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darkdevasofdestruction · 4 years ago

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An Angel and A Demon ~ Pyramid Head x Reader

Update 2: My laptop restarted when I was in the middle of writing this, and trust me when I say it, I am positively pissed off, and I want to end my days, that's how bad of a day this was.

And I didn't leave the house.

That says a lot about today...

Update 1: But, without further ado, I was half-way writing this story, and I received this ask, and let me tell you...

helloooo, i absolutely adored the fanfics you wrote about kazan and danny🥺 could i request one where pyramid head is just really whipped for and in love with the survivor! reader but he doesnt know how to announce it to them so he brings her random ,,gifts" in and outside the trials and protecting her bc well, im pretty sure he cant speak so he doesnt really have any other options on how to express his feelings??

I live for it.

Bless you for sending me this, it's the reason I'm still sane right now.

I love you, baby-cakes.

Update 3: I want to kill myself so bad. Just smash my head on a wall until it explodes or sth. I was so happy with how this imagine turned out, only fuck fucking tumblr to just fucking delete EVERYTHING just as I was about to put the last gif and hit POST NOW.

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For the 5th time writing this :

FUCKMEDADDY - but this time - FUCKMYBRAINSOUTPLEASEIWANNADIE

Thanks.

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Hell - What was that place, anyway?

Some would describe it as an infinite ocean of flames and lava, where it's eternally melting-hot, and a bunch of hooved, horned, tailed red demons torture you with acid, with their red pitch forks, or boil you alive in their cauldron for soup. Or maybe you just get tortured by Stalin, who knows?

But never would have anyone thought that 'Hell' could look so...Normal. Well, normal in a very demolished, desolate, ravished way, but still...Normal, by human standards. Albeit, the never-ending loop of madness, anguish, agony and desperation of getting killed in different gruesome ways or fleeing for their lives and feeling a myriad of emotions pumping adrenaline through their veins so badly that their anxiety-meter skyrocketed to abnormal levels.

All this darkness, this hatred, this...Everything...It changed all the survivors. They became selfish, stubborn, rude, some even went as far as to sacrifice their fellow survivors in trials, just so they could survive. It was a complete mayhem that defied all kinds of reason, normality, morality or even ethics. Everyone became devoid of any laws that used to bind them to their humane sides, and now, you weren't sure if the killers were saner than the survivors or not.

But even in this abyss where you couldn't even see your hand in front of your very eyes, there was a little star - A beautiful angel radiating brightness and warmth, someone who was somehow able to guide everyone's straying souls with her benevolence.

In reality, she was merely a survivor, not the little lantern from an angler fish's head, but she treated everyone with such an untainted kindness...It was beautiful, and yet, unrequited for most parts. Everyone was still putting their own lives above all - And who could condemn them? - Perhaps their cowardice, for the girl preferred to save her fellow survivors as much as possible, even if that oftentimes assured her place on the hook, to be a sacrificial lamb for the Entity.

On the other hand, she rarely ended up on the hook - Most killers prefer to kill her themselves, instead of letting her become pray for the horrible Entity who tortured so many of them for refusing to cooperate - The Trapper, Evan MacMillan - He knew the best, with those hooks digging into his flesh, impossible to extract. He was the first to protect this girl. It wasn't much, but if he had to, he'd rather give her a swift, painless death, than seeing her without that serene, angelic smile on her face, as the Entity feeds on the last bits of her soul's beauty, the last parts of her humanity.

The other Killers were confused at the Trapper's actions, but little by little, they began to understand why this girl was so precious and special - And this domino effect hit Rin Yamaoka next, with Y/N stopping in the middle of a chase and taking off her jacket, just as Rin was about to butcher her with her katana, and she smiled, extending it to her. 'You must be cold' she said, realising that the Spirit was merely wearing a few bandages, not even her school uniform, or her kimono.

The ghost girl was shaken up by this, and told the others at the killer camp, but they just shrugged it off - Rin was a little girl who faced close to no kindness, they weren't surprised she was so taken aback by such a feat. That is, until Adiris, in a particularly terrible day, when everyone at the camp was staying away from her, as her profane censer wasn't able to cover the stench of rotting flesh - Y/N came over, taking out a small yet elegant glass bottle with pink liquid on it, spraying some on her - And now, The Plague smelled of roses and vanilla - 'You can come to me for perfume whenever you want, I always carry some with me!' she grinned at the Babylonian High Priestess, before leaving back to the survivor's camp site, leaving the ancient God symbol to stare with her mouth agape at the girl.

These words began to spread, and it was no surprise when the killers saw Susie clinging and begging her Legion friends to spare Y/N, for she was there to hug away her worries more than once, to tell her sweet words, to play with her hair and play the guitar whatever songs she wanted to hear, to get reminded of her home - She was so home sick that she freaked out, but now she was better, thanks to Y/N - 'I know you miss home, but sometimes, home is where your best friends are, and all three of them are here!' she tried to encourage the cute pink-haired girl who could only squeal and hug her new friend.

Even Ghostface wasn't exempt from falling to her charms, and they would often take silly selfies and mess around, making fun of the old horror movie tropes and doing lots of puns and pranks - So much that she even got his trust to be told about the Danny/Jed thing, and how he began his killer profession - 'You're a very talented photographer, Danny! You deserved all that recognition you got, both as a journalist, and as a killer!'

And very soon, Y/N found herself in the crushing arms of an overprotective Anna, humming her mother's lullaby together with walking through the forest, Y/N making flower crows for all the female killers at the camp site, and little by little, she somehow managed to worm her way under everyone's skins.

Y/N was the survivor with the highest survivability percentage, and maybe the Entity sometimes got pissed off, but at least she still got killed sometimes, so who cares? Well, that was soon to change as soon as a new Killer was added to this sick game - Pyramid Head, the terror of Silent Hill, as Cheryl, the new Survivor, called him - or The Executioner, as he was known now. He was ruthless, merciless, grotesque - He had his own criteria of killing, his own moral compass, ethics, conscience and understanding of the concept of life and death. Nothing that could compare to the visions of humans, clearly - Everything was gravitating around Divine Retribution and Justice, but the from the outside, he was nothing but a killing machine.

He would kill everyone and anyone that crosses his path, without fail.

Y/N felt like her fortune ended completely the second she found herself in the new, overly cramped map, with Pyramid Head as the killer - She couldn't help but run around like a spazzic meerkat, trying to find and fix as many generators as possible, without having to get face to face with the walking hazard...

Only to run past a stuck Pyramid Head.

Slowly backtracing her steps, she saw the mountain of a man with his metal pyramid stuck in the frames a low window which he tried to walk over. He was trashing like a raged bull trying to attack a matador, but it was clear he was getting nowhere with this.

"H-Hey, u-uhm...Need some help?" she asked in a soft, careful voice, almost like a meek cat trying to test the waters, but in return, he started groaning even louder from the wrath he wanted to unleash upon the whole world. "Okay, uhm...I think I saw a can of vaseline in one of the chests around. I'll go fetch it and I'll come back for you. Don't move." she said, only to then realise how horrible that sounded, considering the situation, and it only seemed to anger the killer. "...I'm sorry, ignore me, I'm an idiot." she slapped herself pretty harshly before bolting out of there trying to find the chest.

However, Y/N cursed herself for not having perfectly memorised the whole map by heart already, since she found the vaseline can after the 3rd chest, and then, it took quite a while to find the bloody window that got the killer stuck - And by the time she got there, she was dead tired. "Okay, I'm here, I found the vaseline! Let's try to get you out of here." Y/N muttered as she put her feet on the low window pane to get to his level. "If it's not too much trouble, could you please hold onto me? I can't balance myself with both hands occupied, and I'd rather not fall." she explained as she opened the vaseline can, only to shiver as she felt two big, strong hands getting a firm grip on her hips. It was almost...Endearing, were she not too busy trying to get the killer unstuck. She kept massaging the metal edge, trying to push and pull, also praying to whatever deity that existed in her human world that she had her tetanus shot done on time - Until finally, she was able to get hear a loud screech, like a pop, and the killer got unstuck, and in the process, he stumbled backwards, while Y/N fell down on her butt.

"Ouchie..." she muttered, rubbing her back and sides to take away the pain surging through her body. "Are you okay?" she asked, almost intuitively, without realising it at first, until she heart a low grunt that brought her back to reality. "O-Oh...! You have glass shards stuck in your side! And you're bleeding too! Hold up, let me help." she hurried to his side, while the killer merely stiffened, feeling her delicate, slender fingers tracing his body, while he heaved and slouched his shoulders from the repressed wrath. "It may sting a bit, and I'm really sorry, but I promise it will be better soon." her voice was so motherly and warm, which also resonated in her actions, as she gingerly took a water bottle and imbued some tissues with it, to wipe away the blood smearing down his skin as she extracted the glass shards, and then..."This is grandma's marigold ointment. It's really good, and it smells nice." she explained as she carefully smeared a thick layer of the yellow ointment on the biggest wounds, while the little ones were covered by smiley-flower patterned plasters. They were cute, and colourful, and they never failed to make her smile. "Okay, there we go, all better! I hope you'll feel better very soon!" her voice got a tiny bit more cheerful and upbeat.

It made the Killer think about a trillion things, as he stepped in front of her, towering over her like the Empire states building next to a smiling pomeranian. What was with this girl? Why did she help a killer? And why did he feel so...Warm inside? He could sense a foreign kind of luminosity, a naivite and innocence that he only witnessed in children and animals. This woman in front of him was untainted by the darkness and evil of the world.

It didn't matter how many hardships she's been through, or how much sadness she had to endure - Her soul remained as pure as any snowdrop, as the first snow of winter, as the fleece of a baby lamb who let out its first 'meeeeh' to its mamma sheep.

He couldn't allow this human to be maimed in any way - Not by the world, not by the Entity, and certainly not by him. - Screw the Entity, Pyramind Head kills by his own rules, and now, he was blessed to be faced with a human who bore no real hatred for her peers, or for the world, despite the horrible situation she was thrown into.

He didn't understand, obviously, especially as he remembered the myriad of abominations that lurked through Silent Hill, all of them created by the torment of humans - The very torment that distorted their own reality, which resulted in him needing to solve the purpose as The Executioner - Eradicating the world of all evil.

"Th-This sword is so heavy...H-How can you carry this around like that...?! Your muscles must be so strained and sore...Y-You really need a massage, I'm sure." she stuttered as she tried to lift the much taller and heavier sword from the ground, only for the brute to simply bend and pick it up with extreme ease, putting the girl to shame with her complete lack of strength. "Hehe...You're really strong. I'm embarrassed now." she chuckled softly, scratching the back of her neck.

Before she could leave or do anything else, Pyramid Head picked her up by the throat, careful not to hurt her or restrict her air intake - I mean, how else was he supposed to carry her so he wouldn't hurt her with his metal head or sword? - and it was pretty clear she didn't feel any malevolence from him, as she clinged on his forearm, trying to keep herself up, only to be dumped on top of the hatch, as the killer pointed towards it, so she would leave.

"O-Oh...! Thank you so much! You're really kind! I really appreciate this...I-I know it probably doesn't matter much to you, since you'll be doing this over and over again with all the survivors...But I really appreciate you for your kind gesture, and I appreciate you for being so nice with me. Thank you. Take care!" her dazzling smile lit the whole place up, but he couldn't talk, nor could he tell her how he should be the one thanking her for showing him that, despite the hundreds and thousands of years he had to roam the 'Earth' and execute the injust, miracles still existed.

As soon as she reached the survivor's camp, everyone cheered for her, asking how in the world could she have escaped the wrath of the butcher. "Oh, but he wasn't that bad. In fact, he's much more humane than I anticipated! I think he has a beautiful, blooming heart!" okay, she's lost it - the other survivors thought - but even so, she's always been a bit...Out of it, so who cares?

It took quite a while for the other three survivors to reach the camp, all bloody, in fact, like the new killer, who dragged himself with the same menace to the Killers' camp. "How the hell did you manage to survive?!" they yelled at her in utter shock, seeing that she got out of there unscratched. "Oh, you see...I found the hatch." she shrugged simply, not wanting to give away that the person who massacred those three was a soft one and he basically threw her down the hatch to her safety.

As she took a twig to roast a marshmallows, she noticed how Pyramid Head was standing much farther away from the rest of the killers - She knew that silent killers were bound to stay away from the more obnoxious one, remembering how Michael Myers almost killed Ghostface and The Legion at least a dozen times - But this time...He seemed kinda...Lonely? So Y/N took the matters into her own hands, roasted another marshmallow in another twig, and when it was done, she went to the killer's camp, calling out the lonely one's name - She has no idea why, but he actually followed her, pushing her further deep into the forest, until he was sure nobody was going to hear, see or interrupt them...

"Hey. You seemed pretty lonely out there...I thought you could use a friend. Thank you again for what you did at the trial...Here, this is a marshmallow. I don't think you've had many before...Cheryl told me of that horrible place you had to live in...So I hope this will make your day a bit better!" Y/N extended one of her hands towards him, so he could take the marshmallow - And a long, black tongue erupted from underneath the pyramid, snatching away the fluffy marshmallow and gulping it in one go.

What the hell was he turning into?

A towering man built of pure muscle, wrath and divine justice, with a pyramid representing the evil of humanity burdening his body, and a sword taller and heavier than the average human being constantly dragged in one of his hand...He now was a slave to a cute, innocent girl who was putting flower plasters on his minuscule wounds that would heal in a heartbeat regardless - He saved this girl who was now offering his these soft, squishy things that tasted overly sugarly, just like her upbeat and cheerful personality - If he could eat her, he was sure she would taste even sweeter than this - A sickish kind of sweet, that is.

She was indeed a beautiful angel in this tragic hell. But he didn't wait to snatch the second marshmallow either.

"Ah...! You liked it, didn't you? Well...Next time, I promise I'll give you more!" she grinned at him the same way a princess would to her chivalrous knight who saved her. The since he couldn't talk, silence took over them - It wasn't an uncomfortable one, per se, but it made it feel as if the conversation was over. "W-Well...I'll guess I'll see you around! Take care and I hope to see you again soon!" she waved cutely, trying to turn around back to her camp, only to feel a rough hand on her shoulder, turning her around and urging her to stop and wait for him and he went deep into the forest, leaving her alone and undefended by the potential malevolent forces of the forest.

When he returned, however, he stepped right in front of her, creating the perfect shade as he towered over her - Then he kneeled in front of her, so he would reach her eye sight, then he tucked a strand of hair behind her ear and put a beautiful pink flower - As pink as the blush that started creeping on her face - He wanted to see her luminous face better, to highlight her dazzling smile and her glimmering eyes as the warm, silver light of the mother moon caressed her face.

Y/N felt her heart picking up the pace - It was beating so much faster than ever before - But this time, it wasn't out of fear or anything negative...It was something good. Something she never felt in her life, especially with her human acquaintances from back home. None was as chivalrous and gentle with her as this butcher of tormented souls - The bringer of justice, the merciless Executioner who was supposed to end the life of every living being that would cross his path.

It was insane how every Yin finds its Yang, even if that comes in the form of a little lamb of a small, frail girl, and a huge abomination of a brute man who knows nothing but death, bloodshed and carnage. It was truly crazy how opposites attract, and here she was, holding the killers large hands and gingerly putting them on her face, leaning into his touch - She felt safer now than ever in her life - Now, in the arms of an ancient killer.

An Angel and A Demon brought together in a perfect union.

As she leaned down, she touched the metal of the pyramid where she anticipated his forehead would be with her own forehead, and closing her eyes, she finally felt herself calming down. There was no need for words, actions spoke louder than anything, and she appreciated it...She appreciated him.

"Thank you." she whispered to him, knowing that yes, even though nobody else would hear it anyway, it was much more intimate than anything she ever experienced.

She was hooked.

Hope you liked my completely shameless pun, I couldn't stop it, especially after the pain I went through trying to write this...3 freaking times.

Yay.

#dead by daylight #dead by daylight x reader #dead by daylight imagine #dbd #dbd x reader #dbd imagine #silent hill #silent hill x reader #silent hill imagine #pyramid head #pyramid head x reader #pyramid head imagine #red pyramid #red pyramid x reader #red pyramid imagine

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starlightrows · 4 years ago

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A Lap Around

Pairing: Commander Wolffe/ fem!reader

Word Count: 3.7k

Warnings and Tags: Angst, Fear, Fluff, Domestic Bliss, Feelings of inadequacy and shame, Insecurity, Pregnancy, mention of sex

Summary: A post clone war Commander Wolffe reflects on his desertion from duty, and his relationship with you.

A/N: This is my first clone fic, and the first fic I’ve ever published on Tumblr! The biggest thank you ever to my girl @ninjabunny101 for letting me word vomit at her and for proof reading for me!

After the war came to an abrupt end, many clone troopers deserted before The Republic, now The Empire, could decommission them. Commander Wolffe had never once considered desertion; not when he lost his battalion, not when he lost his eye..... not until after he lost General Plo Koon.

“Honey, can you come help me with this” you called from the kitchen. Your simple request draws him out of his thoughts, and back to the dining room table where he’s been working all afternoon. Wolffe stands, and moves to join you in the kitchen.

You’re the only reason he’s still alive right now. The day the war ended, the day the chancellor ordered all the Jedi killed, the day Wolffe deserted... he watched his brother Jag shoot General Plo out of the air. And he felt nothing in that moment, aside from a directionless sense of duty. But that moment did not last. All at once he felt weak in the knees and sick to his stomach as feelings of fear, guilt, overwhelming sadness, and helplessness crashed over him. He found his feet carrying him to the medical tent set up on Cato Neimoidia, searching for someone. For you.

He burst into the medical tent, calling out for you. He found you crouched behind an over turned table. Eyes wide and shaking like a leaf, a few tears trickling from your eyes, clutching a scalpel. Your last line of defense.

“Don’t” you choked out “Get out!” Brandishing the scalpel, knowing full well it would do you no good against plastioid armor and a well trained soldier.

“I would never hurt you, my love” he took a cautious step forward, arms raised in show of surrender.

“Why?” You shouted at him through your tears “Why did the men kill my patients? Why did they kill the Padawan? He was just a child!”

Wolffe glanced over at the two occupied cots across the room, both the visiting Padawan and the Neimoidian solider being treated for fairly minor wounds laid dead from blaster fire.

“Why am I still alive, Commander,” your lip trembled, as the tears continued to fall.

“How can I help?” He asks, seeing you turned away from him, chopping vegetables picked from your garden.

“Can you just mind the pot, and stir it a bit for me? I only have two hands,” you ask sweetly.

Wolffe approaches the stove, takes a large wooden spoon and gives the soup a good stir. Making sure nothing is sticking to the bottom or the sides. He sets the spoon down, thinking to himself that while you probably did need him to stir the soup, more than likely you just wanted him close by.

His eyes linger on your hips. They’ve grown wider with the swell of your belly. Your first child. His child.

You finish chopping the vegetables, and hand him the cutting board. He knows without asking, he’s meant to dump them into the soup.

“Shall I wash this for you darling?” He asks once the vegetables have been added.

“I- I don’t know,” the words tumbled out of his mouth and he couldn’t stop them “I- we received orders. Orders from the chancellor. Called it Order 66. I-I didn’t know what it meant but-but I didn’t feel like myself. I needed to kill the Jedi, and anyone loyal to them,”

You stared at him in shock. He took a step closer, and was pained to see you scramble backwards trying to get away from him.

“I won’t hurt you,” he repeated dropping down to one knee “I would never hurt you” You met his gaze and found you couldn’t look away.

“We have to get out of here,” he said “I don’t know what’s going on. But we are not staying to find out”

Later in the evening after the soup pot is washed, the kitchen is cleaned, and the left overs put away; he enjoys the feeling of your body leaned back against him as you sit together on the back porch. Watching the sun disappear over the horizon, and the rich pink and orange colors decorate the sky. His large hands situated in the dip of your hips where your bump protrudes out. He holds the weight in his hands, relieving some of the pressure from your pelvis and back. You like to call it taking a bump break when he does this for you.

A sharp jab at his hand tells you both the baby is awake a moving within you. You make a sound of surprise, and place your hands over your his.

“Getting stronger with those kicks,” Wolffe chuckles drumming his fingers lightly against your skin. The baby kicks in response. Your laugh is delightful, as he does it again.

“Alright alright, you’re the boss little one! Hands off mom, I understand,” he says dramatically, removing his hands carefully so as not to drop the belly weight on you all at once.

“You will do no such thing,” you say, taking his hands a guiding them to rest over the top of the bump instead “Mama is the boss in this house” He chuckles at your remark, and presses a kiss to your head.

“You certainly are,”

He clutched your hand, and dragged you along with him behind the tents of the encampment. Whatever had possessed him and his brothers to attack General Plo and the others seemed to have passed, but Wolffe had no interest in waiting around for an explanation. Especially if the orders were coming from the chancellor. He ditched his commlink, crushing it with the heel of his boot. He’d had enough of blindly following orders.

“Wolffe, where are we going?” He pulled up short, and tucked you behind him as he looked out passed the cover of the tent.

“The landing bay. We’re taking a ship and getting out of here,” he said watching two of his brothers walk away.

You wanted to ask about his brothers, about the war, about his lack of control from the orders, about where you could possibly go. You knew he would not have answers, it would be pointless to ask. But you trust him wholeheartedly, and followed his instructions.

“Come on,” he urged you forward once more. Darting across the flat ground, and hiding behind the wing of a ship.

“Can you fly this thing?” You asked, as he punched in the code to the access door.

“I’m no fighter pilot, but I can fly” he responded, the ramp descended and he had you inside before it even fully touched the ground. “Go into the cockpit, and strap in”

You did as he asked, while he keyed in the command to raise the ramp and shut the door. Sitting in the cockpit, strapped into the copilot’s chair you looked at all the buttons and switches frustrated that you don’t know what a single one of them does and can’t be of more help in this situation.

He came into the cockpit immediately hitting buttons and flipping switches in what appeared to be a specific order. “They’re searching for us,” he said

“Who?” You asked, voice laced with fear

“My brothers, but I don’t think they know what’s going on either,” the ship powered up, and the engines roared to life.

“Should... should we do something? They’re... they’re your family,” you didn’t exactly know what your asking, but abandoning them felt wrong. Wolffe didn’t respond for a long moment

“You’re my family,” he said “I have to keep you safe,”

You don’t sleep as well as you used to now that your belly has grown so large. You had always been a side or stomach sleeper, which is not exactly an option at the moment. But Wolffe does what he can to make sure you’re comfortable laying on your back. He arranges the pillows to better support your head and neck, and makes sure you’ve got a small one to cross your arms over. Sleeping next to someone for years, you grow accustomed to holding on to something when you sleep, a habit not easily broken. He leans over you, smoothing back your hair and pressing a kiss to your forehead before leaving the room.

He does this every night. Hasn’t skipped a single day since coming here. Every night, he makes sure you’re tucked away in bed before taking a lap around the property and double checking that every door and window is locked. Old habits die hard, he may not be a soldier anymore, but he still feels a need to make a perimeter sweep before settling in for the night. He values this time, it’s quiet and meticulous, and ultimately it just makes him feel better.

You don’t exactly hate it. You understand it’s important to him, and appreciate his attentive care to the safety of the family. But you don’t like it. You don’t like thinking about the implication of needing to do security checks. It worries you, what if there was something out there, and he just never came back. Or whatever it was came in while he was checking. But your rational mind knows, there is nothing out there trying to get in. This planet is quiet, remote and safe. The town is half a days walk from the cabin, and not a single person who lives in that town knows either of your names.

Wolffe figures that someday, someone will come looking. One of his brothers, or maybe friends of yours. That’s not why he checks. He wouldn’t mind seeing any of his brothers again, even some of the ones he’d never met. He wouldn’t mind if someone who cared about you came looking. But what scared Wolffe, was everyone else.

The Empire’s new reign wasn’t so different from The Republic, but then again he had never lived as a civilian during the age of The Republic. Wolffe did not trust The Empire, wanted nothing to do with them. He knew the emperor was bad news, even though he himself had not killed anyone during Order 66, he could still feel it within him... the feeling of not being in control. Watching from behind his own eyes. He never wanted to feel that way again.

You didn’t know what to think. About The Republic and The Empire, how everything went down. You often wondered what was happening on the core worlds, what happened to Wolffe’s brothers after The Empire decommissioned them... how many of them were forced to kill people they cared about? How many of them figured out about the biochips and had them removed? Are they still rejected by civilians now that they are no longer considered property?

None of these questions had easy answers. And you were not inclined to go looking for them. After all it’s been 6 years and nothing has come to this small planet in the outer rim. Neither friend nor foe. But he checks and double checks anyway. Especially now that you’re expecting.

———

He hadn’t given much thought to having children during the war. Truly he didn’t think he would live to see the end of it. He was a good soldier, and a good leader. But he couldn’t ignore the very human part of him that craved companionship. He tried his best to push those feelings as far away as possible, because it was unfair to expect to die and also seek out a partner he would ultimately leave behind. But you, you had other plans.

A spunky little combat medic with a firm hand and a dazzling smile. He loathed to admit it now, but he didn’t want to like you, he didn’t really want an enlisted doctor to be the lead medic for his team. But General Plo trusted you, and you did your job well. The men liked you a lot, sought out your company and invited you to eat with them whenever they could. Wolffe originally thought it was just because you were a woman. Many of his brothers went out of their way at any opportunity to make acquaintance with a woman, just to say they had. But as he began to relent, and join his brothers in chatting with you in the evenings around settlement fires, he found that you were genuinely pleasant to have around.

You were a brilliant doctor, and an highly capable field medic. You didn’t even flinch when looking at a particularly gruesome wound, when even he had to look away to compose himself. Beyond that you were respectful, kind, funny, and admittedly very attractive. As time went on he found himself seeking you out more and more; longing hear your voice or feel the gentle pressure of your hands when you’d lightly push him. He knew he wasn’t the only one seeking out your individual attention, but after a time he realized he wanted to be the only one who got to enjoy your soft smiles and kind words.

Finally one day, he couldn’t stand it anymore. The leader of the liberation army on the planet the 104th had been stationed on had been getting very friendly with you. You had always been good about getting along well with locals, usually it made working with them easier. But Wolffe could feel his blood pressure rising watching this stranger put his hand on your shoulder, duck his head down to speak to you, and just continually be in your presence.

Something in him snapped. He was acting on impulse, as he marched over to you and fought every instinct he had to take your arm. Instead he stood at attention, and asked if he could have a private word with you.

“Of course, Commander” you had replied “Walk with me?” You turned away from the man, and Wolffe and began walking. Wolffe followed a half step behind you, until you turned a corner of the building into a somewhat secluded area. Before he even had a chance to open his mouth you started talking.

“Maker, that guy is annoying! Can’t stand the hiss in his voice or his damp hands! Uuughh you’ve no idea how long I’ve been trying to shake him today,” you gave a little shudder and ran a hand over your head, smoothing back your hair. “What can I do for you sir?”

Suddenly he didn’t know what to say, he didn’t really have a plan going into this, and your admission to wanting to get away from the man had shaken him up. He realized a second too late that he hadn’t said a single word the entire time he’s been standing there.

“Wolffe? Are you alright?” You asked, reaching out to place a comforting hand on his upper arm.

“I can’t stand it” he blurted out. “I can’t stand watching him or anyone else getting so close to you”

Your other hand shoots out, gripping his other arm. Eyes intensely focused on his. Instantly he regretted his words, finding them too possessive and intrusive. How was he any better than those he despised seeing with you?

“Keep talking,” you urged, giving him a squeeze

Wolffe’s heart hammered in his chest, but this was it, this was his chance. He tentatively placed his hands on your waist, stole himself and pressed on

“Can’t think straight when I see someone’s hands on you. I don’t even like seeing you with my brothers if they’re not part of our battalion. I hate when I have to leave you without a security detail. You’re always on my mind. I want to protect you, keep you safe, I-“ he didn’t even realize he had backed you up into the wall of the building. Your hands had begun drifting up his shoulders, creeping up the back on his neck finally landing at his jaw. Your thumbs gently stroked his cheeks.

“You’re doing great,” you laughed softly “I don’t like it when you’re away either”

A devilish grin crossed his face, “Do you now? Tell me then, how do you feel when I go out on assignment?” He squeezed gently at your waist.

“I worry you’ll come into my med bay on a stretcher. I wonder when I’ll get to see your handsome face again. My heart aches, so much I feel it in my bones. I miss you when you’re gone,” you dropped your gaze, blushing profusely “And I can’t help wondering if you miss me too”

Wolffe couldn’t help himself in that moment, he dipped his head down and captured your lips in a firm kiss. Pulling away, he rested his forehead against yours

“More than you know,”

———

After coming back inside and checking the lock on the door one last time, he sheds his coat and boots by the door. He washes up quickly, and changes into the soft pants reserves for sleeping. He can’t tell if you’re already asleep or faking it, but he gingerly climbs into bed careful not to disturb you just in case.

His eyes settle over your baby bump. He used to be so closed off to the idea of even having a partner, children never even crossed his mind. Even being with you when you were both still in the army, he wasn’t thinking about having children, he was too preoccupied with making sure both of you, and the rest of the 104th made it to tomorrow. It wasn’t until much later, after deserting, that began to wonder.

When he was younger, finally deployed and off the rainy rock he was created on, many of his brothers would boast about their abilities to seduce and pleasure women they met bars or on assignment. At the time he largely ignored it, unlike some of his brothers Wolffe found the idea of one night stands and drunken love making with strangers to be rather uncomfortable. How could anyone feel safe being so vulnerable with a complete stranger? He almost always tuned out, or at least didn’t really participate when brothers would turn to that topic. But he did remember a few of them making remarks about not having to worry about “happy little accidents”... it was never a stated fact by their Kaminoan creators that they were sterile, but most of them assumed it would be true.

“We’re bred soldiers aren’t we? Suppose it makes us better for the cause if we can’t run around procreating on every planet in the galaxy,” he remembered someone saying. He never took it to heart, didn’t matter to him. He wouldn’t live long enough to love a woman anyway. Or so he thought at the time.

Oh how wrong he was.

For how stern, callous and domineering he outwardly seemed, you see him for who he truly is. A young man, in a quickly aging and somewhat abused body, who desperately wanted to feel valued and needed by something other than the powers that manufactured him.

You gave him that and more. In your arms he felt desired, appreciated, and worthy. Having you express your desire to be his, and his alone made him feel confident and strong; and incredibly lucky. He made sure to cherish every moment with you.

Eventually the relationship became more and more physical behind closed doors. Despite his inexperience he was eager to learn, and eager to please. With you he felt safe shedding his armor, literally and figuratively. At first he was happy to let you lead, show him what you liked and allow him the opportunity to figure out what he liked. You assured him he was welcome to suggest anything that sounded pleasurable, and that he wouldn’t have to worry about where to finish. That was the first time he actually thought about children. When you told him you had a birth control implant that would last for a few years and it could be replaced or removed at anytime.

At the time he was relieved, but as he grew more confident in the bedroom and the two of you quite literally ran away together; he started thinking about it more. This was your life now, living alone together in this cabin at the edge of the universe. His only responsibility is keeping you happy, healthy and safe. He wondered exactly how many years that birth control implant of yours would last. And after it became ineffective, would it even make a difference? He wondered if his brothers were right all those years ago, was he even capable of giving you a child if it was something you wanted?

He was ashamed to admit even to himself, that he was afraid of that possibility. He never even wanted children, but he was afraid he would disappoint you if you wanted them. He was afraid that maybe he did want them, and it would be out of his reach. These were dark and painful thoughts that clouded his mind and furrowed his brow for years after settling down with you. If ever you noticed his pensive stare and firm frown, he’d wave it off as lost in thought or remembering something he’d rather not. To which you would always offer a warm embrace, a gentle kiss and extend an invitation to help you with some task or activity to distract him from his distress. And of course the promise you would always be willing to listen if he wanted to talk about it.

Eventually, the answers came to him without ever having to ask. Five and a half years, that was the duration left in the life span of your implant. And yes, indeed he was capable of having children. When you came to him, telling him of your suspicion you were pregnant he wept with joy, kissed you senseless, and could not contain his smile. His private battle with his insecurities as a man was finally over. He was not damaged, or incomplete has he had led himself to believe. He is every bit the man, the lover, the partner and the father you believe him to be.

These thoughts wash over him, laying next to you in bed. He knows he’s crowding you a bit, but he just wants to feel the warmth of your skin and the beating of your heart before falling asleep. For so long he resented his own existence; born to die for a cause he would never be able to reap the benefits of. But he knows now. That was never his purpose for existing his this universe. His purpose is right here, with you and his child soon to come. His purpose is to love you every single day, and raise this child together for as much as time as he has left.

#Clone Wars #Commander Wolffe #commander wolffe x reader #post order 66 #Soft!Wolffe #Domesticity is my weakness

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yodawgiherd · 4 years ago

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You Were Never Truly Gone

>>>Read on AO3<<<<

Rating: T

!!!! This is a post-139 story so please don't read if you didn't get to the chapter yet!!!!

Alright! As you guys know I am a certified™ cope machine and there was no way that I could NOT do something after the finale. Those who follow me on tumblr/twitter know that I was not exactly happy with how things went. Therefore, I have written this.

Might continue if you guys like it :)))

Today, It was three years. Three years since she lost him, three years since she was forced to kill the love of her life to save the world. Three years since her heart shattered to a thousand pieces. Three years since….

Mikasa felt the tears on her face, slowly sliding down as she caressed the cold headstone of Eren’s grave. Here, under the tree where they often rested was the place of his final sleep. The end of the journey.

And it still hurt.

The same despair that tore her apart when Sasha died, only amplified now that it was him who would never come back to her. It was necessary, they all knew that Eren planned to sacrifice himself since the start. Her blade was the one that saved everyone, but it did nothing to ease the pain. Sometimes, in the darkness of the night, Mikasa found herself envious. Envious of all the people who were blessed with a happy reunion. Envious of Armin and Annie who were newly engaged, envious of Falco and Gabi and their budding happiness. Envious of the families that got to embrace their loved ones freely while she could never do it again.

And that was not all.

Even Historia managed to find happiness with her child. Yes, it was forced unto her by the circumstances, but her husband truly loved her, and the queen adored their offspring. When Mikasa visited and got to hold the child or play with him, she often felt needles pricking at her heart. Why was she robbed of having the possibility? Why could she never have a child of her own?

Technically she could, of course, she was still a young woman, but Eren left a hole in her heart that no other human being was capable of filling. The tattoo on her wrist, the one she was supposed to pass down to her children? Well, it would appear that it would stay with her and her alone. When she and Armin got drunk one night and he told her everything about what transpired in the paths when she heard him say just how much Eren loved her back Mikasa was hurt like never before. Back then, she envied again, but differently.

She envied all the dead people because they could not feel pain anymore.

Then again, not everyone got their happiness back. Mikasa spent a lot of time with Levi over many teas as they talked and talked and reminisced. The captain lost everyone too, Erwin, Hange, his old squad, and none of them came back. He was just as hurt as she was. And when she broke down one day, openly sobbing in front of him, it was one of the few times that she saw Levi cry because he shared her pain.

It would not be fair to say that Mikasa Ackerman was stuck in the past. Usually, she was fine, her thoughts were not occupied solely by the past and by what she lost, but this place, this grave always picked her apart.

She traveled the world, alone or with Armin and Annie, seeing all the wonders that were once walled off. She visited Hizuru too but didn’t stay, much to Kiyomi’s dismay. Maybe one day Mikasa would be able to leave everything behind and take up her mantle as shogun’s descendant, but that was still far off. The wounds were too fresh.

When in Paradis Mikasa lived in a small cabin, just as the one in her and Eren’s dream, although it felt painfully empty without him sometimes. The small garden and the few animals kept her busy, but there were nights where she tossed and turned and remembered how it felt to hold him.

“Eren… I wish to see you again.”, she murmured, the hopeless whisper falling from her lips, overcome with those suppressed feelings here at Eren’s grave on the anniversary of the day he died. The day he left her forever.

Others would be here soon, they always gathered here on this day, remembered Eren as their friend and comrade, the man who sacrificed himself for them. But to her, he meant so, so much more – the future she could never have, the man that she loved more than life itself, the love that she was forced to sacrifice on the altar of the greater good.

In her darkest moments, Mikasa wondered if it was worth it. Home, family, those were the things she so desperately wanted, needed, and fought for, and yet they were taken from her. She cut them off herself with the blade and was now forced to suffer the unjust consequences.

Alone.

Her brooding was interrupted by something tugging at the end of her scarf. It was a bird, she realized, one that quickly flapped its wings and flew away when the fabric wouldn’t leave her neck. Looking after it, as it soared up high, Mikasa’s sadness broke with a melancholic smile. Is this the freedom that Eren wanted? The one he died for? Is he still there, watching her from the heavens above? Would she meet him in another life, perhaps?

And then, someone cleared his throat behind her.

“So, you’re still wearing that old thing?”

Mikasa’s eyes widened. No, this wasn’t possible. This wasn’t happening. That voice….

As quickly as she could Mikasa turned her head, the ponytail flapping in the wind. And there he was, looking just like the day she lost him, Eren Yeager with a half-smile on his face.

“Hello Mi-“, was all he managed to say before she tackled him, the two of them tumbling on the grass.

Ignoring the grunt the fall forced from Eren’s lips, Mikasa pressed her ear against his chest, just like all these years before. And again she was greeted by the steady beating sound, her eyes filling with tears.

“I’m dreaming.”, she sobbed, realizing that this must be her imagination, “You are not real.”

But he didn’t disappear. He didn’t dissolve into a fog and Mikasa didn’t wake up hugging her pillow instead. No, he was here, beneath her, solid and very much alive. The hand that gently slid over her head, caressing the now-long midnight hair was warm.

“You grew out your hair.”, Eren noticed, the sound rumbling from the chest under her ear, “Looks good on you.”

And that was about the height of absurdity that Mikasa was willing to endure. Pulling back quickly, she fixed him with a stare.

“No. Eren, you don’t get to appear and talk about my damn hair. You don’t get to d-die for three years and then come back without a word.”, her hand was squeezing his shirt, she realized, squeezing it so much that her knuckles bled white, “You can’t do this to me.”

“I suppose that you deserve an explanation.”, he surrendered, mirroring her and sitting up.

His eyes slid over to the tiny headstone, to his own grave, noticing the flowers there. Mikasa also didn’t let him go, her hand was still wound tightly in his shirt. She was still scared that this was her mind playing tricks on her, that this was not real and he would dissimilate at a moment’s notice. Overcome with the urge to touch her, as he yearned for so long, Eren gently took hold of that pale hand, intertwining their fingers.

“I thought I would die.”, he began, “Exactly as I told Armin, I did not lie. When you cut me, the darkness was supposed to come in, to close my eyes forever. But it didn’t.”

He took a shuddering breath.

“I was stuck in the paths, but they weren’t paths anymore. With Ymir gone and the curse unraveled, they became a vortex of memories and thoughts, sucking me in and I could feel my consciousness slipping away. Back then, I almost let go.”

Eren couldn’t meet Mikasa’s eyes, staring at his grave instead, the tips of his ears turning red for some reason.

“I-I couldn’t let myself leave you like this M-Mikasa, I Uhm... I…”

“You love me.”

She said it herself, making Eren’s head whip up to look at her, the blush now spreading to his cheeks.

“Armin told me everything.”, she explained, “He told me that you wanted to be with me in the end.”

“Ugh, and I made him promise that he wouldn’t tell you.”

Mikasa squeezed his hand harder.

“He was drunk, don’t blame him.”

“I wouldn’t dare.”

Eren sighed, once again looking at the headstone and making a mental note to ask Armin about the broken promise later.

“Well, as I was saying, the paths were coming to an end, the vortex was slowly but surely losing power and the parts of it were dying. So I did the only thing I could think of – I started stitching myself back together.”

“What do you mean?”

“I walked through the memories, every single one, picked those that belonged to me, and held them.” He looked down, staring at his fingers, “I didn’t even have hands back then, no body, but somehow I could do it, I preserved my memories by will alone, I pulled and pulled and they went, they stayed with me.��, his face changed into a somewhat haunted expression, “It was terrible, painful, and the hardest thing that I have ever done, but I kept moving forward, I kept going until all of me was together again. The rest of the memories died, disappeared into nothing, and for a moment I was scared that I would end up like that, stuck in a dark abyss with nothing but my thoughts.”

Eren’s thumb caressed Mikasa’s hand where their fingers were tangled together, reminding her that she was listening with bated breath. Letting it out, she breathed and he went on.

“I knew that if I let go of the ones I was holding that I would be free, that I would finally cease to exist, but I couldn’t.”, even with the blush, he met Mikasa’s eyes when he continued, “I had those memories I shared with you, the ones of you and I couldn’t let them go.”

Mikasa was the one blushing now, matching the redness of Eren’s cheeks.

“I don’t even know what happened,”, Eren confessed, “But when I realized that I would never let go I was pulled into something. A body, made by Ymir no doubt, her parting gift for me.”

He looked back towards the grave.

“I didn’t regenerate or anything, the head is still under the tree, I was made anew by the goddess you freed.”

Mikasa choked on a sob, not even realizing that she started crying again. Gently, so gently Eren reached out, wiping the tear away from her eyes with his thumb, smiling.

“I woke up on that field, naked and with no idea how I got there, which was quite a problem.”

Even crying Mikasa laughed at that, the mental image too funny to ignore.

“Obviously I had no idea how much time had passed while I was putting myself back together from scraps, I had no map or anything to guide me.”, he tapped his chest, “But I had this feeling, this magnetic pull towards somewhere, and I knew that it was guiding me to you. Back to my home.”

She couldn’t take it anymore. Lunging forward Mikasa wrapped him in a firm hug, sobbing freely into his chest. And Eren held her and caressed her and did all the things she dreamt about for years, making her melt into him. This was way too good to be true.

“So I began walking,”, Eren picked up, intent on finishing his story, “reaching a town I stole some clothes and continued. Sniffing around I realized that it was almost three years since I “died”, and now I had nothing. I stole a lot, because I had no money, and almost got caught a few times but I kept moving here, to you.”

Mikasa held him closer when he said those words, breathing in the scent of those stolen clothes and finally realizing that this was real. This was happening.

“Finally I reached the ocean after a few weeks, and there I managed to sneak on a cargo ship that took me here.”

Very, very gently he pushed her so that she pulled back, and they were looking at each other. Mikasa noticed the slight tremble of Eren’s lips, indicating that there was something he had to say so she kept quiet, waiting for him to string the words together.

“Mikasa,”, he said, “I’m no longer the man I once was. Eren Yeager died at that battle, he died and disappeared and will never be seen again. This body, not even a hair is left behind by him. I’m not Eren Yeager anymore, in fact, I’m not anyone. I don’t have anything to offer you – my powers are gone, my name is gone, my personality is dead. I am no one, but there is one thing that is still nestled deep in my heart because I believe that the feeling would traverse space and time for you.”

Slowly he cupped her cheek, giving her all the time in the world to pull away. Yet she didn’t.

“Mikasa Ackerman, I love you with everything that I am and everything that I once was.”

Now her lips were trembling, and they were staring at each other like a pair of blushing idiots. Then again, weren’t they just that?

“Could I…”, it took all of Eren’s courage to ask the next question because he was still a coward, but all the memories and suffering he endured were for this, for this moment, and the girl in front of him. He had to push it out, he needed this ever since that moment in the fields with the smiling titan, the memory which Eren saw hundreds, if not thousands, times when he was stuck in the paths.

“Can I kiss you?”

Mikasa didn’t answer. Instead, she pushed forward until their lips met and Eren’s mind went blank. Objectively, the kiss sucked. It was their second and the first that happened while they were both fully alive. She was way too insistent and he was way too stunned by her reply to kiss her back.

It didn’t matter.

It was still the sweetest thing that ever happened to them, and when Mikasa pulled back Eren regretted the loss of her warmth immediately.

“I know that you are a new person, but can I still call you Eren?”, she whispered, her breath tickling his skin.

“You can call me whatever you want.”, was his immediate answer.

“Ok then…”, a tiny smile curved those lips that he dreamt of kissing so many times up, “Nice to meet you, Eren.”

“Nice to meet you too, Mikasa.”

This time it was him who closed the distance, hellbent on getting better at the whole kissing thing. She kissed him back and Eren held Mikasa in his arms and the world around didn’t matter anymore. Just her and him, finally getting the love that they fought for all their lives.

High above, the bird flapped its wings and disappeared into the distance.

#eremika #snk #139 spoilers #aot

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bnhayyy · 3 years ago

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The Call (6)

Chapter Title: Heartache

Wordcount: 2.8k

Fic Tag: Click

Ao3 Link: Click

Chapter Summary: Mikasa tells Annie about her past.

Notes: Alright! So this chapter is a little on the short side. The next two chapters will be as well, having originally been one super long chapter that I cut into three for the sake of themes and pacing. But on the bright side, yesterday I posted a Yumihisu one-shot that takes place between the second and third scene of chapter three, so be sure to check that out if you haven't seen it already. Once again, thank you to Celadon for betaing this chapter! And if you’re enjoying this fic, please consider joining my writing discord or buying me a ko-fi! You know, ko-fi. The thing that exists so monetized tumblr doesn't have to.

The week following the visit to the club passed by in a blur. Annie watched as Mikasa doubled down on trying to hunt Ymir, only for none of her efforts to bear fruit. For good reason. The whole time Mikasa hunted, Annie carefully walked the line of looking helpful while contributing nothing.

Her faked efforts and need to preserve the scapegoat for as long as possible canceled out Mikasa's genuine zeal.

Or maybe Ymir was just better at this than they were. The results were the same either way. It looked like they weren't going to see Ymir again until she was ready to be seen.

Krista had proven herself to be both a help and a hindrance.

Annie hadn't seen the girl since that night at the club. Art was the only class she shared with her, but a little snooping had revealed that she hadn't been to any of her other classes either. Apparently, she had been calling in sick. Although they had been able to find the apartment building she lived in, they hadn't been able to get her exact address, and Mikasa wasn't quite ready to break into every single apartment in her quest to find Ymir.

Or confirm that Krista was still alive.

Annie noticed that Mikasa's anxiety had subtly grown with every day that they didn't see Krista… just not enough to make her break the law. For her part, Annie didn't press the matter. Seeming too willing to break into someone's apartment could set off all kinds of alarms. Besides, it was good that Krista was making herself scarce. If she had decided to stick around and give Mikasa ideas about Ymir's innocence, Annie really might have had to act.

That didn't mean that she was in the clear. Even if she was staying away for the time being, the fact remained that Krista Lenz was an unknown factor in a carefully calculated equation. Ymir too, for all that her little group had been using her presence to their favor so far. They had the potential to throw everything off balance if they decided to get involved. For that reason, they had decided to crack down on as much as they could.

Getting phone taps set up was a risky, tedious, and nerve-wracking process. However, by the end of the week, the phone in Smith's office, Smith's landline, Smith's cellphone, Mikasa's phone, and even Jean, Connie, Sasha, and Armin's phones were all bugged. Annie still had to find an opportunity to get Smith's friend's phones, but she planned on taking care of it soon.

Annie didn't know what to make of those two. An overly energetic watcher and a grouchy little demon hunter, the meeting Smith called to introduce them to everyone had been dominated by the former rambling while the latter glared at anyone who dared to look at him for more than three seconds. She didn't understand how Smith would mesh with personalities like theirs. Yet watching them for a little while had made it clear that the three of them were close. Genuinely close, not like the act that she, Reiner, and Bertolt put on.

Or the lie that she was building with Mikasa.

***

Annie: Patrolling tonight?

Mikasa: Of course

Mikasa: I'll be at your place at 7

***

It was 7:15 when Mikasa arrived. Annie may not claim to know her well, but she had gotten to know the last slayer well enough over the past few weeks to know that being late was unusual for her. She raised an eyebrow when she opened the door for her, allowing it to ask her unspoken question.

"Armin was over," Mikasa said as she stepped inside.

"I see," Annie said, closing the door. "You seem... close."

No. That wasn't right. One of the first things she had learned about Mikasa was that she wasn't truly close to anyone, Armin included. Annie leaned against the door as she reconsidered her phrasing. "You seem like you could be close," she settled on.

Mikasa stiffened. She turned to face Annie, but instead of making eye contact with her, she looked down at the bag that held her slaying supplies. "Yeah," she said, voice soft, but too vague to make out any specific emotion. She clutched her bag to her chest, probably unthinkingly. If she knew that she was holding onto it like a comfort and a shield, god knew that she probably wouldn't let herself. "If things were different, we probably could be."

Annie frowned. So that was the problem, the mindset that she and Reiner had been working so hard to cure her of. (Just in time to snatch her life away from her.) "You keep him at a distance because you're the slayer," she surmised.

"No," Mikasa said, causing Annie to blink in surprise. "It's because of..."

Mikasa hesitated. At least, that was what Annie thought was happening at first. As the seconds dragged on, she saw that whatever she was thinking about seemed to be actively causing her pain.

Annie frowned and stepped away from the door. She wanted to know about Mikasa, but not if it forced the other girl to dredge up painful thoughts. Annie was already going to be enough of a shadow on her existence. If it eased her suffering a little, she was okay with the other slayer dying a mystery. "Hey," she said, "you don't have to-"

"No," Mikasa cut her off. "You deserve to know this." A shadow of resolve fell over her expression as she spoke. She clearly wasn't happy about whatever she was going to say, but that wasn't going to stop her from saying it.

Annie felt something warm flicker in her chest. Maybe it was respect. Maybe it was admiration. Whatever it was, it was helpless to change the course of events. She still acknowledged it, because there was something to be said for someone who was willing to face things that they knew would hurt them.

This feeling was probably the closest that Annie would ever come to self-sacrifice, the selfish, cowardly person that she was. But she could still allow herself to look at that light.

For as long as it was allowed to burn.

"Do you want to talk in my room?" Annie asked. If Mikasa really was about to spill her guts, then a degree of privacy was the least she could offer her. It was the only thing she could offer her.

Mikasa swallowed heavily and nodded. "Yes please."

Annie nodded and turned to lead her down the hall. The room at the very end was hers. It was small - all of their rooms were. Their organization had paid for them to rent a small house so that they didn't have to take the additional risk that would have been killing someone and occupying theirs, but they hadn't been willing to spring for anything extravagant. At least it wasn't hard to make people believe that a trio of college students could afford to rent it.

If Mikasa had any thoughts on how sparsely decorated the room was, she didn't voice them. Annie lead her over to the bed, where she sat down on one end while Annie took the other. There they sat, Annie trying not to stare too intensely at the other slayer as she waited for her to start. For her part, Mikasa was clearly trying to gather herself. She stared distantly up at the ceiling as she ran through whatever thoughts might be racing through her mind.

Finally, Mikasa shifted her gaze to Annie. "I met Armin through his best friend," she said. "A boy named Eren Yaeger."

Annie frowned. Barely anything had been said, yet she already got the sense that it was more complicated than that. The look on Mikasa's face made it impossible for her not to.

"There was a home invasion when I was fourteen," Mikasa continued. Her voice was gaining a distant quality, like she was trying not to get caught up in the memory. Based on what she was saying, Annie was all but certain that really was the case. "My parents were killed and I was abducted. Eren ran into us when they were forcing me into the car."

Mikasa paused. Her attempt to distance herself from her emotions must not have been working, because something in her gaze fractured.

Suddenly, Annie had a horrible feeling about how this story ended for Eren.

"Eren saved me," Mikasa managed. "He killed two of my abductors, and when the third arrived, he gave me the strength to kill him myself."

Mikasa had killed someone? A human being? Annie tried to keep her surprise from showing too readily. She must have failed, because Mikasa paused, fresh hesitation written across her features.

Annie gave a tiny nod. "It was understandable, given the circumstances."

"That's…" Mikasa faltered. "Eren said that they didn't count as human beings."

"I suppose he might be right." Of course, by that logic, she probably didn't either.

Mikasa nodded. Whether she was agreeing with Annie or simply recalibrating herself, she did not know. The slayer pulled herself together and continued before she had a chance to make a definitive guess either way.

"After that, it looked like things might be... Eren wrapped his scarf around me and said I could come home with him." Mikasa's expression was blank in a way that could only be forced. However, something in her eyes said that she was struggling to breathe. "That was when the vampire showed up. I didn't know that I was the slayer yet or understand what that meant. But I think he knew, somehow, and wanted to kill me before I could become a problem. It was me he was after. But he was harder to fight than a human, and I was scared, and Eren... he wouldn't let him take me without a fight."

For half a second, Mikasa zoned off, her gaze focusing on some point over Annie's shoulder. She snapped back to herself before Annie could figure out if she should say something. It made her wonder if she didn't want any interruptions.

No. It was more likely that she just wanted to be done with this story as soon as possible.

Annie understood the feeling.

"The vampire knocked both of us unconscious," Mikasa continued. "He must have taken the car keys off one of the dead men's corpses, because when we woke up, we were in the trunk. We tried to get out, but it was no use.

"He took us out by a cliff looking over the sea. He went for me first. Eren didn't like that. I tried to fight the vampire off and told Eren to run, but I couldn't... It wasn't..."

Mikasa started blinking as she fell silent. Annie would have been horrified to see the normally stoic slayer struggling to hold back tears if she weren't surprised that she hadn't started crying sooner.

"You were fourteen," Annie whispered. "You didn't have any training or know what you were dealing with."

Even fourteen-year-olds with years of training and who knew what they were dealing with would have a hard time against a vampire. How much had she struggled against Bertolt and Reiner when she was that age? She had been one of the best human cadets in the organization and Bertolt was far too prone to trying to go easy on her, but it was still hard. It might have been easier if she had already been called back then, but even that wouldn't have been enough to make up for the fear and ignorance if she hadn't been aware of the supernatural.

It seemed that Mikasa didn't see it that way. She shook her head and murmured, "I still had the strength of the slayer."

"Raw strength isn't everything," Annie insisted.

"Maybe not," Mikasa said. "But it should have been enough.

Her gaze drifted back to that spot over Annie's shoulder for a moment. Annie couldn't begin to try to gauge the look in her eyes, especially since it was only visible for a short moment. Her eyes switched to something far more shuttered and closed off in an instant.

"I was thrown over the cliff and into the ocean," Mikasa continued. "I thought I was going to die. And for a moment, I did."

The slayer's eyes closed as she remembered the moment, and Annie was foolishly tempted to do the same, just to acknowledge the event that allowed her to come into being.

Even if Annie herself had only become a slayer two years after Mikasa's death. She wondered, did Mikasa realize that some poor, unknown, short-lived slayer had come between them? She must have. Annie had already said that she was called in 2016 back at the meeting. The lost slayer was probably going to be one of those things that no one talked about, for those who realized that she'd even existed.

Just like Eren Yaeger.

Mikasa opened her eyes. "The cliff was by a park," she said. "Someone must have heard the commotion, because emergency services arrived and resuscitated me. But it was too late for Eren.

"Armin and I met at his funeral."

Annie felt her mouth go dry. What could she possibly say to that?

Perhaps it was a good thing that Mikasa wasn't done talking yet.

"There were holes in my story. Most of the adults brushed it off as trauma, but not him. He asked what really happened, and I was still weak and scared. I told him everything, and he... he offered to help me. I said no, but I did reach out to tell him when I killed my first vampire, because it was... it was the one that killed Eren.

"I thought that would be it for us, but he kept reaching out. Kept trying... to be my friend." Mikasa paused, the fragile expression of someone caught between hope and longing fluttering across her face before she remembered to shut it down. "And I want to. He's... Armin is good. But that's exactly why I can't let him get close. Erwin may have had a point about him knowing how to defend himself from the Supernatural, but I want him to stay as far away from this as possible. And..."

You can't see him without thinking about Eren, Annie thought.

She understood. That was exactly how she had felt about Porco in the months after Marcel died. That was how she felt when she looked at the vampires she'd been abandoned with for a while after Porco and Pieck disappeared. Armin may have been a good person, but he had also been Eren's best friend, whereas it sounded like Mikasa hadn't even known him for a day. If being around Armin was painful for Mikasa, then she could only imagine how it felt for him.

How difficult must it be to build a genuine friendship around a barrier like that?

Impossible, if you weren't even willing to try.

"...It's complicated," Mikasa finished.

"Sounds like it," Annie murmured. "But... it also sounds lonely."

This, she also understood. That understanding did not make her any less of a vile thing. It did not stop her from taking advantage of a moment of vulnerability and loneliness to draw the other slayer closer to her. Closer to her eventual doom.

"It is," Mikasa admitted. Her words were slow and measured, holding all the weight of an unbelievable, life-changing confession. "But it's... less with you around, I think."

Annie's heart did a funny thing as it tried to stop and speed up at the same time. "Is it?" she asked. The dryness in her mouth was back. She wanted to move closer to Mikasa, even though there were a million reasons why she shouldn't.

"Yeah," Mikasa said. "It's... it's nice having someone around who understands what it's like to be the slayer." Her lips twitched into a small, bittersweet, but genuine smile. Annie's eyes lingered on them. "I'm glad that I met you, Annie."

Annie swallowed heavily. "Me too," she lied. In that moment, she wished that she had never met Mikasa Ackerman. She wished that she'd never even heard of her, that she and her companions had continued with their lives utterly unaware of her existence.

She wished that she didn't have to kill her.

She wished that she didn't want to kiss her so much.

Annie shifted back, only then realizing just how close she had gotten to the other slayer, and stood up. "It's getting late," she said. "We should get patrolling, if you're still interested."

Mikasa nodded, snapping out of whatever trance had fallen between the two of them. "I am," she said.

And that was that.

Or so Annie told herself. Because although she wanted to believe that it was a fluke, that she had caught herself and would be able to continue walking her predetermined path, unwavering and unstoppable...

...In her heart of hearts, she could not deny the tension, that there was tension between them for the rest of the night.

She couldn't quite convince herself that it was gone come morning.

#mikannie #mikasa ackerman #annie leonhart #snk #attack on titan #my fic #my writing #the call

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twilitty · 3 years ago

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Moonlit ch.3

This is the third chapter in my new fic Moonlit, it will be posted on Tumblr, ao3, and ffnet. New chapters uploaded every two weeks. Message/comment to be added to my tag list.

3.4k words

previous chapter

This chapter was not read over by a beta reader, so if you notice any mistakes please let me know in a private message. If you are interested in reading my chapters early and having a hand in the editing process, please let me know via direct message :)

Charlie arrives home from the new doctors household in odd condition. Bella becomes acquainted with a new friend and gets her first driving lesson.

Chapter Three

There’s something oddly comforting about the loud, thunderous engine of my new truck. It successfully blocks out all the thoughts I hope to escape from, and it does so in a way that does not involve the incessant pattering of rain. In fact, it completely eliminates the sound of rain, a miracle I hadn’t thought possible. I can’t imagine I’ll ever manage to repay Jacob for this gift, it means so much more to me than a couple thousand dollars and a way to get around. It’s my escape.

Charlie had gotten back from the new doctor's household late last night, his eyes bleary with sleep and arms hanging limp by his sides in what can only be described as a dead mans walk. I was used to the posture he held, all slumped over and distracted, as if he had gone on a three day long bender and returned empty of adrenaline and a will to stay awake. Renee had come home from too many “spa-retreats'' with that same form. Dead mans walk, that’s what her friend had called it when I brought it up. “Dead on the outside but more alive than you’ve ever felt on the inside,” she had explained with a distant smile, “awful to watch but beautiful to live out.”

It was strange to see my father, the stoic police chief, in that position. Perhaps he enjoyed his time at the new doctors house more than he thought he would, perhaps he enjoyed it enough to come in looking prematurely hungover and drained of energy. I wonder if he was drinking, or dancing, or maybe the new family- I blink my eyes hard, squeezing out all the muted light coming from the kitchen window. Stars dance in front of my vision once I open them again. Don’t think of what Charlie was doing there, I tell myself viciously. Please, I add on as an afterthought, as though my subconscious was privy to social niceties.

The clock on the microwave reads noon hour and my heart stutters. Charlie is still upstairs, dead asleep. He’s the one that wakes me up in the morning, always dressed and with a cup of coffee. But, no, he’s probably just tired from his long shift yesterday and maybe a little hungover. Only a little. In fact, maybe less than a little, maybe he isn’t hungover at all.

Soon, by which I mean no less than two hours after my initial worry over my fathers condition, he emerges from his bedroom and I can hear his footsteps lead into the bathroom. Good, I think, he’s awake before three in the afternoon. That must count for something. Perhaps- My thoughts, aimlessly trying to convince my subconscious that there is no reason for me to worry about the state of my middle-aged father, are interrupted.

“Bella?” Charlie calls quietly from the top of the stairs. He sounds like he just woke up from a long night out. Hangover voice is something I am very familiar with, although not from first hand experience. Any solace I had reached seconds ago comes crashing down into a pile at my feet.

I clear my throat, “Down here!” He comes down, feet stepping lightly on each step so as to barely make a noise. He enters the kitchen with a weary look on his face, as if I’m the one acting out of character. “Yeah?”

“What are you doing up so early?” He asks incredulously. I look at the time in the bottom corner of my computer, nearly two in the afternoon. I look back up at him with my eyebrows pinched.

“Char- Dad, it’s after noon.” My fathers eyes go wide, the whites showing prominently before squeezing down into a harsh blink. He turns to the microwave and his eyes blink violently again. “Dad?”

He doesn’t say anything, but his hands come together at the top of his head, interlacing over the brown hair he passed onto me. “I- I’m getting to work. I’ll see you for dinner.” He mumbles his words, the syllables pouring out into the air without any order. He retreats back upstairs with little more than a squeak on the floorboards, his eyebrows thick over his eyes with worry. The shower turns on quickly and I look back to my computer screen. I have to do some school work, Charlie is a grown man who can take care of himself.

I brew him a fresh pot of coffee, putting the creamer out on the counter even though I know he takes it black.

One of my favourite things about Forks, besides my new truck, is the ever present gloom that seems to permeate any mood you had prior to stepping outdoors. It’s like living in a depressive gothic novel written in nineteenth century England. Obsessively torturing the protagonist with dramatic metaphors and the blatant use of personification with inanimate objects like lampshades and tea kettles. I walk outside and my brain fills with run-on sentences about the state of my personal emotional evolution or the true crime of humanity being the amount of introspection that we would require to understand it. Almost compulsively, I assess my morals and the ethical value of my actions as if the rain draws out my inner philosopher. It’s dramatic and moody and unpleasant to experience.

Yet, I find myself drawn into this trance of deep inner thought and revel in it.

This is what I am doing when I park outfront of The Diner and walk through the front doors. My mind is occupied with drawn out thoughts that sound closer to Shakespeare than a girl who is barely passing her summer courses. My footfalls seem to almost perfectly fall in tune with my thoughts. I wonder if I’m walking funny, I think suddenly with a pointed look at my awkward steps. This is an issue with spending so much time alone in such a gloomy town; you forget other people exist. I pick up the pace of my footfalls and try to let my legs work naturally, but now that I’m aware of my walking I am incapable of walking naturally and feel like an oaf.

It is while I am walking like an oaf that someone calls out, “Isabella Swan?” My shoulders tense up to my earlobes and suddenly my feet are capable of walking without direction and almost steer me back through the front doors. Instead, I look up from my rough boots and meet the smile of the girl standing behind the counter cutting the large room in half. I try to ignore the stares of the other patrons.

The girl standing behind the counter looks to be about twenty and has brown hair just past her shoulders, similar to mine except for the fact that hers is shiny with the indication of product and care. A wave of self consciousness rolls over my shoulders, my dull, limp hair is suddenly as bright as a neon sign in the dead of night. “Bella,” I correct her, forcing myself to step up to the counter. “Everybody calls me Bella.”

She nods knowingly, as if she’s heard this before but just wanted it confirmed. Another wave of self consciousness crashes over me as the possibility of small town gossip arises. Does everybody already know who I am? I don’t like the thought of Charlie telling the town his eccentric ex-wife's daughter is coming to live with him, even if he said it politely.

“Yeah, that makes sense. Isabella is kinda a mouthful and takes like three whole syllables just to say it.” She shoots a hand across the laminate countertop and exposes a line of white, straight teeth. “I’m Jessica, not Jess,” She clarifies with a sarcastic eye roll. I take her hand, warm and soft, in my own and give it a polite shake before letting go. “Nobody calls me Jess, it sounds like it’s short for Jessie and when I think Jessie I think either golden retriever or blonde surfer dude and I am so not either of those things.”

“Jessica’s pretty,” I say with possibly a little too much enthusiasm. I haven’t spoken to someone as bubbly as this girl since Phoenix and I am poorly out of practice.

“She is, isn’t she?” A male voice calls from my right. It’s as if Jessica had spoken it into existence, because suddenly a blond surfer dude- minus the surfer- is sitting only three stools over.

“No, no,” my face flames and I quickly raise my hands in surrender. “I meant her name.” Then, looking at Jessica I see she’s chewing on her bottom lip and her dark eyebrows are scrunched down. I wonder if she practiced this expression in the mirror, it looks too perfect to be impromptu. “I mean, not that you aren’t pretty,” I clarify and her eyebrows shoot up as the blonde boy snorts. “I mean-” But Jessica raises a hand to stop me from torturing myself any further and drops the lip from between her teeth. “Listen, Bella, I know what you mean you don’t have to run in circles.” She says it in a way that insinuates I’m not the first person to fall into this situation with her. “You aren’t the first girl I’ve wooed with my tragically good looks.” This is not what I expected. The blonde boy snorts again but it sounds more like incredulity than a laugh. I open my mouth to interject, though I’m not sure what I will say, and Jessica widens her eyes at me. “Bella, girl, I’m joking.”

My mouth widens into an uncomfortable smile that likely looks closer to a grimace. She shakes her head at me with an expression that reads oh Bella even though we’ve only just met. I get the impression that Jessica is an easy person to be friends with and also decide that I will be coming to The Diner more often. “Now,” She says, “What did you order?”

I recite my order and she pushes open the swinging doors adorned with old license plates and bumper stickers to retrieve it.

“I’m Mike.” This is from the blonde boy, and he says it with a small wave that very much so indicates that he has lived in this town his whole life. People in big cities, people in Phoenix, don’t wave like that. It’s too small and kind and friendly, there isn’t enough neutrality for him to be from a big city. He’s inviting me into a conversation with the impression that I want to be invited. Small towns and sickly rom coms are the only places where this happens.

“Bella,” I respond, although he must already have heard me introduce myself to Jessica earlier. “It’s nice to meet you.” I tack on the last part in a likely failed attempt to come across as if I belong. It’s not that I want to be nice or friendly like Mike, it’s just that this will be far less awkward if I at least try to fit in.

“Likewise.” We lapse into a comfortable silence, or at least he appears to be comfortable in the silence. I am not. My blood seems to have congealed in my veins and is refusing to pump itself into my heart. Am I getting enough oxygen? Yes, yes, I am getting enough oxygen. I know this, but my body does not know this and so instead of trying to formulate some clever comment I try to level out my breathing and suck in as much as possible without seeming weird.

Three uneven breaths later and Jessica pushes out of the kitchen doors holding a large brown bag with a receipt stapled to the folded lip. She places it in front of me and I take a deep breath, suddenly grateful that my lungs are working and for the delicious smelling food. “I’ll pay with debit?” I don’t mean for it to sound like a question but it does. I can almost hear my mother scolding me, you need to be more assertive. You get stepped on if you’re too polite. I know she’s right but I ignore her anyway.

“No need, already paid for,” she says with a wide smile. “The cook says hi.” I take it, then, that the cook is the one who paid for my dinner.

“Oh, really that wasn’t necessary.” I produce my debit card from my pocket, holding it out as if it’s perfect evidence of my ability to pay. “I have money.”

“If you really wanna make it up to me I can take your number.” Renee would like Jessica, she’s assertive. I shake my head a little but still take out my phone and hand it to her. She punches in her number quickly, perfect nails tapping lightly on the screen before handing it back. Her own phone beeps. “Have a nice night, Bella! Text me whenever.”

I say goodbye to Mike and he waves kindly, almost immediately afterwards turning to talk to Jessica. They wave as I leave and I can feel the eyes of The Diner on my back as I leave the building and enter my truck.

It’s almost two days until I get a chance to talk with my mother, and within those days I accomplish more than one would expect of a girl who is so well acquainted with procrastination. Namely, I received a text message from Jessica. We conversed lightly, her with heavy use of emojis and me with improper use of punctuation and perhaps not enough enthusiasm. I know this because almost immediately after I send her my reaction to a movie she watched she calls me.

“Bella,” she says in a tone that insinuates both exasperation and light humour. “I swear, girl, you are so hard to read.”

“I know, my grammar-”

“No, no,” she cuts me off. “I mean I have no idea if you even wanna talk to me or not.” I’m shocked into silence, of course I want to talk to her. I enjoy talking to her. It seems I’ve been severely lacking in the friends department and it’s no recent issue. Ever since Phoenix I’ve remained forcibly independent, it’s nice to have people my age to talk to.

“I- I can use more emojis?” It comes out a question and my mother is back in my head, assertive assertive assertive. Jessica gives a triumphant laugh and I get the impression that this was her goal all along. “Okay, okay, I get it. I’ll try to communicate better.”

She just laughs and we hang up and continue texting, but not before she informs me that we will have to set up a schedule to meet in person. Apparently even with emojis in my armoury I am “more fun” in person. Who would have thought?

Within the two days before I call my mother I also get my first driving lesson with Jacob Black. He drives over in his fathers old truck, which he can no longer use due to the wheelchair. Jacob informs me of this with a smile that tells me he’s inherited the truck.

He bounces out of the vehicle with a giant grin on his face and his hands clasped excitedly behind his back. I could all but feel the excitement radiating off of him in waves. He had come prepared too, as I later found out, when he inserted a CD into my cars radio system. Soft rock echoed sweetly throughout the cab and Jacob drummed his fingers over his knees. “You gotta love ‘em, right?” He asked redundantly. I nodded, not knowing who I had to love or why, but just enjoying sitting next to him and listening to him talk.

He walked me through the gear shift. It sticks when you move directly from park to reverse, so I should always pause on drive for a moment first. We practice this in the driveway a few times before taking to the residential streets. We mostly talk during the drive, him giving me all the Rez gossip and me providing him with the meek details of my online school experience and my conversations with Jessica.

“She’s really nice,” I tell him as the trucks engine growls loudly at the stop light. “Loud, but loud in a nice way.” He nods in the passenger seat as if he completely understands, which I do not find difficult to believe. I wouldn’t be surprised if everybody in town was his friend.

“Yeah, I know a few people like that.” I’m proven correct. “Like there are just so many things going on inside them they can’t contain it.” I nod absently but my mind shifts to the first part of Jacobs comment. I wonder how many friends he has? I can’t imagine he’s unpopular, or even shy, he’s just too exciting and fun. His smile makes me want to smile.

“What?” He enunciates slowly with a slow head turn. I look away quickly, my eyes steadily focused on the bumper in front of us. I didn’t mean to stare at him.

“Nothing.”

“No, what?” I pull into the next lane, making sure to check over my shoulder twice. Maybe if I don’t pay attention to him, maybe if I just ignore- “Is there something on my face?”

I look over, baited into meeting his eyes. A big palm runs over his mouth and he pulls it back as if to inspect it for markings. “No,” I assure him. “There’s nothing on your face.” Then, my lips widen as if with a mind of their own, and suddenly I’m grinning. “I mean other than-”

He guffaws out a laugh before I can finish my comment and looks over at me with a smile mirroring my own. “Bella Swan, were you about to make a joke?” I shoot him a half-hearted glare and realize that this is all too easy with him. Jacob is like an overactive puppy, so easy to excite and quick to make you smile. I also realize that I seem to really enjoy the company of this particular overactive puppy.

“I make jokes plenty of times,” I retort with a quick glance in my rearview mirror. The houses have transitioned into a tree line and the previously residential road boasts a higher speed limit. “You most definitely do not. I remember being kids, you were always the sensible one.” My heart skips and my field of vision narrows to the space above the steering wheel. The road is slick with rain, I doubt I’ll ever see it dry. “You used to ask Charlie to put bandaids in your little backpack, just in case…” his words continue, detailing how mature I was for a first grader. I made decisions way past my age and was the first one to disinfect surface cuts and scrapes. I was the only one to disinfect bloody knees and palms, even though the sight made me sick. “It was like you just had to take care of everybody else.”

He looks over to me, I can see him in my peripheral vision, but instead of looking back I force my lips into an open smile. I hope it comes across as genuine. “I had a thing for first aid.” It’s a poor response. Anybody could see through my shallow sentence and many people would call me out on it. Tell me that for a girl with such a large vocabulary it’s odd for me to suddenly have nothing to say. For a girl who claims to enjoy this boys company I seem to be going out of my way to deter him from ever calling me again.

“Take a left up here,” Jacob says and his hand juts out to point at a beaten gravel road. It cuts into the forest at a haggard angle which makes it nearly impossible to maneuver, but I do so with more than minimal effort and release a heavy breath once we are on it. “Okay, now try to merge back onto the road.”

“What?” The odd, and clearly impossible, request pulls me out of my self-pitying thoughts. “Jake-”

“If you can’t do it that’s fine, just switch seats and I’ll drive.” The devilish glint in his eyes provokes some deep, hidden piece of me that craves competition.

“You just miss Betty,” I say with perhaps a little too much vindication. He doesn’t seem bothered either way and simply shrugs his large shoulders, the russet skin reflecting the light of another car's headlights as it passes on the main road.

“Yeah, I do.”

taglist:

@musingsofvenus @maybesandohnos

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billyhargrove-imagines · 4 years ago

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Kindred Outsiders: Pt. 1

Pairings: Billy Hargrove x OC

Warnings: Cursing

Word Count: 2374

A/N: Hello! This story was originally posted on my fanfiction.com account but I decided to bring it to tumblr as well :) Anyhow, this story is going to take place in the beginning of summer & will later lead up to the events starting in the beginning of season 3. Gif used isn’t mine. Enjoy!

Indiana is…different.

I moved out here merely two weeks ago from Los Angeles, California. My father died from a plane crash over a month ago. He was on his way home from a business trip. My mother, on the other hand, isn't in the picture because she passed away from cancer 5 years ago. I was 15 years old at the time.

I couldn't stand being alone in my father's mansion any longer. It just wasn't the same without him. It caused me nothing but pain having to enter a home where I am not greeted a simple 'hello' from my father. Dinners were always lonely so I ended up resorting to going out with friends almost every night for dinner, followed by drinking at home from my father's in-home bar.

When it came around to bedtime, I felt a pit in my stomach whenever I passed my father's office and didn't see the light shining under the crack of the door. He always worked in his office late.

One day I made a bold move by giving my aunt Joyce a call and moved in with her in Indiana a month after the incident. Aunt Joyce is my father's sister.

Her small house is nothing compared to mine and lacked the useless amenities I was used to. But I didn't care. Living here so far with her, Will and Jonathan was much better than living back in California all alone. Sure, I had friends but it doesn't compare to family.

Since I am an only child of my parents, I inherited all of their money. I also made a selfless decision and paid off my aunt's mortgage. When I told her the news, I was thanked with a slap across the face followed by a tight hug. She never wanted any handouts from my parents in the past and still doesn't til this day.

It is 1pm and I just clocked out for my short shift at this clothing store in the starcourt mall. Yes, I have a great amount of money in my bank account, but I still wanted to keep myself occupied by working a part time job. I didn't want to just sit on my ass all day. Especially since I still don't know what I want to do for my career. I am 20 years old and time is ticking, but I don't want to waste my time and money on schooling when I don't know what the hell I want to do yet.

After every shift I've been stopping by the ice cream shop, Scoops Ahoy and I always see the same duo, Steve and Robin. I've become quite acquainted with them and I learned so far that they're fresh out of high school.

"Let me guess, rocky road?" Steve said with a grin.

"You know me too well, Steve." I replied with a smile, stretching my arm out to hand him cash.

"God Steve. Just ask her out already." Robin added, rolling her eyes playfully and crossing her arms over her chest as she leaned against the back counter.

"Can you not?" Steve snapped his head at Robin, cheeks flushed red.

"Very funny, Robin." I let out a chuckle and waved goodbye to the duo as I licked my delicious ice cream on my way out.

As usual, I took my time walking through the mall. I wanted to make sure I finished my ice cream before I arrived to my car and headed home. A variety of families, couples and friends seemed to be enjoying their shopping trips. Though word on the news is that many local business owners are enraged about the mall being built due to losing business.

A familiar female voice snapped me out of my thoughts. "Hi Victoria!" Aria, my eccentric coworker greeted me, her shoulder-length blonde hair bouncing as she kept up to my steps.

"Hey Aria, I thought you're off today?" I asked, still enjoying my ice cream.

"Yeah I was just shopping around for a gift for my mom's birthday next week." She briefly lifted the shopping bag in her hand. "Did you just get off or are you on lunch?"

"Um, I just got off."

"Yay! I'm going to the pool after this. Join me so I'm not alone!" She suggested. "There's also this hot hot hot lifeguard they hired last week. I went to school with him!"

"Okay sure. But I'm not really into that."

"Come on, Victoria." Aria groaned. "I know you don't have any plans today."

"No I meant the hot lifeguard or whatever. Not into that." I gave a dismissive wave of my hand before taking a generous lick of my ice cream.

"Oh. You're into girls? So sorry. I didn't know."

I snorted in amusement, but internally I was rolling my eyes at her. She's always been quick to make assumptions.

"No no no. I like boys." I made known. "I just don't care to drool over a piece of meat. But I'm down to take a dip in the pool."

"Oh! Okay. Sorry. Sorry again."

"It's fine Aria," I dragged. "I'm gonna go home and change out of this and I'll meet you there."

"Yay! Okay bye!" Aria shouted with glee before going our separate ways. She sure can be annoyingly hyper sometimes, but she's the only real girlfriend I've made here so far. Robin is always working and when she is off, she's always busy doing god knows what.

Like clockwork, my ice cream was finished off before I made it outside to my car. Or should I say my late father's black 1984 Porsche 911. It's quite showy for someone who now lives in Indiana, but this car was my father's baby. I'm never letting go of this.

The Rubberband Man by The Spinners blasted on my stereo as I drove to Aunt Joyce's house. Music from the 70s has always stuck with me. On my face are my favorite pair of black aviator sunglasses.

After a moment of driving down the familiar roads, I pull into the front of my aunt's house. I take the keys out of the ignition, remove my aviators, hop out of my car and enter the non vacant home. "Hey Jonathan." I greeted my cousin who is watching television on the couch with a full plate and fork in his hands.

"Hey there, Vic. You're home early." He said with a full mouth. I hummed in response before scurrying to my bedroom.

I searched through my dresser drawers until I found the perfect bikini for my mood, which is a two piece. I paired my black cheeky bottoms with a neon green strapless top. After quickly peeling off my work attire and slipping into my bikini, I made sure to at least cover up my ass cheeks with denim shorts before throwing on a pair of sandals.

Now I am out the door, tossing my bag of pool essentials in the passenger seat and making sure not to forget my aviators. The sun is at its peak and I am ready to cool off.

Minutes later I pull into the parking lot of the community pool for the first time since moving down here. I've driven past it plenty of times but never had the need to go yet until Aria randomly invited me.

Exiting my car with my bag under my arm and my aviators on, I hear various sounds at a short distance of people enjoying themselves in the water.

The sun is beaming down at me as I'm making my way through the gate, glancing around until I find Aria. "Victoria! Hey!" She shouted with glee, waving her hand. I found her lying on the pool lounger.

"Hey Aria." I greeted, placing my bag on the ground.

"Go on in the pool if you want. I'm waiting for him to show up for his shift. It should be any moment now!"

"Really?" Sitting down at the foot of the empty pool lounger, I shook my head at Aria in disapproval.

She scoffed. "Oh don't give me that look, Victoria." I shook my head at her, dropping my shorts and tossing it in my bag.

Aria let out a gasp out of the blue, sitting up straight. "Speaking of Billy. There he is!"

"Where?" I asked, casually pulling a flask out of my bag. I'm not an alcoholic and I don't plan to get plastered, but a little buzz is well deserved.

Aria doesn't respond. Instead, I scan my surroundings until I spotted the only male lifeguard walking the grounds to my left. He is tastefully shirtless, wearing red swim shorts, a whistle necklace and brown aviator shades. His dirty blonde hair is styled into a mullet, which surprisingly fits his face perfectly.

Billy's head snapped my direction as I'm taking a swig out of my whiskey filled flask. I couldn't tell if he was directly looking at me due to the shades masking his eyes, but all of the women's eyes were on him. And by the swagger of his steps, I can tell he's reveling in it.

"Eh." I shrugged my shoulders, once Billy passed me and sat comfortably in the lifeguard chair. "He's alright." I lied.

From his perfectly tanned skin to his flawlessly sculpted muscles, it's as if his body was made by angels. Even from a distance, I could see that his plump lips could lose any woman in his kiss. But no, I had to feign being unimpressed because a man that looks like that is bad news for me.

"Are you freaking kidding me?" She briskly pulled her sunglasses off, shooting me a look of disgust.

"Are your sunglasses blinding you?"

I snorted. "Nope. I can see perfectly clear."

"Ugh! If you think that Billy Hargrove is just alright, then I don't even want to know what kind of men you consider perfect." Aria mentioned seriously to me as she laid back and placed her sunglasses back on.

"Don't care. I'm going for a dip." I threw my flask back inside my bag before rising to my feet towards the pool to swim a few laps.

Stroking through the water, there is no one alive who can stop me. It's a moment like this that makes me miss the beaches in California. But I close my eyes and lose myself, pretending that's exactly where I am.

Unaware how long I've been swimming to and fro, I do one more lap before I take a break and reward myself with another sip of whiskey.

As I am motioning out of the water and my feet are planted onto the cement, a deep, male voice captures my attention. "Here."

I look and it is the stud himself, Billy Hargrove handing me a towel. "Oh thanks." I accepted with a soft smile, almost hesitant because I have a towel in my bag but I didn't want to seem rude.

I begin pat drying my long, black hair with the towel and begin sauntering towards my designated pool lounger, but Billy halts me, "Hey sweetheart." I spun around to face him with furrowed brows. "What's your name?" He asked, removing his glasses to reveal his annoyingly beautiful, blue eyes.

"Victoria. And you?" I asked even though I already know.

"The name's Billy." He said, randomly placing a piece of gum in his mouth which caused me to catch a glance at his lips, then to his abs and back to his eyes. I swear I saw the corner of his lip quirk up when he caught me. "Nice to meet ya Victoria."

"You too Billy." The sun was so hot that I didn't even need to dry off my body anymore. Instead, I threw the towel over my shoulder.

"Am I mistaken or is this your first time here?" He asked, smacking his gum as he's indiscreetly giving me an elevator look.

"No you're right." Before Billy had the chance to speak any further, I pointed behind him towards the pool. "Hey, I think there's a kid drowning over there."

Just as I predicted, he cautiously looked over his shoulder and that's when I made a beeline towards my pool lounger next to Aria.

"You. Dumb. Bitch." Aria remarked with obvious displeasure as I'm searching for my flask. "I can't be friends with you anymore."

"What now, Aria?"

"Billy the hottie was obviously into you and you blew it! Ugh, the things I'd do to be in your shoes right now."

"Oh please. He's just another pretty boy that wants one thing." I implied before taking a sip. "Go over there and talk to him yourself then." Flickering my eyes, I am now seeing that Billy's back on his lifeguard chair.

"Um no. If Billy wants somebody, Billy always makes the first move. Do I look like I want to embarrass myself right now?"

"If you say so." I said, readjusting the pool lounger so that it was flat and I lied on my stomach, using my arms as a makeshift pillow. "Can you rub sunscreen on me and wake me up in 30. I'm taking a nap."

Being the good friend that she is, Aria stole the sunscreen from my bag and did as I asked. She knows I'd do the same for her.

"I know you can't see right now," she started after a minute of no words exchanged, "but he's looking over here. Probably at your ass." She paused. "I wouldn't blame him though."

She's right. I do have a nice ass.

"Billy can stare all he wants. What do I care?" I uttered lazily, eyes closed and ready to sleep.

"You're insane! If I can't have him, then can you have him for me? And tell me if it is big!" She whisper shouted, rubbing the last bit of sunscreen needed on me.

"Im not having sex with anyone, Aria. Especially not him. I'm taking my nap now."

Billy is just another handsome face with a Calvin Klein body which doesn't impress me because it seems like he's used to getting any woman he wants. But I'm not any other woman, so he can use that charm on the next one for all I care.

#billy hargrove #billy hargrove imagine #billy hargrove x reader #billy hargrove fluff #dacre montgomery #stranger things #steve harrington #steve harrington imagine #steve harrington x reader #joe keery #robin buckley #maya hawke #jonathan byers #joyce byers

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blossom-hwa · 5 years ago

Text

Bloom - HAN JISUNG

did i purposely edit this fic so it had exactly 11111 words? you bet

if you read moonstruck remember what i said about a series of nature spirit stories? well HERE’S PART TWO

(i will add links later because my posts don’t show up in the tags if there are links so anyway screw tumblr ig)

Pairing: Han Jisung x fem!reader

Genre: fluff, angst, nature spirit!au

Triggers: mild violence

Word Count: 11k

The trickster fae are known for destruction, not growth, but one repenting fae helps a mortal bloom.

Spinoffs: Perfect | Tiny Steps (I’ll Hold Your Hand)

SKZ Masterlist | Whispers of Nature

They say danger lies within the forest that marks the southern border of the village. But at this moment, you can’t really bring yourself to care.

If there is danger, let it come. You’re far too tired to think of the consequences of your actions and even if they result in death, you would rather die at the hands of Mother Nature than those of your fellow villagers.

But you forgot about the infamous screech owl. Just the thing that killed several foolish children who ventured into the forest several years ago.

It swoops down without a sound.

You wonder how an animal so large can move so quietly.

Then you see its eyes screaming rage and murder and your body finally moves.

Curses stream from your lips as you throw yourself to the side, landing hard on the pretty green grass. There’ll be a stain on your tunic after this that’ll be a pain to wash off.

If you get out of here alive.

It swoops down again and you veer left, pushing yourself to your feet. Wind whistles and the owl screeches and you scream.

This is how it ends, I guess.

Then something shimmers into being and the owl stops sharply, an expression mimicking your fear rising into its eyes. You remain rooted in place, eyes fixed upon the being in front of you.

The boy looks around your age. He glows in the fading daylight, his bare feet floating above the forest floor. Blonde hair falls down to his neck, and when he turns around, you can see it brushes across the top of his forehead, nearly hanging into his eyes. Green tunic. Brown pants. His clothes are so simple and plain, but he wears them like a prince.

He smiles at you, a heart-shaped smile that leaves you wondering what kind of being he is.

He turns back around and you don’t know what he does, but with a last screech, the owl flies away. You rack your brain for any clues on what this beautiful boy could be, but he faces you again and your mind goes blank.

He’s really rather beautiful.

“Hello.” Even that one word sounds so warm and inviting. Sparkling eyes glimmer with mischief. “What does a beautiful lady like you in this dangerous forest?”

It takes a moment to get your voice back. “Nothing much,” you finally reply.

“Pretty humans don’t belong in forests like this, where danger may lurk in any corner.” He floats a little closer, his glow beginning to warm your skin. He drifts down until he’s standing (is he really standing? He looks a bit translucent) in front of you. If you leaned forward just a few inches, your lips would touch his. “Especially not those with eyes as beautiful as yours.”

Your breath hitches. He’s staring at you with an uncomfortable (yet somehow alluring) intensity that wipes half the thought from your mind. No one has ever stared you in the eye with anything more than malice, fear, or disgust.

And certainly no one has ever said your eyes are beautiful.

“I wanted to be alone,” you get out. “Solitude.”

His eyes sparkle. “Very dangerous,” he says, nodding gravely, but you can see understanding in the curl of his lips. “I don’t know if you’re brave or foolhardy to seek solitude in the forest, especially so close to dark.”

“Foolhardy, probably.” You shiver slightly as the cooling wind sweeps across your skin. “Thank you for your help with the…”

Oh.

Realization fills your mind. Only a few beings could frighten an owl with their mere presence, and only one happens to glow.

He is one of the fae.

“Are you from the faerie ring?”

He has to pick up on your sudden shift in mood. All mortals know that fae can be dangerous, even lethal, in their intentions and tricks. The first thing village children learn is if they ever happen to stray into the forest, they must avoid the faerie ring. The fae have kidnapped many children, and never do they bring them back.

You know the guarded look that must be upon your face – you wear it every time you walk into the village square. But despite your realization, nothing changes on the fae’s shimmering, translucent face – he keeps grinning that same heart-shaped grin. He dips into a deep bow. “At your service, my lady.”

“Oh,” you murmur, stepping back. It’s less of a murmur than an exhale of surprise, really. No one has ever shown you such respect before – even if it is teasing, as this bow seems to be. But when the fae rises, you sense no malice. Only gentle mischief.

Silence stretches between you two until you clear your throat. “Well, Lord fae, thank you for your help with the owl.”

“It was my pleasure.” If possible, his smile grows wider.

“If there was possibly something I could do in return…” you trail off, lost in thought.

“Actually, there is.” His face holds an expression of pure innocence, but glinting eyes tell you too late that you may have made a grave mistake. The fae holds out one hand. “May I have your name?”

You almost say it. After all, when someone asks for your name, it is only polite to give it.

But typically, those who ask for names are not fae, trickster beings of high power. For them, giving a name means giving control. And when names fall upon the wrong tongue…

You don’t want to know what will happen next.

Mouth clamped shut, you think quickly, staring at the outstretched hand. Finally, you speak, words slow and careful.

“Lord fae, I’m afraid I cannot give you my name for it belongs to me and only me,” you reply politely. “But if it so pleases you, you may call me Nae Ireum.”

It’s the oldest trick in the book, telling a fae to call them by “my own self.” You know he would never fall for it and the laughter bursting from his lips tells you that you were right. As he laughs, you school your expression into one of slight amusement, but you know you cannot quite hide your fear.

What if he does not take your refusal lightly?

“Very good,” the fae chokes out, laughter gone. “You are a smart one, my lady.” He drops his hand to his side and smiles widely. “You have been taught well.”

“I taught myself,” you reply in a moment of brazen confidence.

“Then you must be a wonderful scholar.” He winks. “If you will not give me my first request, then at least allow me to escort you to the village.”

What?

You blink. “Why?”

“It would only be proper for a lord to escort his lady safely home,” he teases.

Maybe you smile shyly, but no one but this fae is here to confirm it, so you ignore the heat rising in your cheeks. “I’m not your lady,” you mutter.

“Of course, my lady.” His tone turns cheeky and you realize winning against this fae will not be possible. So instead of releasing the retort upon your lips, you only sigh. He grins in victory. “Let’s go!”

He stays with you for the entire hour-long walk back to the village, keeping you occupied with flirty words and teasing grins that make you feel as though you are simply speaking to a handsome boy, rather than a millennia-old fae of the forest. For the first time in years, you feel light of heart. His gaze rarely strays from yours but he does not make you feel uncomfortable, not even with your strange green eyes. No, he speaks to you like a human being, like someone who has a life and a story and a soul.

The sky is nearly dark by the time you reach the edge of the forest. “Thank you, Lord fae,” you whisper, feeling suddenly shy. His glow and his gaze make you feel warmer in the sunset.

His heart-shaped grin grows gentler. “It was my pleasure. If I could, I would kiss your hand.” He winks. “Alas, this form will not allow me to do so. Be safe, my lady. And keep the tears out of your eyes – it will only make them more beautiful.”

With those last parting words, he disappears into a soft flash of light, and you are left to wonder if the last few hours were only a figment of your imagination.

. . . . .

Jisung dozes slightly one day in the warm light of the fae realm. The queen seems to be in a good mood, for the weather is pretty and picturesque, and even the pixies have ventured out of hiding to dance among the waving blades of grass.

In the past, Jisung may have toyed with them, played little pranks and sent them fleeing back into their gardens. He would have laughed at their hatred towards his kind and taken pleasure in heightening that hate. But today, he only keeps his eyes closed and lets the pixies flit around him. So long as they cause no harm, he won’t either.

Then a small disturbance triggers in the back of his mind and he sits up, a half-frown, half-smile upon his face. Someone is near his faerie ring.

Maybe it’s the person he hopes it will be.

Green eyes flash through his mind. Not the forest green of the dryads (who didn’t wake up the entire time you and Jisung were causing a ruckus, which is really a testament to how soundly they sleep), but paler, realer, more intense. Still, though, Jisung finds one thing in common between your eyes and theirs: your quiet strength. The strength of the earth.

Jisung wouldn’t mind seeing you again.

He summons himself to the ring, where a pleasant surprise greets him. At the sight of your shocked face, he grins. “Back so soon, my lady?”

Your bright green eyes look slightly dazed, which is to be expected – the ring has power, and it likes to pull unsuspecting mortals towards it. Thankfully, you have enough presence of mind to resist, though Jisung feels a little put out by your backing away.

“Yes,” you answer shortly. You shake your head slightly as though shaking off the pull of the ring, and when you look up again, your eyes are clearer.

“For solitude again, or for something else?” His smile grows wider as he comes to a realization. “Perhaps you just couldn’t wait to see me again? After all, you took the trouble to find my ring.”

He prays he doesn’t sound too hopeful.

You snort. “As if,” you sniff, though your eyes betray your amusement. “I came out of curiosity. To see if I could find the forbidden faerie ring.” Your legs wobble slightly, as though you’re tired. You very well might be – Jisung knows you must be a long way from your village. He lies down flat on his back, hoping you get the message. When you sit cross-legged next to the ring, he knows you have.

“You dare sit in the presence of your Lord fae?” Though his voice sounds affronted, your nonplussed look tells him you see the lightness in his eyes.

“I believe you are trapped within your ring, Lord fae,” you deadpan. “If the legends are true, it weakens your magic.”

“Perhaps.” The wind blows, and Jisung relishes the feeling of fresh air against his brow. “But I could still curse you and your family from within this ring.”

“If you wanted to curse me, you would have just let the owl have its way,” you point out.

Jisung laughs, truly laughs. It’s been a long time since he’s spoken to someone new, and he is very glad that you are the someone new. “Astute observation, my lady.” With a sigh, he pulls himself up and winks at you. “A lady with a mind as sharp as her eyes are beautiful.”

The same sparkle rises in your shy eyes and Jisung delights in the sight. Truthfully, you are not the most beautiful woman he has seen. Over his millennia in the fae realm and the mortal plane, he has seen many fae and humans who are more conventionally gorgeous than you. But your eyes are alluring, your smile is sweet, and even with your quick tongue, you exude a sort of elegance and tired kindness that Jisung hopes will never fade.

“You’re not translucent anymore,” you note. Jisung knows you’re trying to change the subject and kind of wants to keep teasing you, but he’s in a good mood today so he lets you keep going. “Does that mean you’re fully bound to the ring?”

You really do know your legends. Jisung is impressed. “You are correct, my lady.” His smile only wavers very slightly. “When I accompanied you back last time, I sent a fragment of my soul. It was not my physical being.”

He then waits for the inevitable next question – “Why are you bound to the ring?”

It was the first thing Changbin asked when the faerie ring appeared. It was what all the dryads asked when they sensed the presence of their new neighbor. In fact, the only ones who hadn’t asked Jisung what happened were Hyunjin the water nymph and Chan the guardian, and that was because they were the reason why Jisung had ended up bound to the ring in the first place.

But the question that comes from your mouth is not the one he expects. “How does that happen? How do you separate your soul into different parts?” Your eyes are wide with curiosity, but not for him. For fae in general. Somehow, that comforts Jisung much more than attention on him would.

So he struggles to explain the process, fumbling over his words in a way that no Lord fae should, but you only nod and listen and smile and frown with singular concentration. You listen to his words closely, asking more and more questions until Jisung can’t answer them anymore and is forced to admit his lack of knowledge on the topic.

“So the Lord fae is not all-knowing, I see,” you tease. The sun has just begun to set and you are standing up, brushing bits of grass and leaves from your clothing. The blue tunic may look faded, but against the backdrop of the forest, you look like you could be a gentle nymph. One who helps, not harms.

“Did I ever claim that I was?” Jisung shoots back. He won’t lie – he can’t lie, in fact – his pride is a little bruised. However, his pride is not worth as much to him as it used to be. He can’t help the laugh that escapes from his lips again – he likes you too much. “Will you need an escort home?”

“You would escort me anyway even if I said no.” But despite your resigned tone, you look at him with a smile on your face.

“You are not wrong in that statement.” He grins. “Shall we go, my lady?”

(The next time you see him, you ask for his name. “If it so pleases you,” he grins, repeating your words, “you may call me Han.”)

. . . . .

Several months pass and you are very proud to say you haven’t shown Han your crying face once since the first meeting. But comfort and solitude were what drove you to the fae in the first place, and it is hard to pull up such deep roots.

You arrive at the ring with your tears mostly gone, but eyes still puffy and rimmed with red. You don’t call for him this time – in fact, you’re half-hoping he doesn’t come, so you don’t have to reveal this weak side that disgusts and saddens you.

You wish you were born stronger. Strong enough to fight the villagers’ sharp words and disgusted looks, strong enough to at least run away. But you can barely feed and clothe and shelter yourself as it is, so there is little to no chance of either event happening.

“There’s my lady.” Han’s teasing voice sounds beside you and on reflex, you look around slightly. Quickly, though, you drop your head, staring straight at the grass in front of you.

“What’s this?” You hear the rustle of grass, indicating that he, too has sat down. “My lady won’t respond to me?” The mischief in his voice turns to concern. “What’s wrong, my lady? Why are there tears in your pretty eyes?”

Because my eyes are a blight upon my being.

Because they bring the hatred of the village upon me.

Because no matter what you say, I can’t think of them as truly beautiful.

Because you may be lying to me.

“Han.” Your voice is small but steady and you take comfort in that. Still, you do not look at him. “Do you truly believe my eyes are beautiful? Or are you only playing another fae trick upon a poor mortal like me?”

Silence.

“My lady.” His voice is serious, yet you can sense the small smile in his tone. “With all your knowledge of the legends of my kind, will you tell me that you don’t know that we cannot lie?”

Embarrassment crawls up your skin. You do know the legend, but truth is multifaceted. There are many loopholes that the fae dearly love to exploit. “I do know, Lord fae,” you say, “but when you say my eyes are beautiful, it does not mean that you find them beautiful. It only means that at least one being between our planes finds them beautiful. It does not mean that person is you.” You snort. “And it certainly is not a member of my village.”

A sigh escapes from the lips of the fae next to you. “You never cease to amaze me,” he mumbles, more to himself than to you. “Your words are true. Yet I will promise you that I have only thought of myself when I tell you that your green eyes are some of the most beautiful I have ever seen.”

The tears start welling up again and you can’t bring yourself to look at the fae. Your mind knows his words must be true, for fae cannot break promises and they cannot tell lies, but your heart cannot believe it.

“Do you know what your eyes remind me of?” he asks.

You still don’t look up.

His tone turns a little pleading. “My lady, please look at me.”

You finally do, red-rimmed eyes and tear-stained cheeks and all.

“They remind me of freedom.” A small, different smile plays upon his lips. It isn’t sad, exactly – more nostalgic. Wistful.

“Freedom,” you echo.

“I was not always bound to this faerie ring, you know?” His tone is a little teasing, a little self-deprecating, a little angry, but also a little repentant. “When I was free, I used to travel the earth. It was green, green as far as the eye could see. It was beautiful.” He smiles at you. “Your eyes are the same green as my Mother Earth.”

You’ve never seen him this way – pensive, wistful, a far cry from the teasing sarcasm and snark you are used to. Your fingers itch to touch him, to comfort him, but sense still overrules your heart. To place a limb inside the ring could possibly be suicide. You will not risk that.

(Yet.)

The rest of your time together passes in silence. He doesn’t ask for an explanation of your state and you don’t offer him one, only taking comfort in the whispering quiet of the forest around you and Han’s warm presence beside you. As the sun begins to set, he asks if you would like an escort home. The smile on your face is more genuine as you stand up and nod.

The walk is also silent, though not uncomfortable or strange. But as you reach the edge of the forest, as he’s just about to disappear, you whisper, “Thank you.”

Han flashes you his heart-shaped grin – a little gentler, a little less teasing than usual. “Of course, my lady.”

. . . . .

One month. A full month passes before Jisung senses your presence near the faerie ring again. He reappears with a half-upset, half-overjoyed smile on his face, ready to teasingly berate you for not coming sooner and interrogate you on the reasons why. But the teasing words die upon his lips when he sees your state.

Because for all the sadness and strange words of your last meeting, he never expected that this was the reason behind your silence.

He’s never seen these bruises and cuts upon your skin before. A couple of faded scrapes are normal for anyone, and a few small bruises from when you fell, trying to get away from the owl. But this time, blotches of purple and green litter your arms while a small but fresh, healing cut slices your shoulder. A black bruise mars your right eye.

Jisung’s fingers itch to take your hand, to pull you close, to examine each and every cut and bruise upon your skin and exact revenge from those who caused them. For once, he wants to leave the ring for a reason other than to satisfy his selfish desire for freedom.

But he cannot. The invisible walls of the perfectly-shaped ring prevent him from touching you the way he wants.

“Who did this to you?” he murmurs instead, trying to hold back growing anger. “And why?”

You smile a little as you sit, though it’s cynical and sad and nothing like the genuine happiness you have shown him before. “Someone heard me speaking to you the last time you walked me back.”

“And?” Jisung pulls bits of grass from the ground out of frustration. “What of it?”

“They think I’m a witch.” Your clear, green eyes stare into Jisung’s, and suddenly, everything makes sense.

Why you wanted solitude.

Why you cried last time.

Why you asked him those strange questions about what he thought about your eyes.

He sits in silence as you explain. They think the devil took your soul when you were young, you tell him, and he cursed you with those horrible green eyes. The eyes are too different, too strange for the villagers to accept in their rural beliefs. They think of you as an abomination. The only reason they have not killed you yet is because they are afraid that watering the earth with devil blood will only make the Mother angry.

“Your parents?” he asks when you fall silent.

You laugh, but the sound holds no mirth. “They wish I were dead.”

Jisung stays quiet as he tries to wrap his mind around that. The closest thing to a mother he’s ever had is the Faerie Queen, and though she deals harsh punishments at times (he is exhibit number one), she has never wished death upon her subjects. She is mischievous, capricious, and a lying trickster, but to her subjects she is just and fair. She would give up her life for them.

Your voice breaks into his thoughts. “The other villagers pity them,” you continue, “so they get attention and pity and sorrow. I get nothing.” You pause. “Except you.”

He doesn’t know why that hits him so hard. You only spoke two short words. But those words give him such an indescribable warmth in his chest that he can barely control his intense desire to hold your face between his hands with the gentlest touch of the wind.

“So I couldn’t visit for a month,” you continue, oblivious to Jisung’s predicament. “They suspected I was going out to do witchy things, so I had to stay in the village so suspicions would fade away. I go out on my own a lot, anyway. They usually leave me alone unless something bad happens.”

“Why?” Jisung asks, recovering himself.

The cynical smirk on your face makes Jisung feel like his heart is breaking in half. “Because they blame it on me.”

To be fairly honest, Jisung doesn’t exactly know what to say to that. Sure, he’s been blamed for some small things he didn’t commit, but the faerie queen has her Sight and he’s always been acquitted. All his punishments have been justified, something he’s reflected on over the thousands of years he’s remained bound to this ring.

He can’t understand the injustice of your situation. Humans think fae are the tricksters and the manipulators, but how much better are they, with their aversion to strangeness and any sort of difference?

“Humans,” he huffs quietly, angrily pulling out another blade of grass. He does it with such force that he can hear the grass scream in pain. His eyes widen as he sees all the little piles of grass he’s pulled up around him and immediately he soothes a hand over them, attaching them back to their severed roots.

“I’m a human,” you point out with little venom. In fact, you’re staring at his hands with a hint of wonder and awe upon your face, nothing even close to annoyance or outrage. “But you’re not wrong.”

Jisung doesn’t know what to say in response.

“I don’t know, though.” You look up at him again and your eyes are impossibly clear. Minutes ago they were cloudy and upset and confused, but now they hold only clarity of thought. “What if I didn’t have green eyes?”

There’s another unspoken question that Jisung can hear as clear as day.

Would I have grown up exactly like them?

Jisung can’t deny that you probably would have. That had it not been for all of the misfortune caused by your strange green eyes, you would have been a happy, but clueless and far less accepting villager than you are today.

In all likelihood, you probably never would have met him.

“Your eyes have more benefits than simply making you beautiful,” is all he replies. He thinks for a moment. “I haven’t experienced all your sorrow so perhaps you will think the opposite, but I think your green eyes have given you more fortune than misfortune in creating your character.”

You don’t smile. You only nod. But the deep gray clouds that envelop your head clear, bit by bit, until the last tear has dried on your face and your lips rest in a neutral line, instead of turned down at the tips.

If Jisung weren’t bound to the ring, he would hold your scarred hand tight, as tight as he could without hurting you, to give you some sort of comfort to anchor you to your Mother Earth. But since he can’t, he contents himself with the fact that he can see the shining glimmer he yearns to see returning to your beautiful eyes.

. . . . .

Some villages call it May Day. Others call it Earrach. A traveler once told you, far away in Gaul, they call it le Jour de Printemps.

Your village just calls it the spring festival. Simple, formal, traditional, just like your village’s relationship with your Mother Nature. She gives you the fertile earth with which to grow the crops you celebrate in fall, during harvest season.

Well, not you. Them. You haven’t gone to a spring or harvest festival in years.

The air around your little shack is even more silent than usual, with all the villagers gone to the square to celebrate the new planting season. Girls in their white and pink dresses, boys in their buttoned shirts and nicest pants. Every family, no matter how poor, owns a set of clothing to wear for the spring and harvest festivals. If they are too poor to make one themselves, a neighbor will pass over a hand-me-down, or even sew a new one.

You weren’t an exception, at first. If you looked carefully, you could probably find an old white rag or two that used to be a spring festival dress. But as you grew older, fewer villagers wanted to take notice of you, so you have no traditional spring gown to wear for today.

There is one set of nice clothes you sewed for yourself a few years back, however. It isn’t pure white for spring, nor pastel pink for fall. It’s pale blue. But the village weaver charged a price sky-high for the nice cloth he makes specially for the festivals (even though he sold it to the next mother for half the price he gave you), so you ended up with this instead.

Not that you can really complain. The fabric is soft and clean, if a bit dusty – a result of not having worn it in over a year – but you’ve taken care of it. For what reason, you never really knew.

Maybe Mother Nature was quietly preparing you for today. Nudging you to make a dress and preserve it so that you could look presentable on the first spring festival day in years that you are no longer alone.

Still, though, you’re not quite sure why you slip on the flowy blue dress that feels so comfortable against your skin. You don’t understand why you don’t put on another one of your rougher tunics, slip on the trousers that have grown a little loose against your thinning waist. You’re not sure why you find yourself running the wooden comb through your hair not just until it’s untangled but until it’s smooth, and you’re not sure why you braid some of it back from your face in a style you have seen some of the merchant girls wear.

Black slippers, still worn but not as tattered as your everyday boots, go on your feet to finish the look. The dress doesn’t fit very well – you’ve only gotten skinnier since you made it – and the shoes are a little too tight, but no matter. You have no mirror so you couldn’t try to primp even if you wanted to, so you take a deep breath and head into the woods, ignoring the faint music and cries of laughter in the distance. And when you walk into the clearing where the faerie ring lies, you don’t have to wait a second before he appears.

He calls you “my lady,” again, with that same flirty grin he wore the first day you met. You don’t know why those two words mean so much to you. At first, they meant nothing, really – they only served to make you smile a little bit because, well, that was Han. Han the fae. That was what he was – flirty, grinning, a distraction. A glowing light in the middle of a village of gray.

For the last few times you visited, he didn’t call you by your nickname. Maybe it was just the look on your face because you know you didn’t feel the best on those last few trips. In fact, most of them were spent in comfortable silence or murmured conversations. You haven’t heard your nickname in a while.

Now, those words feel like they mean so much more than they used to. His tone is still flirty, his lips still smiling his heart-shaped smile, but he looks warmer. Feels warmer.

And though you should never feel this way around a fae and their ring, you feel safe.

“Why the fancy dress, my lady?” Han asks, jolting you out of your thoughts. His grin has only grown wider – is it trembling? No, it can’t be, there’s no reason for him to do so – and he’s looking at you with eyes that have never sparkled this brightly before.

You open your mouth to respond before realizing you don’t have an answer. Why did you dress up, really? What was the point?

You opt for a simple response that doesn’t really answer the question. “It’s the spring festival.” You sit down on the grass, careful not to wrinkle your dress. “I wanted to dress up a little for once.”

Even as you say it, though, you know that’s not the full reason.

“You don’t usually dress up, then?” he asks, sitting down as well.

How do you answer that question without giving the truth away through your expression?

The answer: you don’t. In fact, you haven’t even spoken a word before Jisung’s grin turns into one of mischief. “So you dressed up for me!” he sings.

“What – no –” you splutter, desperately trying to keep up a façade of calm as your cheeks heat up. You deny it, even as his eyes crinkle into slits of joy and mischief, as he laughs and teases your attempts at hiding your embarrassment. But in the end, you have to give up. He will drag this on forever if you don’t.

And the more you think about it, he was part of the reason you wanted to look nice. For once in your life, you wanted to look beautiful for someone whom you cared about. For someone who might care about you.

For someone whom you want to care for you.

“In all seriousness, my lady,” Han says when the two of you have calmed, “you look enchanting. Even more so than usual.”

The gentle, heart-shaped smile he imparts to you makes your heart jump, and you feel warmer inside than you have in years.

. . . . .

A lull in the conversation occurs just after noon, when the village is so loud and joyful that you and Jisung can hear music and laughter from all the way up on your forested hill. Jisung takes the silence as an opportunity to gauge your true feelings today.

He knows you must feel at least some happiness. Your laugh and smile and snark and sarcasm have all been quite natural. However, as your eyes wander over to where the music is coming from, he notices a soft, sad, wistfulness that overtakes your expression, leaving a shadow of your previous joy in its wake.

Jisung knows enough about human customs that on festivals like this, they dance. Girls dress up in flowy frocks while boys put on their starched shirts and they whirl about, smiles and laughter abounding.

Your dress is a dance frock. Your slippers are dancing shoes. With a pang, he realizes you shouldn’t be here. You should be with friends, kicking up grass as a handsome boy or two or three spin you around in celebration.

“You know, if you want to dance, you could dance with me,” he says softly. Truly, today, he means no deceit. He hasn’t in a long while, in centuries, really, but today he wants you to know it and be sure of it. He wants you to know that he means no harm to you.

That he will never mean any harm to you.

Your eyes snap to him, gaze guarded and unreadable. He swallows but continues. “Come into the ring,” he proposes. “I promise I won’t hurt you.”

“You know as well as I do that a fae does not make a promise without expecting something in return.”

Jisung can tell you don’t mean to hurt him with this statement. After all, his brethren are not known to be the kindest of Mother Earth’s creatures. He himself used to be less than friendly. So he doesn’t take offense at your words and only notes the longing gaze you give the ring that speaks far more than your cool words.

Your words are true. A promise for a promise – that has always been the way of the fae. But Jisung doesn’t know what he could ask from you in return.

But he does. It’s always been at the back of his mind, he thinks, but he hasn’t allowed himself to dwell on that until now. There is something he wants – one thing, something beyond even his own freedom. Because he feels like if he has this thing you could give him, he would feel free even in the confines of his ring.

Promise me your love.

But he doesn’t say it. Many of his fellow fae delight in ruining love, in causing mischief and strife between couples, in raining heartbreak upon those foolish enough to fall. But his punishment has taught him the consequences of meddling with affairs of the heart. Centuries of being bound to the faerie ring have given him enough time to think and ponder and discuss such subjects with Chan, the wise forest guardian, Changbin, the quiet moon child, and even Hyunjin, the water nymph who used to loathe him.

Jisung will not interfere with love. If his experience with Hyunjin has taught him anything, it is that true love is just that – true. It cannot be coerced or threatened in or out of existence.

He is sure he feels true love for you. But a heart must be given, not taken, so he does not ask for yours.

“Then promise me your happiness,” he finally bargains. “Promise me that for the rest of today, you will laugh, that you will smile, and that it will all be real.”

“You request something easier said than done,” is your quiet reply. “Why not ask for something tangible? Something stronger, more powerful?”

“Are you saying there is something more powerful to me than a simple smile upon your face, my lady?” His lips curl slightly. “If you are asking me to be more selfish, believe me, this is my most selfish desire – to always see happiness upon your face. For your happiness brings me mine.”

Sunlight dazzles on your blue-clad figure, sparkling on your shining hair and face. As Jisung waits for your response, he can’t help but think that the broad daylight only heightens your earthly beauty.

You are no willowy, graceful moon child, it’s true. But you are a true child of the earth. Rooted, solid, steady, nurturing, loving.

And Jisung could think of nothing more perfect.

It’s a very slow smile that spreads across your lips, but as it does, Jisung thinks that perhaps it is the most beautiful smile of all.

“Then, Lord fae,” you begin quietly, “make your promise, and I will make mine.”

“I promise that I will allow no harm to come to you here from the moment you enter this ring,” he whispers, his breath nearly catching in his throat.

“And I promise to smile with only true happiness for the rest of this spring day.” Your green eyes shine.

Jisung holds out a hand, feeling his fingertips touch the invisible barrier that keeps him trapped within the faerie ring. Then he feels a different sensation, one he hasn’t felt in centuries – warm skin against his own.

The same slow smile remains upon your lips as you look up at him, fingers loosely grasping his own. And with the simple grace of a fluttering leaf, you step into the ring.

. . . . .

The year’s summer is not a kind one. Warm, humid heat rests heavy upon the village, and bugs fly everywhere. You live rather out of the way, so when you’re at home, you don’t get the full force of the bugs and illness, but when you go to the marketplace, you see the effects on the rest of the village.

Red bites littering tanned skin. Clammy sweat dripping into dazed eyes. The absence of a single cool breeze makes the heat almost unbearable as you quietly make your rounds.

Many shopkeepers are absent that day.

You expect what’s coming next. They will bar you from the marketplace in the hopes that keeping away the witch will keep away the sweltering symptoms of a sweaty summer and the dreaded summer sickness.

So the day comes when you are forced to turn away from the market – not that the handful of coins in your pocket would have bought much anyway – and head back home. Only this time, you don’t have to go as hungry as previous years. In the shady forest, you tell Jisung of your predicament, and though he looks a bit like he wants to make the villagers suffer, he only shows you a few places where you can gather wild, edible plants, so long as you thank the Mother Earth for them and leave enough to grow.

“They really think you are a witch?” Jisung asks quietly one hot afternoon, when even the shade of the forest isn’t enough to keep away the overwhelming heat of the day. You’re back at the faerie ring, a basket of fruit next to your figure lying prone on the ground. Sweat drips down your face and onto the grass, but when you look over, Jisung doesn’t even look warm. He looks the same as usual.

Once upon a time you might have been unnerved by how otherworldly he is. Upon first glance, he is perfect, almost unimaginably so. You remember the first day you saw him in the forest. If you’d been in your right mind, you might have bowed to him as a god.

Yet after so many conversations and walks and lazy afternoons, to you, he is human. He stutters. His mouth can’t keep up with his mind sometimes. He has flaws. And he looks like a human boy, a boy with whom you could easily fall in love. Deep brown eyes that always hold a twinkle of mischief. Heart-shaped lips that look so kissable. Round cheeks that you could squish all day.

There is no use in fighting it, really. You are in love with your Lord fae, and you can do nothing about it. Every day you see him feels like another step into his dizzying embrace, another step into his full heart.

You think you’ve been falling for him this whole time, really. Perhaps on that first day, when he showed up and saved you from the screech owl and labelled your eyes as “beautiful,” it was not yet love. Maybe a simple crush. But on the afternoon you came to the ring with puffy eyes and tearstained cheeks and he only teased and comforted you, you think your crush started turning into love.

He makes you feel safe. If he didn’t, why else would you keep coming to the ring? Why else would you have stepped into the ring, and danced with him with no music until sunset?

But he’s still a fae. Despite your love for him and everything he’s done for you, everything he’s promised you, you can’t help but still second-guess his true intentions. Fae are not known for their kindness – only their ability to exploit lies and their inability to break promises.

He’s never made a promise to you that he hasn’t kept, one half of your brain reminds you.

He’s only made a few promises to you, though, the other side reasons.

You nod to Han’s question, too hot and tired to do anything more.

“Do you want to know what a real witch is like?”

When you look up, his eyes are smiling with his lips, telling you that the grin is genuine. The knowledge of this only makes your lips curl until you’re smiling too, and the heat of the day falls away as you sit up to listen carefully.

Han tells you the lore behind witches, a race that rarely comes into the open. They do not fly on brooms or stir bubbling iron cauldrons filled with poisoned liquids, he says, but they do make potions and they do perform spells (in cauldrons of other metals, for iron burns magic). Just like humans, there are good witches and evil witches. The good ones often remain in hiding, posing as doctors and apothecarists, while the evil ones wreak their havoc. That, he tells you, is why humans have such twisted feelings about them.

“You are not a witch, my lady,” he concludes, looking over at you. The setting sun has tinted the sky pink and the light makes a pretty flush against Han’s skin. Your heart speeds up when you see the softness in his face. “Witches are born of at least one witch parent, and your parents are villagers. I sense no magic from you. So if they call you a witch again, know that they are the ignorant ones, not you.”

“You always know what to say to me, Han,” you murmur, ignoring the thumping in your chest. “Thank you.” The words rise to your lips before you can stop them. “I always feel safe with you.”

His hand lifts slightly as though to touch your face, but you are not inside the ring today – you haven’t entered since the day you danced with him. So his fingers lower, and even though you think it best for the two of you, you still ache for the feeling of his warm skin on yours. “Do you remember the promise I made you last spring festival?” he asks.

“You promised you wouldn’t hurt me when I entered your ring,” you reply, curious as to why he’s bringing that up now.

“Perhaps, but you do not remember my wording.” He smiles. “I promised you that I would allow no harm to come to you here from the moment you stepped into the ring.”

It takes your mind a few seconds to work through that. Then everything clicks. “You –”

“You will always be safe in the ring,” Han interrupts, his eyes shining with softness. “Always.”

You feel a tear bubble in your eye but you blink it away, hoping he doesn’t notice. “Thank you,” you whisper.

He smiles again. “Of course, my lady.”

. . . . .

As the days pass, as the heat gets worse, you finally tell him of the summer sickness. The sweats, the chills, the fevers that overtake the villagers in this hot, humid weather.

You don’t have the fever. Many times you have reassured Jisung that the sickness never touches you – you live too far away from the village to catch it from someone else. Anyway, they always kick you out of the marketplace at the beginning of summer, so you don’t have any chance to get it. Bugs don’t really touch your little hill either.

But the sickness still takes a toll on you. Perhaps you don’t grow ill, but Jisung can see the sick fear growing in your eyes, in your shortened visits to the forest. A new splotchy bruise appears on your leg and you tell him you tripped over a rock.

That’s a lie.

After he doesn’t see you for fourteen days straight, he sits you down when you finally return, voice trembling, and demands an explanation. He cares about you so much, he realizes, his heart can barely stand it. When you didn’t come day after day after day –

“My lady, I thought you were gone forever,” he chokes out, trying to keep the wobble out of his voice.

Your eyes immediately fill with guilt and sorrow and you bite your lip harshly, eyes downcast. “I’m sorry,” you whisper, words wavering.

“Just…” Jisung swallows. “Just tell me why. Did I do something? Or was it the village again?”

So you tell him. The summer sickness is worse this year, worse than any other year you’ve been alive. Four children have already died, as have two adults and one of the village elders. And the villagers need someone to blame it on.

Jisung wants to personally set fire to the entire village when he hears that. He can’t imagine how anyone could have the heart to look you in your strange, sharp, green eyes and say that you are the cause for an entire village’s troubles. That your lovely green eyes are the mark of a devil.

How narrow-minded could a person be to not see the beauty that lies in your character?

But he used to be the same way, he realizes with a jolt. Humans, to him, used to be mere playthings with no emotions, no lives, no meaning. They existed for his entertainment and that was all. Perhaps he did not see them as the cause for every single one of his troubles, but isn’t the thought the same? He didn’t see humans as real, living beings, just as the villagers don’t see you as one either.

He is glad he has changed. He hates the Jisung he used to be, but at least he has grown from that terrible prankster fae. He truly is glad he has changed.

He is glad he met you after he changed.

“So I couldn’t come over for a while,” you say, breaking into his thoughts. “I… I didn’t want them to have more reasons for thinking I’m a witch. It’s bad enough that I’ve never come down with the sickness. If I had, maybe they wouldn’t think I was the reason.”

Jisung wants to take your hand. He misses the feeling of your fingers intertwining with his. It made him feel safe. Cared for. Loved.

He settles for letting his fingertips touch the edge of the ring, pressing against the invisible barrier that keeps him from leaving. And after a few seconds, you place your hand down to touch your fingertips against his.

It is enough for now.

“Remember, my lady,” he whispers, refusing to look away from your eyes that always drag him in. “You’ll always be safe in the ring. No matter what.”

Even though you duck your head to nod and Jisung can’t see your green eyes, he knows that there are tears in them. He can see it in your slightly-trembling shoulders, in your fingers that shake against the steady earth.

And his heart aches for your troubles, hoping they will end soon.

. . . . .

The worst is always yet to come and you realize this as you’re sprinting, barefoot, over the forest floor. Your time in the village was never going to last. Sometime or another, a fuse was going to light the bomb created by your existence.

The fuse comes in the form of the fifth child’s death from summer sickness.

They came to your shack with old pitchforks and kitchen knives and rusted swords. You heard the shouts, saw the torches, and there were only two words echoing through your mind.

Run away.

You might’ve gotten away without them seeing if you hadn’t made so much noise wrestling through the bushes. On a normal day, the noise doesn’t matter because no one comes around here and you can trample over whatever you want. But it is night, the villagers are screaming bloody murder, and you don’t have time to worry about stealth.

When they reach the edge of the forest, their torches simply burn the bushes to the ground. Your head start is dwindling fast and you waste more of it as you stand at the edge of the forest, all of the warnings you’ve been given about the forest racing through your head. It may be safer during the day, you think, but what horrors lie in the dark of night?

Then Han’s words, soft and clear and kind, push them all away.

“You will always be safe in the ring.”

His smile.

“Always.”

You steel yourself and dart into the trees.

Pure instinct fuels your body. You can’t see anything except for the faint glow of fire behind you and the farther away that is, the better. Trees materialize out of nowhere and their branches catch in your flying hair. Rough stones slice your feet. A small animal races past your feet and you have to stifle a scream. More than once a sinister presence lingers in the shadows as you fly past, but you cannot take the time to give into your terror.

Torchlight burns. Voices shout. The forest fills with fear – the villagers’ fear of you, your fear of them, nature’s fear of you all. You stumble over hidden rocks and bumps and bushes and all the time you’re wondering where is the ring? Why am I not there yet? Is this the right way?

But then you see the sparkle of the pond nearby, a pond you have seen so many times on walks with your fae (in his transparent form, of course). He’s told you many stories of the water nymph there. But today you don’t care about Hwang Hyunjin. His pond only serves as a marker. As something to show you your path.

The race uphill is nearly torture. Without your shoes – even the tattered ones – the hill feels so much rougher and stonier than it normally does. Even the bed of grass can’t fully disguise the sharp bumps that dig into your feet.

He isn’t in the ring. You didn’t expect him to be, not now, but for a moment, your mind flails wildly.

What if your fae doesn’t come?

A glance behind tells you the villagers are still chasing. A few are climbing up the hill. You have no choice.

��HAN!”

You jump into the ring.

For a moment, the ring is empty save for only you. The first villagers trample nearer but their steps grow slower and their howls of rage and fear turn to frightened shouts and whispers as they realize where they are. You lie in a heap on the ground, all heaving gasps and shaking limbs and trembling lips.

Then warm arms embrace you, pulling you close to a chest with a steady heartbeat that calms your erratic mind and breath. Han’s thumbs stroke smoothly, sweetly, on your skin, and the pent-up tears begin to escape your cursed eyes.

“You are safe,” he whispers in your ear. “In my ring, you will always be safe.”

Some foolish shout rings through the night and a pitchfork sails through the air. You instinctively start to cry out no, Han, watch out! –

With a single flick of a finger, the pitchfork falls to the ground outside the faerie ring, harmless. Silence again takes over the clearing.

“What is the meaning of this?” he hisses.

His words are ice cold. You have never heard this tone before.

“L-Lord fae, she has infected our village with the summer sickness,” a trembling voice says. “Surely you see –”

“Your children are infected with the festering hatred you have for all things strange,” he spits. “Her eyes have no weight on her character. She is no witch. She bears no blame for your village’s summer sickness.”

Silence, except for your ragged breaths.

“Do not touch her.” His hand strokes your hair gently, coaxing out the last silent tears, a contrast to the blades of his tone. “A lord will always protect his lady, no?”

. . . . .

You make no effort to leave the ring that night but even if you did, Jisung wouldn’t have let you go. Not after the fear he saw in the villagers’ eyes.

Fear is often more dangerous than anger, after all.

He does not sleep the entire night, only holds you close, even when your shaking sobs stop and you slump, asleep, against his chest, tears still rolling down your face. His heart breaks a little more every time he looks down at you.

If this is how I feel, Jisung wonders, how did Hyunjin survive? When his love was snatched away from him, never to walk the earth again?

A new wave of shame and respect for the water nymph washes over him every time such a thought comes to mind. For if Jisung feels so strongly about you being merely hurt, he cannot imagine what pain Hyunjin endured when he lost his lover.

No wonder Hyunjin loathed him so much for so long.

You wake with the dawn. Had it not been for the slight fluttering of your eyelashes, he wouldn’t have realized at all. For a brief, terrified moment, Jisung wonders if you will break away from him.

But you don’t. You don’t move closer, but you don’t move away. You don’t protest his hands stroking your hair rhythmically, only close your eyes and sigh a little.

“Thank you for yesterday,” you finally murmur. “I’m sorry I cause you so much trouble.”

Your green eyes open and they look tired. So, so tired.

Jisung wants to bring the life back to them.

“It was no trouble,” he replies. “It is never trouble to care for those you love.”

When your eyes startle, Jisung realizes what he’s said. He’s just confessed his love for you. Though he’s known it for weeks, the words leaving his lips still make him feel a strange vulnerability in your presence. But he doesn’t regret it.

“Those you love,” you echo quietly. Though there is a tiny smile on your face, your voice is sad. “How could a fae as powerful as you love a –”

“Stop.” Jisung can’t listen anymore. “Stop it.”

“But –”

“If there is anyone unworthy of your love,” Jisung interrupts, “it is me. Not the other way around.”

You remain quiet this time.

Jisung sighs. “I think it’s time I told you how I was bound to this ring.”

He tells his tale with hot shame and sorrow creeping up his cheeks and choking his throat. He tries his hardest to keep his voice steady but fails as he speaks of Hyunjin’s first love with the cloud nymph, the wisp of a girl who made him smile in ways Jisung had never seen before. Now that he knows the love that Hyunjin felt, it is so much more difficult to speak of it. To know that he ruined it.

He tells of the pesky sprites who goaded him into meddling with that love. With a heavy heart and hanging head, he reveals the prideful, selfish, despicable faerie he once was, one who could not back away from a dare and treated all of those around him as toys.

“We all knew Hyunjin and his nymph were fated to fall in love,” Jisung says. “It was just something we could see, plain as day. So the sprites dared me to play with fate. To end their love.”

Jisung doesn’t want to look at you. He can’t stomach the fact that you might be looking at him with disgust and shame, all of your previous lightheartedness with him gone. If you did, he wouldn’t be surprised – he deserves it.

But your grip on him doesn’t loosen. If anything, it tightens. Jisung finds the strength to go on.

He never meant it to go so far, he explains, as though that makes it better. He only wanted to break their love apart. He found a jealous, spurned suitor of the nymph and talked him into goading her to leave Hyunjin.

Instead, the suitor killed her. And the waters that raged through the forest for weeks after her death would have killed all the life there had Chan, the guardian, not called on Mother Earth to placate the water nymph’s anger and sent for the faerie queen to punish Jisung.

“That’s why I am bound to this ring,” Jisung says. “I am bound here until two things happen.”

“What are they?” you ask.

A small, genuine smile spreads across Jisung’s lips. “I first had to help Hyunjin find love again.”

A willow seed from Jisung’s esteemed collection. One of the seeds of the first willow that ever grew from Mother Earth’s mantle. It did not matter that the nymph who grew from the weeping willow that now drapes across Hyunjin’s pond was mute, that she could not speak. Her strength won Hyunjin’s heart. And after seven centuries, Hyunjin has forgiven Jisung.

“The second condition?” you prompt when Jisung falls silent.

Ah. He doesn’t want to tell you this one. He doesn’t want you to think that all of his love for you has been faked, has been solely for the purpose of attaining his freedom. But he will not lie to you.

“I had to find someone who, in the words of my faerie queen, would be foolish enough to love me,” he says.

With this admission, Jisung can practically hear the thoughts rolling around in your mind, bouncing off the walls of your skull and manifesting in doubt, uncertainty, and fear. “I know what you must be thinking,” he says hurriedly. “Did I only keep you around to break my curse? Truth be told, I didn’t think of that until several months ago, the day of the spring festival.” He laughs a little.

“At the start, never in my wildest dreams did I think I would fall for a human. But you were interesting. Clever. Intelligent. Your beautiful eyes may have caught my attention, but it was your soul and your mind that caught my heart. I wanted to keep talking to you.” He smiles. “On the day of the spring festival, I realized I loved you, my lady.”

Your fingers tighten around his.

“But it was I who loved you, and truly, I couldn’t think of a reason why you would love me.” His smile turns sad. “I found myself thinking of the curse and wondering, what would I do if you loved me back?” He swallows. “Do you remember our promise that day?”

By now, you’re looking into his eyes. Your gaze is a little unnerving, but Jisung forces himself to stare at you. “Yes,” you answer.

“I almost asked you to promise me your love,” he says, somber. “But by then, I knew that love must be a gift. I could not take it from you. So I asked for the next best thing – my lady’s happiness for just that day.”

Silence.

“After you left that night, I thought about my feelings. It took quite some time to sort through them all.” He smiles tentatively and his heart lightens when you smile back. “I realized that I didn’t care about my freedom. I wanted you to love me just because I loved you, even though I didn’t deserve you. I didn’t care about breaking the curse. I only wanted you to love me back.”

He’s done. He’s told you everything. His heart pounds as he waits for your response.

Will you leave him?

“Do you still want that?” your quiet voice says. “Do you still want me to love you?”

His heart is threatening to burst. He nods jerkily. “A thousand times, yes,” he whispers.

“I think I’ve loved you since the day I came to you, crying, and you asked no questions, only comforted me.” Your voice is low, quiet, small, but soothing. “I realized it the day of the festival, the same day as you. But I could never quite trust you, it felt like. You are a fae. I am a human. In my mind, I thought this could never happen.”

Jisung wants to protest but holds his tongue. This is your time to speak. He will not interrupt.

“But I trust you now.” Your shining, teary eyes look up at him with an emotion he’s never seen directed at him. He’s seen it on Hyunjin, looking at his willow nymph. He’s seen it on Changbin, gazing at his moon girl.

It hits him that you love him too.

“You’ve told me much, and there would be many who say you still do not deserve love, Han.” Your voice pulls him out of his thoughts. “But I think you have repented. I think you have learned. The fae I know is a far cry from the prideful one of centuries past. He has given me safety, comfort, hope, love.” A smile graces your lips. “I think I love him.” You shake your head. “No, I know I love him.”

You sit up with a wobbly smile on your lips and Jisung stares straight into your bright, lovely, green eyes, glowing with the rosy light of dawn. “May I?” he asks, his voice barely a whisper.

In return, you nod, and his lips fall onto yours.

Jisung has had many kisses over his millennia-long life, to the point where he once thought he couldn’t feel anything new anymore. But your lips are nothing like the ones he’s kissed before.

Chapped, dry, they shouldn’t give Jisung the bliss he feels. He’s kissed lips far smoother than yours. But it is not the lips he kisses, Jisung realizes, but the person to whom those lips belong.

A little sigh leaves your parted mouth and Jisung pulls you closer, holding you with the gentility of the morning breeze on his skin, pressing his lips to yours. An hour could have passed or even a day, and he would never know. He only knows the bliss he feels that moment.

Too soon, you both must break away for air. And even though tears still stain your cheeks and Jisung’s hair has been mussed by your hands, he has never felt so content in his life.

“Give me your name,” he whispers, pressing his forehead to yours. “Give me your name, my lady, and I promise I will do all there is in my power to keep you safe from harm. Give me your name, and I promise I will travel to the ends of the realms to keep you happy.”

Your thumbs stroke his cheeks and he leans into your touch, eyes fluttering in bliss. “Give me yours and I’ll give you mine.” A hint of that long-lost mischief dances in your eyes even as tears threaten again to fall down your face and Jisung wants to cry. He’s waited to see that expression on your face for too long. “I want to know you, Han. All of you.”

Hyunjin once told him that when he loved someone, he would feel no fear giving them his name. When he loved someone, he would trust that they would use his name only out of care. They would not toy with it. It would sound different in their mouth. It would sound safe.

At the time, he just cackled and made some dumb joke about how he definitely wasn’t Hyunjin’s love, then. The two had proceeded to drown the forest with their bickering until Chan came over to separate them.

But now, as he hears you repeat his name once, quietly, whispering it on your tongue, he knows what Hyunjin meant. His name is safe between your lips and yours is safe between his.

Jisung’s heart bursts.

He stands, pulling you up on shaky legs. For the first time in over a millennium, he steps out of the faerie ring, ready to leave the perfect circle of flowers and grass forever.

“Where does my lady wish to go?” he asks. His grin couldn’t get any wider.

Your smile is more enchanting today than it ever was, and your green eyes sparkle in the rising light of the sun.

“Anywhere, as long as it’s with you.”

#inkidz #stray kids #skz #stray kids scenarios #skz scenarios #han jisung scenarios #3racha #han #fluff #angst #triggers #violence #nature spirit!au #stray kids han scenarios #whispers of nature #bloom #scriptura-delirus

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milknette · 4 years ago

Text

day 15 - mythical creatures

how i miss yesterday, and how i’d let it fade away.

tumblr month: @auyeahaugust

links: ao3 | ff.net

THE Agreste Mansion could have been beautiful, if not for the overgrown greenery and rusted fence that decorate the estate's exterior.

It looks like the textbook definition of what a haunted house is.

Marinette should be scared.

Instead, she takes out her cellphone, turns it on, faces the camera, and...

Goes live.

"Hey everyone, Marinette here!" She starts, waving almost awkwardly at the camera. (Thousands of viewers come storming into the live in seconds.) "So… welcome to the Ladybug— crap, I mean, the Ladyblog!"

Noticing that the camera is angled a little too low, she shifts to show herself better.

(Wow, she really is bad at this.)

"As you all know, or maybe you don't, haha… I'm heading the vlog for today!" She tries to smile, but it's clearly panicked. "Alya couldn't come back with me to Paris, unfortunately, and you all really wanted to see us cover the Agreste story so…," she moves along with the camera, trying to show off her surroundings.

(Nobody watching has the heart to tell her they can't see anything because her head's covering half the screen.)

"I'll be heading this adventure myself!" Marinette scratches her head awkwardly, and almost drops her phone as she hears a sudden crack! behind her. "Ohmygod what was that—"

She immediately turns the camera, only to notice a black cat pass behind her.

Its vivid green eyes almost make her shudder.

"Black cat," Marinette mutters to herself. "Sure, like I didn't know this was a terrible idea already.

She remembers a little too late that she's still online.

"I mean! This is going to be fun! Let's do this!"

The chatbox is filled with messages, but they all really say the same thing:

This is going to be a trainwreck.

But I am going to enjoy absolutely every minute of it.

(She pointedly ignores these messages and goes forward.)

Marinette walks towards the estate, using a key to unlock the rusted gate to the Agreste residence.

"If you're all wondering how I got entry to this place," she starts. "One of our subscribers actually helped us out," she turns towards the camera and smiles. "So Chloé Bourgeois, thanks a lot!"

(Yeah, thanks for giving her no choice but to go through with this video.)

"If it weren't for you, this video wouldn't be possible at all."

The gate opens with a resounding creaaaaak and Marinette has to force the unbothered smile on her face.

"Alright, let's go in."

[ INSTAGRAM STORY: maribug ]

"Hi guys! In case you don't know the story of the Agrestes, please swipe up with an article Alya wrote on the story below. As usual, be warned for creepy content!"

The Mysterious Disappearances of the Agreste Family

Almost five years ago, the Agrestes were the so-called 'it family' of Paris, France. Their family consisted of top fashion designer Gabriel, his beautiful wife, Emilie, and their only son, Adrien— a teenage model for his father's brand early on. In the public's eyes, this was a picture-perfect family.

However, this was soon revealed to be a ruse.

In 20XX, Emilie Agreste suddenly passed away. The family refused to comment and held a private funeral. A few weeks later, residents were surprised to find large fences erected around the residence, gating outsiders from entering the home. Father and son withdrew from contact with the outside world, aside from secretary Nathalie Sanceour and Adrien Agreste's unnamed personal bodyguard, nicknamed 'The Gorilla'.

Any media or news shared about the family were quickly taken down. For a long time, any and all information about the death of Emilie Agreste was removed— presumably by the husband himself.

News on the Agrestes stayed quiet for a year, until Adrien was spotted attending a local high school.

This was only for a day. After finding out about Adrien's attempted "escape", he was quickly returned to the premises and brought home.

The school refused to comment when we asked for an interview.

Due to limited information, little is known about what happened next.

The most accepted story, however, is that after Adrien was returned home, the Agrestes completely dropped off the radar. Even Gabriel Agreste was completely unreachable to his company.

Both Nathalie Sancoeur and 'The Gorilla' we're suddenly fired and removed from the premises without warning.

After a year of silence from the family, Sancoeur was finally given a warrant to enter the Agreste Mansion with the police force.

The mansion was empty. In fact, it seemed that nobody had occupied the space in months. A written report states that a cup of coffee Sancoeur remembers making from Mr. Agreste, on the day of her sudden termination, remained to be on his desk.

No sign of forced entry or violence was taken note of. They had just… disappeared.

A nationwide search was held to find the father-son duo, but to no avail. They were not found alive nor dead. The police soon branded this a cold case and filed it away.

Sancoeur was given control over the Agreste brand. 'The Gorilla' was also rehired to be her assistant.

Both declined to comment and continue to avoid topics talking about the Agreste family.

The mansion has been left untouched since then.

Until now.

(Please follow TheLadyblog on Instagram, tomorrow by 8PM vlogger Marinette Dupain-Cheng will visit the abandoned residence!)

The house is huge.

Marinette enters into a large foyer, run-down from years of neglect and disrepair. The pristine white of the walls have faded into a dull gray, complemented with spiderwebs in almost every corner. She holds her flashlight almost like a weapon.

Then, she switches to the front camera and shows the audience her surroundings.

"As you can see, the house seems untouched from when its previous owners lived here," Marinette begins, holding back the need to shudder. "Chloé messaged me that she ensured nobody else lived or even came in its vicinity," she explains, her tone turning more empathetic. "Apparently she and Adrien used to be friends, and she's still hoping that he'll come back to claim the house someday."

(Personally, Marinette doesn't think that he will— doesn't think he can, really— but decides to keep that little fact to herself.)

She turns the camera back to her.

"So anyway, I was given a floor plan to the building," she continues, raising up a piece of paper and showing it to her viewers. "Since the mansion is huge, and I can't possibly visit all the rooms tonight, tell me where you want to go!"

The comments flood in, and the answer is unanimous:

The previous room of Adrien Agreste.

Marinette opens the door carefully.

The door squeaking isn't that loud, but it echoes throughout the corridor and makes things so much creepier than they have to be.

She bites her lip, and enters the room— which takes up almost the entire second floor story.

Arcade stations, computers, games, books, and CDs fill up the entire floor. A television screen almost three times bigger than she is lays upon the wall. A basketball half-court decorates one side of the room. There are more doors which likely lead to other things to see, but she decides to check that later on.

"Okay, I don't think I'll do this room justice with a phone camera and a flashlight for lighting, but this is amazing," Marinette raves. "I feel like this is a teenage boy's dream room. Honestly, it's my dream room." She laughs to herself lightly, turning the front camera on. "Though I'd maybe change out the basketball court for my personal sewing space."

(Marinette briefly wonders why anyone would want to leave such a place, but dismisses the thought almost immediately; realizing that none of it could be enjoyed at all if she were alone.)

In fact, standing in the middle of it at that moment made her feel much lonelier than she was previously.

Except, she's not alone.

But Marinette's too busy looking around to notice the increasingly panicked messages of her viewers:

do yall

u all see that right…..

ohmygod is-

IS THAT REAL WTH

MARINETTE OMG

PLEASE TURN AROUND

RUN? DONT LOOK BACK?

PROTECT OUR SWEET SUMMER CHILD

I CANNOT WATCH ANOTHER LIVE WHERE SOMEONE GETS MURDERED PLS

CHECK UR MESSAGES GIRL !

Noticing her phone buzz with messages, she clicks on the tab that opens them.

Marinette's eyebrows wrinkle together.

"What are you guys talking abou—"

A scream, the sound of her phone cracking, and the live video suddenly being turned off.

well, there goes ½ of the ladyblog…

Alya wakes up to her phone overflowing with messages.

The first one she reads is extremely straightforward:

HELP I THINK MARINETTE'S DEAD

So understandably, she does what any good friend would do.

Think it's a prank set up by Marinette (for making her hold the live without her), get irritated, send her a 'haha nice try mari but dead is a stretch' message, then immediately go back to sleep.

Marinette, however, never gets the message.

It's easy to panic when death's staring you right in the face.

So she does, because death is quite literally staring right at her.

In the form of a sixteen-year-old boy whose face she knew all too well from all the hidden fashion magazines her teenage self hid under her bed.

Adrien Agreste.

(Well, at least now the question of did-he-live was answered. A stone-cold, dead, nope!)

And also, ghosts really do exist— who knew?

(The so-called paranormal expert didn't, apparently.)

The ghost moves toward her, as she scrambles away, her back suddenly hitting the wall.

"Please, if you're gonna kill me, do it quick," Marinette replies, rushing through the words. "I don't know how angry you ghosts are, but I swear violence isn't the answer. It'll solve nothing and make me dead so let's maybe move away from that—"

Adrien tilts his head, and it almost looks human. (Maybe if his head hadn't done a complete three-sixty at that exact moment, she would've calmed down. Instead, and understandably, she panics more.)

"Hey, hey! Don't worry, I'm not going to kill you."

"You aren't?" She asks, then suddenly horrified (and almost embarrassed), covers her body with her hands. "Don't possess me! Look, I'm a klutz and have literally no coordination. You don't want me! Actually, I can get you better bodies! I have this friend named Alya…"

(Marinette isn't sure why, but she feels extremely irritated with her best friend for some reason.)

The ghost laughs.

And it doesn't echo ohmygod he really is dead and she really is going to die and all this drama for a bunch of views what has she become—

He floats closer to her, and smiles. "I won't possess you either," he replies. "You can keep your body."

"... then, what do you want?"

"Well, I don't really want anything."

"Really?"

He looks almost amused. "I mean, you were the one who broke into my house. I guess I'd like to know why."

Okay, fair.

Marinette looks almost sheepish when she responds, realizing how dumb her reasoning actually is:

"Well, I'm a paranormal vlogger…"

Marinette has done a lot of strange things in her life.

But this— talking to a ghost about YouTube of all things, is probably the weirdest of all.

(The really terrifying thing about it was how comfortable she actually felt about it.

Talking to Adrien was terribly easy that you couldn't help but let your guard down.)

He looks at her with wide-eyed awe. "That's amazing! And I can't believe I get to be included in your video!"

She smiles lightly. "Well, you are kind of a big deal…"

"I never knew fashion meant that much to so many people!"

(The truth was that they knew Adrien because of his disappearance and the conspiracy around his family, but she decides against mentioning it. Though, it's quite strange to be so cautious of hurting a ghost, of all things.)

"Yeah," Marinette replies instead. "I used to collect your magazines, you know?"

Adrien brightens up. "Dang, you're a fan of me?" He bows down, and his head almost falls over. (She finds herself laughing.) "I'm honored, milady."

"Milady?" She asks teasingly. "What era are you from?"

"Hey—! Technically, we're the same age." He protests, before suddenly quieting down. "I guess I'd be twenty now, huh?"

The mood shifts, and Marinette can't do anything about it.

"... I'm sorry."

"Don't be," he only says. "I guess I'm just a little sad that I never really got to experience being a teenager. Y'know, being normal." He laughs to himself. "And even after death, I'm still not. Being stuck here and all."

Quiet.

"Do you mind if I ask what happened…?" Marinette begins, her voice soft. "Not that you have to answer but… it was so sudden when everyone got the news you were gone."

Adrien sighs. "I'm not sure myself," he explains. "My dad… he thought there was some way to bring her back. Bring my mom back to life. And he did things, some dark things, but they didn't work… and before I knew it, he was gone, and I was stuck like this."

He gestures down at himself. "I can't even leave the house, can you believe it? I've just been here and alone for years…" Then, a smile. "Until you came along."

"I'm glad I can be of some company," Marinette replies, smiling back.

(It's strange— so strange, but she feels connected to him in ways she's never felt connected to anyone.)

"I'm glad that the company who showed up was you."

At that, Marinette decides on an idea.

She stands, and gestures for him to follow.

"You're a ghost, so you can't touch things, right?"

"Yeah… but I can move them. I learned a lot of ghost skills while I was stuck here."

She smiles. "Great."

"What do you mean?"

Marinette walks over to the foosball table, groaning from years of neglect, and places her hands on it. "I may not be able to bring you back, but I can let you experience what it feels like to be a teenager." She tilts her head, pointing towards the game.

"Let's play?"

They play games late at night and into the early hours of the morning.

Marinette has never seen someone enjoy her company that much— like she had given him the whole world, and everything he'd ever wanted.

It makes her heart soar, to see him so happy.

They take a break as the clock tells them it's almost three in the morning.

Marinette settles into the couch, with Adrien lying down as he floats over her.

"I'm sorry you had to play with me," she starts. "Not really great at sports. And I can get pretty intense when it comes to online games."

Adrien only smiles at her, without a hint of irritation or regret. "No, this was perfect. It's the most fun I've had in a long time." He laughs. "Maybe ever. And I'll never forget this, no matter how long I stay like this."

She frowns as the words leave his mouth.

(Wasn't the thing tying him to the real world his failure to experience his life as a teenager?)

Marinette says it aloud.

"If only it were that simple," he responds, almost sad. "But I don't think that was ever the reason."

"Then what is it?"

"..."

"Adrien?"

"..."

"I won't judge it or anything. Please, I want to help."

Adrien sighs, then looms over her, the expression on his face almost breaking her heart. "It's corny, but… I wanted to experience love." He finally says. "After my mom died, I was locked away. I never felt my dad's love, and Nathalie cared for me, but that was it. My mom was the last person who ever loved me. I just wish I could've experienced that feeling one more time."

"...

I loved you."

"What?"

Marinette looks up at him, vulnerable. Her hands curl up into balls as they grab at the couch.

"I don't know if you remember me," she begins shakily. "But I was there that day you went to the high school."

"..."

"It was raining. And it was only for a moment, but you lent me your umbrella because I forgot mine," she laughs to herself. "I'm sure you don't remember me but…"

"Marinette Dupain-Cheng."

"... how did you know that?"

"Marinette Dupain-Cheng," he repeats. "I remember that name. I talked to Miss Bustier over the phone then, and she told me you were the first person I should find when I came to class. She told me you'd make me feel right at home. Adrien looks up at her, and smiles. "I guess she was right."

At that, Marinette feels her mouth tilt upward. "Took you a long time to find me, huh?"

"Better late than never, though?"

They share a laugh, before Adrien continues. "I was really looking forward to meeting you," he says. "And somehow, I knew it was you when I gave that umbrella. You just gave that feeling of home Miss Bustier was talking about… and I was so desperate to have you know me that the umbrella was my way of doing so. Even if I never gave my name, I hoped that somehow, in some way, you'd remember me." He smiles. "And you did."

"... I don't know what to say."

"I think I loved you then," Adrien says, almost to himself. "I just didn't know it yet."

They stare at each other for a moment, and Marinette feels her heart break and be whole at the same time.

The sun starts to show itself, peeking through the clouds.

"... I won't see you again anymore, will I?"

Adrien doesn't even have to nod for her to know his answer.

"Maybe I'll take back my, 'I love you', then."

He laughs.

"I don't like having to lose you all over again."

He makes his way to her, then presses a kiss to her forehead.

(She knows that ghosts can't touch her, but the warmth that spreads from his touch isn't anything short of real.)

"Good luck with your YouTube channel."

It's Marinette's turn to laugh.

"Are you sure those are what you want your last words to be?"

Adrien hums.

"I guess you're right," he replies softly. "I'll go with this then:

I love you, Marinette Dupain-Cheng."

And as the sun rises, she suddenly finds herself alone.

Marinette rushes home to use her laptop.

She scrolls through the messages— all assuming she's died, and dials a number she knows by heart.

"Oh thank God you're alive, I was so worried about you!"

"I saw your message, Alya."

"Oh. Haha, well! How was I supposed to believe that an actual ghost showed up on your live?"

"I guess you're right."

"... so, is it true? Was the ghost real? Is the Agreste mansion haunted?"

Marinette pauses.

Then, almost too softly for her to hear, she says it:

"Not anymore."

#auyeah2020 #mlauyeahaugust2020 #auyeahaugust #auyeah august #adrinette #adrien agreste #marinette dupain cheng #ml #miraculous ladybug #milk writes #ml fic #ml fanfic #do ghosts fall under mythical creatures??#mayb not but my single braincell is too Tiredt to care #ghosts r also in some myths so i maintain that im right bYe #(ps i know how to use read more things now n i think thats Neat!

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bellesque · 5 years ago

Text

Cold Spell

Jack Frost x Rapunzel (Jackunzel)

Summary: It’s nearly wintertime in the kingdom of Corona, and Rapunzel has yet to discover a certain Winter Guardian and how he’s about to change her life.

Read the first 5 chapters on my AO3.

Part 1/? - ONGOING

Rating: T

Chapter Word Count: 1.3K

Tags: Jackunzel, Fluff, Eventual Romance, Friends to Lovers

A/N: So this fic. This pairing. I decided to pick this up again after how many years and made a promise to see this to the end. This is on my AO3 (link above), but I decided that it’s only fitting to post it here as well considering my tumblr roots included a lot of ROTBTD (raise your hand if you were a part of that! is it even still alive lol). I’ll slowly be posting the first 5 chapters here but if you can’t wait, the AO3 link is up there. Anyhow, enough rambling about nostalgia: I hope you enjoy!

Chapter One.

“TATA, MY FLOWER! I’ll see you in a few days’ time!”

The cool breeze carried Mother Gothel’s melodious voice back up and into the old tower as she descended from Rapunzel’s golden hair. She peered down the open window, smiling slightly as she waved goodbye to the only mother figure she had ever known.

“Goodbye, Mother!” she called after her, watching as Gothel’s figure disappeared into the foliage. Rapunzel let out a breath she didn’t realize she was holding, and her small smile bloomed into a full blown grin on her freckled face. Gothel’s absences were rarely missed, and she finally had the tower all to herself.

It wasn’t that it changed anything; Rapunzel was usually too chicken to climb down (what if Gothel found out?), but she settled for sitting as close to the edge as she possibly could. If her mother dearest were around, she would scream and berate the young girl, saying that she would fall to her death if she wasn’t careful.

“My hair’s anchored to the hook, Mother,” was always her exasperated reply, but since Rapunzel knew of her mother’s horrendous mood swings, she always complied.

At this moment, however, as she sat with her toes touching nothing but the wind around her, she leaned forward, smiling dreamily. She had nothing to do now as she’d done everything in her daily routine: clean the tower, read her books, cover to cover. The walls were beginning to become cramped with paintings and splashes of color, and Pascal did not look like he was in the mood to put up with any of her antics.

And yet, doing nothing made her smile with giddiness.

She recalled one of the books she’d read, one about a damsel in distress who was trapped, and a prince in disguise who had come to her rescue.

“Not so much of a damsel, huh, Pascal?” she mused, looking down beside her to where her chameleon friend was. “Although, I am kind of distressed. Maybe we could, I don’t know…” A look of mischief flashed across her features as she leaned closer conspiratorially. “Leave the tower?”

Pascal jumped up in surprise, squeaking his obvious protests, and Rapunzel laughed as she patted him once, twice. “You know I’m only joking. I could never. But it would be nice to.” Her face fell slightly. “But you know Mother… it’d kill her.”

She pulled her knees close to her chin, a pout forming on her lips while her brows furrowed. “I just wish she’d trust me for once.” Frustration was beginning to seep into her tone. “See that I’m capable of handling myself out there. The world can’t be so bad, and if it were, I’d still be okay, right, Pascal?” She looked at the chameleon, uncertainty now etched on her face.

Pascal gave a grunt of acknowledgment, closing his eyes once, before looking back out to the horizon in front of them. Rapunzel managed another smile, though it wasn’t as full as her usual ones. “Thanks. I should have known you’d always believe in me.”

She, too, directed her gaze back to the scenery from her tower. She could see faint outline of the kingdom nearby: the castle being the landmark that stood out to her the most, the village houses and other buildings blurring against it, and she could just tell that the city was bustling with life and energy. She wondered what the people could be doing at this very moment as she stared into the distance; could someone be baking bread, or could children be chasing each other in a game? Could a man be confessing his love to someone? She could see the big picture, but what if she was staring at someone in the background without either of them knowing?

Like how she was looking at the world right now. Did anyone wonder if they were being watched? Maybe someone was looking at the tower, unknowingly looking at her in return.

(Somebody was.)

(He was hanging upside down.)

JACK FROST cocked his head to one side, his thin lips pressed together in a moment of contemplation. He’d only wanted a quick nap in the seemingly empty tower he’d been eyeing, but now, as he came to realize the seemingly empty tower was in fact occupied, the idea of a nap didn’t seem very inviting anymore.

Their faces were inches from each other’s, but damn, the blonde really didn’t seem to mind. As though she had no concept of personal space. Her green eyes continued to stare into his, and a smirk slowly graced Jack’s boyish features as he righted himself in front of her.

He waved a hand in front of her awestruck expression. “Hey, blondie? Yeah, uh—I don’t know when we started this staring contest, but I’m pretty sure I won already.” Jack’s tone was good-natured, and he chuckled, briefly closing his eyes to appreciate his own wit—but as he opened them, awaiting perhaps a sheepish expression from her, the realization that she was staring right through him hit him like a ton of bricks.

Of course, he thought bitterly. Another one who just makes me feel like I don’t exist. Oh wait, I don’t! At least, not to them. And here I thought I’d found another believer.

Sighing, he floated to sit next to her, careful to avoid squashing her pet (he almost didn’t see it—what was it, a kind of lizard?) and he noticed the girl shivered visibly.

Well, at least she could feel his presence, even though she didn’t know he existed.

The girl laughed, a kind of breathy one, pulling Jack from his thoughts. She picked up her pet, smiling fondly at the lizard.

“Oh, Pascal, I can just feel the Christmas air coming in soon! I wonder what I’ll be getting this year—if I’m still on the nice list. Do people get taken off the nice list when they reach a certain age? Well, anyway, I’ve been nice enough, right? I think. Apart from setting Mother’s chicken on fire once…” She grimaced at the memory.

Jack began to laugh heartily this time, and the lizard-thing squeaked, narrowing its eyes as if chastising the teenager.

“Don’t worry, blondie, I’ll put in a good word for you—though I don’t think you need it, ’cause I’m pretty sure you’re in North’s good books,” he said without much thought.

Rapunzel made no action to show that she’d heard him, and she brought her thin arms around her torso. “Wintertime.” Her voice was just above a whisper, and her eyes gleamed with childlike excitement. Jack watched her intently and sat up a little straighter.

So she liked winter. That was good, especially good for him. Maybe—he tried to quell the hope threatening to ignite within him—maybe he would earn a new believer after this. Maybe even a friend.

He watched as her eyes seemed to become dreamy once more, but a few seconds later she shook her head, smiling almost wistfully. What was that about?

“Well, time to eat, Pascal. I’m starved. Hazelnut soup?”

She swung her legs over the ledge, her bare feet sweeping across the brick floor as she hummed a thoughtful tune. Jack twisted his body to look at her, following her every move, quite intrigued. Who was this girl with the long (the longest) blonde hair, stuck in a tower, with only a lizard named Pascal for company, and never closed her windows?

(Wasn’t she afraid of thieves sneaking in?)

He smiled mischievously as he invited himself inside, looking around the circular chamber and noting that it was cramped, but in a good, lived-in kind of way—his vision was instantly assaulted by an alarming number of murals on every wall, bits and bobs scattered around the room, and just the complete colorfulness of it all.

He continued to watch her as she began to bustle around in what seemed to be the kitchen, pulling out pots and ingredients as her humming turned into singing.

(She was pretty good, he admitted.)

She probably wouldn’t mind if he stayed the night.

In fact, she wouldn’t know at all.

#jackunzel #yo is this fandom even still alive #ah you know what it's fine i PROMISED myself #jack frost #rapunzel #rotg #tangled #rotbtd #by belle

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littleteatimestories · 5 years ago

Text

[MTMTE] Prowl x Fem! Reader x Fortress Maximus: Just Your Friend (There Could Have Been More)

A/N: Phew! Here’s another reader-insert for all ye MTMTE fans! I had this story in mind already ever since I read the last issue of MTMTE. The story is basically the same; just added some tweaks of here and there so that we could insert ourselves in the story, hehe. Enjoy this one! I still have a few stories in the works and, this time, all of them are in the TFA continuity.

GREAT NEWS! I created an AO3 account: moreteatimestories. This is for easier navigation and reading in case Tumblr decided to go haywire on you.

“You care for him so much. That only means you may be his... sparkmate,” Sentinel Prime said, peering at you holding a now dead Prowl in your arms.

Cerebros remarked worriedly, “Sentinel, he’s your friend, for Primus’s sake! Aren’t you even bothered that he’s dead?”

Sentinel only laughed devilishly. “I don’t care even the slightest if he’s dead. He’s a fool, anyway.”

“How dare you!” you shouted angrily. “How can you be so cruel! I don’t even know how you’re still alive!”

“Yeah, Sentinel,” Cerebros concurred. “You were supposed to be dead. What happened?”

“Oh? Now you want to know? I’m more than happy to tell you.”

Meanwhile, Fortress Maximus and Red Alert were having a scuffle with one another, Fort Max being too distracted. He can’t help, but look at you holding Prowl in your arms. He admitted to himself that he felt... jealous.

When he decided to come back to Cybertron on his own (and be stationed in Luna-1), you became his new psychiatrist. While he commended Rung for being a great one, he felt more at ease with you. You were always smiling and you wouldn’t push him to answer if he seemed uncomfortable with some questions. It was like you treated him as a trusted friend. You were patient, too. These qualities what made him fall for you.

However, the pining was the only thing he can give. You and Prowl are sparkmates (not yet a Conjunx) and Fort Max knew he can and will never have your spark (heart, in your case).

He was still lovingly gazing at you. Prowl was one lucky mech...

THOK!

He fell on the ground, his optical vision fizzing temporarily.

“Why aren’t you fighting back?!” Red Alert taunted.

Fort Max grunted. “Maybe because I didn’t want to hurt you, obviously. You’re a friend, Red!” He partially lied.

Red Alert flew another punch, but Fort Max was able to take hold of his fist. However, he didn’t counter an attack and instead pushed him forcefully.

Going back to your case, Sentinel finally explained his ‘reincarnation’ and his grand scheme of taking Cybertron to a new form of glory.

“Actually, I don’t mind taking a queen with me as I mold a new Cybertron!” He held your arm tightly.

“What?! No...! Stop! I am not yours to take!” you screamed as he tried to pull you away from your lover.

“Sentinel, be reasonable!” Cerebros coaxed. “Whatever happened, this is not you.”

Sentinel ignored him as he pried you away from Prowl. You thrashed, pulling yourself from him. “Let me go!”

He shifted his hold to both of your wrists as he closed the proximity between you and looked at your eyes.

“This would be easier if you’re not struggling so much, sweetspark.”

“I hate you,” you muttered loudly.

Suddenly, Sentinel groaned painfully loud as he released your wrists. You moved backwards to witness the ex-Prime falling on his one knee joint and a medium-sized hole on his shoulder plate.

“First of all, she is NOT your sweetspark. And secondly, if you want a bot to actually die, make sure they’re DEAD. For REAL.”

You could shed some tears of contentment as you heard and saw Prowl. “Prowl!” You ran to him and enveloped him in your embrace. He returned it, but more protectively.

“Prowl! Thank Primus it worked!” Cerebros cheered.

“Ah, so you lived? No matter. I’ll just finish all of you!” Sentinel growled fiercely.

Prowl shot him again and this disabled Sentinel for the time being. He then announced, “We’re going NOW. Fort Max! Let’s go!”

Said Autobot pushed Red Alert forcefully. “But, if we go, Sentinel will-“

“Just trust me and let’s go. He won’t do anything for a while.” He peered at you with his now one optic. “Ride with me, sweetspark.” He got hold of your hand and used the still functioning M.A.R.B.S. to flee for the meantime.

***

“Are you alright, Prowl? You looked like in pain,” you worriedly said.

“It’s just my helm. I don’t know why I’m having a processor-ache,” he answered.

“Oh! Lemme explain that!” Cerebros briefly explained how he ‘revived’ Prowl and this made the latter feel resentment.

“Do you want to know how much I HATED being controlled?! Being manipulated?! I have mental and physical scars when it comes to that. Give me one good reason that I won’t kill you right now!”

You interrupted him by gripping his arm plate. “Prowl, enough! Cerebros was just trying to save you. He didn’t mean to do it. Just calm yourself down. You know I’m always here for you if you feel those scars again.”

He shook and composed himself. He removed your hold and went to one side for now. He spoke, “Give me a few nanokliks to process everything.”

You huffed quietly and shifted your attention to Fortress Maximus. You weren’t able to notice him since your mind was occupied by your lover being dead (and thank Primus he wasn’t). You approached him in another room, seemingly tinkering on some device with Beak on it.

“Hey, Max,” you called.

His spark jumped upon hearing your voice. He turned to you at once.

“(Y/-Y/n)...!” he stammered.

“Just wanted to check up on you. I know Red Alert is a friend and it must have hurt you seeing him fighting all of us.”

Well, yes, it did, but what was more hurting for him was the fact that he could be protecting you from Sentinel instead. Plus, the fact that he can’t have you. Just witnessing you worrying Prowl like that made his spark ache. He wished that you would fret over him like that of Prowl. But, of course, that was just wishful thinking.

“Max, are you sure you’re okay?” you tried to coax him to answer.

He gazed at you for a moment. You were so beautiful in the optics (well, in his optics, that is) and all he could do was just the pining.

He replied nonetheless, “I’m fine. I’m sure there’s a way for Red Alert to snap out of it.”

You gave a small smile and that warmed Fort Max’s cheek plates. He always loved that upward curve of your lips.

“I’m your friend, Max. If you need me, I’ll be there no matter what.”

Right... Friend... You two were just FRIENDS and that was as far as your relationship can go. Fort Max, once again, wished there was something more.

All he ever said back was, “If you also need anything, I’ll be there. ALWAYS.” He emphasized the last word. No matter what he was doing, be it fighting Decepticons or any other life forms, he’ll be there. Because it’s you whom he will protect and take care of. Because if he was to admit, he LOVES you too much. Be damned if you and Prowl were together. He will never stop loving you because you made him feel safe. You made him feel HOME.

Prowl’s vocal chords echoed in the room. He was panicking as he entered. “Red Alert shot me! He shot me! That damn double-crossing, hypocritical bastard shot me!”

You hushed him. “Prowl, again, calm down.”

He held his helm and grumbled. “Sorry, sweetspark. It’s just that... All these catching up is making my processor hurt.”

“How’s about I make it simple?” Cerebros presented. “All you need to know is that Sentinel is planning to open a portal to Cybertron. And the plan is to commandeer this Titan we are in so that we could stop the other Titans passing through the portal.”

“Except there’s only one problem,” Fort Max declared. “This device won’t budge. It’s a release mechanism. I can’t flip it over. It’s stuck.”

Prowl growled. “Step aside.”

Fort Max raised an optic ridge. “No offense, Prowl, but if I can’t move it, I don’t think-“

“You just haven’t had the practice.” The police officer flipped the switch with ease.

***

“You stay here, sweetspark. I’ll be more at ease if you’re here,” Prowl stated.

You frowned. You always hated being left behind and being able to do nothing. “But, Prowl...”

“(Y/n), no. I’m not letting that bastard Sentinel have his servos on you.”

“Alright...” you finally gave way as you bowed your head.

“Hey.” Prowl lifted your chin. Before you can even look at him, his lips gently crashed onto yours. It was a surprise to you so you couldn’t react as he removed his lips and gazed at you adoringly. “I love you.”

You were able to register his words as you whispered back, “I love you, too.”

Fortress Maximus, sadly, saw the whole action. His spark, once again, hurt. He always wondered how your luscious lips would feel on his own. That would be so comforting. He snapped on his thinking when Prowl called at him.

“Fort Max, I’ll be leaving (Y/n) here. Make sure she’s not hurt while you’re trying to control this Titan.”

Now that was like underestimating him. If that glitch-head knew how much he loves you more than his life, he’ll definitely finish the job without having a scratch on you.

You assured the both of them, “I know how to watch myself, thank you very much. You don’t need to worry over me. I’ll make sure to hold onto something when things get rough.”

“I’m going now.” Prowl kissed your forehead for the last time.

‘Lucky bastard,’ Fort Max mused.

***

“You’ll be fine, Red. Judging from your answers so far, you still seemed unease, but eventually, you’ll be able to overcome it,” you shared to Red Alert.

Said mech ex-vented. “That’s good to know, (Y/n).”

It had been three solar cycles now ever since Sentinel finally met his demise. Prowl and the others were able to save Cybertron from the Titans.

Speaking of the police officer, he and Fortress Maximus took Sovereign back to Earth. It hadn’t been that long, but you already wanted to see him. Your mech has been through a lot, even losing his one good optic.

“And, we’re back!” Prowl announced.

Your smile widened upon hearing his voice as you quickly approached him.

“Welcome back!” you happily exclaimed as you hugged him.

Fort Max diverted his optics away from the two of you as he walked away to a room. Red Alert followed him.

“So... Did you tell her?” he asked.

“Tell her what, Red?” Fort Max replied with a question as if he knew nothing what his friend was referring to.

“You know what I mean, Max.”

The large Autobot ex-vented. “There’s no point, Red. She’s already taken. From the way I see it, she and Prowl deeply love each other.”

Red Alert raised an optic ridge. “So, what now? You’re just going to do the pining while they canoodle here and there?”

“Do I really have a choice?” Fort Max turned to face him. “I’m not some bot who’ll break their relationship just because he and I love the same femme.” He lowered his helm. “She was already with Prowl the moment I came back in Cybertron. I’m contented to be just there for her whenever she needs me.”

“Well, I guess that’s good enough. But, word of advice, don’t get too attached. Don’t want you get hurting again.”

“I’m already hurt, Red. Emotionally. Seeing the love of your life being whisked away by another mech…”

Red Alert patted his friend’s large shoulder plate. “‘Least she gets a guardian to protect her no matter what.”

Fort Max just gave a small beam.

#prowl x reader #fortress maximus x reader #idw prowl #mtmte prowl #idw fortress maximus #mtmte fortress maximus #MTMTE #Transformers MTMTE #transformers #maccadam

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puttingfingerstokeys · 4 years ago

Text

your confession is mine

tangentially related to Lightning Rod, but a wAAAaaays down the road. I am lazy. No italics. Blah blah tumblr. I really am interested in exploring the dynamics of a mature relationship. I am so tired of love triangles and petty drama when the narrative of Mortal Kombat feels like it demands so much more--the drama is cosmic, era-affecting, HUGE.

Warring Exes (shang tsung/raiden)

Restored Timeline

The breeze coming in over the ocean was salty and gentle; it played with Raiden’s hair as he drifted in that half-asleep state of existence unique to mortals. There were many reasons to appreciate the limited time of a finite existence and this was one of them. In fact, it encompassed more than one. He shifted a little, carefully as he could so as not to disturb his companion, who had similarly fallen asleep, one bronzed arm tucked under the crook of Raiden’s neck as they dozed.

In millions of eras, multiple eons, thousands of lifetimes lived, Raiden had never once envisioned himself this way, naked, draped in only soft sheets, much and more flesh exposed to eyes and to elements—though only two eyes would see it this way—and feeling not a single iota of shame, regret, or horror. Only one thing did hover over his existence this way, a single piece of truth, which would, necessarily lead to all others and perhaps bring this carefully-cultivated new era unraveling around them. It ate at him as he considered it, fingers playing aimlessly about on the shapely chest of the man lying next to him, similarly naked and similarly not offering the world a single care for his exposure.

“Something troubles you,” came the voice from above Raiden’s head. He did not shift, but could feel the vibration of that sonorous baritone in the man’s chest under his fingers. He laid his palm down and ceased its movements.

“I have been… dishonest with you, Shang Tsung, and I… must set it right.”

“Your nature demands it of you, Lord Raiden,” came the languid response, a hand finding its way into the silvery-white mane of Raiden’s hair which was spread over the pillow and some expanse of the sheets around him. Raiden shifted to meet those dark, serpentine eyes.

“You…”

“I have known since Lord Liu Kang brought you to me for my… training. No god defers so obviously to someone who is not also a god.” He spoke as if it was a trifle, nothing of consequence. His smile was languid, but not entirely warm. It was the knowing smile of a predator with cornered prey who has yet time to toy with it and may not even be hungry. “You trained him, as surely as you trained me, and now, for some reason, he is the deity, and you are a mortal—though you are not human.”

Raiden regarded him carefully, not in the reserved way he used to, but with a mixture of awe and uncertainty. Shang Tsung was unpredictable in many ways, but in his interest and obsession with influence and power from the shadows, he never really wavered. His intent and intensity sometimes fluctuated, but the desire was ever present, ad infinitum.

The biggest difference was that this time there would be an end. There was no void from a soul, stolen by the gods, to utterly empty him beyond any mortal’s capacity to fill. There was, ostensibly, a finite amount he could want or desire. Raiden hoped this was the case, at least. He felt the beat of Shang Tsung’s heart under his hand, beneath that warm flesh, and prayed to no one that it was so; he had come to cherish that heart, openly adoring its owner, however flawed. He lay back down, sighing, unsure whence he should next go with this conversation—or at all, for that matter.

“You have a story to tell, Raiden,” said Shang Tsung, reaching down and tilting Raiden’s chin upward to once more gaze into his eyes, still bearing the soft glow of divinity, but also filled with guilt and something else. Fear? Shang Tsung both loved and hated that he could still elicit such a response from a man he was certain had once been a deity—of thunder no less! The power was intoxicating, but it wasn’t all he wanted. “So tell it. I am at your disposal. And yours alone.”

There was a bit of force—not much—in the motion that guided Raiden’s mouth to Shang Tsung’s and still a little more when the sorcerer’s other hand, which had until that point been occupied in Raiden’s hair, found its way to the back of his head and trapped him there. But what a dulcet trap. The grip on Shang Tsung’s chest tightened a little at first, but then loosened languidly as the kiss deepened and sweetened.

Did he ever give anything which did not feel wrested from him? And when, precisely, had Raiden stopped caring, delighting in the titillating dance which led to this give and take? The question of when he had fallen in love was an easy one to answer, so that, at least, was settled in his restless mind. But the remainder? That was the mystery to be unwrapped and if anyone could succeed at this monumental task—as insurmountable as unwrapping the vestments of the man himself—it would be Shang Tsung, without care or reservation and yet with the utmost delicacy, mindful always of the thunder god’s sensibilities. It was absolutely delicious and Raiden felt himself drowning in it.

“I crave your tale as much as I crave you,” whispered the sorcerer, lips parting—though only just—from those of his old, mysterious mentor. “I am breathless,” he purred, “with anticipation.”

“Let nothing be denied you, then—at least where this is concerned; I have… hidden it from you long enough, though not well, evidently.” There was some sheepishness in this remark, as a child admitting to a parent that they had, indeed, removed a sweet from its place, cooling on the countertop. Shang Tsung laid his head back on the luxurious pillow, a Cheshire smile upon his face. The hand which had been used to grasp and control was now weaving through the air, playing magic like strings, causing a low, melodic hum to enter and hover about the room; the colors reflected the strange sunsets in this place, unpredictable and ethereal. In the nexus between worlds, on this island, at its very fulcrum, time did as it desired. It was not bound by the laws of any world and sat apart from all, yet interconnected to all.

“Let nothing be denied me, ever,” warned Shang Tsung, a hint of that old predatory menace in his voice, though his hand did not stop moving. Raiden watched it, weaving this way and that, and felt himself mildly entranced by the sight, though that had not—he assumed—been the intention.

“I was,” said Raiden quietly, “as you have guessed, the god of thunder—I had, for many lifetimes, devoted myself in duty to my… chosen vocation, protector of Earthrealm.”

“A deity of destruction as protector,” Shang Tsung mused, “how like you, dear Raiden. How very like you.”

Raiden’s jaw tightened, but he kept silent, holding his tongue, knowing that the reaction was just what the sorcerer wanted. This was part of their game, this tug of war between them. When had he begun to relish in it? When I made peace with the side of me of which he so fondly speaks. And there was fondness in the man’s voice when the word “destruction” rolled off his forked tongue.

“Electricity facilitates life, as well, Shang Tsung—balance, in all things,” Raiden reminded the sorcerer, who waved this off as if to say ‘when was the last time a lightning bolt healed someone?’. Raiden knew very well that Shang Tsung could see right through him, that he clearly fought his nature, tooth and nail, every day of his long life. The struggle defined him and fascinated his sorcerous companion. “But my… father was the god of death and chaos…”

Pleased with the admission, Shang Tsung began running his fingers over Raiden’s scalp once more, almost as a reward, delighting in the way the miniscule arcs of electricity jumped to and fro as he did this. He came alive when they touched, when their flesh met, in passion or in training; there was such a field of power around Raiden that Shang Tsung could not very well help himself wanting to be near it. When did he take me? The sorcerer found himself wondering.

“So there are more… beyond you and the fire god, hm?”

“There were, yes.” Had it been anyone else to whom Raiden was speaking, he might have been alarmed at the acuity. Given that Shang Tsung had detected him the moment they met at least left Raiden with some relief, that he may have been thinking about this a while—they had, after all, known each other for over two decades… this time—and that he was not simply generating these theories spontaneously.

“Were…?” There was interest in the sorcerer’s voice, now, more than before. He knew a tangled tapestry of fate when he heard it and he was about to be handed the most beautiful of these. As with everything else he had taken from Raiden, it was being freely given. Taking by force had its merits, but not with this one, so cloaked in virtue and chastity. See, now, how far behind you have left that part of yourself, Raiden. See yourself the way I see you and that… will fulfill me.

“Eons before anything… at all,” Raiden began, pushing himself to tell the story of all creation, the true story, titans included. He wove that tapestry Shang Tsung so coveted with beautiful master strokes, no embellishments, and as much detail as he felt he could or should, at the moment. That he had a brother was now known to the sorcerer, that Kronika was, in human terms, his grandmother, that she was a titan, a being of pure passion and desire, having no vision but her own and that the offspring of titans were Elder Gods, the very opposite of that embodiment of uncontrollable, uncontainable power.

“All but Shinnok,” said Raiden, “who sought to overthrow the rule of the others while the realms were still young. Had I stepped aside and allowed him to do as he pleased, we would not be here.”

“But you,” filled in Shang Tsung, having followed the narrative closely, “dutiful son of the Elder Gods, stood between mortals and utter annihilation… and triumphed. My oh my, what a tale.”

“If it ended there,” interjected Raiden with some mischief in his tone, “I would not have enticed you to the story at all.”

“Then by all means…” Shang Tsung made a broad gesture, encompassing the whole of his chambers and they shifted utterly. Night fell outside, a thousand thousand stars from all the realms clashing above the palatial fortress of the sorcerer. Within, torches lit themselves, glowing softly, warmly, casting dancing, tantalizing shadows upon the walls. Raiden watched these things dancing and wondered if they danced at Shang Tsung’s bidding, or if he let them be, appreciating the unpredictability.

“Shao Kahn,” he said, “a name you recognize… has always been a threat… to all realms, but my primary concern has ever been Earthrealm. He, in his ambition and greed, had long ago set his sights on it. I interceded with the Elder Gods on behalf of the people of Earthrealm. I had no choice; they would have been defenseless in all-out war.”

“The tournament,” Shang Tsung guessed. “You tell me our tale, Raiden, but I know of no Elder Gods.”

“These things… they are past, forgotten, and erased, living only in the memories of the immortals who once served them—those who are left,” Raiden admitted quietly. “In that past, you came upon this island on your own and forged a partnership of servitude with Shao Kahn and a deadly alliance with the Netherrealm sorcerer-acolyte, Quan-Chi.”

“Abhorrent,” spat Shang Tsung, having long since decided anyone affiliated with the filth of Outworld was far beneath him. His feelings for Quan-Chi were similar—without the power of a whole Elder God on his side, Quan-Chi had been reduced to little more than a pretender to the Netherrealm throne. Raiden would never regret the stroke which had beheaded his hateful father, though he had not been the one to strike it, precisely. Imbalance, it may have wrought, but had there been another choice? “To serve Shao Kahn,” Shang Tsung hissed. “Nonsense—filthy nonsense.”

“I have opined, in one past or another, that, no matter your perceived station, you have always had a finger upon the pulse of fate, moving whichever way you thought best to put yourself in a place of distinct advantage,” amended Raiden, unsure why he had the urge to soothe Shang Tsung’s ego.

“So why, then, did you feel the need to show me this place of your own accord and to help me… acquire it from the hands of the Shaolin, if destiny was always to give it to me…?”

“Because the acquisition needed to be peaceful. The fact remains that this island is safest in your hands,” said Raiden quietly, not without some hesitance. He had come this far, however. To stop now would be suspicious and the height of cruelty, besides. “In all shifts of the sands of time, this space between realms is wrested from the hands of the ones who have sworn to protect it, by force and bloodshed and unnecessary loss of life. With you, it is never in danger of falling into the hands of Outworld, or the Netherrrealm… and when it is given, it is always with your express consent and for your own aims—never taken.”

“I do not share wealth.”

“Until you do.”

Their eyes met and passion once again ignited between them. The spark became a roaring flame generating its own heat and aching pleasure. Fingers found hair, pulling almost viciously. Hands roamed about grasping, groping and clawing. Tongues tasted, lips teased, teeth grazed. Even outside the arena of kombat, the two warriors, a god and a sorcerer, strove together to achieve the greatest heights of victory and of pleasure.

In the night sky over the fortress, a thunderhead formed and began raining its contents, both those of life and of death, down upon the island between realms.

#cc #cw #mk #mortal kombat #raiden #shang tsung #warring exes

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