#the memory of her mothers love and a baby crying (the crying sounds overlap and are different cries when they overlap 😅)

[chirpsythismorning]

[calehenituse-brainrot]

Blurry Faces

Cale Henituse | Kim Rok Soo x Transported!Reader

Cale hated peeking into your life without your consent, and yet here he is, seeing the things you have went through and how they shaped you to be the person you were.

trigger warning: implied sexual assault and pseudo-incest, mentions self-harm scars, suicide, death.

You don't know where you are. A man, no, a child is holding your hand. You don't know anymore. Faces and bodies are morphing too quickly for you to comprehend.

"Please." A voice pleads to you, the way it has been doing for the last few days. Has it been days? Years?

"I don't want to," you say with a broken voice, tired of rejecting this request over and over again. "I don't know you."

"Yes, you do," the voice insists, sounding like a chorus of people talking. "You are the reason why we are here, why we have a home."

John disappeared a long time ago, taking his pleasant memories with him. He had faded slowly to the point he was unable to acknowledge you before he completely disappeared, leaving you alone. You were left alone and in the dark, as your memories played over and over again, good and bad. His memories no longer overlapped yours and you no longer see him. The memories that flashed in front of you had begun growing shorter and shorter, cutting the memories of you and Cale along with the others as if it never happened.

You feel like you were being gaslit. You remember waking up to see Cale, holding his hand and crying over him. You remember the sweet tea you share with Rosalyn, the amused grins with Alver, and the laughs of the children. You remember them. Let me remember them. 

"They don't exist," insisted the voice. 

"They do!" You fought back. You will hold onto these memories until your fingernails bleed and claw marks appear on them. You don't care. The moment you let go, you know you cannot have them back. You cannot enjoy life anymore if you let them go. "They're my-"

"They are your nothing," the voice spat. You feel rigid hands held onto you and force you to turn around. You were faced with the scene of your life before, one with your father when you were a child.

You see your child self sat on her father's lap, grasping at his shirt as your child self looked out at the rowdy playground, much too shy and scared to join the other kids. You see your father's large hand patting your back comfortingly, bouncing your child self on his knee to soothe you. You hear your father's comforting words as he talks to your child self.

"Come on, sweetie," says your father in a soothing voice; his voice so soft that you were stunned at the memory of the tenderness he was showing you. "I'm here for you. Take your time."

"No!" You exclaimed, turning away from the scene and walking away until the scene faded away. "Stop it!"

A scene of your mother appeared, her holding resting on a hospital bed with her face laden with sweat and tears. She held onto a bundle of blankets, cooing with tears in her eyes as she spoke to her baby. "Hi, [Name]."

What is all this? Why are these things happening? Why are you being shown the love within your mother's eyes for the first time here, and not when she was still alive? Why does your father comforting you over a rowdy playground have been so easy, but not when you started to show symptoms of depression?

"No, no, no!" You yelled, crouching down and covering your ears, eyes closed tight as tears threatened to spill. "They're all dead to me!"

"[Name]," a familiar voice called, too soft to the point it felt foreign.

Suddenly, you were five again. 

You look up at the faces of your parents, young and not yet influenced by their suppressed emotions and rage. Your mother smiled at you and your father pats your [h/c] hair. 

"Come here," says your mother softly, kneeling down and hugging you so gently that you burst into tears. This is not your mother. Or is she? You don't know. You never thought of her to be capable of showing tenderness or love in a way that wouldn't hurt you.

"Mom," you cried. "I'm so sorry, I'm so sorry--"

"Sshh," your mother says in a comforting voice. 

"I was--" You struggled to breathe as you tried to hold down your sobs, tears streaming nonstop and your throat hurt from the strain you're putting on it for not crying out. "Please, go away."

"No, I love you," she replied, and your lips quivered, more tears streaming down.

"I hate you."

"I know," she murmured. "I still love you."

You don't need her love. You have taught yourself to love yourself, to be better and other people have loved you immensely. You don't need her love. You have enough of your own.

"I hate you," you whisper breathlessly.

"I love you."

You broke down, crying to her shoulder, your arms limp by your side as you refused to hug her. Your mother doesn't deserve a hug from you. You've cut your skin too many times as a result of her actions and you will not show her love with the same arms. 

"My baby," your father says softly, joining the hug. His hands felt rigid and when you looked down, his nails were caked with dirt underneath them.

"Stay here with us."

Cale covered his mouth and nose when he saw what was underneath the roots of the main tree of the island.

Piles of skeletons filled what used to be a great hall underneath the roots, most of them stacked high on the stone altar. They were all brittle and dry, proof that it had been a long time since they all died. Despite that, the stench of a rotten corpse wafts in the air.

"Urghh..." Ohn grimaced, covering her nose with her paws, staying with her sibling outside of the cave.

"Cale-nim," Rosalyn says, eyes staring at the rotten corpse of a man leaning on the stone altar, head down with a gaping hole in his chest, dried blood around him along with guts. "Her Highness' story about a man on this island..."

They had previously believed that the corpse of a man Withira had mentioned must be the man from the folklore of the Whale kingdom. The corpse of that man was holding the hand of another body that was laid on the altar in a tight grip.

'[Name],' Cale thought to himself, tempted to step closer the moment his eyes laid on the scattered [h/c] hair on the stone altar from afar, laid underneath the skeletons piled on top.

Rosalyn let out a soft gasp when she saw your body, eyes going glassy as she covered her mouth. "Is that...?"

"Be careful, Cale," Choi Han warned, recalling the story Withira had told them about being attacked when she got too close to the altar when she needed to confirm whether you were alive or not.

Cale stayed quiet, trying to rack his brain on how to move from their spots. 

'Will I be able to control the trees around here?' He thought to himself.

'Perhaps,' the gluttonous priestess answered him. 'But... I feel something within these trees. Something divine.'

'Divine?' Cale repeated. This cements the three saints' suspicions of you being tricked by a god. He tries to identify some of the things he could work with and classify whatever god had once been worshipped within the island, but he comes up with nothing. 

"Wait," Cale says, observing the corpse of a man further from where he stood. "Ron, confirm to me whether or not that's Captain John from where you are."

Ron frowned, bending down a bit to look at the slumped corpse from afar, eying the uniform and the crest that was embroidered on the corpse's blazer. Despite how the head of the corpse was down, Ron could easily spot the signature scars on the man's arms. He closed his eyes in resignation once he found his answer. "I can confirm that is Captain John, Young Master-nim."

"So the last two had been here," Cale murmured. 

"It appears so," said Ron, standing up straight. 

"What to do now?" Choi Han asked Cale. They don't have much room to move with the knowledge they will get attacked if they get too close.

Cale let out a sigh. This island had cobblestones, surrounded by trees, and the ocean wasn't too far away. He had Choi Han, Rosalyn, and a mighty dragon here. 

"We will now commence our rescue mission," Cale says, his voice firm. "Miss Rosalyn, Raon, and I will try to take care of the defense while Choi Han tries to grab [Name] from the altar stone along with the captain. We have to try to not fight the island and immediately escape back to the waters where the Whales are waiting for us."

Many things could happen if Choi Han tried to do that. The ruin could immediately collapse on them as they were being held up by the strong barks. If the strong barks let go of them to attack Choi Han--

'This is your playground,' says the gluttonous priestess. 'This island might belong to a God, but you can control nature here to a certain degree to save [Name] and retrieve the captain's dead body.'

Cale raised his hands, watching as the strong barks of the tree twitch to his will. He would not be able to control the main tree as its size was too big for him and most likely is the manifestation of a god that was once worshipped on the island. They would have more control over the tree than him.

Choi Han silently walked to the altar, the sound of his footsteps nonexistent as he took cautious steps and his hand held the handle of his sword, ready to attack anything that came his way. He pushed away the piling skeletons from your body, all of them falling to the ground and shattering due to how brittle they were.

Choi Hand placed a hand on your cheek and let out a relieved, excited smile when he felt warmth. "[Name]..."

"I-Is she alive?" Ohn stammered, watching Choi Han's smile widen upon touching you.

Choi Han looked up, nodding with glassy eyes. "Y-yes. Her breathing is a bit shallow, but she's alive."

"Come here, [Name]," Choi Han says softly, tucking his hand under you and trying to lift you. "Let's go home--"

Choi Han paused when your body couldn't be picked up from the altar. He looked down at your unconscious body, trying to find the reason why he couldn't lift you and he saw a few of what seemed to be long vines that were on the ground and had crawled up to your hand, up your arm, and then into your sleeves, the way they crawled up your hand resembled veins. 

"Something's wrong," Choi Han announced to them all.

"What's the matter?" Cale asked, watching Choi Han rip your sleeve off.

Choi Han tilts your body a bit to face the others and show off the way the green thick vines attached themselves to your skin, arranged like veins with leaves. He ripped your shirt further, stopping when he saw how the vines gathered right above your left breast, gathering into a circle and penetrating your skin, dried blood dripping down your skin.

Rosalyn covered her mouth at the sight. "Oh, God, is that... Are they going straight for her heart?"

A cold chill went down Cale's spine at the realization that the reason you might be still alive was because the island was keeping your heart alive. Had you... became one with the island? Are you the reason why the island has become sentient?

Choi Han touched the stems that gathered in your heart, noticing how the vines seemed to be pulsing along with your heart. He figured they were acting like some sort of cardiac device for you. His heart sank when he realized it was far too dangerous to rip off the vines. "We can't take her away." 

All of their eyes widened in surprise when the vines and barks seemed to move and form a tall, humanoid figure that loomed over Choi Han. A dianthus flower sat in the center of what seemed to be its face.

"Did you think you'd be able to fool me?" 

Choi Han covered your body with his, his sword drawn out to protect, gaze growing dark as he glared at the humanoid figure made of vines and moss. "Who are you?"

A thick bark came out and swung over towards Choi Han but was stopped mid-air. Cale's hand was raised, stopping the bark from moving. He found himself overwhelmed with the amount of strength he had to put out to stop the entity from moving. He coughed out blood almost immediately, the blood coming out like vomit. At the same time, Rosalyn had put out a shield over Choi Han and the altar.

"H-Human!" Raon exclaimed, watching as Cale dropped to his knees but still kept himself to stop the entity from moving. The kittens ran to his side and Ron held Cale back so he wouldn't slump forward to the ground.

'He doesn't... feel malicious,' the Super Rock pointed out, sounding a bit flabbergasted as he was referring to the entity. 

"Leave," commanded the entity, pointing to the ocean where Withira and her Whales were waiting for them. 

"Not without [Name]," Rosalyn said with a determined look. A chill went up her spine when the humanoid figure turned its head to look at her, the singular dianthus flower in the middle of a blank slate of face somehow making him look more unsettling.

"I'm afraid that's not going to be possible," says the entity. "She is happy here."

The entity leaned down to Choi Han. The branches creak and snap as the blank slate that acts as a face was suddenly split widely like a monster opening its jaw.

"I was--" Your voice emerged in an echo from the entity's opened jaws, your voice sounding broken as it sounded like you were crying. "Please go away."

Rosalyn let out a shudder, tears gathering in her eyes at the sound of your voice again. She had nearly forgotten how your voice sounded. However, Cale was unnerved at how this entity was capable of having your voice. How does this all work? He can see the vines that formed the humanoid shape are connected to the one that's crawling up your heart. This entity most likely was keeping you alive by itself.

The entity's jaws creaked and then closed again back to a blank slate. "Leave."

Cale frowned, looking up at the entity. He's determined to know why exactly you were being kept alive. "What are you?"

The entity straightened itself. "It no longer matters. I've lost all the people willing to worship my name."

"So you're a deity," Rosalyn said, confirming their suspicions for the last few weeks. You wrote in your letter of believing it was a god or some kind that had been communicating with you within your head. Deep down, Rosalyn was relieved this wasn't a case of psychosis. 

"Then is this your attempt to get more worshippers?" Cale asked. "By taking an innocent woman?"

"One that belongs to me," says the entity, the vines, and branches that were formed into a tall humanoid figure elongated until its blank slate of a face was close to Cale, the single dianthus flower swishing with its movements. Cale was looking up at the entity in front of him. He could feel an incredible force of it all like he should be getting on his knees and pressing his forehead down to the dirty earth, but he didn't.

Cale looks up at the god, face hardened with a determined frown. 

'It is most likely an ancient god,' says the gluttonous priestess, her tone a bit hesitant as she could sense the weakness within how the God controls their branches. 'Can you feel the divinity within their branches and vines? He is channeling the lives of hundreds into that [Name] girl. I never thought that could be... possible.'

Cale glanced around the skeletons that were around the ruin. These were the remains of the dug-up graves they had stumbled upon earlier. These people were their worshippers and they have dug up desecrated their graves and put them here. 

"Leave!"

The ruins seemed to shake from the sheer weight of the god's roaring voice. A thick bark sprouted from the side of its body and swung at Cale. The redhead immediately conjured his silver shield and a loud bang was heard when the bark hit it. Cale felt blood coming up to his throat and he coughed it out, his heart pumping wildly as the Vitality of the Heart pushed him to keep standing. 

"Cale-nim!" Choi Han exclaimed. He was about to move from your body when a couple of vines had managed to wrap around his feet and keep him in place. He swung his sword at them and with every vine cut, more grew and grew up his limbs.

"Fine," says the god. "She's in need of a new heart, anyways. I can see you all are special."

Cale's eyes widened and he immediately put the pieces together. Why John managed to be here was because he was needed for his heart. The reason why those graves were dug up was because the god was desperate to find something to keep you alive, and it made him think there must be some sort of intangible force of energy that only a primordial god could tangle and control that could bring back the dead.

John's rotten corpse with a large, gaping hole in the middle tells Cale that this god will not be hesitant to kill them all.

"Ron, take the children and go!" Cale exclaimed. 

"Oh, now, you want to leave?" asked the god with a sinister laugh, going back to the walls of the ruin as vines and then spreading out. The trees and vines began to squirm, coming alive as their god returned.

This was their playground. 

"Let's go," Ron says, bending down to pick up the kittens and immediately sprinting out toward where they had come from.

"Raon, go!" Cale exclaimed. "Make sure Ron and the others reach Her Highness Withira!"

"Y-Yes!" Raon replied hesitantly, flying towards where Ron had run off. "I-I will come back!"

"No, stay with them!" Cale yelled to him.

Rosalyn ran up to Choi Han and your body by the altar, trying to rip off the vines that were beginning to cover your body. This was the god's attempt to keep you away from them again, and she will not have it. She whispered your name over and over again, hands slightly shaking as she touched your warm skin every time she ripped a vine, how thorns began to grow on the vines and they buried themselves deep into the magician's hands everytime they claw to save you.

"Miss Rosalyn--!" Cale watched as Rosalyn's legs were caught by the vines before she was pulled down to fall on the dirty ground, thorns embedding themselves to her flesh. 

"No!" Choi Han yelled in terror, trying to rip away the vines that were slowly beginning to cover his torso, wanting to save Rosalyn as she tried to free herself from the vines that were pulling her to the walls.

"Focus on her!" Rosalyn exclaimed as she was dragged, her face pale and cringing in pain. She seemed to catch on that the vines simply didn't want her around you and the best thing to do to not lose her leg was to stop squirming so much. "I will be fine!"

Cale barely felt the vines wrapping around his arms and before he could process it, he was immediately slammed to the walls of the ruin. His back hit the old stones and he groaned, the back of his head being hit causing him to immediately dizzy. He was suspended up on the walls, giving him a high view of you on the altar and Choi Han who was still on the ground, slowly being wrapped in vines and thorns.

Rosalyn was across him on the walls as well, suspended there while the vines grew up to their torso. Cale could feel the vines move across his body, slinking to his sleeves and then they probe around the scar on his chest. Without any warning, the vines tore at his flesh and he could hear Rosalyn's scream, her own heart being wrapped in vines as well as his.

"A-arghh-!" Choi Han groaned in pain as he could feel the vines enter his body.

'The kid's going to die!' Cale could hear the cheapskate shrill in his head. 'Cale, use me. Use your powers and get rid of this island.'

'He can't,' responded the Super Rock. 'The island is keeping that [Name] alive. If he destroys the island, he kills her as well.'

'It's either he kills her, or he kills not only himself, but everyone here,' argued the thief. 

Amid all the chaos, the Fire of Destruction whispered to Cale in a pleading voice.

' Kid, you have to let her go.'

Cale recalls your smile and your voice. For a moment, he nearly thought his Records have failed him when he nearly couldn't muster the thought of your eyes, but when he managed to finally grasp onto the memory of you, he held on to it.

Cale felt his eyes begin to grow weak, vines wrapped around his heart and he could feel his shirt being soaked in his own blood. The vines carefully avoid poking too much into his organs and some of them soak up the blood. The vines seemed to glow the moment they were touched by his blood, and every single vine that was tearing at him was connected to yours. He could only assume Rosalyn and Choi Han were given the same treatment. They most likely will die out of blood loss if this keeps on going.

'Cale!' the Ancient Powers inside him call for him, like a parent calling desperately for their child.

Cale closed his eyes, and he mustered the power to call for thunderbolts. He could feel it brewing in the skies right above them, and he could also feel himself slipping away. By the time the first thunderbolt struck, Cale was no longer conscious.

"Oh, that's awful. I feel sorry for them."

Cale blinked owlishly as he stared at you. You were sitting down in front of him, dressed in modern clothes and your laptop open. Across from your seat was a faceless man, long legs stretched as the faceless man sat sideways on the chair.

Cale looked around, noticing that the space he was in was a cafe, similar to what he used to have in his previous world. He looked down at his chest, seeing that it wasn't wounded. He then goes back to stare at you as you converse with the faceless man, a look of faux disgust on your face. He leaned forward to look at what was on his laptop, seeing it to be an academic manuscript. Is this... your memory from your previous life before being transported?

"Uh, yeah..." The faceless man says with a small, nervous laugh. The faceless man seemed to turn to you. "I don't understand why she's so adamant about keeping her distance from you."

"She'd rather have her fifteen and six-year-old daughters to see her suffer than have me take care of her," you said nonchalantly, typing away at your laptop to cite a passage. 

"[Name], please," says the faceless man, turning to face you properly. "I-I know I'm being shameless by asking you to take care of her, but I can't--"

"You'd rather have me take care of your wife than your kids?" You cut him off, glancing up at the man.

By the bits of information, Cale could assume that the faceless man was your stepfather. He had known your mother had remarried after divorcing your father and you had two stepsisters. Your mother had died due to stage four breast cancer and lived only within two months before dying. You had been the one to take care of her despite her verbal abuse every time you visited her.

"[Name], please."

'Ah, so this is why,' Cale thought, watching you rubbing your face in exasperation before you let out a sigh of resignation. He had always wondered why you took care of your mother when the woman had been nothing but horrible to you. It was the request of her husband.

"Okay."

Cale wondered why he was seeing all this. He recalled how the vines had glowed when it touched his blood and every single vine that was glowing had been connected to yours. He could only hypothesize that he had been connected to you in some way and it would allow him to get a peek of your past; of the things you've been hiding.

Cale sees your stepfather reaching for your hand, murmuring a thank-you.

Your face seemed tired.

He doesn't like having access to your past. You're secretive for a reason and this felt like a violation of your trust in him. 

The sight of you and your stepfather faded and it morphed into a living room, another faceless man sleeping on the couch. Cale could tell this was a different man. It might be because you only remember their outlines but not their faces anymore. You're in the background, cutting vegetables by the kitchen island with a tired look on your face. Cale approached you, eyes trained on how you expertly cut off the stems of a particular vegetable in your hand. He couldn't exactly see what it was, as it was morphing back and forth between spinach, cabbage, and cucumbers. Maybe you don't remember, and that's why your memories are filling the lost memories by themselves.

"How was she?" asked the faceless man lying on the couch.

"Sick," you replied curtly. The man says something inaudible and you sigh. "She's not getting any better, Dad. It would be better if she just died."

"You should just die."

"I'm trying," you clipped back, cutting the vegetables more aggressively. 

There was a few moments of silence where neither you nor your father didn't talk. Cale sat on a stool by the kitchen island, watching how you frowned deeply while you prepared your dinner for your father together. He tried to touch your hand, and like a ghost, his touch went through your body. It unnerved him how you were in front of him, though younger in age, but he couldn't touch you.

His heart ached. This was you, but this also wasn't the you he knew. His memory of you in Record overlaps with the image he sees in front of him, but some things are different. Not only was your hair shorter here, but your eyes lacked the glimmer he usually sees within you. Your body looked thinner here, unhealthy. His eyes roamed over your figure, ingraining the sight to Records and just seeing how badly it had been for you.

"I'm sorry, [Name]," your father says quietly. "I was just... worried about your mother."

'But not me?' Your expression seems to say, but you stay silent and continue prepping the dinner.

"It's okay."

You cooked dinner and ate none of it. 

The dark clouds gathered above the island and Raon could easily tell that it was his human's powers. He had seen it too many times and had seen the risk that affected Cale's body whenever he used at least one of his powers. And when that rose-gold thunder struck down, the sound had vibrated the air. The flash of the majestic thunder reached them first before it broke the sound barrier and the thunder rumbled, the air around the island vibrating the moment the lightning struck down on the gigantic tree in the middle of the island.

"No!" Ron had yelled at Raon the moment the dragon had seemed to show his desire to immediately head to the burning island.

"But, human-!" Raon began to protest, turning to face the older man and he stopped when he saw the look on Ron's face.

Ron had always had the expression of faux benign and if not, he would have a slightly irritated expression. But this time, in his eyes that were reflecting the flames of the burning floating island, Ron sees some kind of firm belief and also desperation. How can the man show such a juxtaposition of an expression was beyond Raon who still had so much to learn about expressiveness and humanity, but he could see it.

Ron's belief that he could have his young master back many times like he always has kept him on his feet and stayed in his place, but this was going to be the first time he would have his daughter back, if that was even possible, that kept him antsy and hope as if he was a pious man that has completely willed their destiny towards something that couldn't sympathize with him. He desired to believe in salvation, not his, but yours.

You were so unforgivably human. A normal aspect within this superhuman group and the fact that they would be able to get you back tasted too sweet for his mouth that he felt like his teeth would rot and fall out. You weren't Cale. Choi Han. Rosalyn. For goodness sake, you weren't even Beacrox. You were you, with no superhuman abilities that were gifted or taught to you nor do you have a god that loves you so deeply that they wanted to keep you alive.

"Don't," Ron says, the embers of the burnt leaves and shrubs from the island blowing past them as if they're snow, the flames from the island illuminating their faces. "Have faith in them."

Faith, what a ridiculous word it was to come out of the mouth of a murderer. Have faith.

For one reason Ron could not believe in God was due to the fact that such a mighty being could never sympathize with humans. They were omniscient, so they could never feel how humans feel. They do not hate and love like humans do. Humans die and that is why they feel things so intensely. Gods were mighty and they exist for so many eras and they don't age. They see things as insignificant when it doesn't concern their reign. How can something mighty and timeless understand the pain and beauty of living?

The fire licked away at the leaves of the trees and the crackling sounds of the burning trees sounded so serene. 

"Will they be okay in there?" Beacrox asked his father, looking at the burning island.

"It's only the top of the tree that is burning," answered Withira instead, looking up at the titan tree and how most of it was singed black at the top and the embers of the fire were eating away at the thick barks that swirled together like tendrils. "They're situated at the hollow space that is surrounded by the root. I doubt Cale-nim would strike down his thunder while they're there."

"Even so," Ron murmured, narrowing his eyes at the island. "Your Highness, may I ask of you to lead your men to keep an eye if any of them jump out of the island?"

Withira nodded slowly. "Of course. I'll have my men surround the island from a safe distance and keep an eye out."

Choi Han has heard you say multiple times in a joking manner that time was simply a concept whenever you were late for something, how time wasn't real, and how it really shouldn't matter that much.

He's starting to believe it.

He stood here, within the shadows of your memories, watching how days pass by in your memories yet it felt like minutes to him. How magnificent it was that a God could do this. 

He learned many things about you. You were someone from the modern world, much like him and Cale. You suffered depression. You loved music and listened to it no end. You had an emotionally abusive father. You loved going thrift shopping. You weren't close to your sisters. You loved the cheap tuna mayo sandwich your classmate would bring you. You hated your mother. 

You were practically living in the hospital to aid your mother. The cancer on her breast had spread fast and she had become paralyzed as it spread to her marrowbone. Her husband was busy at work so he rarely came by, but whenever he did, he would bring his daughters along to "visit their mother and older sister". You knew the nanny must have ditched last minute. Your sisters would leave, faces scrunched in disgust whenever the hospital room smelled like feces, and stood by the corner of the room quietly as you picked up your mother to change her diaper and clean her up every time.

Your father would be at home, refusing to visit your mother to respect her wishes to never meet again but incessantly asking for her well-being to you whenever you got home late at night. You wonder how much love your father has from such a violent woman that even though he was abandoned just like you, his love endured. You thought of him as stupid, but other times you wish you could have that preservance in loving someone. In believing in the idea of someone so much that it blinds you.

"What's that?" asked your six-year-old sister, standing by your chair as you were writing down your notes, your chair not too far from your mother's hospital bed, the older woman knocked out with morphine.

You turned to the little girl, smiling half-heartedly as you didn't want to be bothered. "It's just my notes."

"For what?" pestered the young child.

"Studying," you answered, setting down your pen and closing your book, giving all your attention to the little girl.

"I study, too," the little girl says, and Choi Han sees that you are hesitant to continue the conversation.

"Yeah?" You eventually prompted with a small grin, still uncomfortable. "What do you like studying about?"

The little girl waved her nemo doll fish in her hand. "Fishies."

You smiled, tired already from the conversation. You had a long day from watching over your mother. The woman had gotten high off of morphine and had hit you multiple times when you were trying to change her out of her diaper. The nurses doubled her dose.

"That's good. I like fishes, too."

You left to go to the bathroom and when you returned, Choi Han saw that your sister had drawn fishes on the margins of your notes. You touch them whenever you're concentrating.

There were moments like that that showed the girls appreciated you for watching over their mother. The two weren't blind to the abuse you suffered while you cared for their mother - your mother. You were doing your bachelor's while caring for your mother, studying all night in the dim hospital room, having no life outside of being a caretaker.

"Don't you get tired of it all?" asked the fifteen-year-old sister this time while you were leaning back in your chair, a neck pillow on your shoulders. 

"I do," you replied to her, eyes trained on your sleeping mother.

"Then why are you still here?"

You turned to your sister, seeing the way she was so similar to her mother - your mother. Her lovely brown hair and gray eyes. You think of your mother. You think of how much potential she had had she not married your father, had she not given birth to you. What type of girl was she? Would she take the right side or the left side in front of a camera? What did she want to be when she grew up? 

Choi Han watched you grasp the hand of your younger sister. "Because it'll come back. The love I have given here today will come back to me."

Your sister frowned. "I think it's time you start to care about yourself a little more."

An older sister who sees the need to be tender despite it all, and the younger sister who thought of her as stupid for loving a dead woman, Maybe you have become your father. Maybe that's why your mother didn't like you both; you were both idiots who kept on drinking poison just because you were thirsty.

As your mother's health deteriorated, Choi Han saw how much it affected your sisters. They cried at random times and were beginning to help around with taking care of her. Your six-year-old sister sings random notes in off-key to entertain her sick mother while your fifteen-year-old sister is learning how to help you lift the woman off the bed if you ever need to clean her up.

The day she finally passed away, you slept soundly in your chair not far away from her bed. It was the most pristine memory of yours that Choi Han had ever seen when you woke up, hearing the soft murmurs of the nurses as they gently shook you awake, how the heartbeat monitor was no longer beeping. Sunlight passes through the blinds and for the first time, the room feels light.  

Would it be too cruel for Choi Han to describe it as if a great evil had finally disappeared?

You didn't participate in the funeral arrangements and simply attended with your father. He cried and you held his hand, thumb brushing over his palm to soothe his pain the best you could. Choi Han doesn't understand the level of love someone could have for the people who have made them suffer. 

You stood outside of the funeral home, cigarette lit between your lips. Your fifteen-year-old sister stands beside you.

"Do you regret taking care of her every day? Just for her to end up dead?"

"I don't regret being kind."

"I bet you're thinking that it's good riddance."

Choi Han could see emotions bubbling in the teen's chest, how they were looking for an outlet to spill their feelings onto. To yell out their love into the void, because that was what grief was. To have your love nowhere else to go.  

You saw it as well and threw down your cigarette, stepping on it to put out the embers. Your silence didn't help much as your sister began to choke on her tears before she eventually sobbed. You offer her a hand and she takes it, and you immediately wrap your scarred arms around your sister as if she were your lifeline.

"My mom," she sobs in your arms. "I don't have a mom anymore."

You stayed quiet, kissing her cheek and temple to ease her pain as best as you could. The action seemed to only drive your young sister to more crying; "I'm so sorry for all she's done to you... It's all my fault."

"Don't apologize," you whispered. "Children shouldn't carry the sins of their parents. You've done nothing to me."

"I exist," she replied, hiccuping. 

"And how wonderful is that?" You cupped her cheek, smiling. "That you exist."

Choi Han watched you sit with your sisters until the youngest one fell asleep with her head on your lap, while your fifteen-year-old sister still talked with you animatedly even though it was nearly midnight. The funeral was still going and he became alarmed the moment everyone in the room began to fade into grey silhouettes, leaving you the only figure with a face.  

From far away, Choi Han saw your father standing by the exit door of the funeral home, popping out like a sore thumb between all the grey, dull silhouettes. What kind of memory was this? Were you hyper-aware of your father even though he was standing so far away?

"[Name], I need to talk to you."

Choi Han's eyes widened as he saw a distorted figure standing in front of you and your sister. They were a black silhouette of a man, their silhouette distorting with growing sharp edges standing out every second. Their voice was distorted and Choi Han struggled to find the connection as to why this particular memory of yours had everyone fading out like a shadow while your father and you stayed the same, this silhouette was so distorted that Choi Han's guards were up despite how he couldn't interact with the memories here. 

"But, Dad--" says your younger sister and it clicked to Choi Han that this distorted figure was your stepfather.

"I need her for something important. Only she could do it."

Even his voice sounded so displeasing like nails dragged against a board. You stood up to follow your stepfather into another room, and Choi Han saw your father beginning to exit the funeral home when he saw you walk away with your stepfather. Choi Han followed your father, bewildered that the memory was still showing up so clearly when it was clear you weren't supposed to know where your father went.

Choi Han followed after your father and he realized midway that this wasn't your memories but your father's. How can that be? Choi Han had assumed that he could see your memories because the vines that were penetrating your heart were connected to the one penetrating his - he could easily dismiss it as something magical of the sort as its explanation. But your father? Why was his memories here? 

He followed after your father's journey by car, sitting in the backseat as the man drove alone in silence, leaving you behind at the funeral home. He drove and drove and drove, for hours on end until he eventually ran out of gas. 

Choi Han stepped out of the car to follow your father as he ditched the car and began walking. There was a sense of eeriness at how quiet the man was, walking with dried tears on his face. Your father walked in a straight line for hours before he came across a forest.

Your father stopped by a lake, and so Choi Han did as well. From across the lake, Choi Han saw someone he was relieved and surprised to see.

"Cale-nim?" Choi Han called out.

Cale saw him and his eyes widened. "Choi Han? You're here, too?"

The two didn't have too much time to converse when your father walked into the lake without any hesitation. Both of them watched with wide eyes as the man attempted his life by drowning before the water let out a bright, purplish light and your father was gone in the blink of an eye.

"[Name]!"

Both Cale and Choi Han heard Rosalyn's shrill cry and the scenery changed immediately back to the halls of the funeral home, the space warping and distorting. They could see Rosalyn walking past the dull grey silhouettes and the two approached the rattled magician.

"Miss Rosalyn!" Cale called out.

"[Name], she's in there!" Rosalyn began to say, hurried and in panic as she ran to a door. "We need to get her out!"

Suddenly, the incoherent murmurs of the crowd within the area went silent and the three of them could hear your voice and your stepfather's crystal clear in the middle of all the warping of space and distortion.

"I'm... grateful you were there throughout everything."

"It's okay. I knew you loved my mother deeply."

"..."

"What are you doing...?"

"Has anyone told you that you're a very beautiful woman?"

"..."

"You look so much like her."

"Please, don't..."

"It's a compliment. Did I make you uncomfortable?"

"I-I think it's time I get back to my father."

"No, no. There's no need to rush. Your father already left earlier because I told him you'll be staying the night with your sisters."

"I never agreed to that. Please, let me go home."

"No, not until we do this."

"N- No, please--!"

A deafening sound filled their ears and bright light filled the room, blinding the three of them. Rosalyn's face was red with anger and sadness, eyes glossy with tears as she had come to a realization of what had happened behind that closed door.

When their vision came to, they were all staring up at a bright blue sky, laying on the mossy cobblestones, the holes on their chests all wrinkled up close. They all sat up immediately, seeing how the island was a complete disaster due to Cale's lightning bolt. The trees were on fire, embers falling like snow. The majestic tree that had been the manifestation of the ancient God's powers were struck, the trunk split down right in the middle, showing a dark hole filled with vines and sticks, pulsing and glowing with golden energy.

The ancient god, a giant lump of vines, sticks, and divinity was moving across the land like an octopus, your body on top of it as they carry you to the split trunk.

Cale recalled back the vision of your father drowning himself before being completely swallowed by the light. "I think I know who that beast is."

[mariesdeluluworld]

Nameless Fear (Jon Snow x Reader) Part 1

𝘾𝙝𝙖𝙥𝙩𝙚𝙧 𝙊𝙣𝙚: 𝙒𝙤𝙧𝙩𝙝𝙮

𝙔/𝙣 𝙇𝙖𝙣𝙣𝙞𝙨𝙩𝙚𝙧

"Father, what does this mean?" asked young Y/n Lannister. Her eyes were wide and full of curiosity. Lord Tywin Lannister looked over at his youngest, his calculating green eyes met her (e/c) eyes she got from her mother. Rumors were spread far and wide that Lord Lannister loved and favored his youngest out of all of his children.

"Father, what does this name mean?" Y/n asked once more, pointing her small index finger to the ink scribbled into her forearm. Tywin's eyes traveled to where his child was pointing at and his eyes widened at the name scribbled in her smooth skin. Memories of Joanna flooded his mind as he stared at the familiarity of this situation.

"Father?"

"Come here, Y/n," he commanded. Little Y/n walked across the stone floor to her father, her hair bouncing as she walked. Silence overlapped the two Lannisters, only the faint sound of crickets could be heard.

"Lend me your arm,"

Y/n did as she was told and let her father look at her arm. The pads of his fingers traced her skin, sending shivers up her spine.

"What is it?" she asked in a shy voice. Tywin met her eyes, a ghost of a smile on his lips. "It's a soul mark." she furrowed her brows in confusion. "You don't know what a soul mark is?" questioned Tywin. Y/n nodded. "We haven't covered it yet in my lessons," she said sheepishly.

Of course! Thought Tywin. She's only 6 name-days after all.

"A soul mark is a gift that the gods give very special children, the name of your soulmate. I have one, and so does your brother Tyrion. As well as your Uncle Kevan." Y/n's little hands overlapped one another, her brows were pulled tightly together.

"But what if I don't want a soulmate father?" Tywin sighs and closes his eyes before answering his daughter. "Well, I guess if you don't want one then . . . then you'll never meet them." Y/n opened her mouth but Tywin raised a finger. "But, make no mistake Y/n, when finding your soulmate you will feel like your soul is finally complete. That empty space will be filled, and you'll do everything in your power to keep them safe."

Y/n just stared at her father, her eyes widening at his words. Her small child mind's wheels turning and thinking. "What if . . . what if my soulmate is an enemy? What if he's a . . . a highborn." Tywin's eyes danced with mirth at his child's remark. Even though she was only a child, she still thought about her family more than her own desires. A true Lady of the Rock. Unlike her sister or brothers.

"When the time comes, we'll figure it out. But until then," Tywin cupped her face with his calloused hands. "You will learn, fight, and be a Lannister. A lion. My heir." he kissed her forehead and Y/n closed her eyes, bathing in the pride she was overcome with. She was a Lannister, and Lannister's don't act like fools. They were lions. They were powerful. And she would be the lioness of Casterly Rock.

Years passed since the day Y/n discovered her soul mark, and ever since - she's covered it up. She vowed to never give her enemies a weakness. And the name on her arm was a weakness. She trained day and night, in the training yard, and in her fathers' study. Since the day she was born, she was taught how to be a Lady. The Lady of Casterly Rock, and every day she trained and did her very best. Proving to her father that she was capable of handling the Lannister Ancestral home. On her 10 and 6 name day, she received a letter from her elder brother Jamie Lannister, asking her to come to King's Landing.

"Father," said Y/n as she strutted into her fathers' study in Casterly Rock. Lord Tywin looked up at his daughter, placing his quill down. His green eyes studied her as she walked into the threshold, her head held high, her shoulder back. She walked with grace and confidence.

"Y/n," he said and gestured for her to take a seat. "Father I've received a letter from King’s Landing," she takes the rolled-up parchment out from her dress pocket and hands it to him. "It's from Jamie," Tywin takes the parchment and reads it quickly.

"He wants you to come to King's Landing," he mused. Y/n nodded her head. "Yes, he thinks it would be good for me to come to that rat's nest." Tywin laughed dryly. "Ha!"

He rolls the letter back up and places it on his desk. "Tell me Y/n," he laced his hands together. "what do you think of this?" Y/n sighs before answering. "I think it would be good for me to go. It would help me make friends and allies at court. Also, I may even help Tyrion and Tysha with their children and teach Tysha more about being a proper lady of the court." Tywin hummed. "And, this visit can help me oversee how bad of a King Robert is."

"You don't need to be there to see how bad of a King Robert is, Y/n, everyone in the seven bloody kingdoms knows. The only reason why they aren't starving is because of us, House Lannister." Tywin stood up from his desk, the chair scraping against the stone floor. He walked over to the portrait of Lady Joanna, Y/n's late mother, with his arms behind his back.

"Father?"

Tywin didn't answer, he just stared into the painted face of Joanna. After the birth of Tyrion, the Maester warned Joanna and Tywin that no more children should be born, for it might kill her. But one night, Tywin and Joanna were caught up in the passion of love that they didn't realize Tywin spent himself inside her. Because of that night, Joanna fell pregnant. For nine-months, Tywin was a wreck. He worried and tried everything in his power to help with the birth of his fourth child. But he did not have the power of the gods. Y/n was born during a blood-red dawn. Even on the cusp of death Lady Joanna held her baby girl in her arms while crying. Tywin was there with his wife and daughter, holding Joanna as she became weaker with every passing minute. For the last hour of her life, Joanna held her daughter and spoke to Tywin, telling him that she loved him, and their children.

After her death, Tywin gave his daughter a name; Y/n of House Lannister. The name came from a great Lannister warrior, Y/n "Red Lion" Lannister. Unlike all the other Lannister, Y/n "Red Lion" Lannister was not just a Lady of the Rock, she was one of the greatest female warriors of Westeros. Her deeds and bravery rivaled Visenya Targaryen. Though she did not ride a dragon, like Visenya, she did ride a Lion. The Lannister Warrior named her lion Leo. And Leo was the warrior's most trusted companion, she raised the lion since he was a cub, and she became like Leo's mother.

Y/n loved her namesake's story, and she too hoped to become like her. When she first heard the story of her namesake from her father, Y/n begged Tywin to get her a lion. It took time but on her 5th name day, she woke up to her father presenting her with an iron key. The key belonged to a cage where a small lion cub sat. Y/n squealed and thanked her father, jumping around and laughing at the sight of the lion.

Everyday Y/n would take her lion cub and train him, fed him, and walked him like a dog. She named her lion Ty, after her father. Ty grew up very fast and soon became Y/n's protector. He never did leave her side, only when he was commanded to by his mother. Ty was tame, but if anyone threatened his mother, the last thing they would see would be a lion roaring and bashing his teeth before going in for the kill.

"You will go to King's Landing Y/n," Tywin turns his head. "and you will observe Robert," Y/n furrowed her brows. "If I may ask father, why?" He smirked. "Because it's been too long for that fat excuse of King has been unsupervised."

Y/n chuckled. "You speak of him as if he's a child,"

"Which he is,"

She smirked at her father. "I have no doubt Father, but why me?"

"Because you and Kevan are the only ones I trust, at the moment." He walks over to Y/n and stops in front of her. "Your siblings have failed me - have failed our House. You, my daughter, are the savior of our House. You shall restore our family name. You will be the Heir to the Rock."

"But I thought Jamie -"

"Jamie will never give up that gold cloak. He would rather serve than become Warden of the West. And Tyrion, he's a dwarf, a drunk, and I'm not even sure if he's my son." Y/n nodded her head. She knew, of course, her fathers' doubts of Tyrion being his son.

"And I shall never give the seat of Warden to your sister's children, Tommen is too young, and Joffrey . . ." he trailed off. Joffrey was sadistic. He loved seeing people in pain, bleeding, and loved to hear their screams. He wasn't fit to be King of the Seven Kingdoms. But he was Heir. And Tommen was a spare.

"The Rock falls to you, Y/n, and I have trained you for this spot, for you to be Wardrenss since you were pushed out from your mother's womb," Tywin said. He placed his hands on Y/n's face, looking into her eyes, Joanna's eyes.

"Make me proud, Y/n. Make our House proud."

Y/n looked up at her father. She was only 16, but she was ready. Ready to prove herself. She was ready to be a Lannister.

"I will Father. I promise. I will make our family, my mother, proud."

And for the first time in a very long time, Lord Tywin Lannister smiled.

"Into the rat's nest we go," muttered Y/n as she got off her white mare. Her red cloak flowed behind her as she walked, her feet moved with purpose and didn't falter. Her shoulders were back and her head held high as she walked over to her family. Cersei, Jamie, Tyrion, and her niece and nephews.

Jamie embraced her first, hugging her tight. "Welcome, sister," he said in her ear. Y/n hugged him back before letting go and greeting her other older brother; Tyrion.

"Hello, Tyrion,"

"Ahh, hello little sister, I hope the ride to Kings Landing wasn't troubled."

Y/n smiled at her brother before leaning down to hug him and kiss him on the cheek. Tyrion and Jamie loved her more than Cersei, the brothers protected Y/n from a very young age. When Y/n was just a girl of seven, Jamie chased away a boy who tried to kiss her - even though Y/n had already slapped the boy and kicked him in his groin - while Tyrion comforted her and lectured the boy before their father could attack him with an open sword.

"Y/n, how do you fair?" questioned Queen Cersei after Y/n released Tyrion and stood up. Y/n met her sister's narrowed green eyes. The Queen was beautiful but old. With Y/n standing in front of her, any onlooker could see how much fairer the young Lannister was.

"I am fine, sweet sister." Y/n turned her gaze towards her eldest nephew Joffrey. His arms were crossed and there was a bored expression on his pouty face. His blonde curls framed his face and created a golden curtain around his Lannister features.

"Hello, Joffrey,"

"Aunt Y/n," A cruel smile appeared on Joffery's face that made Y/n shiver. "I'm so glad that you've come all this way to King's Landing,"

Y/n was about to reply when seven-year-old Tommen squealed in delight at the sight of a large caravan flying House Lannister flags. Y/n's guard's surrounded the caravan, protecting her sweet lion.

"Ahh, Ty's here." Joffery watched as his Aunt's guards stopped and started shouting orders. A man with short copper hair and silver armor with a flaming tree etched on his breast-plate was the one shouting commands to the other guards. This man had bronze color eyes and stood proud as if he was born to lead. This was Ser Addam Marbrands little brother, Eric Marbrand, commander of Y/n Lannsister's guards.

Joffery could hear scratching and something growling from inside the caravan, while Tommen watched in awe. Myrcella clutched onto her mother's arm, fearing the creature that made such noise.

Eric walked over to his Lady and bowed curtly at the royal family before addressing Y/n. "My Lady," Y/n smiled at Eric. "Thank you, Eric, for seeing to my beloved lion's safety," She gave him a small peck on his cheek before walking over to the now open caravan. A blush coated Eric's face before he composed himself and followed after his lady, a hand on the hilt of his sword. He would be damned if anything happened to Y/n, he would die for her, but until then, he shall follow her and protect her.

A large yellow paw was the first thing Tommen saw before he squealed louder, making Joffery scoff and complain about how un-princely his little brother sounded. Although Joffery was too impressed and excited to see his rumored Aunt's "baby".

"Ty!" Y/n said and the blonde lion walked out of the comfy caravan towards his mother. Ty rubbed his face on Y/n's dress while she laughed and smiled at her lion. The big lion purred as Y/n rubbed behind his ear, turning the big furious lion into a house cat.

Tommen tried to walk up to his Aunt but his mother grabbed his arm and stopped him. The seven-year-old prince glared at his mother but Cersei didn't even pay attention, she was too busy glaring at her younger sister.

"Why did you bring this beast?! This thing could kill one of my children!" she scowled. Y/n just sighed and looked up from her lion to her big sister. "Ty would never hurt a child, Cersei, he's trained. And he only attacks unless I command him to."

"Mama, I want to go pet him!" said Tommen. Y/n smiled indulgently at her youngest nephew. "Tommen," started Cersei before Tyrion interrupted her and walked over to his young sister. He waddled over to the lion and he put out his hand for Ty to sniff. "Well, I must say, sister, this is a surprise," he said. "Father let you take this . . ." he trailed off as Ty licked his hand.

"Yes Tyrion, father knows that wherever I go, Ty comes along. Besides, father likes knowing that I have a fierce lion protecting me when he cannot." Y/n giggled as Ty started licking Tyrion's face making the dwarf laugh nervously.

"Tyrion, where's Tysha?" Y/n asks, her eyes looking around the courtyard. "Ah, I see you haven't heard, Tysha is resting. She's just given birth to a girl. Thomas and Janus are with their baby sister as we speak," The young lion smiled at her brother. "Congratulations, brother dear." Tysha and Tyrion have been trying to have a baby girl for a while now and it seems like the gods have blessed them.

When Tyrion was 16 and Y/n 8, he met Tysha near Casterly Rock. She was being chased and almost raped by bandit's and Jamie chased them away while Tyrion comforted the girl with black hair and blue eyes. She was lowborn but Tyrion didn't care about that. Tyrion was born with the name "Tysha" on his wrist, and when they first touched they felt a spark. Tyrion fed her, drank with her, and talked. They fell in love and made love that night. Afterward, she sang him a song and kissed, they were so in love that Tyrion married her without their father's permission. They found a drunken Septon and got married with only pigs to witness their union. They lived in a cottage by the sunset sea where they made love, kissed, and sang. But when Septon sobered up, he told Tywin of his dwarfs' son's marriage. Tywin was enraged that day and only young 8-year-old Y/n could stop her father from doing what he intended to do. She convinced him that if he went through with his plan she would kill herself. She wouldn't stand by and live knowing that her father split up two soulmates. Tywin cried that night and hugged his last living memory of Joanna and promised to never split Tyrion and Tysha up.

The next day he and Y/n went down to Tyrion's and Tysha's cottage and took them to the Rock where Septa's and Y/n taught Tysha how to be a proper lady. That was Tywin's condition, if Tyrion wanted to live in the Rock with his wife, she would become a proper lady. Turns out that Tywin greatly enjoyed Tysha's presence and she soon became part of the Lannister Family, though she and Tyrion would never inherit the Rock. Cersei hated Tysha but then again, she hated almost everyone that wasn't her or was a threat.

"I'm glad, brother, you and Tysha deserve all the happiness in the world." Y/n said before looking at her sister. "If you don't mind sister, brothers, I'm very tired. Would you please show me to my room?" Cersei nodded. "Jamie, show our little sister where she'll be sleeping." Cersei turned and headed back inside the Red Keep with her children trailing behind her with a few Lannister guards shadowing her movements.

"Come, sister," said Jamie sweetly before leading her through the Red Keep.

[allicekitty13]

A Garden On My Skin

Read On AO3 Read On FFN

In a world where every scar produces a floral mark on the body of your soulmate in the same spot Alice Brandon tries to find the one who's caused her body to look like a garden.

Alice was strange; her skin was covered from head to toe on almost every surface of her body in flowers. Alice, like so many others, was blessed with a soulmate. Every beautiful flower on hey body represented a scar received by the individual to whom her heart was connected.

It started when she was a baby, at least that's what her mother had told her. At just five months old, the first flower appeared on Alice's shoulder. It was a reasonably common occurrence; her mother assumed her daughter's soulmate must have been in their terrible twos, causing trouble that ended in injury.

Alice was one when her mother woke up to find that a dahlia had surfaced on her daughter's leg overnight. Two flowers on a one-year-old was less common but not entirely unheard of. Lilian Brandon hoped that her daughter's soulmate would grow to be a bit more careful. 

By the time Alice was of school-age, however, Lilian was fretful. Her daughter now had six flowers; a number most people would accumulate over their lifetime, not in only five short years. She dressed her daughter in long sleeves and pants to cover as much as possible, leaving only the rosebuds that framed her left eyebrow exposed.

Lilian didn't mind her daughter's floral embellishments; it wasn't something that could be helped; instead choosing to teach Alice to appreciate the gift. Her husband looked at things differently. Edgar had always hated the flowers; the small lilac on Lillian's left knuckle had always been a source of tension between the two. Not everyone had a soulmate, and Edgar had no flowers while the local librarian had a small scar on his left knuckle. Lilian did not go to the library often. 

At sixteen, she was old enough to understand what the markings meant. Old enough to recognize that most people didn't have a soul mate, to fully know that people treated those with markings a bit differently. It was a societal standard to keep your marks concealed wherever possible, never to discuss them. Alice couldn't do that. There were lilies on her cheek, a rose above her eyebrow, a lilac on her neck. Her arms long since covered by so many overlapping flowers, it was hard to identify them all. 

She didn't allow herself to be bothered by the marks, the stares she got on the street, or how people in her town did not want anything to do with strange little Alice. She loved the garden on her skin, spending a lot of time alone thinking about what must be happening to this person. Why and how they must be getting hurt so very often. It seemed as though a new mark would appear every few months. She worried for them, were they safe, did they think about her. She often wished she could skip all the in-between and go find them.

She was sixteen when her life took a dark turn. One morning, she had woken up to find the police in her living room carrying the news of her mother's passing. I was a car crash, deemed an accident, but Alice couldn't quite bring herself to accept that. A week later, the library closed temporarily; the librarian had drowned. His death had people talking; the townsfolk gossiped about Lillian Brandon having an affair with the librarian, how the man had drowned himself out of grief when he had heard of her passing.

Alice had other suspicions; she had felt that her father had a hand in her mother's death from the get-go. He would put up a good show of playing the part of mourning husband with the police and the mourners who came to pay respects, yet acted as though nothing was wrong when it was just he and Alice alone in the house. 

She felt as though her suspicions had been confirmed the day after her mother's funeral. She witnessed her father handing a strange envelope to a shady stranger at the memorial service. A week later, he moved a woman named Anna-Marie into the home. They were engaged within the week, married within the month.

Alice hated her new step-mother, the way she would dote on her in public, playing the part of a loving parent. At home, Anna-Marie was distant, cold; she wanted nothing to do with Alice. Sadly it seemed neither did Edgar. The only solace she took was in the genuine care and adoration given to her younger sister. At least no matter what happened, Cynthia would be Ok.

Alice knew what was coming long before it actually did. She'd had her escape planned out for weeks. Alice would wait for Edgar and Anna-Marie to leave for town without her, then grab the pre-packed backpack hidden in her closet and run. She would go through the woods and search the country for her soulmate; surely, they would care about her. Surely wherever they were would be better than here. 

She had made it just far enough into the woods that no one in town would hear anything that may transpire deep in the woods. Whoever her father had hired to follow her wasn't very discrete. She'd heard the footsteps long ago, the crunching of leaves and occasional snapping of a twig. She'd tried to lose them but had been ultimately unsuccessful. She recognized the smell of gunpowder first, hearing the sound of the gunshot mere milliseconds later. Alice understood what had happened before registering the pain letting out a soft chuckle as she fell to the ground. She felt as though she lay there for an eternity silently crying as the life faded from her body before everything went black. Unconscious, Alice didn't notice the strange man who silently approached. Didn't feel as he bent over, sinking his fangs into her throat. However, she did notice when he unclenched his jaw from her neck, and the most intense pain she believed possible spread through her body like fire.

----

When Alice opened her eyes, she was alone in a small, dark, wooden shack. She looked around at the space from the bed she had been placed on, trying to figure out how she got here. The last thing Alice could remember was the bullet hitting her back, and then... so much pain. Now, her throat was burning; she needed water. No, not water... but what? 

Alice stood, needing to find something to relieve the pain she felt in her throat when a man entered the one-room shack; he held his hands out, indicating he was not there to harm her. He tossed an unconscious rabbit at her feet. She immediately understood what to do, picking it up to drink deeply; the blood coated her throat, ceasing the burning sensation temporarily. 

Alice would spend the next five years with this man, whom she learned to be named Carlisle. He explained how he'd found her bleeding to death in the woods and turned her into a vampire just before she had passed on saving her life. Carlisle taught her about vampiric customs, how they lived in secret, and how to hide in plain sight amongst humans. How he fed off of animals and how to hunt. 

As much as Alice enjoyed her time with Carlisle and eventually, his wife, Esme; she still wanted to find her soulmate, as new flowers continued to show up every day. So she bid the couple farewell, promising that she would return one day.

Three years later, she met Charlotte; Alice was working as a sketch artist in Philidelphia when she encountered the woman on a walk late at night. She had never seen another person with as many marks as she had and immediately approached the woman. Charlotte was kind, explaining how she and her soulmate Peter had been involved in vampire wars in the south. They had both been bitten numerous times during battle; consequently, they both had gardens just like Alice. 

She stayed with the pair for a month when she approached Charlotte with a question. Alice pulled down her sleeve to expose a long scar on her left shoulder blade. She wanted to know if Charlotte or Peter had ever seen anyone with a matching mark during their time in the south. Maybe just like the pair,  her soulmate had been involved, thus the reason for her floral prints. The couple shared a mutual look of realization; Peter nodded in affirmation before leaving abruptly.

Charlotte sat down with Alice, prepared to explain some things. She told her about a man named Jasper, a man who'd had his entire worldview shaken apart the day a rose vine appeared on his shoulderblade. Not only was Jasper involved in the wars, but he was also a significant player. Jasper was the right-hand man of the leader of one of the most powerful covens in the south, the very same coven from which Peter and Charlotte had escaped. Charlotte confided in Alice that he had been questioning his role in the disputes for decades, how Peter had gone back countless times, risking his life in attempts to convince Jasper to leave. It had taken that rose vine to change his mind, to make him realize just maybe there was something better out there for him. He had been looking for her ever since.

When Peter returned alone, Alice wished she could cry; she had wanted desperately to find this man ever since the day her father had brought Anna-Marie into their home. She wanted someone to honestly care for and understand her. When Peter told her Jasper was waiting at the train station, she'd never run so fast in her life in her haste to get there. 

He was waiting as promised; suddenly nervous, she hid behind a stone pillar just hidden from view, taking him in. He was a tall, stoic man; even from a distance, Alice could make out a rosebud on his neck in the exact same spot Carlisle had bitten her years ago. When he turned his head slightly, she was able to make out a pair of striking red eyes and an expression of apprehension. With a sudden surge of courage, she stepped out into full view, taking cautious steps toward the man who now stared at her. 

They stood there for a moment, each taking the other in neither speaking, both of them just existing in this long-awaited moment. The instant Alice looked into his eyes, she felt comfortable; he seemed so familiar as though she had known him her entire life. It was an instant, overwhelming connection, and in that moment, she knew that she would never leave his side.

"Hi, my name is Alice." She broke the silence, finally extending a hand.

[foxymoxynoona]

I’m a little drunk right now so I hope autocorrect will save me. This chapter was BANGIN. LITERALLY. I’m sure I’ll have a million things to gush about between now and he next update but the thing I’ve really focused on this chapter: when JK and Bella were kids, it’s implied (and sometimes outright stated) that JK was in love with Bella. And from the line about “Jungkook being inside her and for some reason it made her want to cry” it tells me Bella has loved JK for awhile but was she aware of any romantic feelings for him as youngsters? I know she kissed him first but it was more motivated by the desire to “give” her first kiss to someone better than…someone who would take it. So obviously they’re in love now but Bella doesn’t know what real healthy romantic love looks like and JK is trying to be patient (sometimes too patient) and really he hasn’t been in love with anyone else either as far as we know so they’re not admitting to feelings that are obvious to everyone else. And this love is not the childhood love it’s one they’ve been building since they got married, technically even before that.

My POINT IS: when they were kids did Bella recognize that she loved JK as more than a friend or was her affection for him more platonic but veering into romantic territory because he was “good” and “safe” and she would’ve preferred him over the alternative. But preferring isn’t actual acknowledgment of feelings…idk does this make sense? I feel like I haven’t articulated my question well. I know Bella loves him! But I’m just trying to figure out if she realizes the way she loved him was special in any way or if she was just…this is gonna sound awful, but it makes sense given her trauma experiences…trying to keep the one good person in her life by showing romantic affection, because that’s what she’s been shown via her mother’s boyfriends (and later her experiences with Landon and Stig) and as evidenced by her continuously trying to offer JK reward BJs and getting confused when he says no because “don’t men want to be rewarded with sex? Don’t they feel entitled to it?”

If she doesn’t realize that she loved him as a kid, will she at some point? Or will she realize that she didn’t love him romantically before but she does now? Am I reading too much into this? I only bring it up because it’s sort of a huge plot point for JK to have been the one who pined for her as a kid, but she had so much going on that when we get snippets of her childhood memories they usually center around the bad memories. So did she pine for him too? And if so did/does she realize? Will we get to hear about baby!Bella and her JK!crush? I know she’s said he was cute but again, it’s not necessarily an acknowledgment of deeper feelings, you know?

Does any of this make sense? 😅

🍉

It does make sense! And I'm going to be so mean and say that I won't be answer this entirely yet, haha. I'll answer a little though!

You're very right that Bella's and JK's worlds during childhood were so different. They did both as youngsters realize they had feelings for the other, but they very much approached it from different sides. For JK, lust and love were connected. She was the first girl he loved AND the first girl he had sexual feelings for, and it just made sense that he was aware of those at the same time. Basically a "she's the best girl in the world so I love her and I also I would like to do this sex thing I'm hearing more about, she's the only girl I feel like I could trust to be bad at that with right now."

Meanwhile to Isabella, love and sex are not necessarily connected. There's overlap. But she's more practical about how she approaches both. She already knew by that age you could love someone without sex, and have sex without love. She knew she loved Jungkook when she kissed him, but she did not yet know she was in love with him romantically.

The moments of realization for them both will definitely come up later. As will the funny realization that they have switched in this regard as adults.

[gerlat-apreciation]

Vampiric Protectors Part 2

Geralt wakes up to a hideously mangled monster, intestines thrown about like streamers in a party, and a heart resting by his foot. While deep claw marks were buried in the wall ranging from light and barely there to deep and attention seeking, rubble and blood flooding about every sense he had.

Trying to remember what the strange figure who seemed to dance with the shadows itself even remotely looked like, he was rewarded with a terrible headache and a newly throbbing skull. Suddenly he seemed to do something right looking at the walls and the mangled corpse because he remembered a figure who looked suspiciously like his vampiric friend but much healthier. He thought of how shitty his friend looked while working to find Dettlaff.

The figure was kneeling over him, hand tightly wrapped around his thigh and features more human than when he leaped from the wall randomly, like an asshole. Who leaps from walls?

Saving that memory for later, Geralt returned to what the hell happened when he passed out. He really needed to pay better attention to things.

———

Kneeling over him, hand tightly wrapped around his thigh, deep black eyes locking with cloudy gold, watching him frantically.

“Are you well?”

“Who..”

They both spoke at the same time,interrupting each other. While the quite obvious higher vampire was stunned from his voice, Geralt took the time to speak.

“M’ fine.. would be better if you gave me that gold potion, left pocket, smells like fish. And the clear one, smells like honeysuckle..” In an attempt to hurry the stranger along in helping him, he didn’t want to pass out again.

The vampire scrambled to do just that, keeping a hand on his bloody thigh, a cloth wrapped around his nose. Geralt thought it strange but didn’t have the energy to comment on it at the time. Suddenly a potion glass at his lips shook him out of his stupor, Geralt grunted in thanks before downing the potions with the aid of his now strange friend..? Friend.

“Is there anything else I can aid you with little wolf?” The vampire breathed through his mouth, nostrils flaring at the sour smell of his blood. His voice was pleasant, deep with an accent like Regis’, he liked Regis’ voice, and could listen to it for hours while he talked about whatever. Geralt apologized under his breath, Regis told him how rancid his potions were.

“Nah.. m good. White Honey’ll do the most of the work, thanks..” Geralt slurred a lazy concoction of speech to stop thinking about the old bat. The Witcher used the time the vampire was looking for his potions to take in the strangers features.. dark hair, mutton chops, and smelled like blood. Yep.. this was Regis. But younger. Fuck.

Geralt was proven correct soon after

“My name is Emiel Regis Rohlec Terzieff-Godefroy, as you can probably tell, I am a higher vampire of the Garasham tribe.” Regis pressed a bloody hand to his doublet clad chest, motioning to himself while probably staining it with his blood. “And you are?” His nailed hand moved towards the witcher, smooth and graceful. Geralt had always admired how fast and predatory vampires were, respected it as well. It was impressive, and plain damn attractive how strong they were.

Once the vampire raised a thin, regal brow he collected himself once more to reply.

“Geralt of Rivia, Witcher,” He said simply as Regis seemed to go through multiple stages of surprise, amazement, disbelief, and belief before he murmured a simple

“cool.”

Geralt started laughing as soon as Regis looked displeased with himself. Shoulders shaking and lips spreading in a closed smile as his throat tried to release the sound from itself, his gritty huffs soon had him groaning, holding the offending neck with one hand. The Witcher returned his gaze to the vampire, who had a wide grin on his face.

“Enjoying yourself little wolf?” He purred, voice a smooth roll, like the first wave of an ocean being overlapped by another, coming together to make a beautiful scene with calming sounds. Geralt grunted in reply, dragging himself back so he could lean against the wall.

“Watching me, vampire?” He hummed, casting the other a dry look, the other cringed. This was a dangerous change of subject given he had no idea how this Regis acted.

“Ah.. perhaps.. I found very quickly after seeing you that you casted my interest, you smell delightful.. I could just..” Regis’ teeth bare, and he starts to lean forward.

Geralt's heart kicks up from its slow beat, and he wraps a hand around his sword, as soon as Regis lunges at him. He pressed his eyes closed, tense as a siren after a horn blow.

..

.

His body registers the curved nose of Regis pressing his nose against his throat, and smelling.

“What the fuck Regis-“

It was Regis’ turn to laugh now, soft and kind, with an undercurrent of predatory dominance that sent sharp shivers down Geralt’s spine alongside the tame breaths against his exposed clavicle. He pulls away and Geralt finds himself missing the cool breaths.

“Ah.. this was fun, my dear. But I believe you need some rest, it’s required for humans to rejuvenate, is it not?” He tilts his head, black hair falling to the left as he cups his palm against Geralt’s cheek, thumb swiping against the underside of his eye, rubbing the scar gently.

“Aw fuck- don’t tell me you’re gonna-“

And then he was asleep.

——-

So that was what happened.. that headache was worth it, Geralt thought, grabbing his sword and standing, taking the time to sheathe it and grab the heart that was resting at his foot, it would make a good trophy, even if the zeugl he needed to kill wasn’t dead.

Knowing Regis it probably was dead, but he needed to make sure.

Pulling himself up into a platform that, by the smell of it, led him back into the sewers. To pass the time he checked his potion vials, making sure everything was well and in place. He double took when he saw the zeugl, it’s entire head resting over the hole where he fell. What the hell, Regis.

Geralt heaved a heavy sigh, and cut out a tooth from it, and made his way back to the village to receive his pay.

**

A few days have passed since then, and the Witcher had taken up residence inside a nearby inn, after completing two more contracts to pay for it and a good few meals. He hasn’t been interrupted by a certain drunkard vampire as of yet, but he was probably being watched. It didn’t bother him as much as he thought it would, it was comforting almost, that Regis would come in anytime he loses control of a situation or contract.

Currently, Geralt was reclined on a sofa, wrapped in various furs and reading a book in front of the fireplace with a platter of various cheeses and grapes at his side, along with a wonderful goblet of wine the inn owner imported from Toussaint. Witchers here were treated surprisingly well, and Geralt was soaking it in as much as he could, enjoying every moment and every ounce of respect he received for his profession. It was pleasant, that was for sure.

Suddenly, there was a crackle, one of pure power that had Geralt flinging himself over the side of the couch, cheese platter flying everywhere and wine probably staining the soft velvet cushions, and there was a smell that he finally processed as soon as he saw the teal magic forming into a person, snow and lemons. It was Ciri, his pup, his baby. Geralt instantly smiled and lowered his blade, when the projection of Ciri cleared

“You seem to be enjoying yourself” Ciri chuckled, looking around the room with interest.

“Ah.. just got back from a few contracts, it’s nice here.” He hummed, going back to the front of the couch to clean up the cheese that found itself implanted into the walls in front of it.

“I hope I didn’t give you too much of a fright?” Her voice sunk in embarrassment.

“Scared the fuck out of me.” Geralt said simply, prying some cheddar from a brick and plopping it onto his tongue.

“Ew, dad,” Ciri groaned, covering her eyes in disgust, Geralt started laughing.

“Hmm.. Cidaris cheddar.. hints of brick but that’s okay.. nice sharp flavor..cow was in good heath—-“

“Geralt! I didn’t come here for a visit” Ciri wheezed, bending over at the hip to try to regain herself. Once she did she continued “We need to find out what world you are in, so you can come home.”

Geralt sat back down, gathering the furs around himself once more, like a little nest, and hummed. “Already have a good idea, everything’s younger here, I met Regis earlier.. he was blood drunk. Or.. buzzed at least” The Witcher trailed off, turning his gaze to his book.

“You’re in the past?” Ciri tilted her head, and Geralt shrugged

“Dunno.. just found a younger Regis. He saved me from an Arachas.” The Witcher grabbed his book and opened it, turning the pages downward where he left off and returning his full attention to Ciri

Ciri, who now sat cross legged on the floor, nodded. “Just give us a bit longer, I’m still regaining energy, you should be able to come back soon, I’ll find you this time, okay?” His pup smiled at him, and for a moment he saw that little girl who forced them to do tea parties, and forever ruined the way he holds teacups. He could feel his pupils dilating with pure adoration at the other.

Geralt nodded “thanks” he said simply, as Ciri obviously noted the change in his pupils, considering she went wide eyed and cooed at him like a mother looking at a toddler, he cringed.

“Your eyes! Awe Geralt-“ she whined, laughing and shaking her head. Geralt fought back an embarrassed blush.

“Yeah yeah..”

“I love you, dad” Ciri said, firmly and in complete seriousness and suddenly, out of nowhere, Geralt felt an odd knot in his throat.

“Love you too, Ciri” he choked, looking at the other with glassy eyes. His head was filled with a mantra of don’t cry don’t cry don’t cry, and various curses.

Ciri’s smile grew, if it was possible, and she nodded, and as soon as that happened, it was over and Geralt was left staring at the spot she was at, clawing for composure.

A few minutes later his mutations took a firm hold of the offending emotions in a chokehold, and body slammed them back into the void. Where they should be. And Geralt is left feeling hollow. He returns to his book, just as the sound of glass breaking moves him into a shock.

Now, Geralt could tell you right now that this was a bad place to get suddenly attacked. He had no armor besides his white undershirt and his tight form fitting black pants. He wasn’t even wearing shoes , and he was tangled up in various furs to keep him warm. His sword was behind the couch, and he had nothing to defend himself with.

That is why, when he got grabbed by moving smoke like some bride to be on wedding day, he snarled, and raised the book above his head to attack. Not soon after it was pried out of his hand and into the fire.

“FUCK-“ Geralt yelled, attention momentarily diverted to the loss of knowledge to the hungry flames casting mischievous shadows across the room, but that seemed to be enough time for the vampire, inhumanly fast, to jump out the window.

On the third floor of a building.

To say Geralt was angry, was an understatement.

But there was only so much to do when you had tendrils of smoke blocking everything. It was all he saw, smelled, heard, and was able to touch. But he was gratefully able to feel the main issue, an arm wrapped under his knees, and another around his back, pressing him close to a thin chest. Though, the smoke didn’t seem to be just smoke, considering when he struggled (which he couldn’t do much of in the first place considering how strong his kidnapper was) the smoke seemed to press him still as well. Wrapping around him like a- he didn’t quite know how to describe it. But it did smell of anise, wormwood, basil, sage, and cinnamon.

What the fuck, Regis.

Before he knew it, Geralt was plunging through another window, thankfully this one was opened, and directly into a large bed. Regis, still in his smoke form, darted out the window as it slammed shut.

Geralt sat up, processing for a moment what the hell just happened. And then where he was now.

Where he was now seemed to be a very large room, about the size of the entire inn he was in, with a large oak door, with a steel door knob, latched firmly in place with what seemed to be a spell casted on it, if that was why his medallion shivered when he neared it. Close to the door was tapestries, hanging on each side, faded and worn with age. They depicted vampires drinking from humans under the moonlight, covered in blood and garlic and looking piss drunk.

By the tapestries, bookshelves lined the walls which were made of firm stone, filled to the point of overflowing with books and scrolls of varying size and weight. These seemed to be the main thing filling the wall on the left side, as the only other object there was a wardrobe to the direct left of the large bed. Inside it was various outfits, mostly silken robes but held the odd cotton shirt and pants there. All in wonderful condition, bordering on brand new. Geralt sighed and slammed it shut, seemed it was planned for him to stay awhile. He crossed to the right side of the room, and that was when he noticed the bed was about a step higher than the rest of the room, covered in silk blankets and furs, with two large curtains on each side of it, looking at the floor around it.

Regis seemed to be aiming to spoil him. How sweet. Thought the Witcher, sarcasm and annoyance boiling his blood and filling his mind.

Returning to exploring the right side of the room, there were more bookshelves, the large stained glass window depicting once again a vampire symbol, but this time it was the Garasham tribe symbol. It was quite well done, and was so large the moonlight lit it all the way to the other side of the room, across the bed, casting colors of blue, green, brown, and red everywhere. The window seemed to take up most of the wall, and was made of a thick glass, Geralt had no high hopes of breaking it. Around the large window, was two candle filled tables, nothing special.

To the right of the bed, against the wall that lays against its headboard, is a door that leads to a bathroom, a lot like the one he saw in Vizima when he met up with Emhyr.

Geralt groaned, and grabbed a random book, sitting on the bed, which was heavenly soft but he would never admit it aloud, while suddenly missing the weight of his swords as he wrapped himself up once more with the many furs covering it. He leaned against the pillows and headboard and got to reading, with only the candle and moonlight to light the letters.

[imagine-loki]

Return

TITLE: Return CHAPTER NO./ONE SHOT: Chapter Five AUTHOR: theterrifyingtermite ORIGINAL IMAGINE: Imagine that, at the end of Endgame, Loki comes back. Only one problem: this isn’t your Loki… RATING: T NOTES/WARNINGS: Half-way there! (did I mention it was a slow(ish)-burn? it’s a slow(ish)-burn.)

Chapter Five:

It had been sometime in the early hours of the morning.

The last time she saw him.

She was curled up against him, their conversation having shifted to other things aside from the usual nothings that lovers whispered in the dark.

Earlier in their relationship, she would have never thought Loki, God of Mischief, current-upstart-King-of-Asgard would demand to snuggle.

At any moment, whenever it struck his fancy, no matter where they were or what they were doing.

Of course, knowing what she did now, she would never not let him hold her.

…not that she minded, ever, either.

Touch was precious to him.

One arm was locked around her waist; his other hand was weaving through her hair. It was in these dear moments that his guard was fully dropped. All pretense, even that done unconsciously from years and years of practice, was let go.

All she knew was peace and utter contentment.

Tucking her hand more securely around him, she allowed herself to drift away, sleep calling sweetly.

Instead, his whisper brought her awareness fully back to him.

She didn’t need to bring much along to Asgard, didn’t she know?

His fingers had stopped combing through her hair, nervously grasping at the locks instead.

Blinking, wondering if she heard him correctly, she had tipped her face up to see his, wondering what he meant.

He had stared resolutely away.

Only that…she didn’t need a lot. Only things from home she really wanted. But not everything.

A pause.

Her brow furrowed, sleepy confusion pulling them together. She pushed herself up on an elbow, trying to get him to actually look at him.

A deep breath.

Didn’t she know that he would take care of her? That she would want for nothing?

Oh.

Oh.

Even though he had closed his eyes, as if preemptively hiding from her semi-regular “I’m not helpless, Loki!” rant, a smile lit up her face.

How could she ever doubt him?

Settling back down into his embrace, she sighed a happy confirmation that yes, she did know.

His hands tightened against her, and then they slept.

Safe.

___

It had been a difficult day.

She had dreamed of their last night in some form the past three evenings, and she was tired.

Every time it was off somehow, as if her subconscious was polluting the memory with the reality it knew came after.

Retracting his offer; taking her ring. Being taken before her eyes.

Choking to death.

The worst: coming back for her.

That, and not being able to sleep again afterwards, left her quite annoyed.

Never mind the fact that she was now six months pregnant.

Which, apparently, was only halfway through the regular term for a Frost Giant.

Which, apparently, was the time frame in which this baby seemed to be developing-

-or so Doctor Strange has postulated earlier that day.

The man in question was another note of irritation.

It wasn’t that she didn’t like him…but the needling comments he wove into every conversation were starting to chip away at her resolve.

And on days when Christine had a shift overlapping their appointment, which had only happened once before, he seemed to hold back less than usual.

She had to convince herself after every session that she needed their help; needed them to keep her and the baby safe, considering…

Her fingers fiddled with the watch on her wrist; the anchoring point for the variety of spells cast over her.

Well, there was another point. She had no magical partner to help her through it. She needed all the help she could get from the wizards, frustrating as it may be.

Also, it was raining. She had gotten wet on the way home, and that had been the final straw.

She was tired.

So tired, bedraggled, and annoyed that she didn’t hear the sounds he made in the other room.

Didn’t hear his steps approaching the door.

All she knew was that it was overwhelming, and if she wanted to cry, she would.

So, curled up on her bed, wrapped in a blanket, listening to the almost-spring shower, she cried.

And cried

And cried.

And then felt a hand on her shoulder.

And then screamed.

Flailing, she wrenched herself away from the intruder, scrambling to move, to turn, to do something to get where she could defend herself, and oh – the empty mug from last night, which she blindly grabbed and waved over her shoulder – dear heaven why was her stomach in the way? – and then she finally blinked away enough of the tears, rolled herself over, gasping, only to look up and see-

“Loki.”

He was staring down at her, one brow arched up; his mouth set in a highly unamused line.

His gaze shifted to the mug she held in front of herself defensively; at which moment he plucked it from her grasp and thumped it down onto the side table.

Her response was to stutter; to try and formulate some sort of response.

Then finally, “What are you doing here?!” was blurted out.

She was at a total loss.

As they stared at each other, his arms crossing over his chest, her scrubbing at her eyes to clear them, shifting feet was her first response.

Then a mumbled, “stupid Tesseract,” finally broke the awkwardness.

“Oh,” was all she knew to respond.

And then, her heart leaped. Resting against his chest, having slipped out when he leaned over her, was-

“My ring,” was her whisper, with a hand instinctively stretching out-

-only for his hand to fold over it, gripping tightly, and for him to take a step back, suddenly wary, with a low, painful, “My mother’s,” and then she realized it.

There was a sea of agony in his eyes – severe enough for her to drown in. He knew.

There was nothing to fix this. There hadn’t been before, and there wouldn’t be now.

Hand dropping, she folded back in on herself, shaking her head as logic caught up with her emotions. “Sorry! I know. I just…don’t go,” was the lame, pleading finish.

Securing a tissue to blow her nose, undignified and exhausted, she refused to meet his gaze.

This was the moment he would turn tail and leave, angry with her once again.

He wasn’t hers, and yet it still hurt.

Except.

Even as she braced herself for the dramatic exit, he stayed put. Obviously uncomfortable, even as he held his posture stiffly, Loki still stayed.

She wasn’t sure what to make of it. Until-

“I saw Thor.”

Her eyes widening; jaw slack, she froze.

“W-wha-“

“I ended up in that ‘New Asgard’ place,” he muttered something unintelligible under his breath, “For whatever reason, I can’t always seem to get it to go where I want.”

A frustrated pout twisted up his face.

An instinctive giggle brightened hers.

At his following flat stare, she alternated between horror that she had laughed at this inexplicable man, fear he would leave, and the relief she felt. That was a face she knew. That was something familiar.

Still, she needed to hold it together.

“I’m sorry,” was her firmly controlled response, as she pushed herself up to lean against the headboard. “I just – it’s been a long day. You can keep going, if you want to,” was the hasty addition, as she winced.

Her fingers plucked at the blanket, eyes downcast, as she waited. Hoping. Disbelieving.

A longsuffering sigh, if one could be interpreted as such, filled the room.

“I may have found some…clarity, regarding certain things.”

A glance up, and she tilted her head, trying to emulate an inquiring expression.

“About what you said, and what I saw when…” he trailed off again, this time finding something decidedly interesting to study on her floor.

Guilt?

A small smile crept onto her face. “And?” was the quiet prompt, and a silent pleading for him to just look at her.

“He said he watched me die,” was mumbled, as he turned away, facing the window and the rain.

At least there was no storm.

___

He had told her a story once, about when he was a child.

They had been sitting in her backyard; him leaning against a tree – with a pillow, he wasn’t going to needless suffer, mind you – and her leaning against him, holding his arms that were holding her.

But when he began to tell her, words halting and unsure, she had turned in his arms, straddling his lap and letting her hands rest on his shoulders.

His grip moved to her hips, fingers unconsciously pressing harder than he ever had.

He had adored Thor. That he would never deny. They had been inseparable – comrades in arms when training; partners in crime when there was a prank to be pulled.

(Thor had been the brunt of many, even at the beginning, but it was all done in fun – no matter what the large oaf might think.)

Then, the slow divide that he became aware of; the chasm that only grew as they did.

And all he had ever wanted was to be loved. To be seen like Thor was.

And how he didn’t understand why everything he did was never good enough, no matter what he did, or how hard he tried.

His mother adored him, but she also loved Thor. Even if she had to correct his older brother more than she did him, she still loved him and cared for him, because that was what was supposed to happen; that’s how children were supposed to be cherished, and-

She had quickly reached up, taking his face in her hands, hushing him quietly.

Thumb stroking away the single tear that had fallen

Well, it didn’t matter now. It couldn’t be changed. It wasn’t really Thor’s fault, after all. He knew that.

But, she had countered, that didn’t mean it wasn’t a real hurt. A real pain. Had had been a child, and it was natural for a child to be hurt when faced with favoritism.

When he had gritted his teeth, bitterly announcing that it didn’t matter, that he had ruined everything anyway, which is why he never tried to explain it to Thor-

-well, she had pressed as closely as she could in silence, head resting on his shoulder, and just let him hold her and release whatever he needed to say.

___

They hadn’t spoken much after that, and here she was, several weeks later, and still thinking about it.

After another few off-handed comments about Thor, lacking the vehemence that had often colored his speech when forced to discuss his brother, Loki had asked about her. How she was feeling.

At least, she though he had.

When he had scoffed at her attempt to communicate how the pregnancy was going, she had to admit defeat.

Only…maybe she didn’t?

He had moved to the door, calling the Tesseract to his hand, when she had said his name with a strength before which she had been unable to find in his presence.

When he paused, the gateway open and waiting for him to fly away, her heart had danced.

“Just…if you need anything, at any time…”

A look back.

“I’m here,” she swallowed down the swell of emotion and dared to meet his eyes.

A nod.

Then he was swallowed up in the vortex.

Figures.

But – and here was her cause of ‘botheration,’ as she had been muttering to herself all day – he had at least acknowledged her. That was something, right?

At least he hadn’t run away immediately.

At least he was acting more like the man she knew he could be.

At least he had talked to Thor.

Right when her thoughts had drifted towards imagining the conversation, and the enthusiastic greeting that would no doubt have come from one half of the pair, and the less-than-thrilled, deadpan parry to such delight, she heard it.

It was a sound unlike anything she had heard before. Thunder, followed by a rushing, lightning-strike sort of sound.

And then it ended as quickly as it had started.

Only, there had been no clouds in the sky a few minutes ago when she had been sitting on the front porch reading, enjoying the early spring sun.

A knock on the back door; there was a tall, broad, blonde shape trying to peer around her curtains, who offered a cheerful wave when he managed to catch a glimpse of her approach.

At least her life was never boring.

[cerezsis]

Chipped

Chapter Five: Hello

Summary: Steven tries to get through to Gray by showing her the truth about her past.

WARNING: This chapter contains descriptions of blood and gore. Tread cautiously.

--

           Gray’s body trembled with a mixture of fury and confusion. She had no idea how this hybrid got in her head, but she was not about to let him stay there! The world around her faded to static as she fully manifested in the mind space.

           “How dare you!” she shouted in her head, “What makes you think you have the right to invade my mind!? When I get my hands on you –”

           Steven froze. “You can see me?”

           “Of course I –” Gray froze too, her own realization dawning on her. “You can hear me?”

           Steven nodded.

           The two of them stood, staring at each other in bewilderment. Touching the gash in her throat, Gray stood upright and her muscles relaxed a bit.

           “… Hello,” was all she could think to say.

           “Um, hi.” Steven floated closer to her. “How are you able to see me? Whenever I’ve been in the mind space before, no one’s been –”

           His words were cut off by something appearing in his peripheral. After a better look, he saw what appeared to be a butterfly, only… not. Its shape was on point, but its coloring was completely gray, and it was surrounded by a smokey aura that trailed behind it as it fluttered.

           “My powers are based on illusion,” Gray explained, the smokey insect landing gracefully in her stretched out palm, “I can project images such as this, and make others see things that aren’t there. I suppose the opposite is true too, and I can see things others can’t.”

           The butterfly disappeared in a puff of smoke. Steven nodded, satisfied enough with that answer.

           “I just wanna talk to you, Gray. Why are you doing this? Why are you attacking your own mother?”

           Gray scoffed. “Are you serious? Why? Did she tell you what she did to the cessineans? What she did to me?”

           “What she did to the cessineans was wrong, but we can make it right without fighting. Things have changed. White has changed. We can –”

           “What about me? Did she tell you what she did to me? Her own child! She can’t be trusted, Steven! What kind of monster does that to her own baby?”

           “What happened to you was the cessineans doing. White never –”

           “Oh, so the cessineans made her abandon me?” Gray once again interrupted, her tone mocking and increasing with anger. “The cessineans made her reject me at birth? They made her and Black toss me away like trash?”

           Steven stared at her, blankly. “What… did the cessineans tell you?”

           “What did White tell you? Look at me! You’ve met her! You know how she treats things that are flawed, how she treats beings that she deems “beneath” her!”

           “That’s… That’s not…” He tried to think of how to explain it to her. “White loved you, Gray. She and Black both loved you! White’s been mourning you for centuries! She never –”

           Rage seething through her core, Gray grabbed Steven, holding him tightly in her fist.

           “You don’t know anything!” Gray screamed. “They loved me? Liar! Mocking me isn’t going to save you! When I get to Homeworld, I will shatter you first!”

           “Wait!” Steven pleaded as Gray prepared to throw him out of the mind space. He couldn’t leave yet. He needed to show her the truth, but how? This wasn’t like when he tried to reach out to Blue and Yellow. How was he supposed to –

           “It must be a trick!” Yellow’s voice suddenly echoed, “Show yourself, foe!”

           Steven’s eyes popped open, and Gray froze in her tracks. They were surrounded by the projection of Yellow, Blue, and Steven from that fateful day two years ago. Gray let go of Steven in her astonishment, and the projection faded away.

           “What… was that?” Gray asked.

           Wondering the same thing, Steven looked to Gray. Curious, he reached out for her still outstretched hand. The memory projected around them again, the way it surrounded them reminding Steven of the observation device Lapis showed him on the moon base.

           “I’m not your foe!” Steven of the past pleaded, “Please just listen to me!”

           Coming to her senses, Gray drew her hand back.

           “What was that?” she demanded once again.

           Steven turned to look her in the eye. “I… think when my mind powers mix with your illusion powers, we’re able to see each other’s memories.”

           Gray raised an eyebrow. “You say that as if it’s a common occurrence.”

           “This kind of stuff happens to me a lot,” Steven shrugged.

           Gray’s face contorted in even more confusion. Grinning, Steven offered her his hand. She hesitated, but curiosity won out. With reservation, she touched his much smaller hand.

           Suddenly, they were surrounded by a shiny, metallic room. On one side, giant sheets of paper were scattered across the floor. On the other, a variety of carefully crafted paper flowers sat piled on the floor. A much younger Gray Diamond sat in front of a large screen that was mounted on the wall. Her long, white curls flowed freely over her shoulders, and her dress reminded Steven of something out of the Edwardian era. Her scars and gashes were as present as they were today, but her face was rounder and more child-like.

           The younger Gray continued to fold the piece of paper in her hands as an old cessinean comedy program played on the screen in front of her. Something had happed that made her giggle, but no sound came out. Her body just trembled as one would do when laughing.

           “Is this what you did all day?” Steven asked.

           “Not necessarily. Sometimes I’d preform maintenance on the base. With the cessineans in cryo-sleep, it was my job to keep everyone safe.”

           Steven continued to stare at the younger version of Gray. He watched her fold the paper with great precision, her face stoic but a glimmer in her good eye showed joy in what she was doing. Within seconds, what was once a blank piece of paper was now a beautiful, though alien looking lily.

           A thought suddenly occurring to him, Steven pulled his hand away from Gray.

           “I have an idea,” Steven said, “You don’t believe me when I say that Black and White didn’t abandon you, but if you can see it for yourself, you’ll have to believe it. We can project your memories of them, and you’ll see that I’m telling the truth.”

           Gray rolled her eyes. “And what if you’re wrong? What if I’m the one who’s right?”

           “Then you’ll prove to me that you’re telling the truth.”

           Gray was silent for a moment. “Regardless of who’s right, how is this supposed to work? How are we supposed to project things I don’t even remember?”

           Steven’s expression dropped. He hadn’t thought of that. He quickly searched his mind for an answer.

           “I saw something on TV once that we can try. I don’t know if it’ll actually work, but… Just hear me out. Close your eyes.”

           Gray tilted her head, unsure of where this was going. Despite her uncertainty, she decided the truth was worth the leap of faith. Doing as he instructed, she closed her eyes.

           “Now picture a door. Behind that door lies the memories you’ve forgotten, memories of your mothers and your life before the cessineans took you in. Picture that door and focus on it.” He reached out and touched her hand. “Now open it.”

           At first, nothing happened, but after a moment of silence, a happy, high pitched squeal echoed in their ears. Gray’s eyes snapped open. The image of toys and shiny things dangling down from two overlapping arches projected around them. Two tiny, chubby gray hands reached up and grabbed what looked like a mirror. In its reflection, there was a bright-eyed, smiling baby, no cracks or gashes to be seen. The infant’s tiny, wispy curls bounced as she flailed her limbs and let out another squeal.

           Gray’s eyes were locked on the infant as she raised a trembling hand to touch the gash in her throat. Thousands of questions raced through her head, but she found herself unable to voice any of them.

           “Is she supposed to be this active at this hour?” a familiar voice asked.

           The infant Gray turned her head, now looking towards the two large gems standing next to the sensory gym.

           “Aren’t infants supposed to sleep at night?” White continued.

           The gem standing next to her was equal to her in height, her black dress tight from the waist up, but loose in the skirt, the front of which opened to show her thigh-high boots. Her black hair reached her shoulders, and a square-shaped topknot sat on the top of her head. Like Gray, her chin was rounded, and her gem was on her navel, though its point faced upwards, much like Pink Diamond’s.

           “She’ll eventually grow out of needing to sleep,” Black Diamond rationalized, though her tone didn’t sound so confident, “I doubt it matters much when she sleeps.”

           Gray tore her hand away from Steven’s, causing the projection to fade away.

           “Is this a trick?” she demanded, “Are you manipulating my memories?”

           Steven shook his head. “You’re the one with illusion powers, Gray.”

           Gray was frozen in place. Steven gave her a reassuring smile and reached his hand back out for her. Hesitantly, she reached back for him, her hand shaking the entire time.

           When they touched this time, a sharp cry pierced the air. A tiny, fussy Gray Diamond clung onto a flustered White, the baby’s face flushed from crying so long. Black Diamond entered the frame, looking to console both her lover and child.

           “She won’t sleep, she won’t eat,” White listed off, “It’s been over an hour. She won’t settle down.”

           “Hand her over, darling,” Black offered, her arms outstretched.

           All too eager to hand over her screaming child, White gave Gray to her other mother. The darker diamond stroked the infant’s hair as she cradled her in her arms.

           “You’re causing quite a ruckus, little one.”

           Suddenly, images of calming, slow moving clouds began to manifest in front of the infant’s eyes. It was like slowly floating through a dreamland, though she knew she was still in her mother’s arms. Captivated, she watched the clouds go by, her cries finally starting to slow.

           Present day Gray also watched the clouds go by. She knew she inherited her powers from her sire, but she never thought she’d whiteness them firsthand. She watched as her younger self’s eyes began to flutter shut, her cries transitioning into hiccups as both her mothers began to quietly hum to her.

           As baby Gray’s eyes closed completely, present day Gray let her arm drop to her side, her eyes still locked ahead as the vision faded away.

           “Are you ok?” Steven asked.

           Gray turned to look at him.

           “What did White say happened to me?”

           “You and Black were waiting for her at a secret diamond base, and it was bombed by the cessineans. No one survived except you, apparently.”

           “How did I survive?”

           “I don’t know. I’m sorry.”

           Gray stared at him for a moment, completely silent. Her hand trembling more than ever, she reached back out for him.

           “I have to know.”

           Steven nodded, and touched her hand.

           The sound of Gray’s cried once again filled the air. This time, though, it was accompanied by the frantic voice of Black Diamond.

           “What about the warp pads?” she pleaded to a gem neither Gray nor Steven recognized, “If we can’t evacuate with the ships, we can –”

           “The warps have been deactivated as well,” the unknown gem informed her, “There’s no escaping, my diamond. The bomb will hit at any moment.”

           Black turned away from her, a mix of panic, despair, and desperation flooding over her. There was truly nothing she could do. The realization of their fates fully sinking in, she lifted the still crying Gray out of her cradle and held her close.

           “What about your forcefield, my diamond?” her pearl asked, “Perhaps –”

           “The larger my forcefields are, the weaker they are,” Black cut her off, “One that big wouldn’t stand a chance against an attack like this.”

           Looking down at the infant in her arms, a small spark of hope suddenly glimmered in her eyes.

           “But perhaps…”

           With a heavy heart, Black summoned her forcefield, surrounding Gray in its protective glow. Knowing she could do nothing more than rely on this small slither of hope, she fell to her knees and held her daughter as close as the forcefield would allow.

           “I love you, Gray.”

           In the blink of an eye, everything was engulfed in a bright light, followed by a loud BOOM! Even the memory of the sound was enough to make Steven and present-day Gray’s ears ring.

           The bright light faded to black, and within seconds, a metallic room began manifesting around them. Baby Gray had survived and reformed, but she far from unscathed. Her gem had been chipped, leaving her naked body covered in cracks and gashes. She was crying in terror, but no sound escaped her lips. Her right eye glowed white, and her face showed no emotion, aside from the fear in her good eye.

            Just a few feet away, twelve cessineans stood, the very same twelve that were on the ship with Gray right now. None of them paid any mind to the terrified, injured infant.

           “I’m telling you, keeping her alive is the best thing we can do,” one of them explained to the others, “Look at her. We might’ve made the mistake of making Black and White too autonomous, but that won’t be a problem with her. She’s just a drone now, a mindless robot. She has no choice but to obey our commands.”

           Without thinking, Gray quickly let go of Steven, falling to her knees in anguish. She covered her face with her hands and shrieked loud enough that Steven had to cover his ears. Gasping between sobs, she ran her hands through her tied-back hair. Her anguish was so strong she could feel tears manifest on her physical form, outside of the mind space.

           Cautiously, Steven approached her and put a hand on her large shoulder.

           “I’m so sorry, Gray,” he said, “I didn’t know it would be… Now that you know the truth, you can stop all of this. Without you, the cessineans can’t hurt anyone. You have the power to –”

           Before he could finish, he found himself trapped in Gray Diamond’s fist. Hate and anger burned in her eyes as she threw her arm back, and violently tossed him out of the mind space.

             Steven gasped as he awoke in a cold sweat. Taking in his surroundings, he saw that he was still on the floor of the nursery, the diamonds and Spinel still surrounding him.

           “Did you talk to Gray?” White Diamond pleaded, “What did she say?”

           Steven didn’t know how to answer. He clutched his chest as he struggled to catch his breath.

           Suddenly, a loud BOOM shook the palace walls, causing even the diamonds to lose their balance, and few artifacts to come falling to the ground. Panicked, all five of them ran out of the room.

           Sprinting through the halls, they all stopped in their tracks once the nearest balcony came into view. Gray Diamond stood in between the open curtains; the flaming remains of the cessineans ship plummeting down behind her. Her face was stained with tears, and, much to Steven’s horror, her hands and dress were stained with blood.

           White Diamond’s hands trembled as she stared at the damaged face of her daughter. Slowly, Gray began to raise her hand, pointing at White as crimson blood dripped from her fingers. Trying to suppress her shakiness, White approached her.

           For a moment, all they did was stare at each other, their eyes locked. Lifting her hands, Gray summoned a smokey, silhouetted image. In it was the likeness of Black and White, the two of them standing close to each other, and lovingly embracing an infant Gray.

           The image faded away and White looked up, once again locking eyes with Gray. Slowly, as if afraid she too would disappear in a puff of smoke, White raised a trembling hand and touched Gray’s cracked cheek. Wiping a tear trail away with her thumb, White smiled at her.

           “Hello Gray.”

[firebirdsdaughter]

This is still ‘soon’…

… Right?

So! Let’s look at subbed Ryusoulger nigh immediately after raw Ryusoulger.

… Huh. I’m not sure about that sentence.

So, I got into one of my theory rambles at the end of this. In case anyone wants to just skip to the end and avoid the nonsensical bullet points. XD

In no order:

I love the angsty edgy bros w/ my whole heart and no one can stop me.

Touwa definitely sounds a little… I dunno, wistful? I really think he is lonely, and too read too much between the lines, this sort of seems to me like he may not know about the betrayal thing. I guess it just kind of seemed like there was an edge of questioning about it? Like he’s bringing up the topic of ‘friends’ in an effort to probe his brother’s reasons for being so against it? … Probably overthinking it.

Kou inconveniently makes a noise before I can learn anything about Banba’s opinion on the word ‘friends.’ Damnit, Kou. If you weren’t so cute…

He’s so happy, gods love him. Banba just stares incredulously at him, but Touwa rolls his eyes. Definitely the more expressive of the two. ^^

Banba does let Kou back up quite promptly, though. He may not trust people or want to work w/ them, but he’s not outright hostile, at least.

Important facts: Melto now gets to eat a banana w/out having to worry about being incriminated.

Kou just takes things, does he. XD There’s his mischievous side. ^^ Though I guess he did have a reason, and it was a clever tactic to get the other two’s attention.

Banba is somewhere offscreen like ‘damnit, Touwa, don’t make promises I don’t want to keep!’

Kou’s awkward ‘wait, this isn’t mine…’ moment when Touwa says he’d have to give them the map. XD

Okay. I love all these kids, and they’re all doing great. But what gets me in the opening shot of all of them screaming is that Tatsuya, Ichika, and Tsuna are all just going for it w/ the tragic drama, while Yuito and Hayate… Maybe it’s bc there’s no other context but they both kinda look like they’re almost smiling to me? Weird, I know. And probably just me.

And the problem children are officially at it. XD Drama babies.

I still don’t understand why the hell Touwa knows about that. Have you been hanging out w/ business men? Does Kou even know, for that matter?

I love Kou being super impressed until Touwa claims he won. It’s so adorable. ‘Wow, you’re actually really good––no, wait!’

Ah, Touwa acts all indifferent, but I think he’s definitely enjoying this. Kinda seemed like he suddenly realised he was having fun and immediately tried to backtrack. Like, really, when was the last time he got to behave like a kid? Like, we know Banba loves him, and I’m sure they played as children, but it’s a little different––probably esp after Banba started shutting himself off, depending on when that happened. Gah. It’s hard to explain. Like, why there’s the whole thing about how it’s good for children to play w/ kids their own age, and stuff like that.

They both keep doing the same thing. XD You boys are so similar. ^^ … Banba is going to kill you both.

The little green dancing knights and the little black dancing knights overlapped and it’s CUTE.

I CAN’T WAIT FOR THE FULL TEAM ROLLCALL I WILL CRY.

Poor Kou get’s interrupted on his announcement speech.

No, Kreuon, they don’t.

These two are gonna find ways to turn everything into competitions, aren’t they.

DORKS.

Aw, don’t worry, Touwa. He meant both of you.

Still a cool reveal shot. Also, damn, Banba got there fast. Does he have a ‘someone just pushed my brother in a fountain’ radar or something?

Actually, he probably does have a ‘brother in trouble’ radar.

Banba officially becomes the second person to actually formally trade blows w/ Tankjoh. And the last time, when Kou did it, he was riding adrenaline and rage from Master Red’s death. This is really cool.

Like, he was able to activate KataSoul in perfect timing to not get untransformed by the purple glowy slash. And it didn’t even really knock him back––he does a bloody flip and leaps clear. And while he’s a bit out of breath from it, he doesn’t seem that worse for wear. That was impressive! Even Tankjoh was kind of impressed!

XD These two dorks. Definitely already got the bickering down. ^^

‘Oops. Nii-san’s pissed.’ I love how even Kou is awkwardly looking down. XD

I love how it looks like this woman just carefully placed her purse down before falling unconscious.

Ah, yes. The universal Toku Hospital. Pretty sure this is where Geiz and Tsukuyomi took Sougo during the Ghost arc.

How… How would you tell if that was the Minusaur host. Like. Is it it just based on the toy gun? I’m beginning to wonder if Banba was just staring at Kou when he asked about killing the kid bc he could believe Kou was dumb enough to think he’d do that before being sure.

Or just for thinking that he’d do that already. It’s not like they want to kill people, they just think they’d have to.

Like, they’ve––well, definitely Banba, I think Touwa might have some left––lost all optimism. I don’t think Banba believes in the ‘power of hope and determination’ at this point. Boy needs to relearn his Sentai tropes. ^^ I mean, he’s definitely shut off most of his empathy. Like I know I’ve said before, and I’m so annoying I’ll say it again, I think he had the opposite reaction to trauma that the trio did. They choose to find hope and carry on in the memory of their Masters, and try to find happiness to help counteract the sorrow––whereas Banba seems to have reacted by deciding he’ll stop the pain by just feeling and connecting as little as possible. If that made any sense.

Banba says nothing, and he’s really stoic, but I think he’s also uncomfortable w/ that concept. Esp since it still seems like he raised his brother, I highly doubt he could actually harm a child w/out thinking of Touwa.

When did Kou stuff that down his shirt? And how did it stay there?

I love how Melto immediately chastises Kou for taking things. XD Definitely the mom friend.

Kou just looks confused.

Maybe I’m totally overreading Banba’s reaction to Melto suggesting they split up? But it’s the sort of thing that could very well be related to a betrayal, no? I dunno. Maybe he really was just looking for an opportunity to make someone else deal w/ Kou and Touwa’s competition.

Apparently, Asuna can’t read a map.

Oh, and don’t worry about him, dear. He’s just like that. I promise you, he’ll open up eventually.

Love how he’s very purposefully walking a certain amount of feet away from her.

Okay, but  the fact that TigerLance and MirNeedle really are stuck in their temple means so much to me. I can’t believe my goofy, über-tired joke theory came true.

I love how we’re all including each other in calls now. Like, before Asuna just called Kou. But apparently we all, I dunno, exchanged numbers? Is it possible to only call one person, or are they now just stuck on conference for life?

Banba will hate that if it’s true.

Touwa is vaguely concerned, aw. I really think he’s been a little lonely, what w/ Banba just having lost all faith in the rest of the world, so to speak, while he didn’t have the same experience; so the trio are growing on him faster, and he’s a little more open to the chance of connecting w/ others.

Also, the fact that Banba was the one to associate the Minusaur’s behaviour w/ an adult playing w/ a child. He seems like the last person that would be able to make that connection, but he’s also the one that we can confirm to actually have potentially interacted w/ a child in that way.

But even if I’m wondering if I’m overthinking Banba’s reaction to the splitting up suggestion, I really don’t think I’m overthinking Touwa’s reaction to the reveal about what created the Minusaur. It seems to have hit a nerve, and I think we can now be pretty certain that the boys have (presumably, though I guess it could have been their mother) dad issues of some kind. But… Well, I’ll get more into those ideas a little further down. See, there was this idea I had… I’ll get to it at the end.

I don’t think it’s that strange for Touwa to intercede. He has an idea to beat the Minusaur w/out killing anyone. The brothers don’t actually want to kill anyone. They just thought they’d have to if they couldn’t stop the monster in time.

Though I do definitely think there’s also something personal going on.

Cuties.

Banba’s comment, not only sets up his motivations for next episode, and make sit double clear how much Touwa means to him, but also reenforces my suspicion that the brothers have dad issues.

I love MirNeedle and his weird steamboat sound.

Also Banba almost smiling and kind of teasing his brother. ^^ Even more cuteness.

I love how the touching moment where Touwa admits that he’s kind of gotten fond of these fools is promptly followed by evidence of their utter incompetence and goofy melodrama. XD

Really excited for next week. XD I mean, it was already highly likely that they way they’d get Banba to start at least working w/ the team would be through Touwa, since Touwa is the only person he’s able to trust right now, but I’m excited for how they’re doing it. Usually stoic big siblings being distressed and frantic over injured little siblings is one of my jams. ^^

Seems like Tanjkoh is deliberately goading Kou, and it turns out to be a setup of some kind. Touwa ends up getting bitten by the Cerberus-based Minusaur, which seems to be some sort of rabid dog/werewolf type thing where the bite does something. And, naturally, Banba freaks out. Presumably after they get him calmed down enough to actually go after the Minusaur rather than just stabbing the nice animal lady (emotional Banba is not gonna be rational Banba), he eventually agrees to work w/ them in order to save his brother.

According to the website, his relationship w/ Kou also changes? So we’re starting the adoption process, I think. XD

Aaaah. While I do love the little Kishiryu running about on the book, I also would’ve loved if they’d done like LuPat where the preview kinda continued under the sponsor stuff, so we got to see a little more of the next ep. Mainly bc I am a big impatient baby. XD

That’s all folks! White chocolate rubber duck for anyone who read all that (go on, eat all of it, I dare you).

Anyway, onto that theory I promised to get to. So, when things were first getting revealed, and it turned out that Green and Black were brothers and we learned about Gaisorg/Gaisoulg, and how those three would be appearing in Strongest Battle, I had a thought that maybe Gaisorg was their father, who was either getting controlled by the Druidon (like Wolzard) or had gone evil for power, or something (like Ikkou and Isshu’s father). When it turned out that it was the armour, and esp when the brothers didn’t seem to recognise it, I pretty much ditched the idea. However. There have been developments. Someone picked up and took Gaisorg’s helmet away at the end of Strongets Battle. They’ve stated that Banba was betrayed in the past. This most recent ep indicated that Banba and Touwa have some kind of father issues––namely, that their father was likely rarely around, esp for Touwa. Banba’s line to the father about how there’s nothing more precious in the world than family. So now I’m wondering. Was their father the one who betrayed him/them? Maybe he wasn’t around bc he got obsessed w/ being stronger? Or maybe he betrayed them early, and Banba made the call to get away from him? Banba coming out of his usual stoicism to inform someone of the importance of family could just indicate he’s dealt w/ someone who failed in that regard, possibly in almost exactly the same way. A father who put duty (or maybe just plain power) before his children. Could also explain Banba’s desire to prove his own strength, prove he’s better than their father. And while he’s obsessively devoted to the mission (possibly after seeing his father lose sight of it?), it’s certain he would never put it above Touwa. His arc could partially be not just learning how to trust again and finding friends/a new family, but also getting away from their father in his own way.

Alternatively, I’m riding the high of the fact that my goofy ‘what if TigerLance and MirNeedle are trapped’ theory, and I’m running my mouth. But it does smack of a rather stock Sentai/Toku style, though in those the fathers usually turn out to be under the control of the bad guys, or it’s some sort of secret plan. But maybe we are pulling a KR here, and dad’s just plain a dickwad. Might be interesting.

[the-last-beans]

PROMPT: write, from the perspective of either Ruth or Malachi, as one of them walks into the corn.

Recommended reading before you continue:

Children of The Corn by Stephen King

Possibly the Holy Bible, if you’re feeling restless

Word count: 1,917

- E.K.

You had thought they were beautiful once. You would look out over the sea of July green, a sea of a scope you couldn’t begin to understand, and think them wonderful, as if they could swallow you whole and leave no trace of bones or marrow or brains. You hadn’t understood how literal the thought was. There was a place on a hilltop where you had sat, and watched and listened. Listened to the sound of the children laughing in the distance, the soft rustle of the corn. You watched as, with every breeze, a tremor seemed to move through the fields. You could hear the rush and whisper of the wind through the stalks, caressing you with a mother’s care. It touched you in a way that no one had ever touched you. You were so naive back then; finding solace in the very thing that now induced a bitter, toxic taste in the back of your throat. Now you understood that the children laughed only as they chased the dog with hammers and knives. They laughed when they hit each other so hard the blood would flow. Now you understood that the corn didn’t rustle in the breeze. It rustled in pleasure every time a child fell with a bloody shirt front and crooked nose and whispered every time the dog whined. Of course, you didn’t notice. You didn’t notice for a very long time.

You couldn’t exactly place when the feeling of something being so desperately wrong settled in the bottom of your belly, but you thought it was somewhere around when Elijah had given himself to the Man Who Walks Behind the Rows. He had been good to you. He would hold your small hand, and made sure you got some bread before the other girls grabbed it from you. At the Ceremony, he had sat next to you and Naomi, and kept his hand on your leg. Naomi didn’t notice. He touched you in ways that you felt were wholly wrong. Naomi pretended not to notice and didn’t say anything. As Elijah walked out of the town, you tried very hard not to cry. The others would tease you and say you were silly. You did cry, and what they did was much worse than laugh.

“Why’re you cryin’ Ruth? Ruthie here’s cryin’ her eyes out!”  A red haired boy yelled the last part, so everyone could hear. You cried, but just because you were merely nine harvestings old, and because Elijah was the only one who’d been sort of good to you. By now the other children had gathered around. Naomi amongst them. They sneered, and jeered and laughed. You heard a scream in the distance, and cried even more. In a vain attempt to preserve your relatively straight nose, you muttered,

“I’m not cryin’. Mal’s makin’ things up!” They laughed. An older boy, who left only a few weeks later, slapped the tear off your face, leaving a stinging red print, and said,

“You dare cry over the good that Elijah has done? Do you dare bawl like a baby at the fact that Elijah is serving the Lord?” The boy was dead serious, you could see it on his face. He wasn’t finished.

“Ruth. Do you not believe? Huh Ruthie? You a sinner?” The rest of the children gasped. They weren’t laughing now. The corn seemed to rustle alongside them. You shook your head. The boy hit you again. Hard, this time. You stopped crying, mostly out of surprise. By the time you regained your balance, most of the children had left, having resumed their jeers. An older girl, grabbed you by the arm and led you roughly back to the house. Miriam didn’t bother to set your nose, and you went to bed. It wouldn’t be the last time you had to fall asleep holding your nose. You figured you were lucky it wasn’t your arm or ankle.

Now, the boy with the red hair was swallowed by the corn. As you watched, you touched your nose, either in memory or to wipe a tear from it. This time, Naomi didn’t laugh. She took your arm and led you away. Away from the green sea, which had long since decayed from the childish vision of it you once bore. It had been foreign to you for quite a few years.

When you didn’t budge, Naomi, anxious about the lengthening shadows, pulled your arm. She was neither gentle nor unkind. She didn’t cry, as you did, but that was understandable since she hadn't known Malachi or Joseph particularly well. Then again, neither had you, you supposed. Malachi had never liked you very much. His attention had always confused you: you weren’t especially beautiful or brave. Not like the Ruthin the Book. (You were better suited to be a Sandra, you thought.) No one had ever paid you much attention, except Elijah. The others just chided and laughed at you, then you would cry in secret. Maybe you had always cared a little too much, even for the dog, as pathetic and useless and scarred as he was. And now, you cried for a boy who had never really even acknowledged you, besides at night. Even then, the attention wasn’t a kindness.

You and Naomi had come quite a way away from the clearing now. You heard a scream, followed by another, and shivered, as the corn rustled secretively. As you looked back, you saw a ghost of the beauty you had found in the fields as a child. Now in the glow, cast by the soft evening, the few moments between day and night, they were lovely, in a way. The moment was fleeting, but you were reminded of the whispers of the corn, sometimes soothing, a lullaby when no one else would sing. A bird whistled in the distance, and the thought passed.

For a long time now, you had grown to hate the corn. It grated on your nerves, made you feel like a helpless lamb, trapped for the butcher. You had a sense of dread resting in your stomach, and your imagination ran wild in the dead of the night, when there was nothing to stop you from dreaming of fire as golden as the Nephilim, licking and devouring a sea of corn to no more than a desert to be long forgotten. Underneath the whispers that haunted your days and nights lay something dark, ageless and unforgiving. It was a darkness you had only begun to explore.

Naomi called to you again, slightly frightened this time. The shadows had grown even deeper, and become dancers, luring you in with their movement. You heard the bird again, and this time you marked it as strange. No birds dared interrupt the song of the corn in the wind. Especially in the evenings.

The little town slept, and the corn was almost silent. Almost silent was good, you decided. The only sounds were the occasional bark of the dog, and the phantom echo of birdsong, which you would chase, hoping to hear its sweet release once more. As the sun rose, you pushed the bird to the corner of your thoughts, where no one would catch it. As you repeated its song in your head, you marveled at how much lovelier it was than the secret whispers of the corn.

As the days passed, you found yourself getting lost in thoughts of fire and birdsong more often, and the bird became your escape from the cruelty that was your reality. The birdsong soothed the fire that raged in you, the desire to flee, the feeling of danger and not being able to stop it. You weren’t exactly scared for yourself, you supposed. You had long since passed the point of caring for yourself. No, you were scared for the child that would be born into the same caged pain that you had been trapped in. You thought back on the many times you had been asked if you believed, in various tones of anger. You had always been so sure, and you would nod your head and say yes, of course you believed. Now, you weren’t as convinced. Perhaps you had begun to believe in something else, or perhaps you had no faith left.

Oh, but you began to worship the sound of the birds, which had nothing to do with your pain. You fled to its sound, and let yourself only listen in the sleepy haze of night. In the day, as you wove crucifixes and listened to the roars and crashes of the corn, you told yourself that you were trapped, and there was no escape. It nearly killed you, knowing that there was no way you could leave. Every day, some primal rage would war with the good inside you and every day the primal rage got closer to winning. Free or trapped. Fields of poisonous green, or the hopeful release of birdsong.

Eventually the birdsong found its way to your heart, a stronger voice than that of the green walls encasing you. The birds sang of sun, and warmth and freedom, and, oh, you began to believe in that song so dearly it made you forget.

It wasn’t even September, yet, you struggled to resist. You struggled to suppress the screams and fires inside of you, quenched only by the faint promise of freedom. Naomi’s sacrifice was the last battle. The primal rage had finally won. Now you stood, torch in hand amid a sea you had once floated in, but no more, for now you were drowning. You had embarked on a mad pursuit, driven by fire, burning you from the inside out, dancing to a song sung by a bird you weren’t entirely sure was real anymore.

You, with a unique determination on your face, set out to burn. You listened to the birdsong, and made your way toward the road. The road was small enough so that when you held out the torches on either side of you, you set fire to both sides of the fields. Not worrying about the corn coming to chase you, you followed the sound of the bird. You passed the safety of the little town, still and quiet, and entered the cornrows. The corn had been silent, but now awoke and whispered alluringly. As your heart began to beat faster, you awoke from your fantasy, and found yourself at a familiar green altar. Heart pounding, you watched and listened. The corn was whispering, yes, but the whispers intertwined and overlapped and became something else entirely.

As you walked into the corn that last time, you barely noticed how the corn’s rustling sounded eerily like the call of a bird. But it didn’t matter now. You sank to your knees, as you were surrounded by the sounds of birds. You had always been naive. You could not cheat so well as you had thought. They were one and the same. Neither better than the other, each equally awful. One, a dream, evaporated in the wake of a walking nightmare. You felt the whispers nearing you, sniffing out your fear and secret. You had nowhere to run, nowhere to turn. The fire had almost reached you, and you thought faintly that that was good. Now, you were caged by a fire greater than you had thought. Finally, the corn seemed to sing the last line of the lullaby. And Ruth, you cared too much, so you cried.