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mortallydeepestobservation · 28 days ago

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The holiday pretense- Chapter 1

Summary: Namjoon has never been a fan of the holidays. In fact, he could list more things that sucked about ‘The most wonderful time of the year’, than things that brought him joy. Yet, beneath his cynicism, a flicker of hope appeared this year, as the faint scent of homesickness hung in the air.

Unfortunately, there’s one tiny little thing that keeps him from calling home- his lack of a girlfriend.

But fear not; this holiday season, Namjoon’s smart mouth gets him in a situation where he has no choice but to approach you- his longtime friend and roommate- with an unexpected request.

Pairing: Namjoon x f.reader Genre: fake-dating, friends to lovers/roommates to lovers au; crack, smut, fluff. Rating: explicit. Minors do not interact. Warnings: every single trope in the book; but with a twist. Dialogue heavy. OC is really bad at lying, anddd… I didn’t write in literal years so yeah, this is gonna be fun. And I know I am literally that meme rn, the: summer is over-skips straight to Christmas. But do you have any idea just how slow I write? Yes. It is a warning. Smut warnings: to be added~ Word count: Chapter 1-9k Credits: this was literally one of those ‘if no one is going to write this, I will’ because there are not enough friends-to-lovers Namjoon fics out there. And none (that I know of) where the main character feels bad for lying to his family when pretending to date him. This work would not have been possible without the very kind and patient @callmenoona25, who not only helped me beta-read but also served as a guiding light during those moments when I wanted to rage-delete everything. Thank you for all your help! (and please keep helping me coz idk what I’d do without your constant encouragement) Author's note: again, I didn't write in 8-ish years, so this is very very scary. Add in a dash of 'English is not my first language' and you get whatever this is. enjoy. Merry Christmas.

Ah winter, the most wonderful time of the year.

The season when the air is crisp, and the city gets blanketed in thick, white snowfall. When the satisfying sound of crunching snow accompanies every step and every word transforms into nothing more than a puff of steam dancing through the chilly air.

When Mariah Carey’s voice echoes in literally every store for an obnoxious 24/7, as if she has some kind of personal vendetta against silence…

When the heating bill increases by 37%, and it takes an extra 15 minutes for the heater to kick in and for the hot water to grace the showerhead. Ergo, Namjoon now has to wake up half an hour early if he wants to take a shower and not freeze half to death during the day, because the landlord was adamant that there was nothing to be done about the situation.

But it wasn’t all bad.

Sure, Namjoon was never one to possess the so-called Christmas spirit. In fact, he was known to be a bit of a grinch among his friends.

Jin, in particular, enjoyed telling anyone who would listen about their first Christmas at college, when Namjoon adamantly refused to help him decorate the tree after begrudgingly lugging it to their shared apartment.

And most years Namjoon’s lack of enthusiasm for the season was palpable. While his friends reveled in the cheerful atmosphere, he somehow managed to remain detached and aloof, his grinch-like demeanor becoming a defining characteristic, much to the amusement of his companions.

However, there were still aspects of the holiday that Namjoon couldn’t help but secretly enjoy. The food, for instance, was undeniably good. Although the movies were mediocre and the music overplayed, he still found himself humming along to Winter Wonderland whenever it played. And the energetic buzz that seized his friends was no doubt contagious;

This year, before he could even process it, he was dubbed designated fairy-light fixer, the judge of the ugly sweater contest (solely because he had the audacity to show up wearing a black hoodie) and somehow promised Jungkook to help him pick up gifts for his mom, his cousin, and girlfriend.

And now, with the holidays looming just around the corner, and the entire city buzzing with chatter about family feasts, romantic rendezvous, and the art of gift-giving, Namjoon couldn't help but feel a little pang of longing. It had been a solid two years since he last set foot in his hometown, and the melancholic urge to return home seemed like the only logical response to it all.

Or maybe he just needed a vacation…

But there was just one thing that kept Namjoon, a logical being, from making that phone call home.

He knew that part of the reason behind his mother’s question was for organizational purposes, yet he couldn’t help but notice the mischievous twinkle in her voice each time she sweetly asked:

“And are you coming alone?”

Few things managed to irk him as much that specific question in that specific context. And even with countless nights analyzing the emotions it stirred within him, Namjoon found himself very stupidly replying with:

“Uhm, no actually-” despite being painfully single, and fully aware of it.

Following that, the hope of regaining any sensible thought was gone as a chorus of ecstatic comments erupted form his mother’s end of the phone. With a hurried, “Can’t wait to see you, yeah, love you too,” he was left in the suffocating silence of his bedroom, with a new predicament he needed to solve.

Now, let’s not forget, Namjoon is no ordinary man. He possesses a brain that could rival Einstein’s, and he knows all too well that he could simply call back and clarify that his plus one is as real as Santa Claus.

But Namjoon doesn’t half-ass anything. He full-asses it.

That and showing up alone would undoubtedly result in his mom’s attempts to play matchmaker. And if he were to show up alone, after lying about it, well, he might as well prepare for an arranged marriage.

Namjoon sighed as he looked at his phone. He couldn’t understand why his mother had this new found obsession with his relationship status. Especially after she witnessed just how bad his last one ended. Now sure, he may have taken the whole ‘healing-era’ to a bit of an extreme, seeing as he had no relationship, no situationship and no inclination to entertain any romantic thoughts whatsoever. But this was getting ridiculous. Lying to his own mother?

Perhaps he could ask his assistant to pretend to be his girlfriend for the week? No, that wouldn’t work. She mentioned she was hosting the Christmas dinner this year. And it would involve more explanations to HR than it’s worth…

And he couldn’t overlook the fact that her fiancé would most certainly not be amused by that idea.

Just as he was about give up and plunge into another rabbit hole of despair, the solution to his problem came accompanied by the familiar sound of glass smashing in the kitchen.

You.

You would be perfect.

Most people already assumed you two were dating, seeing how seamlessly you fit yourself into his life after moving in.

And last he checked you couldn’t make it home because of some pesky law-jargon issues that required your presence at the office. And changing your flight to a few days later cost you an arm and a leg, while changing it to January was completely free.

And last he checked; you were just as chronically single as he was. (He knew because your last date was so disastrous that he had to abandon his gaming night and rescue you from the restaurant).

Another crash in the kitchen summoned him back into action. Swiftly snatching his hoodie from the designated clothes chair and making his way to you, detouring only to retrieve the medical kit from the bathroom.

He was quick to spot you, still clad in your work attire, crouched besides the counter, diligently sweeping the stray glass shards of what used to be an ugly mug. His eyes involuntarily wondering towards your ass, once again marveling at how flawlessly you wore that office skirt before snapping himself out of it.

“And I believe that evens out the score, seeing as I only broke a plate, and you killed two mugs this season” he declares, ensuring you weren’t bleeding before abandoning the first aid kit on the counter to fetch the trusty vacuum cleaner.

It was standard procedure by now.

“You also managed to break the microwave, so the title remains yours,” you grumble as you rose to your feet, a smile unconsciously tugging at your lips when you caught sight of his charming dimpled face. “Hey there.”

“Hello,” he replied, giving you a swift once-over in case he missed any hidden hemorrhages “what happened?”

“It just jumped out of the cupboard when I opened it,” you gestured towards the dust pan, as if to prove the cup suddenly acquired acrobatic skills before its untimely demise, causing him to break into a grin “I’ll get you a new one.”

“No worries, it was a gift form an ex, and it was hideous anyway.”

As he vacuumed the area, you disposed of the glass, making sure it wouldn’t slice through the trash bag like last time.

Once the kitchen was safe again, you returned to your previous task, grabbing a new cup and casually turning your back to him.

" Do you want to try an unreasonably expensive hot chocolate with me?" you playfully suggested, catching his eye as he noticed the purple tin on the counter, adorned with a big red bow, alongside a very generic Christmas card.

"Secret Santa?" he inquired back, picking up the card, already aware of the answer to your question.

Unconsciously, he began mentally listing reasons why you would make a good fake girlfriend. Topping the list was your uncanny ability to understand him without lengthy explanations. And it was all quite digestible, wasn't it? Two long-time friends and roommates, thrown together by chance, suddenly discovering hidden feelings for each other?

All his friends seemed to have unanimously agreed that the two of you would make a splendid pair, back when you met, when his roommate, Jin, started dating your roommate, Myeong.

On their inaugural date, Myeong, in a fit of paranoia, asked you to tag along, in case her potential lover turned out to be a serial killer. And Jin, ever the considerate soul, felt compelled to invite Namjoon, not only to spare you the agony of being the third wheel, but also in the hope of pulling Namjoon out of his dating slump. Not that you would ever notice, as you were knee-deep in exam session, sleep deprived and buried in a mountain of law books.

Poor Namjoon somehow ended up carrying the weight of being third and fourth wheel simultaneously.

But you eventually made up for it, once your exams were over and had a proper 18 hours of sleep.

In no time you wiggled your way into his heart, transforming those awkward double dates into enjoyable hangouts. You’d spend countless hours discussing everything from books to the latest plot twists in popular dramas, to sharing dreams, fears and hopes.

As Myeong and Jin’s relationship blossomed, they gradually faded into the background of your outings, until they were eventually excluded all together. And neither of you seemed to mind, as you found it easier to focus on your conversations without their constant chatter.

That and they couldn’t be quiet in movie theatres like decent human beings.

It was during one of these outings that Namjoon realized just how alluring he found you. The way your eyes lit up when you laughed at one of his jokes made his heart race. Your sharp mind and wit were a match made in heaven for him. And your ability to render him speechless was both infuriating and exhilarating.

But Namjoon also knew that you were deeply committed to your studies, and he didn't want to do anything to distract you from your goals. So, he held back, admiring you from a distance and hoping that someday things might be different.

And as time passed, and he graduated, he came to terms with the fact that you two would never be more than casual friends.

Little did he know that the universe had its own wicked sense of humor. When fate decided to play its sly hand and leave you virtually homeless, because your respective roommates decided to take the next step in their relationship and move in together.

It was only logical, then, for the two of you to shack up as well. After all, you were friends, both neat freaks, and most of all, desperately in need of a roommate.

“The roommate switch”, as Jimin so eloquently put it.

And thus began the most wonderful living arrangement Namjoon ever experienced. Not that he would never tell Jin that.

Suddenly, his bathroom cabinet resembled a Bath and Body works store, and your pink pots and pans had taken over his kitchen. But he wouldn’t mind, seeing that the cooking interdiction was extended, once Jin started recounting all the times Namjoon almost turned their previous apartment into a bonfire during your housewarming bash.

However, you never scolded him for his butterfingers because, truth be told, you had your own healthy dose of clumsiness, (the cup chilling in the trash an indisputable witness to it).

It was quite refreshing to find someone who shared his knack for dropping things.

And he made up for all the free meals by taking care of the dishes. He even went above and beyond by meticulously following the odd care instructions for your fancy pots.

And the rest of your household chores fell into perfect harmony.

He willingly handled all the ironing, including your own, simply because you couldn’t be bothered. In return, you would dutifully clean the lint tray in the dryer, even when it was his turn to do the laundry, because he found it absolutely disgusting, and you couldn’t resist the opportunity to gross him out.

It suddenly dawned on him why all his friends were convinced that you two were together. He was smitten with you, after all.

But again, time has worked its magic! His infatuation had been long departed, so he could proceed with his plan and not let it affect your friendship in any way, shape or form!

“You know, I never quite understood the purpose of Secret Santa,” you confessed, pulling him out of his thoughts. “I mean, sure, it makes sense in a small group where you can actually get to know the person and buy them something nice. But in a corporate setting, where you’re thrown together with people from different departments, it makes absolutely no sense!” you spoke with passion, even stirring the milk a little harder, causing an impish smile to dance across his face.

“Because you end up with situations like this, where creepy Greg from the watercooler suddenly feels the need to win my graces and splurge on stupidly expensive hot chocolate.”

Namjoon was familiar with your HR endeavors involving Greg, especially after he hit on one of your colleagues.

“Do you want to know how much this monstrosity costs?” you asked, trying to contain your amusement at the sheer absurdity of it all. Pouring the cocoa into the milk and placing the mugs in front of him, you couldn’t help but grin.

“Surprise me,” Namjoon took a sip, which he regretted because he choked once you answered,

“Sixty dollars!”

“That’s absolutely ridiculous” he coughed, once he regained control of his lungs.

The hot chocolate was nice, but nowhere close to justifying the hefty price tag. For all he knew, it could have been dollar store cocoa. But your contagious laugh made it all worthwhile, and he couldn’t help but think that maybe Greg deserved to lose his Christmas bonus on overpriced cocoa that you both would mock.

“Tastes like cardboard” you concluded after a mouthful, “maybe it was meant for that hideous mug your ex gave you,” you teased, earning a puzzled look. “This has horrible taste,” you tack on, noticing his raised eyebrow “just like your exes.”

“I’m not sure if I should be offended by that,” he replied, feigning offense.

“Well, they did break up with you, so clearly their taste is questionable,” You ruffled his hair as you walked past him, your cocoa abandoned on the table.

This wasn’t uncommon in your friendship. Afterall, you were his biggest supporter, as he was yours. But now, with the odd favor he was about to ask you; he couldn’t help but ponder your words for longer than usual. Until he heard the door to your room close and he realized he was left alone in the kitchen.

“Any updates on that flight of yours?” he asked, shooting a glance towards your door. Perhaps the universe would take pity on him and spare him the embarrassment he was dreading.

“Still in January!” you hollered back, your voice muffled by the commotion in your room.

“Ah, cool, cool…” he muttered under his breath, more to psych himself up and gather the courage needed to go over and make a complete fool of himself.

“Are you still planning on heading home?” your voice was barely audible amidst the movement, so he walked over and propped himself against your door to keep the conversation going.

“Yeah, that’s the plan.” He replied absentmindedly massaging the back of his neck.

Not unless he can find a girlfriend for the week. “Hey,” he continued, his voice devoid of any moisture, “can I ask you a favor?”

The door swung open, almost causing him to stumble, to reveal you, wearing pajama bottoms and a black tank top, clutching one of his sweaters.

“Depends.” You answered flatly. “Mind if I borrow this?” you gestured towards the sweater, awaiting his nod of approval before slipping it on and sauntering past him to claim your usual spot on the couch. With your feet cozily tucked under the cushion, you scrolled through your phone, probably looking up another horrible movie you’d force him to watch. Oblivious to the fact that you ticked off another item on his mental checklist: looking damn good in his clothes.

“Okay” he took a deep breath and settled down beside you, his posture impeccable and his gaze fixed on the blank tv screen. You glanced over intrigued by his sudden shift in behavior.

“This is going to be weird, and you can tell me to fuck off any moment this makes you uncomfortable. And I promise I’ll never bring it up again, and we can pretend this never happened,” he stumbled over his words, a stark contrast to his usually calmed and composed demeanor.

Your mind raced, conjuring up the worst-case scenarios as you slowly set aside your phone, captivated by every word leaving his mouth.

Was he about to kick you out?

That only seemed to aggravate whatever Namjoon was on, as he continued to mumble, insisting that you didn’t have to agree to it if you didn’t want to. Which didn’t make any sense, because if he was going to kick you out, he should at least have the balls to tell you straight forward.

You gently collected his hands, causing him to halt abruptly. His wide eyes finally locked with yours as you softly uttered “Just tell me.” You peered up at him, bracing yourself for the worst, and completely unprepared for what was to follow.

“Will you please do me a solid and pretend to be my girlfriend for a week?” he stammered, unable to maintain eye contact, his voice fading into a whisper towards the end.

“What?”

“I might have told my mom I’m in a relationship, and now I desperately need a stand-in girlfriend for the next few days” he confessed sheepishly, quickly adding, “But seriously, if you’re uncomfortable with this, just say the word and we can erase this whole conversation from existence.”

“Oh my goodness, Namjoon,” you breathed out in relief, a laugh escaping your lips as you rested your head on his lap, leaving him even more perplexed. “I thought you were kicking me out.”

“What?” he chuckled, watching you raise a few seconds later, rubbing your eyes before fixing your gaze on him, contemplating his request.

“How can you be so brilliant and so dumb at the same time? Just call your mom back…”

“No, you don’t get it. I can’t do that. If I do, she’ll set me up with the neighbor’s daughter again” Namjoon explained, clearly not in the right mindset to entertain that idea again.

“You want me to lie to your mother?” you asked incredulously.

“Please don’t phrase it like that.” he covered his face, deflating completely besides you.

“This is essentially what you are asking me to do... I don’t know how that makes me feel. Your mom, by the way, is an absolute sweetheart…” you trailed off, observing him intently as he brushed away the hair in his eyes.

You didn’t get to know her too well, but the last time she visited she made sure to stock up your whole fridge with homecooked meals. And to top it off, she even baked cookies especially for you once Namjoon mentioned he had a new roommate.

The discussion, however, took a bit of an unexpected turn when she realized the roommate was you. A girl and not another frat guy. But she quickly developed a fondness for you. Or at least, that’s what you believed when she gave you the tightest hug goodbye.

“I know. It’s a stupid idea.” He muttered, rubbing his face a bit harder than necessary. Then he locked eyes with you and continued. “I am well aware of how dumb this is. And that is exactly why I need you there with me.” His statement left you dumbfounded, completely unable to find any words. “I just want to go home and relish in the fact that I am there without constantly worrying about being single.” he took a shaky breath before continuing,

“I can’t comprehend why my mom is so fixated on this matter.” He paused for a moment, gathering his thoughts. “I just need someone to navigate this absurdity with me for the holidays, and then we never mention it again.”

His little speech left you stunned, and before you knew it, you were actually considering his proposal.

Your Christmas plan was already ruined, and agreeing would mean that you would not be confined to your couch, enduring cheesy Hallmark movies and crying alone on Christmas eve.

Moreover, you were convinced that you had moved on from the little crush you had on him back when you met. Refusing still to admit that you’ve always had a soft spot for the gentle giant that slowly became a staple in your life, and that spending the holidays with him would be the best scenario that could ever happen.

But could you make it through this without getting your heart trampled and your friendship going up in smoke? As these thoughts started to swirl in your mind, your eyes began to wander aimlessly. From his eyes to his chiseled cheekbones and strong jawline, down to his neck and collarbone, and finally to his impressively muscular chest that seemed to only have grown since he started attending the gym religiously with Jungkook. And not to mention those arms that give the most incredible bear hugs. It was strange to allow yourself to notice his physicality in such detail, as if you had been willfully blind to his newfound buffness until now.

“Forget it, I’m sorry I asked,” he said, sensing your hesitation and preparing to end his suffering. But you stopped him in his tracks.

“If we are going to do this, we need a plan.” His eyes light up, color returning to his cheeks, before he squeezed you in a tight embrace “and just so you know, you owe me,” you laughed once he released you.

“Yes, yes, of course, whatever you want.”

“You take out the trash for a month,” he was too quick to nod “and I want you to take me to that bakery you and Jin always rave about.”

“Ajumeoni’s bakery?” he smiled at your request. That was the bakery Namjoon visited with his sister every Friday as a child, and every other day with Jin, on their way to school, because the milk bread was to die for. “Of course. It’s already part of the commute, so consider it done.”

“Good. We have a deal then,” you extended your hand as if sealing a business agreement, instead of setting yourselves up for a disaster. He reciprocated with a firm shake, and you swiftly retrieved your notepad from the coffee table. “So, what’s the plan?”

“Well, let’s establish a few key details about us. We need to become well-acquainted with each other’s personal preferences, so it doesn’t come across like we are just… pretending” he looked over at you as you scribbled.

“I mean, it’s a digestible story already. Two oblivious roommates, suddenly realizing they have feelings for one another after living together for years.” You mused, only to be met with his response.

“And once this is all over, we can simply tell everyone that we figured out we were better off as friends than lovers,” he pondered aloud.

“Right,” you replied, looking up from your notebook “How long have we been dating?”

“Anywhere from three to six months” he promptly answered and you jot it down before firing off your next question.

“And why haven’t we told any of our friends and family?”

“To avoid the inevitable ‘I knew it!’ and because we like the trill of keeping a secret.”

“Fair enough,” you chuckled “So, how did we get together?”

“You finally realized how charming I am and just couldn’t contain yourself?” he flashed a cheeky smile and you playfully deflect by giving his chest a gentle push.

“How about your birthday party?” you offered “We were both buzzed enough to share a kiss and then you confessed?”

“Why do I confess?” he whined, peering over at your notebook page where you already wrote down your version of events.

“Because I’m shy about that kind of stuff” you mumble, burying your face in the cozy confines of his sweater, avoiding any potential eye contact.

“That’s adorable,”

“Shut up.” You chuckle “Alright, is there anything I should know about you?”

“I’m not a big fan of PDA, especially when we’re out and about, so don’t expect me to be all over you.” He rubbed his chin thoughtfully. “But since we’re going home and pretending to be a couple, what level of affection are you comfortable with?”

“Well, I’m comfortable with you,” you cleared your throat, that bit of information being more truthful than intended “we can hold hands, and do normal couple stuff.”

“How do you feel about kissing?”

“Well, yeah, sure,” you responded nonchalantly, eyes fixating on the notepad in your hands.

A mischievous grin played on his lips as he teased, “Good, because I happen to be quite fond of leaving hickeys.” That broke you out of your little spiral, rolling your eyes at his poor attempt.

As if you weren’t already aware of this tidbit from his past conquests during your college days, before you two became roommates.

“You do know this is all pretend, right?” you retorted, refusing to take the bait.

“Oh, but baby, we’ve got to make it feel real,” he insisted, his tone dripping with charm. However, it did nothing to sway your logical approach to it.

“Right, ‘baby’” -you said it as if it was a legal term, “any preferences for pet names?”

Your serious charade did little to detour him. “Just promise me that our interactions won’t be like Jin and Myeong’s.” He smiles, eyes twinkling with mischief. “And surprise me, I’ll be putty in your hands.”

“So, you are not set on honorifics. I can call you Oppa if you want,” little did you know, your innocent suggestion struck a hidden chord within him. A new kink that needed further assessment later on, preferably after this week was over.

“That won’t be necessary,” he said, clearing his throat and reclining against the couch. “Anything I should know about you?”

You pondered his question for a few seconds, allowing a sly smile to play your lips. “I don’t like feet.”

“No duh!” he laughed, shaking his head in disbelief, before regaining his composure. With a meticulous air, he went over all the details once more. “Ah, you need a new background on your phone.”

Swiftly, he snatched your phone form the coffee table, catching you off guard, and planted a quick kiss on your cheek before snapping a selfie. “Perfect,” he declared, a proud smile spreading across his face as he set the picture as your home screen and background, leaving you to gather your frenzied thoughts.

“But wait, you also need a new photo,” You retorted, only to find him already one step ahead, pulling out his phone from his pajama bottoms and scrolling through his camera roll.

“Done.” He announced, turning his phone towards you to reveal the horrendous picture he had chosen as his own home screen.

A candid shot he took during your last year at college, on one of those late-night noodles runs to the local shop next to the library. You were draped in an oversized hoodie, greedily slurping a mouthful of noodles. With eyes blissfully shut, you savored every bite, as it was your first meal of that day, completely oblivious to his hidden photography skills.

It wasn’t until you accidentally stumbled upon your caller ID that you saw it and naturally, grabbed the nearest pillow and hurled it at him, demanding an immediate change. But he stood his ground, claiming it was his favorite photo of you.

Claim proven yet again as now it was Namjoon’s home screen.

“I hate that photo.”

“I know.” He gave a smile, before safely tucking his phone back in his pocket, and rose to his feet, stretching leisurely. “I think we are good to go, girlfriend,” he said it in such a way that sent a swarm of butterflies fluttering in your stomach. “I’ll go book our train tickets, and you better start packing soon,” he playfully pointed at you, before gracefully disappearing into his room to retrieve his laptop.

“Oh, wait, I need to get a present for your mom!”

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

Before the train even arrived in the station, the sky was threatening to unleash upon you. The air filled with delicate snowflakes, determined to bury you, Namjoon, and your luggage. But it was yesterday’s conversation that still lingered in the atmosphere, weighing heavy on both your minds.

The darkness of the night had given you both time to process what was about to unfold. Your only anchor on reality being Namjoon’s surprisingly warm hand clasping your freezing one, and tucking it away in his warm coat pocket.

And the fact that he looked like he just strolled out of the latest winter Vogue edition for men didn’t help. While you attempted to make a lasting impression, donning a cream knitted dress, black stockings and boots, topped off with a cream coat, that was far too flimsy for the weather, Namjoon effortlessly sported a navy-blue hoodie, snug jeans and a stylish black trench coat, and even a matching beanie that made his hair look absolutely flawless.

But beyond his impeccable fashion sense, he also proved to be quite the gentleman. Not that you ever doubted it, but now he seemed determined to showcase his chivalry. He wouldn’t even let you lock the door to your own apartment. It was a miracle he allowed you to carry the bottle of Chardonnay you insisted on getting his family, despite his protests that it wasn't necessary. You slightly regretted it now, seeing as your other hand was enduring the elements, instead of being intertwined with his.

“You have snow in your hair,” you pointed out, stating the obvious with the brilliance of a water-is-wet revelation.

“As do you.” he looked up from his phone, where he was engrossed in checking the train’s schedule for any potential delays. “And your lips are blue.” with a swift motion, he untangled his scarf and gently draped it around your freezing form. Something he had done many a time before, anytime he saw you slightly cold, but never before had you considered this gesture to be more than your friend looking out for you.

But today, things were different. Today you were pretending to be his girlfriend.

The sudden surge of warmth that enveloped you left you wondering if it was due to all your blood rushing to your cheeks or his scarf possessing some sort of magical heating abilities.

“It says here that the snow storm shouldn’t intervene with the scheduling, so the train will be here in a few minutes.” He looked up again, a cheerful grin appearing across his features as he caught sight of your pink face. “Aw you’re blushing again,”

“Shut up.” you retorted with the quick-wittedness of a third-grader.

“If I would have known it was this easy to make you flush, I would have made my fictional moves much sooner.” His voice did that thing again, where it went slightly deeper and, only the look in his eyes ticking you off to his teasing.

Your only response was to nervously nibble on your lip. Again, the realization that you are about to deceive not only his mother, but his entire family nestle in your chest, squeezing at your heart like a snake wrapped around it.

“Namjoon, I’m not sure about this.” you confessed, pulling the scarf closer to your face. It was a bit late to be getting cold feet, but this was your last opportunity to speak your mind before embarking on this little ordeal. “I don’t think I can pull this off.”

“Come on now, aren’t you an intern at a law firm?” he raised a playful eyebrow, attempting to ease the tension, but you only glared at him.

“I can’t lie.” You stated firmly “I’m the absolute worse at it. That is why I always find alternative ways of convey the truth. That’s what lawyers do. We don’t resort to lies.”

"I'm sorry, I didn't mean it like that," he quickly apologized, before falling silent for a few seconds to ponder a solution. "Okay, listen. You don’t have to say anything."

"What do you mean?" you looked up at him, a hint of skepticism in your voice.

"I can take care of all the relationship talk, and I won’t say anything unless prompted.” he replied, trying to inject a touch of wit into his response. “Afterall, you are just my friend that just happens to be a girl.” He playfully wiggled his eyebrows at you “And I want you to spend Christmas with me and my family instead of being alone at home.” Namjoon gave you a sincere smile, and you couldn’t help but smile back, feeling the grip on your heart slightly loosen.

“Okay,” you gave a small nod “Thank you Joon.”

The nickname slipped by unnoticed, but you noticed the way Namjoon reacted, rekindling your burning cheeks.

“So, no Oppa?”

When your train arrived, Namjoon swiftly took charge, effortlessly carrying all the bags to your seats, settling in comfortably for the four-hour journey ahead.

He had come prepared, armed with at least three books to keep himself entertained, while you had grand plans of getting a head start on your work, perhaps even sneaking in a personal lecture and a quick power nap. However, much to your surprise, the allure of a nap quickly surpassed all other ambitions, your head found a cozy resting place on Namjoon’s shoulder, and you drifted off into a blissful slumber for the remainder of the journey. A sleepless night imagining what it would be like pretending to date your roommate could do that to you.

Only stirring awake when you were less than a few minutes away, because Namjoon was constantly shifting in his seat, half of his body numb from your weight on him.

“Oh hey,” he whispered, swiftly stretching his legs as soon as you moved off him. “I just spoke to Minhi, she said she’d come pick us up from the train station,”

“Oh, that’s nice.” you yawned, rubbing away any remnants of sleep from your eyes “You could have told me to move, you know.”

“Yes, but you looked so peaceful. It felt almost wrong to disturb you.” He grinned, fully aware that he also indulged in a little nap, using your head as a pillow just half an hour ago.

“Shut up,” you whispered, poking his thigh and retrieving your makeup bag to quickly fix your face before the train pulled up in the station.

The frigid air pierced through your very bones, sending an instant shiver cascading down your spine as you stepped into the snow filled air. You pull your coat tighter around yourself, trying to ward off the cold as you looked around for Minhi, seeing as Namjoon was on luggage duty again.

However, before you could spot her, Minhi’s voice sliced through the chilly air,

“Kim Namjoon, you have got to be kidding me.”

Namjoon’s little sister, all bundled up in a thick winter coat had fixed you two with a piercing stare, her hands on her hips in a classic display of sibling disapproval.

Namjoon’s wonky smile did nothing to deter her piercing gaze, or calm any of your fraying nerves. “It’s good to see you too?”

You feel your heart drop as Minhi's gaze shifts from her brother to you, her expression a mix of confusion and suspicion. Your worst fears are confirmed - she's figured you out and you haven’t even been off the train for 5 minutes. Now Namjoon will be married off to some rich middle-aged woman and you'll never be able to look him in the eye again.

You can feel the heat rising to your cheeks, and you look away, silently praying that the snow beneath your boots doesn’t melt into a puddle while she stares.

But then, unexpectedly, Minhi starts to laugh. At first, it's a quiet chuckle, but soon it grows into a full-blown laugh. She laughs so hard that she has to hold her stomach, and at the end she wiped an imaginary tear from the corner of her eye.

“You two are perfect for each other,” she says still chuckling “Fine, I’ll play along. How did you two end up together?”

“Got drunk one night.” Namjoon casually replied, rubbing the back of his neck before wrapping his arm around you, “Turns out all I had to do was say something, because she was all over me the next second.”

Minhi raised her eyebrow, clearly unconvinced. “Right,” She hugged Namjoon tightly, and then turned to you, surprising you with a warm embrace. She muttered something about Namjoon never confessing his feelings in your coat, but you were too busy drowning in a whirlwind of confusion and relief to register it.

“We'll talk more later about how inappropriate this is." She added cheerfully, beckoning you to follow her towards her little yellow jeep, bright against the snowy backdrop.

You look back at Namjoon just in time to catch him winking in your direction and giving you a thumbs-up that sent your heart whirling in your chest.

The car ride was over faster than you would have wanted. Minhi navigated the snow-laden road while she and Namjoon chatted away about mundane topics—work, rent, the best coffee in town. You sank deeper into the backseat, overwhelmed and lost in your thoughts. Because What the hell was that and If this was how you were kicking things off you might as well turn around now. Was it just fear of ruining the friendship or was an old crush budding again? The way he ‘claimed’ you in front of Minhi clearly ignited something in your chest that was not appropriate for friends or roommates or roommate-friends pretending to be dating.

As if sensing your turmoil from the front, Namjoon caught your eyes, giving you a gentle, reassuring smile before the car came to a halt. He gallantly opened the door for you, his hand grasping yours and squeezing it tightly.

“I got you, baby,” he says, teasingly, but the poorly-timed joke earns him an immediate glare and an elbow to the ribs.

“Oh, come on. They are lovely people.” Minhi interrupts before Namjoon can retaliate, “You should’ve seen the way mom was dancing around the kitchen once she heard Namjoon was bringing someone over.”

You just blink at her, your breath misting in the air as you unconsciously step closer to Namjoon, giving him a small nod of support. His presence radiates warmth, his fingers tightening around yours as you walked towards the small house that looms in front of you. Minhi ambles ahead, dropping her bag near the entrance, while you could practically feel Namjoon vibrating with excitement.

“Someone’s in trouble” She whispers dramatically, letting you both into the warmth of the household, where laughter and the mouthwatering scent of home-cooked food intertwine. You follow her into the kitchen and you see the older couple husting about, half-focused on a pot bubbling over the stove and half on each other.

“Mom! Dad! Look who I’ve brought!” she announces, and the couple turned, smiles blooming as they spotted you and Namjoon.

For a fleeting moment, you felt exposed. Like an exhibit at a museum, thrust into the spotlight. Your breath hitched as Namjoon gently nudged you forward, a gesture both comforting and terrifying, but steeling yourself, you bravely stepped ahead, bowing as a sign of respect.

“I knew it!” The affectionate glow sweeping across Mrs. Kim face relaxed your nerves considerably, “I’m so glad you could make it!” her eyes sparkled with genuine delight, and you suddenly realized that Namjoon inherited his dimples from her. But the thought was quickly squeezed out of you as she enveloped you in that bone-crushing hug.

Namjoon’s father, a tall elderly man with kind eyes, patted him on the back. His approval apparent, before he turned his attention to you, “Welcome to our home,” he said warmly.

“I’m honored to be here.” You managed to respond, your voice quacking slightly but laced with sincerity. You heard Minhi groaning in the background but did your best to ignore her exaggerations and focus only on Namjoon’s parents, as you exchanged the required pleasantries.

“Dinner is almost ready,” Mrs. Kim said, bustling around the kitchen with effortless grace. The contrast between her elegant movements and Namjoon’s clumsy demeanour in the kitchen made you smile inwardly “I hope you’re hungry.”

“Yes, we didn’t get a chance to eat today,” Namjoon added quickly, casually leaning against the counter and stealing a taste from the simmering pot.

“I’ll call you over once it’s done. Go show our guest to your room until then,” Mrs. Kim commanded, expertly shooing him away from the stove and passing plates to Minhi.

“My room?” Namjoon echoed, his eyes widening as if the concept had floored him.

“Yes, dear. I know we are old-fashioned, but we are not under any illusions that you two don’t already share a room.” Mrs. Kim replied, stirring the bubbling pot without sparing him a glance.

Minhi shot you a look that was equal parts amusement and something you couldn’t quite place—sympathy, perhaps? Or pity?

“Yes- No. I just thought that it would be more appropriate to let her have the guest room,” Namjoon articulated, his voice half-hearted in its conviction.

Mrs. Kim merely cooed, waved away his protests with a flick of the wrist. “Minhi and Jackson are staying in the guest room. You can have your room.”

“Come on, Namjoon. You always make everything so complicated,” Minhi chimed in, her voice laced with mischief. “Just accept it. You guys will have an entire night to sort things out, right?”

“Right.” he grumbled, shooting her a glare that softened as he turned his gaze back to you “Let’s get you settled in,” he gestured for you to follow him.

The moment you step into Namjoon's room, a charged silence enveloped you- like the kind that proceeds a brewing storm. The room was exactly as you imagined, a blend of cooler minimalist décor and hints of his personal touch, a few pieces of art and pictures hung up on the wall, all whispering tales of youth, friendship and moments you yearned to know more about.

But all those sweet memories fade into the background as the reality settled in: there was only one bed.

“So, let me get this straight,” you began, the awkwardness hanging heavily in the air “You thought about everything, including phone wallpapers, but forgot you only have one bed in your room?”

“No, of course not.” He lied, that endearing grin spreading across his face. “I just thought it would be polite to let you have the bed… since you’re my guest.” He seemed genuinely proud of the excuse, but that pride melted when you teased,

“Before or after you plan for the guest room fell through?”

“After.” He admitted at last, glancing away, as if the walls held all the explanations he could not muster.

“Don’t tell me you planned on sleeping on the floor too,” for a brief moment the ridiculous image of him curled up on the hardwood floor, blankets draped haphazardly around him pops into your mind, and you couldn’t help but giggle.

“No.” He smiles, “I knew you’d take pity on my lower back,” his dimples deepened and you playfully rolled your eyes at him.

“Very strategic Mr. Kim,” you laugh, walking further into the room and taking a seat on the edge of the bed. The playful banter creating a familiar atmosphere, dissolving any lingering tension. A part of you almost couldn't believe you were in Namjoon’s personal space, taking your sweet time admiring the various little parts of him decorating the room, while another part was acutely aware of his gaze on you, observing you as if he were trying to read your thoughts.

He stepped closer, his expression sincere, drawing you in gently as he took your hands in his. “Are you sure?” The tentative nature of his voice hinted at a deeper question—he was about to add an ‘I was only joking’—but you quickly shushed him.

“Yes, of course.”

There were a few past occurrences where the two of you ended up falling asleep together on the couch, limbs tangled under the fuzzy throw blanket, with a movie playing in the background. Without fail, one of you would wake up in the morning to find the other wrapped around them, as the night was chilly and body heat was a rare luxury. Most of the time it was Namjoon that dozed off first, his head lolling in an awkward position until you gently nudged him into a more comfortable posture, knowing he’d whine about neck and/or shoulder pain come morning time if you didn’t. But his lug of a body was always warm, so you didn’t mind snuggling closer to him when it mattered.

This was more of the same. Just in a bed.

You swallow drily, eyes flickering away for a quick second, “I told you, I’m comfortable with you.”

“Come on, lovebirds!” Minhi’s voice rang through the door, breaking the spell. “Dinner’s ready!”

You shared a hurried glance, perspectives shifting as the familiar nervousness rushed back to you.

“Ready?” he asked, his smile spreading across his face, deepening the dimples in his cheeks as he tugged you up to your feet. You nodded, suddenly buoyed by a sense of belonging.

To your surprise, dinner goes by without a hitch. You may have gone a little overboard on the kimchi, but it wasn’t anything you wouldn’t recover from. However, the warmth of Namjoon’s hand resting softly on your thigh might etch itself into your memory for all time.

Halfway through the meal, Jackson showed up, and you got to observe with amusement as Minhi transformed in his presence, her demeanor shifting from the laid-back hostess to a giddy schoolgirl. The way she playfully nudged Jackson, her eyes sparkling each time she teased him, be it about his late arrival or some inside joke, was a refreshing sight. And you couldn’t help but snicker each time Mrs. Kim would chastise them, before dotting lovingly on anything you and Namjoon did together.

As the lively conversation flowed around you, you leaned into Namjoon’s warmth. It felt easy, and so right to nestle beside him, to let your fingers brush against his with familiarity, each touch igniting tiny sparks. You stole a glance at him, watching as he engaged wholeheartedly in the conversation, his contagious laughter filling the room.

After dinner, you offered to help Mrs. Kim clear up the table, even if it was to get a second to clear your thoughts, but to your surprise, Mr. Kim placed a soft hand on your shoulder, smiling, as he gently guided you back to your seat.

“You’ve done enough, dear,” he said, his tone warm and reassuring “We appreciate your help, but tonight is for you and Namjoon to enjoy.” He gave you a kind nod, and you felt your cheeks warm.

“Yeah, there will be dishes tomorrow too,” Minhi interrupted, getting a heartfelt laughter from her father before he left the room, to join his wife in the kitchen.

You shared a sheepish glance with Namjoon, who watched the exchange with an amused smile. His eyes twinkling in the soft light of the dining room, and you felt your heart pick-up the pace in your chest again. You really needed to get away, perhaps splash some cold water on your face. But just as you felt the urge to excuse yourself, you overheard Jackson's whispered confusion.

“Wait, so they’re not actually dating?” His voice was muted, and laced with confusion as he looked between you and Namjoon, his eyes wide with bewilderment.

“Kyung Min!” Namjoon called Minhi by her full name, which made her owlishly blink up at him.

“What? He asked how long you two have been dating for,” she defended.

“And you couldn’t just say three months, like a normal person?” Namjoon shot back, half laughing, half exasperated and watched as her brows knitted.

“No! He deserves to know.” She persisted, glaring at her brother, and you felt the heat crawl up your neck, trying desperately to remain inconspicuous under Jackson’s incredulous stare.

“So how exactly does this work?” Jackson asked, stopping the siblings from their bickering “Is it like friends with benefits or-?” just when you thought it couldn’t get any more awkward, the sip of water you took ended up going down the wrong way, making you choke and sputter.

“No! it’s nothing like that.” You stammered, trying to form a coherent thought, but all you could manage was a mangled mess of words.

“No babe, they don’t even kiss,” Minhi added, placing her hand over his as if she were breaking some bad news.

But Namjoon reacted with the prove-your-sibling-wrong part of the brain, making you stare at him in disbelief.

“Not that it’s any of your business, but we do.”

And your pulse picked up again when you saw him leaning in, the implication clear in your mind. You steeled yourself, closing your eyes. But to your astonishment, he didn’t press his lips against yours as you had envisioned. Instead, they grazed the curve of your cheek, followed by a loud, exaggerated kiss.

“I’m confused.” Jackson mumbled, looking over at Minhi as she rolled her eyes.

“You’re not the only one.”

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

Why didn’t he just kiss you?

The thought still lingered stubbornly at the edge of consciousness, even as the icy water from the shower jolted you into the present. You fumbled with the knobs, trying to figure out the right temperature, but your mind was elsewhere.

That scene kept on replaying on a constant loop in your head, each time leaving you just as stumped.

What stopped him?

You talked about this- he brought it up! And you agreed, so what was the hold-up? Was he really so uninterested that the mere thought of kissing you sent him into retreat mode?

Frustration bubbled up alongside the steam, and you invertedly cringed at the image of his nervous smile that still haunted you, his eyes darting away. Scrubbing harder at your skin, you wish the shame and embarrassment would simply wash away with the suds.

And the absurdity of getting worked over your friend not kissing you was not lost on you, but at least if he had gone for it, you might have been able to push that nagging question aside ~What would it be like to kiss Namjoon?

His lips looked so soft, like they were meant for more than just talking…

You violently shook that thought away, and with a resigned sigh, you turned the water back to cold in an attempt to wash away your sins. Friends don’t kiss!

And he clearly wasn’t interested, so the sooner you silence these thoughts, the sooner you could go back to being normal. Just four more days of pretending to be his girlfriend. You could manage that. And after, you promised yourself you’d lock yourself in your room and avoid human interaction for rest of your miserable life.

As the water continued its relentless pour, you felt your fingertips start to wrinkle, a reminder that perhaps it was time to step out of this session of self-pity. With one last shudder, you turned the water off, determined to face the world- if only for a little while longer.

When you stepped out of the bathroom, the soft glow of a lamp illuminated the room. Namjoon was already tucked into bed, gold-rimmed glasses perched on his nose as he quietly looked over the pages of a book. Only, in reality he hadn’t been able to absorb a single word in the past fifteen minutes, his gaze lost in a world of his own.

Silently, you made your way to your side, wrapping yourself in the blanket and turning your back to him. A slight shiver coursed through you as you felt the warmth envelop you, the little tremor alerting Namjoon to your presence.

“Why are you so cold?” he asked softly, shifting slightly closer to you.

Your heart thudded at the caring tone, and for a moment, all the questions crowd your mind again.

Instead of answering, you huffed in frustration and turned to face him.

“Why didn’t you kiss me?” the words blurted out before you could stop them, surprising you both with their boldness, but your face flushed when you met his gaze.

Namjoon’s eyes widened, and he froze, the book forgotten on his lap. “I-I don’t know.” He stuttered, his hand running though his tousled hair, the soft strands falling back in place but not hiding the flush creeping up his neck. You watched the muscles in his jaw tense, eyes averted again in a way that tightened your stomach.

“It would’ve convinced Minhi sooner,” your added, your words hanging heavy in the air. Namjoon chuckled awkwardly, running that same hand down his face.

“You want me to kiss you?”

You hesitated, the corners of your mind fanatically searching for a safe answer

“I’m just saying it would’ve made things easier,” you deflected, avoiding his question much like he had done moments before.

He studied you for a moment, gears visibly turning in his mind before his lips curved into a small, daring smile. “Because I can kiss you if you want.”

Your breath caught in your throat, surprised by the sudden shift in tension.

“Now?” you breathed.

“Why not?” he shrugged “We’re both clearly anxious about it, so why not just get it over with?”

Your mouth opened and closed like a fish out of water, lost for words, staring up at him. All the courage from before evaporating into thin air. You quickly searched his features, seeking the playful glint, the laughter behind his eyes, but instead, his eyes just flickered from yours to your lips.

“Do you want to kiss me?” you finally found the words, and his eyes snapped back to your own.

“I think it would make things easier going forward,” he replied, his voice low and earnest.

A heavy silence settled between you, stretching like an elastic ready to snap at any moment, as snowflakes continued to drift outside, dressing the world in white.

You took a deep breath, “Fine.” Ultimately you mumbled, sitting up against the headboard and turning to face him.

“Are you sure?”, The way he phrased it made your stomach flop, as if he were validating a choice that seemed both reckless and somehow still challenged you.

“Yes, now stop talking and just-” The words were lost as the space between you disappeared. But now you knew; his lips were soft, warm and tentative against yours. It felt wonderful, and sent tingles shooting through your veins while your heart tried erratically to catch up. He hesitated for a heartbeat- less than a fraction of a second- before he leaned further in, deepening the kiss, his hand coming up to cradle your cheek. And you soften against him, all the tension melting away. Your hands found their way to his shoulders, gripping lightly as if anchoring yourself amidst the storm of emotions that released once you tasted his mint toothpaste.

When he finally pulled back, both of you gasping for breath, the world resumed its muted noised- the quiet hum of the heater, the faint sound of voices downstairs, Namjoon’s breath against your lips. You could hardly meet his eyes, until you heard the first thing that left his lips.

“I just kissed you.”

Your eyebrow arched, blinking at him as if waiting for the punchline that never came.

“I know. I- was there too.” You replied, a little smile creeping on your face despite the rapid thump of your heart. Namjoon laughed softly; his cheeks still tinged with a shade of pink. “You’re a good kisser.” You added after a few beats of silence, before chewing on your lip, and unintentionally drawing his attention back to them.

“You too,” He gave a curt nod, remembering he has a book on his lap and fumbling to bookmark and put it away.

Another moment of silence followed once he settled back, and your eyes desperately scanned the walls for something, anything to say.

“This isn’t weird, is it?” you settled on the worst option, slightly cringing.

“No!” he answered louder than he anticipated, slightly shocking you which in return startled him. “I mean-” he let out an exasperated breath, “Friends kiss all the time.”

He didn’t believe it. And neither did you. But you still nodded in agreement.

#namjoon x reader #namjoon x you #namjoon x oc #namjoon smut #bts smut #namjoon imagine #namjoon scenarios #knj x reader #bts x reader #bts x y/n #bts x you #bts x fem!reader #namjoon x y/n #the holiday pretense

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sapphire-writes · 1 year ago

Text

Bandaids & Butterflies (modern hospital AU)

Do No Harm part 2 || masterlist || next part

pairing: doctor!Aemond Targaryen x doctor!Reader

summary: Your week continues at Citedal General. You try to figure out what ails Cece Lannister while tensions rise between you and Aemond.

word count: 4.1k

disclaimer: yall, I am not a doctor, I am simply a Grey's Anatomy stan. If something is off or incorrect please just suspend your disbelief! I am trying my best to make it as accurate as possible but its just for fun!!

warnings below the cut!

warnings: medical terminology, medications, CT scan, blood, infectious diseases referencing spicy times but nothing explicit in this chapter

dividers by the lovely @firefly-graphics

“What happened to you?” little Cece Lannister says when you walk into her room the following day, “You look terrible.”

There’s something about kids; like they’ve been force-fed truth serum and have to say the first thought that comes to their mind. You cock your head to the side, a smile tugging at the corner of your mouth.

“Cerelle,” her mother hisses, cheeks red at her daughter’s brutal honesty.

“What?” Cece says, eyebrows creasing together, “She does.”

“It’s okay, really,” you tell Mrs. Lannister, as she scolds her daughter again, “Maybe I should get a bed next to you.”

Cece shakes her head, golden curls vibrating as she does. Her hospital gown hangs too big, drooping off her thin shoulders. You wonder if she’s been eating much more than the ice cream they serve after dinner.

“No roommates, please. I like my alone time; I get to choose whatever station I want,” she says smiling, holding the remote control to the television on the wall.

“How’re you feeling this morning Cece?” you ask, reaching for the chart that hangs at the foot of her bed.

The nurses of Citadel General are on top of everything; without them, the hospital would not be able to function. You flip through her chart, eyes scanning her nighttime vitals.

“Okay,” Cece says, tugging the ear of her stuffed lion.

“I see they increased her muscle relaxant,” you note, “Did you have a hard time sleeping?”

“She always does but I think the spasms are getting worse, especially at night,” Mrs. Lannister says, concerned in her voice.

“Are you gonna have a scar?” Cece chimes in, pointing to her temple, mirroring where your stitches are.

“Cece-”

“Probably not,” you tell her, giving Mrs. Lannister a small smile, “The doctors here are pretty good you know.”

Cece leans over in her bed, pulling out a small toy doctor kit.

“I’m a good doctor too,” she says, rummaging through the bag, “Tyrion has had extensive surgical procedures.”

She points at her stuffed lion, and you suddenly notice the different array of bandages and band-aids covering the golden fur.

“Oh has he?” you ask, as Cece pats the bed beside her. You move to sit on the edge of the bed, holding her chart across your lap.

“Yes,” Cece says, holding out an assortment of bandaids for you to choose from, “I’ll let you choose. I like pink the best.”

You smile, pointing at the pink bandaid with yellow paw prints decorating it. Cece smiles, approving your choice. She peels the backing before pressing the bandage over your stitches, gently pressing on the edges to make sure it sticks.

“There, much better,” she tells you.

“Thank you, Dr. Lannister,” you tell her, which causes her to smile.

“There she is!” Jace calls as you arrive at the nurses' station. His face scrunches as he looks at your forehead, “Nice bandaid.”

“Thanks,” you say, touching the pink bandage, “Courtesy of Cece Lannister. You run that CT scan for her yesterday?”

“You mean after the ruckus you caused?” Jace asks, leaning against the nurses' station, “No, Baratheon put me in the pit. Which is probably where I will stay for the rest of my life.”

“Did anyone get a CT?” you ask, frowning at his theatrics.

“Um after you left Cory was supposed to cover her labs and stuff,” Jace tells you, “I’d ask her she’ll know-”

“Know what,” Sara says, placing a handful of clipboards between you, “I’ve been on scut duty all morning. Does anyone know why Baratheon is in such a foul mood?”

“Fouler than usual?” Nettles says, stepping up beside you.

“I’m not sure if I’m able to determine that,” Sara says, groaning, “But she definitely seems angry.”

“Excuse me! Excuse me!” Cory says, weaving through residents, holding two coffee cups above her head, “Seven hells, doesn’t anyone know how to walk in this place?”

“Apparently not,” Nettles comments, as Cory holds a coffee out to you.

“For you. Figured you’d need the extra caffeine,” she says as you take the cup. Her smile turns down into a frown, “What is on your head?”

You roll your eyes. This is clearly going to be a whole-day occurrence.

“Interns!” Dr. Baratheon’s voice calls out, and you all turn, straightening yourselves.

Dr. Baratheon looks down at her clipboard, before bringing her steely blue eyes to look at the five of you. She sighs, flipping through her pages.

“Martell, now that Dr. Y/L/N is back I want you to assist me on Lyonel Beesbury’s Whipple this afternoon; You can write that on the board,” she says, nodding to herself.

Cory lets out a soft ‘yes’ before quickly rushing across the hallway. Nettles’ jaw tightens and you can tell she’s disappointed to have not been asked.

“Waters I want you shadowing Dr. Targaryen today in pediatrics, Dr. Y/L/N you may join her,” Baratheon continues.

Targaryen.

Your heart lurches.

“Dr. Baratheon, I’m supposed to get Cece Lannister that CT scan,” you tell her, as she raises a brow.

“That’s fine. After that bring it to Dr. Targaryen up on peds, she’ll be interested in seeing it,” Dr. Baratheon says, returning her gaze to her clipboard.

“She?” you ask the question leaving your mouth before you can stop it.

Dr. Baratheon sighs, placing her clipboard across her stomach. Her eyebrows lift toward her hairline, blue eyes fiery.

“Yes, she,” Dr. Baratheon quips, “Was there someone else you thought I was referring to?”

“No ma’am,” you say, shaking your head.

“Good,” she says, eyes moving past you, “Snow, Velaryon, you’re in the pit.”

Sara and Jace audibly groan. Baratheon gives them a stern look which stops their complaining.

“No drama today,” she says sternly, “Understood?”

You all murmur words of agreement, and Dr. Baratheon brings her eyes back to your face; they flicker up to your forehead.

“Take that thing off,” she comments, shaking her head and walking down the hall.

“She’s right. You look silly,” Nettles tells you.

“I can’t take it off, it was a gift from a sick kid. You know how much bad luck that will bring me?” you tell her, walking down the hallway.

“Speaking of bad luck,” Nettles says, smiling, “When are you going to tell me about how you know Dr. Sexy?”

“Dr. Sexy?” you say through a laugh, “Not the greatest name.”

“Girl but he is sexy,” she says fanning herself, “Guy’s name should be McDreamy.”

“McDreamy, Dr. Sexy, it’s nothing,” you tell her, “We….we may have hooked up. Once! That’s it and it was before I knew he worked here.”

“You bad girl,” Nettles hisses, though she’s smiling; her eyes bright, “How was it? Does McDreamy live up to his name?”

“Literally the best sex of my life,” you tell her, “But we already decided it can’t happen again.”

“What?” she says, her smile dropping, “It’s not like he’s your boss, he’s a coworker! People fuck coworkers!”

“What happened to not shitting where you eat?” you tell her.

“Girl you already did, might as well see it through! Especially if he’s that good,” she says, leaning closer, “Just….how good, if I may be so bold.”

You wet your lips, trying to fight your smile.

“Five orgasms good,” you admit and Nettles squeals loudly, jaw dropping.

“That does it,” she says, “You’re getting Dr. Sexy back. Do it for me.”

“Don’t you need to get to peds?” you ask, “And see…Dr. Targaryen?”

“Yeah I noted your confusion around that,” she says with a sigh, “Dr. B was talking about Dr. Helaena Targaryen. You know, renowned pediatric surgeon? She does fabulous research on infectious diseases as well; she came and spoke once when I was in med school about…”

Your mind trails off as Nettles speaks, still focused on Aemond. You hadn’t seen him today and yet he was all you could think about. Since dropping you at home you hadn’t spoken, besides the text he sent you. The door couldn’t still be open. Could it?

“...especially in the southern climates like the Summer Isles, Sothoryos, and Naath..are you listening to me?” Nettles says, punching your shoulder slightly, “Right. Anyway, Sounds like you’re boning her brother.”

“Brother?” you ask, connecting the dots, “Shit. He did say he moved back here for family. But a family full of doctors?”

“You really don’t know anything, do you?” Nettles says, shaking her head, “Sorry. That sounded mean. But the Targaryens are like a huge deal in the medical world.”

“I mean, I’ve seen names on research,” you admit, “And maybe a Ted Talk or two but….I mean I didn’t even know his last name when we…I didn’t realize..”

“You’d come straight into the lion’s pit?” Nettles says with a chuckle, “It’s okay, girl. But I’m giving you some homework. Seriously, look them up. Learn a thing or two.”

“I can’t google Aemond,” you tell her, “It’s just…I don’t know that doesn’t feel right.”

“Understandable,” she says with a shrug, “I mean, Spark Notes version, they’re a huge name within the medical community. Big money, big name, big influence. So don’t go pissing any of them off.”

“Right,” you tell her, “Got it.”

“I’m heading to pediatrics,” Nettles says, pressing an elevator button, “See you soon?”

“Yeah,” you tell her, “Just have to get this CT and I’ll be there.”

“Cool. Later, klutz,” she teases as the doors open.

Cerelle Lannister’s CT scan takes much longer than anticipated. The wait is long and the small girl trembles when being taken into the machine, legs flailing each and every way. Only when they’re strapped down is she somewhat still enough to enter the machine.

“I feel like a mummy,” she says when the straps are secured, “Being put in a sarcophagus.”

“That’s pretty spooky,” you tell her with a grin.

“I like to pretend when I’m scared,” she says softly.

You reach out and take her hand.

“No need to be scared of this. The machine is just really loud, that’s all. I’ll be just outside,” you assure her.

“Okay,” she says softly, squeezing your hand.

She does great, staying as still as she can the entire time. You praise her through the microphone and wave as the nurses escort her back to her room, wheeling her in a small wheelchair. Her stuffed lion was safely on her lap. You’ve noticed she rarely lets go of the toy.

You sit in the room outside, watching as the scan produces results. Forehead creased, you click through the images as someone knocks on the door. You turn, smiling at Jace leaning in the doorway.

“Hey there,” you greet, “Shouldn’t you be in the pit?”

“Had to sneak away for a second,” he says, “Those Cece’s scans?”

“Yeah,” you tell him, beckoning him forward, “See that inflammation there?”

“Yeah,” he agrees, leaning forward, hands on the back of your chair, “So what’s your thinking?”

“Something bacterial,” you tell him, “I mean, there’s no sign of tissue or nerve damage, her labs are stable despite her on-and-off fevers. But it's progressing significantly. She’s having trouble sleeping due to the spasms.”

“Have you ever heard of something that causes this?” Jace asks.

“No, at least not off the top of my head,” you admit, “I’m heading to peds. Maybe Dr. Targaryen will have a better idea. Nettles says she specializes in infectious diseases.”

“Oh…..yeah,” Jace says, straightening up and rubbing the back of his neck. You frown as he tenses, his friendly disposition vanishing.

“Just an idea,” you tell him, gathering your things.

You follow him out of the room. Jace seems uneasy, he rubs at his face, and the collar of his scrubs.

“No it’s a good one,” he agrees, “I should get back to the pit---”

“Strong,” a voice calls, sending your heart racing.

Aemond takes several strides toward the two of you, a smug smile on his face. Something in your gut tightens, the memory of your night together burning in the back of your mind. He wore a similar expression then, one full of confidence. Goosebumps erupt on your skin. You can hear his voice from that night, as he whispered in your ear while sheathed to the hilt inside of you.

“Who’s my good girl, hmm?”

You blink, shaking your head, trying to physically expel the memory from your mind. Your cheeks heat up and you notice Jace has turned several shades darker as well, fists clenched at his side.

“I thought you were assigned to the pit, Strong,” Aemond asks, cocking his head to the side, “I would hate to have to tell Baratheon you’re disobeying orders.”

Aemond’s sentence hits you like a slap in the face. He’s not as cool, calm, and collected right now as he was the last time you’d seen him. He’s bordering on being cruel. You glance at Jace.

“It’s Velaryon,” Jace says, through his teeth.

“Come again?” Aemond asks, “Don’t mumble, Jacaerys, it’s unseemly.”

“My name,” Jace says sternly, “Velaryon.”

Aemond’s mouth quirks into an amused grin.

“My apologies,” he says smoothly, “You’ll have to forgive me, it’s easy to forget.”

“Sure,” Jace says, nose wrinkling.

“Give my best to your dad,” Aemond says, “Whichever one, you’re choice.”

Aemond turns to you, something flickering across his eyes.

“Dr. Y/L/N,” he says with a curt nod, before walking away, hands tucked behind his back.

Jace exhales, striding over to the elevator. You follow close behind as his pager beeps.

“What the hell was that about?” you ask, stepping inside with him.

“Nothing.”

“Jace, that wasn’t nothing.”

“He was just messing with me,” Jace insists, not meeting your eyes.

“Why was Dr. Targaryen messing with you?”

“Because he’s a narcissistic pig!”

Your eyes widen and Jace sighs, shaking his head.

“He’s….he’s my uncle okay,” Jace admits. Your eyes widen.

“Your uncle?”

“Yes, and my side of the family doesn’t really get along with his side,” Jace says, as the doors open to your floor.

“But why-”

“Look, it doesn’t matter,” Jace says, shaking his head, “I have to go. Sara just paged, some drunk deadbeat riling everyone up downstairs.”

You step outside the elevator but turn back to him.

“I want the full story, Velaryon. Not the Cliff Notes, the whole story,” you tell him.

“Okay!” he reluctantly agrees, “Later.”

“Tonight, Dragon’s Den, tell Sara!” you call as the doors begin to close.

“So I can air my dirty laundry to everyone?!”

“Exactly!” you call as the doors shut.

Turning on your heel, you head down the hall to pediatrics. You can’t wait to share the details with Nettles as you push through the double doors and head to the nurses' station.

“Excuse me,” you ask a nurse, “Have you seen Dr. Targareyn?”

“Which one?”

“Dr. Helaena Targaryen,” you clarify.

“She was just here, she’ll roll around in a moment.”

“I’m sorry…..roll?”

Just as the question leaves your lips, the sound of wheels against linoleum is heard from down the hall. A woman in light green scrubs and a white lab coat rolls on her heels down the hallway. Nettles jogs behind her as she turns, coming to a stop in front of you.

Her silver hair is shaggy, but the resemblance to Aemond is uncanny. A large butterfly pin holds some out of her face and she smiles brightly as you greet her.

“Been waiting for you,” she says, holding a hand out for you to place your scans in, “Aemond told me all about you.”

You nearly choke on your saliva and Nettles’ eyes go round.

“He--he did?” you squeak.

“Mhmm,” Helaena says, flicking through the scans, “Quite the first day you had.”

“Oh right,” you say, relief washing through you.

“Glad you’re okay,” Helaena says, glancing up at you, “Nice bandaid.”

“Thanks,” you tell her.

“Cece Lannister,” she muses, “What is going on with you.”

“I was hoping you’d have thoughts,” you ask.

“Has she traveled anywhere recently?” Dr. Taragreyn asks, frowning at the scans, “You’re thinking it’s some sort of infection, correct?”

“Yes,” you tell her, “And I’m not sure about her travel history.”

“Find out,” she tells you, “If you’re going to find out what this is, you need to find out what caused it and where.”

She hands you the scans, smiling once more.

“Nice to meet you,” she says with a smile, “Officially this time.”

Your cheeks heat up. She knows. She remembers. You vaguely remember Aemond speaking with his sister before leaving; you’d barely caught a glimpse of her.

“Yeah,” you agree, smiling weakly.

You hurry off after that, eager to get back to Cece Lannister’s room to inquire about her recent travels. Walking down the hall you enter one of the many elevators, waiting patiently as it stops on nearly every floor, doctors coming in and out.

Then it's just you and someone else, you look out of the corner of your eye and recognize him.

Dr. Cole smiles at you.

“How’re you feeling?” he asks.

“Better, thanks to my cool bandaid, not the stitches and rest,” you tell him, cracking a smile.

“So cool,” he says with a laugh, “I had a kid give me a bandaid covered in oranges the other day.”

“Tropical,” you comment as the doors open.

“Good to see under better circumstances,” Dr. Cole says, beginning to exit, “Ah Dr. Targaryen.”

Your blood runs cold as Aemond enters the elevator.

“Will I be seeing you this afternoon?” Dr. Cole asks, “I’ve got an aneurysm clipping if you’re interested.”

“Always, if you’ll have me,” Aemond says, and Dr. Cole nods as the doors close.

You’re alone. With him. Alone with him. Your heart pounds frantically in your chest, anxiety making your senses heighten. The elevator suddenly feels very small, and closed in; the air not being pushed through the vents quick enough. Aemond stares straight ahead, not looking at you and not attempting to engage in polite conversation. Your stomach sours and you swallow.

“Hey,” you say tentatively.

You glance at Aemond out of the corner of your eye and watch him look down at his feet. You scoff softly, annoyed by his ignoring of you. The elevator hums and your anger pools quickly in your belly; flames licking upwards to your face.

“So you’re ignoring me now?” you ask, getting no reply, “Really mature.”

Aemond continues looking at his shoes, hands folded behind his back.

“We’re colleagues, the least you could do is make polite conversation,” you huff, pressing the elevator button once more.

You know it won’t make it arrive quicker, but you need something to do with your hands.

“And that whole thing with Jace?” you say, pressing the button again and again, “I don’t know what your problem is, but clearly that was an asshole move--”

Your hand is yanked away from the button, long fingers wrapping around your wrist and suddenly his lips are on yours. The hand around your wrist falls and both his arms wrap around your waist, pulling you flush against him.

Your anger dissipates almost immediately, as you link your arms around his neck fisting the hair at the nape of his neck. The moan this causes him to release, sends your knees buckling, and he brings one hand to your ass, squeezing harshly.

Spearmint and tea. He tastes so good, mouth so warm and soft moving against your own you can’t help but whimper as he cradles your jaw with his free hand. Desire pools in your belly, and a desperate gasp leaves your lips.

Aemond drags his lips to kiss your jaw, and your neck as his opposite hand cradles the side of your face, his thumb stroking your cheekbone. You’re so needy, so responsive to his touch, you want him so desperately, and then---

The elevator dings and you push away from each other, breathing heavily as the doors open and more residents and attendings enter. You quickly get your bearings springing out of the elevator and onto your floor.

“Y/N!” Aemond calls, walking after you.

Your pager goes off just as he reaches you, and you squint down at it.

“Code White Cerelle Lannister,” you tell him, going numb with shock, “I just saw her-”

“Go,” Aemond says, before turning to a nurse, “That’s a medical emergency, page Dr. Helaena Targaryen!”

You hurry down the hallway, breaking out into a run as you enter Cerelle’s room. Dr. Baratheon is there already, Mrs. Lannister sobbing holding onto Cece’s stuffed lion. Cece’s sheets are soaked with sweat as she thrashes.

Not sweat.

Blood.

It’s as if Cece is sweating blood.

“Hematidrosis,” Dr. Baratheon says, readying a syringe, “Push one of epi.”

“Cece it’s gonna be okay,” you tell her, as Dr. Baratheon hands you the syringe.

Cerelle’s eyes are wide, tears streaming down her face leaving clear rivers through his red-tinged cheeks.

You give her the epinephrine. Slowly but surely her sweating ceases, and her forehead begins to dry. Her legs spasm, stronger than before. She’s getting worse.

“Mrs. Lannister,” Dr. Baratheon says, trying to console the weeping woman, “Mrs. Lannister it’s alright. While Hematidrosis is quite disturbing, it’s not serious.”

“Not serious?!” Mrs. Lannister says in a shrill voice, eyes wide, “My daughter is sweating blood, and you’re telling me it’s not serious?”

“Paged,” Dr. Targareyn says entering the room, “Dr. Baratheon.”

“Mrs. Lannister, this is Dr. Helaena Targaryen, one of our pediatric surgeons and infectiology specialists.”

“Infecto..what?” Mrs. Lannister says as Helaena moves around Cece’s bed.

Cece’s eyes are panicked and she holds onto your wrist with a vice-like grip.

“It’s okay, it’s okay,” you tell her, “Dr. Targaryen is just checking on you.”

Helaena brings out a penlight, instructing Cece to follow it with her eyes.

“Mrs. Lannister, have you traveled anywhere recently?” she asks, continuing her assessment.

“Um,” Mrs. Lannister struggles to find words, placing a hand on her forehead and closing her eyes, “Yes. We got back a couple of weeks ago.”

“Where?”

“Naath. It was Cece’s idea, she’d been reading about the flora and fauna, she’s such a bright kid she loves all that stuff,” Mrs. Lannister says through tears.

Helaena smiles at Cece.

“I like that stuff too,” she tells the young girl, “Cece, what did you see on your trip? Any cool plants, bugs, animals?”

“L-lots,” Cece answers shakily, still holding on to you tightly.

“Tell me about them.”

“Um well…they’re famous for their butterflies,” Cece tells her, “They’re huge.”

“They are,” Helaena confirms, “I’ve never seen them in person, but I’d like to. Did you touch any butterflies?”

“Yes, but I washed my hands! Right after!”

“What color was the butterfly you touched?”

“There were so many--”

“Try and remember, the ones you know you touched.”

“Blue…..green…..one that was black and white,” she says teary-eyed, “Did the butterfly hurt me?”

“It didn’t mean to,” Helaena says softly, “They don’t know any better.”

“Butterfly fever. It’s a bacterial infection spread in Naath,” Helaena says to you and Dr. Baratheon outside Cece’s room, “She’ll need a routine of antibiotics, I can consult with my team on a proper regime.”

She turns to you.

“Good work,” she praises, “Butterfly fever can get pretty nasty. Skin sloughing off, and so forth.”

“She’s right, Y/L/N,” Dr. Baratheon praises, “Good work.”

“Thanks,” you tell her.

After establishing Cece’s antibiotic treatment and giving it to the nurses' station, you make your way to the intern locker room. You quickly change out of your scrubs, eager to be back in normal clothes. Closing your locker, you check your phone. Jace, Sara, Cory, and Nettles have texted saying they’re waiting down in the lobby.

You leave the locker room, putting your phone in your pocket when you see him. Leaning against the door Aemond’s head turns as you walk out.

“Hey,” he says, straightening up. He’s still in scrubs, clearly, his shift isn’t over.

“Hey.”

He’s quiet for a moment, wetting his lips as he tries to find the words he wants to say.

“Look about earlier--”

“Aemond,” you cut him off, “We can either do this or not. You’re either in or out, but you have to make a decision.”

Aemond is silent, blue and violet eyes watching you.

“What do you want?” he asks quietly.

“I just want you,” you answer honestly, “What do you want?”

“I….” Aemond struggles to speak, biting the tip of his tongue.

It’s not an outright rejection, but it still hurts like one. You sigh, looking down at your shoes.

“I can’t decide for you,” you tell him, beginning to walk by, “That’s up to you.”

He doesn’t stop you as you continue to walk by, doesn’t reach out and pull you toward him. He lets you go. You find your friends in the lobby, force a smile on your face as you travel to the Dragon’s Den, and eagerly accept the tequila shots Cory buys you. There’s no text this time.

Perhaps he made his choice.

note: hope you liked it!! LOVE YOU ALL SO MUCH!!

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nebbyy · 2 months ago

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A list of my most unpopular ASOIAF opinions and theories

Please remember this is all based on the books alone, and there also might be SPOILERS for Fire and Blood and the Game of Thrones book series.

ALSO I might open the requests for Game of Thrones fics and headcanons, and maybe for Baldur's Gate as well once I get back into it.

Okayyy so here we gooo.

1. Maegor's story doesn't add up

Don't get me wrong, he must've obviously been a horrible king and a shitty husband, but reading the chapters that talk about him in Blood and Fire, it all just felt like a list of rumours and versions of all nefarious crimes he would've committed. There are about five versions of whatever he did with each wife of his, each of them more depraved than the one before.

Again, I don't think he was an angel or anything, but my theory is that his history was written by biased sources. His reign was made illicit by Jaehaerys, so it would've been in his best interest to have him remembered as nothing more than a viscious monster.

It's a form of "damnatio memoriae" that we've already seen, in a way, with Mushroom and the Dance of Dragons. When in a conflict, and especially after a victory, each side wants to depict the side they beat as badly as possible Caesar did a similar thing in "De Bello Gallico", the book about his conquest of the modern French and Swiss territories. In this book he excuses his conquest with the supposed preparations for an attack by the Helvetians, a fact that was proven to be misinterpreted as it was a mere pacific migration. And again, he did the same thing when he accused them of cannibalising each other while being under siege, another untrue fact made up to just make them seem worse.

So in a way, Maegor's reputation could've been made worse by following historians to legitimate Jaehaerys' reign over Aerea's claim.

2. Incest has no effects on Valyrians

Okay, this is a bit weirder. My theory is that Valyrians practised incest because it had no effect on their offspring.

Looking at the Targaryen family tree, I noticed that the cases of madness increase the more Targaryens marry with other houses. Baelor the Blessed was the first mad Targaryen, and he had a grandmother of house Harte and a great grandmother who was half Arryn.

Before Baelor, Helaena is questionably considered mad as well, which would prove my theory furthermore had it not been for the amount of trauma she endured in her life so I'm honestly not gonna count her as "mad". Rhaegel Rargaryen was the second confirmed mad Targaryen, with a Martell mother; his daughter Aelora is questionably considered mad too, and her mother is an Arryn.

Aerion Brightflame was another mad Targaryen, with a half Martell father and a Dayne mother. The last two mad Targaryens were Aerys II and Viserys III, but at this point, the bloodline was mixed with others enough to make the Targaryen madness an unpredictable factor.

3. There is no good or bad in the Dance of Dragons

So I think we could theorise that Valyrians can perform incest so long as it remains within pure Valyrian blood.

Edit: some of you have pointed out how there were other signs of incest complications in the Targaryen family such as malformities and stillborn babies. I really am no biologist and I don't want to dwell into that "Valyrian race supremacy" craziness, but those cases are once again always correlated to marriages between Targaryens and other houses, for example all of Maegor's stillborn and unborn children (as 5 out of his 6 wives were not Targaryens/Valyrians) or the following cases.

Rhaenyra had a claim on the throne because of Viserys' will, but Aegon had a claim on the throne because of the laws of Westeros themselves. You can argue that Alicent wasn't the nicest stepmother, yet you can't look me in the face and tell me a woman in the middle ages married to a KING to whom she had given THREE SONS wouldn't complain when the king dismisses all of them and their claims in favor of his firstborn daughter.

Otto may have manipulated Alicent, but that was just how a Lord was supposed to act in that situation: have her marry the best candidate (the king), have her birth at least a son (she did) and make sure those children are first in line for the throne (as it should be, by the laws).

Viserys shouldn't have remarried if he already had his heir, period.

At the same time, Rhaenyra had every reason to fight for her claim and try and go against the actual laws of Westeros, but it was inevitable that many would've seen badly her attempt at claiming what was Aegon's birthright.

Lucerys was an asshole for mutilating Aemond and never showed remorse, quite the opposite. Aemond was an asshole who shouldn't have had all the power he had, plus I hardly believe his and Alys relationship was really consensual so there's that..

In the end, they all had their rights and wrongs, but that doesn't matter at all. The only point about the Dance is the fact that a pointless conflict led to the downfall of one of the strongest families in Westeros history.

4. Rhaegar didn't love Lyanna

I hate the series for making them marry. Like, seriously, have D&D ever read the books? Have they not read what happened between Maegor and the Faith when he took another wife??

Never, not even in the most twisted of universes, would the faith let Rhaegar kidnap and marry a Stark girl while he was still married to Elia. That just wouldn't be plausible.

And I also don't think he'd just fall in love at first sight with a random girl at a tournament. She was a beautiful soul and had many qualities, but she had nothing that could truly make a man throw away his whole life to pursue her.

He needed another child. The dragon has three heads. He had Rhaenys and Aegon, but Visenya was missing (I just made up the name for the third possible child considering he was naming them after the three conquerors lmao). He needed Lyanna to have that third child, and he knew how to get her to get what he wanted.

Perhaps we'll find out this isn't true. Perhaps Rhaegar really was head over heels for Lyanna, but I honestly really really doubt it.

5. There is no certainty on who the Prince that was Promised is

No matter what the show wants us to see, we still don't know who it is. It could be Daenerys, it could be Jon, it could even be Stannis and we're not gonna know it until Martin reveals it.

I honestly think Daenerys is Azor Ahai, but I'm still curious to see why we would need to revive Jon then. And considering Stannis' sword possibly being Azor Ahai's sword, is it a fake one made by Melisandre to get what she wanted from him, or does he actually possess the original sword?

Well, these are the first theories and opinions I could think of right now, I might post more in the future. Again, please don't slander me in the comments, these are just my personal opinions and I respect all others.

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bumblebugwrites · 9 months ago

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chapter 5: killer

Pairing: Victor!Treech x fem!Reader

Summary: Your very first Hunger Games as a mentor comes to an end, and you are forced to reckon with the aftermath.

Warnings: Cursing, Suggestive Themes, Mention of Injuries, Character Death, Weapons, Violence.

Word Count: 9.3k

Taglist: @nekee-lilac02, @mr-panda357, @yourfavmiki, @blackoutdays13, @dialuvsbangtan

Series Masterlist | Previous Chapter | Next Chapter

Bee has disappeared, but the alarm remains silent, and the girl from 2 is still swinging. You force yourself to blink past the tears rapidly welling in your eyes; you will have to save them for later. As of right now, you still have a tribute in the Games. But where is she?

From his place before the camera, Lucky Flickerman cries out in excitement at the feat.

“And Little Bee from 10 pulls off a miraculous disappearing act!” He displays an array of cards, waving them back and forth before making them vanish in one smooth movement, punctuating the end of his sentence. To your left, Treech sinks further into his seat, frustration palpable. You are still standing, heart beating at the erratic pace of a jackrabbit, and time moves unbearably slow as you continue to scan the screen for some sign of life.

And then it comes, and really, you aren’t sure what to say. The boy from 11 appears first, crawling out the shrub’s other side before Bee joins him, her hand tightly clasped in his own. They are careful, making little noise as they emerge, but the quiet does not last. The moment they are on their feet, they are moving with a speed that can not help but be loud, feet pounding against the forest floor. The girl from 2 makes no effort to chase, seemingly accepting the defeat of the moment, and you note, with a sinking feeling in your chest, that Bee turns back, for just a second, to eye Colt’s unmoving form, sprawled across the ground. Still, she does not stop running.

It catches you off guard, the nudge from Teff, but you follow his finger as he indicates the television with Bee’s face spinning in a slow circle. Her sponsorships. They are increasing. You want to scream, to admonish the people of the Capitol for their pity money. She had no worth to them before, and now here was her grief, a commodity to them. You say nothing but give a curt nod in thanks to the District 11 mentor for pointing it out.

When the boy tugging Bee along eventually pulls her to a stop, it is in a clearing already occupied by another: Trawl’s girl, Mags. She spins on her heel, clearly readying a speech of some sort, but stops herself when her eyes settle on Bee.

“What the fuck is this?” Her voice is tense, not like you expected from the girl who put her life on the line to hold her District partner as he lay dying and took in the alliless boy from 11.

“She needed help; I saved her,” he says.

“We don’t need another person. She’s gonna slow us down.” And you know it is not her intent to be cruel, only logical, but her words sting.

“She’s smart. And she’s small; she can hide like me.”

“Jadam– I am barely taking care of us; what made you think I could handle someone else?” Mags’s arms fly out in exasperation.

“I just thought that–”

“No. Okay? I won’t kill her, but she has to go.” The panic in your chest begins to rise. You have to do something, and quickly, too. Your eyes flit to Bee’s mounting donations, beginning to dwindle at the 430 mark before traveling down to your screen and the price of bread. A single loaf would cost you 400. All her sponsorships out the window in a single move. Still, it is a risk you have to take, your chest constricting with the knowledge that if she loses this alliance, she will have no one. You slam down on the button.

On the screen, Jadam turns to Bee, an apologetic look painting his features. Mags only eyes the forest floor behind him, arms crossed and clearly set in her decision. In the distance, there is a noise.

All three heads dart up in seeming unison as a drone comes into view just above the canopy of leaves before beginning to lower itself slowly to the ground. There is a tin attached at the bottom, but the trio of tributes remain frozen with fear. It is Mags who eventually moves, after several moments of silence, to inspect the device. Slowly, she pulls the tin from the drone, before opening the small container. A note tumbles out from inside, and she dips to collect it, but her eyes do not leave the contents of the metal box. She is hungry; this much you know from having watched her closely the past two days. She has yet to eat.

“It’s for you,” she says, her jaw growing tight as her eyes travel up to meet Bee’s gaze. The smaller girl moves forward with caution and, after noting the bread, pulls it from the container and begins to tear it into separate parts, handing one to Mags and tossing a second to Jadam before squaring her shoulders and making towards the large expanse of woods ahead, her section of the loaf clutched tightly in her hand. Come on. Don’t let her leave.

She is almost out of sight when Mags calls out after her.

“Wait.”

Bee whips around, features unreadable as she pauses, allowing Mags to continue. The older girl only sighs, the sound dripping with defeat.

“You can stay.”

The sentiment has barely left her lips when your shoulders sag in relief, and you are off, headed for the doors.

“Bathroom,” you hiss at the Peacekeeper who moves to block your path, and he shifts to let you pass.

It is all you can do to halt the muffled sob that threatens to escape your lips the minute you set foot in the hallway. The heels of your boots make a distinct echoing sound as they come in contact with the cold marble floor, and succession of clicks is so loud you almost miss the second pair of footsteps ringing out behind you.

You whip around, prepared to warn whichever victor has just followed you out to stop tailing you. To plaster a blank look across your features and tell them you are fine. It is not a victor. You recognize Dr. Gaul from the beginning of the Games, clearly on her way in as you make your way out. She has made several appearances over the last two days, though none too prolonged, mostly spent at the back of the large room, whispering to the man with the white hair. To Snow, you correct again subconsciously.

“Ms. L/N,” she says, nodding in acknowledgment. “I saw what happened to that boy of yours. Pity, really.”

“I’m not really sure why you’re concerned. What’s one more kid when you’ve already killed so many?” You grit out, unsure where the courage to do so has emerged from, but holding firm. Refusing to look away.

“Oh, I’m sorry, you must be confused. I was talking about the boy from 7. That’s too bad about his tribute. Although I must admit, it was disappointing to see the other one go. He truly would have made a strong contender. Much better, I’m afraid, than the little girl.” Fear, cold and sharp, travels down your spine at her words, and you fight the urge to flinch away from the woman, instead fumbling to defend yourself.

“Treech is not–” The doors to the lecture hall bang open, and the very man on your lips appears in the doorway.

“Interesting,” she notes with a dangerous grin before turning on her heel to enter the room. Treech eyes you with concern, one brow raised in confusion.

“What was–”

“Fuck off. You have to fuck off,” you cry out, and it almost sounds as though you are pleading with him as you swerve, avoiding his touch and making for the bathroom once more. All you wanted was a minute to cry in peace.

“What the hell? What is your problem?” He demands, anger creeping into his tone, but don’t respond, reaching the bathroom door and giving it a harsh tug. He slams it shut, planting a firm hand over your head.

“You. You are my problem!” You are inches apart, and your chest is heaving. Treech only looks lost, features plainly read for once. His lips are parted, body warm. The smell of cedar invades your personal space once more. You give him a shove, hard and meaningful, before darting inside the bathroom. He follows.

You want to scream in frustration, and the tears you have been fighting begin to wet your cheeks as he turns to lock the door, his eyes doing a quick scan of the walls. No cameras. At least as far as you’re aware.

“What is going on with you?” He hisses, and a wretched sob wracks your body. Treech takes a step forward, and you inch back.

“Don’t act so concerned now. You’re the one who said this had to be nothing,” you spit, knowing it is undeserved, but you are angry, and with rage wrapping its thick hands around your throat, it is difficult to see straight. To see who should truly bear the burden of your wrath.

“You said it first!” Treech looks exasperated at best, but he does not approach again, treating you like a wild animal of some sort as though afraid you might spook and disappear.

“You didn’t answer my letter!” Unfair. You are being unfair. But you will do anything to get him out of here. To make him leave you alone. Because at least alone, you are not a threat to his life.

“Don’t do that. Don’t put this on me.” He shakes his head, frustration lighting his features once more.

“So it’s my fault?” And by your third attempt to corral him out the door, you can feel your resolve weakening. Can see it in the mirror too.

“No! So it’s no one’s fault! You think I don’t– Every day I spend with you, I think about this. Us. And every day, I have to remind myself that it would get us both killed. But fuck, I–” His words feel heavy where they should fill you with excitement. With joy. And suddenly, awareness of your situation burdens you again. And he looks so earnest, the words tumbling from his lips in a regrettable stream. So vulnerable.

“Gaul knows.”

“Knows what?” He is taken aback, and you know it is not the response he wanted.

“She was calling you my boy from 7. She knows about whatever this is.” And once you have begun the words come pouring out in quick succession.

“She knows, and Teff and Trawl know. And at this point, I’d be surprised if Lucky fucking Flickerman hasn’t been made aware. And I am exhausted. And scared. And Colt is–” But you don’t finish, as all the emotions from earlier make their way back in, and the weight is unbearable, forcing you to your knees. Treech rushes forward, and this time, you do not stop him as he catches you halfway to the ground, pulling you close as he had two nights ago. And really, today’s frustration all comes back to that. Colt is dead, and no amount of screaming and crying will make it not so. Maybe that’s why you let it happen. Allow Treech to gently rock you on that bathroom floor and whisper soft words in your ear. Maybe that is why you turn to curl into his chest. To pretend, in spite of the lurking anxiety just beneath your skin, that this is alright. That there will be no consequences. No one to answer to. Just for a moment.

Treech reenters first, and by the time you step through the archaic double doors, it has been thirty minutes, and the girl from 6 is dead. You make for the back table, eyes fixed straight ahead, and pour yourself another coffee. Eight kids left. Something has to happen, and soon.

The walk back to your chair feels eternal, and you slump in your seat upon arrival, fixing the screen with your gaze. The sun has set, and Bee sits crosslegged beside Mags, who watches over the sleeping form of Jadam, his head in her lap.

“There’s no food out here. No water except for that fucking hellscape of a river. We can hide all we want, but we’re never gonna survive if we keep going down this route,” Mags sighs, her shoulders slumping.

“At this rate, we’ll all just starve to death,” she laments, eyes softening on their path over Jadam’s features.

“They can send us bread from the outside. Like today–” Bee supplies, a hint of desperation creeping into her tone. Your own gaze flits down to her sponsorships, measly and non-existent after your splurge on her peace offering.

“They need money for sponsorships. Money that no one is gonna send if we’re just sitting around doing nothing,” Mags reasons, and a sick feeling in your stomach tells you she is right.

“There’s food in the cornucopia,” Jadam mumbles, and you realize with a start he was only feigning sleep.

“What?” Bee asks, head turning to consider him and his words more carefully.

“There’s a whole box of it in there. I saw it on the first day, during the countdown. There’s apples, bread probably–” Mags cuts him off.

“Yeah, there’s also the boy from 1. The girl from 2. Or are you forgetting that?”

“I’m just saying–” Jadam tries once more, but the older girl will not let him finish.

“Well, don’t. It’s not safe. We’d be walking into an ambush. Completely weaponless. It’s not happening.”

Bee stands from her place beside the pair, brushing the dirt from her clothes before turning to make her way out into the woods.

“Where are you going?” And it is more of a demand than a true question, sharp and cold though tinged with worry as Mags asks it.

“Bathroom,” Bee explains easily, though her eyes do not meet the older girl’s before she spins on her heel and disappears. Your shoulders tense, gaze fixed on her departing form. Jadam rolls onto his back, eyes trained upwards on the twisted expression of concern on Mags’s face.

“She’ll be alright,” Jadam whispers, and Mags almost appears to flinch at the words of comfort.

“We’ll have to split from her soon,” she states, clearing her throat, and your own heart sinks deeper into your chest. It is true. They cannot stay together forever without eventually needing to kill one another. Still, Jadam asks the question you have already found the answer to.

“Why?”

“There can’t be many of us left, and I don’t want to have to kill her when it comes down to it.”

“What about me?” His words echo out across the room, quiet now from the lack of academy students, and you feel your gaze being tugged toward Teff, his brow creased into an unreadable emotion as he watches the screen.

“What about you?”

“Won’t you have to kill me? If we stay together?” There is a look that passes over Mags’s face, one you recognize from Colt. From the way he looked at Bee. From the way you look at Fawn. She doesn’t answer. She doesn’t need to. The truth hangs in the air with a heavy silence, broken only when Bee reappears. She thrusts something onto the ground. An object, heavy in weight. A trident. Not just any trident, the one that killed Colt.

“Where did you get that?” Mags demands, shock evident in her voice.

“Found it.” You know she is lying. And you thank God they have no fire lit because you are sure her face would appear blotchy and swollen.

“What–” Mags begins.

“You said we were weaponless. Now we aren’t.” And a wave of pride passes through your system, at little underestimated Bee and her bravery. It is quickly smothered, though, by disgust with yourself, thick and rampant at the realization that she should not have to make this stand in the first place.

“Bee–”

“Look, there’s two of them and three of us, and now we can fight. We need food. So let’s go get food.”

Something big is coming; you can feel it in the way your hands shake, gripping the fine china of your mug. Only it feels sinister, and with each second that creeps by it settles into certainty. The 11th Games is coming to an end. All there is to do is sit and wait.

The girl from 3 dies in the night, along with the boy from 6, which brings the number of remaining tributes to six. Neither gone of natural causes though, you note, with a worrisome lurch of your stomach. The fierce duo from 1 and 2 is on the hunt, and they show no signs of stopping.

You feel uneasy as you fix the screen with a watchful eye, camera trained on three small backs, lying in wait. It is Bee who speaks first, turning to Mags with a hushed whisper.

“I’m telling you, they’re not there. They must be out looking for other tributes. This is our chance.” Mags appears hesitant but eventually gives a nod, and the three creep out from their place in the tree line.

They make the jump across the river separately, and though Jadam nearly slips, both girls lunge forward, pulling him to safety. A soft yelp passes his lips, but Mags is quick to shush him, jutting her head in the direction of the cornucopia. Her implication is clear: they could still be inside.

As they get closer, the three take care to press themselves against the wall, with the District 4 girl in the lead, taking a shaky breath before readjusting her grip on the trident in her possession and peeking her head around the corner. Her shoulders drop in relief, and she delivers a curt nod in the direction of the others. They are safe to move forward.

The trio creeps inside, splitting up to peel the lids off of several boxes and fish around their contents. There are several long beats of shuffling and silence before Jadam clears his throat, lifting his head with a sly grin on his face and producing from the confines of the plastic container, a bag of apples.

And you can’t help it, really, your own slow smile at the small victory, especially as glee and relief plaster themselves across Bee and Mags’s faces. Finally. A win.

And then there is screaming. Distant at first, but quickly approaching. And the camera view changes and the girl from 7, Treech’s girl. Hazel is making a mad dash from the woods towards the center of the arena, the pair from 1 and 2 hot on her tail.

“Fuck.”

The trio has barely made it to the mouth of the cornucopia when she makes it over the river, hurtling herself with a violent force, the remains of the pack just behind her.

“We’ve gotta go,” Mags begins to rush, ushering the pair of younger tributes ahead of her and making toward the bank. It’s then the ground seems to begin shaking, all six remaining tributes hitting the ground, and suddenly, the center of the arena begins to shrink, pieces breaking off into the river as the water continues to engulf the chunks of land indiscriminatley.

The girl from 2 is up again, a twisted growl darkening her features as she lunges Hazel, still splayed out from the fall. It is quick and merciful, the sword passing through her chest, and before you can truly process it, she has gone limp, and the buzzer signals her death. Beside you, Treech flinches.

On the screen, Mags’s head whips around in several wild motions, trying to calculate an escape route. The trio edges closer to the river, and the pair from 1 and 2 notes their presence for the first time, the girl turning her mean scowl on Bee, the mark of Colt’s attack stretched across her face in a jagged scar. She starts to run, and the ground begins to shake once more.

A piece breaks off, this time not unpopulated. Jadam hits the water with a splash. Mags lets out a cry of concern, lunging forward to pull him from the river. Her free hand connects with his, but there is a clear tug at his figure, and he screams in pain, accidentally pulling her in with him. The girl from 2 is nearly on Bee when both of them disappear beneath the surface.

One half of the pack takes Bee to the ground, and you resist the urge to reach for her. Beneath the water, there is movement. Both heads resurface, but Jadam’s lulls awkwardly to the side, and his eyes are unblinking. You feel like throwing up as the buzzer sounds again.

Mags seems to notice as well, her eyes welling up and a strangled sob escaping her lips. And then she is lifting the trident, stabbing down and something seems to give as she moves through the water towards the shore, gripping at the dirt and pulling herself up. Her eyes are cold, and she barely seems to notice as she turns, as though on instinct and impales the oncoming boy from 1 with her weapon before discarding him into the river.

The girl is next and, from behind, poses less of a threat. Beneath her, Bee has stopped struggling so much. Something is wrong. The trident pierces the girl from 2’s throat, and with several wretched choking sounds, she falls to the side, revealing Bee, drained of color beneath her. She is still breathing, though barely, her chest rising and falling in uneven breaths and a large gash painting her stomach. She looks up at Mags with eyes filled with tears, and you wonder if the older girl will deliver the final blow just to get it over with. She seems to consider it for a moment, and Bee’s eyes squeeze shut, awaiting the impact.

The trident hits the ground, cast aside in one harsh movement, and Mags sinks slowly to her knees, pulling the younger girl into her lap. Her features grow tired, though admittedly warmer, and she begins to stroke Bee’s hair. You choke back a sob.

The careful braid you had pleated into her chestnut locks is almost completely undone, and Mags runs her fingers through the strands, undoing your work and then beginning to work at the knots that had formed in the Games. There is no need for the braid anymore. There will be no more fighting, no more days spent working in the slaughterhouse. Instead, her hair falls loose around her shoulders in the way a little girl’s hair should, wild and free. Uncontained.

“I’m so sorry,” Mags whispers, the words croaked and wet.

“Don’t be. I was never gonna win.” The response comes, weak and small.

“Could you do me a favor?” Mags only manages a nod, and Bee flashes her with a half-smile.

“If you ever make it over to 10, tell my mom not to worry about me. And that I love her.”

“I will. Of course, I will,” Mags promises, tears falling atop Bee’s fragile form. She is quiet for a time before speaking again, moving her hand to lay over Mags’s.

“Do you think there’s another world where we could have been friends?” The older girl’s lip shakes as she takes a minute before responding.

“I’d like to think we don’t need another world. That I can tell people we were friends in this one.” Bee smiles, real and bright, though fading by the second.

“That’s nice. Friends. I’m sorry it wasn’t for longer. I think I really would’ve liked getting to know you.” When she finally stills, Mags lets out a final shuddering sob before loosing a scream, angry like no other you’ve heard before. She does not hear as they announce her the victor, barely seeming to notice the Peacekeepers entering the arena through some passage in the cornucopia. Instead, she leans forward to press a kiss to Bee’s head and clings, shuddering to her form until they pry her from it, pulling her towards the exit.

The first thing you do upon arrival at the victor’s suite is take a shower. It has been days, and you scrub at your skin with a ferocity previously unknown to you, but the ghost of the Games does not wash away.

Trawl has been called elsewhere, likely to meet with Mags, but the rest of you have been told you will remain in the hotel until called upon for further ceremonies, and so you do. Wait, that is, as the hours tick by in a vile silence. Several of the other victors depart towards their rooms to rest or perhaps escape the group and the constant reminder they provide of the events that have just occurred. And really, you should sleep. In the last five days, you’ve probably only managed to crash for a grand total of two hours, and even that time had been dispersed in fifteen-minute chunks. But closing your eyes means seeing them. Colt sprawled out, his eyes still open and the ghost of a smile on his face in spite of his leaking chest, and Bee, whispering her final words to the girl from 4, her hair a messy halo in the grass. You wonder what will become of what is left of them.

It is a thought that has plagued you since your own Games, what the Capitol does with the remains of the District children. The first few years, they had shipped them home in boxes, though little had been done in the way of embalming, and often, the children arrived in a condition so bad that parents were denied the privilege of even seeing them. One year, the Capitol sent patches torn from the clothing of the deceased as a means of commemoration. But eventually, they ceased pretending to care about the families of fallen tributes, and in the last few years, when your child died, you were left with nothing but the memory of them and an empty grave.

Your hands shake as you enter the kitchen, barely noting the other mentors in the room. You haven’t eaten much in the last few days; the Games made you feel sick, and keeping anything down felt difficult. Still, the lack of care seems to be catching up with your body, so you force down some toast from the plater on the counter as well as a piece of bacon before turning to observe the suite.

You note Treech’s absence almost immediately, and though a good part of you longs for his presence, you know that after the events of yesterday, you should keep your distance. Teff is seated alone at the dining room table, hunched over and scribbling something. Probably a letter you note. Probably to Jadam’s parents or Olive’s. You shake the thought as it brings in a torrent of others. Should you be writing letters? What do you even say to the mothers of two children who will never see their homes again? Nothing. At least nothing they haven’t heard before, and certainly nothing that makes the absence feel any less cruel.

On the couch, Octavian sits, stiff as a board, his eyes glued straight ahead. The television plays something you don’t recognize and, therefore, must not be the news, but it doesn’t seem to matter to him. He stares blankly past the screen, gaze fixed on something you’re certain isn’t there.

Beside him, Antonia has begun to nod off, though she jerks awake every few seconds, eyes doing a desperate search of the room before landing on Octavian and, noting that he is safe, closing once more. Further down, several feet away from the pair, Lux sits, feet tucked primly beneath her and a magazine in her hands. You note that the pages turn too quickly for her to possibly be reading the text, but the movement seems to calm her, apart from the occasional fidget. You make your way over, taking the seat beside hers.

“What are you doing?” She asks without so much as looking up from the task before her.

“Sitting down?” You snark in return, sinking further into your seat.

“You can’t sit somewhere else? Further away?” She turns to face you now, nose crinkling in mock disgust, but you ignore the twisting of her features, hoping mostly for a moment of normalcy.

“Lux–”

“We aren’t friends,” she says plainly. And bickering with Lux feels normal, but her statement still strikes at an odd place between your ribs.

“Jesus, I know–” You begin once more.

“I’m not gonna sit here and play patty-cake and braid your hair.” This has you rolling your eyes, a soft snort escaping you.

“Would you calm down? I’m sitting next to you, not asking you to marry me.”

“Well, I would hope not; I’ve seen the wedding customs you have in 10; frankly, they’re a bit barbaric,” she taunts, flipping a long strand of hair over her shoulder and just barely missing your face. Still, there is something about the conversation that feels better than sitting catatonic like Octavian and staring at the wall.

“I’m sorry we can’t afford to be quite as gaudy with our ceremonies as–”

“Gaudy? We are very tasteful– I suppose you’d just have us walking down the aisle in work boots?” She sputters at the notion, and you know you are under her skin. Still, you do not stop, pushing forward with the jest.

“You know honey, maybe it would be better if we just eloped. I never really got the whole fuss around weddings anyways.” And suddenly, Lux breaks off in a laugh, though her brow remains raised in surprise as though she hadn’t been expecting to enjoy your company.

“I wanted a big wedding,” she admits after a long beat, turning to face you as though telling some sort of secret.

“When I was a girl, I would dream about falling in love and getting married. Perfect dress. Perfect venue. But nobody wants to lie in bed next to a killer. At least not back home. Not now. And by the time this Capitol plan kicks in and changes their minds, I won’t be me anymore, and that little girl will be long gone.” Her face has gone sour by the end of her confession, and you feel your own heart sinking in your chest at the turn in conversation. You want to say sorry. To reach out and comfort her. But she is Lux, and to do so would only encourage scorn, so you nod, trading a secret of your own.

“I always thought I would never marry. I wanted to work on the ranch like my dad; I thought that was what freedom looked like. And then it turned out all the ranchers ever really talk about is home. Their wives and husbands and how much they missed them. And I realized freedom doesn’t have to mean being alone. We don’t wear boots to our weddings. At least, not all of us do. It’s a ranching tradition. The whole bunkhouse saves up for a pair, and then the night before the wedding, you gift them to the person marrying into the ranch life. Like the things that are important to you become more important because they’re sharing them with you. And even though I didn’t believe in weddings or marriage, I started dreaming up those boots, what they would look like, and who would be wearing them. And then it didn’t seem so bad, falling in love.” Lux snorts at the notion, but when she dips her head to take in her magazine once more, there is a soft smile spread across her lips.

“You’re not so bad,” you say, quiet so only she can hear.

“I guess I’ve had worse company,” she replies, and you feel a piece of the weight chip away, just for a second.

For two days, the Capitol seems to forget entirely that you exist. Mags makes several television appearances accompanied by Trawl, but neither so much as enters the hotel. As for the rest of you, the space feels suffocating. At night, you escape to the lobby, seeking a change of environment and anything strong enough to drown out the Games that haunt you from every screen in the Capitol. The day proves to be more difficult, and you pass the hours making strained conversation with the other victors.

Several times, you consider writing Bee and Colt’s families, but the thought continues to bring bile to your throat, and you decide you will visit with them instead upon your return.

On the third day, there is a knock at the door. Several people enter all at once, including a pair of Peacekeepers led by a man you’ve never seen before. He has a sharp nose and eyes that remain guarded, almost appearing glassed over as he speaks. In addition, they bring Trawl and Mags, the former drawing you into an embrace upon arrival.

His companion shows signs of obvious discomfort, keeping close to her mentor as he makes his way to the couch. The man takes his place before the television, and you note he is likely here to pass on information regarding the next steps in this process, though you feel surprise creep into your system, wondering what has happened to Coriolanus Snow. Probably basking in the glory of his successful undertaking. It is a sour thought, but you have no doubt it is mostly true.

“Hello there, we haven’t met before. My name is Hilarius Heavensbee, and going forward, I’ll be working with Coriolanus Snow to oversee the mentorship program.” He is met with silence, but you all file in, aware there is likely a speech in store. He squares his shoulders before continuing.

“I’m here to let you know we’ll be keeping you here a little longer, mostly to get you prepped on what the first-ever Victory Tour will look like. Additionally, as part of our campaign to endear you to the public, each of you must pick a talent to cultivate and integrate into your personality.”

“Talent?” Antonia asks, a sneer decorating her features.

“Some sort of interesting skill. Drawing, poetry, dance, frankly, I don’t really care what you pick, as long as it’s something,” he says dismissively, though his posture conveys that there is a layer of deception to the aloof nature he presents.

“I’m good at chopping down trees. Can that be my talent?” Treech speaks up from beside you. Lux snorts, and he shoots her a glare.

“No. No, your talent needs to be something that distinguishes you from your district. Remember, on your new victor’s earnings, you will no longer be a part of the working class. This should be something you do for fun. A hobby,” Heavensbee prompts.

There is a wave of muttering that passes through the room, and you hear as several times the words fun and hobby are tossed around in a tone that indicates little more than confusion.

“Right, well, you’ll have until the end of the day to decide on something. And try not to pick the same talents; we don’t need nine victors who can knit,” he says, clapping his hands together before moving to depart and leaving the suite buzzing with confusion.

“What are you doing for this stupid talent thing?” Treech does not knock before entering your room; only thrusts himself down across the end of your bed and waits expectantly for your answer after closing the door behind him.

“Well, I already know how to draw, so probably just sketching,” you shrug, though it isn’t really a question; you’ve already decided.

“Urgh, this is so dumb,” he groans, burying his face in the duvet.

“C’mon, there has to be something you’re good at besides using an axe,” you tease, your lips twisting into a smile when he lifts his head to send you an indignant expression before the emotion on his face melts into something more contemplative.

“Sometimes I make little… things out of wood. For my sisters,” he says, slow as though weighing the option.

“There you go,” you encourage, pleased to have solved the predicament so quickly.

“No.” He shakes his head, setting it back down with another sigh.

“What do you mean, no? It’s right there. And you already know how to do it.”

“I don’t want them to have that. It’s– I want that to be for me.” And you cannot blame him for that, though the thought had not occurred to you before, and you think of your own talent. Of how the sole surviving symbol of your teenage dreams to become a veterinarian was the skill you would now hand on a silver platter to the Capitol.

“Okay,” you nod, thinking for a moment before speaking again. “Do you know how to play any instruments?”

“Do I look like I know how to play any instruments?” He quips, voice muffled by the bed.

“Maybe you could try the guitar,” you say, and it is mostly a joke.

“As if. Do you know how ridiculous I would look trying to play the guitar?” You resist a laugh at the thought.

“Please, the women of the Capitol are already practically falling at your feet; just imagine if you could serenade them.”

“Shut up,” he says, looking up at you with a pout plastered across his face. Still, you don’t stop.

“Play me your guitar, oh Capitol loverboy. Is it true? Are you really a tortured dark soul, like they say?”

“Shut up,” Treech exclaims, louder this time, and as the words leave his mouth, he lunges forward to muffle your remarks with his hand. You struggle to break free, laughter slipping from your lips as he pulls you closer in his attempts to silence you, but it is of little use as you continue to pester him with your remarks until you gain enough traction to whip around and face him.

You are inches apart when your eyes meet his, and the words seem to die on your tongue as you note the distance, or lack thereof, between you. And for a moment, the world seems to stop. And his lips are so close, his eyes so soft. You recall the feeling of his curls between your fingers. You think you will never forget that feeling. His nose brushes yours, and your eyes flutter closed, cheek leaning into the open palm inches from your face. But you cannot. You know you cannot. So you pull away.

“Treech–”

“I know,” he cuts you off, allowing his hand to remain outstretched for a moment before dropping it to his side. His eyes linger though, tracing each crevice of your face with a look you cannot quite dissect.

“I should–”

“I’ll go,” he interrupts you once more and stands to depart. And your heart feels as though it is heavy enough to crash through all your vital organs, sinking into the bottom of your stomach. “I think maybe it’s better if I stop staying in your room.” He doesn’t turn around, his words projecting out towards the door, and you feel the biting sting of tears forming in your eyes. You want to speak, but you’re afraid your voice will break and betray you. He is gone before you can even manage a shaky breath.

You do not speak with Treech the next day, silence providing a strain between you, though you spare him a glance upon Hilarius’s return when he announces he will, in fact, be learning to play the guitar.

Before his departure, the new hire announces that you are all set to return tomorrow, but not prior to engaging in one final festivity, a celebration set to be held at the President’s mansion. Lux nearly squeals with excitement, though the decision seems to breed more questions than answers among others. “They won’t even let you come in here without a security detail, and now we’re invited to a ball?” Teff demands, brow furrowed in concern. “It just doesn’t make sense.”

“This is all part of the larger plan in reconstructing your image as victors. We want the people of the Capitol to regard you as favorites. That starts with getting you in the same rooms with them.”

“This is gonna be fucking miserable,” mutters Treech, and you cannot help but agree. You can hardly imagine a world where, upon being faced with you, the Capitol citizens can manage anything other than sheer horror. Still, if some party is all that’s standing between you and returning home, you’ll find a way to get through it, even if you have to grit your teeth and bite your tongue until it bleeds.

Your stylists arrive hot on the tail of Hilarius’s departure, and by 9:00 pm, you are all ready to depart. You find yourself standing by Mags in the center of the suite’s common space as you wait for the cars meant to transport the lot of you to arrive, and upon noting a fallen eyelash on her cheek, you reach out on instinct before stopping yourself and clearing your throat.

“Sorry, it’s just you have an eyelash,” you start, indicating its location with an outstretched finger. Her eyebrows lift and she quickly moves to dust off her cheek, but to no avail.

“Here, let me.” You reach out once more, this time making contact with her skin and brushing it from her face.

“It’s good luck, you know. They say you’re supposed to put it on your knuckle and then blow it off and make a wish,” you smile, offering it back.

“Thanks, but I don’t think any of my wishes have a chance of coming true.” You nod, quiet understanding passing over your face before moving the piece of her to your own knuckle.

“Well then, I’ll wish for both of us that tonight goes decently well.” You shut your eyes tight and huff the eyelash out into the room.

“You’re not supposed to say it out loud.” And there is the ghost of a smile on her face at your mistake.

“What are the chances it comes true anyway?”

That was two hours ago, and as it turns out, the answer is zero to none. In fact, so far, the night had proved to be a disaster. No self-respecting Capitol citizen wanted to be seen talking to someone from the Districts, and so, as expected, no one spoke with you at all. Picking at the abundance of food lining the tables that fill the garden had only earned you several hard stares, and there came a point where even talking to Teff felt frustrating under the weight of so many watchful eyes, and so, about thirty minutes ago, you had pressed yourself into a corner, brimming with the hope that you might get lucky and simply disappear.

At present, your gaze is fixed on Treech, locked in conversation with a woman you recognize as his mentor from the 10th Hunger Games. She is a pretty girl; hair twisted back and away from her face and a visage like a cherub’s. Not that you really take notice. Not that you’re jealous or anything.

“May I have this dance?” Your thoughts are interrupted by the sudden presence at your side, and with a jolt, you turn to meet Hilarius Heavensbee, looking slightly more preened than he had several hours ago in your hotel room. You cast another glance in Treech’s direction, though it reveals nothing new. He is still wrapt in his conversation with Vispania and you are still standing in the corner, only not quite so alone.

“Shouldn’t you be sneering at me with disgust from thirty feet away?” And really, he’s done nothing to deserve it, but you are not exactly in the mood to be extending courtesies, and his offer seems to you more like an attempt to get under your skin than anything else.

“Well, I would, but then you’d be stuck standing in this corner, and I cannot think of a worse way to waste a perfectly beautiful dress.” You only snort in response, but the words seem genuine enough, and he extends you a careful hand, which, after several moments of consideration, you take. He leads you with ease, you note, as you settle into the pattern of his practiced steps, and you begin to relax in spite of your newfound position thrusting you into the limelight. Your eyes flit back to Treech, who, having noted your presence on the dance floor, appears distracted from his conversation with his former mentor, expression unreadable.

“How’s your night been so far?” Hilarius asks low and quiet in your ear. This conversation is just for you, meaning your biting tone from before feels at liberty to return.

“Is that a joke?” You scoff, meeting his gaze with a single eyebrow arched in question.

“They’re warming up to you,” he reassures, gathering the implication of your words, and you mull over his comment.

“Yeah, to Lux and Beau. And Octavian, I guess.” This much is true. The three had been the most successful in engaging with the other partygoers, with Lux in particular managing to charm a group of Capitol citizens who have yet to depart from her side. Hilarius only sighs before seeming to make a quick shift in conversation.

“Do you know the real reason I’m dancing with you?”

“Well, given that I saw the ring on your finger the minute you walked up, I’m assuming it's not an attempt to get in my pants,” you chuckle, eyes traveling to the golden band on his left hand. He grants you a smile, though his head shakes in tandem with the action.

“Look around. Look at the way they’re looking at you.” And you do. And he’s right, you note, not even having heard his reason, because the people of the Capitol have stopped glaring, fixing you instead with looks of curiosity and interest. It’s working.

As the music comes to a stop, he steps back, taking your hand in his and pressing a soft kiss to the skin. You nearly jerk back in surprise.

“Was that really necessary?”

“No. But you should see the look on your face.” You roll your eyes, casting your head around to gauge the reaction of your audience. The place beside Vispania is empty, and all that’s left of Treech is a retreating form headed for the house.

“I have to go, sorry,” you whisper, barely looking back as you set off after him.

It is not for lack of trying that you come up empty in your search for Treech, doing the rounds of both the gardens and the house for the remainder of the party to no avail. By the time you return to the hotel, it is nearly 3:00 am, and Treech is nowhere to be found. You crash into the soft padding of your duvet, not even bothering to wipe the makeup from your face, and the hem of your dress spills over the side of the bed, brushing against your ankles.

You think of Hilarius, of the dance you’d shared and the seeming sympathy he had lent you in his attempt to garner you even a modicum of support and respect. Your brain picks at his possible motivations: advancement within Snow’s ranks, better support for their sadistic project, a false sense of trust instilled in you as a mentor. Genuine kindness. You keep coming back to that answer, but it feels ignorant to let yourself believe, so you move on to other musings. To Treech.

It is incredible, you think, the amount of time he spends occupying your thoughts. You run your hands down your face, resisting the urge to curl in on yourself as you picture once more his retreating form. Was it something Vispania said? Or maybe, just maybe, was it you? Your dance with Hilarius? The thought feels indulgent, and your mind travels to earlier today. To your almost kiss. To the awkward battle, the two of you seem locked in, both wanting to give in but refusing for the other. Your mind begins to drift over the what-ifs.

There is a knock at the door. You are on your feet in an instant, though upon reaching it, your hand hovers over the handle. What if it’s not Treech? Or worse, what if it is? What do you even say? That this is doomed. That the two of you are doomed. You twist it open, and he doesn’t even look up as the light of your room floods the hallway, soft curls hanging down in his face and his frame draped against the entrance.

“I–” You begin.

“I can’t do this anymore.” He does not look up as he speaks, and his voice is strained as it travels in your direction.

“What?”

“When I’m with you, I can’t have you. When I’m ignoring you, you’re all I can think about. This is driving me insane. I feel like I’m insane and like no matter what I do, I’m losing. And I can’t just push it down anymore– Trust me, I tried. And I just knew I had to tell you. Well, technically, I’ve already told you, but this is the last time I’ll say it and–” And he is looking at you now, eyes wild.

“Treech–”

“When I saw you with him tonight, it felt like I was– Like I couldn’t– I’m not good at–” His struggle is palpable, but even as you move to interrupt him, you sense he has more to say.

“Treech,” you begin again.

“Like I was drowning.”

“Treech.” And this time, he doesn’t interrupt you as you move forward, placing a hand on his chest to still his breathing, which has become a bit erratic. He freezes, and for once, every emotion on his face is clear. Fear. Frustration. Adoration. It pools at the corners of his eyes as he looks at you. You are inches apart. Your mind flits to several days ago in the bathroom. To yesterday in your room. To all the nights you’d shared your bed. To that very first trip out to the Capitol, his pinky twisting around yours moments before you stepped out on stage. You take a shaky breath, and he leans in closer. Your noses are brushing. Now is the time to pull back. You can stop this here. But you can’t, not really. You don’t think an oncoming train could pull you away. Your lips brush over his, and his eyes begin to flutter closed before opening once more, fixing you with a questioning regard.

You only need to nod once, and it is as though time, which had stopped, has started again. And the kiss, which is soft at first, becomes frenzied, his hands pulling desperately at your waist, your own traveling up into his hair. And you pull each other closer, impossibly closer, appearing for a moment to devour one another. Completely undivided. Completely unaware.

It is early the next morning when the call comes; it sets the phone beside your bed ringing, and in your haze, you reach towards the sound only to discover Treech, who is closer, has released his hold on you to answer it. His voice is heavy with sleep, and you decide later that it was sleep that rendered you too dumb to perceive the danger of allowing him to pick up the phone. The phone in your room. Your room in which he was not meant to reside. But he continues speaking, in short, snippy phrases, before hanging up and turning to press a chaste kiss against your cheek.

“I’ll be right back.” And again, it should have scared you, his getting up so suddenly to depart, but all you can manage is a nod before you curl back into the warmth of the bed, unplagued by concern.

Snow’s office is much smaller than Treech expected, though that does not prevent the cold from seeping in. He had been quick to dress himself after receiving the call to your room, a mistake he had only recognized after speaking. Not that it would have saved him the grief. It was him Snow was asking for, not you. That thought alone is enough to send a shiver down his spine. How had Snow known to reach him there? He pushes the thought away, toying with his hands nervously while the other man finishes shuffling through a stack of papers before turning to him with a nonchalance that should have almost lowered his guard. It does not. Treech only clenches his hands into two tight fists while waiting for the man in the pressed suit to begin.

“No need to look so nervous. As long as this conversation goes well, you have nothing to worry about.” Snow smiles, face contorting into the expression as though unsure how to proceed.

“Now, I’m sure you’re wondering why I’ve called you here, though at this point, given your numerous indiscretions, I feel it should be a bit obvious.” Treech does not share the expressed sentiment and sets about wracking his brain for anything he might have done.

“Oh, come on, don’t look so confused. Your relationship? With the girl from 10? You didn’t seriously think I was that stupid, did you? And I mean, it was fine, all those sad puppy dog looks and missed glances, but then you had to go and do something about it, didn’t you?” Anything he might have done that didn’t involve you, his single gross oversight. And suddenly, it all falls into place. The call placed to your room, the teasing glint in Snow’s eye.

“How–” He begins.

“You’re in the Capitol, Mr. Elmore, my domain. There isn’t a single place in this city I don’t have eyes on.” And he’s not sure Snow even has to say it. But he does. And the words sink like a stone within his gut.

“Anyways, you’re in luck. It’s a simple fix, really. You cut ties with the girl, and I overlook this mistake.” Cut ties? He has only just gotten you within his grasp, and now he is supposed to, what? Throw you away?

“I can’t–”

“Oh, you can. And you will. I understand you have a family, several sisters? A mother? Not to worry, though. I wouldn’t start with them. You see, Miss. L/N happens to have a family as well. One that is very dear to her, as I’m sure you know. And wouldn’t it be a shame if that little sister of hers was reaped for next year's Games? A tragedy, I assure you, though it would make good press.” There it is. A threat strong enough to stop him in his tracks. A promise that his actions would result before all else in consequences for you and you alone.

“So what? I just stop talking to her? What if she won’t leave me alone?” It occurs to him that try as he might, it isn’t exactly in your nature to just let things go.

“Well, then you make her. Frankly, that’s not my concern. Just make it happen.” And just like that, you are gone. No longer within reach. No longer within reason.

“You can go now.” And Treech is nearly at the door before he speaks again.

“But Mr. Elmore? We’ll be in contact. See, there are a few other things I’d like to run by you at some point, and now that we’ve gotten to know one another on this personal level, I feel I can trust you to make the right decisions.” Treech’s gut twists at the dismissal, but he says nothing, thinking only of you. Of what he is going to say. Do. How he is going to push you away with all his unspoken confessions pressing at the backs of his teeth. He makes it to the end of the hall before throwing up.

#treech fanfiction #treech thg #treech x reader #treech tbosas #treech #tbosas fanfiction #tbosas x reader #tbosas #thg #the hunger games #hunger games #district 7 #x reader #no evil angel but love #neabl

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purrplegyuu · 1 year ago

Text

Cold | Choi Beomgyu

Index

Chapter three

Warnings: unhappiness, slightly angst, soft beomgyu, abusive mother, swearing. omg the softest chapter eveeer

Word count: 1.4k

Taglist: @arianap23e, @haatohwa

I don't know why is it soooo soft, I don't like it ughhh. Like this is a dark story. Anyways, the following chapters are gonna be waaaay darker (i mean i hope). I kinda like soft Beommie tho...

Let me know if you find any kind of mistake, i'm not a native speaker and this helps me so so so much ^_^

Also let me know if you want to be added to the tag list, if you want to suggest an event to happen on next chapters or if you have any question about any detail. Luv yaa (●'◡'●)

I’m not happy. I know that. I know I will never go to school with a bright smile on my face like Jiwoo, because unlike her, I don’t have anything that makes me enjoy sitting on an uncomfortable chair for hours, looking at the professors as if I am paying attention, and talk kindly to my classmates as if I don’t hate them so much.

I even started to believe happiness is a vile lie American series have shown to us.

However, lately, these bad feelings have been increasing. And dad knows that.

That’s why he came home early on a saturday night and announced that we were going on vacation to that pretty house on a lake that his mother left him as an inheritance.

“You okay guys?” He asks while driving, looking at me through the mirror. I smile slightly at him, nodding. “Gyu, I heard you got really good grades again. Bet your mother is really really proud” Beomgyu looks at him back, quiet, and totally ignores him.

The awkward aura all over the car now, as dad looks at Beomgyu’s mother, scared of making his relationship even worse. He has tried thousands of ways to get along with Beomgyu, but the boy sitting by my side never really cared.

Once we arrive, dad gets out of his car, stretching his back. I look at Beomgyu. He really hates my father. At least that’s what it looks like—he gets even darker when our parents are close to him, doesn’t even smirk at any kind of jokes and doesn’t say a single word until they are far away again.

But today, he looks even more dark than usual, which makes me feel a bit scared.

I get out of the car when he does. I see his mother running towards my dad in order to enter the house with him.

We both stand in front of the house quietly, looking at the way our parents play like kids with their luggage as they take it in the house. They really look like a young couple. However, I find it a bit weird, but I guess it is just because I never liked her.

I look around. There are so many memories from my childhood—the garden full of flowers I planted when I was five, the rustic oven I used to make pizza in when I was eight, the lake where I learned how to swim when I was nine. But everything looks just too old and dirty—it’s been seven years since the last time we came here, it’s been seven years since the last time I enjoyed being in such a place… it’s been seven years since I last saw her.

I walk through the trees until I have reached a certain place. A small dock made of old wood, mouldy and poorly stable. Hundreds of drawings all over one of the wood tiles—’Jeongseo’ on top of everything, followed by ‘Namhyuk’ and ‘Dami’.

I really miss those times.

By 6 p. m., dad calls me to the big dock in front of our house.

“Gaeum, honey, could you please go get the meat?” Beomgyu’s mom smiles at him, and makes a disgusted face when she turns around. Dad’s on the white boat his father used to drive right before dying three years ago. Everything I can think about when I see it, is him swearing he will never use it again because it was his dad’s, not his.

“We’re taking Luna on an expedition” he says. I can see the happiness on his face. Luna is the name grandpa gave his boat. “Remember when we used to go to the other side of the lake?” I nod. “Well, we are going to go there to take the dinner tonight” a big smile on his face makes me force myself to smile although I’m not happy or excited.

“I will go get a sweater”

When I get in the house, I don’t see Gaeum in the kitchen, which I found a bit weird, but don’t really pay attention to it. I go to my room, take a pink sweater and try it on in front of the mirror. I’m wearing a long-sleeved dark shirt which is supposed to cover me up enough to make me feel warm, however, the short jean skirt makes it hard for me to get warm. Even with a big coat, and in the house, I’m trembling.

However, I get out of my room, holding a white blanket, and stop walking when I hear some noises in Beomgyu’s room. The door is closed, so I cannot see anything, but I don’t also see any light under the door, even though it’s 6:30 p. m., and it’s very dark already.

“Don’t be fucking dumb” Gaeum’s voice sounding so different—meaner, unlike her usual fake sweet voice tone. “Could you please think a bit? Ha, you’re almost an adult, why would I have to ask you to not be so dumb?” The door of my room closes strongly due to the air running through my open window, which makes me jump, touching my chest. No more sounds in the room makes me feel scared someone can catch me, so I walk back to the door.

Gaeum gets out of Beomgyu’s room, and I look at her, trying to look as natural as possible, holding tightly my blanket, faking a blank face to her like I didn’t hear anything.

“What?” I ask when she keeps looking at me. I even impress myself with my almost perfect acting.

“Are you ready? I’m asking Beomgyu if he is also ready” I look in his room. He’s not visible from outside, so I just nod to her, going down once again.

Some minutes after that, Gaeum gets on the boat, giving dad the things he asked for and his coat. Beomgyu walks behind her, blank face as always, and doesn’t look at dad, just gets in the boat and sits by my side.

Dad knows perfectly how to drive the boat, so he does it while we all try to warm ourselves with our coats.

The place we and Beomgyu are sitting is lower than the place our parents are at, so they can’t see us unless they go down.

That’s why he puts his hand on my thigh, caressing it as we’re alone over there. I look at him, looking at the lake deeply. His soft hair moving with the air, his face even prettier than ever, flawless skin, and some red marks on his cheeks like he has just cried.

“You don’t seem that happy” he says, still looking at the lake.

“I never look happy” I say, jokingly. Spending so much time with Jiwoo has started to affect me. But he doesn’t laugh. The silence makes me want to be sincere with him. Guess he has this effect on me. “I don’t really like here” He turns around to look at me, almost surprised at my words. It’s a pretty and almost paradisiacal place. Why wouldn’t I like it? “Everything I can think about when I’m here is her… the last time I saw mom”

We stay silent for a few minutes, weirdly enjoying each other’s company.

Then, he talks once again. “I know you listened” his husky voice should make me feel scared, however, his hands touching me so softly, his head against mine, his arm around me, his body warming me up… I can’t be scared even if he says he will kill me after that. And I wonder if that kind of scenes are the reason I love him so much even when he treats me so wrong most of the time. Maybe I don’t love him, maybe I just love the way he treats me so wrong, but sometimes, he acts like he loves me back.

I don’t try to deny it. He knows me well. The voice tone he used isn’t even doubtful. He knows I listened.

“Don’t want to know why was she so mad?” Weirdly, everytime he doesn’t use pet names, it’s just because he’s treating me well.

I look at him quietly. I find it a bit acted the way he fakes peace, like it doesn’t really bother him. His eyes a bit red, like his nose and cheeks.

“She found out I’m fucking someone” He flashes a bit more than usual. “, and scolded me for not using condom” His eyes shiny, and can feel like he’s being forced or something like that. However, I don’t say anything.

I never say anything.

#beomgyu smut #txt smut #txt choi line smut #soobin smut #tw: noncon #toxic beomgyu #tw: dubcon #kpop #kpop smut #fanfic #txt x reader #txt imagines #Beomgyu stepbrother #beomgyu overstimulation #beomgyu hard dom #beomgyu mean dom #Cold | Beomgyu #purrplegyuu

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desceros · 10 months ago

Note

this got longer than i meant it to, so tldr is these young men need to increase their experience bars to catch up to vi, nobody's maxed ??? i guess?? i rambled. uh. ANYHOW; gentle reminder that the boys were not in fact raised like typical humans, they have a very tight-knit social circle that very rarely grows or changes and their outside social interactions tend to be limited to yokai and other mutants just as bizarre as they are. Vi was raised presumably pretty standardly as a human in human society, regardless of the perceived pro-mutant thing given her some flavor. Her expectations are already set, she learned all this socializing biz growing up around other people learning probably around the same time, assuming she had like-aged peers as a kid- doubt that's been considered but if she's written to be neurotypical-coded then that's probably a fair take on her formative years. The boys did not get this social interaction with humans in public spaces and navigating relationships; even homeschooled children get outside to play with the neighborhood kids. They didn't even have yokai until they were 15. April was it until then. She's not exactly typical herself, either, so that's not much opportunity to learn how to treat people properly. all this to say, Leo and Donnie are both making the sort of mistakes you tend to make as kids, when it's less consequential because there's no predetermined expectation. I saw in another ask, Des, you said the bar couldn't be lower and I feel like that was true from the get-go with these boys; Vi's not just the best friend or love interest, she's also probably one of the, if not their very first human friend since adulthood (and no I do not count the Jones pair; one's feral ninja crazy and the other is apocalypse boy wonder, neither raise that bar, i will die on this hill). The boys are both learning character-building life lessons here. I for one am gonna be rooting for Leo to bounce back just as much as Donnie because these are not bad people, just inexperienced dum dums and I for one enjoy watching character growth in progress.

i'm really in a glass house about the Wow This Got Long tirade so you'll have no slings nor arrows from me, lmao

so, in symphony, i've tried to show that there's kind of a. hm. sliding scale of socialization that's happened with the boys. allow me to ramble on in detail since i know it's one of those things i've been perhaps a bit too sneaky about:

on one end of the spectrum, you have mikey. he's the one that goes out to the grocery store while dragging donnie along when he can, he makes friends that come to the party, etc. he's basically integrated at this point, as much as one can be as a ninja turtle that grew up in the sewer.

next you have leo, who i suspect talks to people and interacts with them as the face man, but he's still very sheltered. his sheltering, however, is by choice. hes not very interested in getting to know them. he's very closed off and protective of the hamato secrets, so he doesn't let people in. not unless they're useful.

next comes raph. i think early on, after krang, he probably tried to integrate. but he's, yknow, a huge-ass alligator snapping turtle mutant. he looks scary, and he's aware of how it comes across. he has a lot of encounters where people assume the worst of him. there's one line in chapter 14 that illustrates his stance on the situation, and how he's basically given up hope on the idea of integration:

“Honestly? I dunno. For years, we always lived in the shadows, never lettin’ humans see us ‘cause we didn’t know how they’d react. And now that we know, I wonder sometimes if we shouldn’t just stay down here.”

and finally, at the far end, we have donnie. if it weren't for his touch-aversion, i think he actually would have been next after mikey to integrate. we see him in the show going to april's school in the daytime in just his hoodie, talking to humans easily, and he's comfortable wearing pretty shitty disguises to go topside. but in symphony, because of his trauma (some of which we haven't explored yet i am so, so sorry to tell you), he self isolates so he doesn't have to Deal With People. crowds in particular are a No No, and the boy lives in new york. crowds are kinda hard to avoid. and you are correct! this has been detrimental to his socialization. he doesn't know how to communicate his needs to people. he never had to learn how.

but that's what's so... delicious about writing this fic for me. donnie having to grapple with the fact that he has to meet viola-chan in the middle, and viola-chan grappling with having to meet him in the middle. he needs direct, specific language. she needs authentic, affirming language. they're not mutually exclusive. but they are something that needs to be practiced, and hhhhhh. it's just so much fun to iron out!

#ask tag #symphony tag #god. im doing meta analysis again. i might as well make a tag for it i suppose #symphony meta #thank you!!! very interesting ask!! :D

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sirowsky-stories · 7 months ago

Text

The Flowers Always Know

Chapter 13 - Dance with the Devil

Description: You and Marcus ended up in your first argument as a couple, when you received unexpected news concerning the mad scientist who was now in prison.

**Beware! Author chooses NOT to display warnings on the individual chapters of this story. Read at your own risk!**

Rating: Mature 18+ONLY Word Count: 5950 (3629 words added) Masterlist (this story)

“Hey kid, scram,” you said to Missy as you came into the living room. “Your dad and I need to have a grown-up talk.”

“Got it. I’ll finish watching this in my room with my headphones on,” she replied without hesitation, having already learned that you never butted into her time with her father unless it was important.

They’d been watching a movie together while you’d been having a pampering evening, with a long hot shower, facemask, footbath and some nailcare for once. You very rarely took the time to do these things, which made each time feel special and luxurious. You’d deliberately made sure you’d be extra relaxed for this conversation. Missy got up and bounced off towards her room, and while Marcus did his best to play it off, you could tell he was suddenly very nervous.

“Kid? What happened to sweetie?”

“There’s a time for sweetie, and a time for kid,” you shrugged after taking a seat on the coffee table, so you could sit directly opposite him, which only increased his concerns.

“Am I in trouble?”

“Nope. Just something we can’t really put off any longer.”

“Okay,” he nodded, still looking worried, but put somewhat at ease knowing it probably wasn’t gonna end in a fight.

“So, you know how I was a little off at lunch a couple of days ago?” you started, and you could see how he thought back, making sure he knew what you were talking about before answering.

“Yeah, you were kinda quiet, keeping to yourself. I figured you were tired.”

“No, actually… I was late,” you said, emphasizing the last word in a way you hoped he could interpret, because you couldn’t quite bring yourself to use any of the other words or phrases for it.

“Oh. That kind of late,” he correctly deduced, and since he didn’t seem terrified of the subject, you soldiered on before you lost your nerve.

“Yep. It was a false alarm, I got my period today, but considering the fact we haven’t been careful, at all, we can’t really ignore it. I mean, I know it’s a big conversation to have after just two weeks, but if we put it off, it might end up being too late.”

You were putting on a brave face, but in truth, this subject scared you for a number of reasons, which was why you’d felt the need to make sure you were as relaxed as you could be before bringing it up. Marcus, on the other hand, was a picture of calm, leaned back against the sofa with his hands resting idly in his lap and a look of curious interest on his face.

“No, you’re right, we should talk about it. Just don’t expect any flailing or panic from my side of the fence,” he started, peering at you with an insightfulness you hadn’t expected. “If you’re asking me how I’d feel about having more children, the answer is I’d love that. And if you’re asking me if I’d freak out if we got pregnant already after just two weeks, my answer would be… no. I don’t think I would. I’m sure about you, about us, and this family has plenty of room to grow.”

“Oh,” was was all you managed to push out of your mouth after hearing him declare his thoughts and feelings on the matter so clearly.

You were terribly ambivalent yourself, which made it somewhat jarring to hear his perspective. He was so prepared and comfortable with the whole idea, which made perfect sense given he’d already been through it before, but you had still expected him to have some reservation about the prospect. To want to discuss it, at the very least. And now that it was clear he didn’t much worry, either way, you didn’t know how to continue the conversation.

“What about you?” he asked after giving you a moment to process, and he still looked only curious and interested to hear your perspective, which just made your own reservations that much worse.

You’d been dreading having to share this side of yourself ever since you’d first begun to build your friendship with Marcus. Not because you didn’t want him to know about it, but because you just had so much baggage where family was concerned. And even though you were the one who’d brought this up, you honestly weren’t sure if you were ready to tell him everything about your past yet. But you owed it to him to at least try to explain where you stood on children.

“Hey, preciosa, what is it?” he suddenly asked, leaning forwards in his seat so he could put a reassuring hand on your knee, and it took you a second to understand why.

You hadn’t even noticed your eyes beginning to tear up.

“Um… It’s just… my own family… uh, it wasn’t a good place. I don’t have a lot of fond memories of growing up and I’m just… completely fucking terrified that I’m somehow gonna taint this beautiful little family with that darkness,” you admitted, and he listened silently, but he looked worried.

He scooted further out onto the edge of his seat so he could reach your hands, holding them tightly to try and steady you when your tears started to fall.

“I’ve never realistically thought about having a family. Not because I didn’t want one, but because I just never thought I’d be any good at it. Being a mom… never seemed like something I could do, or maybe even something I shouldn’t do. And then I met you, and… Missy. And the way I feel around her, the way I want to be there for her and take care of her… Fuck, I don’t know how to navigate this.”

He kept searching your eyes, and you had no idea what he was looking for, but his voice was as soft as he could make it when he finally spoke.

“I already know you’d make a great mom, sweetheart. You don’t ever need to worry about that, and if you ever do, just look at how comfortable Missy is around you. How she’s drawn to you, how she reads you and learns you so quickly because she wants to cultivate that relationship with you. I know my daughter very well, so I know she’d never do these things if she didn’t feel safe and loved by you, and that’s all a mother needs to do. The rest is the eternal learning curve of parenthood.”

You wanted to thank him for his faith in you, but there were other things deeply embedded under your skin, which screamed horrible and cruel things in your ears, refusing to let you believe him. A voice you’d heard so many times, telling you how worthless, useless and unwanted you were. And it didn’t matter that you’d freed yourself of those circumstances all those years ago, you’d never been able to scrub that voice out.

“Why wasn’t it a good place?” you heard your partner’s voice whisper gently. “What happened with your family, hermosa?”

Maybe if he knew about it, he could help drown out the past, or even smother it. Maybe his positive healing effect on your body could somehow work on your mind as well, if you just let him in. But the mere memory of that voice, the nights spent locked in your room, the lies and the seemingly endless fear of not knowing if each new day would end up being your last…

“I… I can’t,” you cried, shaking your head, trying to keep those old feelings from overpowering you.

“Please, just tell me. Whatever it is, you won’t lose me. I’m right here. Please,” he begged, wanting only to understand, having no clue how his urging became the catalyst for no fucking reason beyond him asking for something you weren’t ready to revisit.

The very worst of the memories surged up behind your eyes without warning, and you closed them as hard as you could, trying to keep it all out, trying to make the truth disappear. But it never would. So, you just cried. Painfully, forcefully.

Marcus caught you when you doubled over, feeling as though your insides were turning to acid, trying to destroy everything that you were. You didn’t see or feel him cry with you. You didn’t see how much your pain made him suffer, or how helpless he felt as you curled into a foetal position when he moved you over to his lap, and wrapped his arms around you and just rocked you. You didn’t hear him continuously repeat how sorry he was, as though he had been the reason for all this pain.

At some point, you must’ve fallen asleep with the emotional drain, and when you woke again, it was to the sound of heated voices close by. But these weren’t the voices of your past, and although they were arguing, you knew you had no reason to fear them.

“…can’t ask her to do that! No, absolutely not, it’s not happening,” Marcus vehemently determined.

“This is not your decision to make, hijo,” his mother replied, much more calmly, but still with the assertiveness and superiority of an older woman.

“And it shouldn’t be hers either,” her son argued, getting so riled up you could hear him grind his teeth through the words. “She should never even have to think about it.”

“It might be good for her. Confronting it. Has she ever even talked to you about it?”

There was a brief pause, and you heard Marcus begrudgingly sigh before answering.

“No. Not directly.”

“And you know burying such things is never healthy.”

“And meeting the man who tortured you, is?!” he fully screamed in response, and his words sent daggers of ice through you.

“What?” you breathed just as you stepped into the kitchen from the living room, staring from Anita to her son and then back again, hoping one of them would tell you that you’d misheard them.

“Sweetheart, you should get to bed, you’re exhausted,” Marcus tried to distract you, coming to your side where he put an arm around you and attempted to lead you towards the bedroom and away from his mother.

“No. Tell me,” you demanded, already dreading what you might be about to hear, but you also knew that being coddled wouldn’t help anything.

Still, your partner either refused to be the one to give you the news, or he simply couldn’t bring himself to say it, so you squirmed out of his arm and turned to Anita, since you’d overheard enough to know she wanted you to do whatever this was. And in a rare display of care, she stepped closer to you and adapted a softer frame, as if trying to ease the pain she knew she was about to inflict.

“Dr. Prince wants to meet you. He’s left instructions with his legal counsel saying that if he can talk to you for one hour, he will give the authorities the names of the three unidentified bodies they found at his facility, as well as disclose a secondary location, where he is claiming to have hidden an additional ten,” she explained, still calm but her voice was clear and to the point.

You suddenly felt completely numb. Nothing inside you seemed to know what to feel about this, so instead, it was as though you’d shut down. It seemed like a lifetime ago that a police sergeant had come to the medical ward to inform you that you’d been given the authority to watch the interrogation videos, in case it would spark some repressed memory in you which could help with the investigation, but you never seen a single frame of it. You’d never once even asked to see a picture of the man.

At some stage of your recovery, you’d made the choice to leave it all behind and focus on moving forward. You’d agreed to trauma counselling and spent two hours a week talking to a specialist, but since you couldn’t remember the events in Egypt, the focus of the talks had mostly been on your emotional state at the time, and how to manage the frustrations of rehabilitation and finding the patience to let things develop however slowly they needed to.

But without Marcus, you couldn’t have done any of it, because aside from the fact that he’d been instrumental in your physical recovery, he had also been a beacon of hope throughout the process. A light for you to aim your strength and resolve at, and which you had since continued running towards, because as long as you did, nothing chasing you would ever catch up. Which only meant you still feared something was chasing you.

For all the progress you’d made, the signs had been there all along, revealing how frail your hope was, how easily your strength would fail under pressure. Your panic attack after fainting and your reaction just now, after merely attempting to talk about your past, being the most recent and obvious ones, but there had been smaller things as well. In truth, you were never more than one wrong word, or a stray thought away from crumbling. All because of this man you couldn’t even remember.

“Okay. I’ll do it,” you said, feeling strangely disconnected from yourself.

But even so, you were certain that this was the right call, because at some point, you’d have to stop running or your new life would forever be held back. Like trying to drive with the handbrake on. Your partner, however, had clearly not expected this answer from you. He lost every shade of colour in his face, staring at you in utter disbelief, unable to find any words.

“I’ll let them know,” Anita nodded and turned to leave. “It will probably be set up for next week.”

As she left the house, you turned and walked to the bedroom, still not feeling anything, not even your own feet as they moved over the wooden floors. Taking a seat on your side of the bed with your back to the door you tried not to think about what you’d just agreed to, but of course, those were the only thoughts you could find right then.

You told yourself you wouldn’t have to speak to him. That you could just sit there and let him talk. He was crazy, so surely anything he said about you wouldn’t matter, so long as he kept up his end of the deal. But of course it would. Every fucking word would matter. How could they not?

“You don’t need to do this,” Marcus said as he rounded the bed and came to kneel in front of you. “They’ll get that information out of him some other way. It doesn’t have to be you.”

But his words only solidified your understanding of your circumstances.

“Yeah, it does. Because it was always me,” you said, not really trying to answer him, just speaking your thoughts out loud. “All this time I’ve soldiered on, pushed past the trauma because why should I worry about something I can’t even remember? But it happened. He experimented on me. Out of all the people in this world he picked me, and I can try to deny it until the day I die, but the truth is… I don’t know how to live with it, except to just put one foot in front of the other and hope that the ground holds.”

“I hear you, sweetheart. Really, I do. But I’ve met this guy,” he reminded you. “I was there when we caught him, and I know that nothing he tells you is going to make any of this feel better. If anything, all you’d be doing would be giving him another opportunity to hurt you, because I can promise you, that’s all he wants. To gloat and rub everyone’s nose in how brilliant he thinks he is.”

You believed him, but there was still something inside you that needed to see this through, even though you were scared and even though you didn’t know why it was suddenly so important.

“Have you ever lost time, Marcus?” you asked, starting to feel the numbness give way to something deep and disturbing within the essence of your being. “Do you know how it feels to have a big gaping emptiness in your head, during which time anything could’ve been done to you?”

He closed his eyes and bowed his head in recognition of your argument, but he still persisted.

“He won’t give you the answers you seek. He doesn’t think like you or me, he’s barely even human,” he whispered now, desperate for you to hear him. “Please… don’t give him what he wants. Don’t go.”

-=¤=-

The authorities were so eager to learn anything Prince might be willing to share that they set up the meeting just two days later, and you’d never worked more efficiently than you did in those forty-eight hours. Never before had you been so grateful to be swamped with work, for the first time actually managing to catch up with all the crap your predecessor had left behind, in your efforts to distract yourself.

Marcus had continued his efforts to dissuade you, getting antsier the closer it got when you still hadn’t agreed to call it off. And when you were just two hours away from the agreed upon time, he couldn’t take it anymore and tried to get his mother to put a stop to it. But all he accomplished was angering you, because he had no right to try and make this decision for you, however much he might consider it a mistake.

After Anita had also shut him down over the phone, he all but lost it, throwing the device at the kitchen wall, so hard that it got embedded within the drywall.

“You’re not coming with me,” you declared then, standing in the hallway opening since you’d been on your way to get changed when he’d decided to call his mother.

“What?” he asked, and he looked truly stunned to hear you say such a thing.

“You obviously can’t handle even the thought of going there, so I can’t imagine you’d be much help to me,” you calmly elaborated, but his anger only increased.

“I can’t hand-?” he started, cutting himself off with what sounded like sheer disbelief, before finding a new track. “Well, someone has to protect you from that asshole, since you’re obviously dead set on letting him have his way with you!” he spat, and even though you knew deep down that this was just fear talking and he hadn’t meant for it to sound so cold and cruel, you felt like he’d just stabbed you in the guts.

“If you can’t bring yourself to support me,” you started, doing your best to stay calm while fighting hard against the lump stocking itself in your throat, “to help me try and find a way to leave this shit behind, even if that means confronting the man I fear more than anything in this world, then I don’t know if this relationship has any hope of surviving.”

His reaction to that was painful. But for some reason, this particular decision of yours was one he just couldn’t reconcile with, and the anger remained the dominant emotion surging through him, despite the hurt.

“Be there for me… or don’t be there at all,” you demanded, and then left him to sit with his rage while you went to get ready, hoping he’d make a good decision in the end.

You’d never seen him so angry before. There really was something primal about him when he was that furious, and suddenly Amaire’s comments about him turning into Cujo began to make perfect sense. But when you returned to the kitchen as the time came to get going, he was nowhere to be found, and you left the house feeling a crushingly ominous sorrow, that perhaps you’d never get to walk back in to meet the loving embrace of this family.

-=¤=-

There were forms to fill out and long corridors to cross before you got to the room. It was a specialized visitation room, parted in two with a very thick and reinforced piece of plexiglass as a divider, with just one chair on each side. There were no holes in the glass, so the sound was carried over electronically, by small microphones built into the chairs, which connected to wall-mounted speakers on either side of the divider.

“From here, we can mute both sides of the room individually,” a prison guard informed you while you waited in the adjoining control room from which all of this would be supervised. “If we want to speak to you without him overhearing, we can shut his speaker down.”

“And what if I have a question for you or something? How do I signal that I need you to mute him?” you asked, although the real reason you wanted to know was so that you could spare yourself from having to hear something which might really hurt you.

Marcus’s warnings hadn’t passed you by. The guard seemed to see through your excuse, though. But he was kind enough to just help put your mind at ease.

“If you have a question, or if you just need to not hear him for a minute, all you gotta do is put your hand up and we’ll mute him, but we’ll still be able to hear you.”

“Okay. But… I’ll be locked in there with him, right?”

“That’s procedure, yeah. The door doesn’t even have a handle on that side. But again, if you get scared or claustrophobic or you just need to leave, come to the door. We can see you the whole time and we’ll get you out right away.”

“Thanks,” you said, truly grateful for his obvious understanding of your discomfort, but also not at all put at ease by anything you were hearing.

You knew in your head that there was no possibility whatsoever, for him to physically harm you during your visit, and still, every instinct was telling you not to go in there with him. Because it wasn’t bodily harm you were primarily concerned about.

Standing in the control room while they brought him in and strapped him into his chair gave you a chance to observe him without him being able to see you, since the window between the control room and the visitation room was a one-way mirror. He looked so… ordinary. You weren’t sure what you’d been expecting, but a guy who looked like he could’ve been anything from a gardener to a Wall Street banker, just didn’t fit your perception of him.

He was quiet while you walked inside, slowly letting the door fall shut and feeling a shiver course through you as you heard the electronic lock seal. It sounded so final. You kept your gaze on the chair while you took the few steps needed to reach it, but you could feel his eyes on you, studying your movements like a hawk preparing to strike. And when you finally sat down and met his intrigued expression, you really did feel like a mouse about to be snatched and eaten.

Then he started speaking, and your blood turned to ice.

“I knew it was possible,” he said, and a bright smile filled his face. But it was off. Not a smile of happiness, but perhaps some perverted sense of triumph. “I always knew, despite the data, despite the numerous failures, that it would be possible. If I could just find the right specimen. The perfect one. And I did. Wow, you turned out absolutely exquisite, my dear.”

You’d heard this light, bird-chirping sort of voice before. You might not have the images, but your body knew the sound. Your nerves and muscles remembered the pain which had accompanied this voice, reacted to it with such ferocity that you could feel the echo of the torture within the fibres and tissues he’d broken. You didn’t want to answer him. You wanted to get up and run away and never see or hear this man ever again. But something kept you there. Looking for the answer to a question you didn’t know.

“You’re delusional,” you finally croaked through a throat gone dry with fear. “Even now, you can’t admit you failed.”

“Oh, but I didn’t,” he confidently countered, still smiling as his gaze turned more and more predatory the longer he looked at you.

“I don’t have any powers,” you persisted, certain you were right about this, which made you feel stronger.

“Yes, you do. I can see it,” he persisted, and even though there was no proof to his claim, the sheer conviction in his eyes was enough to make your certainty waver. “You might not have discovered it yet, but you have it.”

“You’re wrong. You’re grasping…” you said, trying to keep your resolve intact, but even you could hear how it broke a little more with each passing second.

Not because you believed he was right, but because you were terrified that he could be.

“You were different from the start, you know,” he mused, clearly enjoying this to the fullest. “The way you responded to the enhanced cells, I knew you’d be promising. The first round was immeasurably intriguing, seeing how you dealt with the pain. Oh, you were so strong. You never stopped fighting me, even when you could no longer move. And then, as you regained your strength, you kept trying to escape.”

The way his mouth caressed the words made you feel sick. You felt like he was touching you, like his skin was pressing against yours even though he was twelve feet away. Except this man had actually touched you. And you had no idea to which extent his abuse of your body had reached.

“The second round was more delicate. Trying to figure out how much I dared to give you, to keep pushing your system without breaking it, but you were amazing. No matter how much I gave you, you kept bouncing back as soon as you got the chance. So, I knew you’d survive the final round, the one that would actually send your body over the threshold,” he proudly explained, and you swallowed hard to keep from vomiting.

“If you expect me to be flattered by your confidence in my abilities, think again,” you growled, because it was easier than speaking normally when you were battling against your own stomach. “Did you really think I was gonna be impressed by you? You tortured me for two fucking days!”

You knew that losing your cool wouldn’t do you any favours here, but every moment in the presence of this man seemed to increase the beratement on your senses tenfold.

“Oh no, my dear. I’m afraid you’ve been misled. You see, I had you at my mercy for three whole weeks,” he quietly announced, and the purity of the exultation in his eyes when he said it, told you that this was why he’d wanted you to come here.

The ice in your veins seemed to double, and your chest felt as though it was trying to collapse in on itself. Rationally, you wanted to believe what your mind was telling you, which was that it wasn’t true. But the ecstasy with which he delivered that line was unmistakable. He’d wanted to see you find that out, because it was the ultimate victory for him. Because the fact that no one knew about it meant he’d gotten away with it. And no one would ever be able to take that from him.

“I changed your digital footprint, and rearranged your mind a little, with the help of a certain skilled friend,” he playfully admitted, loving every moment of this. “You went through ten rounds of my treatment, each one slightly more potent than the last. And the final one… oh, it was mesmerising. It overwhelmed your system, letting the enhanced cells take control for a while, and in mere seconds you were healed. You were perfect.”

Unable to take his self-glorification any longer, you got up, stumbling as you tried to round the armrest of the chair, only just managing to keep from falling while you all but threw yourself towards the door.

“You are perfect, my darling. You’re a testament, living proof, my salvation and redemption!” he screamed behind you, still absolutely elated, and you couldn’t get away from him fast enough.

The guard opened the door for you the moment you reached it, and as soon as you were back in the control room, you collapsed to your knees and vomited into a trashcan. Your hands were shaking as you tried to steady yourself enough to just stay on your knees and not fall into a foetal position. But then one of the guards, you couldn’t tell who, offered you a helping hand, having to almost lift you up to get you into a chair.

He tried to say something, or maybe ask you a question, but all you heard was Prince’s voice echoing in your mind. The world around you was a blur to all your senses while your brain worked with all its might to try and recreate those memories, desperate to find answers even though you already knew you wouldn’t. But then one of the words spoken by someone in the room reached through the haze.

Moreno. A person somewhere beside you said the name, which confused you. Because why would anyone say that in those circumstances unless he was there? Which he shouldn’t be, you’d made it very clear he wasn’t welcome unless he was gonna be supportive. But when you lifted your gaze to check, sure enough he was right there in front of you, staring towards the now muted visiting room with the most pained expression you’d ever seen on his face, and his eyes were so dark you didn’t even recognize them.

He stood as far from you as the room allowed, and you could tell he was afraid to get too close because of the unfiltered rage which was emanating from him. This was exactly what you’d been afraid of. What you’d suspected would happen if he came here with anything but a desire to help you, which you’d known all along he wouldn’t be capable of focusing on. Not when he’d already made up his mind that you’d been stupid to agree to this at all.

“Marcus…” you tried, but he didn’t respond.

He was right there. The one person in this world you wanted and needed right then, more than anything, but he was completely unavailable.

“Please… I need you,” you begged, feeling your voice falter with overpowering sadness, because you already knew he wouldn’t come to you.

His eyes met yours, only for a moment, and then he swept around to the door, walking out without a word, and you felt as though you broke in half right there. A nameless emptiness filled you, stripping you of all hope that you might one day be happy again, and you wished for lightning to strike and everything to stop. Because without him, there was no light to aim for. As the wide planes of his back disappeared out the door, all your strength and will to fight left with him.

You sat in the control room, trying to remember why you were even there, since nothing seemed to matter anymore, until the same guard from before asked you if he should help you find your way out of the building. How much time passed between then and when you walked out of the prison, you didn’t know. You felt like you were on autopilot. Like nothing inside you was working right, and you had no idea how to even begin fixing it. You just knew everything hurt.

But as you stepped out to the parking lot, you were met by flashing red and blue lights against the evening darkness, and it took you a minute to figure out why. The lampposts had been destroyed so there was no regular light out there, but once your eyes adjusted, you saw the cars, the guard rails, the pipes and metal wires which had been wrung out from underneath the pavement. Every piece of metal in sight was crumpled or distorted.

Marcus had to have run out because he’d felt this coming, and been afraid of hurting you or accidentally setting prisoners loose if he broke parts of the building. And while you wanted to believe that his love for you would’ve prevented all this if he’d just dared to lean on it, you honestly couldn’t say if it would’ve worked. You knew he would never wilfully harm you, but as long as he didn’t trust himself, you also knew he would never let you near him.

As an employee of the Heroics organization, you were able to do some damage control on his behalf, speaking to the police and the prison warden to try and minimize the impact this would have once it reached the press and the public. It gave you something practical to focus on, and a chance to practice your PR skills, but it took several hours.

By the time you parked your car on the driveway of your house, the clock on the dashboard read nearly 9pm, and while you were tired and emotionally drained, you didn’t wanna go inside. You turned the engine off and unbuckled yourself, but then just sat there in the driver’s seat, staring at this home you’d spent so much time and effort making for yourself, now looking so cold and empty after the weeks spent at Casa Moreno.

You wanted to be just about anywhere but there that night. All alone and hurting. But aside from checking into a hotel, you had nowhere else to go. Taking a breath in the hopes it would somehow restore enough energy to get you onto your feet and through the door, you dragged yourself out of the car but then leaned against the side of it, turning your gaze up at the stars.

You lived in a suburb, not far from the city, so the ambient lights drowned out most of the twinkling lights up there, but looking at them always reminded you of how insignificant even the most terrible things were in the grand scheme of the cosmos. That night, they also brought your mind to the sun and how incredible it was that this planet had found itself on just the right distance from it for life to flourish here. Which then reminded you of a place where you might be welcome, after all.

It took you an hour to get there, both due to distance and because it was a difficult place to find, even though you had the correct address. You knocked on the door and waited, honestly having had no idea if you were about to get a door slammed in your face. But you didn’t have a plan B, so if that happened, you might as well sleep out there on her lawn.

She must’ve been busy, or possibly already sleep, but eventually the door opened and a sceptical looking Anita, wearing a robe and carrying her cane, scanned you from head to toe, before settling on your eyes where her gaze turned both soft and irritated with realization.

“Ay, niña,” she sighed unhappily. “I’m gonna wring his neck the next time I see him, you mark my words.”

#marcus moreno fanfiction #marcus moreno x female reader #marcus moreno x reader #we can be heroes fic #we can be heroes au #au fic #pedro pascal characters #pedro pascal character fanfiction #sirowsky stories #superhero stories

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theratboyking · 2 years ago

Text

Softly Into The Night

Prologue: He Came in the night

Author's Note:

So this is the edited version of the prologue I wrote early this year to this series. There are still probably a few things I missed but I really hope you guys enjoy it. I have a few ideas as to where this story can go. Comments and such are greatly appreciated, I would love to know what you guys think :)

Pairing: Cardinal Copia/Reader/Papa Emeritus iii (this will also have eventual Copia/Terzo but that won't be for a while) (This is also a slow burn so it's gonna be a while until we even get here)

Word count: 6.9k (This is so close to 7k holy fuck)

Summary: Demons are real, angels exist, and my father is the Prince of Darkness. A dream I can’t seem to wake up from. And two mysterious strangers that seem to have a connection to me. What could possibly go wrong?

Chapter Summary: This couldn't be real, I was just having a bad dream. He can't be real. My mom might have kept a lot of stuff from me but surely she would have something as important as being the Antichrist. I was going to wake up any minute now. I will be in my bed and go about my day normally but as I slam my eyes close willing myself to wake up, Lucifer still remained.

Warnings: 18+ (this is going to get be a wild ride folks,) Slow burn, Idiots in love, kinda soulmates? poorly translated Italian (I am sorry to all the Italians out there) fluff, angst, this is a ghost fic so you know religious trauma, some chapters will like get kinda deep in the religious philosophy but maybe not depending on the direction this goes, eventual smut (Chapter will be label

AO3 Link Next ->

“I needed to get a car.” The thought left my head just as quickly as it entered.

The late hour left the streets unsettling, almost too quiet. Usually, I don’t mind the walk; it helps me calm down, but with the increase in late nights at the office getting out of hand, I find myself leaving later and later with each passing day. The vacant streets are filled with deadly silence, only broken by the sound of my steps meeting the sidewalk and the chilling howl of the wind. The feeling that I’m being watched becomes almost impossible to ignore. The cold November air was biting my face, and my steps quickened. The pit in my stomach that had been forming all sinking deeper the further I walked away from my job.

The moon hung high in the sky, providing more light than the flickering street lights. The breeze only seemed wilder with distance - it almost sounded like someone was screaming. The leaves on the trees cry out into the night with each gust of wind. I shiver, stuffing my hands in my coat pockets, seeking warmth from the cold. The feeling of dread grew further from my office.

I’m probably just being paranoid. The events of this miserable day are still fresh in my mind; that's what it had to be. I’m just tired. My bed practically called my name. All I could imagine was falling face-first into bed and forgetting about this whole day.

I was so lost in thought I didn’t even notice the cracks in the road. Losing my balance, I lost my grip on my bag. Some of the contents spilled out. I scramble to grab the contents, hoping that the feeling of being watched was nothing more than that. A feeling.

I couldn’t help but let my thoughts wander as I gathered everything, starting my journey home once more. Nothing seemed to want to go my way today. It all started with me sleeping well past my alarm. My morning consisted of me stumbling to prepare for the day, missing my mother's daily call worrying about how I was doing. She left a somewhat cryptic message stuck in my day this morning. I practically ran out my door by the time I was finally ready. My outfit was half haphazardly put together, and my coffee was missing the creamer I use, hoping I had enough time to make it to the bus stop. It seemed whatever higher power there is would not take pity on me today, the bus just leaving as I hurled myself around the corner. I was nearly two hours late when I finally got to work. My desk was already littered with piles of work I would need to have done before the end of the day. When it had finally come time for everyone to start heading home, it came to no one's surprise when Andrew dropped an additional mountain of papers on my desk, saying it needed to be done before the meeting tomorrow, his smug face almost sending into a rage.

No, today has not been my day. I can't help the groan that leaves my lips when I glance at my phone, 1:47 flashing across the screen. Even for me, this is late; I’m usually out of the office before midnight. It felt like whatever had been watching me started to join me on the venture home.

When the run-down building I call my home came into view, I had an internal panic attack. I practically sprinted into the lobby, relieved to see that the ancient elevator was working for a change. The only good news I’ve gotten today.

“Come on, come on, come on.” the words fell under my breath - my fist never let up on the button. I threw my head in panic, eyes scanning desperately to make sure no one had entered the decrepit building. The room remained empty, the only person crazy enough to be out right now being my frantic form.

It felt like a lifetime before the familiar ding broke the thick silence the room was drowning in. The doors opened slowly. “Thank God.” relief makes its way to my voice as I throw myself into the elevator's safety. My panic state only subsided when the doors creaked closed. Pushing the button for my floor, I slump against the wall taking a deep breath, trying to slow my racing heart. The confines of the lift calmed me slightly; my head began to rest against the cold metal of the wall behind my eyes started to close. My thoughts wander to the message Mom left me this morning. She sounded more paranoid, if that was possible. She frantically switched between telling me I had stayed here too long, how she should have said to me about my father - how I needed to get out tonight. The call only ended with her pleading that I did not go home tonight and that I call her back as soon as I could.

Her voice had an edge; I’d never heard her that scared. Usually, I don’t give her ramblings much thought; I left all of that behind when I moved away, but after my walk home tonight and the dread I’ve been feeling all day, I can’t help but believe her. She even mentioned my father; that was something she never did. My dad was a touchy subject for her. Maybe I should have just stayed the night at my desk. Sighing, my body relaxed further into the wall. I can already feel my frustration growing. Even after escaping, she still affects me.

The relationship between me and my mom was tense, to say the least. My mother always wanted to have kids but was told she could never. When I was young, she told me that finding out she would have a kid was some of the best news of her life. After that, it was just me and her for as long as I could remember. I never knew my father; my mom left him before I was born. Although I am my mom's pride and joy, to say that she is overprotective would be putting it mildly. It was scarce that she even let me out of her sight.

Throw in the fact that I was a magnet for the unexplainable. I had a knack for finding trouble, or rather, it had a knack for finding me. Strange things always seem to follow us to whatever poor town we wall home. The amount of time our power in the house would flair too much to count - objects fell off the counter when I was in a room - a mirror breaking when I was angry. The list was endless, if I’m being honest. We never really seemed to stay in a town longer than a year before the weird occurrences around me became too noticeable, sending us packing to whatever city she decided on in the car as we left.

Despite all the wild rules my mom made me live by, she always had my back in life, always coming to my aid when I needed her. Although my temper boiled over a lot as a kid, I struggled to control my emotions. Hell, I still do. I was always the scary new kid, an easy target for their endless bullying. Their cruel behavior often sent me over the edge, but Mom was always there to defend me. Mom had to come to school a lot to deal with the angry parents and teachers over whatever I had done more times than I could count. But she was never angry.

In a way, she understood the struggle I was having. It was one of the few comforts I had in my childhood. As I grew up, I started to loathe constantly moving; I just wanted to be expected. I couldn’t take running from place to place when things got terrible anymore. It was hard finally break free from the restraining rules she had in place for me all my life.

It was a nightmare telling her I wanted to be on my own. The argument was long and filled with every insult we could think to throw at the other, but it was a battle she lost. I was not taking no for an answer. It was the only time I had ever seen her genuinely angry. Even after I had moved to my current home, she called daily, always expressing her worry about me being in the city all by myself. I’ve grown so used to my mom's antics that I don't mind it anymore.

There was just something about this message that I couldn't seem to shake. I spring to my feet, huffing in frustration. I had hardly noticed how long it’s been. The abrupt halt of the elevator made me lose my balance; even the doors seemed hesitant to see what was on the other side.

I jumped as the moths flew in, going immediately to the bright light that hung from the center of the elevator. Then, clearing my throat, I composed myself. I relaxed at the sight; it was just how I left it, wallpaper peeling off. The dimly lit lights flickered as I made my way down the hall. Nothing was on fire, no weird man was standing in my hallway, and all my neighbors were probably sleeping in their beds.

But still, I paused when I reached my door, wondering if I should go in or not. Mom’s warning is playing through my thoughts; I’m thinking about just taking a cab to the airport to stay at her house for a bit. I shake my head; this is ridiculous. Nothing is going to happen; I’m being paranoid. I’m not a little kid anymore; Mom's crazy stories aren't going to run my life anymore. I shuffle around my bag, grabbing my keys. I am a grown adult; I can't keep running all my life. I unlocked the door, quickly letting myself in, relieved to finally be home.

Refelife was short-lived as I went to flip the switch to turn the lights on… Nothing.

I groan, flipping the button several times just for safety. Well, shit. The darkness I was met with did little to help with the fear I was already feeling, mentally punching myself. I could have sworn I paid the electric bill. Today just keeps getting better and better.

I throw my bag on the coat hanger I keep by the door. Quietly I removed my shoes, cautiously beginning to the living room. I hesitate right before I enter, almost convinced that someone will be sitting waiting for me. I take a deep breath bracing myself. As fast as I could, I rounded the corner, ready to fight any possible intruder, only to be met with the sight of my empty couch and TV. There was no sign anyone had broken in. Just like out there, everything is precisely how it was when I left this morning.

Ok, I may be paranoid. Just the effects of having a bad day today, that's what it has to be—relaxing with every small step I take to my room, laughing nervously as I go. I just need to go to bed. I have to be at work in less than six hours, and I still need to take a shower. So I continued to go to my room, lost in my thoughts.

“Hello, my dear.” A low infernal rumble surrounded me, sounding as if it was fading in and out of the silence of the room it was trapped in. My breath catches in my throat. My eyes go wide as realization dawns on me… I was not alone.

Oh fuck. I twisted around to see the figure that somehow went unnoticed. I stumbled back, falling when I tripped over the coffee table. The scream that left my body sounded like it came out of a horror film as I tried to return to my feet.

This is it. This is how I’m gonna die, isn't it? I could see blue flames floating in the darkness of the hallway I had come from. Oh fuck.

Fuck, I am not about to die letting my mom be right.

Regaining my balance, I look around desperately, trying to find a way to escape or defend myself. He took up the space of the hallway that led to my door. I couldn't run. I couldn't go out the window either; I lived on the seventh floor. My building's fire escape couldn't handle my weight being so unkempt. I couldn’t escape. Fighting it is. Grabbing the lamp from the coffee table, I bring myself to a fighting possession, ready to defend myself from the intruder. I stood my ground; I would not show whoever this was the satisfaction.

A deep chuckle emerged from the hallway, the two blue orbs getting brighter the closer he got. He entered soon after, filling the room with his impossible form, the moonlight from the window draped his figure with each step he took toward me.

He was abnormally tall, and his body was unnaturally thin. The massive pair of wings stretching from take up the most space. They looked like they had almost been scorched, the bottoms glowing with dying flames. His face was almost too perfect, skin impossibly smooth like it had never seen a blemish a day. His eyes danced with blue flames, piercing into my soul, lips stretched in a gentle smile. His gaze held something familiar about it like he knew everything there was to know about me, all my deepest darkest secrets. His hair almost looked like starlight cast a halo around his head, coming to rest halfheartedly around his shoulders. His body seemed to flare around him, not looking like it had a shape. The abnormally perfect skin poking out, marking the distinct forms of where his arms and legs should be, speaks of silver shining throughout the black void that made up the rest of his body. His movement was unnaturally smooth, making his body appear almost motionless as he approached me. He was unsettling to look at, but it was impossible to look away.

Why the fuck didn’t I listen to Mom

He stopped before me, looking from my face to my makeshift weapon. The void that was his body took up more space as he scratched what looked like his hand, gently taking the lamp from my hand. I couldn't seem to put up a fight, my body refusing to move in his presence. He looked at it in amusement before placing it back where it went. His gaze turns back to my eyes. My breath catches in my throat.

“You’ll have to do better than this if you truly wish to stand a chance against me, my darling.” His voice is low and smooth, like honey sounding like each word would build on itself, hanging heavy in the air until it faded. Amusement and wonder made their way to what should be his face, almost waiting to see what I would do next. Who does this creature think he is? Was he toying with me before it ended me? A sick display for his amusement? I refuse to play his game. I refuse to show how scared I am.

“If you’re going to kill me, just get it over with.” my voice was cold, my anger rising with each passing moment.

Confusion made its way to his face - head tilting to the side. “Kill you? No, I am not here to kill you.” He pauses, bowing, “I am here to meet the daughter who was stolen from me.” “Daughter?” The word slipped past my lips. So this thing was my father? This had to be some sick nightmare; there was no way this was real life.

I refused to look away from his eyes, trying to hide the fear racing through my veins, “No. No, there's no way that I’m your daughter. I’m sorry, but you must be mistaken.” My voice wavered, but I refused to back down. “Who… What are you?”

He took a step back, looking surprised that I did not know who he was, as if it was the most obvious thing on the planet. Then, he proudly gestured towards himself, lowering his body so that his intense stare aligned with mine.

“I am known by many names. Too many to count. I am the Devil, but your mother would have known me as Lucifer.” He paused, giving me a moment to process the statement, not speaking again until his words died in the air. “I have waited a long time to meet you finally,” his gaze softened, his lips morphing into a small smile. “Your mother and I did have a rather large love affair.” voice low and full of fondness. Finally, he returned to his impossible height, “Has your mother told you nothing?” The question hung heavy in the air.

The answer to the question was simple. “No.” It was so quiet I don’t know if he even heard it.

Mom was full of secrets; there was a lot of stuff according to her; I was better off not knowing. Mom refused to even acknowledge any contribution my father had in creating me. Always taking constant prying just for the smallest of details I begged for as a child. The very few times she would mention him, there was always a far-off look in her, losing herself in thought. But indeed, something as big as the fact that my father was the literal King of Hell would be worth knowing. The room was spinning around me; this couldn’t be real. My knees give out, and my body collapses on the couch. This had to be a nightmare. I will wake up at my desk any minute, then go about my uneventful day, rinse, and repeat.

“Well, that has certainly made matters a lot more complicated,” His voice appeared less distorted with each word he spoke, shrinking down to a normal-sized human,“ I was hoping to avoid this, I always hate to make myself more suitable for mortals, but your mother was always an exception.” The otherworld figure changed into something more human as he went.

He looked pristine, the black suit that came to rest on his body starkly contrasted with the pale skin that peaked out. Pushing his platinum blond hair away from his eyes, relieving them to be the same color as the piercing blue flames that previously took its place. Even in this form, he redacted an extraordinary power only he seemed to possess; even now, it was still otherworldly.

“I should have known Mary wouldn't have said anything, the stubborn woman she is.” He adjusted his outfit slightly.

”Now,” clapping his hand together, he carried on, “why don’t we bring her here so she can explain herself?” He cleared his throat, straightening himself to his new height, “Let’s not make this difficult, Mary; there is much to explain and not a lot of time to do it.”

Snapping his figures nonchalantly, there was a moment when nothing happened. I dared not make a sound as a ring of blue fire sprang to life in the middle of my living room, the vague shape of a figure appearing with it.

“What the hell?” The confused voice made me sit up in my seat. There in my living stood my mother, not phased by the fact that she had somehow ended up here. Scanning the room in confusion, she stops at the sight of me and Lucifer.

She looks like she's seen a ghost. “Lucifer.” Straightening her stance at the sight of him. “You haven't changed a day.” Voice losing its confusion. “Hello, my love.” Lucifer bows slightly toward my mother.

“So you finally found her?” She sounded defeated.

“I never lost sight of either of you,” an impossible warmth in his eyes at his confession.

“Of course, you didn't,” she chuckled softly, pausing, looking towards my disheveled form. “We don’t have to do this, you know.”

“I’m afraid that we must, my love. Time is running out” His voice was quiet as he shook his head, “She is only getting stronger; she needs to learn to control it.”

Mom scoffed and stepped out of the circle, going over to him; the flames collapsed as if they were never there. She stopped before him, hand gently cradling his face as she continued, “I tried my hardest to keep it under control. To keep her hidden. She knows nothing of your world, Lucifer. You can’t just show up now and destroy that for her. I told you I did not want this life for her. We agreed she would have a normal life. ”

“No, you made that choice Mary. You are the one who left our home, left me. You got scared of what we created, and you ran. You didn’t even allow me to prove I could be there for you throughout it. To prove that you were something so incredibly dear to me. You and our child.” His fiery gaze briefly rested on me before returning to Mom. “You ran as you did for everything else. That is your sin, Mary.” A warning tone filled his voice.

My mother looked shocked as he reached for the hands she had brought to his face, bringing them close to his chest. “We both knew this would happen one day. She has a right to know the realm she will one day rule. However, it’s becoming too dangerous for her to hide from her true nature. It is growing harder to keep her powers sealed inside of her; I’m afraid it's time, my love. The veil is only growing thinner; hiding what she is is hard. The time is coming when she will no longer be able to hide it anymore.”

“I need more time; she's still just our little girl, Lucifer.” her voice cracked, muffling as she dropped her face into his chest. His arms came to rest around her frame, doing his best to comfort her, “I am afraid we’re running out of time, My love.”

The room buzzes around me, a million questions flying to my mind as their conversion sinks in. What about a veil? What powers were they talking about? This is crazy; they talk about me like I’m not there. Was my whole life based on a lie? I couldn’t stand to sit there anymore; I need answers, and them now. “Can someone please tell me what the fuck is going on!” This snapped them out of their reunion; seeming to remember I was there. My sudden outburst surprised them; hell, even I was surprised.

Breaking from Lucifer, Mom made her way to the couch, taking me in her arms. “My baby,” swaying my body with hers, tears leaking into my hair as her body begins to shake, “I should have been honest with you. I should have told you when you first started showing signs. I didn't know what to do; I always thought I would have more time.” I couldn’t tell if she was trying more to comfort herself rather than me.

I jump when I feel a cold hand rest on my shoulder. At some point during Mom’s breakdown, Lucifer had moved so that he was now resting on the other side of me, allowing us to have our moment. This is surreal.

“I need you to tell me what’s happening, Mom.” Trying my best to keep my cool, slightly pushing her away.

Sniffing as she tried to dry the never-ending sea of tears, “Oh honey. I fell in love with a handsome young man long ago. He had a lot of money to spare and told me he worked in business. He said he made deals all day, so he was never home during the day. He told me I would want nothing for as long as I lived. Then one day, he asked me to marry him. I was young and in love with a man who showered me affectionately; baby, we were so happy. I was told I could never have kids; we weren’t using protection. And then, one day, I found out I was pregnant with you. I was thrilled; Lucifer was overjoyed at the news. But with the news, Lucifer suddenly had a lot he needed to tell me. He told me everything about who he was, showed me what he was, and told me what you could be. I got so scared of what could happen, and I knew I had to find a way to keep you safe.” she took a shaky breath pausing before continuing, “So I took as much money as I could and a suitcase of clothes, and I ran. Even after I had you and you started showing signs, we kept running; we have been running all your life. Honey, Lucifer is your father. You are the Antichrist…” Her mouth held agape; no words escaped after she uttered those words.

My mind goes blank at her confession. This couldn't be real; sure, I had my moments, but nothing extraordinary about me; there was no way I could be the Antichrist. I work in an office job, for god sake. Mom looked on helplessly, trying to give me answers to my raging questions but didn't know where to start.

As if sensing this, Lucifer said, “Growing up, did you experience strange things happening around you? It started small initially, things you could easily push to the back of your mind. A classmate falling after you said she hoped she would after she pulled your hair? Always a figure just out of sight but vanishing when you focus on it? Your favorite snakes appearing out of thin air just because you wanted them?” He stopped momentarily; I turned my body completely to look at him. I can feel my eyes widening in realization; everything he had mentioned happened in my childhood. Things I have never said to anyone before in my life. Not even my mom knew about these things, but it was as if he knew the memories by heart.

He didn't allow me to ask before he continued, an edge forming in his voice, “But as you grew up, they only seemed to become less and less explainable. More supernatural. The fire that mysteriously started in your kitchen when your date stood you up? The window at work shattering in front of your boss when you didn’t get the promotion you worked for? Or how about the time your coworker fell down the stairs just after he was getting just a little too handsy?” The horror began to sink in with each passing question; these were all things that happened in the last year. Events I had tried to brush off as mere coincidence, now I’m not so sure.

“Stop.” I can’t think; this isn’t real; I need to wake up now.

“And they have only been getting stronger; people are starting to notice, aren't they? This is but a fraction of the power you possess. We have tried to suppress them, but they are becoming too powerful to build up inside you. It is only a matter of time before it swallows you whole.” He refused to give up; he was trying to prove something.

“Please. Please stop” I can feel tears start to fall, I can't breathe, and I feel like my body is on fire. I think my mom grab my arm, trying to help calm me. I can feel myself losing control the more he pushes.

He was relentless “You are my child. You are forever burdened with darkness you cannot run from. Destiny is calling upon you, and you can no longer hide. You must face who you are.”

“Shut up!” There was a sickening shatter around the room. Glass fell to the floor. The coffee table and tv looked like a baseball bat had been taken to them. The tears fell silently as I looked on in disbelief. There was sadness in his eyes, but still, they held comfort in them. Almost like he was apologizing for everything. He returns his hand to my shoulder, slowly rubbing comforting circles into my shirt.

“I tried to let you live normally for as long as possible. I kept your true nature inside you, but even with that, it spilled out. You have only gotten stronger as you’re older, and I am so proud of you for controlling it as well as you have.” He stopped as if contemplating what to say next. His face held what looked like love as he gently pushed some of the hair out of my face, “I can not take this away from you, but I know a place that can help.” He was gentle with his words, a sort of parental comfort melting into his smooth voice.

Had he genuinely come here tonight with no malintent? Was he here to help me? I can feel my mom slowly rubbing up and down my back. This is happening. My whole life had been a lie. I’m not crazy. Everything that had happened in my life that I had tried so desperately to explain finally made sense. The weight of their touch was the only thing keeping me in this reality. I did not want my father to be Lucifer, but I couldn't help but feel like he had always been there. The moment felt all too comforting, despite my whole life falling around me.

“What can I do?” There was no going back from this, everything had changed, and I could do nothing to stop it.

His voice never lost its warmth as he explained, “There is a ministry where many of my most devout followers reside; one of the most loyal bloodlines to serve me runs the church from there. They have proven useful in spreading my message to the world. Although most of them have had experiences with the occult, they could help you understand your birthright. You would be well protected from those wishing to cause you harm now that you are becoming more noticeable.”

“Who would want to hurt me?” I question an edge of fear forming in my voice.

“The more powerful you become, you will become a beacon to the many creatures in this world. However, you would cause a lot of problems with the plans they have. Many would not wish to see you become a problem for them. Many would do anything to make sure you do not fulfill your destiny. It is unsafe for you to remain in the open like this; I might be unable to protect you from everything.” His warning crashed down on me, was I already being hunted? Was my intuition correct? Did they already know where I am?

“This is my life. I can’t just disappear from it, from all I know.” I protest weakly, the fear never leaving as he explains the danger I am in, but the desire to finally have answers for all the burning questions I had growing up only seemed to keep growing. What am I capable of doing?

“A life that has done nothing but shuns you for who you are. People have never understood you; you were never meant to live in such a dull world. I can offer you a place to finally feel as though you belong. Become something truly worthy of the world you will one day rule. But know this, it is your choice. Experience the world you were born to be a part of; you will no longer be an outcast. Embarrass the princess of hell you were born to be. The seal on your powers would be broken, you would be all-powerful, and you must learn to control it. If you do not go, you will lose complete control over who you are. The darkness inside of you will devour you till you are unrecognizable. Eventually, you will die and become something even more grotesque. If you choose this, I will keep your powers inside you for as long as possible; I will protect you with my life to give you as much time as possible. I cannot force you to make any decisions; it is up to you to make that choice. If you decide to go, you will not return to this life. You will have to embrace the unholy god you will become if you are to accept what destiny has laid out for you.” The warning hung heavy in the air.

I was beginning to fall for the temptation of his offer; I could feel my hesitation leaving me. The fear being the only thing remaining, do I have a choice? If I stayed here, there was a strong likelihood that I would die. People started noticing the connection between me and the events that seemed to follow me like a shadow. It was beginning to reach a point where I would have to move away anyway. He was right; nothing was keeping me here; it’s not like I had anything worth staying for. I had a job going nowhere that was working me to death. I had no friends and no boyfriend. There was no reason I really should stay. But if I go to this ministry to learn about what I am, to learn to control it, would I still be me, or will I become something else entirely? But then again, I have never indeed been me; I have been desperately trying to be what everyone else wanted me to be. I had been an outcast my whole life, trying to hide from others for some sort of acceptance; even in the life I’ve built here, I still do it. I have never felt normal because I have never been normal. Could this finally fill the void I have felt for so long? Can my soul finally feel like it is no longer wandering? The only thing keeping me from accepting was how terrified I was.

Mom shuffled from behind me, turning me to face her. She had been crying more than me. The tears stained her puffy cheeks as she tried to put on her best reassuring smile, “He’s right, honey. I tried to keep you safe, but I only made this worse. I had tried for so long to protect you from getting hurt that I never saw how much you already were. I’m sorry for everything; I’m sorry that I failed you. I love you so much. I wish I could have more time but baby, you need to go.”

I couldn’t hold it in anymore; I collapsed into her. “You never failed me, Mom.” I was holding her with such force I’m surprised I didn’t snap her in half, “I love you too.” We stayed like this for a minute, neither wanting to let go.

“I’m afraid we are running out of time; once the sun rises, I must return to Hell. The choice is yours, but it needs to be made.” Lucifer breaks the moment. I gazed at the clock on my wall that had been cracked during my outburst, 4:08. Shit, I hadn't noticed how long either of them had been there. I look back to Lucifer; I had made my choice.

“Take me there.” A fire had been lit inside me, a determination I had never felt setting in. I have to know who I am and what I am capable of. I would not succumb to this; I would not die. I will fight; I will live.

“And so it shall be,” he only remained serious for a moment, relaxing as if he was relieved by the outcome, “I love popping into the Abbey now and then; the ghouls there are always so fun.” He was no longer beside me on the couch; he stood by my mother; I didn't even feel him move.

He kneeled before her, taking her face into his hand, gently wiping away her tears. “My love, I promise we will not lose our daughter.”

She gripped his hand as if it were her lifeline, “I hope you're right, darling.”

“Next time, we will have more time to catch up.” Lucifer joked lightly, searching her face for reassurance that they would meet again.

“Here’s to next time,” Mom gently smiled at a silent promise being made. Then, she turned to look at me, breaking from Lucifer to take me in her arms once more. This time I’m surprised she didn't break me. “Destiny comes in many faces; you will find yours.” The cryptid words rang low in my ear as she pulled away.

She looked once more to Lucifer, voice trembling. “Make sure she is safe, my love.” They begin to move closer to each other.

“I will,” he vowed as their lips met.

A blue flame erupted around them, consuming their figures, and my mother slowly faded away. They only break away from the other once the two of us are left. He looked sadly at the vacant spot on the couch, a soft smile on his face as he looked at where my mother once sat.

Not moving from his spot, he turns his gaze to me. Red begins streaming down his face, silent tears falling from his eyes, “I wish things could have been different. I wanted nothing more than to have been a part of your life and truly watched you grow into the strong young woman you have become. But that is not what fate gave me, and I’m afraid I am out of time.”

The form he had taken since my mother had arrived began to melt. Black smoke emitted from him. The flames that had been there before sprung to life; he had returned to the form he had taken when we first met. His voice returned to the heavy force it once was, “Once you take my hand, there will be no going back. You will become a Princess of hell; I cannot promise that the transformation won't be painless.”

He stood up suddenly, and at such a speed it was almost impossible to see, “Do you understand?” He began to reach out his hand slowly, giving me one last chance to decline his offer.

"Yes.” I didn't hesitate in my response. I was no longer scared; I refused to be; a part of me wanted this; it was begging to be let out. Taring at its cage, freedom within its grasp. I stand from the couch, looking up to meet his gaze, “I understand.”

“Good.” Despite the gravity of the situation, he never changed how he looked at me. I looked at the hand he had stretched in front of him. I took his hand.

For a moment, nothing happened, then it hit me all at once; it felt like a thousand suns had gone supernova inside of me. I was being burned from the inside out; it felt like a fire was trying to burst out from the inside. I could feel my body contorting as I collapsed to the ground. I could barely make out my finger sharpening, my arm was getting long, and my fingertips turning jet black. My body felt as if it was being stretched out. The raw energy flowing through every cell in my body felt like I was being torn apart and put back together at a speed I could not comprehend. What must have been seconds felt like an eternity before it stopped.

I could faintly make out the sound of Lucifer’s voice, “Extraordinary,” before I lost complete consciousness, letting the nothingness take me.

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ignyxdaughter · 2 years ago

Text

𝐗𝐕𝐈𝐈 - 𝐔𝐍𝐓𝐎𝐋𝐃 𝐓𝐑𝐔𝐓𝐇𝐒

(𝐭𝐡𝐞 𝐝𝐚𝐫𝐤𝐥𝐢𝐧𝐠 𝐱 𝐫𝐞𝐚𝐝𝐞𝐫 /𝐚𝐥𝐞𝐤𝐬𝐚𝐧𝐝𝐞𝐫 𝐦𝐨𝐫𝐨𝐳𝐨𝐯𝐚 𝐱 𝐤𝐚𝐭𝐡𝐞𝐫𝐢𝐧𝐞 𝐦𝐢𝐤𝐚𝐞𝐥𝐬𝐨𝐧)

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A/N: Hey, everyone! How are you? Firstly, I want to apologize for the long delay. I let you down by making you wait for just a chapter, so I came back with two — one for today and another for tomorrow. I hope you enjoy them. Also, although not posting, I have seen and read and reread every note of yours. These were literally the motivations that took me back to writing, so thank you to everyone who's been reading, liking and commenting in the fic! I can't express in words how much you are important to me! Finally, I was gone for a while due to personal reasons. Honestly, I was a mess and, because of that, had to take some time for myself. But I am better now and have found pleasure in writing again! I think all I want to say is: take care of yourselves — mental health is really important — and remember that you are special; you are beautiful and perfect just the way you are💕

A/N: The Darkling's memories which have Baghra are made with quotes from "The Demon in the Wood", so it totally belongs to Leigh Bardugo!

A/N: English is not my first language. I’m gonna mix the books and the tv show to make the story line clearer (I read soc, the grisha trilogy and its tales). I don’t own Shadow and Bone and TO/Legacies characters; they’re, respectively, Leigh Bardugo, L. J. Smith and Julie Plec. Also, this is how I think the Darkling is,and some of the events will be changed due to the story's course!

word count: 4942

warnings: mentions of suicide attempts, self harm, death and witch hunt

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The shock on her face increases, for once not knowing what to do. Katherine can only stare at The Darkling as he talks. She hears a few accusations — truths — about her killing Malyen Oretsev, but doesn't pay attention to any of that, since the thought that occupies her head is that everything is not making sense. Kirigan created the Shadow Fold, he's The Black Heretic; he surely was chased by many otkazat'sya in his life, including tsar Anastas guards, and seen with his own eyes other Grishas fighting against each other for survival and then brutally dying. It's impossible that he hasn't seen any change in Ravka after the creation of the Unsea, that he hasn't seen his country beginning to have more peace and haven for his people. So why does he have the desire to end the Fold?

Only an idiot would want that, and she knows that Kirigan isn't one.

"Do you have something to say about all of this?" The witch is able to finally hear clearly an entire sentence from him. She blinks a few times to concentrate on the General's stern face and look at the dark brown eyes that are fuming with rage.

"What really is your plan?"

"The one that you possibly ruined forever?!" He yells at her, all his patience gone.

"Anastasia said that Ravka before the Fold's creation was a complete disgrace." Katherine blatantly ignores him. "Supernaturals and Grishas lived in dread of being accused of practicing small science or magic, of getting persecuted, tortured and killed. Or worse, of having someone they love find that destiny!"

The Darkling clenches his jaw in indignation. Katherine is close to discovering his true intentions, and he doesn't know what her reaction will be, because expanding the Unsea would probably break magical balance, which she so fiercely protects. "Who's that woman?"

"Someone older and cleverer than you and I. But she doesn't matter to this conversation. What matters is her saying: that the Fold reduced the number of mortals defying and sentencing our people, and even protects Ravka from the war against the Fjerdan and the Shu Han." She approaches him with a pointing finger. "Your creation, Kirigan." The woman pokes her finger on his chest, which slightly pushes him backwards. "Your bloody creation did that! So why fucking end it?!"

"You ruined my plan!"

"The plan that would bring disgrace into my people again? Yes, I ruined it, and thank the Ancestors that I did it!"

"My plan would strengthen Ravka!"

She chuckles. "Oh, yes, by giving all the power to an inexperienced lightscum."

Lightscum, as if Alina's power was something to be disgusted about.

Of course, the General heard from Genya and the Sun Summoner of how cold Ms. Anya, the handmaiden, was towards the latter. They used to say that she seemed annoyed whenever Alina was close and never talked to her unless she asked something. For a brief moment, he recalls a conversation with the younger woman in which she said that Ms. Anya had never shared a smile with her and was only second to Baghra in rudeness because she hadn't beaten her with a stick... yet.

At the time, The Darkling thought the issue was jealousy or contempt over a Grisha. However, now he knows that it can't be the latter, since Katherine is a witch, but at the same time, the first option doesn't seem right. The shadow singer's voice at the mention of Alina was of grudge instead of anger, and this isn't typical of jealousy.

Now it was his turn to let out a small mocking laugh. "You really think I would give all the power to her?"

"Of course you would! Her light blinds you till it destroys you! That's what they are: traitors."

"Alina is too young to have the mind to betray her kind." Kirigan has to gather all of his strength to not ask all the questions he wants the answers to. Of why Katherine truly killed Malyen Oretsev and why the name 'lightscum' for who has the power of light, of what happened to her when she was taken away from him, of how she got here and discovered he is The Black Heretic... He truly wants to know the witch, all of her; body, heart and soul. But there's a specific question that his whole being screams for an immediate answer — he wishes to look at her eyes and say 'are you alright?'. However, he feels it'll be better to wait until Katherine blurts out everything that's inside her head to then fulfill his desire.

Cheshire told him this morning to listen to her before acting, and that's what he'll do. After all, to gain this woman, he has to understand her.

"She hadn't been with her kind until a few months ago! No matter how much time she spends with Grisha, she will always prefer the mortals because they were who raised her!" Katherine's last string of patience runs out. Without being aware of her uncontrollable behavior, she starts yelling in rage, every concealed thought of hers pleading to be freed. "And even if that weren't the case, she would be capable of treason because that's how lightscums are: fucking snobs who only care about themselves. For you to have a glimpse of how much they lack character, they have a habit of stealing other lightscums' power for themselves, so that they are more powerful and have no competition in the way. I've never known one worthy of loyalty, mainly because everyone I've given the slightest bit of trust has stabbed me in the back!"

"I'm sure Alina is not like that."

"Stop defending her!" The General raises his eyebrows as she shouts in english, the shadows in the woods increasing and turning the place darker with all the fury she's feeling. Wrath took her completely, till the point she cannot control her powers and translate her words into ravkan. "I am a trickle in the middle of a river of them and they took every inch of happiness I have had from the beginning! My lightscums breeders used to beat me until I lost conscience, and those two wenches that were born along with me used to call me horrendous names. Years after I left and found a family, they took some of them from me. I know that because the man who whipped my back uncountable times was the lightscum who helped in the plan to kill my aunt, my uncle and my father. MY BLOODY FATHER!"

The Darkling's heart clenches in his chest while hearing these confessions; his mind, a mix of sadness and anger. Sadness for knowing how much Katherine has been hurt in life, and anger for those who dared to do that to her. These feelings only increase when he sees tears wetting her eyes. A stab in his guts would be better than witnessing these beautiful light green orbs full of sorrow.

"He was the only one who never judged me, and they killed him." Her knees give way to the freezing floor, weak from having to hold the weight of a heartache that was stuck inside her for decades, centuries, even. "I tried—" She takes a deep shaking breath to recompose herself, but fails miserably. "I tried to meet other lightscums, but they always betrayed me. The result was countless assassination attempts and lovers and friends approaching me out of interest only to turn their backs on me after I didn't give them influence in the Supernatural community."

"Katherine—"

"After so much effort for nothing, I concluded that they are scums! All of them, no matter what!" Finally, she faces him, which makes him see how wounded she still is with these horrible events. Saints, if he had the power to go back in time to kill everyone who helped on breaking Katherine, he would gladly do it. "You want to know why I killed your tracker? Because I'm fucking TIRED! I'm tired of being mistreated for having shadows. I'm tired of being replaced by a lightscum and seeing others live the consequences of their actions. But you know what I'm really tired of? To see my people suffering."

A shiver runs down through the witch's spine by what she is going to say next, for once, not caring about the Shadow Summoner's rejection. After all, she was classified as second place the moment when he choses Alina over her. Now, the only things that matter to Katherine are regaining Agatha's memories and protecting the Supernaturals and herself from two certain Grishas.

The Darkling, because he is the person who Katherine has fallen for and the mind behind the plan of destroying the Unsea. And Alina, because she is the puppet that will concret the plan.

"So don't expect me to do nothing when their safety is threatened." Her voice fails a little from physical and emotional exhaustion. "I will do everything in my power to leave this Fold intact and let that lightscum away from an amplifier. If you want to give her the Morozova stag, the sea whip and the firebird for her to produce magic, you'll have to pass through me. And believe when I say that my shadows are loyal, and will always protect me."

A fragment of her still screams to be freed — the one who wants to ask why would he destroy his greatest creation — but she conceals that part inside of her. It's not the time to question that, not yet.

Shock is expressed all over in the General's face. His dark brown eyes are widened; his eyebrows, raised; his mouth, slightly agape. He thinks of all the ways the witch could have discovered this, until he concludes that the most accurates options are through confidential conversations in the Little Palace or by rummaging through his chambers. However, none of them make sense. The first, because Kirigan never shared with anyone the plan to go after the other two amplifiers; the second, because he is sure that Katherine has only been in his room once, and on that day she was reading a page which had notes only about the Morozova's stag and, on the corner of it, the name 'hanging tree' was alone, without any explanation underneath it.

The Darkling opens his mouth to demand how she found out his intentions, but closes it as soon as he remembers the first time they had a real conversation. He woke up earlier to return those ludicrous books in Norse runes to the Little Palace's library just to then see 'Ms. Anya' carefully reading the Latin titles. Though what really caught his attention that day was the old red book on her hands, one with a worn cover and light brown pages from its use.

Katherine read the Istorii Sankt'ya. His Istorii Sankt'ya, which later he found out that she made notes on its final page. Katherine's wisdom, however, never seems to fail him, since all the scratches were written in Norse runes. So even if he wants to read it — and the Saints know how he tried —, he can't, because he doesn't understand the language.

He has to urgently find a translator as soon as he gets back to the Little Palace.

"My book."

The witch scoffs by hearing the realization in his voice. "I'm not a fool that cannot see through the images, Kirigan. The page with the Morozova stag, the sea whip and the firebird was opened on my lap as I learned about amplifiers. It took me a single look to question what would happen if a Grisha had more than one."

"Have you told—" He stops when she shakes her head, his heart racing as fast as a horse as she speaks again.

"Nature didn't make Grishas' body to handle magic. Even if they manage to practice it, they can't control it. You must know that." With her jaw, Katherine points at the Fold behind her. "Did it hurt when you did it? Had you felt you were going to die in agony?"

He takes a deep breath, as if the action would encourage him to confess. Finally, after what seemed like eternity, The Darkling says: "Yes."

Her answer is a simple nod, while her eyes fall to the ground in shame. "I've broken many magical balances in my life. All of them hurted, and in all of them I begged to die." Kirigan can feel his heart clenching as she tells him the truth, not wanting to imagine her in a breakdown worse than now. "I'm not proud of these moments, but they were from a time when I couldn't stand breathing anymore. Have you ever felt that? The need to just... end it all and rest forever."

He thought that so many times, but the most remarkable one was when tsar Anastas' guards murdered Luda in front of him.

He wants to say that to Katherine, to guarantee that she's not insane to have such thoughts, but he knows that only his experience won't prove anything to her. Therefore, instead of exposing his feelings, he states: "It's impossible to be an immortal and not think of that. You're not alone."

This makes the witch go into a trance, remembering all the times she tried to end herself. Silent tears run down her face as she realizes that she's had these sick thoughts for ages and that in no time they seem to go away. Of course, she also has good memories, but they are useless when sorrow gnaws at her, especially when it's related to her father. Elijah Mikaelson was the most special person in Katherine Morris' life; he gave her a home, a family, made her feel loved and comfortable with her own powers. His death made Katherine lose any sanity that kept her on her feet. No matter how many times the shadow singer tries to forget, she will always remember that the first magical balance she broke was while practicing necromancy in hopes of bringing her dad back. She almost died during the countless experiments, and actually succeeded in resurrecting some people, but never her father, nor her uncle Klaus or her aunt Hayley. Since they died, their bodies were nothing more than ashes running through the wind. If only these ashes were kept on an urn, maybe she could make another successful necromancy.

But they aren't, so these Mikaelsons will continue dead and the witch will have to deal with grief for eternity. However, there is still a place where she can reunite with them: afterlife. It didn't take long since Katherine started her attempts to end herself.

The woman looks at her forearms, at the permanent thin white lines she made in order to stop the grief and intrusive thoughts. "You sure?" Her voice trembles and her heart clenches by remembering such a dark period of her life.

"I am." The General reassures her with a soothing tone, wanting to calm her and prevent another breakdown.

Taking her silence as a cue, Kirigan moves his fingers and summons a tiny shadow. The small piece of darkness floats around his hand before he guides it towards Katherine.

The air in her lungs is gone as soon as she feels something putting a strand of hair behind her ear. Her eyes look at her side to discover what has done this, but has no success, since the shadow is long gone. However, she faces the Grisha in front of her just in time to see him summoning another piece of darkness. He doesn't break eye contact as he releases the shadow to repeat the action with another dark brown lock of hers. The corner of his lips are twisted in an almost imperceptible smile. Almost.

"You're not alone, Katherine, and even if you were once, I won't let that happen again."

"You aren't able to do that."

"I am. But for that to happen, you have to let me in." Kirigan notices the darkness in the woods slowly coming back to normal, letting him see the place clearer. This is a sign that his plan is working. Calming Katherine down to then approach and hold her was indeed the right path to follow. "Let me know you and I'll let you know me. That way you will never be alone anymore."

The woman gives him a small smile when his shadow slightly touches her face, the tension on her shoulders instantly vanishing. It felt so good and relieving that she wants him to feel the same. Katherine then conjures a small piece of darkness and releases it towards him, making it circle his face.

The Darkling chuckles a little, enchanted by seeing his equal using her powers, and his heart skips a beat when she says: "You're not alone either, Kirigan."

The General wants nothing but to be close to her and hold her in his arms right now, however, he knows that the witch will easily be shocked if he does that without warning. So he slowly approaches her, analyzing her confused expression till he carefully sits by her side on the freezing snow. Kirigan makes sure that Katherine can predict every movement of his so that, if she gets upset, she can stop him. But she doesn't move, not even an inch away from him. The woman just observes as he unbutton his black cloak and cautiously places it on her shoulders, the heavy clothing instantly warming her cold body. Yet it's not only her body that is warmed with Kirigan's gesture, since her heart almost melts to see such tenderness coming from the most feared man in the country.

Then, without looking away from the witch's beautiful light green eyes, he whispers: "I don't want to end the Fold."

Katherine swears that she literally felt the air leaving her lungs. "W-What?"

He raises a hand at her, a silent request for her to listen to him without making any interruptions. She looks at him expectantly, ready to hear everything with as much attention as possible. So he tells her all: how he spent his whole life hiding with his mother, moving from village to village without even having a chance to interact properly with those his own age. The General lets out a rueful laugh as he briefly reveals his childhood fear of forgetting his real name, as each season both he and Baghra had a new identity.

'It's my own name I'm afraid of forgetting', he used to say to Baghra, and she would always tap his chest and draw the letter A on it. A of Aleksander.

'Your true name is written here', she would suddenly speak softly. 'Tattooed on your heart. You don't let just anyone read it.'

And he believed her in that till nowadays. Even not needing to hide his true nature anymore, he still conceals his birth name from the world. It's his most well kept secret; no one but he and his mother knows the truth. However, he is willing to extend this secret to one more person just for the incessant desire to hear Katherine say 'Aleksander'. Just the thought of hearing her calm voice calling to him makes his whole body shiver with lust.

Kirigan also tells the witch of his attempts to peacefully end prejudice against Grishas, that the formation of the Second Army was just that. With a heavy heart, the General also mentions Luda, a lover from centuries ago who he planned to run away with, but unfortunately was murdered before his eyes by royal soldiers.

Finally, The Darkling reveals that the famous story of the Black Heretic is partially true. He indeed tried to create his own army using merzost, but the motive wasn't out of thirst for power, but for revenge; resentment towards the injustice against Grishas and the desire to make a safe place for his people was all that crossed his mind at the moment. He always had that dream. Luda's death was just the push that made him fulfill it once and for all.

"The Fold protects my people from persecution and from the war." Kirigan lets out a tired sigh. "If I destroy it, I will doom them."

There's a moment of silence between Katherine and him, the quick and meaningless thoughts hammering the witch's head, who tries to put together all the pieces of the puzzle. After failing miserably, she has the courage to say her doubts out loud. "So what do you want to do? Why do you need to amplify Alina's power?"

The General's dark brown eyes meet her light green ones. "You're clever enough to find out, Katherine." She frowns, confused. "Why would I need to use merzost on the Fold?"

You ruined my plan! He yelled at her in rage. My plan would strengthen Ravka!

You really think I would give all the power to her? Kirigan let out a mocking laugh after she said that Alina would wield all magical power if she had three amplifiers.

Alina is too young to have the mind to betray her kind. He brushed Katherine's argument off as if he was sure that the Sun Summoner would never be able to challenge him, as if she wouldn't have the courage nor the strength.

I don't want to end the Fold.

A shiver runs down the shadow singer's spine as she realizes The Darkling's true purpose. Her gaze towards him transforms into shock. She opens her mouth, only to close it later due to shock. After a minute, she finds herself able to shake her head, almost pleading that her hypothesis isn't real. "No."

He only nods to her in response, glad that her wise mind discovered his intention without him needing to speak it out loud. "Yes."

"You want to expand it."

"It will protect my people even more."

"But you'll be hated by the mortals. You'll create another hunt. Grishas will be persecuted again, Kirigan, and so will be my people."

"I will have the power to stop them. No one, not even the tsar and the First Army, will dare to confront us."

"And what will happen to the Grishas that oppose you, who will prefer the Ravka of now instead of your idealization?"

"That won't happen."

"It's stupid of you to not even consider that not everyone thinks the same." Katherine grabs him by his black shirt lapels, wanting to shake him in order to bring sense to his body. "The majority of your army is young! They haven't lived the terror that Ravka once was. They hate the Black Heretic and live in the utopia of a better world without the Fold! If they see you attempting to expand it, Kirigan, they will witness a magical imbalance! They will fear you and your reign, and soon, start a revolution."

"I will be powerful enough to stop them."

"Power is good, but you must know when to stop wielding it, because it will destroy you if you have more than you're able to control."

He shakes his head in disbelief, his mind scolding himself for never seeing the possibility of his plan failing. "No, you are wrong."

"No, you are wrong!" She tightens the grip on his lapels, forcing him to look at her eyes more deeply. "You will destroy everything with that plan of yours. You want power? Take it in the most discreet way!"

"There's no discreet way, Katherine!" The Darkling abruptly separates them, standing up and running a hand through his dark hair. Saints, he's becoming frustrated! "Your people are free; they don't obey anyone because they hide themselves from the otkazat'sya. But mine will only be safe once that fucking tsar is gone!"

"Then do a bloody coup!" The witch shouts while standing up to face the General properly. "If you want the Lantsovs gone, make powerful alliances and discreetly turn people against them. The Second Army is already not fond of them. The Grishas just need a little more to finally hate them fiercely." She slowly approaches him without breaking eye contact. "You are stronger than the king's army; can easily take them down. So why not invest in this coup, which will unite and strengthen your Grishas, instead of expanding the Fold, which will destroy all conquests you've already achieved for your people?"

The woods now are almost without light, exasperated shadows of both Kirigan and Katherine darkening the place. However, the latter slowly fades away as the witch takes deep breaths to calm herself down. The silence between the two equals is tense, but the woman's sharp voice cut it like a blade.

"Find me when you give up that insane plan of yours and your brain finally comes back to your head."

The Darkling's dark brown eyes follow her as she walks towards a tree's shadow and, without looking back, enters it. After a moment, he goes to the same tree and tries to feel her in the darkness, but she's gone. Katherine has literally teleported herself through shadows.

────────── ★ ★ ★ ──────────

3 days later — Os Alta, Ravka

He can't sleep.

Tonight's the third night since his argument with Katherine, and also the third night in a row when he finds himself pacing around his room instead of sleeping. He is exhausted, mentally and physically; the witch has made a place in his head without permission. All he can think about are subjects that include her. Is she alright? What happened to her when she was taken away from him that day? Will she ever come back? Is her plan really better than his? Is expanding the Fold indeed worth it?

Finishing his glass of kvas in an only sip, Kirigan suddenly gives up to fight his needs. He abruptly picks a paper and a feather on his messy desk — full of research about magical imbalances and historical revolutions — and writes the message that will make Katherine search him. It's short, yet meaningful. The witch will certainly understand it.

The General slams the feather on the desk and looks around his room, carefully analyzing each shadow inside of it. When there's no sign of any movement, he finally speaks: "I know you are here! Appear now and deliver this message to her!"

The shadow of one of the armchairs near the fireplace moves in answer. Soon, a certain dark creature shows up to him, its big sharpy smile widening by seeing the paper on The Darkling's hand.

"I need to speak to her." With heavy steps, he approaches the monstrous figure. "Make her come to me no matter what, Cheshire."

The paper is taken away from his grip by the shadow, which nods in response before disappearing again. Kirigan makes his way to pour another glass of kvas and comes back to his bed, which is full of books and papers. He spends this night in the same way he did on the other two: by searching for more information about The Handler and rereading countless times the contract he made with Katherine, both of their names now stained with their dried blood.

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recurring-polynya · 1 year ago

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Writing/Art Update 10.24.2023

Well, it's been three weeks since I said I could stop working on Ductwork if I wanted to, and I'm still working on it. (At least I was, as of yesterday. I haven't done any writing yet today and who knows what tomorrow will bring?)

I didn't have quite as many words for this week as I would have liked, but my big goal for this week was to finish Chapter 2, and I did. The wordcount on my document increased quite a bit, but there were two big scenes that were already written and just got copied over (although one of them required some pretty major rewrites, which took up a bunch of time and energy without increasing the wordcount much). In any case, my "clean version" document is now at 17,860 (+5421) with an estimated 2,563 of new words for this week.

Chapter 3 feels a little daunting right now. The first two chapters featured a bunch of flashbacks to Renji getting his arm broken and now that story has been (mostly) told, and the next two chapters transition to having a bunch of flashbacks to the time Rukia got gored by a boar. (This fanfic is really a ride. I am the first one to admit that I jumped the shark three fanfics and I can't believe I am still going). Anyway, it's tricky, because I'm trying to retain themes without being repetitive, and also they need to tie into what's going on in "real time" and also, basically just that I have not planned it out yet, and I do not want to plan it out because my brain hates planning things. I actually have some of the flashbacks written, but I was honestly just freeballing at the time, so I'm not even sure if they're useful at all. So, anyway, I would like to be writing, but I have this planning activity in the way and I very much hate it.

I also got a little bummed because I kinda feel like I am not making any progress on this, despite how long I have been working on. I mean. It's only 2 chapters/18k. That's so little. It's not really, though, there's an entire other document. It's hard to count, because a lot of scenes are in both of them. I did bother to do some accounting, and I actually have more like 37k altogether, which is...more like something, I suppose.

I actually am not really sure how long it's gonna end up. The first two chapters are about 8-9k each, and I think Ch 3 and 4 will follow. The fanfic kind of takes a big transition after that, bisected by the surgery itself. I've sort of been imagining that the post-surgery part will be 1.5-2x the length of the pre-surgery (so, 6-8 chapters), but what I am going to do with all that space? This is the sort of thinking that leads to 100k fanfic. I will try to come up with things to fill the space and then I will have too much stuff. That's just how it is, I guess. Wouldn't it be nice if this could just be, like, 60k, and I could be almost done?

That's enough of my prattling for this week, I think. In other news, I finished the Rukia-and-Renji-have-sex-in-a-cave-in-Hueco-Mundo smut, and you can read it now. Much like the last one, it is, uh, not proving to be particularly popular. I'm not gonna let it stop me. The only way to get the smut you want in the world is to write it yourself, tho, and thanks to the handful of other people who appreciate my vision.

#writing update #art update

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lennjamin-o7 · 2 years ago

Note

Lenn: This fic isn't gonna go over 3 chapters. I refuse to have another longfic.

The slowly increasing chap count: 👀

Sorry I just thought this was funny /pos! The more lenn writing for us the better! I'm really enjoying the fic 😊/pos

I've been had! Quick! Flee!

Yeah, lol. I am, apparently, unable to write something short. To be fair, I COULD have kept it to 3 chapters! Each chapter would have been, like 16k words or something, but that would still be technically 3 chapters, right? Right?

I'm glad you are enjoying it! That means a lot 💚💚💚💚💚💚💚 I hope you will enjoy it to the very end.

#sweeter than honey #ask and ye shall receive #lenn writes #anonymous

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seven-stars-in-his-palm · 1 year ago

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fuckin nanowrimo progress (i’m strugglin’) (days 1-4)

word count before beginning: 10,995

chapters completed: 3/21

chapters outlined beforehand: 11/21

(will update those top statistics every week probably :))

okay I’ll fuckinnnnnnn do this. days 1 - 4 of nanowrimo, condensed in a singular post because no way am I making one individual post every time. formatting this Update sorta like @/callipraxia’s because it’s actually very fun to read and short! cramming soooooo HERE WE GO

day 1:

words written: 1099.

writing sessions had: 1

percentage of manuscript completed: 2%

goal reached?: nope. 568 words behind.

scenes/chapters worked on: 1, and Chapter 4.

interactions written: some quick context of what’s gonna happen in this installment. we meet hastur, see how normal and burning his life in hell is, before getting summoned by beelzebub with a very odd order: go to earth and literally just attack aziraphale unprovoked. they don’t give any reasons for this, don’t even tell hastur to capture him or anything useful, just hurt him. there IS a reason, obviously, and it’s actually pretty valid, but we don’t know that yet. and we won’t until a good bit later….

curse words/nicknames (in-world and otherwise) used: eight. one derogatory ‘pet’ and two derogatory ‘angel’ from the demons and me quietly cursing hastur to kingdom come very quietly . I’ve been logging them. I wanted a random statistic okay? they’re fun.

amount of breaks had in between: one bathroom break. I didn’t take that long tho so it doesn’t really factor in much

random thought of the day: how the fuck do I write in hastur’s voice. his voice is fucking. weird. schrodinger’s voice. is he british is he from wales like what IS THIS FUCKING THING???

day 2:

words written: 1858!!!

writing sessions had: 3. two small ones with a big one in between :)

percentage of manuscript completed: 6%

goal reached?: YES! 191 words over the minimum too!

scenes/chapters worked on: 2, and still Chapter 4.

interactions written: the first one was a brief interlude of domesticy. aziraphale and crowley were just chilling at a cafe watching a few humans struggling with some coins placed and glued to the sidewalk by crowley for a bit of entertainment. crowley, however, is suspicious of aziraphale’s apparently innocent intentions with this date day. he will be right eventually.

and scene two is just the very beginning, because I couldn’t do much more afterwards. crowley and aziraphale are just having a nice walk before the atmosphere changes drastically and crowley gets tackled like an american football player. things only get better from there /sarc

curse words/nicknames (in-world and otherwise) used: four. crowley calls aziraphale angel twice, aziraphale drops a ‘dear’, and crowley uses ‘blessed’ once. I didn’t curse anyone at all!

amount of breaks had in between: soooooo I kind derailed for like 30 minutes to eat some pancakes. I was hungry and the opportunity came so perfectly I just. things happened! I still got my limit tho so hell yeah

random thought of the day: why are this fuckers so fucking romantic. Stop It 🫵 also apparently hastur’s signature weapon is a crowbar according to my Two Fics with hastur in it (this and another). He used a crowbar once in the show and I was like yeah. yeah that’s his weapon now🔥

day 3:

nothing. I couldn’t write that day, sadly. tired as hell

day 4:

words written: 568

writing sessions had: 2

percentage of manuscript completed: 7%. i should've been at 13. crying

goal reached?: nnnnopre. 1667 - 568 = 1099. ironic, isnt it? so. ironic. right? yeah. its weird isnt it. inversion. like i missed 2 days instead of one. i am on the brink of extinction

(also i just realized that the daily word count increases by the day. day 1 is 1667 and day 5 is 1788. i am actuallly about to die)

scenes/chapters worked on: 1, and STILL chapter 4. i plan for today (nov 5th) to be thr last chapter 4 day PLEASE ITS 5K WORDS

interactions written: the first is a brief acknowledgement of the demon brave enough to comediacly tackle The Demon Crowley very bravely. the second is aziraphale and hastur, who very kindly wacked him acrosd the head and was very confused when all that did was make him stumble a bit. hit him again, didnt even get him to his knees. he switched to a Fear Tactic after the third.

the third is crowley and hastur, who did their song and dance. it was funny ngl. the final one was aziraphale and crowley, who debated on whether or not to flee to the shop and if demons can follow them inside. concensus: no. probably.

(btw, i measure words by using the FINAL word count afterwards, like whats been added to the day before, so these sound like longass interactons they are. either i had them before already and i added on or Smething Else. idk im tired)

curse words/nicknames (in-world and otherwise) used: none that i can remember. im not gonna go back and check atm

amount of breaks had in between: derailed very intensely eighteen minutes in *i was usingthe stopwatch today* to rearrange like 3 chapters of my outline and introduce a new subtle miscommunication plot point that will probably break at least One person's heart. thats the desired outcome. why cant these guys TALK

random thought of the day: wow i dont know how to write this guy (hastur). hey you think he should use that power where he can eat the inside out of someone's body. yeah lets use that its nightmare fuel ✨️ HASTUR LA VISTA!??!??!?!

and day five’s gonna be it’s own post soon. so. yes. gonna answer my asks first tho bc they are very important to me. either way, I’m back on track now and it took me TIME but I’m MAKIN IT!!!!!!!!! I WILL!!! WISH ME LUCK PEOPLE BECAUSE GUESS FUCKING WHATTTTTT I HAVE TO DO ERRANDS TODAY!!! AND WRITE 5K WORDS WHEN I GET BACK!!!! IM SO TOTALLY READY FOR THAT :))) *eye twitch* have a good day, guys. or, if you’re ferret, a good night/early morning . hi stanley 👋👋

#:333 #remembering the stars #oddly enough literally almost every single one of my mutuals is living here. and presumably american. hm #I mean idk if any of guys are american or actually something else I would never know. but I’d like to think I would know. probably not tho #WAIT tea isn’t. yes I knew it. KNEW IT !!! hi tea if ur reading this :)))

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lowkeyclueless5137 · 1 year ago

Text

Rain Code Au :3

Hello!

I am a very impatient bish! :3

Cuz like... Ya know... The creator of Danganronpa released a brand new game... And I told myself 'ah, don't get into that... It's another bandwagon you don't need to mix with twst'...

Welp... Guess who bingie watched gameplay during beach holiday :v

So in between me spinning in the water like that one seal meme and fighting with old ladies for a fucking plate(damn, women, have you ever seen food?!)... I got to refine this Au and make it similar to the Danganronpa au...

I am aiming for more of a psychological horror, just how I originally planned to write the Danganronpa au(like full on messing with your brain and spiking that anxiety) So expect some easter eggs or allusions to that... :3

Also disclaimer! Master Detectives Archives: Rain Code is only recently released... And I did finish chapter 2 at the time I write this...

So I assure you that the biggest spoiler you could possibly get is for the first chapter's gameplay/lore. I will only use lore aspects which means plot is leaved aside so you can go and see for yourselves what happens in there. It's a glaring difference from my Danganronpa au, where I referenced so hard the 3 main games. :v

And yes, our protagonist will be Azul, because do I like to make him a shounen protagonist amnesiac that gets to suffer every single tims? Yes... I like it :3

Also! Big warnings for: blood, murder, gore and everything associated with it. Spike Chunsoft made this game after all... You know what you're in for.

Now with all the disclaimers settled, we are gonna go on with the Au!

We are starting this with a bang! Mainly Azul waking up on a hall, sorrounded by worried people, all looking down at him, asking if he was alright.

It takes a bit for things to be regained to some calm, but it quickly spirals into a problem since apparently, Azul didn't recognise any of the people on this hall. And to top it off, they were all on a boat, heading to what they said it was: Sage Island.

One of them, named Kalim, kindly explained to Azul that they are master Detectives from WDO(world detective organisation) along with a few trainees, on a mission. Kalim added that Master detectives are people with extraordinary powers, called a Forte. Currently, they are 10 of them on the whole boat.

Azul does a count and realises that, counting him too, there were only 7 in here. Kalim says that 2, Lilia and Silver, are steering the boat while the 3rd, Leona, is in his room, sleeping.

Kalim finally introduces everyone and adds that none of them got to properly know Azul, therefore none really had an idea about how he was supposed to act or behave.

And so, the list is made:

Kalim-trainee-Forte: Persuasion(he used it to confirm Azul wasn't lying about amnesia)

Jamil-Master Detective-Forte: Hypnosis

Ace-Master detective-Forte: Video Immitation

Jack-trainee-Forte: Smell

Epel-trainee-Forte: Freeze frame

Rook-master detective-Forte: Target Sight

Lilia-master detective-Forte:???

Silver-trainee-Forte: none

Leona-master detective-Forte: Sand recreation

When asked about how come silver has no forte and Leona's was already known, it is explained that Silver is training to be a normal detective, while Leona is a top master detective, his forte being a very powerful one on top of it. Leona is apparently the leader of the master detectives of this group, while Lilia takes over the trainees as a field teacher.

What was their mission? Sage Island is an independent government in it's own, although a very specific influx of people, generally teens, come in and never leave. People assume they found a more stable lifestyle in there, although the population of the island is never reported to have increased or decreased over the years. Upon a failed investigation and a distress signal from a master detective investigating this, it was discovered that it has to do with people that hold fortes along with the very heavy censorship.

To add more to the mistery: WDO started to receive lately less mistery reports, some being handled by some other detective organisation they never went in contact with.

Azul is a bit taken aback by it, since he is registered as a very fresh trainee, along with that, it seems Like Ace, who is younger than him, is already a master detective. Jamil explains that Ace was a star detective, because he passed all exams with flying colors. Everyone is trained without preferences, it just happened for Ace to get signed in earlier. His forte is able to replicate via video any kind of situation. From theories to reality. The videos last in between 1-2 minutes and can be holded on any device for at least 72 hours weather Ace forgets them or not. He can put up to 4 videos before he collapses, so he has to think really hard about the possibilities he can recreate and annalise.

Being a cocky bastard, Ace decides to demonstrate his forte, using a spare phone he had. He explains that this phone has no service or valid number, it is merely a storage for his videos.

And so, Ace presents a video of what would happen if Kalim threw a bouncy ball around. He explains that his videos happen in natural physical conditions, so you can never see something mid-air without any explanation or sudden trajectory change.

Now their focus was mainly on Azul's amnesia.

Kalim was the first one who found Azul. He was knocked out on the hall. Previous to that, Azul simply got on the boat, made a humble presentation and settled in his room. He came on the roll call and after that he said he would go to the bathroom and that he would be back. Too much time passed, so Kalim offered to look for Azul and that's when he found him unconscious and called the others. From there on, everyone knows what happened already.

Jack notes how he smelled 12 beings on this cruise. 2 of which were apparently Azul's pets. At that, everyone realise that the reason Azul must've taken so long in his room was probably to accommodate his pets. This also surprised Azul, mostly since apparently, he had pets and now the poor little things must be starving or worried for his absence.

So using the room list from Jamil, the group goes to Azul's room and open the door.

From there, a big ass lizard immediately jumps on Azul. On the bed it was also a bird bundled in a blanket. I could stay here for hours describing how cute the bird blanket buritto is, but we aren't here for that :v

Azul rightfully is scared since a bigass lizard the size of a cat, punted him to the floor and right now is having their scaly head with sharp teeth resting on his chest, very close to his neck.

Everyone is chill since 'these are your pets, maybe they might help you cure your amnesia'. Epel is the one who voices it.

And as if it was a switch, both pets perked up and looked at Azul. The lizard got down enough time for Azul to get up before the creature wrapped around his legs.

Nonetheless, Rook suggested for Azul to check a bit around his room

Maybe he could find something which might tell him more about himself other than health and physical information.

So they leave him to some privacy.

Once the door is closed and it was made sure that no one was around, the bird comes out of the buritto. It was, surprisingly, quite a big bird and one to sure faunt with at how pretty it's feathers were.

But the creepy part starts when the bird talks. Like human talking. Full articulated and clear talking. And of course, it asks what's up with the amnesia.

Rightfully, Azul is absolutely horrified. It gets worse when the lizard does the same thing. It doesn't take much for the bird to be the one to realise what exactly went down.

So they introduce themselves. The bird was Idia, a soul keeper. The lizard was Malleus, a demon prince. Azul had a contract which binds all 3 together. Of course, the contract cannot be voluntarily disclosed at all otherwise it will be resulted in Azul's death. Moreover, only Azul, as the one who had a contract with supranatural beings, could hear the 2. For others it would sound like normal animal sounds.

So Azul please, calm tf down. Pointing a hairbrush at them won't help you. :/

Idia is the one who gets whacked with the brush before Azul finally calmed down and looked like he was willing to listen. Malleus re-explained again the basics: he was a demon prince, which Azul made a pact with. To prevent some nasty effects and also to prevent other people from assuming he went loco for talking to seemingly nothing, Idia was also tied into the pact as a mediator.

Idia recovers from the brush wacking, adding to Azul that he beared this contract for years, although he bearly used it, noting in what conditions he used to be. Azul just asks if the 2 could tell him how he used to be.

Unfortunately, when the 2 try to do it, but instead, both are tied up to the mouths by sum invisible force. To try and figure it out, Malleus summons the contract and annalises it. As he traces the problem, he realises that Azul's memories are on the line. Therefore the pact stated that they can only disclose to Azul present information. Nothing related to his past shall ever be brought up if Azul doesn't remember, mostly since the collateral of the contract were previous memories, therefore the more Azul forgets, the more is added to the colateral.

So basically Azul's memory is like a bidding bowl. They can only use and comunicate to Azul things related to him that he remembers. The rest just become collateral that none can tamper with, unless Azul remembers.

Thankfully, Malleus's biscuit making(you know, that thing cats do with their paws) helps with calming down Azul faster and enough so he could process the new information.

Idia adds that this is very bad. Azul holded some very important pieces of information, not just in his mind, but also on him. After a small pocketing, nothing was found. It meant Azul was knocked out not for the amnesia part, but to be robbed.

Which yeah... It is a bad thing. Someone must've stolen Azul's belongings. His room luggage only had some spare clothes and necessities. Idia does cry out that Azul has to find who stole his belongings since they were really important. Malleus does say that everyone has with them identification objects and if Azul's got stolen, then he cannot verify anymore his identity. Luckily he already verified himself to the others before getting the amnesia hit, so at least he has a safety net.

So Azul starts to search around. The only significant things he found was a portable console Idia had in front of his blanket. Also Idia's blanket was a personal one, meaning Azul owned it. On the desk there were some toiletries, 3 hairbrushes and 2 glasses cases. Azul currently wore a pair of glasses, so one was empty. The other glasses pair had tinted lenses, therefore sunglasses.

In the room were also snacks. More specifically a bag of gummy worms and fish crackers. Malleus cleared it out that those were specifically for him and Idia. In Azul's luggage bag, besides his spare clothes, there were also smaller ones, most likely meant for the 2 in question. Also 2 leashes. It was clear that Azul will have to drag those 2 around.

Idia explained that they can't leave Azul for a long distance. But since most people can't see an invisible leash, they have to improvise. The bonus of the invisible leash is that it acts like a circle line, so it can't get longer just by going around a thing like the normal leash.

Then why do these 2 need it? Malleus has a foul habit of getting lost and Idia ran away multiple times from people, ESPECIALLY kids. So a normal leash is very much needed.

With the room investigation done, Azul had to move to the hall, mostly to the place he was attacked.

In there, not much was present. The carpet was a bit wet. Malleus finds tho something shiny: an earring. It was Azul's and it was a small one, not that noticeable.

They also find a glass tossed around. Except that it was wet in the outside, not on the inside. Idia notes that since they are currently moving via the boat, they cannot check outside since it was only sea and if by chance something would be floating around, they would have passed it long ago.

Azul does ask how long was he gone. Idia responds that Azul was gone for 2 hours at least. The roll call couldn't take more than half a hour from Malleus's Intel, since he heard people passing around after 30 minutes since Azul leaved.

Again, nothing more was found around here. The place where Azul passed out was close to the bathroom too, in which there was a small table with a few glasses, with paper towels under them.

Except that one paper towel had no glass on it. That had to be the glass on the floor.

After that, Azul made his way to the lounge room, where everyone else was waiting. Now there were in here only Epel, Ace, Jack, Kalim and Jamil... Rook apparently went off to his room.

Kalim looked very excited by Idia since it was a big and pretty bird. Idia was just perched on Azul's shoulder and it was clear he was not having fun by how tight he was clawing onto that shoulder as Kalim approached him.

Thankfully Azul doesn't like how tight Idia was holding him so he told Kalim to not go near his bird.

Kalim does ask Azul how is he and if he happened to remember something. Azul says that he didn't remember anything, but he didn't find any identification object into his room, which makes him believe they were on him before he got knocked out.

The others caught on what that implied. Someone stole from Azul.

Unfortunately, that was a thing they would have to figure out later, since a voice at the speaker announced that they are approaching the Sage Island port.

At another roll call, this time everyone with their luggage bags at them again, Azul finally 're-meet' Lilia, silver and Leona, who were filled in about his amnesia from Rook. Lilia mentions that by chance Azul was sea-sick, but that got quickly debunked when it was added the new recent info: Azul was robbed by the belongings he had on him then.

Silver is a sleepy guy, but he was very nice, going for petting Malleus first since Idia again was a millisecond away from a meltdown. Malleus seemed to have a Microsoft error moment since he got petted on the head by someone.

Nonetheless, he seemed warmed up by it and actually happy. Idia does explain to Azul that, unfortunately, Malleus is very awkward at interactions with people, so when someone first approaches him, he's over the moon.

That also explains why Malleus was around Azul's legs non-stop.

When getting off the boat, they are greeted by a guy. He introduces himself as Trey Clover, a simple detective from WDO and also the guy that would house the trainees. Apparently the Master detectives had their own place payed by WDO, at a fancy hotel.

Behind Azul, Ace was rubbing it in Epel's face. Jack was just palmfacing.

Lilia does come clean about the short notice regarding Azul's memories, so Trey promises to adapt to it. For now, as to not seem that suspicious, the trainees will go with Trey while the master detectives will follow Leona.

Trey brings them to a bakery. His house is above the bakery, which was a family heirloom, therefore Trey also worked there. He mentioned that it was the most of his income, which begged the question of why?

Trey explains that Sage Island doesn't rely too much on outside detectives, rather, it trains it's own detectives and uses them for cases. Rarely Trey gets a case and most times is about a missing pet or lost objects. So the bakery is his best income source.

Well... At least they get sum food. :v

Trey does say that he isn't sure what Azul's pets would eat. He does say that he doesn't have bird seeds or crickets, to which Azul says that Idia is sum exotic bird species that apparently eats gummy worms. For Malleus... Well... This big silly looking lizard seems to eat crackers for now, but Azul won't rule out the meat option.

Epel mutters how maybe they could feed Ace to the lizard. He got a grudge for the hotel room, ok? :'3

Trey makes them a small house tour and explains to them that currently, this is an undercover mission. The trainees are written in as normal students, who came here to study. Trey was the kind soul who housed them in for the meantime. They used this cover to carry out the master detectives on the same transportation means, mostly to avoid any attempt from Sage Island of preventing WDO detectives from getting in.

Then, how was Trey here? He was a WDO agent...

Well... Trey says that he didn't use to be a single WDO agent. He had a lot of partners, but right now they either were killed, framed or simply rotting in jail. You could leave and come to this island as you please, unlike Kanai Ward. That's exactly what makes this place more dangerous: if you conspire, they will find a motive to have you wanted by everyone.

The problem was: whoever seems to hold confidential information doesn't have the right to leave.

So Trey begs the trainees to just don't get in trouble. If the Sage Island Government finds out they have ulterior motives or that they discovered something, they will be hunted down immediately.

Malleus seemed a bit restless, rubbing around Azul's leg and rolling on the ground. The others passed it off as just lizard things while trey assigned to them their sleeping rooms. He had a few guest rooms, rooms which once belonged to his partners, so everyone got their own room thankfully.

Malleus still was restless, which he himself confirms as misteries. This island was one huge mistery, Azul's stolen goods were also a mistery and that got Malleus excited.

Idia says that he doesn't like the 'mistery cooties' at all. Azul asks about it, to which Idia responds that when they will stumble upon a good mistery, Malleus will feel all itchy and act as if he had cooties. Worst case scenario: Malleus will make a hole in the wall/floor.

Malleus does beg to explore and find something, but so far they had to listen to Trey.

Trey assigns them a few chores for the day. From cleaning to errands. Azul got broom duty, but he does contemplate on how he could get to do an errand.

At the dinner tho, Trey makes clear more about the mission: tomorrow school starts. They are enrolled in there as new students. For silver, Azul and Kalim, they will say they got late into school. Meanwhile, the master detectives will condone their own separate investigations. Ace would be home schooled tho, so Trey asks for the others to take some notes and borrow them to Ace as well.

Trey also sits down Azul a bit to talk about his pets. The school does allow pets, but Azul will have to put both on leash(he says that as Malleus knocks down a shelf and Idia perches on the TV, crying as Epel and Jack look at him).

Trey also asks if by chance the 2 are related to Azul's forte. Azul would have wanted to say no, but Malleus told him to say yes. With that confirmed, Trey noted it down and gave to Azul a paper, which he will have to present to the faculty office tomorrow.

The next day, it was the big day. Lilia came to visit in the morning, clearing it out that the school they will attend is one out of the only 2 schools on Sage Island: NRC. They choose it because daughters and sons of important government figures also attend there, therefore they have more chances of gathering intel.

And then it came the leash problem. Idia had no problem, he even got the leash on himself, Azul only had to close it. But Malleus? Nah... He wanted to get it on himself as well, but he ended up tangled and there it was a struggling lizard rolling on the floor. :'3

So armed with 0 knowledge about NRC, 2 supranatural beings on leash and a backpack with snacks hidden in it, Azul was ready to start this very long day.

Cue very flamboyant ceremony. It was broadcasted on TV as well, so it was that level of important apparently.

The principal also presents himself as Dire Crowley and makes some very sugar-coated speech about the school and the start of this academic year.

Nonetheless, Azul was assigned to his class. First year class along Kalim and a very loud mf. Upon his homeroom teacher's request, he had to give the slip Trey gave him so it could be taken to the faculty office.

So far, nothing seemed out of order. Very boring day followed by a normal dinner and sleep.

But the next day?

Azul was just walking his way to school. Silver was driven there by Lilia and Kalim was dragged by Jamil with a car.

That's when Azul was passing by the church when a scream was heard amongst the bell rings, something falling down from the tower.

It was a person. A person fell from the bell tower and plummeted into the church fence, which unfortunately had spiked tips.

And Azul was the unfortunate soul who saw that play out in front of him. Even a few droplets of blood touched his face much like the horrified by-standers who screamed in horror and immediately called the police.

Idia was calm tho, while Malleus started to rub his back on the fence. Again, the mistery cooties acted up, so the 2 nudged Azul to investigate.

Malleus reassured that they can spare some time to investigate, they will make sure Azul won't end up late to school.

So until police arrives at least, Azul got to look at the body. It was a nun, a quite young nun. Her hair was damp and her clothes were drenched in blood on the front as she fell belly first into the fence.

Even so, Azul took some courage to get closer and check for the pulse. It was the stomach aera, maybe she could still be saved.

But as he checked the pulse, he noticed how the body was awfully cold. Way too cold for someone who just died. Looking a bit at the face, it was also drenched. It couldn't be sweat, so it was water.

On the forehead it was a wierd mark, but Azul didn't have time to check since he heard the police sirens, so the next best thing was to go retreat through the crowd.

Malleus tho, dragged Azul towards the church insides. In there he is immediately greeted with a bulkier nun, who was glaring daggers at him, asking what is he doing here while a holy ceremony is commencing.

The best thing Azul comes up with is to tell the nun about the commotion outside. Idia is the one who tells Azul what exactly to say, the final story being: Azul was walking towards school when the nun fell and died on the fence, so scared, Azul came to call on the church personal as other bystanders already called the police.

The nun warms up to it very quickly, becoming horrified when she sees the body and realises that this teen just saw a murder play out. So she immediately drags Azul in, with pets and all, while she calls to the other nuns and priests that one of them is dead.

Luckly, the ceremony was just finished and the bulky nun explained how 'this poor child witnessed a person die so violently'. The other nuns sympathised with this and of course Azul was swarmed by them. Only Idia's horrified bird cries got them to give him some space so a more older priest could approach him and sit down to talk. The police came and already it was a chaos while trying to mark the scene and get people to leave.

The priest asked Azul what he saw and again, the same story was shared. The priest got a confirmation from another nun, so he noted that the one who died had an injured leg and couldn't climb stairs. Azul marked it off as a suspicious detail since how is it possible to jump from the bell tower if you can't climb it?

So Azul asks to see the bell tower. The priest is skeptical, but Azul made an excuse that some breeze from up high might help him calm down.

The priest personally gets him up there. He did voice his concern over Azul's pets coming too, but Azul cleared that those are his service pets, trained to help him with some issues. The priest didn't question it.

While climbing the tower, they meet a young boy who carried after him a bag. The priest introduces him as Rollo. Rollo says that he wasn't feeling well and only now woke up from a black out. He did ask if he missed the ceremony, to which the priest tells him which jun died. Rollo seemed absolutely devastated. When asked about it, the priest says that he doesn't have the heart to disclose that.

Malleus was just scratching his butt on the floor from the mistery cooties. :'3

Unfortunately, that's also when police caught up with them and immediately demanded to arrest Rollo. Apparently, from the clergy members's testimonies, Rollo was the only one with a flimsy alibi, so he would be taken into custody. The priest did protest to it, but in the end he gave up and went with Rollo to testify as well and hope Rollo won't get arrested for good.

Azul was told to go up to the bell to take some fresh air without necessarily seeing the body, but not stay much, since a nun will be waiting down for him.

So reaching the tower top, Azul was met with a mess. Malleus seemed to bear better the itching problem, so he did walk around and look for clues. Idia took it upon himself to check the bell tops and surprisingly, there was a catwalk above them. In there, some buckets and cleaning supplies were, most likely to clean up the top of the bell and hinges. The bell also seemed a bit too shiny, so it must've been recently cleaned.

Malleus tho, found a wooden stake which was wet, but it had some blood stains on it.

Azul only got height fear so he couldn't bring himself to go close to the edge, even so, he noticed something: the edge had a quite sturdy metal fence, most likely to prevent falling down. Another notable thing was that from the tower top to the fence it was quite the distance. Unless you were a great jumper, you couldn't land on the fence by simply jumping.

On the other side of the tower, Azul could spot a backyard, where a well, an incinerator, a big washing bowl and stings full of laundry to dry were set in between thick trees.

Deciding that they still had some time, Azul rushed back down(much to his own relief), hid from the nuns and got into the backyard, looking around.

Even more things were there, that weren't hidden by the trees: benches and a long table, some beehives, animal pens, a veggie garden and a shed with tools and feed mills.

On the table tho, a big stain was under the white cloth that covered it. There was a bottle of wine that was also opened and quite a big amount of it was missing. One could assume that it was simply wine.

Malleus tho, jumped onto the table and sniffed it. He couldn't confirm it, since it smelled like detergent so powerfully around from the clean laundry, that he hardly could tell if it was wine or something else.

It also seemed like the little veggie garden was recently watered. Idia perched in there,

But that's when the sprinklers went on, scaring him and thus, attracting a nun.

A very last minute excuse and the nun bought it, explaining that the bird must've been scared by the automatic watering system. It helps everyone with managing things. They just have to fill the tank behind the trees with water once a week and that's it.

Azul was guided outside the church tho, so nothing more was to be done. He just couldn't figure out what went on. So far, Rollo seemed like the most likely suspect, but from his devastated face, Azul could tell that he couldn't have done such thing.

Idia tho, shows what he snatched: a photo. It was the victim and a smaller Rollo. Both were smiling, the picture being taken in the backyard, next to the pig pen. On the back it was written: Rollo and Piggy meet up :).

So Azul leaves the church perimeters, slipping on his head his hoodie, trying to blend into the crowd.

Except that he was very easy to spot from Idia and Malleus's presence. And someone immediately stopped him. That someone was a very handsome man who presented himself as Vil Schonenheit, the one in charge of this case. He just finished interrogating a few nuns when he caught wind of Azul's little exploration around the church.

Vil wanted to take Azul into custody and possibly arrest him for the murder that took place, as an accomplice.

Of course, this scared the shit out of Azul, who wanted to run away, but already police were around the whole perimeter.

That's when Malleus tells him that there is only one way to get out of this thing: call upon his power. Azul wanted to say that he doesn't know how to call for that, but Idia butts in and tells Malleus that he can do it without Azul asking for his help.

So Idia is the one who soars in the air, becoming a big blue flame that quickly descended down. Azul was more horrified by the blue fire than to notice that time froze around them. The blue fire did clear up, revealing a tall guy with quite the gloomy attire and of course, hair made out of the same blue flame. He presents himself as Idia and again, tells Azul to not panic.

Malleus just spits green fire, creating a circle, which he passes through, getting out as a tall guy with horns and quite the princely attire. The circle of course turned into a portal.

Poor Azul, already all of his reason and sanity leaved his body. Apparently his talking supranatural pets are very handsome guys that stop time and open a portal to God knows where.

But there is no kind of time for any calm explanation, because Idia is the one who kicks Azul into the portal, following by himself and Malleus who jumped on his own.

Cue epic free fall, with Azul screaming his ass off.

The next thing he knows was that he was on the ground, completely alive and alright, in front of some kind of temple like thing floating in the middle of some sort of dimension? He didn't know and would rather not question it.

Malleus presents it as the mistery labyrinth. He could summon a portal to this place only when they stumble upon a mistery. By beating this labyrinth, they will find the real culprit behind the murder that just occurred. Malleus would be able to guide Azul and help him out in navigating the labyrinth.

But what did Idia have to do with it? Well, Idia does explain that he is here because, unlike a death God (and because Malleus is a little goofball), the hidden secrets of the labyrinth can only be revealed by Idia's intervention, since Malleus cannot.

So here we go with the very wierd 'would you give your life for the truth' question from our resident demon prince. It is mandatory and Idia just tells Azul to say yes and get over with it. He said and I quote: 'just say it so Malleus can do his silly dance and we can enter'.

And yes. Malleus does his lil tango with Azul, at the end pulling out of Azul's chest something. This also changed Azul's attire as he was handed from Malleus a silver trident, dubbed as the eclipse key. Malleus explains that this weapon can be used in the labyrinth, especially if you have solution keys.

As for the solutions keys, it is time for Idia's turn at the 'silly dance', this time Malleus being the one who is spun around, from his robes falling various keys. Azul finds that on his new attire there is a key ring, using that to hold the 'solution keys'.

Now with everything ready, they get to navigate through the mistery labyrinth.

A few important mechanics:

the reasoning duels, in which Azul learns how to use the trident with the solution keys.

Hidden questions, where Idia uses his scythe on Azul(much to the initial horror of the other), ro reveal The hidden questions and what each path is meaning(a lot of blood is sprayed around and Azul at first thinks he actually was dying)

Malleus's puzzle: where Malleus summons a paralel room with many stairs he uses to jump on and make out an answer pointer.

Finally, the last stand, on which we get big dragon Malleus and an epic castle attack against the last boss: the culprit.

During this, we also find out what actually happened: a crime out of passion had the victim being bashed to the table in the backyard and stabbed in the forehead with the wooden stake. The culprit then washed the victim with water from the well, throwing the bloody one at the veggie garden. Then the victim was thrown onto the bell as it rung, the culprit screaming so to make it seem like the victim committed suicide while the already dead body was thrown off onto the fence and finally getting the scene Azul first saw.

Once the final stand is over, the 3 are faced with the spirit of the culprit: the bulky nun. The reason for the murder was none, rather it was an act of passion, due to the fact that the victim was not a virgin, rather a teen mom, Rollo being her son. Despite the absolute horrible way she gained a baby, she didn't want to abort and raised Rollo with all of her love. Rollo used to have a twin, but that poor boy died at the hands of the same nun for being a 'mistake'.

Now Azul wanted to ask what are they supposed to do. Idia says that if Malleus gets his hands on the soul, the culprit will die in real life, so that's why Idia is here: to collect the soul and therefore gain complete control over it.

The soul itself tries to run away, but Idia is faster and catches it with his scythe, putting it into a small vial he gives to Azul.

Back in the real world, the time continues and Idia with Malleus are back as just pets, while Azul was still sorrounded by police and Vil.

Azul tries to clear it out that he has no ties with this case, but Vil denies it. Idia nudges Azul to check his pockets and there it was: the vial from the mistery labyrinth. Azul doesn't bring it out, as Idia told him to only hold it into his hand.

Guided by Malleus and Idia, Azul is teached how to bluff it up and use secretly the vial to bring forth the true culprit and force them to confess. His best excuse was that he saw the head of the culprit while the victim was thrown from the tower and so he searched the church for them.

Vil seems suspicious, but nonetheless since the police was busy with arresting the nun that kept crying out that she didn't say that or that she didn't do it, Azul was able to escape him and run to school on time.

Kalim does ask Azul what took him so long, Azul replying that unlike him and silver, he wasn't driven to school. Kalim rebuttals tho, saying that Jack and Epel took it by foot too and got here some time before Azul. The next best explanation was that he got lost and had to ask for directions.

Azul decided that it was best to not bring up the church incident at all. It was way too wierd for him.

Kalim also introduces Azul to Sebek, who was their classmate. Sebek was loud, very proud of himself for having a forte. Azul was asked multiple times throughout the day what was his forte, but because of his amnesia, he simply said he didn't have one. Unfortunately, that got people to look down on him.

Kalim still was sticking out with Azul, which made Idia the more agitated. It was clear Idia didn't like cheery persons and Kalim was literally the dictionary definition of friendly.

Although Azul's lie couldn't hold all that much, because later that day, Rollo came to the bakery, happening to meet up with Azul, who was assigned by Trey to manage the cashier for a bit.

And Rollo runs off, returning a few minutes later with a bouquet of flowers from the church garden. It was very lucky that the church was close. Rollo thanked Azul, as he saw him while waiting in the police car with the priest to be taken to interrogation. Rollo wanted to do much more as a thank you, but for now Azul was welcomed any day to come at the church and possibly dine with the rest of the clergy members. For now, these flowers are a thanks from all of them for exposing the truth and bringing justice to the death of his mother.

And you know, Trey happened to hear it, much like the rest of the trainees. After Rollo gets his usual order and leaves, Trey closes the bakery and everyone bombards poor Azul with questions.

Trey is the saviour of the situation, tells them to go and finish their chores. He again sits Azul down to talk, while being absolutely tired because he told them one thing: don't get into trouble. And what did Azul do? Waltz his ass into trouble. (more like trouble fell in front of him)

But the thing got solved in the end, so Azul gets scout free this time. It doesn't mean Trey won't close his eye again if it happens.

Back to his room, Azul prepares for bed when he notices that his coat, the one he wore on the ship, had a tare on the inside pocket.

And in there he found a small ring. It was a bit large, easily falling off Azul's fingers. The ring was slim, with very intricate motifs on it, on the inside of the silver band being engraved a logo.

Whoever knocked out Azul on the ship, most likely had this ring caught in his pocket fabric and fell down inside the coat. Azul probably didn't notice it in his panic.

But now he had a lead for his own mistery. And he will pursue it! Weather he gets in trouble or not.

And that's where I will stop for now. Of course, there are many other miseries laying before Azul. The main one is after all: who was the one who gave to Azul amnesia.

Yes... There will follow more small cases which slowly add to the big picture. But we also ditch the big picture to pursue the thing that started everything.

Also I will try to go more of the Danganronpa route, where you do get attached to the characters involved in the cases. Weather is before, during or after the case involving them.

So imma wait for your speculations, and ideas... I don't really plan on making it a thing like P5 next gen au(I swear I am working at it) or like NRSSAB au(seriously I have a bigass plot in there and no one caught onto the gig) so this au will be a very ask driven one...

Until next time! Bye bye!

#twisted wonderland #twst #mdarc #Mdarc au #It's mostly Azul fulfilling his tragic Dr protag role yet again #But now with more magic flavour #Also Idia and Malleus both just look at him and decide to just make his life harder #Thinking that this happened in parallel with the og game #You can guess that there are glaring differences #Also it will allow me to just make some funny easter egg interactions in between the og game cast and the Au cast #That after I finish watching the full game :

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forbidden-sin-bin · 2 years ago

Text

By Your Side | Chapter 1

Summary: After your flight is delayed for an extra day, you decide to look around for what Detroit has to offer. A poster depicting the debut album of a rapper called Eminem catches your eye when you enter an certain old record store...

Word count: 3,728 words

---

Three Years Later...

March 4, 1997

---

“...Can I listen to it now?”

“No, Quinn.”

“...How about now?”

“Baby, no.”

“...Now?”

You sighed for the umpteenth time today. “Quinn honey, I thought we already agreed you can listen to it when you’re older.”

“But I am older!” The toddler argued, kicking the seat in front of him with both legs. “I’m four now. That means I’m older. You promised.”

"Three." You corrected. “And I did, but being four is not old enough.” You firmly stated, placing a hand on his chest to stop him from keeping your poor mother from waking. “When I mean older, I mean when you’re completely grown up, okay?”

Your nephew whined. “But I’m borrrrrred.” He threw his head back dramatically against his booster seat, staring at the ceiling of the van. “It’s boring.”

You looked at him sympathetically. “I know baby, I know.” Choosing to ignore his complaint of “I’m not a baby anymore”, you re-winded the cassette tape a few seconds back before hitting play, the opening to Salt-N-Pepa’s ‘Shoop’ bursting from your headphones.

You were gonna be honest: you hated having to wake up at 3 in the morning just to drive to Detroit for a slightly cheaper flight to New York City; and it’s not for you and Quinn’s first vacation trip there either, you had a callback to attend. If things went well, maybe another, and then you’ll see if you’ve gotten the unnamed part of some movie. You weren’t counting on it though, chances were few and far in between, actually getting the part were even fewer.

Still, it’s too late to back out now, considering you’ve auditioned once in Toronto, your hometown, and this trip to New York has been planned for months already.

You looked over at Quinn, who was tossing himself back and forth even while being seat belted to his booster seat. Usually you would try to get him to calm down, but you really can’t blame the recently-turned three year old for his mind-numbing boredom. If anything, he’s got enough problems do deal with as is.

Having no birth mom, a dad that hardly does much to help, and a suspecting future diabetic, your boy’s got more than enough on his plate. A few complaints and tantrums here and there really isn’t a big deal, but god, you really wanted peace and quiet after having only 3 hours of sleep yesterday.

Looking out your window to stare at the slowly brightening sky, your eyelids gently closed shut, drifting you in and out of sleep. It wasn’t much at all, but anything to keep your brain from swelling out of its skull, you suppose.

---

And just as your morning could not get any worse... it just got worse.

“Due to overbooking, passengers may be asked to leave the plane and await the next flight. We deeply apologize for the inconvenience.” The automated voice on the loudspeaker echoed throughout the waiting area of the airport.

Of course, of all the passengers they decided to involuntarily bump, it had to be yours.

So there you are, once again, slouched in one the many rows of seats at the gates, watching your parents argue with the airport staff with their increasing frustration, all while Quinn was quietly focusing on eating his cup of oatmeal your parents bought him for breakfast. Brown sugar not included, of course.

Hiding a yawn, you looked away from the ongoing drama and instead watched your little man enjoy his meal. Quinn catches you staring and raised his bowl to you. “Want some?” he asked, always polite to a fault.

You gave him a smile and ruffled his hair affectionately. “Nah, it’s all yours.”

He shrugged and resumed eating. “...What’s they doing over there?” He asked, mouth full.

“Oh nothing, too many people on the plane so we’re just gonna wait for the next one.” You had no reason to lie to him, not that there was anything to lie to him about anyway. You swore this kid had already unlocked his sixth sense and was using it like a superpower to detect lies and all that.

He hummed in response, swallowing. “When’s the next one?” You shrugged. “I don’t know, maybe in a few hours, or maybe tomorrow. If it’s tomorrow though...” You leaned forward, whispering. “You wanna take a trip around Detroit?”

“Yeah!” He paused before asking: “What’s Dee-troyt?” You stifled a laugh.

“It’s the name of the city we’re at.” You replied. “It’s like Toronto, except Toronto is so far away, we’re in a different place that has a different name. This place is called Detroit.”

“Why?”

“Because we’re in a different country; cities can only be in one country.”

“Why?”

“Otherwise there would be two Toronto’s, or two Detroit’s. That would be confusing, right?”

“...Why?”

“Well... It’s like having two different friends, but they have the same name. Isn’t that confusing?”

Finally seeming to get the picture (for now), he nodded vigorously. Seeing as the curious beast is satisfied for the time being, you took a sip from your water bottle and leaned back, trying to rest.

Unfortunately, Quinn had other ideas to ask. “Mama?”

Your eyes shot open. ‘Not again, goddammit.’

“Baby, I told you to call me auntie, okay? I know it’s hard, but I can’t be mama and auntie at the same time, alright?”

You almost caved in at the sight of his puppy-eyed look as he looked down. “But... all my friends have a mama? Why can’t I have a mama?” You winced, knowing how badly this would affect him. At the same time, you hated to see him cry, and him crying now would just be another problem on your parent’s workload.

“...Does... Do you feel better when you call me mama?” He nodded, pushing out his bottom lip.

“Alright, well, here’s the deal: I can allow you to call me mama, but in return, I want you to practice calling me auntie, okay?”

And just like that, his entire mood brightened. “Okay!”

“Good man. Now finish your breakfast, it’s already cold.”

---

A few hours later, you and your family are now unzipping your suitcases, taking out essentials to freshen up and clean yourselves. You too took out your toothbrush, cup, and face towel to place on the bathroom counter.

As you leaned down into the running sink, washing your face, you pondered on how you were going to spend the rest of the day while also managing to convince your family to even bother going out. As your mom would describe it; ‘Detroit is a messy, messy place,’ too much crime, too much poverty, too little safety for tourism.

Yet obviously, you weren’t going to be cooped up in this two-star hotel for the next 18 hours either.

Turning off the sink and lightly wiping your face dry with your face towel, you tossed it back onto the counter and clapped your hands once. “Okay, so, what now?” In reply, all three of your family members looked at you - with varying degrees of expressions - and blinked.

Yep, you saw that coming.

“What now?” Your mom said first. “I guess we sleep for a bit, maybe watch some tv, then get some lunch later.”

“Well that’s the true, but what about actually doing something?” You tried. “Like, are we gonna be staying in all day? Don’t you wanna go out and see the city?” She shrugged.

“Probably not. Have you seen the houses? Everything’s so run down, it’s not safe.”

“I get that, but we don’t know that for sure unless we try.”

“The moment we try is the moment we’ll be too late to get out of trouble.”

“Yeah, but-”

“No buts, we’re not going out.” Your mom told you in a firm tone.

You tried to look to your dad for backup, but he simply shrugged. “Just listen to your mom, okay?” He patted your shoulder, and you could do nothing else but sigh.

“But I wanna go outside.”

Your head snapped up to look at your boy, sitting on top of one of the hotel beds, crossed legged and bouncing on the spot. Suddenly, a devious plot began to hatch in your head.

“You see? Even Quinn agrees with me.” You walked over and patted his head while looking at your parents pointedly. “We can’t be cooped up in a hotel all day, otherwise we’d be wasting the day doing nothing, except maybe watching tv.” You looked towards Quinn. “Do you wanna stay here all day?” The toddler shook his head furiously, eliciting a grin from you. “Ha ha, exactly.”

“Y/N, no.” Your father scolded, pointing towards you. “It’s too dangerous, and we are NOT bringing Quinn to anywhere dangerous. You should know better.”

Still, you weren’t about to go down without a fight, now that you’ve got backup. Putting your hand on your hips and jutting your chin out, you retorted:

“I know. I do know better, and that’s making this a good vacation. Right now, day one is not going well at all.” Before your dad could speak up again, you continued: “Look, I’m not asking you guys to bring us to literal alleyways or the sewers or something like that. I just want us to take a drive around the city, okay? We don’t even have to get out of the car, we can just look out the windows.”

Your mom hummed suspiciously, not convinced. “And what is there to look at? Run down houses and abandoned buildings?”

“Every city has them, even Toronto has them, we’re not in a warzone, we’re in a neighboring city.” You argued. “Come on, I know Detroit doesn’t look like New York, but if it was too dangerous, we wouldn’t even be here right now.”

The room was silent and tense, neither side stubbornly glaring each other down.

Of course, you knew you were being a tad irresponsible, reckless even, but for years you were always the goody-two-shoes that followed your parents every whim. This was probably the first time in ages you’ve actually stepped up and suggested something that you normally wouldn’t do.

In the middle of the silence, the atmosphere quickly shifted at the sound of Quinn’s equally loud stare, innocently blinking between his grandparents and you. That of course distracted you enough to look at him.

“Hey kiddo,” You murmured, stroking his hair softly. “What do you think? Do you wanna go outside later? Look at the city? Maybe get some snacks?”

After making a face that look like he was thinking hard, your nephew nodded again. “Uh huh.” He replied, looking to mom and dad pleadingly. “Can I? Please?”

‘Yes,’ Your mind could’ve done an evil villain cackle for the theatrics. ‘Nobody says no to the “please” from my boy. He said please, I trained him well.’

To be more accurate, it was a family effort of teaching him manners. Still, no grandparent can survive the puppy eyed look of a polite grandchild just wanting to get some fresh air unscathed. Probably.

Seeing your dad shake his head and turn away, rubbing a palm across his face, while your mom gave you a look that meant you were about to get a stern telling off later today meant that you were absolutely grounded in some form. Despite graduating high school last year, you had yet to move out and find a job. Therefore, you were still under the house rules. Seems like a fair trade off, so you couldn’t complain.

You watched as your parents moved to the side of the room, whispering to each other seriously. Deciding to let them talk in peace, you sat down on the bed beside Quinn, patting the spot to your side for him to crawl over and mimic your crossed legs. “You doing okay, baby?” You asked. He shrugged without comment, looking down at his lap. A small smile crept onto your face. “Tired?” You tried again, receiving the exact same response. You let him be, the two of you staring off into space to await your verdict from mom and dad.

After what seemed like hours when it had been only minutes, your parents finally made your way over to the foot of the bed and looked at you two expectantly. Your head shot up quickly.

“We’ve decided.” Your mom’s voice was stern and final. “We can go outside-”

You and Quinn broke into smiles as you shared a tiny “Yesss!” and a fist pump.

“-But right now, we’re taking a rest.” She finished. Both of your shoulders slumped simultaneously as you shared a look.

“Eh... fair trade, don’t you think?” You asked him. He nodded in agreement. “Mm hmm.” Clapping your hands once, you hopped off the bed. “Alrighty big guy, nap time! Go get changed.” You watched as he followed suit, running to his suitcase on tiny little legs.

A harsh tap on your shoulder forced you to look back, finding yourself facing your dad. “You are so childish,” He whispered harshly. “What’s gotten into you today?”

You couldn’t answer that, to be honest. “Uhh...” Trailing off, you raised your hands in an act of surrender. “I have no idea.”

“Well, don’t do it again.”

“Wasn’t planning on it.”

“Y/N. You JUST said you weren’t going to get out of the car.”

“I know, but-” You frantically gestured toward the record store with a worn out sign that read ‘Golden Jet Records’. “It’s a record store! It’s got music there that I probably haven’t seen yet! Five minutes, I promise-”

“Oh my god.” Dad leaned his forehead against the steering wheel, absolutely finished with you.

You heard a giggle to your right, and you gave Quinn a wink alongside a smirk before looking back at your parents seated in front of you.

“No, really. Just look outside! Do you see anyone about to hurt us? Do you see any gangs or crowds or anybody that remotely looks suspicious?” You raised a brow at them. “Look, I get it. I know this city’s got a lot of problems, but not the entire city is gonna be having violence or illegal activity at every corner, okay? Just a quick look, and that’s it.”

Hearing mom and dad mutter amongst themselves, you leaned back into your car seat, shutting your eyes and sighing through your nose.

“Fine.”

You shot up eagerly. “Really?!”

“You have five minutes.” Dad taps his watch threateningly. “If you’re not back by then, we’re leaving you behind.

While it may have been a threat, it completely flew over your head as you leaned forwards and gave your parents a kiss on the cheek each. “Love ya! I’ll be back!”

Practically throwing yourself out of the car, you heard Quinn’s voice in the distance as you jogged away: “Hey! I wanna go too! Can I go?”

You didn’t hear what your mom had to say as you stepped into the store and was met with the familiar old store scent.

---

The walls were painted with the old, unwashed white with the usual rectangular ceiling lights that would start making you think the whole place was dimmer than it actually seemed. And of course, there were rows upon rows of boxes and shelves filled with vinyl's, cd’s, and cassettes. There were only a few people here and there, with the store owner at the front desk of course, none of them paid any mind to you entering.

Five minutes to see if you manage to catch something good... time to get to work.

You scoured through the cassette section to find that they were ordered in both alphabetical order and in genre. Off the top you found the usual famous artists and albums; Hair metal bands like Metallica, Bon Jovi or Motley Crue, various levels of rock music - Alt rock seemed to be the trend this decade - like Nirvana or Pearl Jam, and obviously there were the pop artists who could always make it to the top 100: Michael Jackson, Céline Dion, Toni Braxton... the list goes on and on.

And of course, there was Hip-Hop. That one music genre you didn’t dare tell your parents you were warming up to. The controversial, thought provoking lyrical rhymes on a hard beat that kept you lip-syncing or muttering under your breath without even realizing it. Unsurprisingly, the store had plenty of it, from Nas, to Common, to Notorious B.I.G., to the Wu-Tang Clan, the whole nine yards more or less.

If you had the budget to buy more than one cassette, you would. Unfortunately you had to choose wisely... if you could.

Yet as the seconds ticked by and your hopes of purchasing another tape for the collection faded, a glimpse of the night sky, just brushing by the edge of your vision, caused you to take a second look.

A poster taped to the window, faded and worn, probably having been there for a bit, showed off a simplistic album cover; The dark blue gradient dotted with white specks of stars, with a violet line at the center that was probably meant to be either a horizon line or a beam of light somehow caught your attention. In capital letters, the name ‘EMINEM’ was displayed along the top half of the cover, with the bottom half titling the album as: ‘INFINITE’.

‘Huh.’

Having completely forgotten your browsing, you moved to take a closer look.

It was simplistic, no photo of the artist itself and no detailed graphics that would suggest it to have earned a parental advisory sticker on the corner. It was rather plain, yet oddly enough it somehow fits.

You couldn’t recall an artist by the name of Eminem before, assuming he was completely new and undiscovered, maybe this was his first release? Though the bent corners and slightly aged look suggests it was released a while back, or the person wasn’t very careful, it didn’t reduce the calming feeling that miraculously took a hold of you when you continued to stare, hell, maybe even admire it a bit.

Out of all the pictures, posters, and promotions in this store, why was this unknown little poster the one that had you wanting to know more?

Granted, if you hadn’t heard of this artist or album, let alone seen it, in Toronto, chances are it probably wasn’t even known anywhere outside of Detroit. There’s an even bigger chance it was hardly half-decent to listen to, and if it was, it would be a tape you would shelve and have it collect dust after the first listen. And yet... your gut instinct told you to give it a chance, and your mind was already set on making sure any other option was worth the same amount of curiosity.

“Are you looking for something?”

The bored, disinterested voice belonged to the middle-aged man at the counter, startling you out of your thoughts. Forcing a gulp down your throat, you replied with a slight stutter: “N-No... A-actually, wait- yeah; could... could you tell me more about that album over there?” You pointed to the poster.

The receptionist leaned over the counter to take a better look, before realizing. “Oh, that? That’s from one of the local rappers around here, nothing special really; He’s here pretty often.”

You raised your eyebrows. “Oh! Well that’s nice to hear.” A few seconds of silence passed before you spoke up again. “So, do you know where I can buy a cassette here?”

“Sorry kid,” the man shook his head. “I’ve only got the vinyl’s and the CD’s here. If you’re looking for the cassettes, you gotta wait for him to arrive. He sells most of his stuff in the back of the trunk of his car.” He narrowed his eyes at you with suspicion and curiosity. “Didn’t know Marshall had a fan...” he muttered.

You squinted back. “Who?”

“Eminem. His real name’s Marshall.”

“Ah... okay then... Do you know when he’ll be here?”

He glanced at the clock on the wall. “Actually, he should be here any minute now. His shift ends at six, so...” Looking out the window, his eyes widened as he seemed to recognize a certain car backing into the parking lot. “There’s your guy.” He pointed to an old reddish car.

Thanking the man, you exited the store just as the engine of the car went silent. ‘Alright, just relax.’ You thought, trying to push down the nerves of having to talk to a stranger. ‘Put those acting lessons to use and don’t be a bitch.’ Easier said than done.

The driver’s door clicked open, and you blinked once, twice, three times as you finally realized that the guy was, in fact, Marshall.

He didn’t look much older than you, probably only a couple years your senior. Even from the distance between you, he probably stood to be of average height, if not a bit shorter. His hair was short, dark and buzz-cutted, probably his preferred look alongside the clean shaven face. Judging by his attire, a pair of sweatpants and a grey sweater loosely worn over his average, yet slightly chubby frame, he looked to have been around this side of Detroit for most of his life.

There was one thing you really didn’t want to mention... but you weren’t expecting a pale-skinned guy. He was white, for sure, and if your memory serves you right... there weren’t many white rappers in the industry. Aside from the Beastie Boys and the highly questionable Vanilla Ice, hip-hop was a mostly black oriented genre. But hey, you didn’t care about a person’s ethnic background in the slightest; as long as they could make music, whatever genre they chose, that’s more than enough.

You almost didn’t catch him looking straight back in your thoughts, looking around the parking lot to check for anyone else, then back at you to realize that he was the person you had your eyes on. Not knowing how else to react, you gave a small wave.

It seemed as if he wasn’t used to people waving him over, let alone someone that doesn’t even look like they were from Detroit. His expression was guarded and suspicious as he made his way over to you.

Finally reaching the curb, the pale boy jutted his chin at you - his blue eyes flashing threateningly - before asking:

“The hell do you want?”

---

(End of Chapter 1)

---

A/N: This took WAY TOO LONG. Holy shit I’m so sorry guys. I figured to end it at the very beginning of your conversation with Em after realizing how freaking long it got, so I’m moving the dialogue over the Chapter 2. I promise, updates will (probably) be faster.

But AYYYYY CHAPTER 1 IS OUT LETS GOOOOOO

Taglist: @eminemsorangejuice , @slimshay-castle

(Let me know in my ask box if you would like to be added to the taglist!)

#By Your Side Series #eminem fanfiction #eminem x reader #eminem imagine #marshall mathers x reader #marshall mathers imagine #Sin Bin Books

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