

When did he smile at you before? Somehow, you imagined that he had when he left you at the drop off point—when he first met you, as if he knew he’d see you again.

~.~

You only realized you had fallen asleep when you opened your eyes.

Namjoon’s gaze immediately bored into yours, his stare probably just as intense had yours had been when you watched him sleep moments (moments? Try hours) before. He seemed to watch every miniscule movement with interest, startling your freshly woken self.

When you tried to back away out of embarrassment, you found that his hand was over your outstretched one. Stupidly, you must had tried reaching out for him in your sleep—funny how, even though you didn’t remember what you were dreaming about, it was the best sleep you’d ever had.

“I—I’m—I’m sorry!” You hissed, trying to yank your hand out from under his.

His fingers tightened, refusing to let you go in favor of staring at the point where his skin met yours. “Don’t be.”

You were lucky that you were slow on the uptake when you were first woken up; otherwise you were sure your face would have been the color of lobsters.

“I…I thought vampires were supposed to have colder skin.” You mused.

Smart. Good distraction Y/N. Couldn’t come up with anything better? Why do humans only talk about temperature when they have nothing else to say? Nice weather today? Ah pretty hot outside isn’t it? Funny how past preconceptions of vampires make my species as a whole stereotype you incorrectly, right?

He only chuckled. “Well, you feel warmer to the touch than I do—but I suppose we are warmer than you think because, while our circulatory system works at half speed, it doesn’t affect our internal temperature.”

You pursed your lips, following his gaze to your hands as nearly all of his words flew right over your head. With nothing better to say, you cut to the chase.

“Why?”

“Hm?” He cocked his head as best he could while lying down.

“Why are you holding my hand? I—I was—I was being a creep.” You whispered. “I don’t deserve hand holding.”

“Is this not what human pairings do? Hold each other’s hands? Admire each other?”

“Since when are we a…’pairing’?”

He raised one eyebrow, giving you that shit eating grin he had when he knew he caught you red handed. “You have no room to complain about personal space, miss ‘creep’.”

You felt the heat rising to your cheeks, and in an attempt to save some face you tried to duck your head out of Namjoon’s sight. However, his nails digging into the skin of your palm stopped you from fully doing so. He drank in the rare moment, scanning every bit of your reddened face. “Is this why you always hide from me when you experience chagrin?”

“It makes it worse!” You hissed, wanting to raise your voice but not finding the energy to do so.

His lips twitched. “I like it.”He murmured softly, his eyes flitting across your face as if he could memorize this moment and be able print a physical copy of it from his brain. “Do that again.”

“Do what?”

“Make your cheeks warm with color.”

“I—“ But you were weak, you were easily afraid, easily talked into things, easily convinced, and fuck, you were easily embarrassed. Your body obeyed his command.

He hissed in air through his teeth. “Why do I enjoy that?”

You laughed, unintentionally leaning closer to him. “Perhaps you are more human than I thought.”

“Mm.” He grunted, eyes never breaking from you. “Perhaps.”

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hollymartinswrites · 5 years ago

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Chapters: 7/? Fandom: IT - Stephen King, IT (Movies - Muschietti) Rating: Mature Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply Relationships: Eddie Kaspbrak/Richie Tozier, Ben Hanscom/Beverly Marsh Characters: Eddie Kaspbrak, Richie Tozier, Ben Hanscom, Beverly Marsh, Bill Denbrough, Mike Hanlon, Original Child Character(s) Additional Tags: Fix-It, Post-Canon Fix-It, Post-IT Chapter Two (2019), Domestic, Light Angst, Family Feels, Childhood Trauma, Adoption, Kid Fic, Adopted Children, Richie Tozier Loves Eddie Kaspbrak, Eddie Kaspbrak Loves Richie Tozier, Marriage, Eddie Kaspbrak & Richie Tozier Are Parents, Angst, Fluff, Fluff and Angst, Minor Ben Hanscom/Beverly Marsh, Beverly Marsh & Richie Tozier Are Best Friends, Catholicism, Richie Tozier Has Issues, Extended Tozier Family, Medical Examinations, Stephen King References

Summary:

Eddie and Richie embark on the most terrifying experience of all—parenthood. Or, the author desperately needed a domestic, family fix-it for Richie and Eddie and it turned into a much longer, angstier exploration than I expected.

Chapter VII: Eddie struggles while he and Richie search for answers about their daughter. But perhaps there's light in the darkness.

“This is crazy,” Eddie muttered, straightening and walking away from the desk. “Absolutely fucking crazy.”

“Eds, come on,” Richie implored him, turning away from the open laptop screen where Mike’s face gazed up at him. “This is interesting stuff.”

“Interesting but bullshit.”

“You don’t know that,” Richie insisted.

“No, but I do know our daughter isn’t a fucking science experiment,” Eddie declared, whirling around, his hands waving wildly. “This is real life, not that show on Netflix.”

Richie sighed as Mike hurriedly said, “I’m not saying Tess is that, I’m just saying, we have evidence of children with...with…”

“Powers?” Eddie provided, raising an eyebrow. “Like fucking Superman or something? Come the fuck on.”

“Charlie McGee claimed to start exhibiting pyrokinetic abilities as a toddler,” Mike said, flipping through a stack of papers. “It’s all right here in that Rolling Stone article from 1980.”

“And in the same article, it’s explained that her parents were mentally ill drug addicts and that the ‘explosion’ she caused with her mind was from an anti-government terrorist attack, Mike,” Eddie continued. “It says it right there in the link you sent us. Besides, even if this is true, our daughter isn’t exactly setting things on fire with her mind.”

“No, but I did find something that sounds an awful lot like what Tess is doing,” Mike continued.

“She’s doing nothing but being a kid,” Eddie said, exasperated. He looked at Richie. “I’m done with this. You want to stay up all night talking conspiracy theories and thinking our daughter is something out of The X-Files, go ahead, but I’m not listening to anymore of this.”

“Why not?” Richie begged. “How is any of this any crazier than what we went through?”

Eddie closed his eyes and sighed, a prickling of fear spreading through his body. It had to be crazy, it had to be, because if it wasn’t, then Pennywise wasn’t the worst of what this universe was capable of.

“Here,” Mike said suddenly, “I’m sending you some more links.”

A new email appeared in Richie’s inbox and he quickly opened it, clicking the first link. It was an article from an academic journal.

“The fuck’s this?” Richie mumbled, trying to make sense of the scholarly jargon in the first paragraph.

“There’s a girl out there, well, a teenager, and she has exhibited a lot of the same things Tess has done,” Mike explained. “She’s been studied by several different universities and they all admit, no one has given such accurate results in multiple tests.”

“Tests in what?” Richie asked.

“ESP, telepathy, clairvoyance, even astral projection,” Mike said, sounding terribly excited. “And she’s not the only one. She claims there are others like her out there.”

“That’s it,” Eddie groaned, rubbing at his eyes, “I’m going to bed. You and Mike have fun. I’ll handle the Tooth Fairy tonight since you’re so busy.”

Richie waved his hand distractedly as he squinted at the screen, clearly engrossed with the article. Eddie rolled his eyes, said good night to Mike, and walked out of their home office. He glanced at his watch. It was near midnight. He hadn’t stayed up this late on purpose in a long fucking time.

Quietly, he inched into Lydia’s room and reached into his pocket for his wallet. She was fast asleep, starfished on her bed, and Eddie allowed himself a relieved smile. He glanced at her nightstand, on which sat a piece of paper with the words FOR THE TOOTH FAIRY written on it in crayon with an arrow pointing to said tooth. Eddie was once again grateful he had had the forethought years ago to insist that the Tooth Fairy was too busy to go digging under pillows all night. Quickly, he slipped the dollar bill in the tooth’s place and, just a quickly, crept out of her room and down the hall.

He passed the office, and could hear Richie and Mike talking behind the closed door. His shoulders drooped, and he fought the desire to walk in there and demand Richie stop freaking himself out and come to bed. But Eddie had the sneaking suspicion Richie needed this, even if it was all bullshit.

And it had to be. It was bad enough they lived in a world where an ageless entity from space could terrorize children, erase their memories, and know their deepest fears. Eddie had to draw the line somewhere. Superheroes, magic, whatever, didn’t exist. His daughter was just that; his daughter. A little girl...with just an odd ability that had to have a somewhat rational explanation.

He opened his hand and gazed down at the tooth in his palm. He sighed, went to their closet, and found the leather travel bag. He unzipped it, took out the tiny jar, unscrewed the top and placed the tooth in it. He returned the jar and bag back to the closet. He still found it a somewhat creepy practice to keep their daughter’s baby teeth but Richie had insisted it was totally normal (“Besides, she can make a necklace out of them when she gets older, Eds!”).

Eddie closed the closet door and turned towards the bed. It looked terribly inviting. He was about halfway to collapsing in it when the door creaked open, and a little face peeked through.

“Tess?” he said softly. He headed to the door and opened it fully. “What are you doing up, sweetheart? It’s the middle of the night.”

“Daddy,” she whispered, her voice thin.

“What is it?” he asked, crouching down. “Did you have a bad dream?”

Her mouth fell open, and for a split second, Eddie thought she was about to vomit. Instead, she slumped, as if she was a marionette whose strings had just been cut. She remained standing, but her eyes dimmed and her body appeared boneless.

“Tess? Tess, answer me,” Eddie said firmly, gripping her little arms as cold fear gripped his heart. “Tess, sweetheart, look at me. Answer me.”

A great shuddering gasp escaped her and this time, her legs gave out fully. He gathered her into his arms and stood, repeating her name desperately.

“Daddy,” she repeated, slurring slightly and her head lolling, “Papa’s...get ‘im.”

“Tess, baby, just breathe with me and keep your eyes open, okay?” Eddie hurried to the office and kicked open the door. Richie jumped and immediately paled when he saw Tess languid in his arms.

“Oh, God, Tess, Tess,” he gasped, rushing up to his husband and daughter. “Tess, look at me, please, kiddo.” “Get your car keys, and wake Lydia, we’re taking her back to the hospital,” Eddie said, shifting her in his arms.

Tess turned her bleary gaze to Richie. She reached out for him.

“Papa,” she mumbled.

“I’m right here, baby,” Richie said, his voice thick, taking her little face in his shaking hands.

“You…” she shuddered, blinked, and all at once, was their daughter again, her eyes clear and her voice strong. She burst into tears. “You almost flew away!” she wailed, as she all but launched herself out of Eddie’s arms and threw her own around Richie’s neck. Both men stumbled.

“Tess, I…” Richie looked at Eddie over her head, his own eyes wide and frightened. “I’m right here. It’s okay, kiddo, I’m right here. Are you alright? Does your head hurt or something?”

“Don’t fly away,” she begged through tears.

“Hold her,” Eddie said and maneuvered her into Richie’s arms. “I’m starting the car. We’re going to the hospital.”

“What was that?” Richie demanded over Tess’s sobs. “Another seizure?”

“I don’t know what it was,” Eddie said. “But I’m not waiting for another one.”

Pennywise couldn’t have been all-knowing, Eddie realized, because if It had, It would’ve shown Eddie and Richie this—their daughter sedated and lying, helpless and vulnerable, on the table before the yawning mouth of an MRI machine. This was worse than the leper or Paul Bunyan’s grinning razor-sharp teeth; worse than losing your childhood memories—because now, now they were really fucking helpless.

“It’ll take about ten days before we get the results back,” the neurologist explained. “And she’ll definitely be feeling the effects of the sedation afterwards. She should spend the next twenty-four hours resting.”

“Neither of us are working today,” Eddie muttered, clutching the shitty, cold coffee a nurse had given him earlier. He glanced back at Richie, but he was clearly lost inside his own head and not listening. He was sitting in a seat against the wall as they waited for the procedure to finish. Lydia—poor, patient Lydia who had been woken up in the middle of the night and thrilled by the sight of a dollar bill on her night stand, only to be told to put on her shoes, they were going to the hospital—was curled up, asleep in his lap, his jacket around her protectively.

Eddie sighed and rubbed at his forehead. The MRI technician smiled sympathetically at him.

“I know it seems to take forever,” he said, “but we’re nearly done.”

Eddie nodded. He was familiar with the process, having gone through it when the migraines became too much. Myra had insisted on second and third opinions. Eddie clenched his eyes shut and shook his head. The idea of Tess waking up after an MRI only to have Myra, or worse, his mother, waiting for her turned his stomach.

“How can she sleep through all that banging?” Richie muttered suddenly. Eddie remembered that Richie had never even seen an MRI machine until now.

“It’s loud, I know,” the technician said gently, “but between the earplugs and sedation, she doesn’t notice a thing.”

If he had said that to make them feel better, it only did the opposite. Eddie stood and stepped towards Richie, brushing his husband’s hair off his forehead.

“You need a haircut,” he muttered.

Richie glanced up and somehow, smiled.

“That’s the least of what I need right now,” he sighed.

Eddie leaned down and kissed the top of his head, uncaring that the technician was less than three feet away. Richie smiled again and for a moment, Eddie thought that if he could keep Richie smiling, then maybe they could get through this.

Recovery rooms had always been Eddie’s least favorite part of a hospital. He hated the waiting, the fact that you were trapped with other patients, that you had virtually no privacy. But now, he especially hated that they were surrounded by other children and their families, all nervous and on-edge.

Tess was one of the lucky ones. She hadn’t gone through surgery, but the doctor still wanted her to sufficiently recoup from the sedation before she went home. Richie and Eddie were miserable.

Eddie sighed and shifted Lydia, still sleeping, in his arms. Richie had needed a break and also desperately wanted to hold Tess’s hand as she slept. Eddie remembered how despondent he had been when he had woken up after surgery in Derry, only to discover he was the one patient in the recovery room without any visitors waiting for him. It was only later that he discovered the doctors had not allowed a single Loser in, seeing as they were not family and not listed as an emergency contact. Luckily, Mike knew one of the nurses, and when Eddie was transferred back to his own room, they were all there, beaming at him—except for Richie,who still looked terrified, as if certain he was gazing at a mirage.

“She looks so tiny,” Richie suddenly whispered.

Eddie blinked and turned his gaze to his youngest daughter, her little chest rising and falling steadily. He nodded.

“Even tinier than when we first got her,” he agreed.

“She was underweight,” Richie continued, his thumb running over her little hand. “Remember how light she was?”

Eddie nodded again and rested his cheek on the top of Lydia’s head. He closed his eyes and immediately saw Tess in their doorway, hours earlier. He sighed.

“She looked like you,” he whispered. Richie turned towards him, confusion on his face. “During her seizure tonight. She looked like you when you were caught…” he lowered his voice, “when you were in the deadlights.”

Richie swallowed.

“Maybe that’s what she saw,” he replied quietly.

“The deadlights?”

“No, me,” Richie said, reaching with his other hand to stroke Tess’s hair. “She said, don’t fly away. Maybe she saw me in the deadlights, too.”

Out of the corner of his eye, Eddie noticed movement. He glanced over, and spotted a nurse hovering across the room, who quickly looked away. Eddie frowned. He doubted the nurse could overhear them, but he felt nervousness form in the pit of his stomach. Perhaps he was a fan of Richie’s, but surely no nurse would dare approach him in a recovery room, right?

“Eddie, that girl Mike told us about,” Richie whispered, his eyes wide, “I think you should read what he sent.”

“Rich, not now, please.”

“It sounds like...like this is real. She’s seeings things from before she was born. How is that possible?”

Eddie spotted the nurse again, who was making quite a show of reading a chart a few beds away. Eddie frowned.

“Can we at least wait for the MRI results before we jump to conclusions?” he begged.

Richie followed his gaze and spotted the hovering nurse, too. He swallowed and looked back down at their sleeping daughter.

“Alright, Eds,” he sighed. “Whatever you say.”

The next ten days went by in a blur of family visits and constant check-ins from the Losers. Apparently when a small child gets her brain scanned, it’s all hands on deck. Richie’s parents and sister babysat, brought food, and distracted the girls while Eddie and Richie walked around in a daze, waiting for the results that could potentially change their lives.

Mike Facetimed everyday, never bringing up any of his research, but simply listening. Bill, stuck in Europe with limited wifi on a movie shoot, sent goofy videos and uplifting emails when he could. Bev called multiple times a day and Ben fucking flew in, because he was just that sort of kind-hearted bastard.

“Bev can’t get away from work until Sunday,” he explained gently. The results were due to come in on Friday. “She wanted to be here.”

“It’s fine,” Richie said, faking a smile. “You guys are acting like this is a wedding. We’re just getting a bunch of paperwork telling us what the fuck is going on in our daughter’s brain. No big deal.”

Ben offered one of his patented You’re making jokes about being sad and that’s sad faces and Richie just shrugged.

“We’re glad you’re here,” Eddie admitted softly. “Besides, Lydia’s thrilled.”

“That’s true,” Richie said, “Lyds loves you, Ben. I think she wants you and Bev to adopt her.”

Ben laughed gently and ran a hand through his hair.

“Tess still needs to warm up to me,” he said.

“Tess still needs to warm up to me,” Richie shot back.

Eddie rolled his eyes.

“She adores you, Rich,” he said, brewing another pot of coffee. “She even lets you read to her now.”

“Yeah, Berenstain Bears, not Dr. Seuss,” Richie muttered. “I hate the fucking Berenstain Bears.”

Ben laughed and squeezed Richie’s shoulder affectionately.

“Having kids seems a lot more complicated than I thought,” he admitted.

“Trust me, man, you have no idea,” Richie said, scrubbing his hand over his face.

Friday came in a blink. Ben and Richie’s sister Sarah watched the girls while Richie and Eddie went to get the results. They drove together in tense silence, waited in the waiting room silently, and when they were finally called into the office, still said very little.

Later, Eddie would realize that for something that caused such overwhelming anxiety for so long, it was all very anticlimactic. The results showed nothing in Tess’s brain. Once again, the doctor insisted there was no physical reason for her apparent seizures. It was good news...right?

As they walked out, stunned and exhausted, both men were lost in their own thoughts. Eddie felt weak with relief but he still couldn’t get the image of his daughter in that MRI machine. Time to make another appointment with his therapist, he figured.

By the time he reached the door, he suddenly realized Richie was not beside him. He turned around and spotted Richie down the hall, hurrying after him.

“Where were you?” Eddie asked tiredly.

“Nowhere, nothing,” Richie said quickly. “Let’s go home.”

“Rich?”

“I wanna see the girls,” Richie continued, rushing through the doors.

Eddie sighed and shook his head, following his husband.

“But that’s good news!” Ben exclaimed when they got home. “Isn’t it?”

“It is,” Eddie said, running a hand through his hair. “I mean, she has nothing physically wrong in her brain so thank God. But we still don’t have clear answers.”

Sarah frowned and shook her head.

“There has to be one,” she insisted. “Did they talk about medication or anything?”

“A bit,” Eddie sighed. “I just...something about it feels wrong. I can’t explain it.”

“What does Richie think?” Ben asked.

“I...I don’t know,” Eddie admitted.

“Where is Richie?” Sarah asked, suddenly looking around her. She peeked into the living room where Lydia was playing with the Wii. “Lyds, did you see where your dad went?”

“I think he’s in Tess’s room,” she answered. “Aunt Sarah, it’s your turn to play. You promised.”

“I know but—”

“Please,” Lydia begged, putting on her best puppy dog eyes.

Sarah sighed but smiled affectionately. “Duty calls,” she said, and walked into the living room.

“I should go check on Richie,” Eddie said tiredly.

“Sure,” Ben said before placing his arm on Eddie’s shoulder. “Listen, you don’t have to tell me anything you don’t want to, but is there something else going on? Like, you and Richie don’t seem...yourselves.”

Eddie tried to offer a smile but Ben saw right through it. He looked genuinely concerned and Eddie had to admit, it was nice to have someone else worry, too.

“It’s fine, we’re just...figuring this out,” he admitted softly. “I’ll be right back.”

He walked down the hall and knocked on Tess’s half-opened door. He peeked in. Richie was sitting on her bed with Tess on his knee, speaking quietly to her.

“You two okay?” he asked.

“Eds, come here,” Richie said quickly. “And close the door.”

Eddie did so with a sense of unease. He stepped towards the bed and gazed down at his husband and daughter expectantly. Richie turned back to Tess.

“Now, kiddo, tell Daddy what you told me,” he said gently. “Just the same.”

“Okay,” Tess said, shrugging as she looked up at Eddie. “‘Member when I fell down?”

Eddie huffed a laugh.

“Yes, I definitely remember that, sweetheart,” he said.

“Well,” Tess began, fiddling with the hem of her shirt, “I fell because Papa fell and it hurted.”

“Papa fell?”

She nodded vigorously.

“Yep, he was flying,” she said. She turned back to Richie. “How come you don’t fly at home?”

Richie shook his head.

“Because I can’t really fly,” he admitted.

“But you did in the cave.”

“I wasn’t flying,” Richie explained gently. “I was floating.”

A wave of nausea rolled in Eddie’s stomach.

“Richie, stop this,” he insisted.

“Wait, listen, go on, Tess. Tell Daddy the rest.”

“Daddy saved you,” she said, shrugging. “And then Daddy got hurted. And you was sad but now it’s okay.”

“Yes, it’s all okay now,” Richie agreed, kissing her on her forehead. “Why did Daddy float?”

“‘Cause of the light. Aunt Bev saw it, too,” she answered nonchalantly. “Can I have a snack?”

“Of course you can,” Richie said happily, hugging her tightly before placing her on her feet. “Go on, Aunt Sarah and Uncle Ben are in the kitchen.”

She rushed out. Richie and Eddie stared at one another.

“You can’t deny it, Eds,” Richie said, his voice oddly light. “She sees our past. I don’t know how or why, but she does.”

Eddie swallowed and suddenly realized his hands were shaking. He closed them into fists.

“It?” he whispered.

Richie shook his head.

“I don’t think so,” he said. “This is something else. Like something you’re born with.”

“Richie…”

“And earlier, at the hospital, a nurse stopped me,” he said, standing and reaching into his pocket. “He was in the recovery room with us last week. I saw him looking over at us and I thought he was just being a dick but he heard us. He stopped me on our way out today and gave me this.”

He pulled a crumpled piece of paper out and handed it to Eddie. Eddie looked down at an unfamiliar name.

“What’s this supposed to be?” he asked.

“He said he used to work with this guy, he has what Tess has,” Richie said excitedly.

“For fuck’s sake,” Eddie sighed. “This could just be a crazy person. That nurse could be a crazy person.”

“His name is in one of the articles Mike sent us,” Richie insisted. “About that girl.”

“And? What are we supposed to do about it?”

“We can reach out to them.”

“No fucking way,” Eddie said, raisng his voice in shock. “You wanna read articles or look up theories on the Internet, fucking fine, but there is no way we are opening ourselves to some fucking lunatics. Especially when it comes to our daughter.”

“I’m not saying we introduce Tess to them, I’m saying we ask some questions.”

“Absolutely not,” Eddie hissed.

“So what do you want to do?” Richie asked angrily. “Wait around until this happens again? Throw some meds at her and hope for the best?”

Eddie threw his hands up and turned away.

“This is crazy, Rich, totally fucking crazy,” he gasped.

“Eds—”

A knock at the door. Ben stuck his head in.

“You guys want lunch or something?” Ben asked gently. “Tess and Lyds are hungry.”

“Yeah, yeah,” Richie said, taking a deep breath. “We’ll be right there.”

He nodded, gave a penetrating look at his two friends, and left. Richie stood and gazed down at Eddie, his eyes soft. He took Eddie’s face in his hands, caressing his cheekbones with this thumbs.

“We need to figure this out,” he whispered, “and I can’t do it alone.”

Eddie sighed, closed his eyes, took a deep breath, and nodded. He didn’t see Richie smile but he felt it in his kiss.

Life went back to normal—or as normal as it ever was in the Tozier household. Bev still offered to fly out but there wasn’t any point, so after thanking him profusely and offering to visit soon, Richie and Eddie sent Ben back home to his wife. He looked oddly reluctant to leave, but he hugged his two friends tightly and told them he loved them before his flight. Eddie caught Richie blinking rapidly before turning away.

Sarah still visited often, along with Richie’s mother, but they had their own responsibilities, too. And, as far as the medical world as concerned, Tess was physically fine.

Soon, they had less than a week until the new school year, and the Tozier family was busy. Last minute supplies had to be bought, schedules finalized, Tess reassured constantly about the safety and fun of preschool, and teachers informed about her seizures. The preschool took the information well, and assured them that they had plenty of experience with children with epilepsy. Richie and Eddie considered explaining that Tess did not have that, but let it go. Perhaps it was easier to pretend she had an ordinary diagnosis.

Lydia and Tess’s first days started together and, in an effort to make the preschool drop off as easy and meltdown-free as possible, Richie volunteered to take Tess alone. She’d still freak out but it wouldn’t be as violent if Eddie was there, they figured. Eddie agreed reluctantly. He hated the idea of his daughter breaking down at the front steps of the preschool, but he hated the idea of missing her first day even more.

“I’ll film everything,” Richie promised. “It’s only for half a day, anyway.”

Eddie nodded and finished packing her snacks and blanket. Lydia was practically vibrating with excitement, showing off her back to school outfits and re-organizing her Batman backpack. She was, both men had to admit, better at distracting and empowering Tess than they were. She spent their last day of summer vacation going on and on about the excitement of school, of how much fun she has with her friends and the nice teachers, and when Tess starts kindergarten next year, she’ll just love it.

Tess listened carefully and asked many questions. Lydia, always a fan of being in charge and all-knowing, was in her element. Eddie smiled and felt his heart twist as he watched his two daughters. Perhaps everything will be okay, he thought hopefully.

That night, he and Richie helped the girls wash up, change into their pjs, lay out their first day clothes, and climb into bed. Lydia needed very little encouragement and simply kissed them both good night before asking for her copy of Ramona Quimby, Age 8, and promising not to stay up late reading. They left her room, content in the knowledge that Lydia was quite fearless and adept at rolling with the punches.

In their younger daughter’s room, Richie tucked Tess into her bed, her night light on and her eyes heavy. Eddie brushed her hair from her face and she smiled sleepily.

“You’re going to have a great day tomorrow,” he said gently.

“Yeah, you’re going to have so much fun,” Richie agreed. “I can’t wait to hear all about it.”

Tess yawned.

“Yep,” she said, “a good day.”

“And you’re so smart and brave,” Richie continued. “You’re gonna blow everyone away tomorrow.”

“I know,” Tess replied, rubbing at her eye with the back of her hand. “‘M not scared. ‘M not scared of anything anymore.”

“Good,” Eddie said, impressed. Lydia should become a motivational speaker, he thought briefly. “You have nothing to be afraid of.”

“Nope,” Tess replied. “The nice girl showed me.”

Unease, like a blanket, fell over Richie and Eddie. They glanced at one another, both frozen. Richie licked his lips and swallowed before asking, “What girl?”

“The girl who visited me,” she yawned. “She showed me lots.”

“What did she show you?” Eddie whispered, terrified of the answer.

“Magic,” Tess replied, closing her eyes. “She says I’m magic, too.”

“Tess…”

She smiled as her breathing slowly evened out, and they knew she was falling asleep.

“She says I shine like her,” Tess whispered.

#Reddie #Reddie Fanfic #richie tozier #Eddie Kaspbrak #it chapter 2

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moonraccoon-exe · 6 years ago

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In the school pickup line today, Coldplay's Viva la Vida came on and I thought of Ardyn. "It was the wicked and wild wind; blew down the doors to let me in. Shattered windows and the sound of drums, people couldn't believe what I'd become. Revolutionaries wait for my head on a silver plait. Just a puppet on a lonely string; oh who would ever want to be king?"

Sacred moogles above, I hadn’t noticed this!!!!!!! .A.

And so much more of the song’s lyrics fit him a bit too drastically well…

I used to rule the worldSeas would rise when I gave the wordNow in the morning, I sleep aloneSweep the streets I used to own

As is Ardyn, when he was a healer. Sure, maybe he was still heir to the throne, not exactly ruling it, but people followed him much more dearly than they followed Somnus. In some way, Ardyn was at the top of the world, metaphorically made the seas rise if he so said.Only to be taken from it, sent to absolute isolation and, later on, being a no one, a random stranger, a poor whatever in the streets of the kingdom that was supposed to be his.

I used to roll the diceFeel the fear in my enemy’s eyesListen as the crowd would singNow the old king is dead! Long live the king!

This could creepily and darkly fit Somnus most.Roll the dice as in, he used to be the one on control, choosing where to go even if he himself wasn’t sure about the results his actions were having, but taking the lead anyway.Feel the fear in his enemy’s eyes…because sometimes they weren’t even enemies. Sometimes they were weaponless, because, sometimes, they were the people. The common people whose only mistake was to be ill, or suspected to be sick. And Somnus must have grown a popularity of burning those with the scourge, so I can imagine people feared him at least a bit when they saw him approach.And the two last bits…the crowd singing the old king is dead, long live the king.Because that’s exacty what happened.Because as much as people could have feared Somnus in a beginning, those free of the scourge started praising him. And, as we know, they all started daemonizing Ardyn when the secret of his daemonification came out. The man chosen to be king, who they saw as a king even if just for a bit, turned a demon.So of course the people would celebrate his death.Sing about it; sing about ‘the old king’ dying as a celebration, and wishing “Long live” to the new king because they saw him as a merciful, righteous one.

One minute I held the keyNext the walls were closed on meAnd I discovered that my castles standUpon pillars of salt and pillars of sand

Back to Ardyn, who used to hold the metaphorical key of Lucis; used to be its savior, its main man, its…caretaker, to put it some way. Ardyn, who looked upon them one minute, and in the next one, the walls were closed on me.Because Angelgard’s prison is nothing but that; walls. Walls that were closed on Ardyn, almost asphyxiatingly, imprisoning him.And Ardyn discovers that his ‘castle’ stands upon pillars of salt and sand, because that’s what he can smell and see and that’s where he is. He’s on an island; the smell of salt from the close ocean, the sand of the island, and him, on the “throne” of his “castle”; a castle that is not a castle, but a mere metaphor of an echo of one.

For some reason I can’t explainOnce you go there was never, never a honest wordAnd that was when I ruled the world

I don’t think I’m reading on the original meaning too well, but these felt like some painful bits for Ardyn’s process of thought.“For some reason I can’t explain”. Just that alone. Just that speaks of the real weight of Ardyn’s burden; not understanding why. Unable to see the reason of why he was chosen to live what he lived, be given what he’s given. He doesn’t understand. And I think that’s horribly painful.“There was never a honest word”, because need I explain Bahamut, goddammit. I mean, he was honest, boldly really, but he could have told Ardyn from the beginning what he was meant to do instead of lying and going with the whole ‘you’ll be loved and praised and bring light!’ just so, once corrupted in darkness, he couldn’t say no. FUCK.

It was a wicked and wild windBlew down the doors to let me inShattered windows and the sound of drumsPeople couldn’t believe what I’d become

I don’t even think this needs any explanation so we all can see the relation with Ardyn. A wicked and wild wind blowing the doors open, like the aggressive way it all came out; Somnus’ way of snatching the throne, Ardyn’s daemon form coming out when people had not a single clue about the slightest symptom of it in their healer. A wicked and wild wind, like Bahamut’s plan; it feels twisted and wicked, but, as a ‘wind’, something untouchable, how can you say no even when you try?And people couldn’t believe what I’d become…more than clear.

Revolutionaries waitFor my head on a silver plateJust a puppet on a lonely stringOh, who would ever want to be king?

Just because they weren’t fighting the still non existent monarchy doesn’t mean the people from Ardyn’s days weren’t revolutionaries. Fighting in arms or big scale for a change is already revolution.Yes, fighting the Scourge and seeing the Astrals about to choose a king sounds pretty revolutionary to me.And so are the people that once were on Ardyn’s side, only to switch to Somnus’ later due to seeing in Ardyn a demon. The promise? Seeing him dead. They are waiting to see Ardyn’s head on a silver plate.And the one that probably suits and hurts the most:Just a puppet on a lonely string.As Ardyn was to Bahamut. Bahamut and his bullshit, taking people’s fate and twisting them into tragedies that the people are unable to deny. Ardyn was never a king, or a healer, or even a person with free will like all other millions. He was a puppet on a lonely string; a puppet handled to the will of the god, with nothing and no one else. Who would ever want to be king? Who would, after knowing all this bullshit. Who would, after knowing what the ring demands, what the magic demands, what the line of the Caelum have to go through. Really. As cool as the concept sounds, knowing all that Bahamut puts them through...who would want to be king?

[…] I know Saint Peter won’t call my nameNever an honest wordBut that was when I ruled the world

Because taking the metaphor of the catholic Saint Peter, who welcomes the souls into heaven, this is a way to say that Ardyn is not going to be allowed into the happy afterlife. Because he was a bad man. He was ‘evil’. Even when he wasn’t meant to be, or when he didn’t want to, Bahamut made him the evil one. And so, through lies, Ardyn, who was good, was forced to be evil, and later on he was denied a good fate for being evil. Like he chose it. Like Bahamut didn’t trick him into it. Like he hasn’t had enough, like he deserves it.

Gods dang it. It’s been a while since I last listened to this song, but I’m pretty sure that even if I had listened to it recently, I wouldn’t have made this brilliant connection as you did. Who’d have thought it fits so creepily much?

Woah....thanks for sharing this discovery. I’m still thinking a lot about it!!

#thisisthedungeonthatneverends #ardyn izunia #ardyn lucis caelum #coonreplies

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ooc-but-stylish · 6 years ago

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Now that FFXV is Officially Dead I’d like to reiterate that every good tragedy is earned, not forced through the plot, and FFXV earned absolutely goddamned none of its tragedy throughout its entire story, least of all its “canon ending”.

A well-done tragedy makes sense with the character’s actions; if it has to happen, it happens because of ( or despite ) the character’s best efforts, which requires their best efforts to actually be shown on screen rather than them acting like a bunch of shoddy horror movie teenagers taking stupid action after stupid action. The tragedy makes the audience sad for the loss of a character they’ve come to care for, but ultimately the audience can nod and say “it makes sense”, as the character would have taken no other route because their action is part of who they are and therefore consistent with their character. And again, FFXV has none of that.

FFX had Yuna want to defeat Sin at the cost of her own life because she thought the smiles on other people’s faces was worth the sacrifice, and as she went on her pilgrimage and witnessed the events in Kilika and Mi’ihen, it only strengthened her resolve to defeat Sin so that no more people would die, even if that peace only would last for ten years. Near the end, she turned away from the sacrifice option because she learned it would cost not only her own life but the life of one of her friends, meaning she would sacrifice an additional person that wasn’t aware that they would die beforehand and wouldn’t have made that choice themselves up until that point.

FFX also had Tidus, on a personal quest to return to the Zanarkand he left behind supposedly one thousand years in the past. He learned close to the end of his journey that he was a “Dream of the Fayth”, basically the figment of self-sacrificed religious figures from the actual Zanarkand of a thousand years ago, and that the permanent defeat of Sin would also end his own existence. He was allowed to come to terms with it while he continued to interact with the other characters he was traveling with, then broke the news to everyone in the end and disappeared exactly like he said ( and it was told to him ) he would. Then FFX-2 happens, but whatever.

Noctis, on the other hand, is traumatized and guilt tripped into the sacrifice by a God ( see: BAHAMUT ) that never showed up to help the people/country He was supposedly the patron of ( see: INSOMNIA ) and can’t even land a single hit of its ultimate attack against the One Astral that it’d fought against in a war 2000 years prior ( see: IFRIT ). Then Noctis is held hostage for ten years, unable to interact with anyone else he knows until he “comes to terms” with the fact that he “needs to” commit suicide before ever having actually done anything for his country and the rest of the world. He’s not even doing it to save a specific person in his group that would die otherwise, he’s dying because he owes it to already dead people who gave their lives for him that he’s not even aware of. And even their sacrifices are the result of a lie.

Would Nyx have put on the Ring if he’d known beforehand that Luna would die weeks later anyway in a completely preventable death ( see: GENTIANA ), and the young king he was telling to “rule well” would lose ten years of his life then die anyway not having ruled a damn thing?

Would the citizens of Insomnia have accepted this if they’d known that Regis agreed to a treaty he knew was suspect and sold them out for one person who would die anyway ( see: NOCTIS ) and whose greatest act would come only after the world was turned into a hellscape for ten straight years?

Would Luna have even bothered with all this nonsense if she weren’t being told to do so since the age of 4 by a goddess that proceeded to do absolute fuck all to save her from the worst events in her life ( see: GLAUCA, CALIGO, ARDYN ), and only ever showed up to reaffirm her connection to a boy she first hadn’t even met yet and then later didn’t even know all that well, with all affirmations happening absent the presence of any other adult/elder figure ( see: SYLVA, REGIS, RAVUS, “UNNAMED VIA/NOX FLEURET DAD” )?

I’m not even going to ask about Ignis putting on the Ring, because, here’s the Hellfire take, the “canon” route was him acting a whole fool thereby turning himself into Male Luna, complete with keeping the truth from Noctis about the fact that he’ll die sooner than he thinks, and featuring other hits like letting Gladio act like a socially maladjusted five year old, especially in a train full of people where Gladio’s oh-so-mature rant against Noctis thereby reveals the Prince of Lucis's location among potential enemies in plainclothes as opposed to keeping a low profile. The V2 route was Ignis actually remembering he's the strategist of the group that thinks with his head, bides his time, makes plans, and gathers knowledge before acting, and gets rewarded for that work. Considering he puts on the Ring in both the “Canon” and V2 routes, that he’s willing to give his sight and his life for Noctis is not in question. It’s whether he takes the action too early and effectively wastes it at the behest of Scaly Asshole God and the idle threat of Trash Hobo Jesus that’s the matter.

So in case it needs restating, the “tragedy” in FFXV wasn’t earned in the least and every retcon they kept adding to it, short of negating the deaths entirely, made the “sacrifice” even less sensible.

Luna held Ardyn’s hand for an entire half-minute in Altissia while she was talking to him. Ardyn didn’t seem the least bit affected and slapped her. She died. Then later she showed up from nowhere, despite no evidence or foreshadowing that she would be in the Astral Realm/the Beyond, and touched Ardyn for only one second, which seemed to be enough to significantly weaken him. Again, no evidence she would be there or that that realm was someplace she was allowed to have an actual presence. Then the Retcon Edition decided that she would appear in the realm of the living with her powers perfectly intact, to summon all of the Astrals, even the ones she didn’t personally meet or awaken ( see again: BAHAMUT ).

So uh, what gives? How is Luna more powerful as a spirit than she was when she was alive? If she could show up on Eos instead of being confined to only the Astral Realm, why didn’t she show up while Ardyn was laid out after his and Noctis’s Battle of Kings to purify him then? Or couldn’t she die earlier than Chapter 9 ( say, during the Invasion of Insomnia? ) and remain in ghost form the rest of the game, if she can do the exact same things in either state anyway?

No problem, she shows up, summons the presence of Astrals she isn’t actually needed for since Noctis had all their Marks already and could call upon them himself. Disappears conveniently, doesn’t show up for anything else her powers could actually sensibly be used for, allows her betrothed to undergo an overblown suicide ritual by ancestor. The game tells us this sacrifice absolutely needs to happen, not really because Noctis wants to and he decided to for the good of everyone, but he’s told he owes it to people. He’s obligated to pay a blood price brought about by actions and events prior to his even being born.

Did this suicide-by-ancestor need to happen at all? Until “Episode Ardyn” comes out, the general consensus ( I su-fricking-ppose ) was that he was supposed to give his life the same way Noctis eventually had to, and simply chose not to and circumvented the sacrifice with unintended use of whatever special Oracle-like gift he had on him. Evidence doesn’t bear that out, though, because the Starscourge was not as bad then as stated in the official timeline of Eos ( “Epidemic disappears with the King’s success” / “the plague subsides by the King’s hand” ) and the fact that the Scourge comes across as a “new life form” to the people of Eos. That, and the Kings that Noctis needed to perform elaborate suicide-by-ancestor literally did not exist in Ardyn’s time for him to be killed with. One of them is his brother, and all the other ones are great/grand/nieces and nephews of his thereafter. So it would be impossible for him to have sacrificed himself like Noctis, but the Scourge was still reduced to such a negligible phenomenon that it needed to be rediscovered in some ancient ruins almost 300 years prior to the start of the game and it still wasn’t weaponized or a huge problem until around 30 years prior to the start of the game, at which point the plague spreads rapidly to the extent that the very soil is infected and mutating frogs and other local wildlife, according to one researcher studying the Scourge ( see: SANIA YEAGER ).

But then Ardyn also has a plethora of Royal Arms, including the Sword of the Father, and Arms that Noctis doesn’t get at all, so he must have acquired them after all those respective Kings lived and died and were buried with their Arms, but before Noctis could embark on his own trip to gather the grand total of 13. It’s already acknowledged that there were more tombs scattered around Lucis but that they and their Arms are lost for whatever reason. But there’s really no way Ardyn could have had the time to do all that--

oh no, wait, Episode Ardyn’s trailer shows that Ardyn was discovered by a young Verstael about 30-something years ago, and from that point he was free enough to make the presumable trek across Lucis to get all those Arms and vandalize the tombs so that Noctis couldn’t get the same, awaken Ifrit despite not being an Oracle, infect Ifrit with Space Malaria ( see: STARSCOURGE ), and eventually challenge Regis in a Lucian standoff, the same Regis who then has a senior moment in Kingsglaive and forgets who Ardyn is and needs an introduction ( ????? ) to the guy that attacked him years ago when that same guy traipses into the throne room and makes an impossible demand.

The gods allowed that to happen because of bullshit “Prophecy” instead of letting Ardyn rot or leading the Oracle and King of the time ( see: REGIS AND SYLVA ) toward Ardyn’s prison so they could purify him while he was still weak and emaciated. The gods let the Accursed Enemy fall into the wrong hands ( see: NIFLHEIM, VERSTAEL BESITHIA ), come into power, awaken one Astral ( see: IFRIT ) and kill another ( see: SHIVA ) and gimp their only chance to save the world they claim to care about so much -- again, Ardyn has more Royal Arms than Noctis does, even ones Noctis couldn’t acquire and the player is unfamiliar with ( dat scythe ). Niflheim’s control over the daemons was also bolstered enough by Ardyn’s presence and his contributions to their research, that they released the Marilith to attack Noctis when he was a child and give him a near-fatal injury, which crippled his ability to harness the Crystal’s power to its full potential. This isn’t even speculation, you guys. This is actual ( extended ) canon. Ardyn was allowed to make shit worse for everyone.

Anyway. Noctis had to be stabbed by his ancestors to take in their spirits and then painfully get them out of his spiritual form when he made it to the Beyond … except for the fact that he already had their Royal Arms within him ( he acquired them painlessly the first time around, I should add ), and that the Ring should have all their spirits already within it ( including the Mystic/Somnus who is the Founder King/Ardyn’s Brother and part of the Old Wall ). They shouldn’t even need to enter him twice– they did it the first time when he got all of their Arms, and the weapons are as ghostly ten years later that they were in the beginning, so how are they actually killing him, again?

But, sure, let’s assume they needed to get into the Astral Realm/the Beyond, and had to use Noctis’s corpse/spirit as a ferry ... except not really, because Noctis spent ten whole years inside the Crystal, whose realm is identical to the Beyond where Noctis, Ardyn, and Luna ended up in when they died. They only needed to hitch a long enough ride until Noctis went into Crystal sleep, leave him, then wait for Ardyn there whenever he appeared so that they could stab him to pieces instead of being absorbed into Noctis and then ejected painfully. It’s not like their actual spirits were needed for the Ardyn battle in Insomnia; they didn’t do jack shit to help Noctis in the “Battle of Kings” and they didn’t do anything against Ifrit beforehand either -- and the Astrals didn’t do anything for either fight as well, and mobilized better to take down one measly shield over the Citadel! Lazy jackasses.

But sure, let’s assume they couldn’t simply leave the Ring of Lucii while Noctis was in Crystal sleep ... except the ending clearly shows that part of the suicide ritual involves the Astrals’ spirit forms converging into a portal, connecting the throne room to a realm that the deceased Kings descend from ( you mean like a ... Beyond? ) so that they can then stab Noctis to death with their respective weapons. So the Kings came from this spirit realm ... to kill Noctis ... to then go into the spirit realm ... the same realm that they were already in and that the Astrals had access to ( you could call this, the, I don’t know, the Astral Realm, then? ) ... instead of staying exactly where they were while Noctis transported himself into this Astral Realm/the Beyond via some other method, such as… maybe…. going through the exact same fucking portal the Astrals created that bridged the gap between living and spiritual worlds to begin with, seeing as that’s what it does.

I mean, considering these dead spirits were corporeal enough to stab a living person to death, and then both Noctis’s and Ardyn’s spirits could somehow suffer an additional death while there, dying in the same way living bodies would by either disintegration or repeated stabbing and dissolution, it doesn’t matter if the body in their ghost realm isn’t dead going in, because both ghostly and living things have the exact same level of corporeality and therefore physical effectiveness on the environment around them!

But sure, let’s assume they needed to appear to Noctis and kill him so that all of them would meet Ardyn in the Beyond ... except for the part where killing Noctis means his spirit is trapped in the Ring, and in the same place all the other Kings are, which is identical to the inside of the Crystal, which is identical to the Beyond, where Ardyn was waiting. So that realm was already in the Ring to begin with, and somehow the Kings could not go into that realm themselves at literally any point during the game even though their spirits were absorbed into the Ring post-mortem and their Arms were acquired any point before the Chapter 13 time skip.

But sure, let’s assume that there was something special about Noctis that required he be with them– perhaps like the Royal Arm of Regis, the Sword of the Father ... except Ardyn also has the Sword of the Father in his Armiger arsenal even when he left Ravus’s corpse with it for Noctis to get it, and he has more weapons besides, and the Kings apparently let him have it because of their blood relation unless otherwise stated ( I mean, did Ardyn use his Villain Sue powers to braaaaiiiinwash them into giving him their Arms against their better judgment? Why would they do that at all? They don’t seem very cognizant of ... anything, to be honest! ), so ... uh, what was making Noctis special? The part where he’s not Scourged? He was attacked by a demon already and sent into a coma, afflicted by something he needed to be taken into Imperial territory to heal from instead of seeing any doctor ( what doctor? ) or Regis using a King sigil for healing magic ( see: COMRADES ) so he’s not immune to the affliction, but he was healed by an Oracle, which, oh hey, uhm, wasn’t Ardyn eventually purified by an Oracle at the end point of his life anyway? Good golly, a shame that couldn’t have happened at any point prior to any of this bullshit happening!

But sure, let’s assume that Ardyn possessing more Arms than Noctis does isn’t relevant ... so in a hypothetical scenario where Noctis had Ardyn’s Armiger, or acquired more weapons than the 13 he ended up with, how many Kings would he be stabbed with then? Was he meant to hold out against every single one? What if all 113 Kings had Arms, and he found all of them without fail? How long would that suicide ritual take? He definitively died with the last stab out of thirteen, five score more would be ridiculous, and Ardyn could probably revive himself by that point, so ... ?

Or maybe, we can more safely assume that the writing to get Noctis to this point was contrived as fuck and made no sense, where he neither had a real choice to give his own life, wasn’t allowed to live otherwise, no one around him made their best efforts to save the life of their supposed best friend/brother figure/betrothed even if they weren’t actively lying to him by omission or otherwise taunting him into the act, and any alterations to the details of his death or giving it any more thought makes it fall apart.

#ffxv hate #anti ffxv #ffxv critical #ffxv criticism #final fantasy xv #long post #noctis lucis caelum #gladiolus amicitia mention #ignis scientia mention #gentiana negative #this text is NOT for gladio apologists #NOT for luna apologists #NOT for gentiana apologists #NOT for bahamut apologists #NOT for ffxv apologists who think this game was well written #NOT for ffxv apologists that think the canon ending was the best ending #this text isn't even for people who don't think ardyn's powers are getting ridiculous #and that they're coming from fuckoff nowhere #read at your own risk

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gwiiyeoweo · 6 years ago

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Prompto learns the intricacies of living with a god.

Pairing: Prompto/Noctis Rating: T

Surprisingly, having a god as a roommate wasn’t too complicated. Noctis seemed content to sit on the couch and play video games or borrow Prompto’s phone to play King’s Knight (until one day when Noctis pulled out his own smartphone from seemingly out of nowhere). Which was great, especially on days when he was swamped with homework or had to study for an exam; he’d hate to leave Noct just hangin’ like that. Sometimes Noctis poked his nose around in Prompto’s study material or borrowed library books, but not usually without commentary — especially when it came to the Cosmogony texts, or anything relating to the Astrals, for that matter.

“Really?” Noctis nearly spat out his drink one night, the night Prompto learned gods could get drunk. In one hand he held a volume of the Cosmogony, in the other was a can of cheap beer.

“Listen, it says here that Bahamut, and I quote, ‘handpicked a pious maiden and bestowed upon her the power of the Stars and his trident.’Bullshit.” He looked up from the offending text and squinted at Prompto, traces of pink dusting his cheeks. “Listen, Prom. Listen,” his words came in a slur. “Bahamut. Bahamut’s a little bitch, y’hear me? And, and a fuuuhh — a fuckboy.”

Noctis rolled his eyes and slammed his beer down on the table. “‘Bestow his trident,’ huh? Yeah, he gave her his trident alright.”

Prompto choked on his poptart, eyes bulging out his sockets as he coughed out cheap cherry filling and crumbs. “No w-way, man.”

“Yes way. Bahamut got around back in th’ day. It said somewhere, that us Astrals don’t show up around y’humans a lot. Yeah? Well, Bahamut, my man. Nuh-uh, not ‘im.” Noctis tossed his head back and threw his arm up, laughing into the back of his hand. “He would make himself look like, like a sex god, you shoulda seen it. Like a damn twelve-pack and Fabio hair and everything, the whole package. It was ridiculous.”

Noctis lifted his head just enough to share a deadly serious look with Prompto. “Between you and me? I think the only reason he’s stuck in that, uh, that Crystal is ‘cause he’s too sex’d out.”

Afterwards, Noctis fell onto his side and cuddled the Cosmogony into his chest, silent for the rest of the night, save for the occasional soft snore, leaving Prompto alone to process his emotional and mental turmoil on his very new, very disturbing piece of information.

And that was one concern that had quickly come up — the problem of sleeping accommodations. Sometimes Noctis would just stay up until Prompto fell asleep, would wait until the boy slapped on his chocobo pyjamas and crawled into bed. On those nights, Noctis would just smile sweetly and tuck him in, pat him on the chest a couple times, turn the light off, and leave the bedroom. Prompto would strain his ears to hear the tell-tale click of the front door. Sometimes he heard Noctis leave the apartment, sometimes he didn’t. In the morning when Prompto woke up, the god would be waiting in the kitchen with two mugs of coffee. He never asked about what Noctis did on the nights that he left.

On other nights, Noctis would fall asleep on the couch; and not wanting to disturb him, Prompto would tiptoe around the living space and switch off the lights after carefully draping a blanket over him. But like always, Noctis would be waiting for him with his coffee once morning came around.

So when two weeks passed and Prompto had let the guilt and curiosity break off the final chip, he finally got the guts to ask Noctis. “What do you do when I sleep?”

On the floor, Noctis was hunched over. His hands stilled, and he looked up from the 1000-piece jigsaw puzzle he was working on, a photographic rendition of the Citadel. “I sleep. Like you.”

“Yeah, but sometimes you leave.”

“Sometimes I go for a walk. Then I go to sleep,” Noctis shrugged, turning his attention back to the puzzle, “You could say I go ‘back’ to the Noctis ‘tree,’ or to the stars, or whatever. Then I come back in the morning.” He ran his fingers through a small pile of pieces, when his brows quickly came together in a frown. In one swift motion, he stood from the puzzle and flopped onto the couch, where Prompto was studying. “Prompto, I told you. I’m here to stay. If you’re worried that I might just ditch you —”

Prompto shot up a defensive hand. “No! It’s not — well, sometimes I still wonder if this is all a dream and that you’re just like, some hallucination or something. But that’s not really why I’m asking.”

“Okay, so?”

“Well, sure the couch is nice, but it kinda hurts my back after sleeping on it for so long. And, like, I dunno how this ” — he gestured with his hands at Noctis — “really works, or if you even get stiff shoulders from sleeping on a couch, but… My bed’s, uh, a lot more comfortable. So, you could… Maybe, join me instead.” Oh boy, he could feel the heat creeping up his neck and his cheeks.

“You’re asking me to sleep with you?” Noctis asked, lips curling into a sly grin.

“Not like sex! But, well, basically? I mean, not like I wouldn’t want to! Like, Noct, you’re totally hot, with this whole dark and mysterious cool vibe going on, but uh. Just, I mean, I totally see you as my bud. But it’s not like we could get something more going on later — and how would an Astral and a human even do this dating thing anyway — and does that, did that even happen before? I, I mean Bahamut was going around banging everyone, like you said, and I’m not slut-shaming any gods or I might get electrocuted or something but… I, uh.” Prompto covered his face with both his hands. “I’ll just shut up now.”

He knew this was a bad idea. Oh gods, he just wanted to sink into the couch and let it eat him. Hell, he’d even be okay with Bahamut striking him down right here and now for blasphemy or whatever.

Noctis, however, took it in stride and laughed it off. “Sure, Prom,” he said, reaching over to pat the poor guy on his shoulder.

And just like that, it was done. Prompto felt the shift in weight on the couch, and he peeked through his fingers to see Noctis back on the floor, working on his 1000-piece puzzle.

That night — and for most nights thereafter — once Prompto packed up his textbooks for tomorrow and threw on his cactuar PJs, Noctis slinked through the door in a pair of black boxers and a loose tee, climbed into a bed that seemed to fit two people just right. Somewhere along the way Prompto discovered he liked being the big spoon and that Noctis had no problem tucking himself in between his arms.

(Prompto did have to wonder, though, how and where Noctis got all his clothes when he never went shopping.)

“Hey, Noct.”

“M’yea?” he answered through a mouthful of pizza. Apparently Astrals didn’t need to eat, but Noctis could still enjoy flavors and spices and textures. He had quickly developed a habit of picking bits and pieces from Prompto’s food, or digging around the fridge for some cold meats or half-eaten leftovers that were a touch too ripe. Which worked perfectly, actually. Prompto wasn’t a starving college student, as he had a government stipend as well as a decent sum gifted from his parents to tide him over. Thing was, his budget was meant for himself, and himself only; he couldn’t really spend funds on feeding an extra mouth. So the fact that it was impossible for Noctis to starve definitely came as a plus.

“How come you look like that?” Prompto kept his eyes on the screen of his laptop, fingers typing away on his keyboard, only stopping when he realized that maybe his words weren’t the best choice. “I mean, like, my age. Some people said you were a little kid, or an older guy.”

‘Or a dilf,’ he thought to himself. Many of the posts that claimed Noctis as an older man, definitely did not leave out their biases and chose descriptions like “hot dad” or “daddy Noctis.” But the Noctis who was with him now, in the flesh and in his apartment, was scavenging his fridge with a half-eaten slice of pizza hanging from his mouth like some backstreet raccoon. And his looks barely passed as a young adult. There was still some softness of youth cushioning his features, a fairly slim but lean physique that girls would absolutely gush over. With his long eyelashes and smooth skin, he was the picture-perfect “pretty boy” Prompto had seen and heard his high school classmates squeal about way back then.

But, as Prompto paused to glance at Noctis, he could kinda see it — the whole “daddy Noctis.” He imagined an older Noct, the baby fat melted away to reveal sharp cheekbones and a jawline that could cut mythril, and maybe a trimmed beard to add some age. Would older Noctis have longer hair? Or maybe a cropped hairstyle? Noctis would probably keep his lean muscle, but maybe broader shoulders or something. What were even the requirements to be “daddy” anyway? Obviously it didn’t include having an actual kid though. (Did… Did Astrals even have children? Could they?)

“Well,” Noctis said, shutting the fridge door with his hip, each hand holding cartons of two-week old takeout, “I pick whatever floats their boat.” He set them on the kitchen counter and picked the lids off, leaning his face down to sniff the contents. He wrinkled his nose at one of the leftovers but chose to stick a fork in it anyway, twirling the cold noodles around before taking a bite.

“Dude, I don’t know how you do that,” Prompto gagged. “Or why, even.” He supposed it was his fault for not eating them sooner, for letting them go rancid. But that’s just one of the perks of having an ancient deity for a roommate, he justified. In the same way Noctis didn’t have to eat, he didn’t get sick from eating expired food bordering on mold and fungi. What would otherwise go into the trash or down the drain, went straight into the god’s stomach. Recycling at its best.

“If you’re talking about the food,” Noctis said, after swallowing down the slippery noodles, “It’s not that bad. Does taste kinda funky though, like artisanal cheese or something.” He swirled his fork, the carton making a distinct sound of something disgustingly wet and thick. “There might be some mold though, unless that’s just fuzzy cilantro.”

Prompto was pretty sure there was a blasphemy law or something out there, that strictly forbade people from offering gods old-ass food and moldy noodles. He learned last week to not think about it, however, and to let Noct eat what he wanted.

“But if you’re asking why I’m a twenty-something-year-old, it made the most sense.” Noctis tossed the empty carton into the trash and pointed his fork at Prompto. “Figured you’d want someone around the same age. I’m ninety-nine percent sure you wished for a friend, not a little brother or a dad.”

Oh. Well, that made sense. “Fair enough. I guess it’d get kinda old having to stop for old ladies that want to squish your baby cheeks.” Prompto paused, remembering the posts of people drooling over middle-aged Noctis. “Or crushing on hot dad Noct.”

That managed to pique Noctis’ interest, however, and his fork stopped mid-air on its way to the second carton. “Hot what who?”

Prompto realized then and there that Noctis did not, in fact, realize how badly people were thirsting for him.

“Oh, man, Noct buddy. The thirst out there is real .” Prompto laughed and pulled up a new tab, clicking on a link he bookmarked long ago. He scrolled through a few pages as Noct made his way to stand behind Prompto and look over his shoulder. The blonde stopped at a juicy string of replies and posts, angling the laptop screen so they could both see. “Your fans are so wild, my guy.”

> I hope all the gods are as handsome, if only i saw him shirtless lol > Omg ur not the only one. If i knew he looked like a hot piece of tall dark and gorgeous, i would’ve been soooooo much more specific with my wish. ;P

Some of the posts were a little more flattering. Others, less so.

> do u guys think that if i wished hard enough, he’d sit on my face > honestly? I don’t know if i want to pound that sweet ass or get rekt by him > y not both? ;D

Prompto wasn’t sure what he had expected, but Noctis took it… Pretty well. In fact, they spent a good few hours bonding and laughing over the sheer thirst of these people. At some point in the night, they even came up with a drinking game.

“I mean, technically, this one mentions ‘daddy,’ ‘bondage,’ and ‘babies.’ So that’s what? Half a beer?”

Which quickly became a bad idea. Prompto was sure his liver was going to fail on him by his umpteenth bottle. Noctis — and damn him, and his stupid Astral powers — seemed to be unaffected despite having just as many drinks. He was cheating, using magic or whatever, to flush the alcohol out of his system, and Prompto whined as he was guided into the bedroom. This was so unfair. He was never going to have a drinking contest with Noctis ever again.

Unceremoniously, he was dropped onto his bed, and a pillow bounced off the mattress. “Ugh, ‘eyy, I’m delicate goods, y’knoooow,” Prompto groaned, rolling onto his side and burying his face into the blanket. It wasn’t a soft landing, and it probably would have actually hurt if not for the alcohol numbing his systems.

“Yeah? Pretty sure those posters would be more than happy to be thrown into bed by yours truly.” Noctis picked up the pillow and gently tossed it at Prompto’s head.

“Pfft. And now what?” Prompto pulled the pillow off his face and tucked it under his head. “You’re gonna ravish me, oh Mister Noctis?” he said, with half-lidded eyes, though his wiggling eyebrows killed whatever attempt of seduction he was aiming for.

Noctis snorted and crawled into bed, shoving Prompto to make space. “Pretty sure you said you’d rather do the ravishing, oh Mister Prompto.”

“Mmm, too tired to do any ravishing.”

“Then stop talking and get some sleep.”

“Okay-dokay,” he said, a pinch too chipper. ”G’night, oh Mister Noctis.”

Noctis placed a chaste kiss on his nose. “Night, nerd.”

It was winter break when Prompto would finally introduce Noctis to his acquaintances. (He had gotten an A on that research paper; not because of his stellar writing, but because Noctis insisted on meeting the professor himself, and that was a whole story for another day.) The Amicitias were having a potluck, and Gladio had invited Prompto and Ignis. It went without saying that Prompto was freaking the fuck out, when he read the text.

“Ohmygodohmygodohmygod.” He had been pacing back and forth, hands rubbing nervously at his face, for a good while now. “I'm invited to the Amicitia's. The house of the Shield. This is, like, huge!”

Noctis was on his bed, sitting up against the headboard when he swiped through Prompto's phone, reading the text that had gotten him so riled up. “Uh-huh. That's what it says,” he said, not impressed at all. “It's just a little party and some food.”

“Noct!” Prompto swirled around and stomped over to Noctis, clamping his hands on the other's shoulders. He looked at him dead in the eye, with all the seriousness of a soldier marching towards his death. “The Shield. They're like, almost royalty .”

Noctis shrugged, expression remaining bored. “So? Your parents are in Niflheim's Council. You're basically in the same boat as that Gladio guy, even if you keep calling yourself a pleb. Which, you know, you're really not.”

Prompto just gave an indignant shriek as he fell over Noctis’ legs and buried his face into the blanket. “It's not the same,” he groaned.

Noctis may have a point about their social classes being not so different, but it's not like a god could understand the struggles of lowly humans. Back in Niflheim, it wasn't as if Prompto was even well-known; he was just the kid of some government officials. The Amicitia family had this prestigious pedigree and a noble, gallant history to boot. If anything, Prompto really was a pleb in comparison.

Noctis drew his legs from underneath Prompto and laid on his side, parallel to the other. He gave a few sympathetic pats on his back but rolled his eyes at the dramatics. “You're really freaking out about this, huh?”

Prompto wordlessly nodded, face still glued to his bed.

“You can pass, you know. That's totally an option, in case you forgot.”

Prompto finally lifted his face to stare at Noctis, a stubborn frown pulling on his lips. “No way. This is an opportunity of a lifetime.” He rolled onto his back and sighed, dragging his hands down his face. “Gladio's pretty cool, but I guess the issue is with everyone else that's gonna be there. Everyone knows I'm a Niff, and well.” He waved his hands in the air, letting the implications speak for him.

“And Lucis is still on edge with Niflheim,” Noctis finished for him. “I know. I've seen the way people look at you.”

The sneers, the whispers, those eyes. But it wasn't as bad as it used to be, when Prompto was alone. Noctis’ presence itself was comforting, filled a hole in his life that had been there before he even arrived in Insomnia, but it also provided another form of relief. Walking the streets alone left him too vulnerable to the baleful stares and whispered curses. But with Noctis, who looked every inch a pure-blooded Lucian, walking side by side and laughing over shared drinks or stealing fries, it made all of them second-guess themselves. He could tell by the confused or surprised expressions, and he sometimes caught the weird looks they gave. It filled him with a sense of gleeful vindication.

(Noctis had easily caught on — or rather, he had known from the start. On their first outing together, he had made damn sure to be as touchy-feely as possible or laugh just a tad too loud at bad jokes, he had admitted to Prompto.)

Noctis looked at the message again, skimming over the short three lines of text. “You know,” he said, his eyebrows perking up, “I can come with. He said you could bring a friend along.”

“What?” Prompto shot up, and he reached over to snatch his phone back from Noct's clutches. He furrowed his eyebrows, read the text message twice over. “You're right. Oh! You, uh, you'd really be okay with coming with me?”

“Duh. It's a potluck. I'm always up for food.”

They spent three days looking up party foods, mostly at Prompto’s frantic insistence: “Dude, I can’t be the one guy who just brings the crappy off-brand chips and shitty dip.” Finally, Noctis took matters into his own hands and decided for Prompto, one hand dragging the blonde out for grocery shopping, the other pulling up a lasagna recipe on his phone.

“Ugghhh. Can’t you just use your magic and just, magically make some kind of one-food-satisfies-all sort of thing?” Prompto groaned, reading the label on a jar of tomato sauce. He tossed two in the shopping cart, then threw in another just in case.

“Technically, I could.” Noctis pushed the cart along, grabbing a few bottles of dried spices. “But you never filled out the ‘Stellarian Make-A-Wish Form’ and that takes four to six business days to get to me. And we definitely have less than four days to get this thing cooked up.”

“What. I didn’t know I had to sign forms! And business days? Dude, you’re right here.”

“Sorry, Noctis the Stellarian isn’t here right now. Please call again during normal business hours or leave a message after the beep.” Noctis walked off, leaving the cart behind. He never even said beep.

“Nooooooct!”

They had managed to make two large pans of lasagna, and it tasted pretty damn good in Prompto’s opinion. (Noctis’ opinion didn’t count, since he could eat practically anything, aside from his aversion to vegetables.) Better yet, they had managed to keep the kitchen intact, only burning one mitten and two hand towels. With the food out of the way, the only thing left was what the fuck was he going to wear.

Prompto was going to be late, and oh gods, his anxiety was spiking. He never asked Gladio if the dress code was casual or formal wear, and he wasn’t going to take his chances with guessing ugly sweater party. He rummaged through his dressers and tossed shirts and pants all over the bed and floor, only pausing to press a shirt against his chest and stand in front of the mirror every few minutes. He should have been out ten minutes ago, but here he was freaking out over what sweater to wear, and he was pretty sure being late would make for bad first impressions. It was a vicious cycle.

Noctis stood by the bedroom door, leaning against the frame with his arms crossed, when he rolled his eyes and sighed. He stepped through the whirlwind of clothes scattered all over the place, and stooped to pick up a long-sleeved shirt. Wordlessly, he shoved it in Prompto’s hands and manhandled the blonde out of the way, pulling out a pair of black slacks from the dresser. “Go, change. Now,” he ordered.

“Yeah, but —”

“Chill, Prom. It’s not like you’re meeting the King of Lucis or anything. So just change already.”

Noctis was a filthy liar.

Surprisingly, they made it to the Amicitia manor with three minutes to spare. Prompto had expected security checks or battle-hardened guards standing watch from lookout towers, maybe a couple black guard dogs too. So when he pressed a finger to the intercom and offered his name and reason for visitation, he was taken back when the gates opened only seconds after, with no vicious attack dog or security uniform in sight. Noctis looked a little too smug, who had listened to Prompto’s over speculation and frenzied rants, and sauntered right on in.

Prompto followed at his heels, and was greeted by cheery instrumental music and all sorts of tantalizing aromas, a blend of spices he’s never smelled before. He zeroed in on the long tables topped with food, some brought in tupperware or actual plates. It was reassuring to see aluminum trays lining the tables; he and Noctis brought in their lasagna in aluminum pans, too, and he had worried that maybe they should have splurged on those ceramic pans instead. They managed to find an empty spot for their dishes, though Noctis had to subtly rearrange a few plates around to make room for the tight fit.

“Hey, Prompto!” That gruff voice was unmistakable, but so was the hand that clamped itself on Prompto’s shoulder, nearly jostling him. “Good to see you made it.”

“Oh, hey, Gladio. Thanks for inviting me,” Prompto chirped, as if he hadn’t been rattled with anxiety and stress for nearly a week. He waved a hand over Noctis. “I brought a friend with me, if that’s cool.”

“Nah, you’re good. I did say you could bring one,” he said to Prompto, before turning his attention to Noctis. “I’m Gladiolus, but call me Gladio.”

“Noctis. Just Noct’s good. You’re Clarus’ son, yeah?”

“Yep, son of the Shield and all that.” Gladio paused a moment, an amused smile ghosting over his lips. “Noctis, like… the Stellarian?”

“Noctis, exactly like the Stellarian,” Noctis replied, ignoring the way Prompto coughed.

“Huh. Bet you get teased about that a lot.”

“You get used to it,” he said with a wry grin, throwing a sidelong glance to his friend.

It was mostly smooth sailing from there, despite Prompto’s prior apprehension but according to Noctis’ reassurances — which came in comforting whispers and light hand squeezes. However, they didn’t seem to escape the hawk-ish gaze of one Ignis Scientia, who gave them a knowing look and a tilt of the lips over the rim of his wine glass. Even Gladio the musclehead noticed, nudging Prompto with his elbow and blowing a low whistle. It wasn’t like they were trying to be inconspicuous anyway; having been caught, Noctis laughed and gave them a full view of a smack of lips on a freckled cheek, at the price of Prompto’s flushed embarrassment.

Prompto still wasn’t sure what was going on between them, and Noctis gave no indication of his own. It had been casual flirting here, an offhand comment there, and somehow it turned into little shared kisses on the cheek or forehead. What he did know, however, was that he enjoyed it and wanted to see where things would take them. It was a little awkward to be caught sharing their affections, especially when he himself was still trying to process his own feelings about them, but it filled him with a tingly warmth all the same.

And it was almost enough to ignore a familiar, unsettling gaze that bore through the back of his skull. No matter how many cups of eggnog he downed, Prompto would always know what that sort of look was; he had been on the receiving end of it for far too long to not know. It was the judgmental stare of a stuck-up noble, the prejudice of a narrow mind — or in this case, the animosity of a Crownsguard official. Having had enough and feeling his confidence bolstered by the buzz of alcohol, Prompto turned to see who was glaring daggers at him, to find who the burning gaze belonged to. The uniform screamed Crownsguard, his face the same stern expression of a military man ready to snap and bark, and Prompto had immediately turned back around the second he saw that scowl. Okay, so maybe he regretted looking just a little.

But he managed to get on, because out of sight, out of mind and all that, yeah? He could still feel the little pin pricks as the hairs on the back of his neck stood at guard, could feel the barb wired glances given his way, but as the hour wore on, he managed to relax until the perpetual stare melted like the ice in his punch, into nothing but a distant reminder. The man had seemed satisfied to just shoot scowls at Prompto, which he was able to fare with and mostly ignore, and nothing had happened so far. Not to mention he was in the Amicitia household, so surely he was safe. No one would want to start a fight in the Shield’s home, right?

Wrong.

“What do you think you’re doing here?”

Prompto had returned to the punch bowl to refill his drink, leaving Noctis to carry on with Ignis and Gladio. And yeah, that probably wasn’t a good idea, to present himself vulnerable as a lone target.

Prompto set his cup on the table and turned to stand face-to-face with the Crownsguard who had been shooting metaphorical knives at him for the past hour-ish. And maybe it was the liquid courage that was in the punch and eggnog that had Prompto puffing out his chest, but damn it , he was at a party and enjoying himself for once! He really did not need some asshole bursting his bubble.

“I’m getting punch, what does it look like?” Prompto huffed, gesturing to the very obvious bright red of the glass bowl.

“Sure you’re not planning on poisoning us, Niff?” The Crownsguard scoffed, eyes narrowing in suspicion and scorn. “Wouldn’t doubt it if you poisoned the food either.”

Okay. This was guy was hella rude. Their lasagna was actually good — he and Noct worked very hard on that, for his information.

He opened his mouth in protest, to point out they suffered a burnt mitten to get the damn pan out of the oven, to point out all the hard work and mess that had gone into it, until Noctis came over, planting himself between Prompto and the asshat Crownsguard.

“You got issues with my lasagna?” Noctis crossed his arms across his chest, his chin tilted up. Prompto couldn’t see, but he was pretty sure there was a scowl on his face. He also couldn’t help the vindictive glee in his chest.

“I got issues with the Niff here, not you, kid. He doesn’t belong here.”

“Sure he does. He got an invitation from the Amicitia over there,” he said, motioning a hand to Gladio, who was looking in their direction with concern, ready to intervene. “And besides, you got an issue with Prompto, you got an issue with me.”

“Look, kid. You’re better off not hanging around Niffs —”

“I’m not a kid,” Noctis practically growled. Though Noct was technically right, Prompto figured his looks… Kinda barely passed as an adult though.

“And I can do what I want, so don’t you tell me what to do.” Noctis jabbed a sharp finger into the Crownsguard chest. At this point, Gladio and some other man — ‘ Oh shit, is that Clarus Amicitia ?!’ Prompto silently screamed — were making their way over. But they would be too slow.

“Watch yourself, kid, or you'll be seeing stars,” the Crownsguard hissed. His shoulders tensed, and Prompto could see the faint lines of muscle tightening. This was so not good. He could feel the stare and attention focused on them, the worried murmurs and hushed whispers. He wished he had refilled his glass so he had punch to swallow down all this tension he was surely going to choke on.

“Oh, yeah?” Noctis snarled, bristling like an angry cat, Prompto imagined, with his curled up fingers and stiff white knuckles. He saw Noctis’ head twitch, jerk ever so slightly to his left, when Prompto caught a glimpse of a foreboding smirk. He followed Noctis’ line of sight, and it took every ounce of steel willpower to not scream.

Because standing right there was King Regis Lucis Fucking Caelum.

Prompto felt his eyes bulge from his skull, as the blood drained from his face to be replaced with ice cold water. Oh, Six. He was breathing, right? In, out? He could barely hear the rush of blood in his ears, too busy internally screaming into the void and all that.

‘ Chill, he said! You’re not gonna meet the King of Lucis, he said. It’s gonna be fun, he said!’ Whoever told him gods didn’t lie needed to go check themself.

He barely caught onto Noctis, too busy freaking out over literal royalty over there to stop him when he heard That Tone in his voice.

“Well, guess what?” Noctis had dropped his knees slightly. And with all the fury of a burning star, he slammed his fist up into the Crownsguard’s jaw in a brutal uppercut before either of them had time to blink. Prompto was pretty sure there was a kungfu movie with a similar title. Fist of the — South? West? — Star or something. It was over as quickly as it had started, and the body dropped in a skin-crawling thump.

“ Twinkle twinkle, motherfucker .”

Noctis shook his wrist, grimacing lightly from the impact. But it was quickly replaced with a shit-eating grin when he turned his gaze back to King Regis, who looked pretty damn chill despite witnessing someone knock out his Crownsguard, as opposed to the panic rising in Prompto’s own chest.

“Hey, Reggie. Long time no see,” Noctis all but laughed, who was way too calm about all of this.

A flash of confusion and irritation passed over the King’s face, but it quickly melted into shocked realization then mild exasperation. Prompto was still too stunned to think of anything, but he could have sworn there was a hint of fondness in the man’s eyes.

By the time Gladio kneeled beside the Crownsguard, Clarus moved in on Noctis, taking long strides with a definite purpose. Prompto almost threw an arm out to shield Noctis behind him, to point out that the Crownsguard was being an ass and Noctis was just defending him so could he please just —

“Clarus, stand down. It’s alright,” King Regis ordered. Clarus stopped dead in his tracks, hand left in mid-air as he was just about to grab Noctis. Regis ignored the unconscious guard and walked up to the Astral, placing a gentle hand on his shoulder. “Nearly twenty years, Noctis, and not a single hello. I must say, you know how to make an entrance.”

Prompto briefly remembered his first meeting with Noct’s shoe. Yeah, that had been an entrance alright.

“What can I say? I’m just that good.” Noctis shrugged and glanced over at Prompto, then past him at the tables behind. “Want to try our lasagna?” he asked the King.

“If I did not know any better, I would leap at the opportunity. But having past experiences with your cooking, I do think I prefer living. I’ve a kingdom to run, after all.”

“Hey!” Noctis interjected, smiling.

Still, the two laughed as if they had been old friends, ignoring the confused and slightly terrified faces around them. But knowing Noctis’ long, longhistory, Prompto didn’t doubt they truly had a bond.

He didn’t notice the King’s attention on him until Noctis nudged him on the shoulder. “Eh? What?”

“Prompto Argentum, was it?” King Regis asked.

“U-uh, yeah!” he stammered, feeling the pressure of the King’s gaze. Then he quickly added, “Your Majesty.” He couldn’t believe he was talking to the King, not to mention he even remembered Prompto’s name. And also not to mention, he was still not over the fact he had shaken his hand all those months ago, on the day he first arrived in Insomnia.

“I would love to hear how you met dear Noctis over here, whenever you’d be willing.”

“Noct? Um, yeah! Totally! Er, Your Grace.”

King Regis chuckled, deep and warm, and merely nodded. “Now, let’s try that lasagna, hm? You, too, Clarus! If I die of food poisoning, we die together.”

“Your Majesty, please,” the Shield sighed.

Prompto never really figured how it happened or when it all started. But one snowy morning, when he woke up to Noct's sleeping face and terrible bed hair, he was suddenly struck with a revelation.

‘Huh. I love this man,’ he thought. It was weird. He expected metaphorical fireworks and the heavy beating of his heart with that dizzying blood rush, waited for it with silent expectancy and any minute now .

But nothing came.

Two minutes, then five minutes. Ten. Nothing. Instead, he was left with the soft knowledge of his feelings, the gentle warmth that settled in his stomach as he watched Noctis and the slow rise of his chest with each steady breath. And this warmth, it was nothing new; it had been there for well over a year now, when his loneliness was replaced by this bright little star. And not even a month ago, Gladio and Ignis had referred to Prompto as their friend .

There were no grand explosions, no sparks of passion and heated kisses stolen between short, frenzied breaths. It had come silently. Like the slow rise of the morning’s light streaming in through the window, like the lazy snowfall covering Insomnia, settling so gently that he wouldn’t know how much had piled up unless he drew back the curtains and looked out into the heart of the city.

Prompto closed his eyes and smiled into his pillow, snuggling a bit closer to his favorite little star, and drifted back to sleep, falling to the comfort of knowing everything would work out, that everything already had. And Noctis, still deep in his sleep, responded to the shift and threw a cold leg over Prompto’s, eliciting a quiet breathy laugh.

Yeah, everything would be just fine.

Bonus

“So, you look pretty good. Older, but still good.” Noctis said over the rim of his glass.

Regis resisted the urge to roll his eyes and to fall back to his younger years of bantering and snickering, to the days of his youth spent with the Astral. “Yes. Well, ageing does that to mortals, Noctis. I would like to say the same to you, except you’ve gotten… Younger.”

He almost hadn’t recognized Noctis, when he watched the younger man knock his Crownsguard off his feet. He had felt the flames of angry retribution and indignation ignite, until that age-old smirk caught him off guard, when he recognized that smile, that specific tilt of the lips, but he couldn’t place it — not until he saw that set of steel-blue eyes that seemed to hide all the world’s stars behind them.

After all those years, Regis never expected to see him again. Ever. And especially not in Clarus’ home. Yet here they were again, sitting by the fireplace with plates of lasagna and glasses of champagne, basking in each other’s company as they had done in what seemed like a lifetime ago. (The lasagna was, surprisingly, quite good.)

“You were an older man, back in my youth. I almost failed to recognize you.”

Noctis was a bit taller, back then, sporting a neatly trimmed beard and age lines that looked to add wisdom around his eyes. Regis, being but a boy back then, had looked up to the god, for when his own father was absent in his royal duties as King. For when he had wished for a father, someone who could actually spare more than ten minutes a day for his son.

“Oh, yeah. ‘Daddy Noct,’” Noctis snorted. “Apparently that’s what I’m called nowadays, when I look like that. Y'know, you never actually called me dad.”

Young Regis had never gotten over that strange pride-ego-dignity trinity that teenage boys tended to have, and refused to call Noctis any version of the word “father” despite his wish being just that. They both knew he had been the closest thing to what a father should actually be, but those times were gone; however, Regis now saw a dear old friend instead. Plus, it'd just be downright weird for a grown man to call a younger one his dad.

“As I am aware.” Regis earned an incredulous look, to which he responded, “I know how to use the internet, Noctis.”

“Yeah, but it’s weird hearing that from you,” Noctis mumbled around his fork. He looked to the fireplace, the flames dancing in the dark of his eyes. “Time sure flies, huh, Reggie? You used to be so small. Now look at you.” He gently placed his fork down, lightly clinking against the ceramic, meeting his gaze with Regis’. “You grew into a fine king.”

They let a comfortable silence fall over them, save for the crackle of wood and the cheery music playing in the distance. Clarus had made sure the two could get their own little space, away from the rest of the party.

Finally, Regis spoke up again. “I never properly thanked you for granting my wishes.”

“Don’t mention it. All I did was get the ball rolling. You’re the one who pushed it to the finish line. Now look.” Noctis nodded over behind them, where Ignis was trying (and failing) to teach Prompto a proper waltz. “You finally got peace for your kingdom, even after the mess your father left behind.”

“Still. If it weren’t for your hand in all this—”

“Reggie, stop, you’ll make me blush,” he said wryly. “But, uh, sorry that it took so long. Had a hard time coming to a compromise. Don’t tell him I told you, but” — Noctis leaned in, and Regis mimicked the gesture — “I had a little argument with Bahamut. He kept insisting that Lucis wipe Niflheim out first, declare war and all that. Heck, that’s part of why Shiva’s doing her thing over there still, to soften them up and make the fight easier. It’s kinda hard to convince the god of war to not go to war, you know?”

“Ah. So Bahamut.”

“Yep.”

It was Regis’ turn to gaze into the fireplace. “I suppose you were right along,” he said after a brief moment. He turned to look back at Noctis in the eye and smiled with all the kingly grace he could muster.

“Bahamut is indeed, as you had put it, a fuckboy.”

#prompto argentum #noctis lucis caelum #ff15 #final fantasy xv #i can type #i forgot to post dis yesterday :v

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