#crying at how despite its his second time receiving his payment hes just more excited than the first time he received it

[nnobara]

pay envelopes!

[blzzrdstryr]

Chrysalis

Yandere!Albedo x gn!reader

Wordcount:2115

CW:Yandere themes

Working for Albedo isn’t that bad - the payment is good, the knowledge he provides is even better - a chance to delve into exclusive alchemical research with a widely acknowledged genius is a far more valuable award than any amount of mora or jewels could ever be. Said prodigy isn’t an awful person to work with either - he’s polite and well mannered, careful not to offend anyone even if his words can be cold and cutting sometimes. Most of the time Albedo is a pleasant company to be around, if one would turn a blind eye to his quirks.

For instance, he has a weird and frankly unnerving habit of staring at you - his teal eyes track your littlest movements as you set up an alchemical apparatus and prepare needed solutions. At first you thought he was overseeing you, checking if you had made any mistake as a fledgling alchemist, yet this hypothesis was quickly disproved when you caught him gazing off working hours. You never voiced your complaints - you wanted to keep your job and study, and maybe he is too socially blind to see how his behavior could be received by others.

Today would also be a great example of an alchemist's lack of tact - he requested you accompany him everywhere for the last few weeks, taking you from the cold heights of Dragonspine to sunny and bustling streets of Mondstadt. You two are sitting in the corner of his laboratory designed for rest and food and share a meal: two portions of his favorite fish, despite being nothing more than the employer and employee or teacher and student.

Albedo doesn’t seem to get or mind what kind of rumours he causes with this seemingly blatant favouritism before you, no he looks as calm as usual as he plunges into the dish with fork and knife.

“[First]”, he says, after the first bite: “Have the aches stopped bothering you?”, a hint of concern and something else. Two or three weeks ago you developed a strange soreness in the different parts of your body - wrists, neck, heart, legs - it would appear suddenly, burning and throbbing and making you gasp, leaving you tired and nauseous afterwards. No one could find the source of the problem, not even Albedo, yet after some time these far from pleasant sensations got subdued, easier to bear and endure.

His hand reaches for your left wrist, thumb caressing the skin, and he pulls it closer to his face, eyes examining the sore spot. You don’t protest, stunned by his sudden action.

“Hm, that’s”, he mumbles, more to himself than you: “that’s good”, he concludes, letting go of your limb.

“What’s good? Did something change?” you inquire, instantly forgetting to take offense at his grabbing.

“You could say that”, Albedo ambiguously says and returns to his fish. You ask the alchemist what he meant, but all you get are even vaguer answers and long silence in the end, as he finishes his meal and nudges you to start your own sunshine sprat.

In the end your questions remain unacknowledged, as Albedo leaves displaying you to accompany him. Surprisingly he heads for the gardens instead of the library, his step light and fast. “Master Albedo” you start, seeing that alchemist is in his creative mood again: “shouldn’t you bring an easel or sketchbook with you?”

“No, [First], I don’t intend to draw, not now. This walk is for me to get some inspiration”, Albedo quickly replies, still walking ahead: “In this time of year the environment changes so rapidly, it provides a mind with a lot of good ideas. You should come with me too, alchemy is a science of change, creation and destruction and nature is better at these three aspects than any of us”. He adds, seemingly sensing the next question you would ask.

He walks near the bushes, teal eyes focused on the blooming fragrant flowers, before he squats, pushing some of the wigs back.

“[First]”, he turns his head in your direction: “you should come and see”. You comply, curious what has caught Albedo’s attention, squatting near him and looking at one of the inner branches usually hidden by others.

It’s an ordinary dark cocoon. You almost turn your head again, before the slightest of movements catches your attention - it’s an insect trying to break out. Chrysalis cracks and deforms as a fledgling butterfly makes way past it’s confines. One second and it stretches its wings, revealing a vibrant blue coloration, the next it leaves it’s former cell entirely, elegantly soaring into the air, it’s azure wings lazily flapping, as it makes its way to the other bush.

“Fascinating”, Albedo breathes out, eyes still on the disappearing figure of the insect: “It transformed to such a great extent”.

You hear a hint of excitement in his voice - he wants to share his thoughts or knowledge then - and nod, prompting him to continue.

“Did you know that a larva needs to literally dissolve itself to reach the next stage of its life? After caterpillar finishes its cocoon, it produces enzymes that turn most of its tissue into a liquid matter and only after that does it rebuilds into an entirely new form”, he turns his gaze back to you, usually cold and thoughtful eyes now warm and dreamy: “Sometimes, I think humans are meant to metamorphose too”.

“How so?” you ask, tilting the head.

“Humans, despite all complexity and intelligence, are still fragile creatures. They’re prone to sickness and ailments and in the end old age ends those who managed to evade death before. Wouldn't it be better if one could go through metamorphosis, be reborn free from pain and hunger and constant threat of passing away? Those humans could live on forever and dedicate themselves to the higher cause without having to worry about dying and suffering".

You raise eyebrows, surprised by the sudden “outburst” - Albedo, despite his partially philosophical nature, has never shared his inner thoughts so freely, not to you at least. He, either out of embarrassment or deep contemplation, shifts his eyes somewhere behind you, and you turn back, following his eyes. He looks at the statue of Barbatos.

Tall and proud, it looks magnificent in the day’s sunlight, golden rays making it glow and shine with the fairness of the marble. Looking at this epitome of unchanging vision, you suddenly get an answer to Albedo’s thoughts and you voice it out the same second:

“Wouldn’t it negate the meaning of life then? Nature breeds diversity - the reason why we have so many flowers is because some kinds aren't adapted to particular conditions and so they change, producing entirely new types of plants. Eternal and undying beings, unconcerned with the earthly matters would have no need to reproduce and pass on its features to the next generation, depriving the world of thousand possible combinations. No new life would be created if the old one could be perfectly sustained".

"That's how you see it", Albedo replies, placing a now empty husk of the cocoon inside your palm - the testament of the nature’s miracle, the testament of one's ability to change: “I’ve witnessed many wonderful sights for today”, he adds, still looking at you, surrounded by flowers and flying butterflies, light breeze playing with your hair and sun illuminating your whole figure with a gentle golden glow.

You part with Albedo shortly after - he closes himself in the lab, before checking up on your sore spots again, quietly mumbling something to himself the whole time. You head for your house and open the alchemical textbook, studying it until late night. That place on the wrist slightly throbs at every movement.

Only when your eyelids fill up with lead and thoughts slow down from the general fatigue you allow yourself to head for the bed, falling asleep the second your head touches the pillow. You see phantasmagorical dreams - of you being a bulging and large larva, spending days simply eating green leaves, until a strange urge overcomes your entire being and you start to build something - a cocoon. Now, surrounded by pitch black darkness you feel a burning sensation - enzymes, enzymes that will dissolve your tissue. Pain quickly escalates and you want to scream and cry, but you can’t - you’re an insect you don’t have vocal glands or tear ducts to do so. Who could have known that butterflies suffer so much?

You writhe and squirm, caged by your liquifying body and hard chrysalis around you and you are in so much agony you want to die.

And then you wake up. All sweaty and distressed you grab at your wrist - it hurts so much, your entire body is on fire, it seems that you have another episode of that strange soreness. You quickly rise to your feet, snatching the painkillers from the nightstand and downing them with a gulp of water. As medicine begins it’s work you lay in the bed again, ready to fall asleep and forget the midnight pains, as you see something that makes your breath hitch and heartbeat fasten from fear.

A strange greyish white discoloration on your wrist in the same place that used to throb this evening. You touch it and it leaves a dry white imprint on your fingers, it also doesn’t have any strange smell.

You rise and quickly dress up, barely suppressed panic and anxiety dispelling the last remains of sleep. The walk towards the Favonius HQ’s is short, especially when you break into a sprint on the way. He is here, he is working into the night today. Quickly passing sleepy knights you climb on the second floor and almost run to one particular door, loudly knocking at it.

Just as you expected, there’s a sound of footsteps and soon a familiar voice asks: “Who is here?”.

“It’s me, master Albedo”, you say, feeling how the pain returns despite the painkillers taken: “you said to report if something changes, with my aches. It changed”.

The words you say and desperation accompanying them prompts alchemist to open the door, as he gestures you to come in, and shut the door as you do so:

“Strip”, he says, mind back to the analytical mode, you comply, feeling ashamed with every second Albedo continues to observe you: “Wait, there’s something on your neck”.

A cool touch to your skin, a short yelp, another burst of pain. You fall on your knees, blinded and deafened by sheer agony. Alchemist produces a distressed noise, walking up to your collapsed figure and carrying you to the nearby table.

He pushes alchemical apparatus away, turning the table into a makeshift bed, and gently lowers you down. “[First]”, his hand card through your hair, while the other nudges a mug with some brew to your lips: “There’s nothing to worry about, your metamorphosis progresses as it should be”.

“Metamorphosis.. What are you talking about?”, you ask, panic creeping into the question. Alchemist looks you straight into the eyes, an eerie smile blooming on his face as he hears it: "Isn’t it obvious? You're going to change and I will help you with that".

“Change?! Change into what?”

“Into a better version of human of course. Do you think I would let you get old or sick and die? You’re too dear to me to do that, you should live and experience a life free from human limitations”, for the first time in your life you’re terrified of him. Albedo always seemed so knowledgeable and calm to you, like a wise wizard from the childhood fairytales, yet now he looks mad and devoid of any humanity:“You shouldn’t worry about these stains, they will disappear once your transformation is complete. Those are just chalk you see, a side effect of your tissues changing over the weeks”.

“When did.. When did you start it?”, you croak out, sensing the agony returning and growing again. It hurts so much I can barely think.

“Dragonspine. You were eating with me”.

You want to insult and accuse him, yet another wave of pain renders you speechless, short huffs and whimpers escaping you as tears start to stream down your face.

“I understand it can be very stressful to you, given how change of this scale is always carrying a great risk”, his voice adopts the same philosophical tone: “The purpose of cocoon is protection of the soon-to-be butterfly from the external harm and influence that could lead to other complications and we don’t want any of that”.

He cards his hand through your hair again, a mockery of a concern dyeing his next words: “You shouldn’t worry, I will be a good chrysalis to your metamorphosis”.

You black out from pain.

[army-author]

yoongi scenario | felix culpa

« felix culpa: a fortunate fall; an apparent error or disaster with happy consequences »

➸ prompt: We’re both descended from feuding supernatural families, and to stop the centuries of fighting you and I are arranged to be married.

➸ pairing: incubus yoongi x fairie reader

➸ requested by anon | 4.2k words | fluff, angst

Stay on your side of the wall. That’s the most important rule, drilled into you since you were babbling in your cradle. Before you learnt what magic was, learnt about the power coursing through your body, you knew what the wall was. It’s a constant presence, even when its golden bricks are out of sight, you can still feel its impressive and impassive force. All that’s beyond it is an unending darkness, and darker creatures – some call them incubi, some call them devils. You call them a mystery.

They’re the reason the fairie government put up the wall, and the magic barrier that reinforces it. Faeries can get out, but nothing can get in. Below your artificial lights, your kind are free to live without fear of being snatched into the blackness of the wastelands next door.

But there’s something about the wall that pulls you to it, curious about what lies outside. Maybe it’s your heart pulling you towards love, somewhere on the shadowy other side, in the shape of someone you were taught to fear.

You meet him in your eleventh year.

Playing on the outskirts of the city, next to the towering wall that glitters unnaturally next to the smaller cottages that make up the suburbs, your friend, Nyx, is trying to show you her new doll, asking you to hold her, and pointing out the detailed needlework on its dress, when you feel a pair of eyes on you.

Magic crackles at your ears, alerting you to danger, and you hush Nyx before throwing a wary look behind you. There, on the other side of the golden gate leading to the wastelands, a young boy stands. He looks about the same age as you, but he’s not like any of the fairie boys you know. His hair is a few shades too black, his eyes a few shades too dark, unnaturally so – darker than midnight. You’ve never seen such a rich blackness inside the city where the streetlights keep the daylight even when the sun goes down.

Curious, you step closer. His dark eyes are like black holes that suck you in.

Behind you, Nyx calls your name, a warning in her tone, but you can’t turn away now. You reach the gate, one step away from the boy, with the rungs of the gate between you.

A smile, or maybe it’s more of a smirk, ghosts the boy’s lips, before he reaches past the bars and rips Nyx’s doll from your hand.

“Hey!” You make a grab past the gate, but the boy ducks out of reach, sticking out his tongue. In a few more steps, he bleeds into the fogs of the forest and disappears from view.

Without thinking, you squeeze through the bars of the gate, still small enough to fit, and feel the magic barrier wobble as it admits your fairie blood into the wastelands.

From the other side, Nyx’s voice sound muffled. “Come back! It’s not safe!”

You smile to assure her you’re safe, then dart towards the trees. The darkness swallows you up – it’s the first time you’ve been without light, and suddenly the gravity of what you’ve done sinks in. You’re in the wastelands. In the dark. And a hundred devils could be crawling towards you, lurking just beyond where your eyes can reach. A chill clings to your skin, and you turn your eyes back to the city lights, still glittering through the gloom. Just a few steps back and you’d be safe on the other side again, back where the trees bloom bright, bursting with fruit and magic, a far cry from the dead trees on this side, raising bare branches to the hazy sky in penance.

“Are you scared? Gonna run home?”

You spin around to see the boy, leaning against one of the trees, doll in hand.

The words you want to say build up in your mouth, ready to spill over, until he interrupts your thoughts with, “You know you’re going to be in big trouble if the incubus king learns there was a fairie on his land.”

You swallow and reply, “Well if he doesn’t want me here, you’ll have to tell him it was your fault, since you led me here.”

The boy bites down on his lips, red welling where his teeth clamp down. “He won’t know… and even if he did, he wouldn’t mind because it’s me…” But he doesn’t seem sure, so he quickly throws the doll back at you. “Take this…” As an after though he mumbles, “Since you were brave enough to cross the barrier, I’ll be nice.”

A smile stretches across your face, as you clasp the doll to your chest. “Thank you. You’re actually okay when you’re being nice… well, okay for someone who lives in the wastelands.”

“And you’re okay for someone who lives in the city.” He echoes back, colour rising to his pale cheeks.

Running back to the gate, you call to him from behind the bars, “What’s your name, by the way?”

His brows furrow. “Why does it matter?”

“Because we’re friends now.”

“Stupid.”

“Your name’s stupid?”

“No. You’re stupid! My name’s Yoongi and you’re stupid.” He escapes into the shadows without another word.

♡♡♡

And so, you make your first fatal error: considering Yoongi a friend.

As the days fly by, eternal summer remains within the walls while it begins to snow in the wastelands.

You often go back to the gate where you first met Yoongi, hoping to catch another glimpse of him in the ashy grey slush outside. But there’s nothing there but a few black ravens, and the groaning of the trees.

You’re getting ready to forget Yoongi, until one day, leaning on the railings of the gate, you notice a piece of paper lodged in a crack in the bricks on the other side. Reaching past the gate, you pull it out, and brush off the dirt before reading: “Hey, stupid, stop standing by the gate during the daytime. Do you know how suspicious that looks? If you want to see me again, come at night. Yoongi.”

Your stomach flips. How long ago was the note left here? Will Yoongi still be waiting tonight, or did you leave it too late?

It’s worth one chance, one night, just to check that he’s not there. The next night, you sneak from your house while your parents sleep, and tread the familiar way to your spot by the gate. Peering out from the well-lit city, all you can see is darkness this late. You don’t notice him, until, “Boo!”

Your heart rockets to your throat and you need to clamp your mouth closed with your hands to hold back a scream.

“You actually came!” In the light of the city, his eyes sparkle bright, and you notice there’s flecks of light within the blackness that had first drawn you to him.

“I was worried you’d get bored of waiting.” You step closer, not actually sure what to do, now that he’s in front of you again.

“It’s not like I have anything better to do during the night,” he laughs, holding his hand out to you through the gate.

You take it in his own, staring at his dull skin contrasted against the glow of yours – one of the symptoms of living in the wastelands where no light can reach. His fingers snake through yours, and you tug at him, saying, “You should come inside to see the city lights.”

He hisses and pulls his hand away. “You really are stupid. The barrier, remember?” Sure enough, at his wrist, just where you had pulled him beyond the barrier, a blue bruise billows out – the payment for any incubus that tries to cross through to the city.

“Sorry…”

He waves off your mistake, and holds out his hand, wary of the barrier sparkling just in front of his eyes, “You’ll have to come across to my side.”

Doubts crowd into your mind, but he promises, “I’ll keep you safe out here,” so you grab onto his fingers and slip through the gate easily.

He leads you into the woods, dodging trees before you can even spot them in the gloom. He seems more at ease in the shadows, his shoulders relaxing, and his grip on your hand softening.

“Where are we going?” you ask.

He offers a helpful, “Somewhere,” in response.

“Yoongi…” you whine, before he shoots you a warning look that tells you not to start, before pushing you through some brambles, into a clearing and into lights that strain your eyes after the darkness. You blink a few times before you can make sense of what you’re seeing – the entrance to a small cave, littered with gemstones that scatter kaleidoscopes of light across your cheeks.

“Beautiful, right?” Yoongi steps to your side, searching your face to gauge your reaction, “We do have light in the wastelands, despite what you fairie folk think.”

“I always thought that no beauty existed outside of our city…” you breathe, “We’re always told that the wastelands are nothing but… well… waste.”

“Well, you can’t believe everything you hear on your side of the wall,” Yoongi says, fingers ghosting over yours again, “Not about the wastelands. And not about incubi.”

You catch his hand in your own. “Show me more.”

♡♡♡

Your second error is keeping in touch with Yoongi.

As the years pass, your make a habit of leaving letters for him in the crack in the wall. Walking by your gate is always exciting, and you look forward to the prospect of getting another letter from him.

Growing up, his writing has evolved from, “Hey, stupid. Come and meet me the next night you can. I’ve got something to show you!” to much something much more romantic – “Every day spent away from you takes its toll on me. Life on this side of the wall is so boring, the wastelands offer nothing new without you around to teach me how to appreciate it all. When can we meet again? I miss you more with each night that passes.”

You keep the letters he’s sent, stored in a locked box under your bed. It reminds you of why you like him so much, why he’s so important in your life, despite all the warnings you’ve received from faeries about the world beyond the wall.

If your friends ever found out about Yoongi, you know they’d tear up his letters and force you to stay inside.

More and more, you’ve been hearing horror stories about the evils of the incubi. You don’t know if it’s just because you’re more aware now the innocence of childhood is sliding off, or if intolerance is mounting towards the creatures that reside in the wastelands.

The conversations with your friends make you uncomfortable now, hearing what’s been said in the news, regurgitated in their own words.

“Incidents of incubi kidnapping fairies is getting so much more common,” one of your friends, Alva, tells you, as you sit in the park with a group of other fairies, “They come to the gates and encourage innocent children to pass the barrier. And once they’re out in the wastelands, do you know what they do?”

You shake your head.

Alva widens her eyes, “They kiss them, and suck up their life force.”

“No, no,” one of the other girls, shakes her head, “They infect you with lust, and keep you as slaves in return for their love.”

The group starts bickering over what incubi do with their victims, until Nyx pipes up, “Well that incubus child lured you across the barrier… do you think he was trying to kidnap you?

The chattering falls off, silence settling in its place.

Under the gaze of your friends, Nyx presses you to support her claim, “Don’t you remember? He stole my doll and you followed after him to get it.”

The group dissolves into chaos.

“You crossed the barrier?”

“Are you mad?”

“You’re lucky you’re not dead!”

You hold up your hands to fend off their shouting. “It’s okay. I’m fine. It was along time ago. Nothing happened to me.” Your friends’ eyes stay pinned to you, worried.

You wish their concerns didn’t affect you as much as they do. No matter how much you remind yourself that Yoongi is trustworthy, that if he wanted to kill you he would have done so ages ago, doubt still resounds in your mind, a small ‘what if’ niggling like an itch you can’t reach.

What if he’s just waiting for the right time to strike? What if one day you go out to the wasteland and never return? What if you’re already affected by him, brainwashed to believe that he’s good.

You decide to test him yourself.

♡♡♡

The next night you go to the gate, watching the fog sigh by, and breathing misty clouds into the air.

At last, Yoongi arrives by your side, giving a rare smile. “Hello, stupid.”

Before he can say or do anything else, you stand up on your tip-toes, and press your lips to his own.

Below your touch, he tenses.

You pull back to see his eyes, as wide as a full moon as he gapes at you. “What was that for?”

“A test.”

He stays silent, waiting for you to explain.

“My friends told me that an incubus’s kiss could steal life force.”

“So you decided give me a chance to kill you?” His eyes darken.

“I trust you,” you mumble, suddenly feeling uncomfortable about the whole thing.

Yoongi digs his toe into the dirt, concentrating on the patterns he draws with his boot, rather than looking your way. “You really shouldn’t,” he says at last, “I’m an incubus after all. I’m different from you, always will be… and I really could take your life if I wanted.”

“But you won’t.”

“Want to bet on it?” Stepping forward, he presses his lips to yours again. Not like the first time. This time he isn’t stiff, but fluid, like smoke that expands to fill your crevices. Without really knowing what you’re doing, you open your mouth to him, let him inside – his tongue is soft, but firm, pressing to all your edges, until you feel weak at the knees and your fingers catch onto his arms to keep you from falling.

When he parts, you feel that something inside you has changed. Are you dead? Is your life force gone?

No, still here, just a little mushy-brained from Yoongi’s touch.

You’re unharmed. Despite his teasing, Yoongi wouldn’t hurt you. You smack his arm. “You’re the worst. Why would you do that?”

“Were you scared.”

You pause. Consider. “Maybe… for a second. But after that I liked it.”

“I liked it too.”

Falling in love was your third error. You should have seen it coming, could have prevented it – yet here you are, completely enamoured. And here’s Yoongi, looking back, like he might be enamoured too. That though alone pushes you up to float in the clouds, high on your own happiness.

♡♡♡

You return to your house, lighter than air, and breeze in through the door. That’s when you come crashing down from your dreams, meeting your mother and father, waiting for you in the kitchen.

“Where were you?” Your father steps forward, and you scramble to search for an excuse.

“Don’t make her answer. We already know,” your mother murmurs, a hand reaching out to your father. He pulls away from her, and goes to the table where a familiar box sits.

“What is the meaning of this? Huh?” He picks it up, and throws it to the tiles where it cracks, letters saturated with Yoongi’s love spilling onto the floor.

“Please don’t…” you can’t remember when you started crying. Your mother goes to your side, wrapping her arms around you. She’s crying too.

“Nyx told us about the incubus that led you into the wastelands,” your father says, “I can’t believe it…” His anger dissipates, and he pinches the bridge of his nose as he laments. “My own daughter, infatuated with an incubus… brainwashed…”

“I’m not!” your try to explain, as your mother’s arms hold on tighter, “He did nothing to me. Incubi aren’t what we think.”

Your father scoffs. “Well there’s your proof. He’s clearly infected your brain with his poison…” He steps towards you, and you see something glinting in his hand. You recognise the bracelet just before he clamps it onto your wrist. It’s gold, infused with incubus blood, fashioned so that you can’t get past the barrier. They’re made for fairies that are brainwashed by incubi, meant for their own safety.

The metal burns as it binds to your skin, and as you scratch at it, it only squeezes tighter.

“Promise us you’ll never try to pass the barrier again,” your father pleads, forcing your chin up to look in his eyes. You want to be angry, but all you see reflected back is sadness and misunderstanding. You hang your head, defeated, while your mother sobs against you.

♡♡♡

That was three years ago.

You still have the bracelet shackling you. Your mother barely lets you out of sight now, fussing and worrying every time you ask to leave the house. She looks a lot older now, and you worry that all the stress you caused her has done this. You wish you could explain away her fears, reassure her that you’re in complete control of your brain. Falling in love with Yoongi may have been a mistake, but it was also a choice. You feel this way because you decided that he was the kind of person you’d want to spend forever and a day with. Not because incubus toxins are clouding your head. You pray you can get her to understand someday. There’s a small hope she might. Recently, fairies have been questioning what really lies outside the wall, why you even need a wall. And your mother has been paying more attention to the news as the fairie president schedules peace talks with the incubus king.

Your father, on the other hand, is just as stubborn. Any time he walks in on your mother watching debates on incubus rights, he’ll scoff and roll his eyes and say, “What more do those life suckers want? They’ve already got a whole world outside, and we’re trapped in this city, forced to use all our magic to keep them from our homes and our daughters.”

When he goes off ranting like this, your mother switches off the TV and stares out the window.

With the few chances you get to leave the house, you go to check your gate, where you and Yoongi first met, but Yoongi’s never there, and if he left a letter, it’s since been removed.

Today, again, you follow the all too familiar route, desperate to check, just in case. The streets are strangely busy, but you pay no heed, squeezing past until you reach the suburbs where the gate stands, as expected. What you don’t expect is the tape sectioning off the wall. “What’s going on?” you ask one of the men walking past, and he stares at you. 

“You don’t know? They’re knocking down this part of the wall.”

“What?”

“Our president has finished the peace talks with the incubus king. He agreed to knock down the wall, as part of a new deal sealed with the incubi.”

You shake your head, not able to hope.

“I couldn’t believe it myself,” the man goes on, “From what I gather, the king’s son is the one pushing for these changes. He’s even offered up his hand in marriage to a fairie wife as a symbol of peace.”

His words jumble together in your head. Only one thing sticks for you. The wall is being knocked down. You’ll get to see Yoongi again. Turning on your heel, you sprint back to your house. The streets are filling up as fairies spill out of their houses, the news leaking out. You hear the word ‘wall’ repeated over and over, sometimes murmured and other times shouted.

The street to your own house is the most crowed. Nyx, and a couple of your other friends are outside, and they catch hold of your when you appear. “I’m so sorry,” Nyx smothers you in a hug, “I was wrong about that incubus.”

Confused about what brought on her change of heart, you pull away from her, and force your way to your house, where your mother greets you with a hug and a few tears. Behind her, your father stares on, lip curling up in a scowl.

“What’s going on?” you demand.

“You don’t know?” your mother pulls back to search your eyes, “The incubus prince has picked you out to be his bride. It’s a great honour.” She wipes a stray tear from her eyes. “A marriage to end the fighting and a reminder of why we’re knocking down the wall.”

Your father jumps in, “It’s disgusting. He has no right to demand your hand.”

“It’s a privilege,” your mother says, turning to him, “Our daughter is going to be a part of history… we can’t say no. Not to something so monumentous.”

The world spins around you.

Marriage? To the prince? Your heart turns cold. A man you’ve never met has picked you out from a thousand other fairies he could have, and in doing so has pulled you away from the one man you love.

Your mother’s hand falls to your wrist, detaching your bracelet with a snap of her fingers and a crackling of magic. The tight band of gold slides from you, leaving a red mark where it had stayed for three years. “You won’t be needing this anymore,” she smiles.

You rub at your wrist, and try to smile back, despite the whirl of emotions pulling you down.

Your mother turns to your father. “Don’t you have something to give?”

He scowls, before stepping forwards to hand you a letter stamped with the crest of the incubus royal family. The paper feels heavy in your hand.

“And this as well,” he says, before you go to remove your hands. He adds another letter to your hand, this one is older, crumpled and creased. “It was left by the gate you always sneaked through.”

From Yoongi? You glance down and recognise the handwriting.

“I need a moment.” You push your way out of the house, fighting the crowd down the streets until you find yourself in the quiet of the suburbs, by the gate again. Left in peace, you sit down on the curb, and read the letter:

“Love, it’s been so long since I’ve seen you. I worry that your parents might have found out about us – and that you’re being kept from visiting. It hurts not being able to see you, but I’m not going to give up so easily. I’ll fight to see you again. You have my word for it. It may take a long time, but I’m going to see you again. Someday, we’ll live in a world where there’s no wall, and you can stay by my side without fear.”

Your tears spot the page.

The wall is going, but Yoongi’s dream for you is all but shattered.

“Why are you crying, stupid?”

Looking up, you see Yoongi standing above you, slightly out of breath. It only takes you a second to register he’s there before he sweeps you up into a hug, lifting you off the ground. The tears keep falling, but now for joy.

Setting you down, Yoongi presses a kiss to your forehead. “Where did you go? I’ve been going crazy searching for you.”

“I’m sorry, my parents found out I was sneaking past the wall.”

“I feared so,” Yoongi’s face falls, and his finger traces the mark where your bracelet once was, “That’s why I fought so hard to get my father to speak with your president. I needed to get into the city. I needed to see you again.”

“Your father?” you take a step back, and it’s only then that you take in Yoongi’s clothing, a lot grander than the normal black shirt and ripped trousers he wears while he wanders the forest. He’s wearing a blazer embroidered with diamonds, and earrings stamped with the emblem of the incubus’ royal family. “You’re the prince?”

His smile, so rare, but shown so often for you, brings back all the familiar feelings of love, reassurance, acceptance, belonging. You slot yourself back into his hold, listening to his heart beating as you rest your ear to his chest.

“Yeah, I suppose I never got around to telling you.”

Tears keep trickling their way down your nose, so overcome with all the ups and downs of the day.

“By the way,” his voice thrums steady against you, “I kind of… already told my father I’d marry you so we could bring the kingdoms together. That won’t be a problem, will it?”

You laugh into his chest. “Not at all.”

“Good.” His lips ghost the top of your head, and you thank the heavens for all the mistakes you made that led to this moment.

Author’s note: Well… this is definitely NOT a drabble… Sorry, I got completely carried away with this au, but I don’t think I could have told the story in fewer words. Even this long still feels a little rushed…

a halloween drabble > click here to read more

[birger-wuvs-elsa]

The Frozen Lion

Elsa Week, Day Seven: Free Choice @elsadailly

Had a hard time coming up with something, so I used a Prompt Generator and found an interesting combo...

Genre: Fairy Tale

Character: A lion trainer

Material: An old car

Sentence: "I don't need any sleep."

Bonus: The Sun is failing.

Fair Warning, this got fucking long and I don’t know how... OwO

Elsa tightened her hold on the coiled whip in her hands, knuckles white with the pressure of her grip. Where once she had treated the strip of leather like a snake, afraid it would one day snap at her, now she had to hold onto it for dear life. Though shame still broiled in Elsa’s stomach, as she had once promised never to use it...life didn’t really care what the blonde wanted. That would’ve been far too easy, far too simple.

No, rather, it had decided to bring her to the brink of desperation.

Before Elsa was the open entryway of a tent, the bright red canvas was so obnoxious it caused her eyes to sting a bit. Even in her peripheral, the color hurt to see, and the yellows, greens, and blues that striped it didn’t help. But this was the circus—distasteful flashiness and abominable showmanship was required. But then, the Sun was failing; light in the world was getting dimmer and dimmer, so of course mankind would compensate with unnecessarily bright colors.

The roar of the excited crowd as the Showmaster spoke through his megaphone was muted to Elsa, as she agonized over what she was being made to do. To her people, the act she was about to commit was beyond heinous. Such a crime was so abhorred by Elsa’s people, even the mere thought committing it was punishable by death. Actually doing the crime itself?

Well...there are worse things than dying...

Such as the pure terror that lanced through Elsa’s body like electricity as she heard the Showmaster call out his ‘mighty and cold Lion Master’ to face the ‘fearsome and powerful Frozen Lion’. The blonde outright loathed the title, loathed her position, loathed herself, she loathed everything! Were it not for the monumental payment she would be receiving for this show, and how badly the blonde’s family needed it...she wouldn’t be within a thousand leagues of this den of greedy scum.

But Anna—her sister— needed the money; Kristoff, Anna’s mate, their vulpendeer Sven, Olaf the Snowfayr, their entire village. If Elsa didn’t get this money, they were all doomed to die in the darkness and the cold. How tragic that the gradual decline of the sun only made the rich richer, and the poor poorer. For all the world knew, this was the end of days...for all they knew, they were all going to die. What if when the sun finally died, they all just...ended?

Without Heylosk to protect them and keep them warm...and to fend them off...what was the point?

But Elsa once heard a man say something, a man who saw the sun failing and decided he wasn’t dead yet: “Until the world actually ends, I’m going to act as if it’ll keep going. Better than to waste my time sitting around, waiting to die.”

But as the blonde walked out onto the show floor, as she blinked against the blazing false-lights that beamed onto her and all but scorched her pale skin, Elsa almost wished she’d done that instead...waited to die. After all, she felt like she was dying now, eyes locked on the dirt floor as the Showmaster announced the beast that would be arriving to ‘face the Lion Master in glorious combat!’. The crowd cheered, the blonde scowled and gripped her whip tighter. It took all of Elsa’s willpower not to kill them all right then; she heard them, heard them cry out for blood...her blood, or the lion’s, they didn’t seem to care.

The crowd wanted someone to die today...

But then, as the Showmaster scurried out of the arena, and Elsa faced the doorway the lion was to come out of, it made sense to the blonde. Neither of their kinds were really loved at all by man; Vylashkin like her, known as ‘Snow Demons’ by the humans, and Vundubadokk, ‘Ice Lions’ men called them. Anyone or anything from the frozen northlands was hated or feared by man, unless of course they were forced to fight one another for man’s amusement.

They hate us for our love of the cold...they think we’re flourishing while the Sun is failing...

The metal door rumbled and creaked as it rose, and the crowd’s cheer grew louder in anticipation. Elsa squared her feet, and shifted her hold of the whip to hold the handle, the length of the weapon falling free...

They have no idea...we’re suffering, everyone’s suffering, the sun wasn’t just for them. We never hated the sun, we didn’t wish it away...

Thrumming growls echoed out from the partially open door, the alien noise silencing some humans in fear, but inspiring brave insults from others. Elsa rolled her shoulders and stretched her neck, and made sure to even out her breathing.

Our ‘savage rituals’ to make the sun die...we were mourning it, you monsters. We were mourning Heylosk...because you murdered him...

Finally the door was fully open, and the Vundubadokk emerged slowly, carefully, its eyes locked on the blonde. The lion-like beast growled, its hackles raised, making the ice spikes on its back quiver and heighten. Its saber teeth glinted in the false-light, the antlers coated in ice sparkled and shone. Even its mane of teal rime looked downright stunning, despite the abomination they called light that streamed onto it. However, the white fur on most of the lion—crusted perpetually by the frost on the lion’s body—was not so beautiful, the moment the false-light struck its hide, steam arose as a soft hiss gradually made itself known.

Just as the harsh light ever so slightly began to burn away at Elsa...it burned away at the lion as well...

The two beings born of ice, forced to fight one another beneath searing rays of false light. All of it, for the entertainment of the humans who hated them, who killed the Sun only to blame them for it. As Elsa looked into the lion’s eyes, eyes that shone azure with Wylund’s blessing, the blessing of Winter...she saw the hesitance. While the beast made no outward show of compassion, the blonde knew that the Vundubadokk didn’t want to hurt her. Elsa could only hope, as she took a fighter’s stance and cracked her whip (to the excitement of the crowd), that the lion could see the same in her eyes.

A whistle rang through the air, the shrill noise hardly lasted a moment before the Vundubadokk and the Vylashkin lunged at one another. The crowd loved every second of the fight that ensued, loved the blood that began to coat the dirt, the cries of pain from either woman or lion. The Showmaster smiled cruelly from his place, and chuckled everytime the lion scored a hit on the blonde. He didn’t like her, not at all; in fact, he didn’t even intend on paying her. The man only promised her the hefty sum he did to convince the Vylashkin to go against every law her people had.

Desperation born of the Sun’s death turned out to be much more profitable than the Showmaster could’ve imagined. Sure, when he first heard word some weirdo named Hans planned on murdering Heylosk, people like the Showmaster couldn’t have cared less. Sure, it’d be absolutely horrendous for people who relied on the Sun’s power, but not him. Oh no, he had enough riches he could manufacture whatever he needed.

But entertainment like watching two ice demons from the North have at each other?

Fucking priceless...die, you frozen bitch, die! But do please take the lion with you...he’s far too much trouble, kind of like you.

The man chuckled to himself, but frowned as he heard a scream. The Showmaster cast his gaze from the arena to the stands. His eyes widened in horror as he saw ice break out everywhere, giant chunks had encased his guards, and frost was spreading everywhere. The man glared down at his ‘entertainers’ only to gape in confusion. Both lion and woman were slumped on the ground, the woman on her knees, and the lion on its side.

They weren’t doing anything...

Before the Showmaster could do anything, a loud explosion behind him sent the man to the floor. Just as it quieted and the rubble stilled, the man looked to find the door of his cabin blown apart. Unnatural fire clung to the doorway, fire in a thousand colors he didn’t know existed, and watched, terrified, as two beings entered. The one who approached him first and knelt before his charred face was clearly a woman, and she seemed human...save for the one green eye she had, opposed to one blue

“Y-you’re...you’re a f-f-fucking huh-hybrid...” The Showmaster stuttered out.

The woman smiled, an awfully cheerful expression that made the man shudder. Her short brown hair ruffled in the agitated air caused by the fire. “Maybe, but that’s not really important right now, is it? We’ll be taking your lion and master away now, thank you.”

The Showmaster scowled, and tried to stand up only to fall back to the ground. “You bitch! You can’t do that, they’re mine! They belong to me!”

A hand larger than any man’s, larger than the Showman’s own head, shot down faster than he could see and grabbed his shirt’s collar. The man screamed as he was ruthlessly pulled off the floor, the being that grabbed him so tall, the Showman’s feet dangled a good two feet off the ground. The man gripped the being’s terribly muscled arm in a vain attempt to get free, only to gape as his hands hardly encircled the ripped, steal-scaled forearm.

As the Showman followed the arm—armored by scales that looked like metal, but were clearly a part of its body—all the way to the head, he immediately regretted doing so. For he met the eyes of a dragon’s face, the blue all but burning with rage. This was a Khadra...a dragon-man...the former Knights of Heylosk and Thulinth, the Sun and the Moon.

A voice so deep it sounded like the Earth’s thundered from the dragon. “They belong to nobody...and you will never harm another innocent again...”

The last thing the Showmaster saw was the woman break the glass of his viewing wall, leap down to the arena, and approach his prizes...before his vision was engulfed by golden flame.

Elsa didn’t move when the screams and explosions started, they didn’t matter to her. She’d already done the worst thing imaginable...harmed her people’s sacred animal. She clenched her fists tight on the dirt floor, the whip no longer in her hands, but rather off in some corner of the arena where the blonde pretended it was straight up gone. Elsa grimaced, and let herself sob as she watched the tears fall onto the ice coated, blood soaked ground. In front of her, she heard the lion’s painful keens, and cried harder for the beast.

No...no, I won’t fail you again, o good lion...

As she couldn’t literally spit, the fluids of her body spent on tears and sweat, Elsa instead figuratively spit in everyone’s face as she crawled, hands and knees, to the Vundubadokk. The great lion was still alive, wounded by her strikes but thankfully not fatally so. Every exhaled breath came out a slight whine, and a pool a drool grew by its open mouth. Its eyes were glazed and unfocused, and the beast clearly no longer took notice of everything.

Elsa reached out, slowly, before she placed a pale hand on the lion’s paler chest. The beast startled, eyes widened sharply as it looked at her. It didn’t move its head, but now its azure gaze was locked onto Elsa’s own. The blonde kept the shared gaze, and pursed her lips as she left frost spark into being beneath her hand. The growing cold on the lion’s side caused it to sigh, its body relaxing beneath Elsa’s frosted touch as she began to pet it.

“I’m so sorry, Vundubadokk...” Elsa whispered softly to it as she crawled closer, and used both hands to frost the lion’s side. The ice seemed to revitalize the beast as its breathing calmed, and it became more and more relaxed.  “I didn’t want to hurt you, I’m sorry...”

The beast continued to watch her, its bright eyes seeming to pierce Elsa’s own soul.

...I’m sorry, too...

Elsa’s eyes widened as she gasped, startled to have heard the strong bass voice in not just her mind, but her heart, her very soul. She’d heard legends of this before, of frozen lions bonding with those of her people. This bond allowed them to communicate with one another, to share hearts and strength. But she didn’t know how the bond was made...until now, Elsa stared down at her hands on the lion’s side, and she understood.

A link made of ice...

Suddenly, the lion growled and a warm hand rested on Elsa’s shoulder, startling the blonde out of her realization. She looked up to meet the dual-colored eyes of the woman who now stood over her, a soft, gentle smile beneath.

“It’s all right, I’m not here to hurt you. My associate and I are here to get you two out of here.”

A loud rumble shook the ground, and Elsa looked over the lion to see...by the gods, was that a Khadra?! All breath left Elsa as she started in awe of the dragon man that approached the frozen pair. His naturally armored body almost resembled plated steel, and he shone like a living god himself beneath the rays of the false-light. While nowhere near as deep as the lion’s, the dragon’s own voice rumbled like an avalanche.

“Do not fear, young Vylashkin. We’re here to take you two home, you have my word.”

Elsa looked between the two, and gulped down the fear (and bile, maybe?) she felt. They were giving her an out, they were rescuing her...and not just her, but the lion as well! She almost laughed in relief, but stopped herself as soon as she remembered the entire reason Elsa had allowed any of this to happen. The blonde shook her head, and struggled to not cry again.

“I-I can’t, I need...I need the money for this, I can’t go home without it! My people, my sister, they’ll die without the money!”

The dragon smiled, he actually smiled, but it looked far too gentle to be mocking. Elsa stared him, daring to glare at the legendary beast, only to watch in slack-jawed awe as he raised up a huge back. Ordinarily, the bag would’ve required multiple men to carry it, but the khadra’s grand size and strength made the one-handed act laughably easy.

“Oh, do you mean this?” The dragon chuckled, “I busted open his safe and oh my, no one ever taught that man to not keep all of his eggs in one basket, did they?”

A chuffing noise below Elsa brought her attention to the lion’s laughter, and incited the blonde’s own. They were free...absolutely free...no death or crime-tainted money involved, only a few scars and a brand new bond. Elsa immediately agreed to the rescue, the khadra proving his strength yet again as he gently lifted the frozen lion onto his shoulder. The woman helped Elsa to her feet, and together, the group left the showroom.

Outside was similar to within, blasts of various elements marred the corrupt complex around them. Elsa stared as the woman ushered her past it all, amazed at the thought of any kind of rebellion being a thing. But clearly it was, as other captured individuals—human or otherwise—were freed. The blonde’s attention was taking from the chaotic sight to an old car the woman was urging her into. The large vehicle wasn’t ancient by any means, but certainly had seemed use.

It almost seemed like a former troop carrier, from...from the days of Heylosk’s Knights.

As the four settled themselves in the back, the woman strode to the cabin, where two more women sat. “Paine, get us out of here now, these two need to get North a.s.a.p.!”

The silver-haired woman behind the wheel nodded, and swiftly put the vehicle in gear and rushed them out. Elsa returned her attention to the Vundubadokk, to her lion, as the Khadra carefully laid the beast down. As soon as the dragon stood and back away, Elsa hurried to the lion’s sided and all but collapsed against it. Though the beast huffed at the sudden weight, the blonde didn’t fail to notice its smile.

Elsa heard the khadra chuckle, before she felt his large hand gently rest of her back. “I’ll leave you two be. It’s a long drive North, and you two were baked in hell a tad too long. Rest...we’ll cool this cabin for you, so no need to worry.”

Elsa looked up to meet the dragon’s eyes, amazed at the kindness in the blue, and the sheer gentleness in the smile. The beastly man should’ve been a fright to behold, but so far, had only been the epitome of compassion before the blonde. Elsa sighed and smiled, giving the dragon a grateful nod.

“Thank you so much, I’ll never be able to repay any of you...”

The dragon’s smile grew, if that were possible, and...wait... For a brief second, the khadra’s image flickered, and Elsa could’ve sworn she saw an image of a young woman. But before she could even register what she saw, the blonde blinked and only beheld a dragon once more.

“You’re very welcome, Elsa. Now rest, and make sure Birger gets plenty of frost so he can heal.”

Elsa frowned, her stubbornness rising within her chest. “I don’t need any sleep.”

The dragon chuckled, “Yes, you do. That heat and the trauma of your little escapade will wear on you more than you know. Besides, your magic won’t last long if you dead tired. Now rest, you’ve both earned it.”

The khadra then strode into the cabin, where a button was pressed and a door closed, cutting off the rest of the vehicle from their cabin. Cold air immediately filled the room, invigoration both woman and lion immensely after their searing duel before. The cool was heavenly on their roasted hides, but...Elsa couldn’t focus on the relief, for her mind was focused on one question.

How did he know my name...and the lion’s...I never said it, and the lion can only speak to me...

Before Elsa could consider further, she slumped against Birger’s side and drifted off to sleep, a gentle coat of frost beneath her hand where it lay on the lion’s side.