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theoriginalcarnivorousmuffin · 3 years

Note

You said in another post you don’t believe the Knights of Walpurgis (aka Death Eaters 1.0) were all that plausible. Why is that?

Oof, this is a larger ask than I think you intend that gets into a lot of controversial things. Though, I suppose that’s what this blog has become.

Remember when I just talked about my weird fanfiction? Remember those days? I remember those days.

I guess to start out we need to go at a high level and acknowledge a few things.

For all we know about Tom Riddle’s life we know very little that came from himself. Most of what we know came to us via The Halfblood Prince, in Dumbledore’s lessons to Harry.

Think what you will about Dumbledore, benign or evil, but we can all acknowledge that the man had a clear goal and agenda in Halfblood Prince. Dumbledore was facing his imminent death, suddenly he no longer was looking at years but a few months to accomplish everything he needed to. He knows Harry is a horcrux, knows he himself no longer has time to hunt down Tom’s horcruxes himself, and instead must leave all his work to Severus and, partly, to Harry Potter.

Specifically, he has to groom Harry for suicide.

By the time Severus relays the truth to Harry (never mind that this very nearly didn’t happen in canon and what would Dumbledore do then) Harry must be prepared to sacrifice his own life to stop Voldemort. That, or Severus will have to murder the shit out of him, and that was probably plan B but Dumbledore would prefer it if Harry went along willingly so that the whole thing’s a little less shady. Dumbledore’s not murdering children if the children murder themselves!

This means, in part, convincing Harry that Voldemort is such a monstrous evil that his presence on this earth cannot be tolerated. Voldemort cannot be allowed to survive, even if Harry’s death does not guarantee Voldemort’s destruction, Harry must do it because Voldemort is that bad. There must be no hope, no recourse, and the only action Harry can take is martyrdom.

And so, that is essentially what Dumbledore does.

He gives Harry a series of lessons, hand selecting memories of Tom Riddle’s past (often shockingly innocuous), and then narrates them to tell Harry exactly why Tom Riddle is so evil today. The flimsy excuse of Harry wheedling information out of Slughorn is nice, but not necessary, as Dumbledore has no reason to believe this memory contains information he himself doesn’t already know (indeed, that Tom actually did make six horcruxes as he told Slughorn is a very strange coincidence as we rarely end up doing what we thought or being where we thought we would when we were sixteen).

Per Dumbledore, Tom Riddle was born evil by his very conception, is doomed to be a lowly miserable creature, and that murdering him is effectively putting him out of his misery.

Right, how does this relate to this post?

Well, neverminding what JKR says outside of canon, we learn about the Knights of Walpurgis/Tom’s schoolboy syncophants from Dumbledore. Per Dumbledore, Tom Riddle, while a highly respected and charming student was Evil McEvil who had junior cultists galore. So, you see Harry, the man must die (ergo you must kill yourself).

However, this is frankly ridiculous and not in any way believable.

First, the Hogwarts era when Tom’s in school.

Personally, I believe Tom was regarded 100% as muggleborn. Tom went into Hogwarts with the last name Riddle coming from the muggle world. When he gets sorted into Slytherin he can point to know family members at all (and even if he could would, at best, be considered a low class halfblood). Tom doesn’t know the significance of parseltongue and likely tells no one (I’ll get into this in a few paragraphs). Tom may insist that he could be a halfblood, he knows nothing of his father, but given his origins he himself probably believes he’s muggleborn until he stumbles across the hereditary nature of parseltongue.

Regardless, Tom is impoverished, comes from lower class muggle London, has the last name Riddle, no relatives to vouch for him, and you want me to think that the purebloods sign up to be his cult members?

Even though Tom is terrifyingly talented and brilliant, he will be fighting for respect every inch of the way. At best, I see the Slytherin’s tolerating his presence. Riddle’s tolerable, for a muggleborn, it’s a shame that he has such dirty blood but they’ll admit he’s a talented sort.

However, as soon as he’s out of Hogwarts they’ll drop him like it’s hot.

This is evidenced by a few things. Upon graduation, Tom Riddle struggles to secure employment. He tries for the Defense position but is unvested and a recent graduate, and so is rejected (and when he later tries again Dumbledore laughs in his place and says, “Bitch please, I will never hire you, I just accepted your application so I could spend this interview laughing in your face!”) He does not enter the ministry, which would likely have been far more beneficial to getting him a leg up in society.

No, Tom instead secures employment as a clerk and purchaser at Borgin and Burke’s the wizarding world’s shadiest pawn shop equivalent where he spends his time miserably wooing older women so they’ll sell him their fine goods. Dumbledore tries to convince us this was Tom’s plan, that he somehow knew about the locket beforehand, but this is bullshit. How the hell would Tom know that the heirloom undoubtedly locked away under safe and key had been sold to Borgin and Burkes? And even if he did, why would Tom take up this miserable position doing nothing he wanted to do?

Whatever minions Tom is supposed to have, whatever friends, they dropped him completely, pretended they never knew him, and did nothing to secure Tom’s future.

Now, back to the parseltongue bit since I made a promise. I believe Tom told no one. Had Tom told the Slytherins he was the Heir of Slytherin, this would have spread like wild fire not only across the house but the school. All the staff would remember Tom as Tom Slytherin, Tom would likely have changed his name, and frankly Tom probably would have been able to get into the ministry with a name like that. Tom Riddle’s life would have looked very different.

More, had the Chamber of Secrets episode happened in a world where Tom proves his heritage, he would have immediately been caught. Someone in Slytherin, even if only a few dormmates knew, would have narked on him. Someone would have been jealous, scared, etc. and would have turned him easily over to the authorities. A secret like that simply cannot be kept, it would spread, and there would be no needing to frame Hagrid and none of Tom getting off.

More, I always got the feeling very few knew that Voldemort had once been Tom Riddle. First, it would make recruiting very difficult. Voldemort is the mysterious, beautiful, heir of Slytherin who has come back from abroad to save their country. Tom Riddle is a dirt poor mudblood who comes from decades of incest and squalor.

Given the wizarding world at large does not know who Tom Riddle is (proved by The Chamber of Secrets) I would suspect the vast majority of Death Eaters and Order members didn’t either. Dumbledore was the one who pieced it together thanks, in part, to a ten-year-old Tom Riddle confessing his parseltongue abilities.

If Tom Riddle had told most people he was a parseltongue, far more would have made the connection, it would be common knowledge. Which means, of course, Tom Riddle has no ability to prove his heritage and is thus muggleborn swine.

More, I think Tom wouldn’t want Tom Riddle to be associated with Voldemort. When he becomes Voldemort, he will transcend his lackluster origins and become far more than an ordinary, mortal, man. He will leave the name Riddle behind and no one will remember that boy. He will eclipse his past.

Not to mention, that if Tom gave them the excuse of his heritage, it means giving himself the easy way out in Hogwarts. They won’t be forced to acknowledge him, acknowledge that he’s better than them despite his roots, but instead given the easy excuse of “oh, it’s because he’s the heir of Slytherin, duh”. And I think Tom would loathe the idea of that.

Tom wanting to eradicate the memory of Tom Riddle is especially why I think Voldemort came out of nowhere in the 70′s.

Tom doesn’t want to be recognized as Tom, he wants to be mysterious and originless, to give the purebloods everything they want to believe in. If it’s people he went to school with, they’ll recognize him, he’ll be just an ordinary mortal to them. If it’s their young, stupid, children well then he has a real chance.

Voldemort is a figure of myth, something that appears to come out of legend itself, the savior of his country.

He cannot have origin let alone Tom Riddle’s.

Not to mention the idea that multiple people waited on Tom Riddle for generations, even for decades where we know he went abroad and travelled the world, is utterly ridiculous. Why would they ever do this? What do they even gain from this? And why would it take so long to take over this ridiculously incompetent country THAT ALL OF TOM’S RECRUITS ARE PRACTICALLY SET TO CONTROL (the beauty of the Death Eaters is that they form a good chunk of the Wizengamot, and in using them, Tom Riddle effectively destroys the country from the inside out, which I believe was his true goal the entire time).

If Tom Riddle is so terrible, so horrifyingly competent, then it can’t have taken him fifty years of constant work to topple the country.

So, yeah, there were no Death Eaters 1.0.

#ask #anon #tom riddle #voldemort #the death eaters #the knights of walpurgis

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moonlit-imagines · 3 years

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Heirloom (Part 2)

Din Djarin x Fett!reader

warnings:

a/n: lmk if you’re interested in a part 3!

prompt:

part 1

It’d been five years since you’d seen anything but sand, but you did pretty well out there, all things considered. Bounty hunting was in your blood, but this Mandalorian bounty hunter wasn’t interested in anything of the sort at the moment.

So you went from planet to planet, doing favors and tracking down people to assist Mando and the Child on your journey. You couldn’t complain much, he did save you from a lifetime of boredom and despair.

So you helped a frog woman, met more Mandalorians, clashed with a Jedi, and were finally led somewhere useful to conclude the Child’s journey.

“That’s the place, right?” You asked Din as the Razorcrest approached a planet said to have a Jedi “seeing stone.” Grogu sat on your lap, curiously peering up at you and grabbing your thumb.

“Yeah,” he answered with a hint of disappointment in his voice, you couldn’t ignore that, “this is where Ahsoka told us to go. And it might be where our journey with Grogu ends.” You frowned and looked down at the young creature, who was now hugging your arm.

“Don’t worry, little buddy. I could never forget about you.” You scratched the top of his head and kept him steady during the landing. It was a beautiful planet, you admired the scenery as soon as you stepped off the ship. “I could stay here forever, Mando. How about you?”

“Hand him over.” Din instructed with his arms out, waiting for you to give him his pride and joy. You honestly didn’t want to, the kid was growing on you.

“Fine. I should probably get my armor on anyways. Never know what we might run into.” Grogu reached out for Mando as you handed him off, but he decided to walk ahead of you as you got ready. “Hey, come on! At least let me get the breastplate on!” You called out, carefully running up behind him.

“You seem to have it under control.” He shrugged as the two of you began to climb the mountain.

“At least try to be courteous.” You groaned, straightening out your beaten Beskar armor. “Right, Grogu?” The child cooed at the sound of his name. “See? He agrees with me.”

“He just likes hearing his name, we’ve been over this.” Mando told you, watching your helmet envelop your head.

“Feels good to be in my element.” You told him, nearing the final destination. “Not that it ever was, it was just supposed to be.”

“Yeah, well, after Grogu finds his people, I’ll teach you what your father couldn’t. Deal?” Mando offered officially, leaving your beaming smile hidden by your helmet.

“Deal.” You reached your hand out to shake on it, and although it was brief, it did happen. Now you’d reached the stone, which didn’t seem like much. “I guess just,” Mando set Grogu onto the center platform, “yeah, that.”

After a few empty moments, the stone had activated like something you’d never seen before. It was Forcefield protecting the child from any sudden danger.

“Wasn’t expecting that, were you?” You asked Mando while crossing your arms.

“I don’t know what I was expecting.” He admitted, intently supervising his little one. That is, until a ship entered the atmosphere. One unfamiliar to him, but a distant memory to you.

“Holy banthas.” You muttered, removing your helmet in disbelief as Mando began to panic.

“Stay here and protect Grogu.” He instructed as you ran off to the ship’s landing site. “Y/N?! Hey, stop!” You couldn’t stop if you tried. There were two possibilities here. You thought it was too good to be true, but maybe you’d score a ship that was rightfully yours. To be discovered. “Fett, get back over here!”

“I have to get to that ship! This is personal!” You shouted back to him, picking up the pace. It wasn’t long before he discovered he couldn’t do anything at the stone, he might as well help you, the other kid he decided to take under his wing. Mando was really trying to keep up with you, but you were too eager to quit.

The glare of the sun blocked your view of who stepped off the platform, but you’d recognize that voice anywhere.

“If it isn’t my only child, I knew we’d meet again someday.” Boba greeted, causing you to drop your guard and run straight for him.

“I thought you were dead,” you told him as he engulfed you in a hug, but things took a slight turn when you smacked him in the chest, leaving him puzzled, “where the hell did you go?! I was stranded on Tatooine for five kriffing years!”

“Don’t use that tone with me, kiddo.” Your father warned you while Mando awkwardly stood to the side to watch your family drama play out. “I got into some trouble on that sand planet, I couldn’t rope you into it.”

“So you thought that it’d be better for me to become an orphan at ten?” You argued, in a heated rage over the sudden realization that you didn’t have to be scrounging for food and shelter for years on your own.

“I managed just fine when the Jedi killed my father.” Boba and you stood off face-to-face, practically growling at each other.

“Circumstances were different, bounty hunters had your back.” What kind of father would leave his kid to fend for themself when he’d gone through the same thing before?

“What do you call that guy over there?” Your father pointed to Din.

“Just met him a few days back, that doesn’t change the fact that I was alone.” You were about to go on, but a less familiar face came from Slave I to warn you of something, you cut her off just before she could start. “And who the hell is that?”

“Fennec Shand, I owe your dad my life.” She introduced herself with nothing but that, “and I’d cool it for a minute. We’ve got Imps incoming.” The woman pointed skyward at Imperial ships.

“The kid!” Mando gasped, taking off before you tried to do the same.

“Fennec, help the Mandalorian.” Boba instructed, gripping onto his formerly owned armor. “I believe this belongs to me.”

“You’re joking, right?” He sternly stared you down, to which you loudly groaned and tossed him the helmet before removing the various other pieces. “Guess you just don’t care if I get shot, huh?”

“You’re a Fett, you’ll manage.” He assured while finally being able to put his armor back on after all these years. You dismissed yourself promptly to back up Mando against the swarming stormtroopers that you couldn’t wait to knock down. You were never too fond of the Empire.

“Where’s your armor, y/n?” Mando asked, throwing himself in front of you before the blasterfire hit. He saved your life is what he did.

“My old man just robbed me, let’s hope that what you taught me stuck or else I’m not making it off this planet!” You explained, ducking under his arm to take down a few troopers.

“I won’t let that happen, y/n. Not on my watch.” Mando and you continued to fight side by side, providing each other with all the assistance you needed as it rained blasterfire.

“Think the Child is okay?” You questioned while activating a grenade and chucking it towards a horde of hostiles.

“As long as he’s in that Forcefield, he should be safe!” Mando told you as he thinned out the crowd. It wasn’t long before Boba launched a rocket at the airborne cruisers, taking down two birds with one stone. “Nice shot.”

“I was aiming for the other one.” Your father admitted, a triumphant moment swiftly crushed as the Razorcrest was blown to pieces. You yelped at the sight, covering your mouth as you looked to Din.

“Grogu!” You exclaimed while backtracking to the Child, Boba took to his ship while the rest of you went to retrieve him. Just a few seconds too late, dark troopers had kidnapped him and stripped Din of everything he had within the minute. Now, your father tried his best to help, but what could he do when he wasn’t allowed to shoot?

Boba returned to the ground and watched as Mando sorted through the wreckage of his ship.

“I was ashamed.” He said while the two of you were aside.

“Huh?” You gave your father an odd look as you cocked your brow.

“You watched me suffer defeat in such a humiliating way. A malfunctioning jetpack was not the way I imagined I’d go.” Boba admitted, removing his helmet to give you a heartfelt look. “But I knew you could handle yourself out there because you’re a Fett. That doesn’t make it right, but I hope that I can.”

“Oh...I guess we’ll see.” You looked over to Mando, who just found the Beskar spear in the rubble. “At least you can try and one-up your last death, right?” You and your dad chuckled as Mando approached.

It was here that your father explained that he owed the Mandalorian a debt for caring for you, one he’d repay by getting the Child back.

Now, all was not forgiven. Deep down, you would always feel abandoned and betrayed by your father, but maybe the future held something better for you. Just take it one step at a time.

taglist: @alwaysananglophile // @locke-writes // @sweetheartliz07 // @queen-destenie // @lotsoffandomrecs // @captainshazamerica // @ravenmoore14 // @thisetaernallove // @ofthedewthesunlight // @gabile18 // @sweetjedi //

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crystalas · 3 years

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Hind Sight

This is both inspired and a sort of prequel to Starfics’ answer to my prompt, I loved the idea of it so much that I started a Demon Bull Divorce AU, have fun!

Hindsight

Like a lot of things in hindsight MK could see that this was a very dumb idea.

It was a spur of the moment idea that came to him and Mei as they saw Red Son in the garage with his signature jacket hanging up because said fire demon was currently up to his elbows in tuk-tuk engine bits.

Red Son had just shown up at the noodle store one day declaring that he was there to ‘pay off his father’s debt’ after the whole lunar new year event. Everyone was a bit suspicious at first but Mei and MK decided to give him the benefit of the doubt, after all they knew he wasn’t all evil. True to his word he helped out with fixing stuff and had offered to upgrade the Tuk-tuk, after a few weeks they had managed to convince him to hang out with them after work as well.

That day MK had figured out how to shrink himself and after showing Mei she grinned and suggested they surprise Red Son with it.

Which was the aforementioned very dumb idea.

Said idea was for MK to shrink himself and then have Mei put him in Red Son’s jacket pocket, and when Red Son put it back on, have Mei ask the fire demon if he has seen MK and when he said no ask him to check his pockets…boom! Itty MK!

So, the joke was set, a shrunk MK in place and Mei was now walking up to Red Son as he clambered out of the Tuk-Tuk’s mechanical guts wiping away the grease from his hands.

“Hey Red boy” she beamed.

“Hey dragon horse girl” he said back as he got up.

“Have you seen MK?”

“No but I need to show him how to operate the upgrades…” he began but stopped when he looked at the clock on the garage wall, his smile dissolved into mild panic.

“Is that the time?!” he yelped and rushed past Mei grabbing his coat, igniting his hands to burn off all the grease and oil that had clung to him still and began to make a move for the door. “I’m sorry I need to get home tonight, tell Noodle boy I’ll show him tomorrow, okay?” Red Son yammered quickly.

“Red wait!” Mei cried as he vanished into a swirl of fire.

“Did you check your pockets?” she whimpered sheepishly.

MK felt like he was in a weird fair ground ride, cushioned in fabric and being swung around like on a rollercoaster; it was kind of fun. Not to mention he found a wrapped candy in here and at his current size it was as big as a pillow! He could hear Mei and Red Son talking and waited for his que but then things got very bumpy and then felt very hot and weird for a second as he felt his whole body move in a way that shouldn’t be possible for him before the background ambience of the city suddenly died into a hushed sound of far-off clanking and whirring.

He poked his head out of the pocket to see he was now in an old Chinese style mansion but it was underground and hewn from the rock itself, the walls were adorned with demon Bull family heirlooms and pictures all showing the grand history of the conquering demon clan. MK could hear Red Son muttering to himself.

“I’ve got enough time to check on the projects and get in my best clothes…did I remember to check the repair schedule for the clones?”

MK was about to poke out of the pocket and announce himself when Red Son stopped by a large door that seemed to lead to a main hall, he seemed to hesitate near the entrance as MK and no doubt Red Son could hear angry raised voices.

“How is it I was the one stuck under a mountain but you are the one stuck in the past?” Demon Bull King demanded.

“I am thinking of our legacy and heritage, things you seem keen to throw away!” Princess Iron Fan retorted.

“Our pursuit of power has only brought us trouble!” came the angry reply “We need to move with the times!”

“Listen to you!” Princess Iron Fan screeched “You sound that useless son of ours!”

MK poked out of the pocket and looked up at Red Son who looked forlorn but not surprised as he carried on past the door his shoulders hunched over as he hurried through. Red Son came to a kitchen that seemed big enough to feed a whole court full of people but it was sadly empty and hollow except for one corner where a bull clone was currently working at a stove top. It saw Red Son and bowed respectively.

“I don’t think family meal time will be happening tonight” Red Son declared “so I will be taking my evening meal in my room…again…” the bull clone nodded and got back to preparing said meal. Red Son continued walking through the vacant halls as the vicious shouting ebbed away to quiet muffled sounds. He came to his room and sat at his desk; MK looked around to see his room unlike the rest of the castle had a bit of life to it. There were posters of car designs and movie mechs adorning the walls, a work table filled with small cabinets of tools and gear and what looked to be a shelf filled with scrolls and old tomes. MK had wondered why someone as tidy as Red Son would have what looked to be an arranged pile of tinfoil and fabric in a corner of his room before he realised that must his bed. He remembered Pigsy saying how some demons prefer nests to human style beds.

Okay I really need to show myself before things get even more awkward MK decided and he started to climb out but froze when he heard the door open, Red Son turned to see his mother glaring at him and MK quickly dived back into the safety concealment of the jacket.

“You’ve ruined him” she hissed, and MK could feel Red Son flinch. “Your father was a proud mighty demon King who conquered whole armies alone and made the heavens fear him and now looked at what you have done!”

“Isn’t this better?” Red Son said quietly “I mean…this way we won’t have to worry about him being hurt or sealed… aah!” came the pain gasped as MK could hear a very sharp and painful smack, MK grabbed the fabric of the pocket as Red Son’s whole body violently jerked to the side.

“Be quiet you worthless whelp!” she snarled “I kept our family name safe and proud for centuries and in one year you’ve weakened your father, the great Demon Bull King to the point that he wants to ‘settle down peacefully’!” she said the last bit dripping with venom and MK wished for Red Son to speak up or say something or at the very least move from where he was sitting but he didn’t.

“I’m sorry mother…” was all he managed after a moment of silence.

“Sorry doesn’t undo what you have done!” she spat and MK listened to the sound of her shoes moving away, “Sometimes I wish you had never returned!” she exclaimed coldly before shutting the door.

The fabric around him lurched as Red Son moved and he could feel energy pulse around him like the sky before lightning struck, it was only then did MK realised how dumb this idea really was. Red Son ignites into flames when upset or angry and it’s pretty obvious his clothes are fire proof to deal with that.

MK wasn’t fire proof…

MK made a mad scramble out of the pocket and leapt away just in time for a massive inferno engulfed where he had been hiding and everything else around it. He landed on the cold stone floor and patted himself down to make sure nothing was on fire and once he was sure he wasn’t smouldering he looked back up at the crackling fire ball that was his friend. Red Son still hadn’t moved from the desk but was now hunched over it his hands clawing into his fiery hair his eyes tightly shut but flames still leaked out and his whole body was shuddering as he tried to control his breathing.

MK decided that maybe he should give the fire demon with known anger issues some time to breathe and started to make his way to hide in the nest till he seemed to have calmed down but as he tiptoed his way across the room Red Son sensed the movement. The fire evaporating into the air as Red Son turned around and scanned the room, he glanced down to see a tiny MK in mid sneak.

Red Son looked at MK confused.

MK looked at Red Son worried.

There was a pregnant pause.

“Heh heh …Ta da!” MK said weakly and held out his hands as if to show off “Look what I can do now!”

“Noodle boy?” Red Son muttered quietly as his brain tried to fathom him being there before it clicked that he was and what that might imply. “How long have you been here?” he asked a look of dread falling on his face.

“Oh pssh!” MK tried to dismiss “Not long…no not long at all!”

“Noodle boy” Red Son growled, “How long?”

“… … …” MK struggled to come up with a decent excuse before sighing and returning to his full size, if they were going to have this talk he wanted to be able to look him in face. “Since you made a mad dash out of the garage…”

Red Son gave a groan and covered his face before returning to slump on the desk.

“I know this is going to sound dumb but is everything ok?” MK inquired, “I don’t know how demon families work but that…didn’t sound good.”

“Everything’s fine Noodle boy!” Red Son declared sharply, “My parents are just…going through a rough patch, that is all!”

“A rough patch huh?” MK muttered before walking over to the desk and lightly touching Red Son’s face where the red mark showing where his mother had slapped him was now fading away. How many times had that happened and no one knew thanks to demon healing powers? Red Son batted his hand away and snarled angrily.

“Yes!” he snapped and glared at his desk.

Things were clicking into place in MK’s mind, in hind sight he should have wondered why Red Son showed up out of the blue and wanted to pay off some demon debt, why he had wanted to stay around them as long as possible and even agreed to hang out in the evenings and only on certain days [apparently for family meal times] would he actually go home before anyone else.

MK remembered in the first week of Red Son coming over, Pigsy finally gave in and let Red Son help by telling him to try and get his old tricky stove working again. Red Son had not only fixed it but cleaned it up and gave it a full work through and when he was finished the thing looked and worked as if brand new. Pigsy in his joy of getting his stove back to its prime for free patted Red Son on the back and declared he had paid back the debt in spades.

MK had wondered that day why Red Son had looked so upset but had dismissed it when a moment later the fire demon had gone on a tirade about how insulting it was that Pigsy thought his father’s life was worth only an afternoon of labour.

Maybe Pigsy and Tang had cottoned on a lot sooner than he had because after that they would always find little things for Red Son to do to ‘pay back the debt’.

“Red Son” Mk said as these thoughts mulled in his mind “Was there even a debt to pay off?”

Red Son turned to face him, he fidgeted with his hands for a few moments before sighing.

“I…I…I thought you would be more at ease if you thought that I was honoured bound to behave…”

“Why didn’t you just say something?”

“Like what?!” Red Son retorted “Please may I come over here because I rather spend my days with my enemies rather than my parents because they’re constantly fighting and I can’t do anything to fix it?!” Red Son jaw snapped shut and his hair flared up angrily. “Because they don’t! Fight all the time…I mean…” he exclaimed as he tried to back pedal out of the conversation.

MK watched Red Son and felt a wave of pity come over for him, it was like looking into a mirror of seven years ago. He could almost feel the emotions Red Son must be going through right now, the uncertainty of what was going to happen next, the guilt of not being able to stop it, that gnawing anxiety of thinking if he was to blame somehow. And that horrible cold fear of knowing that sooner or later one of them will be coming up to take their frustration out on someone who won’t fight back…

He thanked the gods regularly that he was fortunate enough that it was Pigsy that caught him dump diving behind his store, how different would his life had been if Pigsy and Tang hadn’t taken him in? He probably had starved to death on the streets that winter.

“Everything was supposed to get better when Father came back…” Red Son muttered to himself but was jolted back into the room as MK put his hands on his shoulders.

“Your parents are going through some stuff right now, so do you want to hang out at my place while they work it out?”

“What?” Red Son spluttered.

“Maybe they just need some space I dunno” MK said, “but what your mom did was not okay, and I’m worried about you”

“Why?”

“Because we’re friends you dummy!” MK laughed “and friends help each other even without demon debts to pay!”

Red Son stood up and pulled out a duffle bag from his wardrobe, he started to fill it with clothes, a stuff bull toy that looked to be antique and over-night necessities.

“You seem to have experience with this sort of thing” Red Son ventured quietly as MK helped him put his tools away in a box for travel.

“Let’s just say I’ve been where you are” MK said softly.

“In your experienced opinion…will me not being here helped my parents to reconcile?”

MK swallowed a hard lump in his throat, he didn’t know if it helped with his parents because he ran away from home and as far as he knows they never came looking for him. Mk was on the streets for three weeks before that fated night at Pigsy’s and it’s been seven years since then and he’s only ever caught a glimpse of them while during his deliveries on the streets.

“Sure, they will” MK answered with a smile “I hope so!”

Red Son left a note telling his parents exactly where he was and how to contact him before they left.

MK wasn’t all that surprised when after explaining the situation Pigsy happen to have a spare fold out bed in the store room.

#monkie kid red son #monkie kid mk #demon bull divorce AU #red son

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imayjinmin · 3 years

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Dazed Ⅱ

Vampire prince Enhypen x Shadow fairy princess reader

Word count: 2.2k

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Synopsis: Shadowfen was a normally a peaceful place consisting of shadow fairies. The city was beautiful beyond belief until Grimmingthorn invaded. Vampires now overpopulated the city. Both of the Queens being pregnant they decided on a deal of which they live together. Making the new fairy princess and vampire kings grow together. Leading with a lot of obstacles on the way of childhood.

Warnings: Angst, trauma, manipulative themes mentioned, PTSD

Waking up, he was surprised to see two guards at his door. Coming fully to, he sprung up to his feet. “Where’s Y/n?!” The two guards continued staring forward without a sound. “Answer me!” Still not receiving a reply he shoved at the guards. Grabbing his shoulders the two guards finally looked at him.

“This is for your protection. There is a hunter in the castle. The queen gave us demands to not allow you to leave.”

“I don’t care what mother wants! I want to know where Y/n is! Is she okay?! Tell me!” Shoving him lightly, the guard scowled at him.

“We are not allowed to answer that. Go sit down kid. Also do you really believe she would be alive after that?”

“She has to be alive! She wouldn’t leave me alone.” Dropping to his knees he started bawling. “Please just tell me. I won’t tell mother anything. I just need to know if she’s okay.”

Laughing amongst themselves the two watched him. “Fine you want to know...”

“Please...”

“She’s dead.”

Feeling his world crumble and start to collapse from under him, he stopped everything. Figuring he does not have a purpose anymore if she was not alive. Standing to his feet, the two froze. Confused as they watched him pace to his bed and sit down.

“Are you okay kid?”

“I’m fine, at least now I can be who I truly am.”

“Huh? Do you understand him?”

“Not really. I thought he loved her.”

“Me too. Kid, why are you so calm?”

“She wouldn’t allow me to do what I want. Didn’t want me to hurt anything. I’m free to do whatever now.” Still watching him walk over to his desk tensed. Opening the drawer, pulling out his family heirloom he was gifted. “Mother always said I was to use this when I felt it was threatened. She would understand when I tell her the guards hurt me.”

“Kid put that down. It is not to be played wi-” His words were cut short as his blood hit Heeseung’s face.

“Listen kid, you don’t need to do this.”

“But I do.” Swinging the sword through the air once more as the other body hit the floor. Dropping to the ground as well, he started crying hysterically. Feeling his soul leave he passed out.

⨶⨶⨶

Ten years have passed as the seven princes were becoming young adults. The Shadowfens still wondering what happened to their soon to be princess. All that was known was that the same night she disappeared, a blood bath occurred in the kingdom. Told simply that a deranged hunter got inside the castle. Now with the princes ranging from fifteen to nineteen soon to be twenty years old many things have changed. Especially the oldest prince. He is known as the most heartless and ruthless being to exist. Fearing even simple eye-contact with him became normal. Fearing that he would murder anything that looked his way, no one dared to initiate with him. Having heard the rumors that he went on a killing spree that dreadful night in the kingdom. The many times someone was harmed by speaking his name was worrying. Even his own family stayed beware of his presence. He was always surrounded by his brothers who were just as ruthless as him. Getting the nickname the dreadful seven for many reasons. Grimmingthorns started to become weary of what would happen when the new King was crowned. Rightly so, as it was only three months away from the coronation. Still there was no new word on where the princess was. The poor queen was caught bawling on multiple occasions. The princes were asked if any of them could remember that night, but every time it was the same answer. ‘No, we were all in our rightful rooms’. Many thought the answer did not add up to the events that were previously told by their mother. Stated on numerous occasions, that there was a hunter, and the princes were scattered throughout the castle. She answered that she cannot remember once putting the seven princes in their rooms, but in fact keeping them out of them for safety. The more their stories collided the more people started to worry. If the princes and the queen were that easy to lie about the murder of a princess how easily would they lie about another. Many believed the oldest son, Heeseung preformed the act. Guards saying that on occasion he would become too protective of the princess. Some even saying he threatened them for being close to her. Hatred was thrown onto the four oldest princes Heeseung, Jay, Jake, and Sunghoon, while pity was thrown onto the youngest. Many felt bad for the three princes that grew up in a sad city because they were so young when the event occurred. None of them answered the questions when asked because they did not know. This affected them in Charter School, which is where a lot of questioning came along. Jungwon was known as the target of most issues. Being the smallest prince led to a lot of jokes, most being that he was going to be a joke of a prince. That was until she arrived. Walking by shoving her shoulder into one of them as she walked by. Going to find her only for her to already be gone. Jungwon wanted to thank her but could never find her. None of the seven could. When the story of her broke throughout the school many believed that she was an in-school bodyguard. Denying it to be true for the very reason that all of their guards were knights. A woman was not to be allowed the position of a knight. She would always appear when she was needed as if she was summoned. When Jay almost tripped down the stairs, she grabbed his shoulder telling him to watch his step before it even occurred. When Jake was attacked by a hunter, and she saved him. When Niki was down because of the training to become a prince, she lifted his chin high telling him to get back on his feet and that he was destined for greatness. The most shocking one was when Heeseung got shot by an arrow. Witnesses saying that she treated him with no hesitation muttering something about returning a favor. Some quoting the exact phrase, “This is returning the favor. Thank you, Hee.”. No one knew what it exactly meant, but many said his face dropped at her words. All color leaving his face when the syllables hit his ears. From that day forward nobody was able to find the mysterious woman. There was no trace of her ever, no footprint, no scent, no hair, nothing. She was conned the name pretty stranger. Known only for her pretty appearance and bravery. As time got closer and closer to coronation she appeared more frequently. Puzzled people that saw her started sketching he to hand out papers with her face, hoping someone knew something. Still nothing came up on the pretty stranger.

⨕⨕⨕

“Heeseung, have you gotten one of these papers yet?”

“No, wait what paper exactly?”

“The one with her on it. They are everywhere now.”

“Oh, yes. I got three of them yesterday. Why do you ask, Jay?”

“Well, who do you think she is? I mean you know everyone in this city. How could she come from nowhere without you knowing?”

“I don’t know how she did it. May I ask you a question, Jay?”

“Go ahead.”

“Do you remember what Y/n looked like? I know you were young, but something has to have stuck with you.”

“No, no, I remember her clearly. You don’t think?”

“I do.” Staring at Heeseung for a moment, before rapidly pulling a chair out beside him. Sitting down loudly, still staring at him with wide eyes.

“Why? How? How could that be her? I thought she died that night ten years ago?”

“So much is leading back to her. Her scent is familiar, practically the same. Her eyes, they hold so much in them. They pierce into you in a different way. Her presence is dominating. She is what I would have expected Y/n to be like when she grew up.” Getting up, he ruffled his hair while pacing to the window. “Jay...do you really believe she died that day? Honestly?” Peeking over his shoulder, seeing his brother gapping like a fish a few times before dropping his head.

“I-I don’t know what I believe. Mother said that she died, but I don’t remember her ever being attacked like Mother said as well.”

“That’s because she wasn’t! She was shot! An arrow went straight threw her chest! Jay, nobody can get past those gates without being let in! Mother had to have opened those gates. She had her shot! She planned it! I saw it with my own eyes! There was no hunter! At all!”

“Calm down, Heeseung.”

“No! Mother is lying through her teeth! And you’re believing it! Everyone is believing it! They pulled me away from her Jay! Did you know that?!”

“I didn’t.”

“Exactly! Mother told me that night that it was for my own good! That she was dangerous! How?! How?! How was she dangerous?!”

Watching his brother scream as his emotions took over. Hearing footsteps as the other five came in. Stopping by Jay’s side as Heeseung let out everything that was bottled up over the past ten years. Crying, screaming, dry heaving was on the low scale of what was happening. None of them got near him because they knew of the consequences that would happen. It hurt them to watch, he was the strongest, the oldest, the brave one. He was letting every wall he had built fall. He was vulnerable, but not gullible. Most of his emotion was anger, no hatred. Aimed mostly at the woman he had to call his mother. Anything she tried to tell him, he ignored. He would sit back and watch his brothers get spoon fed lies. The only thing that she did not know, was that the boys followed their older brother over everybody. When he started showing hostility toward her so did the rest. Especially Sunoo, Jake, and Niki. The rest already had their individual reasons for not respecting her. Jay’s sprouted from constantly having to rebuild his brother because of her. Kneeling in front of his brother wrapping his arms around him, feeling him trembling. Feeling his brother shove his face into his chest, grabbing his shirt roughly. Yanking him forward a few times before slamming his fist into his chest. Wincing as he grabbed his fist. Opening Heeseung’s fist, while places his head on his shoulder. “Stop. Stop this. Don’t let her get this satisfaction. You are showing her that she is getting to you. You don’t want that.” Standing up, watching his brother slouch on his feet. “Get up. I said get the hell up! Are you weak? Do you belong on the ground?” Hearing a faint no, he repeated himself. Getting a louder response the second time, he leaned down wrapping his arms under his shoulders. Making him stand. “You don’t deserve this. Stop letting her get to you. You are stronger than her. Better than her. You are the new king.”

“But Y/n is gone. She killed her.”

“Heeseung, do you honestly believe she is dead?”

“I don’t know what I believe.” Sighing, Jay turned to his brothers. Zeroing in on Jake.

“Jake, did you meet her yet?”

“Pretty stranger? Yeah...more than once actually.”

“What did you sense from her?”

“There wasn’t anything that came up when I met her. However, there was a barrier put up.”

“What do you mean?”

“There is this block put up around us, when she gets nearby. It’s hard to describe. If I said a dome...would that make sense?” Pausing to hear some conformation, he continued. “There is a dome over us, not her. When she gets near us, there is a sense of familiarity. Our conscious recognizes her, but our brain can’t seem to remember her.”

“So you’re saying we do know her?”

“Exactly. She has history with us somewhere. Our paths have most definitely crossed at one point.”

“If we did then why can’t we remember her?”

“I already said why. Our memory was basically erased with anything that was about her.”

“Do you think it could possibly be Y/n?”

“I’m not saying yes, but it’s not impossible either. I would say to ask Heeseung because he was the closest with her, but also had the closest encounter with the pretty stranger. I don’t believe that would go well though seeing as he is a slobbering mess.”

“I’m not a mess.”

“Yeah, and we’re not princes.” Sunoo scoffed at Heeseung’s words. “Do you ever think you will get over her? This happened years ago and you’re still not over it. I get you were in love with her and all that but come on. You weren’t the only one of us that was affected. We all were. You are a selfish, mopping mess. Do you think Grimmingthorn will survive with a King like you? One that is so emotional that they break down at the mention of her name.”

“I do not break down at the mere mention of her name. Right now however, I am upset that there is a possibility of the pretty stranger being Y/n. Not her particularly, but us for not realizing it earlier. Next time you see her, stop her.”

Taglist~ @neptuniees

#enhypen #enhypen x y/n #enhypen x reader #enhypen imagines #fantasy #prince #princess #fairy #vampire

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vaindumbass · 3 years

Note

Do it. Elaborate on the Shrek au. I dare you.

oh god. oh god. well i cannot resist now i have been dared. remember that u asked for this. Also, this is mainly a collection of vague thoughts & details that maybe do not matter all that much, and will probably not make sense if u havent watched it.

fundamentally, shrek is a film (insert ‘im not even going to call it a movie’ meme here) about learning to love yourself as you are, but also about opening up to other people & letting them help you & also about how those two things interact with each other.

And who kind of hates himself and feels like a monster and uses the help of his friends? remus, of course. However! to even slightly maintain the vibe of the film the main character has to look hideous and intimidating to others, so we’re adding the lore that everyone can see that he’s a werewolf because of a particular scar on his head.

(sidenote: remember when sirius volunarily locked himself into a cave and looked like shit and ate rats? he would also make a good shrek, but if im going to list all the alternative ways this could be done we’ll never be done)

Then, an enthusiastic four-footed sidekick: prongs. yes, it’s James in stag form. no, i don’t think he’ll be human at any point in the movie. (He has to be an outcast, that’s what unites them all, after all)

Also, the swamp is the shrieking shack.

now it’s going to get complicated, because unfortunately shrek wasn’t made with the idea of a marauders au in mind, which is kind of inconsiderate tbh. I’d make voldemort Lord Farquad just so that all the ‘compensating for something’ jokes can be replaced with something along the lines of: ‘well u know what they say: the smaller the nose,,,,’

the magic mirror that snitches on them is Peter, and he tells voldemort that to be complete he needs a seventh horcrux and that the only thing fit for that is this one Black family heirloom. The black family will only give it away as a wedding gift. enter sirius black, stage left.

lily is the dragon but. we’ve got to change the personality. lily is simply a Professional and wants to do her job, but james, overconfident as always, says he’ll be able to distract her with his seductive skills (yes, hes still a stag). Weirdest thing? it works. lily, who has never really talked to anyone before, just burned them to a crisp, is too busy laughing to really do anything. Somehow the whole ranting and never stop talking thing is the perfect approach, and Lily is quite curious about the outside world and how it has changed those past few years, and she is quite glad that she doesn’t have to kill him, because turns out he was just lost, and that must be true because he hasn’t asked about the prince yet.

And then she spots Remus and Sirius getting away and realizes she was tricked. she isn’t exactly. proud of her reaction but to be fair trying to burn and kill people was just her knee-jerk reaction at that point!! she didn’t really have the time to get used to the talking thing!!

ehhh sirius changes into a. fucking dog at night. and he can’t control it. that’s the curse.

that one robin hood-like figure? that came to attack them? the blonde one with the song. yes that’s Gilderoy Lockhart and Sirius enjoys punching him very much (#letsiriusblackgoferal2021). Remus enjoys watching the punching and such and then the cute and slightly disturbing bonding montage starts.

they take shelter in the windmill, sirius transforms into a dog but can still talk for plot reasons, and explains the whole being cursed and needing a true love’s kiss etcetera. remus got him a flower but drops it when he hears the words ‘but who could ever love a mangy mutt’ and it’s all a very sad misunderstanding and voldemort takes sirius away. (sorry abt putting the image of sirius and voldemort marrying into ur head <3)

Here, for fun, I’d suggest just giving Lily some time to shine, going out, exploring the world, because she doesn’t really have a job anymore and doesn’t know what to do. She sees the fairytale people, the different ones, and how they are treated and how lord voldemort tries to get them all away because it doesn’t fit into his worldview. It’s horrible, and at her core, she’s a protector, so one day she just swoops two dwarfs (marlene and dorcas) onto her back, away from the soldiers who try to make them go down the mines and stay there forever, out of sight.

They have fun & explore & become friends, honestly, and her new friends want to show her some really cool dwarven shit let’s say a nice gemstone. Lily gives the appropriate reaction but unfortunately a very big dragon isn’t very subtle and the soldiers manage to find them and to capture marlene and dorcas, who both encourage lily to just get away as fast as possible. and lily does. she flies and flies and keeps flying until she can’t and then she stops next to a lake and cries.

that’s where she sees james again. they talk, james consoles her, says that at least she had that friendship because friendship is the most important thing in the world, and then we see him have a lightbulb moment. He makes up with remus.

They crash the wedding! sirius appreciates the dramatics of it all, and, not one to be bested, reveals that he changes into a dog when the sun goes down. lord voldemort, appaled, calls for his guards (remember, the problem isn’t necessarily ugliness, here, but the exclusion of the non-normal, non-human people (shrek as a metaphor for queerness anyone?)) and lily eats him. #girlboss

remus hugs dog-sirius, and he’s smiling a lot more than we’ve seen so far in this film!! he also presses a small kiss to the top of sirius’ head just because. not much happens but a few seconds later sirius seems to concentrate and suddenly he’s human again (a delighted human, to be clear). he concentrates again and he’s a dog. human-dog-human-dog-human. remus, although he isn’t quite sure what’s going on, watches with a fond smile. sirius remembers he’s there and they kiss and it’s cute ig

ending scene is a big party with a banner of ‘we ended the monarchy!!!!’ and next to it there’s a painting of the person who was elected as president and it’s Just Some Guy. halfway through the party james decides to defend lily’s honour and crosses out the ‘we’ and writes down ‘I’ and drapes it around lily as if it’s a sash. remus and sirius are also vibing. dorcas and marlene are furiously digging out gems and giving them to each other (it’s how they flirt). the end <3

#i am. so tired goodnight #i WILL tag this however yall are going to see this my apologies #remus lupin #sirius black #wolfstar #do i dare to tag this as my writing #oh to hell with it #mywriting #james potter #lily evans #if anyone unfollows me now i understand #i wrote this while tired this isnt my best work. or maybe it is #skdjh okay goodnight <3 if im writing shrek aus thats probably a sign that i should go to bed

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jaeminlore · 3 years

Text

To Live and Let Go | Renjun

summary: if there’s something left to be learned, then my time is running. why would i waste it all, wasted on you?

words: 2.3k+

category: librarian!renjun x tutor!reader, fem!presenting!reader, adventure au, a bit meta, what’s going on idk ur guess is as good as mine, some sections are written better than others, reader is a tutor for prince jaemin, this sucks so bad i’m so sorry.

note: this was a commission for @yrb-reads who donated to a charity of their choice. thank you :) i’m terribly sorry it took so long and it's definitely not up to par the way it should be. if you want something else written to make up for it let me know. there was depression, full time job, and a death in the family i would like to blame, but i should’ve prioritized this story more for you, and for that i’m sorry. thank you so much for donating, and i hope this serves as a holiday gift for you. again, sorry about the short length

To Renjun, libraries feel like home. Especially the castle’s library, located just west of the kitchen; a hidden gem unknown to most people. Really, only known to Prince Jaemin and Renjun, if he really thought about it. Perhaps a few tutors and scholars as well.

But these factors don’t make it home. Instead, it is the wooden walls of thick cedar trunks, built long before the castle walls were put up; when the builders didn’t have the heart to tear such a piece of architecture down. It’s the way it smells like a forest at all times, and how the inside walls are chipped and falling onto the bare floor. It is the large shelves, made just decades ago, crammed up against each other and overflowing with the royal family’s books. Each piece of literature is practically an heirloom, save the small shelf in the corner where the prince hides his new romance novels he gets delivered straight from the village of Rubin.

The library feels like a bridge between the kingdom and the village. Inside these four walls, wooden and chipped, Rubin feels like one entity, undivided by classes or rank.

It also happens to be the one place Renjun is allowed to hang his paintings.

Ever since he was younger, it has been Renjun’s dream to be a portrait artist. To be able to place his thumbprint in Rubin’s history by painting the royal family or a few important nobles, is all he has ever wanted. But the King and Queen prefer a man of nobility to do the work, so Renjun was shot down. Since he sold everything he had to come and shoot for his dream, the royal family had offered him a pity job.

Correction: Prince Jaemin had begged his parents not to turn Renjun away empty-handed and convinced them to let him earn his pay here in the castle.

Prince Jaemin does a lot for Renjun. He had introduced him to his friend and closest servant, Donghyuck, who has a sharp tongue but no real malice to back up anything he ever said. Renjun had moved in with him, and used his side of the house as his painting room. Donghyuck barely even complains about the scent of oil paint anymore.

Prince Jaemin also got him his current job as a bookbinder. Which, in itself, is a very lonely and tedious job. Perfect for a boy like Renjun who only wants to work with no outside distractions. Aside from his friends in the castle, that is. Or the prince’s tutor, who comes in for study material.

Most importantly, Prince Jaemin lets Renjun hang up his portraits in the library. He had said that they deserved to be hung up, even if it couldn’t be hung up in the royal hall. Renjun had nearly burst into tears in front of the hyperactive prince.

They had met during a touchy time in the prince’s life. He had just returned to the castle after a trip to the village. There, he was hiding from potential assassins, but for some reason, the prince seemed more upset about coming back.

It was in the quiet of that library that Jaemin let Renjun, a complete stranger at the time, in on the secret that he was in love with a girl from the village. For the young artist, it wasn’t hard to imagine. Prince Jaemin was known for his free spirit and hyperactive personality. There was no way he could become attached to a noble raised under discipline.

Of course the prince was raised under the highest of discipline, but he somehow found a way to rebel against it all and stay true to himself, even if it meant hiding the portraits he liked the best in a forgotten library, or befriending the healer and servant of the castle instead of the lords.

He was wonderful, and Renjun couldn’t wait for him to be king.

The library was home because Prince Jaemin made it home. He had crafted a place between the castle and the village — a place of seclusion — just for Renjun and his thoughts.

“I just want them to listen to me,” Jaemin moans, dropping his chin onto his open romance book. “I’ve been asking them for almost a year and a half to let me go back to the village, but they refuse to listen to me.”

Renjun hums non-committedly. “Chin up, please. I’m not finished.”

Jaemin glares at Renjun through his eyelashes but obliges, a pout still evident on his face. He returns to his casual pose of leaning his cheek against his fist and turning the pages of his book. “Anyway, I really want to go back to the village.”

“I know,” Renjun sighs and dips the tip of his paintbrush into the copper-colored paint he had mixed. “Right now, you have to obey them. You may be the prince but obviously they’re the king and queen.”

“I’m about to be nineteen,” Jaemin mumbles angrily.

“And when your coronation arrives, you’ll have more freedom to do things like visit the village.”

“Her grandmother died, you know,” Jaemin says, morose. “I could’ve been there for the funeral, at least.”

Renjun grabs a slimmer paintbrush and begins to note the details of Jaemin’s face. “I know, Your Highness. But if she’s anything like you’ve told me, then I’m sure she understands.”

Jaemin bites his lip and looks at the book sadly. “I just miss her.”

“It’s your duty to stay here. I’m sure she realizes that.”

Jaemin rolls his eyes, albeit sadly, and goes back to posing.

“Your Highness! I’ve been looking everywhere for you!” Renjun’s brush shakes slightly as his mind registers the new voice. It is Jaemin’s tutor. You, a servant the same age as the prince, seem to be the only one he will actually listen to. Perhaps because you entertain his many ideas. Perhaps because Renjun had begged him to keep you around.

Because you not only entertained Jaemin’s ideas, you also praised Renjun’s art. You are a no-nonsense tutor, but as a friend, you have had neverending praise and encouragement to the two boys.

Renjun longs to be around you as much as Jaemin is. In fact, you are the only real reason Renjun finds himself being jealous of the prince. He often wonders how Jaemin could even think about a villager he only knew for a week, when you are right there beside him, every day.

Just the blossom of your smile could make Renjun’s mind freeze in all it’s concerns. Suddenly, the portrait in front of him means little to nothing, and all he could really think about was how many different shades of pink and brown he’d have to mix before he matched the color of your lips. “Hello, Y/n.”

“Good day,” you greet, bowing slightly. “What are you painting today?”

Renjun almost forgets to breathe when you walk toward him and lean your head over his shoulder to inspect his art. He can smell the amber musk on your collarbones and feel your soft hair tickle his cheek. “J-Jaemin.”

“You always paint him,” you murmur, almost in boredom. “Say, do you do favors?”

“Come again?”

“Like, if I paid you, would you draw a portrait of me? I think my mother would really like it— she’s always asking me to get a portrait done.”

Renjun feels his tongue rest heavy in his mouth. Before he can speak, Jaemin grabs your arm. “He can do it! Now let’s get to my lessons!”

And that was that on that.

The stream trickles loudly, leaping down and over the rock formations and falling into the pool with grace. This is where Renjun comes to find inspiration. It’s also where he comes to practice his art.

It’d be nice to do it into the library, but Renjun knows that he would abandon all his actual duties — the ones that he gets paid to do.

He eyes his oil paints, color coordinated from lightest to darkest shade. He dips his brush in pure white, to lay a foundation coat atop his canvas.

Truth be told, he could paint you from memory. But if he told you that, he’d have to admit to his crush on you, and that’s far too embarrassing. No, thank you.

Renjun takes off his sandals and plants his feet on the soft grass. The blades tickle his toes, so he tries to relax his muscles. He has the canvas stretched out on his knees, which is a bit unconventional, but it works. He looks up at the afternoon sun; his straw hat scrapes the trunk of the tree he’s leaning against.

“Sorry I’m late. Jaemin needed help with Latin...” You wander in and trail off, looking at the pool in wonder. “This is beautiful.”

You’re dressed in silver shades — Renjun wonders if you intentionally made yourself look extra beautiful, or if that’s you, in the reflection of the water. He clears his mind and his throat. “I figured It’d be a nice background for a portrait.”

“How do you want me posed?” Your lips are upturned, soft, and Renjun starts a mental list on how to keep you smiling.

“Whatever you’re comfortable with,” Renjun hurries. “We’ll be here for an hour or so each session until it’s finished.”

You sit in the grass, atop your knees, and smooth out any wrinkles in your garments. “My Mother is going to be so thrilled, Renjun. Thank you so much for doing this.”

His tongue feels heavy at the compliment, so he settles for a simple nod. The foundation coat is still drying, so Renjun pulls his sketchbook and a pencil out of his bag. “Do you mind if I start with a few sketches?”

“Of course not,” you say. Your eyes clip to his, bright and clear, and Renjun thinks this is going to be a lot harder than he initially thought.

(The next session, Renjun is so focused on getting the outline of your back right that he doesn’t even notice you moving towards him.

“You’ve got paint on your brow,” you say.

Renjun reflexively wipes at his face, feeling himself blush at your observation. “Is it gone?”

You grin — looking straight at him — and reach up. Gently, you use the pad of your thumb to scrub off the paint. “Now it is.”

Renjun thinks he’d rather melt into the floor than finish the rest of this session.)

Renjun threads the spine of his latest project: scribe records from the recent knighting tournament and ceremony. Even as he pulls the last thread tight, his finger raw and screaming, he’s thankful that he wasn’t the one editing these records.

Jaemin hasn’t been to the library in awhile. His current betrothement has him in a frenzied mindset, and Renjun is sure he has more important things to do than hang out with his friends.

Still, he misses the company.

He sets the glue along the spine and aligns the pages with the leather backing. He’s so busy focusing on making sure the lines are straight that he doesn’t notice someone walk into the library. “Hello, Renjun.”

Renjun jumps, and the spine of the book misaligns. He leaves it on his table, and when he turns around, you’re there smiling at him. “Hey, Y/n. I didn’t know you tutored Jaemin today.”

”I don’t,” you admit. A bashful look overtakes your face and you focus on one of the books in Renjun’s return pile. “I wanted to thank you for the portrait. My mother loved it.”

“I’m glad!” Renjun says, brightening up. He notices that you still look rather distant. “Is something wrong?”

”it’s just...” you bite your lip. “Do, um, do I really look like that?”

Renjun wants to ask what you mean. But he sort of knows. “Your portrait? Is it not to your likeness?”

You furrow your brows. “I just... You made me look very beautiful.”

“You are very beautiful,” Renjun replies, voice low and steady. “Surely, you know that.”

Embarrassment paints your face and you shrug. “I dunno...”

“I know,” Renjun says, surety building in his voice. “Whether you believe it or not, it’s a fact that you are very beautiful. I hope my painting portrayed even an inch of your beauty.”

You look aghast at his words, mouth open in shock. “Are you… Are you serious?”

Renjun stares at the way your lips look, pursed in confusion. “Why on earth would I lie to you?”

“I don’t mean to insult your integrity,” you say, eyes wide. “It’s just that no one has ever been so upfront with me.”

This is it, Renjun thinks. This is my chance to confess. He takes a deep breath, steps closer to you. Toe to toe, so that your chest is brushing against his. And the outside air lessens it’s chill, so that Renjun is sure he’s sweating, nervous and hot and wanting.

His luck hasn’t run out yet. “Can I be upfront again?”

Your breath hitches, leaving Renjun’s own words isolated, suspended in the air between you. “Yes,” you finally say, honeyed lips nearly brushing his own.

“I’m in love with you,” Renjun allows himself to say. “And I want to kiss you. Selfishly.”

“Then do so.”

Your lips are honeyed; candied peonies against his own cruel briars and thorns. Renjun wonders if he’s good enough for you. If book binding and tutoring go hand in hand. If he’ll be stuck forever in the royal library, giving you books to read to the prince. He wonders if this is the life of a peasant, always one step behind the nobles.

Two people in service to a prince can never truly serve each other.

But Renjun doesn’t hold on to that thought. Instead, he surges forward, holds your body like it’s falling, kissing your mouth and your chin and your neck and your skin and—

“Hey,” you cup his face in his hands. “This isn’t the last time you’ll have me. There’s no need to be urgent.”

So he slows down. Gentle touches and warm gazes. Tastes you as much as touches you. All lips and no teeth. Memorized the palm of your hand against his jaw.

You’ll still be here, you said so.

Renjun decides to let go.

#the last paragraph is good but the rest sucks srry #renjun fluff #renjun angst #adventure au #nct dream fluff #nct dream angst #nct dream au #renjun au #destwrites

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friggsdc · 3 years

Text

Title: little delinquent pt iv

part iii | part iv

Warnings: Female!reader (bat!sis), mostly plot with family fluff, AU, hurt/comfort

Word Count: 4600~

Synop: It had Bruce and Dick sharing a look for a moment before the latter spoke up, “It’s not like I’m against continuing to expand the family, but…” he eyed the child you held nervously, “please don’t start bringing home every child you find…” he tilted his head, “he’s bad enough.” Bruce settled a light glare at his first son (that definitely wasn’t what Bruce was thinking), though Dick was stilled by the way your eyes narrowed at him instead.

“His name is Terrence,” that was all you said, brushing past as they were suddenly on guard at the inherited Wayne-scowl on your face.

---

A/N: ee;;;; enjoy me not knowing what this plot is, idk tbh, but it’s fun to write. It’s more plot than fluff, which wasn’t what i meant to write sighs. I’ll probably write companion pieces to this that’s zero plot all fluff. The plot wasn’t meant to be so deep, but I mean, uhm… enjoy papa Bruce and mama Alfred~

---

[bigR] Dad’s upset.

[bigR] He’s talking less than usual, not even grunts.

[bigR] I think he’s ignoring me?

[you] crap

[bigR] Worse, there’s no news.

No news? True, you hadn’t seen the info feeds light up, the networks had been offline all day, but nothing from Tim’s side? If you didn’t hate Luthor before, well…

[you] this is giving me a headache ::dizzy_emoji::

[bigR] No kidding, I think he’s figuring a few things out.

[bigR] Patrol with B, everything’s unlocked, bb @ late.

[you] is typing…

“You sure it’s okay?”

The taller male gave quite the toothy grin, a large hand coming up to pull the awkwardly fitted shirt collar back to center, admiring your new outfit. “You can just bring it back later, besides, I think it’s cuter this way.” After a few hours and an incredibly long phone call between Jason, Tim and yourself, the three of you combined were able to get the suit to come off.

Tim said he still had a lot to go over, but that the laptop was actually incredibly useful. Much of what Tim had been talking (and geeking) about had been lost on Jason and you, too focused on Terry and wrangling the alien suit off.

Jason said he’d be jealous of the strange futuristic-like material if it weren’t for the second skin-like fit, happily poking fun at Nightwing’s taste in suits.

Most of the work was done on Tim’s side since he apparently already had the ability to take control of the suit. It was something you were rather… anxious about, but unlike the manor, Jason’s place had the advantage of no Bruce and no cameras.

So now you sat in the same pair of pants you’d come over in, the only pair of flip-flops he had. They were far too large for you, but your toes would have to hang on till home, and a large t-shirt that fit well enough.

“Muscle up, Buttercup” was written on the front, Superman’s flexed arm between the words.

“Your taste in clothes is…”

“Cheap. Like second-hand cheap.”

“But… why…”

“To spite Bruce? I pay more for job-related injuries than money I actually have, it’s been tempting me to go back to crime, honestly.”

“…you sure that’s not to spite Bruce as well?”

“I mean,” he shrugged, an impish grin on his face as he lightly ruffled the top of your hair, causing you to childishly swat his hand away, “isn’t that what everyone else does? It’s fun, you should try it sometime.”

“Uh-huh…” you were honestly too much of a—

“Daddy’s girl,” he snorted lightly, unimpressed.

Before slipping one of Jason’s unused backpacks on, you stuffed the batsuit in the bottom, and the jacket you arrived in on top. Turning just in time to see him picking up Terrence’s sleeping form with incredible gentleness, you cooed lightly.

“You know, you’re not bad at that,” he looked at you, frowning, ears flushing before his attention went back to the bundle in his arms.

“Not even…” instead of moving to take the child from him, you opted to stand still and just watch the interaction instead, as if a point were being made.

Big boy looked like he was terrified of breaking the child in his arms, like an heirloom British teacup, “You look cute like that, a giant teddy bear and a tiny uh... new bat?” Walking over, he turned his eyes to the side, not a single trace of anger towards the situation in his voice anymore, “don’t get used to it,” he muttered, unsure of himself. “But you could get used to it,” you smiled, taking the giant marshmallow from him, “he’ll be around from now on, you know. You’ll have uncle duties~” Your teasing only increased his rising timidness, “right…”

“Well,” he began, heading to the door once you had everything, “I’m already late for patrol, let’s get you home.”

Alfred had greeted you at the door and mentioned putting on some tea, and you gladly accepted, though not before you went up and changed. With the promise to be back downstairs in a few minutes, he took Terrence from you to ready him for bed. Adorable child was actually quite active, having tired himself out at Jason’s temporary housing.

Quickly, you’d headed to Tim’s room to empty the contents of your bag in his faraday cage, hoping that it was secure enough being in his room. Once you’d locked the safe’s door, you headed out of his room and down the hall to your own. Sorry Jay, but the shoes were uncomfortable, and the shirt kept trying to strangle you more than the shirt of a giant should. Pajamas sounded wonderful right now.

The now empty backpack was tossed to the side near where Duke had left the your clothes from earlier in the day, and a few immediate items for Terrence. You figured everything else was probably in the nursery now, hoping it was all waiting for you in the next few days. The awkward clothes you’d worn over the suit had been tossed on your day clothes, and then Jason’s shirt and shoes were dropped on top.

The shower was quick, and having changed into a fresh pair of pajamas, you suddenly felt sluggish, your shoulders now heavy with tightness. Come to think of it, your thighs also felt rather wobbly, like jelly… but the only strenuous activity you can remember doing in all honesty was… base jumping… was it the wings? It’s all you could honestly come up with. Maybe you weren’t used to such a thing yet, and as you rubbed your shoulders, you headed back downstairs to the sitting room. “Nn…”

“Sore?”

It was still too early for anyone scary to be home right now, so…

You nodded, collapsing on the small sitting couch, Alfred going to stand from his seat to fix you a cup of tea from the tray on the table. “I did a dumb thing today. I’m not certain if I regret it or not.” He handed you the tea plate and cup before returning to his original position on a rather regal looking chair, “I’ve already put the Little Master to bed for the evening. The Young Masters went to bed awhile ago, though I suspect, they are not, actually sleeping.” He gave an amused hum at the thought of Damian and Jon and what they were totally not doing.

He definitely hadn’t noticed when they’d snuck out earlier. Nope, not at all.

It was a long day filled with heightened emotions, anxiety, stress, confusion, and at the end of it, you were just so tired, and Alfred had always been your confidant next to Tim, and—

You tried to keep quiet as you spoke.

“I jumped out of a really tall building. Like… ninety feet up? I’m not certain, I was watching my life flash before my eyes.” He sighed and frowned into his own tea, “Master Bruce has already left for the night, Master Tim is accompanying him, as the boys are… supposed to be here for a night off. I really had hoped you’d grown up to be more intelligent and not as reckless as your brothers.” Or your father, Alfred mused, sipping at his tea, pinky out, the proper macaroni gentlebutler he was.

“I mean, I panicked, I was in a batsuit, I had a lot of intel on me, like, literally stole a laptop and backed up something called Project B (whatever that meant, though you had your suspicions having met Conner), there was a ton of guards outside going from door to door… I don’t have the same muscle mass to fight like my militant brothers, I was scared of what would happen if they caught me, like dad’s reputation?, I may have been overwhelmed by the—”

“—batsuit?” Ah, you looked up from your tea with wide eyes to see him staring, uncertain if the twinkle in his eye was worry or mischief. “Yeah, that. Uhm… Please don’t tell dad,” you sat up straight, gave him your biggest crocodile tears, and were about to clasp your hands together like a beggar before he waved your antics off. “I would not, not unless it endangers your life, Young Miss, you know that. Including young Master Terrence, of course.”

“This afternoon I must ponder over, What you did was, how shall I say, not okay,” he spoke, stern.

He stood to walk over, seating himself next to you while smiling gently, “though I must admit, I am quite curious as to the story behind all of this.” You gave your own small smile as you stared at your tea, “Yeah. I still don’t know all of it yet, myself, but… it’s actually really cool…” The two of you spoke in hushed tones.

Bruce may have been your father, but much like him, you were raised by Alfred, and seeing as you usually weren’t allowed out on the field like the others, your disposition was as Alfred’s was; support. It was something your brothers and father relished in when they had any extra time over the years. You loved to spoil them, and they were readily eager for it.

It was also thanks to Alfred that you’d learned you had a unique knack for espionage.

Your brothers were raised to protect themselves and others, getting to go out nightly on risky (and deadly) vigilantism escapades. More than that, they not only got to be of use to your father, but they were able to grow up around him, their lives dedicated to the same purpose.

To say you were jealous was an understatement, often worrying Dick and Jay at times.

To say you were your father’s daughter and just as like-minded as him was also an understatement. This was something Tim and Damian understood better than your two eldest siblings.

You were determined as heck.

You graduated from avoiding Alfred’s detection to stalking your father and brothers, skills honed even further as you learned how to use their toys and listen in on their coms system. It was your father’s own fault, leaving you alone all the time.

You would never be useless again.

You would never be left behind again.

“So, your brothers are helping you, then? I am glad of that, it means I need not worry as much,” even though Jason and Damian only knew half the truth, it was Tim who knew everything you did. Duke didn’t want to know and apparently Jon’s dad had warned him not to get involved with “bat business,” and Alfred… “If… If Terry’s parents…” how were you supposed to frame this part, exactly? You ere bothered by the truth of it, so... maybe making it sound worse than it was? If that was even possible... “if they were bad people, like really bad people,” as if suddenly remembering the walls had ears, you lowered your head and voice, barely audible for him to hear, “do you think dad would let me keep him?”

The both of you knew that wasn’t the issue, Bruce had no problem with the child staying, but…

There was something about the boy that seemed to be worrying you…

“If there is one thing I take great pleasure and joy in,” Alfred beamed like the proud father he was, “it’s that at least one of you children turned out more like myself than Master Bruce.” No, honestly, he was so glad you weren’t gloom and doom like your father and siblings, “I’m certain you could tame the wildest of beasts.”

His parentage held no ground here, the two of you understood the meaning behind the words, memories of when Damian met you for the first time after arriving at the manor surfacing, “I think you’ll do just fine with the child. I have all the confidence in the world.”

Maybe you were being overly paranoid about the whole situation.

The evening was finished in comfortable companionship between the two of you, and he’d shoo you away to bed long before it was time for the boys to come home.

After cleaning up and assuring himself that at least someone in the manor went to bed properly, he busied himself with the surveillance of the manor.

He made certain you wouldn’t be caught just because of his curiosities.

Through part of the night, you’d begun doing as much research into the relationship between Luthor and CADMUS as you had time for, the past few days having been spent going over only CADMUS information. That was until you got a ping on Luthor’s name written on several specific checks, and gathering as much information available. You looked for key phrases in the news cycle over the past day’s incident, as well as dating back several months. You’d even taken the chip out of your work phone and popped it into the laptop sitting on the bed in front of you, allowing network protocols to take over.

There was only so much the news would give you, so you checked in on security feeds from the area, keywords during phone calls used to see if anyone noticed, satellite intel snapshots, everything. Anything.

The time-sensitive channels still hadn’t opened, no information from other informants was anywhere in the Societies channel logs, not even the time-delayed backlogs.

Someone else was cleaning up.

Early morning, the best time to avoid anyone in the manor who had a night life, also just in time to get breakfast as Alfred made the first batch of the day. Though mostly for himself, he’d generally make extras as you’d often join. Heading down the foyer stairs, Terry’s barely conscious form bundled in your arms, you beelined to the kitchen, the smell your guide. “Ah, good morning Young Miss! I even made some for the Little Master, just in case,” Alfred smiled down at the boy in your arms, holding up a small bowl of minced and steamed veggies.

The kitchen was large for an older-modeled mansion, constantly rebuilt with minimal changes, but still cozy and incredibly sustainable. Between the door to the foyer and the opposite wall, where the door to the dining room was, there was a large table. Several shopping lists, foodstuffs, and cookware took up a good portion, but there as still enough room for a small few people to sit comfortably at once.

You smiled, sitting down in the chair the older male pulled out for you, then pushing you in, food for the child set on the table. You situated Terry in your arms, finding a nice spot to rest his bottom without worry of him slipping off, and reached over to spoon some of his meal to him.

Strangely, he didn’t resist much, yawning in between bites as you had to scoop up what tried to spill out of his mouth, “so, how old might you say he is? I’ve been thinking about it, perhaps about a year?” you nodded as you looked up, agreeing with Alfred as he sat down, food cooking behind him in the meantime. “I think… if not that, maybe a few months younger… he can stand, and seems okay with soft solids… I think you’re right, maybe a year?” his clothing size certainly seemed to think the same, Duke having gone to extreme lengths to get a perfectly fitted wardrobe for the boy. He even included a few different larger sizes for the coming year as well.

“Hm…” Alfred leaned on his crossed arms, rested on the table as he eyed the boy, “I suppose we could begin early development lessons with him, signing especially, but I think he can do more, words, possibly.” In response, Terry sneezed, food spraying all over the spoon and bowl in front of the two of you, his eyes still groggy as he slumped in your hold. “Oh dear,” Alfred hummed in amusement, standing to bring you a small terrycloth towel to clean up.

Terry gave a small grunt as he pushed at the cloth now cleaning his face.

“Gonna… Gonna have to get used to that…” the suddenness surprised you, you knew it was a normal human function, but you just hadn’t… expected it.

“I think there will be a great many things for you to get used to from now on, even I will have to relearn a few things. It’s been… a very long time since an infant was in this home.” He went back to finishing his and your meal, a nostalgic and wistful look masking his face. Bruce had no idea what to do with you when you were an infant handed over to him, and it amused Alfred to this day.

Thinking about it, you looked down at Terry, your chin coming to hover over his head, almost as if you were trying to nuzzle him, loud enough for only him to hear, “…mama. S… Say mama.” The child just tilted his head and cooed at you instead, reaching up to pull at your hair again ohdeargodpleasestop.

Releasing your hair from the child’s grasp and holding both of his hands in yours this time, you tried once more, “mama.”

“Mmba,” he blew a raspberry at you as he slurred his speech, becoming more fascinated with the bubbles he blew than your inquiries. “Mm… bah.” He let out a giggle, popped his lips at you and then smiled, trying, and failing thanks to your hold, to reach for your hair again. After several attempts, he settled for turning slightly, resting his head on your chest as he watched Alfred and all of the very shiny cookware.

You flushed, wanting to beam but also feeling incredibly self-conscious about the situation still, it was honestly a lot to get used to. Frowning in determination at the snuggly bug of a child, you tried a different tactic this time, “ma.” He was still more interested in the food being cooked, however, and you heaved a sigh into his head of hair. “Mma,” well, it was a start, and you repeated your previous chant of mama to him, your own eyes wide with what felt like pride.

Was this how Alfred felt?

“Mmba.” Well, as you said, it was a start. With a sigh, you went back to shoving food in his mouth, though quickly you had to wrangle the spoon from his mouth each time. “Stop… biting it, Terry…” you wondered how Conner had gotten so smart in such a short amount of time, wondering if Terry had still been too young when you took him from the bio labs at CADMUS.

“Ah, good morning Sir,” Alfred greeted, and your head shot up to see your father standing in the doorway, bags under his eyes and a yawn hidden behind the back of his hand. “Good morning, Alfred,” he stared at the older man with a frown, obviously trying not to say something. Instead, he looked at you and the child for a long moment, giving both of you a morning greeting. And even though Terry couldn’t properly respond, he did give Bruce the same challenging look as the last time.

He was looking for something out of the ordinary, however, the only thing in the room that was new was Terry, nothing else seemed to be amiss. But you could tell, looking up at him from the corner of your eyes, head still downturned, he was searching.

“Morning dad…” you tried to be light as you smiled at him, nothing is wrong.

“Daah,” Terry tried imitating, but it was lost in the rest of his babbling as he grabbed the food from the spoon. He was making another mess as he shoved it in his mouth, fingers fiddling around tongue and mushy carrots. Thankfully you still had the terrycloth to wipe at his chubby cheeks.

Bruce’s footsteps were as silent as his entrance, stopping next to you and squatting down, large hand, warm and gentle, landing on Terry’s head as he ruffled his hair, “I’d like to talk to you downstairs soon, okay?” He studied Terry for a moment, eyes as brilliant as his own, though it seemed like Bruce almost enjoyed the small head of hair in his palm. You couldn’t tell beyond the awkward chill in the air, but the two of them were giving each other knowing looks, both challenging, though Bruce couldn’t understand why Terry looked at him that way.

He made to stand up, pulling his hand away before Terry could do any damage, cheeks puffing out in a pout. “There’s something I’d like you to look into,” he spoke as he headed back towards the door, a morning coffee handed to him by Alfred, “oh, and you’re not allowed to leave the grounds for the time being. The tracker seems to be faulty.”

Considering you broke them often over the years, well, yeah, of course it was faulty.

Again.

The smile he gave you before he left was smug and you weren’t completely certain as to why, and it was making you really really nervous, “the League computers picked up something quite interesting yesterday.”

“Uh…” Ah yeah. Well heck.

Yeah, metropolis was both a huge risk AND your last outing, you were glad you took the chance though, even if your stunt escalated the situation. You were now officially on house arrest by the most observant secret-wannabe cop in the world.

Then again, there was no telling exactly what he knew.

He might be bluffing.

“Maaam… ah…” Huh? Did he just… Quickly as if borrowed from the speed force, your thoughts of Bruce and the problems at hand seemed to flee as you beamed at Terry. “Mama?”

“Mamhh.”

[bigR] Was able to give the drive a quick look.

[bigR] I don’t understand villains. I just don’t.

The hell did that mean?

[steph] c u soon <33

Ah, crap.

The table before Bruce had only a few pieces of paper and only two photos. You’d come home nearly a week ago with a new addition to the family, from where he still wasn’t certain. He’d checked and there’d been no missing infant reports that matched up with him, both in looks and location. Tim seemed to be in on it, hiding secrets along with you, and holding back when Bruce would inquire about anything even remotely familiar to the situation. Tim had also been keeping busy with something the past few days, and ever since you’d come home from shopping, he seemed unable to stay still, constantly fidgeting.

Then there was yesterday, when Duke took you out shopping with the boys while Batman had been at the Womb at the League’s watchtower, digging up as much as he could. Which, unfortunately, was just the few scraps of confusing ledes in front of him. The annoying part is how well you avoided the cameras, there were only a few times where he had been able to make you out, the rest he had to guess based on your profile that day.

The subsequent events had started stacking up in a rather annoying fashion. Your tracker’d been broken since you gave everyone a scare a week ago, returning with a child in your arms and something akin to paranoia. Even Tim had been clueless (until he wasn’t), and now even his attitude was giving Bruce pause. It felt more unnerving than bad, something making Bruce’s own stomach knot when he kept coming up with dead ends.

The day you’d gone shopping, the Womb had picked up something the news hadn’t, as the news was calling it nothing more than an accident, and it was that that gave Bruce even more pause. The worst part is that he couldn’t just take a deep dive into the LexCorp building’s system, knowing that much was out of their (or his) hands.

If Cyborg found out that Batman was secretly looking into a non-incident on the League system for family-related business, then he’d never hear the end of it from Superman and the others. He’d have to go out of his way to get into the building, and right now wasn’t the best time to do so, security was increased ten-fold. He’d have to wait it out.

LexCorp wasn’t even reporting it as an incident themselves, but the fact that they were being very stringent about the details, the increase in surveillance, Bruce felt it in his gut; an obvious coverup. The problem was why, there was no way what had happened had been anything short of problematic for Lex, and yet they weren’t filing any kind of paperwork.

They did their best to act as if they didn’t care, but Batman saw all the extra measures, and he also saw the information black hole happening.

LexCorp, no doubt, was scrubbing.

What he had been able to do, however, was gather two snapshots of a black blur that sped out of the building before disappearing into the thick of the city below.

About the same area where Damian’s own tracker took a detour.

“I preferred it when you used to use electrical tape to tape a transceiver blocker to your arm to hide the trackers,” Bruce hadn’t looked up as you approached (and you were dang silent too, even Terry was being chill), “It was much less of a headache.”

“Yeah, but that was when I was a kid. Nothing I do now can hide me from you anymore, the technology is different from back then.”

“Except breaking it.”

“Except that.”

He snorted as you stopped at the table, situating Terry on your hip, and looked down at the photograph that Bruce pushed over to you. It took every bit of training not to give anything away as you picked the photo up and gave it a once-over.

“This is…?” you turned your head to see him with that smug smile from before, tapping the image in your hand with his finger, “this is what I want you to look into.” You would have bristled if you hadn’t known your father better, this was some kind of trap.

“The same day you headed off to Metropolis, intriguingly enough, the LexCorp building had a break-in,” he paused to gather more words, rolling them around on his tongue before swallowing them, I’m worried, and you’re the reason.

“A break-in? I hadn’t heard—”

“No, you wouldn’t have. LexCorp seems to be keeping it from the public knowledge.”

“Then the League computers?”

“Was able to take a few photos from another satellite, these two were the best ones I could find. One of whatever broke in as it took off flying, and another of the same building a few minutes after. No police, no fire crews, nothing.” He was watching your reactions like a hawk, unfortunately you’d played this game so often growing up (learning to lie and stay out of trouble was a skill your brothers and you freaking perfected, even if they got into trouble on purpose), that it was really very easy to just—

“Uhm, but… dad, how? You grounded me, remember? That makes gathering any kind of intel like, y’know, hard.”

The smug smile was back as he pointed at the rather established medical area, the two of you heading over together, “you’re the information broker, I’m sure you can find something useful. It’s not the first time you’ve had to gather information from behind bars, after all,” you really hated how he still felt compelled to remind you of that.

It was once, in a country where no one knew you and where records were shoddy at best.

And on purpose, dangit.

You still weren’t certain how he even found out, besides, he and your brothers had done worse by comparison.

As he began removing the old tracker, you ignored the pain, the lack of anesthetic nothing new to you, too used to it at this point. Not that it was terribly painful. He was precise in skill, second to Alfred, you were too preoccupied with keeping the child still in your lap to notice what he’d been doing prior to your arrival.

All jokes aside, he’d finally gotten ahold of something that could yield actual results.

He looked to the boy again, staring at his familiar features, at his hair, like midnight, “striking how much he looks like us.” You frowned at him.

It was a statement.

The joke wasn’t lost on him.

Or on you.

#tim drake x reader #dick grayson x reader #jason todd x reader #stephanie brown x reader #duke thomas x reader #bat!sis

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bloody-bee-tea · 4 years

Text

BeeTober 2020 Day 24

Devotion - Gather

Finally, the long awaited part for Jiang Cheng/Jiang Xiuying, following right after Resolve, because who is more devoted to Jiang Cheng than Jiang Xiuying? No one, that's who.

Jiang Cheng isn’t entirely sure how they get back to Lotus Pier, but this time there was no incentive for him to stay awake.

Jiang Xiuying’s grip on him was steady and sure and Jiang Cheng knows he would never let him fall or make fun of him for drifting off and so Jiang Cheng did just that.

Well, it seems like he fell asleep completely, because he wakes up in his own bed and going by the light outside it must be a new day already.

“Fuck,” Jiang Cheng mutters and when his shoulder twinges he looks down at it.

Someone took the liberty of changing him out of his soiled clothes and there’s a new bandage around his shoulder which is clearly Jiang Shushan’s handiwork and Jiang Cheng puts a hand to his throbbing shoulder.

It’s probably not as bad as it could have been but it still hurts like a bitch.

Jiang Cheng slowly gets up, exhaustion still weighing him down, but he shrugs on a robe. And not a second too early, because Jiang Xiuying comes into his room without even knocking.

He seems furious and Jiang Cheng blinks at him.

“What?” he asks, because for once he is in no immediate danger of being murdered by the other Sects and Jiang Cheng really doesn’t think that look is fair.

“You absolute asshole,” Jiang Xiuying hisses at him and Jiang Cheng knows that if he wasn’t injured Jiang Xiuying would try to slap him over the head or shake him until he sees sense.

“What? What did I do now?” Jiang Cheng wants to know because he was asleep! There is no way he could have done something to upset Jiang Xiuying like this!

“I don’t even know where to start,” Jiang Xiuying says and starts to pace Jiang Cheng’s room, without giving any thought to the fact that this is Jiang Cheng’s bedroom and he really shouldn’t be here.

Well, Jiang Cheng is not going to say that to him, because with the mood Jiang Xiuying is in right now it wouldn’t go over well for Jiang Cheng, Sect Leader or not. Not that he actually cares anyway.

It’s Jiang Xiuying after all.

“You knocked me out,” Jiang Xiuying starts and Jiang Cheng winces.

He knows that tone of voice. This might take a while.

“You went into a trap without sufficient backup, you got injured, you still didn’t speak up when everyone was demanding your death, you gave me Zidian without my knowledge, you clearly wanted to stop us from defending your good name even though you could have been killed and then you had the audacity to lose consciousness before I could yell at you!” Jiang Xiuying yells at him now and Jiang Cheng only blinks at him.

“I’m alright now,” he then tries, but going by the look on Jiang Xiuying’s face that doesn’t matter much to him.

“Jiang Cheng, I swear to the gods, if you ever pull a stunt like this again, I will murder you personally,” Jiang Xiuying tells him and there’s a break in his voice that Jiang Cheng hates to hear.

It means Jiang Xiuying is this close to breaking down and Jiang Cheng promised himself a long time ago that he would make sure that Jiang Xiuying never has a reason to sound like this again.

Seems like he failed that one spectacularly.

“Xiuying,” Jiang Cheng softly says and holds a hand out for him. “I’m alright. I survived,” Jiang Cheng goes on and it only takes Jiang Xiuying a second before he reaches out for Jiang Cheng’s hand.

“But you very nearly didn’t,” Jiang Xiuying says and he sounds all choked up.

If he doesn’t get a grip on himself, then Jiang Cheng might just start crying right along with him, he just knows it, and wouldn’t that be a picture.

The fearsome Sandu Shengshou and his trusted right hand both crying like kids.

“But I did,” Jiang Cheng says again and squeezes Jiang Xiuying’s hand and hopes the reassurance that Jiang Cheng is still right there is helping him at least a little bit. “I am alive.”

“You’re an asshole is what you are,” Jiang Xiuying mutters and Jiang Cheng dares to smile a little bit at him.

He sounds better already. Which probably doesn’t bode well for Jiang Cheng, but he would rather have Jiang Xiuying yell at him than have him break down crying.

“Xiuying, are you alright?” Jiang Cheng asks after a moment of silence and Jiang Xiuying gives him the most outraged look he has ever seen on his face.

“Are you stupid? Why would you ask me that?” he wants to know and Jiang Cheng sighs.

“You stood up to the Lans. You had to use your old name. You even brought the ribbon. I’m just concerned that it might have affected you more than you let on,” Jiang Cheng explains and he sees when Jiang Xiuying goes soft at his words.

Sadly, it only last for a second, before he’s back to glaring at Jiang Cheng.

“You know what? No, I’m not okay,” Jiang Xiuying says and Jiang Cheng’s worry for him instantly doubles.

Jiang Cheng wishes it was something physical that upset Jiang Xiuying if just so that he could gather the troops and fight whatever it is that puts that look on Jiang Xiuying’s face.

But Jiang Cheng knows that this time it’s his own fault and the guilt he feels about that is immense.

“I’m sorry,” Jiang Cheng lowly says and is not prepared for it when Jiang Xiuying let’s go of his hand.

“Do you even know what you should be sorry for?” he asks and Jiang Cheng shrugs helplessly, even though the wound in his shoulder reminds him that he really shouldn’t be doing that.

“For putting you into that position. I swore to protect you, to keep you from harm, and then you had to take a stand against your former Sect. I’m sorry.”

Jiang Xiuying blinks a few times at him and then he groans.

“You’re so goddamn stupid,” he hisses at Jiang Cheng, who is honestly taken aback by his reaction. “What from my earlier rant made you think that this is something you should apologize for? You have so many other options, why not apologize for something that really upsets me?” Jiang Xiuying demands to know and Jiang Cheng looks down at his hands.

His gaze falls on Zidian and he remembers the hissed threat Jiang Xiuying gave him when they were still back in the Cloud Recesses.

“I’m sorry I didn’t tell you about Zidian,” Jiang Cheng starts and is not prepared to see how the fight instantly leaves Jiang Xiuying.

“It’s your mother’s weapon,” he says and he almost sounds desperate. “It’s your family heirloom. Why the hell would you give it to me?” he wants to know and Jiang Cheng doesn’t like to notice the confused tone to his voice.

As if Jiang Xiuying doesn’t understand that Jiang Cheng would do anything to keep him safe.

“I wanted to keep you safe,” Jiang Cheng says, because clearly it needs to be put into words and he is not prepared for the look Jiang Xiuying gives him.

“Why don’t you ever think to keep yourself safe?” he asks in return and Jiang Cheng doesn’t have a good answer for that.

He doubts telling Jiang Xiuying that he would very willingly give his life to protect him would go over well right now.

“It’s not permanent,” Jiang Cheng instead tries. “I’m still its master. But if something should happen to me, or if you’re in danger, you can call on it.”

“Jiang Cheng,” Jiang Xiuying says and scrubs a hand over his face. “When will you finally realize that it’s our job as your disciples to protect you? And not the other way around?”

“Because it’s not true,” Jiang Cheng gives back. “Especially not in your case. You were always there to keep me from becoming the monster they all accused me of being. What would I even do without you?”

Jiang Xiuying stops completely, simply freezes where he stands and Jiang Cheng is pretty sure that’s a bad sign.

“I kept you—” Jiang Xiuying starts and then cuts himself off. “Jiang Cheng, you literally found me practicing demonic cultivation. If one of us kept the other from becoming a monster then it’s you keeping me from becoming that!”

“I never saw it that way,” Jiang Cheng admits. “You were desperate and life pushed you into a corner. Of course you would fight for a way out. You were always stronger than anyone else I know,” Jiang Cheng softly says and he is not at all prepared for the way Jiang Xiuying kneels down before him.

Jiang Xiuying takes his hands in his and then he bows until his forehead touches the back of Jiang Cheng’s hands.

“Please don’t say that,” Jiang Xiuying says, and there’s the hated break in his voice again.

Jiang Cheng really needs to come up with some form of punishment for himself for making Jiang Xiuying sound like this two times during this conversation.

“None of us would have survived if you were even a little less strong,” Jiang Xiuying whispers. “You were the only thing that kept us grounded for the first months here, I know that’s true for everyone. We had nothing but a bad past and your promise that you would give us a home, but finding a place here, learning to call it a home, that took time. It’s only you that kept us tethered during that time and it wouldn’t have worked if you weren’t as strong as you are,” Jiang Xiuying tells him and Jiang Cheng can feel how his eyes burn at his words.

“Xiuying,” Jiang Cheng tries but Jiang Xiuying shakes his head.

“Don’t you understand? This Sect—and we—would be nothing without you. You’re shouldering everything and there is no one who is stronger than you are.”

“You’re shouldering half of my shit as well,” Jiang Cheng gets out, voice choked up himself now, and he would feel uncomfortable with that level of emotional display if it were anyone else.

But Jiang Cheng finds that since it’s Jiang Xiuying, it’s okay.

“At least when you let me,” Jiang Xiuying gives back and Jiang Cheng has to laugh softly at that, because he’s right.

He tries to do most of the things himself, because he doesn’t want to burden Jiang Xiuying any further.

“You relying on me has never been a burden,” Jiang Xiuying says, and fuck, he knows Jiang Cheng far too well if he knows where his thoughts turned to. “Has it been a burden when I rely on you?” Jiang Xiuying asks and Jiang Cheng retracts one of his hands, but only so that he can cup Jiang Xiuying’s cheek in it.

“Never, Xiuying,” he promises him and he is startled to see tears in Jiang Xiuying’s eyes.

“Then why won’t you share your burden with me?” Jiang Xiuying asks and Jiang Cheng shrugs helplessly, though he’s careful to keep it to his uninjured shoulder this time.

“It’s not supposed to be like that, Xiuying. My job is to keep you safe and as happy and content as I can. Sharing my burdens with you is not how it’s supposed to,” Jiang Cheng gently says, but he can tell that Jiang Xiuying is going to argue with him about that.

There’s a certain stubborn tilt to his mouth that sadly, Jiang Cheng is far too familiar with. And it always spells trouble for him.

“Maybe you’ll think differently when you hold this then,” Jiang Xiuying says and puts his forehead ribbon into Jiang Cheng’s hands.

Jiang Cheng tries to pull his hands away, but Jiang Xiuying keeps them where they are and he closes Jiang Cheng’s finger around it.

Jiang Cheng isn’t completely sure what this means, because Jiang Xiuying broke with the Lan Sect and their traditions a long time ago, but his heart is beating faster nonetheless.

“What are you doing?” he whispers, turning his eyes towards Jiang Xiuying, who gives him a soft smile.

“I’m putting my heart in your hands,” Jiang Xiuying tells him and Jiang Cheng’s own heart misses a few beats.

“What?” he mutters because he doesn’t quite understand.

This is something Jiang Cheng hasn’t allowed himself to think about for years now and he is not processing this well.

“Why?” Jiang Cheng finally gets out, his fingers trembling around the soft silk of the ribbon.

“Because you’re not taking care of yourself,” Jiang Xiuying tells him. “Maybe if you have my heart you’ll take better care. If you hurt yourself, you’re hurting me as well, after all,” Jiang Xiuying explains and Jiang Cheng shakes his head.

“But that’s not fair at all,” Jiang Cheng says before Jiang Xiuying’s face can fall. “Then what is there to motivate you to take care of yourself?”

“Do I not have your heart?” Jiang Xiuying asks him and he doesn’t sound unsure about this at all.

He sounds like he has known for a long time that he carries Jiang Cheng’s heart with him wherever he goes.

“Of course you do,” Jiang Cheng gets out, his voice strangled, and his stomach does a flip when Jiang Xiuying smiles at him.

“So we share the same burden,” Jiang Xiuying says with a nod. “Keeping the heart of our beloved safe. Won’t you take good care of my heart?”

“Xiuying,” Jiang Cheng almost sobs out because is not something he ever allowed himself to think of and now it’s Jiang Xiuying who cups his cheek in his hand.

“I know,” he softly reassures him as he brings their foreheads together. “I’ve known for a while. You’re not very subtle when you love.”

“Xiuying,” Jiang Cheng says again, this time with more vehemence, and he brings his hand up to grab Jiang Xiuying’s wrist. “This is not something you have to do out of gratitude,” he then says, because this was always what Jiang Cheng was afraid of.

That he abuses his position of power over those he vowed to protect and he would rather kill himself than let this happen if that is what Jiang Xiuying thinks.

“You’re so stupid,” Jiang Xiuying whispers, and it sounds more like a compliment than an insult but before Jiang Cheng can comprehend that, Jiang Xiuying presses their lips together.

“This is not out of gratitude,” Jiang Xiuying says when they part and Jiang Cheng barely hears him with how the blood rushes in his ears.

He wants to lean back in immediately. He denied himself this for so long, and now that Jiang Xiuying started this, it doesn’t feel like Jiang Cheng can ever stop.

“I’m doing this out of devotion. Because I love you.”

There is no hesitation in his voice, no doubt or insecurity and it’s that more than his actual words that make Jiang Cheng believe it.

“I love you, too,” Jiang Cheng gives back, even though he’s sure Jiang Xiuying knows that by now and he’s rewarded with another kiss.

This might already be incentive enough for Jiang Cheng to take good care of himself, because he might get addicted to this rather quickly.

When they part this time, there’s a familiar twinkle in Jiang Xiuying’s eyes and Jiang Cheng groans.

“Let me guess,” Jiang Cheng says with a sigh. “We’re still going to talk about all the other points you mentioned earlier.”

“You know me so well,” Jiang Xiuying grins at him and kisses the corner of Jiang Cheng’s mouth. “And I am going to yell at you some more and you’ll lie straight to my face that you will never do it again. Like always. But then I’m going to kiss you, because I can now, and you’ll say that you’ll never do it again with much more sincerity,” Jiang Xiuying tells him. “And that time, I might even believe you.”

“Okay,” Jiang Cheng agrees, because if he’s being honest, he only heard the promise of more kisses and Jiang Xiuying shakes his head at him.

“Later,” he decides and pushes Jiang Cheng back into bed. “For now you need some more rest, otherwise it won’t make any fun.”

“You’re a menace,” Jiang Cheng grumbles, but lays down when Jiang Xiuying lightly pushes on his shoulder.

“And you love me for it,” Jiang Xiuying says.

“Mh,” Jiang Cheng agrees and then decides that if he’s being yelled at later, he deserves some comfort now.

“Sleep now, yelling later,” he decides and Jiang Xiuying let’s out a long breath as he puts his hand on Jiang Cheng’s chest, right over his heart.

So he reaches out to tug Jiang Xiuying down with him, and he’s not at all surprised when he comes more than easily. Jiang Xiuying fits into Jiang Cheng’s side like he was made for that place—like Jiang Cheng always secretly hoped he would—and Jiang Cheng presses a kiss to his forehead.

“Okay,” he agrees and it’s the last thing Jiang Cheng hears before he drifts off to sleep.

Link to my ko-fi on the sidebar!

(He wakes up much, much later to soft kisses, followed by a lot of yelling, and even softer kisses. Jiang Cheng figures if that is his life now, then he is one of the luckiest people alive.

Next part

#bt writes #beetober 2020 #untamed fall fest #the untamed #mdzs #rumor has it #jc/jxy #jiang cheng/jiang xiuying #fluff #getting together #first kiss #hurt/comfort

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harrysbbby · 4 years

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Don’t Forget Where You Belong - JJ Maybank x Reader - Part Six

A/N: please feel free to send me your thoughts! updates might slow down over the next week or so as I finish up my study, but after this week I should be able to update regularly but enjoy xx

Previous parts:

Part 1

Part 2

Part 3

Part 4

Part 5

You sat in the backseat of John B’s van as he drove along the gravel road. For as long as you had known John B, you knew that once he set his mind to something, there was next to nothing that could deter him. So, as you bobbled around in the seat next to Pope, you listened to him chase the trail his dad had left for him.

“I mean, it's obvious, right?” he said, head swivelling to speak to all of you, “A family heirloom. What better place to hide a message? He had to know it was gonna get back to me,’ he paused before squeaking out “right?”

“It’s possible,” you assured him. You could hear the desperation in his voice as he clung to anything that resembled an ounce of his father.

Pope shot you sideways glace before stating, “It could also be possible that you're concocting wild theories to help, you know, deal with your sad feels.”

He was twiddling with the compass in his hands as he spoke. Kie turned around in her seat to send him her most daring glare as you whacked the upside of Pope’s head, before snatching the compass from his grasp. He went to grab it, but you smacked his hand. He let out a small “ow” before rubbing the back of his left hand.

“Bro, you know how I process my sad feels—” JJ began to speak, sitting to the backside of John B.

“Oh, here we go,” you sighed, placing the compass in your lap as you piped up to hear JJ’s words. He frowned at you, before shifting his body to speak directly to you.

“—dank nugs and the stickiest of ickies,” he spoke matter-of-factly. You let out a sputter of laughter as you looked back down at the compass, shaking your head in incredulity. He turned back around to speak into John B’s ear, “that’s how I do it.”

“I'm not concocting, okay?” John B said forcefully, cutting JJ off, “My dad's trying to give me a message.”

“If it helps you believe, John B,” Kie said, but it wasn’t convincing. She just wanted him to feel better.

“Look, I-I don't need a therapy session, okay?” He said frantically.

“We know—” you tried to reassure him, but he cut you off.

“I'm not trippin' out.” He affirmed. JJ started to assure him his feelings were normal,

“t's okay to trip, bro, but—”

“Look, my-- my dad is missing, okay? Missing.” He said it with finality. Nothing any of us said to him would change his mind, but I already knew that. “You don't know what it's like to have the person closest to you vanish and then have no idea what happened. Just wake up every morning wondering.”

His voice got softer as he spoke, the sadness evident in every word that came from his lips. You sighed, looking down at the compass.

“I know it’s been really hard,” your voice was barely above a whisper, careful to not stomp on the eggshells John B had laid down around you, “but it’s nearly been a year.”

His eyes met yours I the rear vision mirror. You knew it broke him to hear it, but you care so much about him, you didn’t want him to break even more by believing something that had the smallest chance of being true.

You cut off your eye contact with him, unable to take the stare he was piercing into you through the mirror. You looked to JJ who was sat opposite you. His shoulders were hunched as he watched the two of you speak. He sat up straighter as he turned in his seat towards John B,

“Hey, he could have been kidnapped,” that was his (poor) attempt to cheer John B up, “That's definitely a possibility.”

“Yeah, could be in a Soviet sub getting interrogated by the KGB somewhere.” Pope chimed in.

“Absolutely. Uh... or Atlantis,” JJ finished. You sat back in your seat as you held the compass up, inspecting it further.

“JJ,” Kie silenced him, “what do you think the message is?”

She asked John B. Your fingers danced over the carving on the inside of the lid.

“Redfield,” John B said, “Redfield Lighthouse. That's my dad's favourite place.”

So, he drove you there. As you pulled in front of the lighthouse the 5 of you exited the vehicle gathering in the clearing.

John B turned to JJ immediately, “Right. You're gonna post up and look out for bogeys, okay?”

“Wait... Why me?” He asked, offended.

“Because you're not coming,” Pope stated.

“Why?” JJ argued. Pope grabbed his shoulders and turned him towards him.

“There are independent and dependent variables. You’re and independent variable—”

“Shut up,” JJ started yelling over the top of Pope’s voice which only grew louder.

“We don't know what you'll do!”

“Shut up!”

“Listen to me for a second!” John B ceased their fighting. “Pope, you stand look out with JJ. Okay?”

The two boys huffed, but reluctantly nodded.

“And Y/N will stay to make sure you don’t keep arguing,” John B stated sternly.

You let out a laugh as you placed an arm around each boy, tugging them in closer to you,

“My favourite pastime is making sure these two boys don’t kill each other!”

They simultaneously grunted and shoved your arm off their shoulders. John B continued,

“If we get split up, we meet back at JJ's house.”

“Great,” Kiara confirmed as her and John B jumped over the small white fence and made their way towards the lighthouse.

“I'm gonna work on my merit scholarship essay,” Pope informed the two of you. JJ pulled a happy sack out of his back pocket (why he had it, to this day you still did not know) and started kicking it around, “and I'm trying to keep felonies to a minimum.”

“All right, would you just shut up already?” JJ huffed at him, kicked the small object with his feet.

Pope moved away from the two of you and back to the van, where he dug into his backpack and got out a notepad. You sighed as you slumped against the tree to your right and slid down it until you reached the leafy floor. You brought your knees to your chest as you watched JJ play with the toy.

“Why am I the independent variable?” he asked after a while. He sounded like a little kid who had been told off and sent to time out. You turned your eyes back to him, having to let them adjust to the change in light. You had been staring up at the sky, watching how the clouds floated slowly through the air.

You blinked a few times before answering him, “I mean, you did steal a gun from a crime scene and then pull said gun out on a public beach in front of many, many witnesses.”

You stared at him with your eyebrows raised. He took the happy sack and started throwing it in the air, in the most attention-deficit, JJ way he could.

“Right,” he responded, watching the object fly into the air and down again. You smiled light and shook your head as you stood up, brushing the back of your legs off.

“Come on Maybank, show me what you’re made of,” you challenged, swaying side to side in readiness. He smirked before kicking the happy sack to you, and you kicked it back.

You rallied back and forth a few times, before you heard the sound of sirens approaching. You missed the happy sack flying towards as your eyes pricked up. JJ turned around and you could see the police truck coming towards you.

“Shit,” you cursed, sprinting towards the van. Pope had already jumped into the front seat and started the engine.

“The happy sack!” you heard JJ cry as he ran behind you.

“This is not the time!” you called back as you got into the back of the van. He followed closely behind you and you slammed the door shut behind him. Pope took off down the dirt road as quickly as he could.

***

It was later that day and Kie had called you to The Wreck. After, you, Pope and JJ had ditched the other two, they decided it would be a good idea to wait for John B at his house instead. You decided to drive back home but got the text from Kie just before you were there, so you diverted your path and met her at her family business.

“He kissed me,” she had just filled you in on what had happened at the lighthouse.

You let out a low whistle, “wow”

“I know,” she said, her brows creased as she moved around the kitchen, sorting things into boxes.

“Did you like it?” you asked her. You had always seen the way she looked at him, but the monotonous tone she used when she described the kiss didn’t support that.

“Not really,” she said truthfully. She sighed, her shoulders slumping as she put the items in her hands down on the bench. “I love John B, I really do. Just not like that.”

You nodded, understanding exactly how you felt. It was the same for you.

You heard the bell ding as the front door open and shut again and when you turned you saw Pope walking into The Wreck. You smiled at him, whereas Kiara went back to busily organising things.

“Come on, another “John B, figure out my missing dad’s coded message” mission awaits.”

You nodded, moving off your chair and back towards the door with Pope, however, both of you stopped in your tracks as Kiara spoke,

“You guys go ahead.”

“What?” Pope asked her. She stopped what she was doing to look and him and shrugged,

“I’m not going.”

You and Pope exited through the door, you continued towards the van, nearing where JJ was resting from the passenger window.

“She’s not coming!” Pope called down to the two boys.

“Why not?” JJ asked – “Shit – “What'd you do to her, John B?”

As you reached the outside of the passenger door, John B opened his own door, getting out to move inside.

“Hang on. I'll deal with it,” he quickly sprinted inside, and passed Pope who came to meet you at the van.

“What was that all about?” he said, pointing back over his shoulder at a frantic John B who had just flung the door to The Wreck open.

“He kissed her,” you told them.

“He WHAT?!” JJ exclaimed, sitting up in his seat and leaning out the window to look at you. Pope’s mouth hung open in shock.

“He kissed her,” you repeated, “but she wasn’t into it! That’s all I know,” you said, arms raised in surrender as the two guys begged for more answers with their eyes.

The three of you shut up hastily as John B and Kie exited The Wreck. He quickly made his way into the van. Kiara made her way through the back, head down, refusing to look at any of you. Pope and JJ made eye contact and began snickering. You rolled your eyes at their childish antics. You grabbed Pope’s head and shoved him into the back. JJ was still giggling, so you reached forward and flicked his forehead. He sent you a dirty look, which was meant only by your air kiss and wink. You slid into the back of the van and John B started to navigate once again.

It was nightfall by the time you reached the cemetery.

“This place is scary,” Kiara commented as the five of you waded through the grass and headstones with the little light your flashlights provided.

“John B, what are we doing here?” you asked him, looking around at the spiderwebs that dangled eerily close from the trees.

“Shut up,” he hushed you all, “You know how you're trying to remember a song and can't remember who sings it?” he began what you guessed was going to be a very long-winded and confusing analogy.

“I guess,” you replied sceptically.

“So, Redfield. This whole time, I thought it was a place, right? But it's not a place,” he came to a halt in front of a large tombstone. Across the top in large letters read ‘REDFIELD’, “It's a person.”

“Voi-effing-là,” JJ commented in disbelief.

“See, my great-great-grandmother Olivia Redfield. That was her maiden name.”

“Ahhh, I see,” you said, taking in the large structure. The three boys tried to push the tomb door open, you and Kie attempting to help:

“Are you pushing?”

“Yes, I’m pushin!”

“Come on”

“This door is like 700 pounds,” Pope said disdainfully, “It's not gonna budge.”

“We didn't come this far to get this far, all right?” JJ said, moving back to push on the concrete again.

From within the gap, a on object slithered out, making threating hissing noise.

“That's a moccasin, all right,” JJ identified the snack, “Ye olde Dr. Cottonmouth, death in tall grass”

You squeal as the snake weaved its way around you and into the tall grass.

“Woof, woof, woof!” JJ was stood next to you, leaning down barking at the snake.

You whacked his chest,

“What the hell are you doing?”

“You’re gonna wake the freaking dead, man!” Pope yelled.

“They’re afraid of dogs,” JJ stated, looking between you and Pope. You pinched your eyebrows together, pressing him to say more, “everyone knows that.”

He said it as if you were stupid. You shook your head and shoved him lightly out of the way, but he grabbed your shoulders holding you back against his chest.

“What?” you huffed.

“If there's one, there's probably dozens,” he said.

“What?” Pope asked.

“All around,” he kept one arm situated around the front of your body and used his other hand to wave it through the air, flashing a smile at Pope as he teased him. Your body swayed with him.

“Stop, you’re scaring me,” Kie’s timid voice shook.

JJ started barking again, leaning around you direct his voice towards the ground.

“Stop barking at the snakes,” John b reprimanded.

“Look, John—” Pope started but JJ cut him off,

“Just making sure it's clear—”

“—Shut up! John, look—”

“—it’s a snake.” You lifted your arm backwards to whack JJ’s chest. You chuckled as you shushed him, his arm remaining around your body, you back flush against his chest.

“We’re not gonna get in there,” Pope finally got out, “It's not budging”

You inspected the tombstone. The door was missing a large chunk and the gap was covered by overgrown plants, but it could probably fit a small human…

“We should probably just go,” Pope suggested, but you spoke up.

“I can get through.”

“What?” John B said

“Yeah, what?” JJ echoed, his grip tightening on you as he bent around you to get a look at your face. You were still staring at the human sized hole.

“No, no, no, no. You think you're gonna fit through the hole?” John B asked.

“Yeah I totally could.”

“Y/N”

“This is about your dad John B,” you said, looking directly at him.

“I’ll do it,” Kie spoke for the first time. You all turned to look at her, but she kept her gaze on the tombstone, “I honestly… I really don't believe in it,” she turned to face John B, “but you deserve to know the truth.”

“I’ll get those,” JJ said letting you out of his grip and moving towards the tomb to tear off the shrubbery. You felt a cold chill run down your spine as his body warmth left yours. They got the passageway clear.

“Give her a boost,” John B told JJ. He squatted against the wall, placing his hands for her to put her foot on.

“I'm gonna boost you, all right. I've seen it in the movies several times. Ready?”

Kiara handed you her flashlight before standing on his hands. Once up there, she turned to look down at John B.

“Remind me what we're looking for?”

“You'll know when you see it,” he told her.

“All right, on three,” JJ instructed, but Kie immediately climbed over and on to the other side, “Okay, never mind. Just forget about three.”

You heard her feet land on the other side. Before JJ had a chance to move, you stood on his hands. He grunted at the unexpected weight but held his position. You handed Kiara her flashlight, being able to just see over the wall. You remand there looking, only able to see what small light her flashlight illuminated.

“You alive? You got, like, a-- a heartbeat and everything?” John B asked her.

“So far.”

“That’s good,” John B sighed.

“I need some more light,” she said looking around. You turned to John B who passed you up one of the larger lanterned. You held it over the other side for her to see. You could see her eyes focus on something. You felt a smile tug on your lips as you spoke,

“Oh my god,” you said.

“Did you find something?” JJ asked, looking up at you.

Kie turned to you smiling, and you beamed back. She had found something.

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scullydubois · 3 years

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Only the Light: Ch. 21

Hello, here is my ‘I didn’t plan for updates to take two weeks, but it always works out to two weeks’ post, right on time. Almost finished with this journey, thank you for sticking around <3

As Mulder helps care for his ill partner and her child, he enlists the Lone Gunmen to investigate the circumstances surrounding Scully's diagnosis. He and Melissa pay a visit to the three men, then Mulder gets an unwanted surprise back at apartment 42.

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

As Scully’s world has shrunk, the amount of love in it has grown. This is small consolation for the hell she’s enduring, but it is the only antidote. She realizes this now that she’s staring down the abyss: all the knowledge in the world won’t save you, and wealth is nothing but a false comfort. What will live on are the parts of herself she’s left with others. Her goal for her remaining time, however long that may be, is to hold tight to those she loves...not to slip away until her heart stops beating.

This is hard when she already feels like less of herself. She’s doing chemo twice a week at Georgetown, and it’s brutal. She knew it would be...her only other choice is to get that gravestone of hers re-engraved.

Meanwhile, Mulder pushed all other work aside to get in contact with the Mufon women. It only took him one day to do so, but Scully doesn’t know that, and for now, she doesn’t need to know. He’s keeping what he’s learned so far to himself...Betsy Hagopian is dead and has been since shortly after Scully saw her. Penny Northern is sick and not responding to treatment. A handful of other women, abductees like Scully, have developed rare cancers too.

It’s not something he knows how to talk about, such despondency. His world has always hinged on hope. That’s what his work on the X-Files is to him, one big leap of faith toward his sister. Or was, before Scully came along. It’s not that she diverted him from Samantha...no, she turned a very personal quest into something larger than him. Or her, or any one person they worked with. She pared it down to its core value, its overarching mission: the truth. Because the truth may hurt at first, but given time, it heals. And it is the only path to healing. This is what he’s learned from her. And now, he’s got to do everything he can to pass the revitalized world she’s shown him onto her.

The arrangement falls into place without any friction: Missy handles the chemo run on Monday mornings, and Mulder leaves work early on Thursdays. Emily spends Mondays with her grandma, and Thursdays too when Missy works the night shift.

Thursdays become something of a spiritual day for Mulder. The hours of approximately 3-10pm are spent doting on his partner--in her apartment, and then his car, then the hospital and his car again, and finally, back to her apartment. Mama Scully brings Emily back around eight, and if Missy’s not home, Mulder gets the honor of the bedtime ritual. The domesticity of it all tethers him to reality, maybe for the first time in his life. He’d give anything to change the circumstances, but it’s humbling to feel--for once--that he belongs on Earth.

It is on one of these Thursday evenings that Mulder could swear he feels his whole life trailing behind him, leading him to the present. The end of the year is creeping up in its usual fashion, which means the outside world is a blanket of darkness before the stoves of countless suburban homes have even been started. Having settled her comfortably into bed with a pile of pillows, Mulder carries his partner a glass of water and pulls the wastebasket to her side; this is their routine now.

“You doing okay?” he asks, lingering as she takes a sip of water. It will soon be time to make himself scarce so she can sleep.

She nods, gurgles a garbled affirmation. Mulder turns to go, and her heart leaps to her throat. “Will you stay?” she spews, embarrassed by her need.

“Of course.” She’s unaware, apparently, that when he leaves it’s for her, not him. He approaches her bedside, lowers himself carefully beside her knees. “Any particular reason?” he murmurs, examining the sunken spaces beneath her eyes.

“I just...wanted to talk to you,” she says, and Mulder thinks there might be a bit more color in her cheeks than there was yesterday.

“Okay.” He leans in and sweeps a strand of hair off her forehead so lightly that Scully doesn’t even feel it. She’s apprehensive about being touched these days, and he has taken this knowledge to heart. She is grateful, and to show the extent of this feeling, she strokes his hand, allows him to take hers in his. He runs his thumb over each finger as they continue.

He wants to ask what she’s thinking about, what it is that has so graciously extended his stay in this room. But he knows that she’ll get to it, that she has nothing to keep from him now.

There’s a sincere serenity on her face that he’s never seen. And after a minute or two, she begins. “I didn’t think it could happen--and it certainly doesn’t make much sense-- but right now, I am happier than I have ever been.”

A string on Mulder’s heart, tightened to its prime, bursts without warning.

She caresses the back of his head. “It’s so trivial, Mulder. So much of what we call life isn’t living at all. Or at least not the important kind.”

He lifts his gaze, eye contact conveying more than he could with words.

“But I’ve thought about the parts of my life that are living, and all of them, in some way, come back to you.”

Mulder shakes his head, feeling too flattered. “That’s not true…”

“You can believe whatever you need to,” she whispers, “but it is the truth, and I am eternally grateful that you happened to me.”

He tries to cough away some tears, which works about a quarter as well as he hoped it would. “Hold on, little lady.” He pats her hand in response to her smile. “I think you happened to me.”

Scully’s chest flutters in laughter. “Did I?” These subtle things have always been so important to them.

“You walked into my office, remember.”

“Well, I guess it would depend on who changed the most due to the other’s influence then,” she reasons.

Mulder just gives her a look.

She smirks. “Okay, so maybe I happened to you, but you…” she chews her lip, and this could be any other day of any other year if she weren’t bedridden. She picks out her words-- “You completed me.”

Mulder spills forward, finding his footing and spinning into the middle of the room. “Holy fuck Scully, are you trying to kill me?”

“We’ve been searching for the truth. That’s the truth, Mulder. I wanted you to know.”

He sets his jaw. He won’t burst into tears in front of her, not when she has all the reason to cry and yet has been so strong.

“You should get some sleep,” he tells her, hoping to expedite his exit from the room.

“I will. And it’s okay to be sad, but not for me. My life is as whole as ever.”

He nods, though he doesn’t agree (what’s new?). He knew Samantha for eight years and has been sad for twenty. He’s known Scully for half that--so he gets at least a decade of mourning.

“Sweet dreams,” he says, resting his hands on the door frame. “I’ll bring Emily in when she gets here.”

“Okay.” She closes her eyes, smiles. “Love you.”

“Love you too, DKS.” He blows a kiss and slips out, heat flooding to his face. This is the first time she’s said that unprompted, and is that what the threat of imminent death does to you? Pries you open?

He wonders. Whose love is saving who?

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

The primetime line-up is flickering over the television when Mama Scully arrives with Emily, passing her granddaughter to Mulder like the family heirloom she is. They exchange a few words in short breaths, reserving the air supply for their dear Dana. Mama Scully agrees to come see her daughter this weekend rather than interrupt her much-needed rest now, and Mulder is suddenly single parent-slash-babysitter; the specifics elude him.

Perfumed with baby powder from her grandmother’s overly enthusiastic hand, Mulder concludes that Em needs neither bathing nor changing. She doesn’t seem very keen on sleep either, seeing as how her little voice keeps calling out Moldy! and her little fists clobber his shoulders. Still, he will keep his promise. He carries her into the room she shares with her mother, stepping lightly lest the floorboards creak.

As he circles the bed to lay the child beside her sleeping mother, he winces at the mess in the trash can. Good thing he moved it into place though Scully had seemed okay. He hadn’t heard any retching, and it saddens him that he wasn’t there to hold her hair back. He settles Em into place, makes a mental note to rinse the can on his way out.

Her characteristically light sleep lightened further by her illness, Scully stirs from the shift of Emily’s weight against the mattress. She rolls toward the free side and flutters her eyelids open. Her smile is reflexive.

“Hello baby girl,” she purrs. She lays a hand against her daughter’s polka-dotted onesie. “Did you have a good day with Grandma?”

Emily answers with some fluttery babbling and gropes for her mother’s nose.

“I don’t think she’s very tired,” Mulder remarks, hands in his pockets. He smirks. “We should really find out what your mother feeds her.”

Scully pulls her lips into a grin, exhibiting a great deal more effort than she did just moments before. She blinks, rubs her eyes, and seems to go out of the world for a second. Then she sets her gaze on Mulder and speaks dreamily--”Will you tell us a bedtime story?”

“Oh!” Mulder scratches his chin, having expected his dismissal. “Do you think that would help…?”

Scully presses her head into the pillow. “I’m not gonna be able to fall back asleep until she does.”

That is a yes, served with some condescension.

“Okay, well, let me think.” He perches on the side of the bed. “Regrettably, I did not get my degree in bedtime stories.”

“Just say what you know,” Scully mumbles. “We’re the only ones listening, and the goal is to put us to sleep.”

“I hope that’s not a comment on my conversational skills,” he teases, smoothing the sheets.

Again, there’s a look of otherworldliness from his partner. She is somewhere else.

“Go on, tell us a story,” she hums, her surprising lack of impatience attributable to an equal lack of wakefulness.

“Let’s see…” He stretches out, perching on his elbow by Scully’s feet like she did in the first motel they ever stayed in. Emily sits herself up and grasps for him. He laughs, lets her latch onto his fingers.

“There once was a little girl who loved horses and bugging her brother,” he begins. “Now, I’m sure she sounds like just about any little girl out there, but I promise, she was as unique as they come.”

Scully closes her eyes and tilts her head back to listen.

“She always said she wanted to be a butterfly when she grew up so she could spread her wings and fly. And her parents would scoff and tell her that would never be possible, but she believed. She believed it would happen.”

Emily babbles along, adding her own colorful commentary.

“I know, I know right?” Mulder muses to the little girl. “The parents were such jerks.”

He tickles Em’s stomach, then remembers that he’s supposed to be helping her go to sleep. He kisses her temple and begins stroking her knee, hoping to achieve a hypnotic rhythm.

“And so one day, this little girl...well, this little girl got to go on an adventure. She left behind her house and her family, and she got to go up to the sky and see the stars, and it was everything she wished for.”

Scully opens her eyes slowly. Mulder’s focus is centered on Emily, who stares up at him with the awe of a museum-goer seeing the Starry Night. It is as if they are the only two in the room, and this gives Scully great comfort, for she can imagine them having a life after she is gone.

“The girl’s family was sad because they didn’t know where she went. The girl’s brother missed her the most, but it was okay because the girl was happy. She got to fly through the sky like a bird or a plane, and she achieved the dream that her parents thought would never come true.”

Em’s breathing begins to slow into sleep. And thank god, cause he’s running out of story to tell.

“Lay down, little girl.” He guides her onto her back so she can drift off without difficulty, then clears his throat softly.

“Some say that if you see a light in the night sky, that’s this little girl, floating among the stars, living her dream. And her brother, well, he’s pretty fond of that thought. He just wants her to be happy.”

Silence falls over the room like a throbbing sensation of unknown origin. Emily’s eyelids struggle between open and closed, and Mulder knows she will soon be out. Scully’s baby blues, meanwhile, peer at him with such unflinching intensity that he suspects she has fallen asleep like that. It is haunting, but it becomes much less so when she blinks and he realizes that she’s looking at him, that she heard the whole story.

“Is that what you wanted?” he whispers, half expecting her not to answer.

“It was beautiful, Mulder. Samantha lives on.”

He smiles from his eyes...oh, of course it was obvious, his little tribute to his sister. Scully said to work from what he knew, and this myth is something he’s used to keep himself going since his family realized that there would be no happy reunion with Sam. He’s happy to share his fantasy; such escapes are needed now.

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

Melissa’s heart leaps when she opens the apartment door to an empty living room. The TV drones out its slapstick laugh track, contributing to the ominous atmosphere. She’d expect to see Mulder taking up a restless refuge on the couch, or maybe sneaking a late night snack to Em. Her sister should be fast asleep by now, her little world able to slacken its hold on her. Unless she is no longer afforded such luxury…

Missy rushes toward Dana’s bedroom, her purse still on her shoulder. In the doorway she slows as her eyes adjust to the lack of light. And thank goodness because three silhouettes catch her eye; a medium one buried under the covers, a large one strewn diagonally across the bed, and a small bump barely visible on the far side. A snore of unidentifiable origin is the only disturbance. Missy smiles to herself. All the missing persons are accounted for and well. She can continue with the blissfully bland routine of her night.

She washes her face and brews some chamomile before settling on the couch with the week’s issues of Mad Magazine and Vogue. Yes, she contains multitudes. She’s up to the Spy vs. Spy comic when Mulder strolls in, yawning.

“I guess my bedtime story was effective.”

“Mmm.” Missy scoots her mug over so he can prop his feet up. Dana hates feet on furniture, but she’s got a child in the house now, so she’ll have to let go of those judgments. “How is she?”

“Oh shit.” She’s jogged something in his memory. “I meant to grab the trash can on the way out.”

Missy knows what this means. “I’ll get it in a second.”

Mulder nods in silent gratitude, relaxes back into his spot. “She seemed livelier than usual when we got home.”

It hits him that he said home, not back. And well, it is Scully’s home. What about him? He sleeps on the couch and he doesn’t pay rent...that’s how he lived at Oxford, though he gets the feeling that it’s not as evergreen at thirty-three years old.

These days, he only goes to his place on Sunday nights to get (what he considers) a week’s worth of clothing--two work outfits (hey, he never really sees anyone but Scully anyway) and one casual outfit that doubles as pajamas. He bought a bunch of fish feeding tablets so all he has to do is drop a few in on Sunday and the fish are set for the week. As far as he can tell, at least. None of them have floated to the top of the tank yet.

“And Em is all good?” Missy confirms.

Mulder nods. “Your mom takes good care of her.”

“I think I know the answer to this, but do you want some tea?” Missy asks, flashing her mug.

“No, no, save it for yourself.”

“Alright.” She flips a page in her magazine. “Just let me know when you’re ready to kick me out. Since I’m kind of in your bed and all.”

“I should be telling you that,” Mulder counters. “You don’t mind me staying here, do you?”

“Not at all.” Missy lays the magazine on the table. “It’s important that you’re around.”

“Really?...For what?”

“For who,” Missy corrects. “Emily needs you to give her balance, and Dana...she just needs you. You’re the safety net under her tightrope.”

“Oh.” This metaphor grounds Mulder better than gravity ever has.

Missy seems to sense this and takes the opportunity to profit off his vulnerability. “So what’s gone on between you?” she asks, an eyebrow arched.

Mulder squints at her. “Huh?”

“I keep waiting for Dana to kick you out or get irritated about you being around all the time,” Missy says with honest simplicity. “But instead, she lets you take her to chemo and fall asleep in her bed…”

“Well, I think the former is more ideal than the alternative, which is that I watch her child,” Mulder replies. “And I fell asleep on the bed, not in it.”

“Okay.” Missy sips her tea, keeps her eyes on him.

It’s pointless for Mulder to try to keep secrets anymore. He wrings out his hands. “If you must know, when you dropped her off at my apartment after her appointment, we... came to a mutual understanding.”

“Ah.” Missy is not surprised by any of it. Of course it happened. Of course her sister hasn’t mentioned it.

“Why are you just asking about this now?”

“Cause I expected my suspicions to be proven wrong, and that hasn’t happened.”

Mulder nods, taps absentmindedly on his knee. “Actually, I have something I’ve been meaning to talk to you about.”

“Oh?” She’s intrigued. The enigmatic Fox Mulder, divulging on his own accord.

“Don’t get excited, it’s not good.”

Damn. Missy reels herself in. “About Dana?”

“About what happened to her or...what is happening to her. It’s about the Mufon women.”

Missy curls her legs beneath herself. “You reached them?”

He nods. “Well, Penny Northern’s hospice nurse picked up when I called. She’s got stage four tumors throughout her body that migrated from her nasopharynx.”

“Holy shit.”

“Yeah. Apparently most of the other abductees have cancer too. And Betsy Hagopian--the woman who Scully saw in the hospital last spring--is dead.”

Missy’s gaze drops to the floor. “So the invasive procedures that the abductors did are killing these women.”

“One doctor’s treating them all--he’s supposed to be a specialist--but it doesn’t look like he’s having much success.” Mulder pauses, his mouth partially open.

“What?” Missy presses.

“The Lone Gunmen and I have been looking into him, and we think that he might have been involved in the abductions.”

Missy barrels forward. “You think he did this to them on purpose and now he’s letting them die?”

Mulder nods solemnly.

“Well, we have to stop him. We can’t let any more patients go to him, especially Dana…”

“I know. I’m going down to see the Lone Gunmen tomorrow after work if you want to join me.”

Missy contemplates. “I have the lunch shift tomorrow, so I could. What would we tell Dana?”

“I’ll say that Skinner is keeping me late to go over some paperwork. You could say whatever, she’s not going to question you.”

“I hate to leave her alone for so long, but...yeah, we have to do this.” She leans back, takes another look at Mulder. “You might just save a lot of women, you know.”

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

Missy feels unseen eyes bore into her as she and Mulder approach the basement entrance of a helter-skelter building. She doesn’t recognize the part of town they’re in, and she doesn’t ask.

Mulder hits the button on a call box beside the door. Before he can speak, a voice leaps out at them.

“Howdy Mulderoony.” Mulder recognizes it as Frohike’s voice. “Glad to see you made it safely.”

A variety of locks and chains are undone, the door pulled open.

“Join our ménage a trois,” Frohike says, ushering them in.

“We can’t stay long,” Mulder tells them, squinting as he adjusts to the darkness of their realm. “You guys forget to pay the electric bill or something?”

“We’re conserving electricity,” Byers says, a shadow in the corner of the room. “It’s good for the environment.”

“I didn’t realize the environment was on your list of concerns.”

“It should be on everyone’s list of concerns,” Byers throws back matter-of-factly.

Mulder slides his hands into his pockets. “Touché.”

Ringo comes forward from the darkness, his hair as tressed and greasy as ever. “Well lookie here. Dana Scully in the flesh.”

Frohike inserts himself between them. “You can’t be serious, pool boy. That’s not her, I’d know her anywhere. It is, however, an equally lovely woman.” He takes Missy’s hand and kisses it. “My lady.”

Missy participates with amusement until Mulder brushes Frohike aside.

“Okay boys, lay off. This is Scully’s sister Melissa. And I believe she’s taken.”

Frohike bows. “A lucky man.”

“Woman,” Missy corrects.

“Oh. Excusez-moi."

Tucked in the darkness, Byers scoffs at the childish antics. “Come on, let’s cut to the chase. Lives are at stake.”

“I’m glad to see someone has a brain around here,” Mulder quips.

Ringo pats Mulder’s shoulder. “Not all of us got a full-ride to Oxford, but hey, I’d say we’ve done pretty well for ourselves.”

“Calm down, Ringo. You’d still be the smartest member of the Ramones.”

Like an unleashed dog, Ringo lunges forward, and Byers and Frohike pull him back. They are quite used to this.

“You can insult me, but never speak ill of the Ramones!” Ringo growls.

Mulder puts his hands up, smirks at the permission he’s been given. “Happily.”

Missy clears her throat, her amusement wearing thin. She’s like her sister in this way.

Mulder gets the memo. “Right. Can the trash talk, we’re here to catch a criminal.”

“If he is, in fact, a criminal,” Byers remarks.

Missy frowns. “Haven’t you proved that?”

“We’re connecting the dots, but we haven’t completed the picture yet,” Byers replies.

Mulder circles around to Byers’ monitor. “What have you got?”

“This doctor, Scanlon, isn’t just an oncologist,” Ringo begins, as if Mulder asked him. “His name is associated with the Lombard Research Facility.”

Mulder and Missy both give him a look. More, more!

“A high security medical research center in Allentown,” he clarifies.

“We’ve hacked into some of the security cameras,” Frohike tells them. “We’d have to get in to see for ourselves, but the activity is rather suspicious. The same men, in and out, at odd times. Whatever they’re storing in there, it’s significant.”

“Then let’s get in,” Mulder emphasizes. “You be the eyes and ears, I’ll be the legs.”

Ringo nods. “We’re working on it.”

“We need to observe their weekend patterns before we make any moves,” Byers insists. “We don’t set up our missions to fail.”

“Fine, but as soon as you’ve reached your confidence threshold--”

“We’ll call you,” Ringo promises.

“What are you expecting to find?” Missy asks, frenzied. “Will it help Dana?”

Frohike drums his fingers on the desk. “That’s the plan.”

Byers nods. “We can’t be sure exactly what we’ll find, but the connection is clear: Scanlon was involved with the abductions, and he’s exploiting these women for his own benefit.”

Melissa shivers involuntarily. “It’s amazing that you’ve figured this out.”

Ringo twirls a pencil through his hair. “We have a lot of free time on our hands.”

Mulder takes a shot at the mini-basketball hoop they have, misses. “And you’d better use it all to implicate Dr. Scanlon’s ass.”

Frohike does a two-finger salute. “Aye aye captain.”

Mulder thumbs toward the door. “Now we’ve gotta get out of here before the smell sticks to us. Scully will know exactly where we’ve been,” he smirks.

“Can’t argue with that.” Frohike shows them to the door. “Give the lady my regards.”

“Will do.” He turns back, exchanges a serious glance with each man. “Sort this out, boys.”

Just as quickly as they came, he and Melissa step out of the chambers and ascend back into the sun’s dominion. Entrusting those three with the well-being of a woman they love so much is far from ideal, and yet, they’re throwing all their faith into it.

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

Mulder slides his key into the door of apartment 42 shortly after seven on Sunday evening. He hasn’t been in for a week, and yet a vivid scent of...smoke sticks about the place. And a wrinkled mess of a man to go with it.

The old man lifts his chin. “I’ve been expecting you.”

Mulder is no longer naïve enough to be taken aback by Cancer Man’s ambush. He shrugs and slides his coat off. “Well, you are in my apartment.”

“I’ve heard that your partner is very sick,” CSM says, his steps so clunky that Mulder wonders whether the downstairs tenants will complain.

“What grapevine did you get that from?...Or are you the one growing the grapes?”

“It saddened me to hear. Agent Scully is a valuable member of the Bureau.”

Mulder nods. “You here to pass on your condolences? Cause I’m pretty sure you could just send a card.”

“I’m here to propose a solution...The doctors say your partner’s sickness is incurable. This is not true.”

“Smarter than the doctors, are you?”

“In this case I am.”

A bitter laugh rises from Mulder. “So I’m supposed to believe that you were involved in sickening Scully, yet you want to save her?”

“We all have our regrets.”

“And I have no reason to trust you.”

“Upon learning about her child, I feel a deep need to intervene.”

“Mmm.” Mulder begins to pace. “And by learning about her child, do you mean when Scully’s ova were removed and fertilized without her knowledge? Because I have a hard time believing that you didn’t know a thing about Emily until Scully got custody.”

“Certainly I did not foresee Emily ending up in her mother’s custody.”

“What was the purpose then, of Emily? To terrorize a woman by taking away her bodily autonomy?”

CSM shrugs. “That’s not my area.”

Mulder scoffs. “Okay you old freak. Tell me how to save Scully’s life or get the hell out of here.”

The wrinkled man folds his hands. “She had a silicone implant removed from her neck. Put it back in.”

Mulder freezes. “Are you serious? That’s your miracle cure?”

CSM nods. “It is the only way to save her life. Removing the implant is what caused the cancer in the first place.”

Mulder steps forward, getting in the old man’s face like a middle-school bully. He’s ready to throw a punch--honestly, ready to kill the man--if need be. He could do it. Easily. He could.

“What does the implant do, Cancer Man?”

“Believe it or not, it is meant as a sort of inoculation. It offsets the negative effects of any tests performed during the...time away.”

“Uh-huh, and what do you get from it?”

“Who says I get anything from it?”

“How else would you know that she had it removed?”

“I am everywhere, Agent Mulder.”

Mulder loses his thinly-veiled calm, wraps his hand around the man’s saggy neck. “You fucking pervert, I’ll kill you! I’ve killed a man before just like this. Tell me the truth.”

“This is the truth,” CSM wheezes, not intimidated by his rapidly deteriorating air flow. His cold, hard eyes stare into Mulder’s. “You wouldn’t kill a man over nothing, would you?”

Mulder squeezes harder, his fingers gripping the man’s pulse. He watches the light drain from his victim’s eyes. All the old bastard does is smirk at him.

Angered by this more than anything, Mulder releases the man so suddenly that his bony body is thrown into the wall. He keeps his footing, stumbles forward.

“Get out,” Mulder growls. When he doesn’t respond, Mulder pokes his finger at the door. “Get out now!”

CSM dusts himself off and walks out, the pompous smirk never leaving his face. Mulder slams the door shut behind him.

There are certain truths he cannot escape. If Scully has made him believe in Heaven, CSM has made him believe in Hell.

#sincerely hope i did the lone gunmen justice lol #also i feel like this chapter is...a normal episode amount of angsty instead of the slow paper cut of the last chapter #the x-files #only the light fic #missy and scully fic #txf #txf fic #fox mulder #dana scully #melissa scully #mine #eww this looks weird w/the tumblr update!!#read it on ao3 lol

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peach-pops · 3 years

Text

His Jade Heirloom || Oikawa X reader

synopsis: war spares no one but you pray he’s the exception || loosely based on japan’s late edo period

pairing: oikawa x reader // mentions of iwaizumi

word count: 3.6k

warning(s): mentions of war, death, and grief

author’s note: this is the first angst piece i’ve ever written and if you know me, you know how much i hate angst (you guys can thank @animatedarchives for that) unless it has a happy ending which you’ll have to read to find out if there is one. i want to thank @kirislut (you were also my inspiration to write this fic hehe) & @goopyartiste for proof reading because god knows i needed it and most importantly, I want to thank hans zimmer for making the masterpiece that is Oogway Ascends. without this score, life would be meaningless.

You listened closely to the sound of the gravel under your feet as you walked along the dimly lit path for what seemed to be the last time. The paper lanterns swayed along to the distant beating of the Taiko drummers in the night breeze as you continued down the graveled path towards the lake.

Along the pathway stood different hues of lush bonsai trees that stood tall and proud in their wooden boxes and while you didn’t stop walking, you studied the miniature granite figurines that were housed in each bonsai landscape. As silly as it was, you felt jealous of them and their little lives; you would give anything now to be a simple, stone fisherman or a wooden musician idly playing by.

The lake-side air smelled earthy and pungent from the growing moss in the water but with Spring almost being over, there was still the lingering fragrance of the cherry blossoms that bloomed overhead. You took one last step and stopped right before getting on the faded red bridge that stretched to the other side of the lake.

You weren’t sure why your body froze in place, but once you saw his figure waiting for you in the middle of the bridge, your feet seemed to have a mind of their own.

“ I was thinking you weren’t going to show up,” Oikawa said softly, lifting his head away from the water below as he gave you a sincere smile,” but I’m glad you’re here now.”

“ I wasn’t sure at first...but I know I would have regretted it,” You admitted as Oikawa laced his fingers with yours and gave you a small squeeze.

The two of you stood there in agonizing silence. No one wanted to say what was meant to be said, but the anticipation was excruciating.

You felt as though you didn’t have enough time or the right words to say yet all you knew was that you needed to say something. You opened your mouth as if you were about to speak but closed it when the idea of saying it outloud sent you on the verge of tears.

“ This isn’t goodbye, you do know that don’t you?” Oikawa rubbed the back of your hand with his thumb to try and reassure you, but the word goodbye was enough to let a few tears fall down your cheeks and into the water,” please, don’t cry my love.”

You nodded and bit the inside of your cheek, trying your best to compose yourself yet the tears couldn’t stop flowing.

You tried to focus your attention down at the opaque lake below you and the moonlight helped illuminate the life and plants living below the surface. Some of the koi carp below had broken the surface of the water with their open mouths, expecting to be fed by the doleful couple staring back at them, but the vibrant fish were only greeted with more tears.

“ How do I know this won’t be the last time I’ll see you again? This war has taken more men than any before and you expect me to just let you leave and sacrifice yourself for an emperor who doesn’t care about his people?” You weren’t sure how you were able to get through your words without choking out a heavy sob, but you had never felt so enraged towards a monarch, much less a man.

This war had brought so much destruction, far more than you had ever seen in your lifetime. This wasn’t the first time you had said goodbye to loved ones, but saying goodbye was always the last time you had ever spoken to them, if you were even given the courtesy. War was meant to be cruel and unfair yet you still didn’t understand why innocent people had to die by the selfish deeds of royal men who only viewed lives as expendable.

Oikawa inhaled sharply as you spoke so ill of the Emperor. While he agreed with every word you said, his own moral standing forbade him from saying it out loud,” It’s my duty and I owe it to my family and my country.”

“ Am I not your family?” You asked as you turned to face him, completely offended by the thought,” am I not your true love? What about your duty to me and my heart or our duty to the future we’ve been nourishing since we were children?”

“ Y/N, my duty is to you, it will always be you but that’s why I need to go. I don’t want to leave you but if it means protecting you and keeping you safe, then I’d leave again and again,” Oikawa said as he wiped away tears that would only be replaced seconds later.

Oikawa’s heart ached at the sight of you weeping for him, but he couldn’t find any words to say that would make you ease your worries. Your fingers nervously toyed with his family’s jade ring that he always wore proudly and Oikawa had to squeeze your hands harder to make you look up at him.

He pulled you close to his chest as a way to try and calm you down, but your muffled sobs only made Oikawa’s eyes tear up.

You didn’t need this grief; you felt as though you had already suffered enough losses. It was a naïve thought but you were so sure the war wouldn’t take Oikawa. Maybe, just maybe, it would take someone else’s lover or son or father, but surely not yours.

“ You can’t leave me...I don’t have anyone else left and I can’t lose you too,” You said through choked tears as you pulled away from his chest to look up at him,” I’m begging you, please, don’t leave me.”

You bore the same expression of when you had found out you had lost your mother and sibling to the war, that same look of disbelief that was so grueling and heavy, Oikawa swore he thought your body would crumble into a pile of ash.

Oikawa could still vividly hear the sounds of you hysterically sobbing into his chest, your hands pulling at his clothes in an animalistic desperation because other than Oikawa, you had lost everyone you had ever cared about.

In that moment, Oikawa had the terrible thought of your own reaction to the likely possibility of his limp body returning back to the village. Would you stand strong and noble like a sturdy dam in front of his family or would you let the grief rock your body like a fisherman in a paper boat, staying afloat against a tsunami?

Maybe Oikawa had given you too much false hope since the war had started.

You were always so worried that one day, the general would knock on his doors and take him away the next morning, but Oikawa always told you how unlikely it would be since his knee made him unfit for battle. He felt as though he didn’t prepare you enough for a potential goodbye. Maybe you two should have started your goodbyes once there was even a mention of a war.

He didn’t like these thoughts of him having so much regret, but as each minute passed, it only brought him closer to his appending farewell.

“ If there was another way, I promise you I would take it,” Oikawa said in the softest voice and he was sure he had never spoken so quietly before,” if I don’t leave, Takeru will have to go and I promised my sister when she passed that I would take care of him.”

You nodded as you continued to wipe away your tears; the mentioning of Oikawa’s young nephew made you attempt to compose yourself. Even though Takeru was old enough to go fight, he was still a child. As much as you didn’t want Oikawa to leave, you both would never forgive yourselves for selfishly sending his nephew to fight a war he could barely understand.

“ I’ve already talked to Takeru about you looking after him while I’m away...I think he is secretly thrilled that I won’t be there to pester him,” Oikawa let out a faint laugh to try and ease the tension but you only returned a weak smile.

“ I’ll take good care of him, you have nothing to worry about,” You said after a moment and Oikawa didn’t understand how relieved he was to hear it until it came from your mouth,” we’ll both write to you as much as your troop general allows. You promise to write back to me as soon as you can?”

His soft gaze never left yours but inside, his heart was beating so fast he was sure his ribcage would break. He thought back to the time you two were children and how little five-year-old Y/N had made him promise that in the future, the two of you would get married.

At the time, Oikawa remembered how his child self hated the idea because marriage was something only grown-ups were meant to do but now, over a decade later, marrying you was the only thing he could think of every time he thought or even looked at you. He wondered now, in this moment, if you had even remembered that promise since you were always prone to forgetting silly childhood memories.

Oikawa nodded and pressed a kiss to your forehead,” Of course, you know I always keep my promises.”

You inhaled deeply as you gave Oikawa’s hands a light squeeze. The anxiety brewing deep in your diaphragm made you feel as though it would burst and as unfair as it was, you knew holding it in would make things much worse,” Can you promise me something else then?”

Oikawa hummed to let you continue, but he secretly prayed it wasn’t what he was thinking it would be.

“ Promise me you’ll come back home.”

Anything but that.

Oikawa said nothing for a moment and instead shook his head slowly,” Y/n…”

“ Please,” You begged as you gripped his forearm to keep you up straight,” I need some shred of hope, something to hold onto while you’re away to keep me sane...even if you don’t mean it, just promise me.”

You knew you couldn’t ask him to promise you something like that but you knew if you didn’t hear him say it back to you, you and your own sanity wouldn’t last the war.

He never wanted to lie to you, that was the last thing he would ever want to do yet, to promise to survive?

Of course, he wanted to live.

There were so many things he wanted to do, but now there wasn’t enough time. Sure, he wasn’t a child anymore but he still didn’t have as much independence as the other older males in town. He had thought he had the rest of his life ahead of him to laugh and love and live with you by his side.

No one should live forever but he didn’t even get a chance at living.

And yet, as terrified as Oikawa was about the more than likely chance he wouldn’t even survive the first battle thanks to his bad knee, he didn’t want you to be as scared as he was.

“ I promise,” Oikawa assured you one last time before he leaned down and kissed you softly.

Whether it was the little bobbing heads of the koi fish or the petals from the cherry blossom tree that fell down past you two, every living thing in that garden were now witnesses of the promise Oikawa had kept.

In the beginning, you held onto his promise close to your chest every time you felt the hope slip through your fingers but once you would receive a letter back, you felt the earth take a huge sigh of relief.

Every letter you sent him would leave you wondering if that would be the last. It was painful to think that one day you would send a letter that he would never get to read so at the end of each one, you made sure to tell him how much you loved him, just to make sure he knew.

You would re-read his letters like a mantra and whenever he would write about how much he loved you, you would close your eyes and imagine he was beside you.

You would hear about how horrifying the war was on the battlefield through the other women in the village, but in every letter Oikawa sent, he assured you he was doing just fine. In fact, Oikawa deemed the only thing that was close to horrifying was the thought of his ‘new war buddy’, (who Oikawa only went as far as to name him Iwa-chan) reading the love letters the two of you exchanged and teasing him for it.

You knew he meant to be comforting by giving you things to laugh or smile about, but you knew he was only putting up a façade to keep your spirits high.

You wondered what it was really like out there on the field. Was his body warm enough at night or was he shaking like a small child in the cold? Was there enough food to go around or was he sucking on rocks to get by? Was he writing another letter back to you or was his body left behind on the battlefield only to be put in an unmarked grave?

There were so many days where you just couldn’t take the waiting anymore. It was an awful test of your patience that you frankly never had to begin with but even as the weeks turned into months, you knew you had to be strong for Takeru.

Your patience was only tested more and more when other families in the town started getting news of their loved ones passing. Every time there was a knock on your door, you prepared yourself for the worst, only to be greeted by neighbors asking to borrow spices.

Just the other day as you walked Takeru back home from school, you could hear one of your neighbors break out into a scream as she sobbed over the news of her eldest son dying. It was as though Death himself was emerging around Japan, whether he was strolling through battlefields or lurking through innocent villages.

Even now, as you started the laundry outside by the garden, you could feel Death approaching you, ready to tell you that it was time to walk hand in hand. You started to pin the linens to the clothing line when you hear rustling behind you, yet you didn’t bother to turn around.

“ Y/N?”

Your hands stopped mid motion as you felt your heart sink in your chest. Your whole body tensed at the sound of his voice, but you turned around anyway, looking back at the person responsible for the voice.

“ That’s me,” You said softly as you took in the appearance of the young man who couldn’t have been that much older than you,” I’m sorry, do I know you?”

The man opened his mouth but closed it shortly after, shaking his head,” I don’t think so or maybe you do, I’m not sure- Iwaizumi Hajime?”

You furrowed your eyebrows for a moment to try and think of where you had heard that name until the realization hit you square in the chest,” Oh...Toru called you Iwa-chan.”

The mere mention of the name made Iwaizumi’s mouth feel like sandpaper. He had promised his friend he would be strong enough to get the news out to his lover, but Iwaizumi could feel his own tears threatening to spill out once he remembered his friends last words.

“ Tell her I love her and that-that I’m so sorry.”

All Iwaizumi could muster out was a soft apology as he pulled out Oikawa’s family ring and carefully held it out to you in his open palm.

For a moment, it was as every living thing around you had held its breath. Any sound, smell, feeling was just gone and you were sure your heart had stopped beating. With a shaky hand, you picked up Oikawa’s ring. It felt strange in your hands. Ever since you two were kids, he had never taken it off.

“No...no you’re lying,” You said quietly as you felt a lone tear slide down your cheek and just like that, you felt the floodgates open.

Your knees collapsed from underneath you and it was as though every fiber in your body was being ripped apart. Months of holding on and praying and anticipation were all released in the most primal scream you had ever let out before.

You had reached your breaking point; it was more than just crying. Every sob that shook your body came from every single moment you had of Toru that would now only ever be memories. His laugh, his touch, his gaze, his words- all of it flooded through your system as things you would never get to experience again.

You sobbed and screamed hysterically into the air as you held the ring against your chest, your body almost convulsing from the need to draw in a shaky breath.

Iwaizumi felt utterly helpless as he listened to your gasping wails and choked out utterances of Toru’s name and desperate “no’s”. He reached out to try and touch your shoulder but drew his hand back, unsure of how he should even comfort you when he was on the verge of breaking down as well.

You sobbed so hard to the point where it was beginning to become harder to breath and when Iwaizumi noticed, he quickly kneeled down beside you and tried navigating you through his own quiet tears.

Once you got in a solid breath, it only made the next wail even louder than before and Iwaizumi knew deep down, he would never be able to get your traumatizing scream out of his head.

The one person you loved unconditionally, the one person you imagined spending the rest of your life with, was truly gone. After years of pain and loss and death, you always pulled through because you had Oikawa.

Now that he was gone, you were utterly and truly alone.

You reached into the woven pouch Oikawa held in his hand and pulled out a handful of rice before sprinkling it over the edge of the bridge. The brightly colored koi fish bobbed up and down as their mouths inhaled the rice easily.

“ You know, you kinda look like them,” You laughed as Oikawa looked down at the fish and back at you as if you were crazy,” I think I’m going to name that one...Toru.”

“ Oh are you now?” Oikawa pulled you into his chest and started giving you open mouth kisses all over your face, making loud popping noises every time he pulled his lips off of you to mimic the koi fish below.

You shrieked and squirmed under his touch as you pleaded with him to stop between your fits of laughter, which only encouraged Oikawa’s antics.

Oikawa eventually stopped once you had begged enough and helped fix your disheveled hair, as you poked at the jade ring on his finger.

“ Why can’t you just let me try it on?” You whined as you ran your finger across the smooth jade,” just one time and I’ll never ask again.”

Oikawa smiled down at you as his thumb brushed over the ring.

“ You need to be patient.I told you already, I want the first time you wear it to be special,” Oikawa pressed a quick kiss to your pouted lips and doing so again once he saw that you were still pouty,” aw, don’t be like that. I know we’re not ones to be traditional but think of how romantic it will be when you get to wear it once we’re married.”

Your heart fluttered at the last word and you looked up to him to be sure you heard him correctly,” Do you really mean that? You want to marry me someday?”

The mere mention of getting married made Oikawa swell with joy as he pictured the long future ahead for you two. He couldn’t even imagine a future where you weren’t in his life; every breath he drew and every heartbeat was for you and you only.

You truly brought him comfort like no other and it was as though his own soul felt at peace knowing that he didn’t have to search for his other half since you were always by his side.

Oikawa felt his cheeks heat up as he shifted his eyes back down the lake below,” Well, of course I do, I would marry you right now if I could. You know- I could do it right now-”

Oikawa jokingly started to go down on one knee and take off his jade ring but you ushered him up since you knew how weak his knee was. You both knew he was only teasing but in the back of his mind, he really could marry you right then and there if you allowed him to.

“ No no, not right now,” You laughed as you brushed his hair away from his face,” but you’re serious? You see us getting married in the future?”

“ I see us getting married, having kids, all of it. I just want to spend the rest of my life with you,” Oikawa said with a full heart as you let his arms wrap you in a tight embrace.

You sighed happily in his arms and smiled even harder as you imagined what kind of future laid in store for you too while Oikawa did the same.

“ You promise?” You mumbled into his chest as you pulled away to look up at his brown eyes.

“ I promise.”

taglist (open): @boosyboo9206, @goopyartiste, @sugas-sweetheart, @kirislut, @estridries, @hannahalanib1, @art0saurus, @shoutamajiki, @yee-harr, @animatedarchives, @greywarenns, @bnha-bakusquad, @akaashirin

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d-p-f-m · 4 years

Text

Obey me: Asmodeus x fem!MC | Imagine

Genre: Fluff, (slight) Angst

Trigger warning: mentions of minor character death/suicide

Word count: 1820

Author's note:

I don't even write for Obey me or anything otome related at the moment, but I just had to get this idea out of my system so I can sleep peacefully and thought I'd share it here, because there's not nearly enough Asmo content out there and some of my fellow Asmodeus stans might appreciate it. This man deserves more love!

Anyway, hope you enjoy!💞

♠️♥️♣️♦️♠️♥️♣️♦️♠️♥️♣️♦️

▪Imagine a universe where it's canon that every brother owns a ring with their sin's symbol engraved in it, but Asmo's ring has been missing for a very long time without anyone knowing what happened with it because he never gives a straight answer when confronted about it

▪when MC first arrives in devildom for the exchange program, she wears the ring on a necklace around her neck, seeing as it was passed down from mother to daughter as her family's heirloom through generations

▪with six of the brothers owning a similar ring to hers, it doesn't take her very long to put two and two together. Although, once she finds out it's in fact Asmo's ring, she doesn't tell him right away, because he's not particulary responsive as she subtly questions him about the whereabouts of his ring and she's scared of the real reason why it could be in her possession

▪Maybe one of her ancestors stole it from him? Maybe it's a sign to signal that her bloodline is indepted to the avatar of lust due to some deal someone made with him eons ago? Honestly, it could have so many reasons and a lot of them make her worry that it would have negative consequences for her, if anyone found out

▪Asmo simply tells her, that he lost the ring to a woman who died before he could take it back from her and for some reason, his words make her think of the recurring nightmare that would often cause her to startle awake growing up. Anxiously, MC asks him if the woman drowned before she can think better of it

▪eyeing her warily, he confirms her suspicion, asking her how she could have randomly guessed it right. Although, unable to grasp the weird feeling that overcame her while talking about the long deceased woman, she just brushes it off as a strange coincidence

▪she starts to wear the ring less while she's around Asmo, to hide it from him until she knows she can fully trust the demon brothers

▪one time, as she stays over at his room for a sleep-over, he almost gets a glimpse at it when it slips out from the collar of her loose pajama shirt and she doesn't want to risk him seeing it again. Because for all she knows, he could get mad at her for having it. Even though she can't really understand why she has it herself

▪over time, MC and Asmo gradually grow closer

▪they don't have any kind of sexual relationship, because MC wants to genuinely love and be loved by someone before giving all of herself to them

▪while Asmo respects her decision, it obviously doesn't stop him from playfully flirting with her and due to both their affectionate natures, they develop a close friendship that involves constant casual touches and cuddling

▪every time Asmo does try to initiate anything sexual between them out of habit -since it's the only outcome people usually seek from interactions with the avatar of lust and he's not used to someone actually enjoying his company for just his company alone- MC stops him gently and tells him she'd much rather just cuddle or spend time with him in general

▪Asmo appreciates and looks forward to their shared quality time a lot and he slowly starts to accept the fact that, yes, MC's not out there to use him in any way but instead actually cares for him and his feelings

▪it shows in little, almost insignificant gestures. Like her going out of her way to do favors for him, or how she always asks if he's comfortable with the smallest of things, or even how she makes sure to get his opinion on matters where people would usually just assume they know what he thinks, according to his sin and self-imposed image

▪from time to time he even prioritizes MC's innocent, loving touches over the pleasure his usual hook-ups could bring, staying in and spending his nights cuddled up to her instead of going out to party more often than not as the months pass by

▪without neither of them really acknowledging it, they both develop deeper, romantic feelings for each other over the course of the exchange period

▪one day, as MC cleans her room, (that Mammon wrecked while searching for something to sell lol), she realizes the small casket with Asmo's ring is missing from where she had put it and she immediately rushes after the second-born, who had just left her bedroom before she came in, in case he took it. As it turns out, he did

▪when Mammon realizes how important the casket is to her, he remorsefully gives it back and she returns to her room to hide it again but just as she's about to put it away, Asmo comes strolling in

▪seeing the fancy box, he grabs it from her to take a look inside out of curiosity and when he recognizes his ring, he freezes

▪feeling guilty about keeping the ring a secret for so long, MC calmly asks Asmo to let her explain

▪she tells him that her mother gave it to her once she had turned sixteen, but she hadn't been able to teach MC anything about its origins besides that it had been passed down between family members for centuries

▪after listening to her, Asmodeus grows quiet for a while, before finally opening up a little about how he lost the ring

▪a few millennia prior to the present events with MC, while Diavolo's father was still actively ruling and it was allowed for higher-ranking demons to freely roam between the human realm and devildom, Asmo would often times visit the humans to play with people's hearts and desires

▪one day, as he was passing through a small village, he met a young woman who didn't succumb to his charms

▪she was nice and courteous towards him while they interacted, but his powers never had any actual effect and determined to defile her someday, he payed the village more visits any chance he got

▪seeing as it was one of the rare times during the day where he would get her alone, he would often join her as she spent her evenings sitting at her favorite place on the edge of a cliff, located just outside the village

▪while he tried to find a way to get the frustratingly untainted woman to give in to her deepest desires, they would talk about anything that came to their minds and over time, Asmodeus had to admit he quite enjoyed her presence

▪slowly but surely, he came to care for her once he realized that she genuinely cared for him and even though he never admitted it out loud, her friendship was something he secretly cherished

▪as they were sitting side by side one night, like many times before, the woman suddenly admitted to him that she always feared he would stop visiting her someday. That he would find someone who was willing to indulge in him in more ways than she could allow herself to and that he would eventually get tired of her company

▪while she didn't know about his true demonic nature, she had always been aware that he wasn't exactly human per se and it was only natural for her to believe that he was simply playing with her to fight the boredom that overcame him occasionally. Which, initially, had been true

▪that's when he decided to give her his ring.

▪uncharacteristically keen to reassure her he would keep visiting, unless she told him to stop, he slid the ring from his finger and onto hers instead, telling her to guard it until he'd demand it back one day

▪from this day on, she would often times invite him into her home to talk in the comfort of her bedroom instead of at the cliff and Asmodeus would rest his head in her lap while she went on about a new topic every time, gently caressing his hair or playing with the fabric of his clothes in the process

▪when she told him one night, that her father was in desperate need for money and therefore planned to marry her off to a wealthy merchant with a reputation to be cruel and violent towards women, Asmo felt a strange and long forgotten urge to protect her

▪the last person that had made him feel this way was Lilith and without really thinking it through, he offered to take her away with him

▪although, she declined his offer with a mournful smile, explaining how, even though she cared for Asmodeus deeply and wanted nothing more than to stay with him, she could never live with herself if she left her family behind for her own benefit and that she still had time to convince her father to drop his idea, before the merchant would come to take her with him

▪Asmo didn't want to upset her, by ignoring her wishes and taking her away by force, so he reluctantly accepted her decision, thinking he still had time to convince her to run away, but when he came by to check on her a few days later, she was nowhere to be found

▪it turned out she had committed suicide by jumping off the cliff and drowning herself, the morning after Asmodeus had last visited her

▪he always thought that his ring had been buried with her (let's just pretend she had a proper burial, even though at that time, suicide was probably considered a sin and not excepted by society. Maybe her family buried her in secret) and that's why he never found it, when in reality, her brother had taken it, to later give it to his own daughter in memory of his lost sister

▪after Asmo finishes with the story behind his ring's disappearance, MC quickly realizes that she has to be a descendant of the woman's bloodline (which is also Lilith's human bloodline, hence why both of them are immune to Asmo's powers)

▪she attempts to give the ring back to him, because, surely, that's what both the woman and Asmo would want. But he stops her and puts the necklace the ring is attached to around her neck, before explaining that he wants her to keep it, since his promise to someday return to claim it back still stands and he doesn't plan on leaving MC's side any time soon, anyway

▪if anything, MC finding her way to him after so many centuries just means their encounter was predetermined all along and he made the right choice by entrusting his ring to her ancestor all those years ago

▪(maybe he even thinks that him finding genuine love for the first time with MC was fate as well, but he'll have a lot of time to entertain this line thought in the future.)

🦂🦂🦂🦂🦂🦂🦂🦂🦂🦂🦂🦂

Additional note:

Damn, I want to see a full version of this, but with life butting in every 5 seconds, I don't really have the time or energy for it. So, if there's a talented writer out there who loves this idea as much as I do and wants to turn it into an endlessly ongoing, multi-chaptered slow burn, pls (PLS!!!) do and mention me in your post, so I can read it!! I could really need this story right now.

Alright, Imma go to sleep now. Bye guys🔥

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115 notes · View notes

orangerosebush · 4 years

Text

On minds and matters

It was a bit disheartening to spend years working towards an MA in psychology, only to then use it on hour-long glorified eye-staring contests with the moody adolescents of the UK’s Vieux riches. His job paid well, though, and as such Dr. Po was willing to grit his teeth and soldier on through each meeting on his list.

He’d had plenty of patients who came to him determined not to progress. These were the boys who had a few too many write-ups on their files; the ones whose families were tired of their son being too 'emotionally high-maintenance'; the students who had consigned themselves to being one of the ‘troubled’ boys. The problem with elite boarding schools was that they sometimes served as the dumping grounds for wealthy families who would prefer to not be reminded of their screw-up children — as such, Dr. Po’s target demographic was made up of boys determined to ‘win’ therapy by going home just as bitter and in pain as they were when they started sessions with him.

He didn’t always make a breakthrough. Sometimes, he had patients who showed up to a session with a note from Dean Guiney excusing them from further meetings, and that was that. Dr. Po firmly believed that every single student he’d met with was capable of finding some coping mechanism or outlet that would help them — and he hoped that the students whose sessions stopped before any progress had been made found happiness in the future. Or, at the very least, that they found something that would bring them peace.

There were certain patients he’d had that stood out from the others, both for good reasons and bad. Artemis Fowl II was one of those patients — and standing out for reasons ‘both good and bad’ described Artemis perfectly.

Following a series of disastrous sessions when the boy was thirteen, Dr. Po had simply stopped seeing Artemis. The boy hadn’t even shown up with a note terminating their sessions. One day, a new boy had shown up in the time slot usually reserved for Artemis, and that had been that. Dr. Po hadn’t seen Artemis since. He vaguely remembered hearing the news that the Fowl patriarch had been found — alive — and not been sure whether to expect Artemis to get better or worse.

Would the return of his father foster the growth of the nascent emotional maturity that Artemis had exhibited in their final sessions? Or would Artemis’ worst traits — his tendency towards arrogance, his dismissal of others, his budding narcissism — firmly take root, defining Artemis’ personality for good? These questions nagged at Dr. Po, and truthfully, he was too cowardly to ask around the staff to confirm just what sort of person Artemis had become.

Thus, Artemis remained an enigma.

An enigma that just so happened to be sitting in the armchair across from Dr. Po, boring a hole through the doctor with his unflinching gaze.

In true Artemis Fowl fashion, the boy had shown up for a session that had been reserved without a name. Dr. Po had nearly dropped his clipboard when he’d opened the door to usher in his new patient and been greeted with a now fifteen years of age Artemis Fowl standing before him, looking simultaneously defiant and sheepish.

They’d both walked into the room wordlessly, waiting in silence as Dr. Po awkwardly rummaged around in his desk for his old notes on Artemis while the young teen sat gingerly in the patient seat in the middle of the room.

“You’ve not switched to a digital filing system?”

Dr. Po started, looking up at Artemis.

“No psychiatrist or counselor uses iPads or digital notetakers,” Dr. Po explained hesitantly, brow furrowing.

Artemis wasn’t one for small talk, usually.

Shaking his head slightly as if to right himself, Dr. Po continued. “It’d be convenient, but there are concerns about the patient being recorded."

Artemis seemed satisfied with that answer.

Flipping his notes closed, Dr. Po studied Artemis, who raised a single brow.

“I’ve never forgotten our session that you left in the middle of,” Dr. Po remarked, and the frown lines on Artemis’ face deepened. “You were such a smarmy child. But you… made this joke.”

Artemis leaned back in his chair, tapping a foot in annoyance. “What a wonderful memory you have.”

“Not really. But it’s hard to forget a patient like you, Artemis,” Dr. Po sighed. “I tried to ask you about your feelings — you responded by telling me a family heirloom was a blatant forgery.”

The memory caused Artemis to smile genuinely for the first time since he’d stepped into the office. “The fake Victorian?”

The doctor grimaced. “Yes.”

“Despite its lack of authenticity, it was a perfectly nice armchair,” Artemis assured, a gently teasing note worming its way into his voice.

Edged on by Artemis' demeanor softening, Dr. Po pushed on. “But back to the joke. I remarked on the loss of your father — insensitively, I now realize — and you shut down. You started jerking me in this way and that in order to prevent me from getting a real reading on you. You said something along the lines of, ‘I’m depressed that I’m going to therapy,’ I believe. Quite a bon mot.”

“I was impudent as a young boy, I’m afraid,” Artemis said breezily, sounding more amused by the tale than remorseful. “I hope you’ll forgive me for a poor first impression.”

“Artemis, why are you back in my office?”

Artemis didn’t even blink, taking the challenge in stride. “My mother believes it will be beneficial.”

“Your mother? Not you?”

“Correct.”

“And… beneficial? To what end? Elaborate on her reasoning, perhaps,” Dr. Po asked, trying to keep his tone light.

“She believes I am emotionally maladjusted,” Artemis said, giving a small shrug.

“Are you?”

Artemis blinked owlishly, the question not quite computing. “Am I what, doctor?”

Dr. Po clicked his pen idly. “Unhappy.”

“Well, of course.”

Dr. Po was unable to keep his face neutral, and Artemis chuckled slightly at the doctor’s wide-eyed gaping.

“Dr. Po,” Artemis sighed, sobering as if he were explaining something evident to a child. “Of course I am unhappy occasionally. I’m a very busy man. My intellect has made it so I’ve moved beyond the carefree days of adolescence — I’ve matured past an age where my mother could treat me as a child, and although I don’t mourn the loss of simpler times, I suppose she does.”

Dr. Po forced himself not to ask if Artemis had ever truly been treated as a child, deciding to steer clear of the topic of family based on how unproductively the discussion had gone years ago. Instead, he elected to place his clipboard on the floor, looking at Artemis bluntly.

“Artemis, I’m not diagnosing you with anything,” he began, holding up a hand when Artemis opened his mouth to say something. “What I want to discuss today, however, is that right now I see the same pain in you today as I did when you were thirteen — and since I’m no longer getting complaints from department heads, that means you’ve taken that frustration and turned it somewhere else.”

Artemis’ lips quirked upwards, but his eyes were mirthless. “You share my mother's theory that I am some variation of the tortured genius stereotype.”

“How about this — I think that you believe that there isn’t a person alive smart enough to help you. Because to 'fix' you, someone would have to look inside you, and you think you’re the only person that’s able to understand how you work.”

“How narcissistic of me.”

“I’ve met with a lot of people since our last session when you were thirteen,” Dr. Po stressed. “I’ve not met anyone quite as clever as you, but I’ve met people who fit the same profile. You’re well versed in my profession, so you’re able to view your pain as both a participant and as an outsider — and that strangely voyeuristic relationship to your mind makes it so you and all these other folks think that you’re objective. Logical, even, in your analysis of your mind. You understand every tick, every tiny mechanism, every structure of your psyche. And if you understand it all and you still can’t will yourself to be happy, then why the hell should I be able to do anything for you? After all, I’m just some idiot who decorates his office with forged antique furniture his grandfather was gullible enough to purchase. Why should I know better than you do?”

Artemis was silent at that.

“If someone can, say, convince themselves that all their peers are 2D caricatures of people, they’ll never have to think about why they struggle to feel any pleasure from social interaction. If they can look around and see how far their family has come, then they can force themselves to box up and discard the baggage of the past. If they can convince themselves that pain and genius are twins, that the torment is part of the gift by which they define themselves, then the fear they have that maybe they’re destined for a life marked by paranoia and apathy no longer has to be confronted,” Dr. Po tried, searching for some way to express his thoughts before Artemis decided to snap at him. “Maybe you’re the only one who sees the world as it really is. But maybe your mother is right to be concerned. I get why… that’s an unattractive possibility to you. It would mean your analysis of yourself was incorrect. And if you were wrong, if your mind has tricked you into running away from the change that you need to feel happier, then you’re just as human as the rest of us. Pain tricked you into believing its integral to your ‘youness’. You’re... just human. And let me tell you, Artemis, that feeling ineffectual, and frustrated, and sad is... so very painfully human.”

By the time he’d finished his spiel, Dr. Po’s voice was soft. Pursing his lips, he tried to see if he’d garnered any sort of reaction from Artemis. The teen remained stony-faced.

“I can recommend a therapist from outside Saint Bartleby’s,” Dr. Po finally said. “If you don’t want to work with me, then I don’t want to waste either of our time.”

Artemis seemed to be broiling with unreadable intensity, and for a moment Dr. Po worried that he’d start going on a diatribe.

His fears soon were proven unfounded when all of the sudden, Artemis seemed to deflate.

“I do not choose sadness for myself, Dr. Po. I can assure you that,” Artemis remarked, sounding weary in the way men twice his age did when confronted by the prospect of the world having moved on past their prime.

“I would never imply something so insensitive,” Dr. Po insisted. “But there is a difference between me saying something of that sort and me asking you to believe that I could help you. Or if not me, then someone better suited to working with you.”

Artemis ruminated on the statement, his tapered fingers tapping out an unfamiliar rhythm on the arms of the ornate chair he was sitting in.

“I will come to my session next week,” he finally decided, and Dr. Po almost sagged with relief.

Carefully, the two of them continued on with the session. Although it felt as though they were both walking on eggshells around one another, the hour-long session ultimately ended in a place where Dr. Po felt like they could work with. He walked Artemis to the door, and after awkwardly bidding him goodbye, Dr. Po retreated back into his office.

For a while, he simply sat at his desk, thinking.

It wasn’t as though he’d made groundbreaking headway with Artemis today. Frankly, they’d been only nominally productive following Artemis’ promise to give therapy a genuine attempt.

The day stretched on, and Dr. Po was no closer to making sense of the ever-present Artemis conundrum.

After all, how does one describe Artemis Fowl?

Various psychiatrists have tried and failed. The problem is Artemis’ own intelligence. He bamboozles every test thrown at him. He has puzzled the greatest medical minds, and sent many of them gibbering back to their own hospitals.

Dr. Po paused, reaching back for the clipboard he’d discarded at the beginning of the session.

Artemis Fowl II was fifteen. He had various, tremendously important responsibilities, the details of which he refused to elaborate on. His best friend, to Dr. Po’s knowledge, was his paid bodyguard. Frankly, Dr. Po didn’t think they’d talk about Artemis’ family for a long, long time.

Dr. Po couldn’t really describe Artemis Fowl, because he didn’t know him. He didn’t think many people knew the boy, not really.

All the same, Dr. Po wanted to try. He wanted to try to understand Artemis Fowl a bit better. Not because Dr. Po wanted to a hero, but because he wanted Artemis Fowl to just get to be a boy instead of whatever impossible, confusing role Artemis seemed to be trying to fill.

Artemis Fowl was fifteen. Dr. Po hoped that he’d hold onto boyhood a little while longer.

#my writing #artemis fowl #long post #hi hello im zoe and i write awful fanfiction <3

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wingsofkpop · 4 years

Text

Hiraeth — I.II: Curosity Killed the Cat

pairing(s): Hybrid!Im Jaebeom x Reader, Witch!Mark Tuan x Reader, Werewolf!Jackson Wang x Reader, Vampire!Park Jinyoung x Reader, Supernatural!Got7 x Reader

genre: Supernatual!AU, Dark Magic!AU, Angst, slight Fluff, eventual Smut

warning(s): Mature language, descriptions of death and murder, mentions of blood, mentions of traumatic experiences, mention of reader having an anxiety attack, etc.

word count: 6,6k

synopsis: How far are you willing to go to find out the truth about Moon Dye Bay?…

chapter directory

“Jihyo, please just—OW!” Pain shoots like electricity through your limbs as your hip catches the railing of the stairwell while your ankle rolls dangerously along the edge of the top step. You cling to your roommate’s shoulders, trying to find balance in the midst of her steel-like grip to avoid inevitably breaking a bone… or your entire body.

“Shit. Sorry, (Y/N).” Jihyo murmurs apologetically, hoisting your arm higher around her shoulders. You bite back a frustrated retort and instead, find the patience to allow your support to haul you toward your shared apartment’s door. There’s honestly no need for Jihyo’s help in scaling the stairways, seeing as somehow, after the incident in the alleyway, you were completely unscathed, but she insisted. And when Jihyo puts her mind to something, there’s no pulling her out.

Jihyo kicks open the door after unlocking it, and tugs you forward with a proud grin, “Home sweet home. All in one piece.”

“The bruise on my hips says otherwise,” You groan, breathing a sigh of relief when you finally escape her hold. “I think I’m more hurt than I was in the actual hospital.”

“Hush, child.” Jihyo drags the warm jacket from your shoulders before bending down to undo the laces of your boots. You sigh, but make no complaint about her fussing—you’d only receive another long lecture anyway. After another minute or two, Jihyo finishes sliding off your boots and guides you into the living room. Your eyes meet the sight of Sana nestled inside the giant, olive beanbag cushion, and two unfamiliar girls settled on the sofa beside her.

“Look who’s home!” Jihyo calls cheerfully, turning the three sets of eyes away from the Pretty Little Liars rerun playing on the TV screen and in your direction. In the blink of an eye, Sana leaps from her seat and throws herself against your body. You almost lose your balance from the force of impact, but manage to return her hug without fault.

“I was so worried when Mark called us,” Sana’s arms tighten around your waist. “Don’t scare me like that again, okay?”

“I’ll try,” You rub her back, “I’m okay, Sana.”

“You should sit down, (Y/N).” You pull from your friend’s embrace to nod at Jihyo, accepting the spot on the sofa where one of the girls had given up for your benefit. You shoot her a grateful smile, receiving a shy one in return.

“Oh, that’s right! (Y/N), Jihyo, this is Mina, and Momo—” Sana points to each girl with their respected names, “the friends from my high school in Japan I was telling you guys about. They’re visiting for a few weeks.”

“Welcome to Moon Dye,” Jihyo nods politely. “Sorry about all this chaos right off the bat. (Y/N), here, managed to land herself in the hospital last night.”

“It’s a long story.” You chuckle, your cheeks growing hot at both Mina and Momo’s concerned stares. “But I’m perfectly fine. Good as new.”

“What even happened, (Y/N)?” Sana asks curiously while lowering onto the arm of the couch beside you. You open your mouth to answer, but Jihyo’s voice emerges instead:

“(Y/N)’s already had a rough enough night as it is. Let’s not put her on the spot.” Again, you try to protest your good health, but the girls had already moved to a new subject by the time you open your mouth.

To be honest, you still don’t believe the story that you fell in that dark alley, hit your head and knocked yourself out—the one that everyone is shoving down your throat. Even Mark didn’t believe you when you tried to explain the details you remember from last night. His words were similar to the very ones that Jinyoung had said: ‘You hit your head, (Y/N). Your memory is probably all sorts of fucked up.’

But he’s wrong. Jinyoung is wrong. Everyone else is wrong. You know you were attacked, and maybe you don’t know what it was, but someone—something tried to kill you. And it was pretty damn close… but that just begs another question: How the hell did you survive and come out with not even a scratch?

“—was just so sudden. I just couldn’t believe it when I heard the news.” You return to reality just in time to see Jihyo shake her head, a pained expression written across her round face. “I mean, how does something like that just happen? You know?”

“What are you talking about?”

Four pairs of eyes turn at your voice as Sana answers, “Im Nayeon was found dead in Eclipse Cemetery. My mom said she was killed by an animal.” You heard Mark mention Nayeon’s name a few times in past conversations, but had never spoken to the woman herself. She works in a tiny shop in Poison Square, Moon Dye Bay’s most infamous shopping complex, reading tarot cards and giving fortunes—she worked there, that is. Still, Mark and Nayeon were friends, so he must have known. Is that why he broke down at the hospital? But why wouldn’t he tell you?

Your eyebrows furrow, “An animal? How is that possible?”

“What goes around, comes around.” You perk up as one of Sana’s friends, Momo, you believe, speaks up for the first time. She returns your glance with a blank stare, which sends a violent chill up your spine, “It happens to the best of us.”

“How can you say that?” You scoff, “A girl is dead—”

“I’m so sorry,” The other friend, the one who relinquished her seat, Mina steps in this time, “My sister can be a little intense sometimes. She didn’t mean it in a condescending way.”

“You’re sisters?”

Mina shrugs, “Fostered, actually. We’ve kind of just… stuck together.”

You nod, “I get it. I was a foster kid too.” Mina nods too, but doesn’t say anything in response. As she’s turning back to the surrounding trio, your eyes catch sight of a shiny, gold necklace tucked into the collar of her shirt. You can’t see the charm on the end, but just by the chain, it looked ancient. Probably a family heirloom of some sorts.

Your mind returns back to Nayeon before wandering to your own attacker. At the connection, your blood runs cold. Is it possible that whatever monster that attempted to take your life had succeeded in ensnaring Nayeon’s instead? It may explain the reluctance toward your true story, and the attacker’s animal-like behavior… but what of your miraculous recovery? And what does Jinyoung have to do with any of this?

Something is going on in Moon Dye Bye… and you’re going to find out what.

“By the way, Momo, I love your tattoo.” You barely catch Jihyo’s comment as you rise from the sofa and begin to make your way toward your bedroom. You hadn’t gotten much sleep at the hospital, partly because of Mark, and partly because you just couldn’t find the will to close your eyes. To be honest, you don’t even know if you’ll be able to catch sleep in your own bed any better. Too lost in your own exhaustion, you don’t catch Sana’s laugh just as you’re shutting your bedroom door:

“Momo doesn’t have a tattoo, Ji! Are you sure you’re not the one who hit her head!?”

☽ ☽ ☽ ☽ ☽ ☾ ☾ ☾ ☾ ☾

The fogginess of his dreamworld fades as Mark gradually begins to awaken from his slumber. He parts his eyelids, only to immediately shut them with an annoyed hiss as a ray of sunlight stabs into his sensitive pupils. To escape the day’s wrath, he rolls to his opposite side and away from the lone window, reminding himself to invest in a set of curtains in the near future.

Mark forces his upper body upward on the sofa. He groans, the movement placing a strain on his back, and lifts his arms over his head to alleviate the knots of his muscles. With a sigh, Mark wipes the remnants of a poor night’s sleep from his face before glancing back to the window. Judging by the brightness of the sun, he must have slept through the entire morning and early afternoon.

Mark sighs again, recalling the gruesome nightmares that plagued his slumber: Nayeon’s loud screams stabbing into his soul as an unfamiliar shadow drove a large knife into her immobile body over and over again until he could feel her blood splattering all across his skin. Then, in the midst of his terror, Nayeon’s face would shift to yours… and he could do nothing but watch as the monster stole the life from your eyes…

He pushes the thought away, suddenly nauseous, and rises from the sofa, heading toward the small kitchenette in the corner to start up a pot of coffee. As he passes the window, Mark notices a couple figures congregating around an array of chipped, ancient headstones. At first, Mark believes them to be the forensic cleaners finishing up the removal of the crime scene, but he catches the sight of the back of Youngjae’s head… and someone he definitely does not want to see.

“God fucking damnit—” He curses to himself, abandoning his coffee and stomping outside with the beginnings of a sneer pulling across his face. At the call of his name, both Youngjae and his companion turn to face Mark just as he reaches their meeting place, “What the hell is he doing here!?”

“I’m sorry, hyung… I thought it’d be better if I didn’t tell you about this…” Mark glares at the younger who seems to shudder beneath its intensity. Youngjae looks down guiltily, before silently mumbling something to himself.

“Don’t be upset with him,” At the voice, Mark shifts his angry gaze to the vampire. “I came on my own accord. I want to make a proposition.”

“You’ve got to be kidding, right? Why would we ever want to make a deal with you?”

“Because I can help you find out who killed your seer.” Jinyoung replies coolly, reaching inside the pocket of his casual, navy blazer to pull out a pocket-sized, leather-bound book with cream colored pages. He offers it to Mark, “This is an old journal that belonged to a powerful witch who was a descendant in a long line of Pagan Witchcraft. It contains thousands of ancient scriptures and symbols dating back to the first century.”

Mark snatches the book and immediately begins to flip through it. None of the text encrypted along the pages are anything he’d ever seen before, likely being written in a different language. He allows the cover to shut and passes it to Youngjae before narrowing his eyes at Jinyoung, “How did you know we were looking for an old symbol?”

“I have contacts at the morgue, so I paid her body a visit myself.” Mark bites back a frustrated slur and wills himself to let the vampire finish, “In all the centuries I’ve been alive, I have only seen a symbol like that once—in dark magic.” The loathing Mark feels for Jinyoung completely vanishes at the mention of the dark arts, shifting back into the nausea from before. “I believe whoever killed your seer drew power from something, be it a spell or an object, in order to gain enough strength to overpower her, which means—”

“Whatever doing this is supernatural.” Youngjae finishes with a grimace, “They must have used dark magic to strip her of her powers before she was killed. I couldn’t trace any magic use from her body.”

“She’s not the first.” Again, Jinyoung retracts a set of papers from his jacket and hands them to Mark, “I’ve traced hundreds of unexplained deaths in dozens of towns. Each witch had that same symbol carved into their chest.”

“They’re specifically targeting covens— ” Mark breathes, glancing over the provided documents, “Slaughtering them and… fucking hell.”

Jinyoung nods, “You and your people need to be careful. Whoever is doing this will try to kill again.” Mark hesitates for a moment before mindlessly closing his hand into a fist, crushing the papers in his grasp. He resumes his glare at the vampire.

“What’s in it for you? Why are you helping us?”

Jinyoung’s eyes soften, “This town has already seen enough death. I don’t wish for it to see anymore.”

Jinyoung’s response delivers a harsh punch to Mark’s gut, leaving him almost breathless. Unwanted memories rush into his head like a parasite—the guilt he had pushed down so long ago beginning to eat away at his soul. Too lost inside his own head, Mark remains silent as Jinyoung and Youngjae exchange a couple final words, before the former gestures toward the book in the younger’s hands.

“I have places to be, but let me know if you manage to find the symbol. I’ll see if I can find more information about the murdered covens.” The vampire offers a nod of farewell and turns to leave, but surprising himself, Mark snaps from his headspace and calls out:

“Jinyoung…!”

Jinyoung halts to peer over his shoulder, “Yes?” Mark hesitates again, somewhere in between what seems to be long-harbored resentment and mental exhaustion. His eyes glance toward the gravel pathway meters away where Nayeon’s corpse had laid only hours ago, until his mind shifts to thoughts about you: The warmth of your arms… The genuine promise of your voice… The gleam of your eyes… All of his anger immediately dissipates.

He nods, “I don’t want anyone else to die either.” Jinyoung merely blinks in response before continuing his journey toward the exit of the cemetery. Mark watches his silhouette fade into the glare of the afternoon sun with the documents still tightly grasped in his palms. Only once the vampire is out of sight does he release a sigh and face his younger companion:

“Call Minho, Jisung and Lia, and get them all here.” Mark combs a hand through his hair with a huff, “No one leaves my sight until we catch this fucker and put them so far underground, they won’t be able to climb back up from Hell.”

☽ ☽ ☽ ☽ ☽ ☾ ☾ ☾ ☾ ☾

Splashes of water splatter across your ankles and wet the bottom of your jeans as you sprint through a massive array of puddles. Although it does little to protect your body from the pouring rain, you tug your jacket tighter around your shoulders. The one evening you choose to take a spur-of-the-moment book run to escape your overdramatic and overbearing roommates, it has to be raining cats and dogs. Luckily, the town’s only bookstore is not too far from your apartment.

You manage to reach the shop just as the wind begins to pick up and hurriedly push past the door. A sigh falls past your lips, briefly pausing to relish the warm, rain-free atmosphere before receding further into the store. Ever since you moved to Moon Dye, the Bookshop of Lullabies has become one of few places you frequent often. It’s a quaint, little place stuffed from top to bottom with texts of all kinds, and barely enough space for a single person to squeeze through the aisles. If you travel deep enough through the maze of shelves, there’s a tiny nook complete with a window seat and throw cushions softer than a bed of silk—you like to spend a lot of your time cuddled up there with a nice book.

“Look who finally decided to show up and cure my boredom. Good thing—I was just thinking about chewing my arm off.” Unsurprised, you turn to find a familiar face behind the cashier counter. One that, like the store itself, you have seen quite often.

You first met Bambam through Mark—the two were friends in high school—at a dinner event his mother, the mayor of Moon Dye, held for his birthday. Aside from the occasional rich kid personality quirks, you’ve found Bambam to be quite a humble and reliable person, especially in providing you discounted books and helpful tips for living in town.

“Hello to you too, Bam.” You smile. “How are things?”

Bambam shrugs, “Slow day, and the rain really doesn’t help. Anyway, what are you looking for today? Maybe an edgy dystopian with way too much backstory? Or a sickeningly sweet love story where the simp dies? ”

“I'll honestly take anything you deem acceptable at this point.”

“You’re giving me way too much trust there, babygirl.” He chuckles, pilfering through a nearby box of books in order to gratify your request. “Mark told me you had a pretty rough spill last night. You okay?”

“To be completely honest—not really.” You traipse over to the counter and lay your bag across its surface. Bambam moves aside some books to make room before offering a nearby stool for you to sit, “I just, I’m still confused on what happened.”

“What do you mean?”

“Everybody says I fell and hit my head, but I don’t think that’s what happened—no—” You shake your head, “I know that’s not what happened, but it’s like everyone is just, I don’t know… hiding something.” Through the corner of your eye, you notice how Bambam’s shoulders tense at your comment, but brush it off as an odd tick. “But I guess what I don’t understand is why they’d want to… I mean, Mark would never keep something that important from me…” Once again, the clerk’s body fidgets uncomfortably—this time, furthering the suspicion brewing in your gut.

Your eyes narrow, “Bam… Do you know something that I don’t?”

He seems to hesitate, running a hand through his tousled ivory-dyed tresses before peering toward the door, as if expecting someone else to enter. You open your mouth to pry, but Bambam’s answer beats you to it, “There’s a lot of things I know that you don’t…”

“What the hell is that supposed to mean—?”

“It means that this town has secrets…” The abrupt change in his tone increases the uneasiness in your stomach, temporarily changing your frustrated mood to one of fear. A violent shiver crawls down your spine at his next words, “...secrets that can get you killed.”

“What secrets?” Your annoyance returns at his ambiguous response, “What does this have to do with what happened to me last night?”

“Well, you were attacked, weren’t you?”

Your blood turns cold. “How the fuck do you know that?”

“I told you, I know a lot of things.” He releases a sigh before bending down to disappear behind the wood of the counter. He returns only seconds later with a seemingly old, leather-bound book clutched in both hands. You watch, wide-eyed like a fish, as he slides the object toward you.

“This journal belonged to my great-, great-, great-grandmother, the first ever mayor of Moon Dye Bay.” Bambam begins, watching closely as you cautiously grab the text as if it would turn to dust in your grasp. “It contains private information about the town you won’t find anywhere else.”

“And you’re just giving it to me?”

“I’m pointing you in the right direction.” He states matter-of-factly, “If you live in this town, you should know what you’re up against.”

“Why can’t you just tell me?”

“Because if anyone were to find out, it would be dangerous for the both of us.”

“But why—?”

“Please just trust me on this, (Y/N).” You can do nothing but stare at Bambam, your thoughts too much of a jumbled, chaotic mess to come up with another reply. You want to insist—you want to insist over and over again until the clerk eventually spills—but you know it’s hopeless. There are few moments where Bambam is ever this serious, so whatever mess you managed to get yourself into—it’s crucial.

You finally nod after another eon of silence and tuck the old journal inside your bag, “How much?”

“Consider it a six-month late welcome-to-town gift.” Bambam’s poor attempt at humor does little to lift your spirits, but you still scrounge up a weak smile and an even weaker thank you. As you make your way toward the exit, you can feel his eyes burning into the back of your head, and for once in a lifetime, you can’t wait to head out into the pouring rain. Just as you’re pushing through the door, Bambam calls out:

“Hey, babygirl?”

You turn with a sigh, “What is it, Bam?”

“Just be careful, okay?” He murmurs heavily, “Those monsters that used to hide under our beds when we were kids, well… They grew up too.” You don’t bother to answer, send the clerk a parting nod and take off into the blurriness outside the bookstore. Your lungs welcome the damp air, attempting to soothe the racing of your heart with each breath. Even though you’re all wrapped up in your coat, your hands still tremble.

If what Bambam said is true, and this town is hiding something, and you eventually do find out what that something is, then how badly will it change your life? You moved to Moon Dye Bay to escape the traumas of your past… not to create new demons that will haunt your mind day and night. It’s been so long since you’ve felt what it feels like to belong somewhere, but then… Do you really want a place full of darkness, secrets and lies as a home?

You quickly dash across the street, barely avoiding an approaching car driving way over the given speed limit. The rain only makes the atmosphere more ominous, both obscuring your vision and deafening your ears. Images from last night pop into your head which fuels the hurriedness of your pace. You can’t seem to control your breathing, or the anxiety swallowing your form.

What if that monster was following you as you think? Is he aching to finish the job he failed to last night, and take your life as his prize? What if there’s no miracle there to save you this time? What if you die in a wet, dark alleyway where nothing but the rats can—?

“(Y/N)? Are you alright?” You hadn’t realized somewhere in your rush you’d paused to rest against the building, awakening from your panicked trance at the warm voice that invades your ears like honey. You quickly compose yourself, shove your now vibrating hands in the pocket of your coat, and turn to face the familiar face with a confused expression.

“Jinyoung? Are you following me?”

“Where would you get an idea like that?” Jinyoung hurriedly pulls you underneath the awning of a shop and out of the rain. “I just left the police station and saw you out here by yourself. You seem… stressed.”

“Aside from wet socks, I’m alright.” You shake your head, “Why were you at the police station?”

“I had some business to take care of,” He answers, obviously not desiring to provide any more details to satiate your curiosity. “Anyway, what brings you out in this weather?”

“Honestly, I just needed to escape from my crazy, overbearing roommates.” You shake the rain from your hair with a chuckle, “Just left the bookstore actually.”

“I didn’t take you for the bookworm type.”

“What? Just because I don’t exude the ‘shy, silent, glasses-wearing’ stereotype?”

Jinyoung chuckles at your comeback, the sound gritty and amused, before placing a hand over his chest, “My apologies. I didn’t mean to offend you.”

“Well, choose your words more carefully then.”

He nods with a smile, “I’ll definitely do that.” The raindrops pelting against the top of the awning creates a comfortable rhythm as you and Jinyoung fall into a heavy silence. Jinyoung continues to wear his tight, close-lipped smile while you continue to stare, not knowing whether to comment on his odd talent in appearing out of nowhere or reminisce in the storminess of his brown irises. You choose neither, and opt to end the conversation where it is:

“It was really nice to see you again, but I should get back before the weather turns into a full-blown hurricane.”

“That would probably be best,” Jinyoung steps aside, allowing you the room to pass by, and hums, “It’s always a pleasure, (Y/N).” You shoot him a grateful smile before launching back into the raging of the storm, immediately missing his uniquely charming aura and caramel-like gaze. Just from the interaction with Jinyoung, both your mind and body feel much more relaxed and in a way… almost safe.

Too deep in your own thoughts, you fail to catch the second shadow that slinks out of a nearby alleyway and behind Jinyoung’s broad body.

☽ ☽ ☽ ☽ ☽ ☾ ☾ ☾ ☾ ☾

“Have you lost your goddamn mind!?” Mark pinches the bridge of his nose at the high-pitched wail of the fuming, dark-haired witch, suddenly craving a drink to take the edge off of his nerves. Maybe they have some leftover grey goose in the cupboard— “You must have, cause you just made a deal with the fucking devil!”

“Can you at least try not to yell?” From the center of a nearby ring of burning candles and sage on the floor, Lia sighs in annoyance, “I’m pretty sure the entire town can hear you at this point.”

“Shut up!” Minho hisses at the female, before replacing his laser-like glare back on Mark. “I mean, you do understand how utterly stupid this entire thing is, right!? Things suddenly turn to shit and you run to those bloodsucking bastards for help!?”

“He gave us a book, Minho. It’s not like I signed our souls away.”

He scoffs, “You might as well have! Didn’t it ever occur to you that the Primes just want an opportunity to pick us off like flies? I mean, how do we know they weren’t the ones that killed Nayeon?”

“Youngjae’s tracking spell would have picked up their trail.” Mark sluggishly walks toward the stove, retrieving the whistling kettle before its volume reaches that of a shrill scream. He sighs and generously refills his coffee cup, “And you know very well that if they wanted us dead, we would have been in the ground months ago.”

“You’re not listening to me!” Mark takes a sip of the steaming stimulant, the liquid doing nothing to ease the pounding of his head as Minho continues to rant, “We are all going to end up dead! We should have run them out of town when we had the opportunity in the first place—”

“Oh my fucking god! Can you shut your mouth for a goddamn second!?” Lia’s anger sends chaos throughout the mausoleum. Jisung barely avoids a barrage of books spilling from their shelves while Youngjae ducks in time for a potted plant to fly over his head and shatter against the wall. Lia storms across the room, a trail of hot flames following her steps, and pokes a single finger into Minho’s chest with a sneer, “Nayeon-unnie is dead, okay!? And there is a psycho out there right now with their eyes on another witch in this room!? Mark is doing the best he can so it’s not your moronic ass that’s next on the hit list!”

Minho remains silent, visibly surprised by the younger witch’s outburst. For a moment, Mark notices a spark of guilt behind his eyes before they shift to their usual cold exterior.

“I don’t want anyone else to die, okay? But making a truce with one of the oldest vampires in existence is not a good plan—”

“Well, it’s the only plan we have right now.” Mark sighs, “I do what’s best for my people—to keep you safe.”

Minho stares coldly at Mark, “Yeah, just like you kept Jackson safe. Right?”

Stunned by the witch’s sudden question, Mark is both physically and mentally unable to respond. He simply stares back at Minho with his jaw practically dropped to the floor. Minho shamelessly meets his eyes, as if finding joy out of Mark’s shock.

“Hey, guys…” The brief moment of tension breaks at Youngjae’s call, who all this time, had been stationed behind the lectern flipping through the journal Jinyoung had gifted only hours ago. Mark feels the many cups of coffee sitting in his stomach churn at the absolute terror spread along Youngjae’s face. Though at his next words, Mark almost believes his entire insides turn inside-out, “I found the symbol that was on Nayeon’s body…

“It means ‘Hunter’.”

☽ ☽ ☽ ☽ ☽ ☾ ☾ ☾ ☾ ☾

Jinyoung watches your silhouette recede into the blur of the rain with a smile. His mind reels back to your conversation, and how prettily your eyes shimmered in the mist. If it were any other person, Jinyoung wouldn’t care much for the spitfire-type of attitude, but with you… He actually enjoys your ferocious nature. It showcases your livelihood—and mortal strength.

Jinyoung had planned to keep his word to Mark and steer clear, but he couldn’t help himself. Not when he spotted you standing in the midst of the storm. Something inside him is drawn to you, almost like a moth to a flame. It excites him, but startles him all the same. Never before has Jinyoung felt such a magnetic pull to another person—certainly not a human woman. Though, the rational voice in the back of his head still believes some part of you is not all that mortal…

A wave of chill dampens the cheeriness of his mood, pulling a sigh of annoyance from his lips. He doesn’t have to turn around to feel the stealthy presence behind him. With one last glance toward the direction in which you vanished, and another huff, Jinyoung tugs on the lapels of his blazer and speaks:

“Following me again, hyung?”

A deep-set chuckle carries into Jinyoung’s ears, “In all our centuries together, I’ve never quite succeeded in getting anything past you… huh, Jinyoungie?” Jinyoung turns to face his brother, immediately growing more annoyed at his usual, nonchalant stance complete with lazily crossed arms, tilted head and a devious smirk along his lips. “Though, if I knew any better, I’d believe you’re not exactly thrilled to see me?”

“Well, do you know any better?”

Jaebeom laughs, “You’re still upset with me. What else is new.”

“Forgive me if I’m not jumping through the roof because of your erratic behavior.” Jinyoung shoots his brother a glare before shoving his right hand in the respected pocket of his jeans. “Nine bodies all drained of blood, hyung. Do you not understand the concept of remaining inconspicuous?”

“What can I say? I was rather famished last night.”

Jinyoung stares at Jaebeom with a blank expression, “Does human life mean that little to you? Truly?”

Jaebeom releases a heavy sigh, pushes off the brick wall in which he was leaning against, and takes a couple steps forward until he and Jinyoung are only inches from sharing oxygen. He provides his younger brother another smirk and shrugs, “There was a time we used to share the same perspective, brother. And if I remember correctly, you were much, much worse than I am.”

“That is in the past.”

“Ah. Of course.” Jaebeom retracts a silver-coated lighter from the pocket of his black, shredded jeans. Jinyoung watches the older play with the tool, repeatedly striking the light over and over again as he continues, “So… Are you going to tell your dear brother about the lovely girl that’s caught your eye?”

Jinyoung’s patience immediately gives out at your mention. His features pull into a sneer, glaring at the amusement spreading along Jaebeom’s face.

“Leave it alone.”

“You do like her then?” Jaebeom’s smirk widens to a grin, “Wow. I’d never thought I’d live to see the day Park Jinyoung falls for a human.” Jinyoung tries to keep his self-control intact as Jaebeom proceeds to laugh, lifting the flame of the lighter up to the level of his eyes—malice visibly flickering in the light of his irises. “She must be very, very special…”

Jinyoung growls, “I said, leave it alone. I’m not playing your games now, hyung.”

“I only want to know what sweet (Y/N) has done to gain my little brother’s attention. Maybe it’s her spunk? Or her beautiful face? Or just maybe, the delectable taste of her delicious blo—” In the blink of an eye, Jinyoung has Jaebeom pressed against the same wall he was leaning against only moments before with an arm at his throat. Jinyoung can actually see his own rage in the reflection of Jaebeom’s black eyes.

“You will stay away from her.” Jinyoung murmurs dangerously, relishing proudly in Jaebeom’s stunned expression. “Do not push me on this. Or I will push back.” Jinyoung releases his hold on his brother, pausing to straighten out the wrinkles of his blazer. Jaebeom continues to stare at the younger with bewilderment, unable to say anything in response.

An annoyed breath leaves Jinyoung’s lips as he peers down at his watch, “I’m late. We will discuss this when I return back to the manor.” He shoots Jaebeom a pointed glance, “Please refrain from getting yourself into any more trouble. If you even can.” Without as much as a goodbye, Jinyoung brushes past Jaebeom and into the rain that’s coming down even heavier. He tries not to think about the paranoia and fear budding in his gut and instead focus the soaked path ahead, but even his own mind betrays him.

Jinyoung knows Jaebeom. He’s known him for almost a millennium. He knows that if he makes one wrong move, Jaebeom won’t hesitate to retaliate against him—retaliate by using you. Jinyoung shakes his head with a sigh, savoring the chill of the rain against his body. If it comes down to it, he won’t hesitate to to protect you from his brother in any way he has to…

He should have kept his word, and stayed away.

☽ ☽ ☽ ☽ ☽ ☾ ☾ ☾ ☾ ☾

“You sure you don’t need anything else? Water? Another blanket? Some ramen?” You roll your eyes at your roommate’s barrage of questions, unable to help the soft smile that lifts to your lips. As smothering and irritating as Jihyo’s overprotectiveness can be, it’s nice to have someone looking out for your well being—even though she can be a helicopter mom sometimes.

“It’s not like I’m paralyzed, Ji.” You reach forward to take her hand into your own, “I’m okay.”

Jihyo squeezes your fingers, “I just… worry about you, you know? You’ve been through a lot.” Though she doesn’t specify, you know for a fact that she isn’t talking about the hospital visit. Your heart aches for as long you allow it to, before pushing the unwanted feelings away. You playfully nudge her shoulder with a chuckle.

“You worry about everything. Now seriously, clear out.” Jihyo follows your lead to your bedroom door, staying still to allow you to check up on her hair and makeup. When you deem her appearance to be nothing less than perfect, you nod, “Sana won’t let either of us hear the end of it if at least one of us doesn’t go clubbing with her, Momo and Mina.”

“What will you do, tonight?”

“I have some stuff to finish for the university. Or I’ll just binge-watch some Sex and the City.” Jihyo accepts your answer, lifting her arms to bring your body into a short, tight hug. When she pulls away, you send her a wink, “Try not to get too trashed, alright? I really don’t want to be picking your drunk ass up at three in the morning.”

“No promises,” She hums. “Thanks, (Y/N).”

“Go have fun, gorgeous.” You give Jihyo a thumbs up as she steps from your bedroom. No sooner does Sana pounce on your roommate, and in a matter of seconds, drags her toward the exit with Mina and Momo not far behind. You wait through the girlish giggles and chatter until the slam of the front door carries from the front hallway—you’re finally alone.

You quickly shut your door, making sure to turn the lock, and hop over to the tiny desk you somehow squeezed in the corner. When you moved in with Sana and Jihyo, they had to convert a storage closet into a bedroom since the apartment only came with one small master, now Sana’s space, and an even smaller office, where Jihyo resides. So your room is basically a shoebox with a single window and enough room for a bed, clothing chest, and a desk and bookshelf set. Even so, you’ve managed to spruce the place up with frilly rugs, decorative succulents and some cheap fairy lights,

After yanking the curtains above your bed closed and double-checking the door, you retract the journal Bambam had given you from where you hid it earlier underneath your pillow. The leather is shockingly cool against your palm, almost searing into your flesh. Whether it’s the nerves or the excitement that’s making your pulse beat like a racehorse, you’re not so sure. But to be honest, it doesn’t matter to you… not as much as the truth that awaits. You settle back into your desk chair and open to the first page.

There’s a name scrawled on the inside of the cover in a handwritten font you’ve only seen in historical documents and creative poetry projects. You recognize Bambam’s last name, Bhuwakul. The next page holds a diary entry in the same handwriting, dating back to 1770. Not desiring to wait any longer, you begin to read the entry:

Day 1 — I have been traveling day and night for many months. My long journey has been filled with hardship, starvation and exhaustion. But my efforts have finally paid off. On a night when the moon was full and bright, I stumbled across a small village only miles from the edge of the sea. The townspeople welcomed me and my brother into their borders. Fed us. Clothed us. And even offered us a home to where we could reside as long as we wished. I believe we will stay here in Moon Dye Bay. For good.

You flip through the rest of the pages, delving into the story of Bambam’s great-, great-, great-grandmother and her new life on the bay—how she bettered the town and its inhabitants, soon earning her title as the first ever mayor. You find yourself immersed in the personal account of her life, relating to her worries, wants, and wishes. Somewhere in the story, you completely forgot about Bambam’s warning… until you reach an entry that makes your skin crawl:

Day 196 — There’s a murderer in town. We’ve lost eleven of our people. Three men. Seven women. And one child. I believe this person, no—this monster enjoys it. This monster enjoys draining the blood from their victims like rum, and tearing open their throats like a child opens a gift. This monster enjoys hearing them scream for mercy—watching the fear in their eyes blossom like flowers. But mostly, I believe this monster enjoys the hunt. I spoke to the Wang faction the other night, and some of the ladies said they felt as if they are being watched at night, when they are alone—as if the monster is lurking in the shadows, waiting for the right chance to kill.

The passage reminds you heavily of what happened last night. Your attacker had done everything in which Bhuwakul described, even the part about tearing your throat open. You don’t bother to acknowledge the spinning of your head and instead, mindlessly flip through the journal. Your lack of attention no longer allows you to fully read the entries, only skim—until you reach another that catches your eye:

Day 209 — It’s unlike anything I could ever imagine… This pain—this grief… My brother is dead and it’s because of those murderers… Because of those demons… We’ve all been blinded by their charms… but no more… I will expose them to the villagers for what they truly are… so no one else can be victimized by their deceit…

You almost faint as you read the next sentence that follows:

—Park Jinyoung and Im Jaebeom are vampires. And they’re coming to kill me next.

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cornelthecursed · 3 years

Text

The story behind the vampire

// Finally after weeks of putting it off, Cornel’s story is ‘revamped’ so to speak (see the pun hehehe) A lot was added and a lot was redacted, but it does not change the interaction you might have with the vampire gentleman. Don’t worry you didn’t loose all too much from his story if you didn’t read the previous version and I quite get that asking you to read around 1,7k words long background to my character might be a little more than usual, however, I would very much appreciate if you could at least give it a skim.

Without further ado - let’s dive into it:

🩸 Early childhood

Cornelius’ life started like any other - being born to parents that were well off, he never had to worry about not having anything to eat at the end of the day. He had not suspected that he might have been of supernatural origin at all. However, not everything is all nice and pleasant when you are born in the 1500s. Even if he had no idea about magics and vampires or other supernatural creatures, humans around them did. You see, his parents were not regular humans either - a mother who was a renowned vampiress and his father being the son of the Lightbringer himself, attracted unwanted attention.

The city was in uproar with accusing everyone of witchcraft and his parents were no exception. His mother had enough foresight to hide the poor child in the tool shed of their gardens when the inquisition came to get them. Cornelius stayed there for hours not knowing what was going on exactly, he had thought that bad people came to speak to his parents and so he had to hide (it was not the first time he had done so, an antichrist and a vampire marrying and actually creating an offspring isn’t exactly approved of), however, as the hours passed and his stomach grumbled with bigger intensity the longer he stayed there he slipped outside.

It didn’t take long to figure out that his parents were not home, nor their servants. Everyone was dragged off apparently and the boy did the next best thing. Grabbing a few pieces of food to eat at the moment he slipped into his bed. Being woken up early the next day by shouts of the guards to bag anything they saw for their taking Cornel used every wit he had at his disposal to hide and run away from his family home.

He realized pretty soon that he would have to scavenge for food to make due, going around town he begged where he could, nipping a bread or a grape from the odd basket put on the floor while they bantered for a better price. A first sneak peek into the life of crime for our little Cornelius. However it wasn’t long before a certain man found the boy stealing from him and decided to make him pay for the food by actually working for him - as an apprentice, since he had no children of his own. The man turned out to be the later famous man Leonardo da Vinci.

🩸 Adolescence

Gaining skills in woodworking and actually staying still (whenever muse struck his adoptive father to draw him) kept Cornel busy during his early years. Soon he was being sent out to make deals, or meet people in Leonardo’s stead when he had proven capable enough. He trained almost daily to keep his body well kept and he had a prospect in joining an order that went against the corruption that was going on in the city they lived in.

However, fate had a different plan for him. Around the age fourteen he had got very sick, to a point where he was bed ridden. No one knew what was happening to him, the doctor that was called had thought it was tuberculosis, since he was coughing up blood.

Turns out it was the year that changed his life completely. He had eventually, after weeks upon weeks of the lungs hurting and heart palpitations, turned into a creature of the night he had never heard of, with thirst that could not be satiated with normal means.

He could still feel his heartbeat, he could still breathe (even if the time he could spend underwater drastically prolonged), yet he looked different. His eyes changed from their previous blue color to red, whites exchanged for blackness that seemed to be unending, not to mention the fangs. He couldn’t go out during the day anymore either. And yet he had started researching (perhaps he had learned from his adoptive father or not), looking into anything supernatural he could get his hands on. Eventually he had found a witch who helped him with the sun dilemma, the constant voices in his head (turns out our boy is telepathic) and the weird object movement that happened around him (telekinetic powers as well). She even taught him a few glamour spells to cover up his real identity, which helped him to establish himself into the society once again.

🩸 Adulthood - until the WW I

The years went by and he trained with the assassins. He wasn't very skilled in hand-to-hand combat (and still has trouble with it) but he had been shaped into a skillful tracker, strategist and sniper/long range combatant. He used his powers to help the guild where he could, but more often than not he got captured by the enemy and tortured in many various ways, which left scars on his physical body. Surprisingly he coped with the mental scars pretty well.

Still as a young vampire, he fell in love with a beautiful mortal woman. He had created a bond with her on a spiritual level he had not known was possible (granted that was the result of his supernatural nature and them exchanging their blood accidentally), he was at first scared of the fact that they could feel each other’s emotions and had to come forth to his partner as not being completely human. Yet Emalia took it in stride and accepted him for what he was, which Cornel was eternally grateful for.Their wedding was the most joyous thing in his life, right after the birth of his daughter, Caitlin. Few months after that he picked on work yet again, this time he decided for a more docile one, since he had a family to take care of.

Yet as it was in life - when there are good things, bad ones are right behind the corner. One night when he had stayed longer in town working on a wooden piece for one of his clients his world turned upside down. He had found his family murdered in their own home, his heart breaking in half at the sight. Not to mention the chest ache from the bond breaking didn’t help any.

After burying them and still stricken with grief he made it his personal mission to hunt down those that killed his immediate family, since that was the only one he had in this world. But oh, if it ended there. He found the two hunters of course, but the newfound bloodlust that dulled the pain he felt, the surge of power with the amount of blood he consumed….it didn’t end well for the city of Venice, near which he had lived.

The bloodshed that he had caused took around five vampires to stop. Only when he was face down on the flagstones, tears running down his cheeks from the amount of pain he was feeling and seeing what he had caused made him sober up. That was the day he met his best friend Leoric - not without a nice little story to exchange between themselves now as they recalled the old days, the poor two thousand year old vampire of a viking had a scar to prove their first meeting made by none other than yours truly.

After that incident with Leoric keeping a close eye on the young pureblood, Cornelius had moved out of his home country, not being able to stay because of the memories and more importantly hunters that were hot on his tail. Few attempts were made at his life during his stay in Italy by the aforementioned group, scarring the otherwise perfect skin around his heart and a thin line across his throat. Finding a nice spot in the UK, a few hours away from London and near a small village Ibberton, Cornel started on building his dream home in the middle of a clearing. Not even realizing how but had built himself a sizable mansion.

🩸 Adulthood - WW I & after

The world wars rolled in. Cornel felt obliged to answer the call to arms and yet there was more imminent war than the one between the humans. His own race was warring against the werewolves all the while archduke was assassinated in Sarajevo. It was not a big battle, a skirmish at most a couple of hundred of kilometers away from his own home, yet Cornelius was not left unscathed.

Up until that point he was making his fortune in tracking people and even killing them if the contract required it off him, however, after he returned home from the vampire-werewolf war he had to put that kind of job on hold. He prided himself on being a good strategist, on observing and using the information the best he could, yet it is completely different to do so on the battlefield. One second of not paying attention and he ended with a spear coated in werewolf’s blood through his left knee.

Even after years or healing, of drinking antidote for months after the battle, he was left with a limp. Relieving him of duties towards the United Kingdom in the upcoming wars. With the time that suddenly appeared in his hands he started to seek different hobbies (not sure how tracking and killing people could be a hobby but to each their own). Leoric, who was always somewhere around his old time friend suggested to take up cooking, since he himself was baking and found enjoyment in it. Few tries later and the vampire sacrificed sleep in attempt to perfect his skills in the kitchen.

By the end of the twentieth century, he was a skilled chef that would give Gordon a run for his money and since there really was no better time than to start his own business than after the world wars he did that. Funding the rent of a place in Ibberton, he founded Assaggia la Storia, an Italian restaurant keeping true to his family roots.

Granted there are many stories and little tidbits that occurred in vampire’s life - be it how other vampires flocked to him or how he actually managed to lay claim to his family heirloom back in Italy. Yet these are the ones that marked his life the most, making an impact on how he is now. The rest are for you to discover through mutual interaction.

Updated: 18th August 2021

#//bio #//the story behind the vampire

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