#but the ceiling fan is in the way and cuts the illusion of the night sky
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Paw prints and eraser shavings
Introduction
Quirk; Illusion - the ability to change the sound of your voice and your appearance minus your emerald green eyes
Six months before you move to Japan
You stared at your phone, waiting for people to leave your dressing room so you could finally shed your illusions. You stared in the mirror, the reflection staring back at you with bored green eyes. You had shaggy short fluffy hair with green at the ends. You wore a band t of an indie group from Japan with the sleeves cut off. Skinny jeans adorned your legs.
Leaning back in your chair you sighed. Even your own sighs sounded so different, boyish even. You were again thinking about quitting your life as a rock star in America.
Yes you had fame, fans, anything you could ask for, but you were oh so homesick, missing your brother and having privacy. You missed jamming out infront of your brother, or at the bars and cafes you did when you were younger.
Your hands ached to play, to let your illusions down, to let your heart out, let what's been building up inside since your last press conference out. To let your thoughts wonder to something other than a tour you have comming up.
You chose this illusion when you came to America, after looking into how people who looked more masculine had an easier time making it big. So you chose something looking like a tall, skinny man with fluffy hair.
You sighed watching as people finally left your little room. Relaxing as you finally are able to drop all your illusions. You look in the mirror, watching as your body returning to your normal state.
You ran your fingers through your hair, relishing in your natural color, down to your ends, dyed your favorite color. Your ears flicked as your thoughts wondered to your home sweet home, your brother and your family.
Standing up and plopping yourself on your couch, you pick up ur guitar, deciding it better to think things out while mindlessly strumming something.
You thought and played for a good half hour, your fingertips turning numb. You grumbled under your breath, finally pulling out your phone, and scrolling to look at whatever happened back home.
Your eyes widen as you see about the events that unfolded at U.S.J, the school festival, all the way up to a batch of new heros finally getting their provisional hero license. You changed tabs on your phone, quickly calling your bother out of concern, breathing a sigh of relief when he finally picked up after a few rings.
----
Meanwhile Shota was awake at the ungodly hour. A hand brushing through his messy raven black locks as he through about his students, and about the events that unfolded. He had gotten back from his patrol about an hour ago and was finally off his feet. He groaned thinking about the mountain of paperwork he would have to do when he was finally able too.
He looked up at the ceiling, squeezing a few eye drops into his eyes, dry from using his quirk. He blinked a few times, thankful that his eyes were no longer dry. He looked at the clock and then down at his phone.
Shota knew sleep would be hard for him tonight and for some reason even listening to songs you helped write (or so he things) seemed to help him relax enough to sleep. He bit his lip. Was he really gonna listen to the band you wrote for again in some kind of desperate attempt to hear your voice again? He shook his head and walked into his bedroom. Sitting in his bed and placing his phone in its charger. His eyes drifted to the crystal ball that once sat on his desk in his classroom. He took it home after a slight fight between Katsuki Bakugo and Izuku Midoriya had knocked his desk over, nearly scaring him half to death that the orb would even be the slightest bit damaged.
He picked it up, off his night stand and held it in his palm, tapping it twice and swiping through a few memories before he found one he absolutely adored and set it down his nightstand, so it could project the memory onto the wall across from his bed.
The memory orb - coffee shop
Shota and Hizashi entered the coffee shop you had told them your first performance was starting. Shota looked at is friend who seemed to be buzzing with excitement. He won't lie, he's excited too, just preferring to keep it on the inside.
Inside the coffee shop was dimly lit. Hizashi left Shota alone to find seats while he scurried off to get them something from the shop. Shota found a seat near the front, leaning his weight on his elbow after he took a seat, staring at the stool under a spotlight set up just for you.
His eyes gave away how excited he was when he watched you nervously take a seat. His onyx eyes practically turned into galaxies with how much the sparkled.
The seat next to him dipped, Hizashi caught how Shota looked at his little sister. He snickered under his breath before elbowing him. Shota's eyes widened as something is whispered in his ears. He swats at Hizashi as he feels his ears turn red.
Finally you clear your throat and introduce the song your singing, Jasey Rae.
Out side the memory orb - Shota's room
His eyes once again shone like galaxies as he finally let himself relax, listning to you sing was more than enough for him. He tried to think back to what Hizashi had whispered in his ear, all those years ago, but alas, it seemed as if it was lost to the sands of time.
He let his eyes flutter close, his body screaming for sleep. So he did. He finally let his body have the rest it so desperately craved, his dreams filled with him, sitting in a coffee shop, people around him nothing but black shapeless shadows as his attention was on you. Just him, listening to you playing your favorite song.
He rest peacefully that night.
Five months before you arrive back in Japan
Shots groaned with fake annoyance as Hizashi placed a hand on his back before shoving his phone in his face, having pulled up a live streamed performance of the band you "write" for.
He honestly has never listened to the band, couldn't get himself too. He thought it was a waste having you "write for them" you should be on your own. He finally let his eyes look over at the phone, taking in the appearance of everyone.
Shota raised an eyebrow. Really? You write for a band that looks like they haven't grown out of a teenage emo phase? He would admit, they did do well and did decide to watch the live stream even after Hizashi put his phone down so he could do something else.
He kept looking over at it while he was grading his students latest test. He would admit, the lead singer and you did share some similarities while preforming. Both having very similar styles when it came to playing, dancing with a guitar and keeping the crowd entertained and engaged.
He did find it weird that even if your songs were coming out of another person's mouth, it seemed to still have the same effect on him, causing his mind to slip away from him occasionally to the simple thought of you preforming at the coffee shop a few days before you left for America.
One week before you end up in America
You sighed backstage, your illusions up and running as per usual. You were tired. Thankfully your contract would end after this concert and you could finally, finally return home.
Yes you agreed with your brother when you first your little idea up to him that it would be safer in America, but you were tired of it all. Just wanting to live peacefully in Japan again. So the two of you came to a compromise, he would get you a job at the school he worked at so he could keep an eye on you, and you could move peacefully. Granted you would have to use your illusions as to not raise suspicion, plus your brother was a little greedy, not wanting Shoto to know his little sister was back in town after so many years.
You agreed. Being a librarian at a school training the next generation of heros would have its own entertainments and you figured the library would be mostly quiet.
You gripped your guitar, your last concert in America would be filmed and posted everywhere, you knew that. Just one last thing and you were free. Yes you loved it, loved preforming, but you wanted to preform as yourself, not some illusion of yourself the world had named "Jacob".
With one deep breath, you ran onstage to the adoring audience, getting the show started.
----
News broke fast over in Japan. Shota won't lie, he is shocked. He's wondering what will happen to you. I mean the band you "wrote" for just broke up, does that mean you would end up back in Japan? Or would you stay in America.
Leaning back in his chair, his hand rubbed over his stubble, his eyes swirling with thoughts. It was safer for you in America, the only way you would return to Japan is if you hadn't seen the news in Japan. Yes, you would stay in America, you would stay safe. As much as the thought pained him, he knew it was the most logical decision and conclusion. He would simply have to live with the ache in his heart knowing he would only see you in the memory orbs and the occasional pictures you would send him when you changed your hair color.
He would never admit it out loud, but he treasured them.
The same way you treasured the little pictures he would send to you with his thumb up in approval, even if he was out on patrol.
The airport
Hizashi picked you up, running up to hug his little sister. He took your bags and took you straight to his apartment where you'd be staying till you could get your own place.
You were so relived to be home in Japan. To be out of all your illusions and to be yourself for a while.
Walking into the apartment, your bags placed down in the living room for you go through later, you turn on your heel, opting to take a walk. Yeah you were jet lagged like no tomorrow, but you started your new job tomorrow, and needed to adjust as quickly as possible. Plus cramped in the flight for so long it would be good to go out for some air, so you did.
The Street
You practically skipped down sidewalk, your feet knowing the path. You had your hands in your pocket as your fox ears twitched with every new sound. The area sure had gotten busier in the time you were gone, but what could you expect. You just let your feet walk you over to where your coffee shop where you got your start was.
Shota walked past you. He saw the ends of your dyed hair and stopped in his tracks, doing a double take to see if it was really you he saw. He turned around, in his normal casual clothing, scanning the sea of people for you. He cursed under his breath when it seemed you were just a figment of his imagination, not there, just his mind playing a cruel trick on him.
The two of you passed eachother like two ships in the night.
Hizashi's apartment
You looked in the mirror checking out illusion, looking for any possible holes. This one had short light green fluffy hair, a beige sweater with elbow pads and a dress shirt poking out the top. Slacks adorned your legs and loafers your feet. Your voice a tone that sounded neutral. You turned to your brother who was already in his hero costume. He flashed you a smile and a thumbs up.
"Looks great sis! No one will know"
You nod fixing the hair of the illusion before the head out for your first day as the librarian at U.A.
U.A - Library
You were placing books on the shelves as you overheard a group of teachers talking about a school festival, something to raise some spirit. You made a mental note of it. It's only been a day and you're already tired of having to put up illusions.
You turned around to fetch more books from your cart when in walks Shota. Your eyes widen and you feel yourself almost lose concentration. You didn't know he worked here he looked spent, going over to talk with his fellow teachers. You kept one eye on him as you placed books on your shelf.
"That's it"
You thought to yourself
"I'll let everything lose at the school festival. I'm tired of these illusions, let's shatter them all in one big show"
You spent the rest of the day planning.
-----
The two of you were so lost in thought. You about what kind of grand performance you would put on to finally shatter everyone's illusion of you. As for Shota, he was thinking about the last picture you sent him.
The picture was of you, leaning against the railing of a balcony, your back to the sunset. Two fingers up in a peace sign, lips tugged back into a smile. He could not help himself, he felt like a pervert for even wanting to know the taste of your lips.
He watched as the other teachers left, forgetting there was even one more person around, he started humming one of your songs of all things. Humming while he thought about what your lips would taste like. He felt like a love sick teenager again. He couldn't tell if he loved it or hated it.
Unlucky for him, you picked up on his humming, brain automatically jumping to quietly singing along,
"I can keep a secret if you can keep me guessing
The flavor of your lips is enough to keep me pressing
For more than just a moment of truth between the lies told
To pull ourselves away from the lives we leave back"
The two of you froze
Shota was mortified. You heard him? Let alone finished the lyrics.
You were terrified. You acted out of pure reflex, your cover would be blown. You just know that if you spoke your voice would come out as your own and not as the illusion you currently wore.
The two of you panicked in silence, before you heard his steps start to walk down the hallways. You sighed. That was close, way too close.
As you thought back on the encounter, taking a seat behind the front desk you felt your cheeks heat up. You felt like a silly school girl. Your old crush burning bright once more after you had laid eyes on him. The fire inside threatened to burn your organs as you thought about how he had hummed one of your songs out of all things. Though it was embarrassing to jump in singing the actual lyrics. You sighed, the crush you still harbored for him only seemed to grow after you had seen him in person again.
-----
Shota wasn't able to place a finger on his thoughts. He walked straight to his empty class room and took a seat, trying to figure out his inner turmoil.
Sure on one hand he was simply humming along to song that you just so happened to know. Maybe the reserved and quiet librarian just happened to like the same kind of music as you just so happened to write for.
On the other hand, he was a bit disturbed. He had let something slip. If it just so happened to make round outside of the school he could have a weakness exposed, and he sure as hell didn't want that.
He didn't want the world to know how much his little crush from when he was a boy had only spiraled out of control since you had left for America. He didn't want anyone to know how much of a fool he felt for not acting in his crush before you had left for America.
He held his head in his hands and groaned. Maybe he should fly out to see you. Yeah, he'd go ahead and take a few weeks off and fly out to go see you in America. Maybe after the school festival. He pulled out his phone and started to look at hotels and plane tickets.
Little did the two of you know, everything would change during the school festival
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Snowman
Series - Chapter One
Pairing: Bucky Barnes x Reader
Summary: You’re a HYDRA assassin that’s worked closely with the Winter Soldier, to each of your dismay you’re reunited with Bucky after the blip.
A/N: I haven’t posted in like 300 years, but I hope you guys enjoy this new series! This follows parts of TFATWS so expect spoilers! (Also I’m sure all the Russian is absolutely wrong, if you’d like to correct it please send me a message!)
Word Count: 1,815 (future chapters will be wayyy longer)
Snowman Masterlist || Full Masterlist
New York
2023
“So tell me about this-” the therapist looked down at her notes briefly, “(Y/N).” She finished.
Bucky paused momentarily, “No.”
“James, for these therapy sessions to be effective, you need to open up to me. I can’t help you if I don't know what’s wrong.” His therapist responded, laying her pen carefully on her small notebook.
Bucky thought for a moment, taking in the ambience of the room. What would he even say about (Y/N)? He hadn’t seen her in years. Bucky was kicking himself for accidentally bringing her up in his session last week. “I- uh-” he stammered, shifting his weight on the couch, “I met her in 2011. At least I think it was 2011. Date’s get kinda fuzzy sometimes, with all the cryo.” Bucky’s hand pressed against his head, feeling dazed as he tried to think back. “It was at the big HYDRA base outside of Moscow. We had to go on a mission together-” he was cut off,
“Did she work for HYDRA?” Dr Raynor interjected.
“Yea. She was an assassin too. She went by the alias the Viper.” Bucky pretended not to notice his therapist tense up. Anyone who knew anything about HYDRA knew who the Viper was. She was one of the most prolific assassins after the Winter Soldier.
“Tell me more about when you met her.”
“We were instructed to take out a terrorist organisation forming against SHIELD. Which was ironic because we were working for a terrorist organisation. But at this point SHIELD was being run by HYDRA and they couldn’t risk any slip ups, so they put 6 assassins on the job. HYDRA usually didn’t have their assassins working together, we were all too volatile. But we had to take out over 70 people in one night. It was (Y/N), a few assassins from the Red Room, and a few agents that HYDRA had trained personally, and me.” Bucky stopped.
“Where was (Y/N) trained?”
“At a secondary facility run by HYDRA. She was trained from a really young age. It’s all she’s known.” Bucky seemed somber. But his therapist continued,
“What happened on the mission?”
“Nothing. It went exactly to plan. The targets were taken out and we all left without a trace. But (Y/N), she- she kept trying to talk to me, or get to know me. I was the Winter Soldier. No one in their right mind ever tried to ‘get to know me’.”
“Why do you think (Y/N) did that?”
“She told me she was bored.” He replied bluntly.
Moscow
2011
The poorly lit conference room was filled with a myriad of assassins and officials. The only illumination came from old LED lights hanging from the concrete ceiling. The mossy green paint on the walls looked as if it hadn’t been patched up in years. The only new-ish part of the room was the large, oak conference table, surrounded by black, leather seating. It was difficult not to notice the red HYDRA symbol holding a spot on almost every piece of clothing in the area.
“TITAN terroristicheskaya organizatsiya, formiruyushchayasya protiv nas. (TITAN is a terrorist organisation forming against us.)” Kuznetsov spoke, “Izbrannyye budut otpravleny segodnya vecherom v Ukrainu dlya vypolneniya postavlennoy zadachi. Uberi ikh. (The chosen ones will be sent to Ukraine tonight to complete their given tasks. Take them out.)”
That was all it took. You stared at the file in front of you. You had read through it multiple times, going over every single name, every single skill set your targets had. You were more than certain you could complete this job on your own. But you had no choice on the matter.
Your eyes darted around, taking in the faces of the assassins that were to accompany you on your mission. Two youthful females, dressed in black leather sat next to each other. The older, grimacing woman behind them was Madame B., the head supervisor of the Red Room. You moved your gaze to the two agents in dark green uniforms and red, soviet berets. Neither looked particularly menacing.
You finally landed on the last assassin. His dark hair fell like curtains around his face. Gloomy blue eyes searched their way through the room. His sharp jaw seemed tense through his stubbled cheeks. He was large, extremely built. Covering his frame was an amplitude of black clothing and gear.
“Play nice.” Your mentor spoke softly over your shoulder, breaking you from your train of thought.
“I always do.”
~
Your padded snow boots ripped through the thick snow covering the ground. The six of you had hiked your way to the set point on your GPS systems, the clouds of snowfall covering your vision held the illusion that there were absolutely no structures nearby. A large helicopter had dropped the group a few miles out from the hideout to ensure nothing was compromised. The trek was in utter silence, fighting against the harsh temperature in mid February.
The waypoint became closer on your map, a tiny building slowly appeared in your vision against the foggy downfall. It was a small, wooden cabin. Everyone hustled their way through the unlocked door. It was barren, it held no furniture, no blankets, no means of any life. There appeared to be a few doors that led to small, empty rooms. The entrance only held a small fireplace, filled with old cut down logs that had been eaten by bugs.
The group quickly dispersed, you headed to one of the rooms alone, throwing down your belongings onto the floor. The bag you carried was mainly filled with weapons and ammunition, along with a very warm sleeping bag. You knew too well you wouldn’t be sleeping tonight, but you would need the extra heat for now.
There was no chatter anywhere in the house. Your mission would begin in 6 hours. Everyone was likely putting together their artillery. You decided to cozy up in your navy sleeping bag for a moment of comfort.
Someone had lit the fire in the lounge. A warm, orange light crept through the cracks in your door. The ambiance was strangely calming for a shitty cabin in the middle of nowhere.
Snow continued to fall against the tiny glass pane of your room. You weren’t a fan of assassinating in the snow. It was low vision, harsher climates, and it lessened the ability to move. Snakes weren’t creatures of the cold. Conveniently you’d been grouped with someone who called himself ‘The Winter Soldier’. I’m sure he loves the cold, you thought.
You’d heard a lot about him. Everyone had. He was the perfect assassin. He never failed a mission, his body didn’t reject cryo, every form of enhancement HYDRA had used on him had been a success. He was what every assassin had aspired to be.
Without thought, you grabbed the glass bottle laying next to you and walked off to the room the Winter Soldier had claimed for the night.
“Privet (Hello)”. You announced, pushing his door open with a creak. His head didn’t turn towards you. He sat on the floor, the sound coming from him indicated he was sharpening knives.
“Khochesh' vypit'? (Want a drink?)” You asked, motioning the bottle towards him.
He stayed silent for a moment. Finally he turned, looking up at you from his position on the floor. “What is it?” His dark tone asked back. The amber light from the fire crashed against his features. His strong jaw was covered with a dark stubble, his brunette hair tucked behind his ears. His most obvious feature was the hauntingly blue eyes that sat in sunken sockets, he looked drained.
“It’s vodka.” You stated, honestly. You were surprised to hear he wasn’t Russian, he sounded… American?
“You’re drinking before a mission?” He queried.
You shrugged. “Alcohol doesn’t freeze.” You sat down next to him. “Plus it takes the edge off.” A faint clinking noise announced as you placed the bottle on the floor between you two. He stared at you for a moment, before quietly going back to his knives.
“Wanna play 20 questions?” You interrupted the silence.
“No.”
“What about truth or dare?”
“I’m not 14.” the soldier replied, his eyes not leaving his handy work.
“How old are you?” You shot back,
“Why are you trying to get to know me?” He dodged your question.
“I’m bored.” You shrugged, taking a deep swig of the vodka. “And by my calculations,” you peered down at your watch, “we still have 3 hours and 27 minutes until the mission starts.”
He gave a shallow sigh, “93.”
“What?”
“I’m 93. How old are you.”
“93?! You were born in 1917?”
“Mhm. How old are you.”
“25. You look great for 93.” You chuckled.
“You look old for 25.” He jabbed back. His knife sharpener still grinding across a 6 inch blade.
“You flatter me.” You replied sarcastically. “So what’s your story? How’d you make it to 93?”
“You don’t want to know.”
“Why would I ask if I didn’t want to know?”
Bucky looked over at you. “I’m telling you, you don’t want to know.”
“C’mon old man, I’ll tell you mine if you tell me yours.” You smirked. He once again, went back to his knives. It almost seemed as if he was trying to threaten you, pulling out larger knife after larger knife.
You huffed, opening your mouth to speak, “I was born in Hungary to a drug abusing mother, and an absent father. I was kidnapped and sold to HYDRA when I was 6. I was placed under the care of the Kraken. Not sure if you’ve met him, he’s this large guy-”
“I’ve met him.” Bucky stated, interrupting your spiel.
“Right, well, he trained me for years. Eventually HYDRA got involved again and I was tested on, experimented on, messed with, ya’ know, all that fun stuff.” You explained.
“Are you enhanced?” Bucky asked, almost as if he was actually interested.
“Yea. I have this whole snake venom trick. It’s great for up close combat. The experiments really should’ve killed me though. But maybe that’s what makes us so good-” Bucky looked over at the woman next to him, her bright eyes stared back at him as she spoke “ya’ know, the best assassins are the ones living off borrowed time. Because we’ve met death before, so we’re not afraid to do it again.”
Bucky quickly grabbed the Barrett M82 rifle next to him, his metal arm making faint whirring noises. “I’m going to scope out the base.” He stated bluntly. And with that, his large black boots walked him out the bedroom, and out the door.
You let out a faint sigh, creeping back to your room to sort out your weapons. You were sure it was something you said that scared him off. I guess at 93 you have to be living off too much borrowed time, you speculated. You absentmindedly set up your pistols, your mind not being able to wander from the Winter Soldier. Maybe annoying the Red Room girls would get your mind off it.
#bucky x reader#bucky barnes x reader#bucky fic#bucky barnes fanfiction#Bucky Barnes fic#Bucky imagine#bucky oneshot#bucky series#bucky barnes series#bucky#Bucky barnes#the avengers#tfatws#the winter solider#the winter solider x reader#the winter solider fanfic
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anon: “hello! can i request hand holding (23) kisses (21) touching (24) with jaehyun please? i feel like this should be like one of those secretly dating scenarios (idol! reader x idol! jaehyun) dispatch or someone catches them together and their own company ceos (?) confronts them, the reader is quite anxious about what's happening and jaehyun is there to make her feel alright :D i hope this isn't too long (╥﹏╥) thank you !! stay safe <3” hi, thanks for requesting lovely and holy shit this was long. stay safe too! <3
lee seongsu is the ceo of sm btw, didn’t want to use chris lee bc it felt off LOL. thank you for waiting patiently <3
hand-holding, 23: holding hands under the table
kisses, 21: “we’ll face this together” kisses
touching, 24: whispering in their ear, lips touching the skin
the barge in of your members drive you out of your shock, overlapping voices becoming your main focus as the girls of your group gives you mixed expressions. the same website link that reflected off their phones into your eyes match the one on yours, a blur of messages coming in from jaehyun, your manager, your friends.
shit.
you’re left to worry about your consequences as your group members slowly realises your distress, crowding around you to comfort you. there’s a disconnect from the current situation, drifting and dreaming of the nights you spent with jaehyun, of the soft kisses you indulged in in a convenience store. you tune out all the noise and ‘ping!’s from your phone, opting instead to focus on him.
your manager wastes no time in setting up a meeting, however, the dread clear on your face as your closest friend in the group, yeonhee, sends you off with a hug.
“c’mon, (y/n). our staff will drive her home, let’s just keep your head on straight for this meeting, okay?” the words go in one ear and out the other as she guides you towards SM’s building, through the winding hallways and various studios to finally arrive at a small meeting room.
you visibly relax when your eyes meet jaehyun’s, a sad but gentle smile plastered on his face that gave you an illusion that it was all a mistake, that it was all a dream.
the expression of lee seongsu’s and your CEO’s face say otherwise though, sending a chill down both your backs.
the SM CEO started out, sounding more disappointed than angry, “we know you guys were given freedom to head out, but eating?”
on your end, you could definitely see that your company’s CEO didn’t have to energy to deal with this, “eating stays indoors, because you risk the uncovering of your face. we established that, yes?”
jaehyun takes the bait, muttering out a ‘yes’ for a question that was clearly meant for you. with fiddling fingers, you twirled the ends of your shirt, undoing an unattended thread that you had no time to mend.
seongsu doesn’t hesitate to sigh, exchanging looks with your CEO that spoke a million words you couldn’t understand. within the tension in the room, you chose to zone in on a speck of dust on the floor, murmured whispers lingering around your ears.
“hey,” even in such a situation, jaehyun’s stare does its job of making you blush, loving the way his fingers drew inconsistent shapes on the back of your hand, “we’ll-“
he’s cut off before he can continue, but his warm hand clutches onto yours in the quick moment, soon calming down when he laces his fingers through yours. the hike of your shoulders go down eventually, and the clench of your jaw releases it when his thumb continues his ministrations on your skin.
seongsu’s reluctant to separate you both, seeing the way jaehyun looks at you even after the meeting has ended. it was quiet, but not the silence that could be cut with a knife. everyone’s more laid-back, opting to stay back in case reporters happen to be crowding outside the building.
“come, we’ll need you two to be somewhere safe, so we think it’s best that you stay together at our dorms for now,” seongsu states, gesturing to one of the staff members to take you to your destination. your CEO isn’t exactly liking the decision, but with much convincing earlier on, he’s succumbed to seongsu.
with a grunt, he waves the two of you off as the both of you bow in gratitude to them.
“what do you think’s gonna happen, jae?” you ask that night, eyes uncharacteristically glossy and hazy from the stress of the day. even as he’s brushing his teeth, the flash of surprise at your question doesn’t go unnoticed by you.
when he only answers with a hum, you’re left to hold in your tears until jaehyun’s gasp makes your eyebrows furrow and tears fall.
“hey, hey, baby, look at me,” the pet name is soft coming from jaehyun and you hate that it makes your stomach do flips even with your snot running down your face uglily.
wordlessly, he leans in and captures your lips. with light and gentle pecks, your tears have subsided and even more so when you push him away with a laugh, the hand by your side poking where you were most ticklish.
his lips to your neck came next, leaving a trail of butterfly kisses up to your jaw and mouth as he accentuates every part of his sentence.
“we’ll get through this, okay?”
a sigh from you tells you that you still wasn’t satisfied with his answer, mind wandering to the crazed reporters and crazy fans already telling you to leave for good. your eyes water all over again, head turning to the ceiling in order not to break down.
“baby,” jaehyun whispers while laying on his side, the arm around you coming up to hold your cheek lovingly. when you refuse to face him, he’s left to scoot closer with sweet words mumbled into your ear.
“if they were really our fans, they’ll stay. they’ll stay and protect you. the boys will protect you, your members will protect you and i’ll love and protect you like it was my last day on earth.”
his lips meeting your cheek causes you to turn to him, softening at the way you could see how much love jaehyun had for you.
“where did you learn that?” you sniffle, “that last line. that was too cliched.”
jaehyun lets out a deep chuckle, “for you, i wouldn’t mind if it was unplanned or cliched, as long as i get to say those things.”
“tone it down, loverboy,” you giggled, the mood becoming less gloomy with both your laughter mixing in the unfamiliar room. with a peck to his palm, jaehyun brings you in to lock lips with you yet again.
slow and tender are his lips on yours, occasionally breaking contact to smile and exchange words of affection. with a comfortable spot against his body, you’re left questioning jaehyun’s words of dedication. because if he swore he was to protect you, it was only fair you’d do the same with no hesitation.
#nct#nct reactions#nct headcanons#nct drabbles#nct x reader#nct angst#nct imagines#nct scenarios#nct smut#nct fluff#nct blurbs#nct 127#nct 127 scenarios#nct 127 headcanons#nct 127 drabbles#nct 127 smut#nct 127 fluff#nct 127 angst#nct soft hours#nct 127 x reader#nct 127 x you#nct 127 imagines#jaehyun x y/n#jaehyun#jung jaehyun#jeong jaehyun#jung yunoh#jaehyun imagines#jaehyun scenarios#jaehyun angst
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Title: A Tale of Two Slaves (10/17)
Summary: “Soulmates don’t exist. Fate doesn’t exist. Everything is a choice.” At that moment, Levi could only watch as she made the choice for him.“
Reincarnation AU. Levi remembers everything from their past life. Hange doesn’t.
Note: This took a while. I had this written out for a while, I just spent a good amount of brain cells trying to figure out where to cut this. It’s almost done actually. I’m expecting like (at the most) 5 more chapters so maybe I can get it done by the end of March if I muster up the courage and the effort to do all the final revisions to the last few chapters.
Anyway, I hope you enjoy!
Other Chapters:1 2 3 4 5 6 7 8 9
Link to cross-postings: AO3
As Levi soon found out, Hange kept a folder online tagged ‘Levi Ackerman.’
The oldest pictures were dated more than three years ago and the first had been one of his cool down after his performance at his first tournament. There was variety in the pictures and they covered everything, all the way from warming up on the bench, positioning himself to run and those few moments right after launching himself in the air to the peak of his jump. She had even snuck pictures of his interviews.
The first time he opened it, he had first checked the dates to make sure he hadn’t been dreaming or assuming she of all people had been a fan. The weirdly strong emotions he had felt at the realization of the existence of such a folder had only made him all the more vulnerable and the last thing he had wanted to do was an act on an illusion or trick of the mind.
The experiences he had on the field clearing jump after jump had become routine over the five year period. Despite the changes among the faces in the crowd, the cheers that had only been getting louder and louder and of course, the oval that changed with the venue, sometimes the only thing Levi did remember was the blue sky staring him down and gravity pulling from behind.
Maybe that was why he had ended up in a state of disbelief the first time she had shown it to him.
How did you not notice her? Levi was sure he wouldn’t have anyway. She was a stranger, one stranger in a crowd of people. Although she may have been one unchanging face in a crowd of thousands of changing faces, she was still a stranger to him. And strangers just tended to blend in more easily.
A valid point. Yet the regret and frustration were still fresh inside him despite it having been weeks since she first gave him access to that folder
She had first showed it to him the morning after that eventful night, after having dealt with a hungover Nanaba. It was only in the evening that day after Hange had escorted her three friends to the station did she sit next to him on the bed and scroll through the pictures herself with Levi right beside her. Naturally, she was still hesitant to show that side of her, she scrolled a bit too slow at times, while a bit too fast at other times.
For a while their roles were reversed and Levi found himself prodding Hange for more details. Eventually, she did share the link to the folder in exchange for links to his story and Levi was quick to comply. They were both exposed anyway, there was no need for any more secrets between them. Only one condition that had seemed a little too frivolous at first glance, yet somehow Levi understood it.
Hange requested that he go through the pictures when she wasn’t around. And soon after she requested it, Levi realized he preferred that too. Despite the fact that he did trust her not to judge whatever she may find on the folders, there still existed an uneasiness at baring one’s heart out to someone in words one couldn’t control anymore having written the stories out too long ago.
Consequently, he requested the same thing from her. Do not read it while I’m around. When he told her the stories, he at least had control of his tones, his diction and the packaging of the overall story. Watching her read them, he knew he would find himself doubting the words he had written while at the same time vacillating between decisions to correct his previous writings or let her read. The constant self consciousness that came with the second option had just been too stressful of a prospect. He decided himself, he would rather have full control of the exposition or none at all.
The decision to have no control and no input, to be absent when he bares his heart out was not easy to make. And he continued to feel the traces of that struggle in the way he so easily lost focus and ended up mindlessly scrolling through the folder. His mind had shifted to other things more specifically the prospect of whether or not Hange was doing the same thing then and there.
She was only a phone call away. He could ask. But it had just seemed idiotic. Of course she wouldn’t be checking on it, she had been cramming for an exam that morning in between preparing for her mid semester thesis presentation. She hadn’t even bothered to say any greeting but an ‘I’ll follow’ before he left for the therapist that morning.
He looked through the messages in the waiting room, and up at the time displayed on the upper right part of the screen.
9:43. She was still in the middle of her exam. She won’t be checking on it.
Levi looked at the ceiling above him, allowing the plain white view above him to ease him back to his reality. How long had he been staring at the phone? He closely felt for the aches and discomforts around his body. The dull soreness that made itself known as he stared up at the white ceiling above him only served as a reminder that he had been a little too exposed to quick scrolls and the unnatural glare of his phone for a potentially unhealthy amount of time.
It was his first physical therapy session and Hange had pointed out that he should be early just in case. Consequently, he had shown up at 8:30 for a session at ten.
Just in case you get lost. Just in case there is paperwork which still needs to be filled. Hange would have done the paperwork already. He had ended up clocking that little doubt and that need for a little prophylactic thinking to caution on their end. First times tended to make people a little more cautious. And more importantly, what else was there to do on a Saturday morning other than sleep in?
Either way, that long wait had left him with eyes a little too tired yet at the same time, he was bored out of his wits. He looked around the waiting room finding something else to entertain himself with.
I only have seventeen more minutes to kill. It shouldn’t be too hard.
The atmosphere of the waiting room was nothing like getting lost in nature or on the road. It was stark white, bleak and a little too rehearsed. In other words, it lacked dynamic and consequently. it was too boring to find any amusement in. Of course, they wouldn’t want to stress out any patients with anything too fancy or overwhelming. Yet, the only thing which Levi could have found worth giving more than a passing thought to were the people around him.
And only when Levi started focusing instead on the people and not on the off-white plastered walls of the waiting room, he somehow was able to distract himself from the dragging motions of time.
There was an old man with a knee brace. A middle aged man with an arm in a sling and a girl with a casted right leg. There were others who could have passed up for nothing more than a visitor, until they stood up and Levi noticed in their gait the slight hesitancy to put one foot in front of the other. A small detail which Levi probably wouldn’t have noticed if he weren’t looking for it then.
As he preoccupied himself and reflected over the small details that could have told stories of the people around him, that natural reflection to one own’s self had him a little too focused, a little too fixated.
The door to the waiting room slammed behind him and the trance disappeared as quickly as it came and as silently as a bubble that had just been popped.
Levi found himself irritably following the sound of the footsteps that came right after the slam of the door. It reverberated across the quiet and tense room, so loudly that if Levi did look around him, he would have realized he wasn’t the only one who had been so abruptly disturbed by it.
“Aaaand... My rounds are over for today,” The man said looking not at all guilty for that rude awakening. He wouldn’t have known anyway, and as Levi looked towards the front where the man had settled by the nurse’s desk, he might just have been the only one in the room rudely awakened by that sound.
“Ah, Doctor Jaeger, That was quick,” the nurse commented a little too pleasantly for Levi’s taste.
“Not too busy of a morning.” The man said, or as Levi soon deduced, was Mr. Jaeger. He recognized that irritating voice and as he looked up at the man, taking in the gruff features, the blond hair and beard and the rounded glasses, he quickly grasped for the name.
Zeke Jaeger. He hadn’t even said the name out loud just yet, but somehow he tasted venom. Levi though had enough awareness of his surroundings and his own ability to quickly yet correctly guess names to have kept silent. Regardless, he continued to watch as Zeke lowered his voice, possibly whispering something about going out for a drink and some dinner with the nurse in front of him. He found himself silently judging that audacious invasion of privacy as Zeke looked over at whatever paper was on the teacher’s desk.
Ackerman?
If Levi had actually been a little more aware of his surroundings, he would have realized Zeke did not at all say the name loud enough for him to hear. It was the result of Levi having watched too closely as Zeke enunciated those syllables, having noticed as the nurse made eye contact with him and having heard peppers of conversations about a jumper and an injury.
“Oh… An Ackerman? Who does high jumps?.” Zeke confirmed it himself, as he once again spoke a few decibels louder, obviously with the intention of making himself heard.
It wasn’t anything new. The past few months, Levi started to realize that at the least, many people in the local scene were familiar with him.
“My brother’s best friend is an Ackerman too and she started jumping recently.”
“I don’t have any relatives who jump,” Levi answered, in an attempt to shoot that attempt of a friendly interaction down.
Zeke stared at him, looking surprised. “You sure? With how quickly she picked it up, I thought she should have been related to you.”
Levi kept silent, making no effort to look open at all to conversation. Somehow, Zeke didn’t seem to get the hint.
“She’s been sweeping their interhigh competitions since the start of autumn… With the pace at which she’s going, she might even replace you.”
Levi had gotten used to those types of comments, hearing them as whispers the few times he went out, seeing them on a few forums as people discussed his injuries. He shouldn’t have been at all bothered by the statement, having shifted his attention in life to things which weren’t jumping
The blond man in front of him had been crass and blunt and Levi was starting to feel the beginnings of a bad mood. The irritability only worsened even as Levi tuned out the blond doctor. His mind went elsewhere, as he instead decided to seethe silently at the insensitivity of that statement.
A Tale of Two Slaves
Eventually Levi did get a break from that one-sided conversation. But the countdown to that break was slow and painful. He only noticed as he struggled under the trappings of that long and excruciating wait how long it really took for minutes to count down on a digital clock.
An eternity could have passed before Levi was called from the waiting room. As soon as the clock struck ten, Levi could not help but be more than slightly annoyed that she had been late.
If you’re early then you’re on time. If you’re on time, then you’re late. Any other day, Levi would have acknowledged the hypocrisy of that statement since although he was always early to training, he was never that religious when it came to academics. Having just bounced back from such an excruciating exchange with Zeke though, everything had just been pissing him off more than necessary.
It was almost remarkable how he managed to nod in return at the woman who met him at the exit of the waiting room. But Levi soon realized, as the anger quickly dissipated from inside him, she seemed like an old friend more than a stranger and like for all people, as long as there was history between them, he could save a little more patience points.
The woman who helped him up and led him to the room ahead was shorter than him yet had a way of handling herself that made Levi guess that she was at the least, a university student.
Levi didn’t need to guess anything else. Somehow, her name, her personality and the familiarity had all been somewhere in his head.
She cocked her head to one side in greeting and spoke up. “You can call me---”
“Petra,” Levi said. Somehow, he just knew her name. He had been inclined to complete that statement, only to make more real the nagging feeling in his head as soon as he had noticed her enter the room.
Petra’s eyes widened in shock. “Yes, how did you know?”
“It’s on your nametag,” Levi answered almost automatically, thanking the heavens she was wearing a nametag.
“Yeah, my bad. I get a little absent minded at times,” Petra patted her own head and gave Levi a wry smile.
Petra was hospitable. And when Levi thought that exact statement, he couldn't help but think how the word 'hospitable' had fit her so well. It was in her presence. She had this special talent, of finding ways at least to add color to the stark white hospital walls and the overly sanitized tiled floors underneath.
It could have been the tone or it could have been her word choice as she rattled off what could have been an outline of his physical therapy regime. As Levi did figure out, it could possibly have been the unique enthusiasm she had towards the whole patient recovery process
"So you're my physical therapist?" Levi asked. He never really did pick up what she was saying. He had heard enough about leg raises, timings on when to remove casts and knee bends that he at least guessed she knew enough about them to be one.
Petra though was quick to shake her head. "No actually. After college, I have plans of taking the exam. Then after that, I’ll be a physical therapist. I’m just taking advantage of this internship to learn more about the occupation.”
“It suits you,” Levi said. He kept his own comments brief. At that point, he did start to lose a little bit of awareness of his surroundings. His thoughts flew slowly back to his dreams.
Those first two encounters in the hospital had been two missing puzzle pieces. The stories had been an incomplete puzzle set of words and pictures and as he put it all together in his head, he couldn’t help but note how vivid the memories actually were. It took all his strength not to react, not to bolt out then and there, and go back home, to fill in the gaps on his laptop.
He put two names on his phone.
Zeke Jaeger. Petra Ral. Levi could have sworn there was more to remember and to write about.
And who did Zeke mention then? The other Ackerman? The other jumper?
The dreams were faint, as faint as the image an incomplete puzzle would make. Some parts were clear and vivid like a scenery behind a newly cleaned window. Others were hazy, his mind having filled up those gaps with blurry images. But the other Ackerman was there, and she moved fast enough to justify those blurs in the scene. Back when they fought the war, she flew in those cables much faster than he and Hange had.
I am strong. I am stronger than all of you.
A Tale of Two Slaves
The pain that came with his first physical therapy session was excruciating and it only served to further aggravate the anguish and his eagerness to get home before the sceneries in his head faded into faint memories of something else.
He managed at least to keep himself in a good in-between, by repeating the mantra of that other Ackerman to himself as he went through each and every exercise.
They had started off slow, as slow as a walk in the park maybe, a few stretches here and there. While doing some of the stretches and the warm ups, he did wonder if he had attended the right therapy session. Some of the warm up exercises had nothing to do with his knee after all.
The actual challenge came when Petra and the physical therapist he had failed to get the name of, had him sit down. As soon as Petra unwrapped the brace and pulled it from underneath him, Levi felt the weight of his injury almost instantly. It didn’t help at all that he was looking right at it.
“We’re going to try bending it a bit. Maybe put some weight on it if we have some extra time” The physical therapist’s words felt ominous.
The surgical scars and the healed wounds on his knees from more than two months ago only served to rattle Levi a little more. He had avoided looking at the scars many times before during meetings with Erwin and Hange. The few times Hange did pull and prod at it, he had it stretched out on some pillow.
It was fragile. And it felt unnatural. There in front of him then, it was dangling from the exam table, gravity pulling it down from underneath. Levi swore that if he tried hard enough he probably could imagine it completely disconnecting from his body at that moment. And maybe if he did move it, attempt to stand up without the confines of a knee brace as support, it might just fall off.
“Hey, it happens to the best of us,” Petra said.
No, it doesn’t happen to the best of us. In the room at least, there were at least five other people struggling to do something so simple as to bend a knee. But Levi could have sworn, in the outside world he was surrounded by people who wouldn’t think twice about bending their knee.
“Just bend it as far as you feel comfortable.” Bullshit directions. Levi had to admit, he wasn’t comfortable having it bend at all. Just the sensation of having it dangle so easily in the air, at the mercy of gravity underneath was already unsettling.
Was it a challenge then? To get it to bend as far as he could?
The directions of the therapist were flawed and Levi naturally opted for a flawed response as well. The process of bending his knee had been slow and excruciating. Levi found himself closing his eyes a few times, finding some sort of a rhythm in the faint sounds of the heater in the room, the murmurs from all the way across the room.
Or maybe a mantra? From someone a little too familiar. I am strong. Stronger than all of you. Another Ackerman.
And the way Zeke had mentioned it was grating. Was it a challenge? A threat? Was it supposed to be pushing him to go further?
It could have been Zeke or it could have been that phantom Ackerman that had been a motivation at that moment. But something then had Levi’s heart racing, his mind going in circles.
I’m strong too. I’ll get out of this rut. He thought to himself, a weak yet still effective act of protest. It worked both as a catalyst for a burst of motivation and an odd source of rhythm. The flexibility of bending came in slow, steady but continued attempts. The rush of adrenaline came halfway through.
A few minutes later, he was sweating and maybe he had been shaking a bit before that. When Petra had mentioned the optimistic progress and the plan to at least attempt to put weight on his bum knee, Levi was quick to comply.
And maybe a little too reckless. They had least helped him next to a wall, a good place at least to lean his body in the off chance he did lose control.
“One foot forward then one back.” The therapist guided.
As he watched the therapist simulate that same position, Levi quickly followed suit. He remembered, he had put some weight on his leg. Back then the brace had kept his knee stable.
At that moment, the brace was off, and it would be his bum knee, exhausted from the prior exercises taking the full weight.
I’m strong. Levi repeated to himself. Bending wasn’t an issue before. He had been bending his knees, possibly before he even knew how to walk. It should have been nothing, The excitement of a while ago, the adrenaline rush, pushed him further. It had him so seamlessly balancing the weight from the back of his foot, to the foot in front.
And maybe his knee had been bending farther in, the weight of his body on it. Somewhere along the way he did start to feel the beginnings of a dull pain.
I’m strong. To keep going, Levi had to find an escape. Stronger than all of you. It was easy at least, to leave the movements to his procedural memory as he distracted himself with his own musings, willing himself not to forget what he had wished to write down.
Where did they all fit? The Beast Titan… The Survey Corps… The War… The Alliance?
“Levi, I’m sorry I’m late. The test ended later than I expected…” She came as a faint voice, but Levi was too far gone to hear it.
He had only felt her presence then, when the physical therapist called a break, when he had collapsed on the floor in exhaustion, his knee throbbing, his breaths coming in heaves. He only realized she had been watching for a good long while when he looked up to see the concern etched in her face as he caught her gaze.
“I’m fine…” He at least managed to say that much before he closed his eyes, allowing that few minutes of rest to gather his thoughts and steady his breaths.
“You shouldn’t have pushed yourself too hard. This is just your first session,” Hange said from right next to him.
He still had enough energy to process those words at least.
A Tale of Two Slaves
That night, Levi gripped his dream catcher a little tighter and pressed it close to the back of his phone as he scrolled through google links on the other Ackerman.
It hadn’t been hard to find her at all. Zeke’s tirade that morning had been more than a guide enough.
High school. Ackerman. High Jump. Those were the only three keywords he needed to figure out the whole name of that missing Ackerman. For a moment, he had expected to find his own articles, and had braced himself for the pain of sifting through old articles about himself in between looking at hers.
It turned out Mikasa Ackerman had been the talk of the high school high jumping scene for a while, and she had been the topic of at least 90% of the articles he was scrolling through on Google.
A few times they did allude to the other Ackerman. The older articles heralded her as a successor to the rookie Levi Ackerman, the newer ones that were dated past his injury called her the brand new Ackerman, a replacement.
A replacement to damaged goods. Levi had to add that part himself, an attempt to make a joke out of his shitty situation as he closed that last article. “Mikasa Ackerman,” Levi repeated those words so quietly to himself as he dropped the dreamcatcher haphazardly onto the table in front of him. It had been useless at that moment. Or maybe at the least it had been the reason he felt a little too frustrated at having looked through too many articles that evening.
He looked to Hange who was sitting on the dining table, looking deep in thought on something on her laptop. Mid semester presentations for her thesis proposal were coming up, along with a few new exams next week. She had been conscious enough to point that out at least and Levi happily gave her the space she needed.
The turmoil inside him at first seemed difficult to pacify. Just watching Hange so focused and deep in thought had helped somehow quell whatever unresolved tensions and feelings were settling in his stomach then.
Maybe if he talked to her, the tensions might just disappear altogether. Levi deemed it worth the effort at least. “Hange? You okay?” He asked
Hange’s head shot up and she looked straight at him almost instantly. “Sorry, how long were you calling me? I’ve just been a little too focused on my exam on Monday and the thesis presentations on Wednesday… I don’t think I’ve been in the right mind for a while…”
Levi saw it in the way she looked at him, she hadn’t been focusing on his eyes. It was as if she were still probably seeing whatever words or numbers she was studying. She had been like that the past week since the line up of the thesis presentations were released along with the midterms schedules for all the exams.
Their kiss, their one night in the bedroom almost forgotten. Levi was sure though there was something that had been bothering her, maybe something that extended beyond academics.
I can ask about that after finals. Levi thought to himself, pushing aside that bout of concern. He could start with a light question at least, which didn’t involve Hange too much. “Have you heard of Mikasa Ackerman?”
“Mikasa Ackerman? The high school high jumper?” Hange asked. “Maybe I have been following her too… Lately...”
“She’s really good apparently.”
“Her jumping positions reminded me a lot of yours, so she had been fun to watch. I always did want to ask… Is she related to you? I did some research but I don’t see much which connect you both other than a few articles comparing you as jumpers and maybe speculating a relationship.”
Levi shook his head. “I never heard of her… Until today… A doctor mentioned her back in the hospital before my therapy session.”
“She only started making waves last month when her school made it to the regional competitions. No one really follows the district and the interschools… And apparently she only started jumping recently, during summer and she only started breaking records during the regionals,” Hange said. “That is… According to what I’ve read up on her.”
“So, you have been following her?”
“I still watch videos during study breaks,” Hange admitted. “And she just broke a few records a few weeks ago, of course they’d show up in my feed.”
“And you didn’t feel the need to ask me about it before? About an Ackerman doing the same jumping positions I did? You didn’t want to talk about it?”
“I thought of asking you about it maybe after exams. Besides, do you want to talk about jumping? After everything that happened?”
Levi put his phone down beside him and looked up at the ceiling above him. Of course he wouldn’t have heard of her until then, he had purged himself of all track and field news since the injury. The tournament with Nanaba and Mike and the round of research on Mikasa have been two exceptions and the feelings after that had only reminded him why he had spent his days actively making the effort not to think of the life he used to have. "I told you I'm fine," he said. He half meant that part at least, the writing had helped.
"No you aren't.”
Levi found himself shocked by how certain Hange’s tone had been. And for a second, maybe he had been a little irritated at the audacity of it all. Who was she to assume how he felt? But the surprise and the irritability had him silent and listening. Hange always had a reason for her conclusions. She never made assumptions so easily, he had known her enough lifetimes to be sure of that.
“There's a certain sadness to knowing you can't do what you used to before.” Hange continued. “I think everyone feels it, even a bit."
"A certain... sadness?" Levi asked.
"Wait, that does sound vague... Lemme think of an example." Hange paused for a second, looking up in thought. "Like maybe if you imagine people who’ve been skating or people who've been playing instruments their whole childhood. When they stop training or practicing these things altogether, these people can feel themselves lose their motor skills or their thinking skills that got them jumping double axels or playing arpeggios or pulling off vibratos like they’re second nature. And when they come back to it years later, I’m sure everyone feels the sadness or some sort of a frustration, looking back at their old self and processing the realization that they can’t bring their body or their mind to do something as effortlessly as they had done it many years before. Processing how they ended up so weak, so stupid after abandoning their old passions for so long."
“What if I’m an exception?” Levi challenged, still a little annoyed at such an assumption and at such a long unsettling tirade.
Hange shook her head. “You’re not. For a while, I wanted to entertain the possibility that maybe you and I are exceptions, maybe we can easily jump from one passion to another. When I was watching you during therapy though. I saw the terror in your eyes, the frustration, the sadness. ‘Why isn’t my body moving the same way it used to?’ Maybe you don’t want to think back to jumping because you don’t want to see how quickly your body has forgotten the motions, how quickly it had lost the flexibility and the strength to carry you over the two meter bars…” Hange trailed off. She avoided his gaze and for a while she had been staring at the blank wall in front of her. For a second after that, she did look to him, and there was a glint of realization in that. Realization at what she had just implied possibly. "But you know what, you might just be an exception. Maybe I’m just projecting." Hange added a second later.
Levi was sure though from the quick change of tone that accompanied those last words that Hange probably didn't mean it. On top of that, having heard Hange's small lecture, Levi almost immediately realized he wasn't at all an exception.
Her voice had been light as she mentioned that last sentence. It could have been a thoughtless comment. Hange didn’t make too many thoughtless comments though. “Projecting?” Levi asked.
Hange let out a short light laugh “I’m talking too much, I should go back to work…” Her words seemed like a band-aid, a lazy coverup for whatever emotions had supported such a tirade in the first place.
Projecting? There was a reason behind that word use and Levi was more than eager to press on it.
Hange wasn’t listening anymore though. She was buried once again in whatever subject she had chosen to study for that night. She was in work mode again and she had gotten back to that mode as quickly as she had fallen out of it.
All questions can wait until after her exam week. Levi told himself. The word ‘projecting’ had stayed though. Hange’s words had left its mark and maybe it did have Levi reflecting on his own feelings, his own fear and his own frustrations at his regressing skills, the painful awareness of his body that was slowly forgetting the motions he had built over years. At the end of that tunnel of reflection, he did end up thinking back to that word.
Projecting. She had to be feeling something for herself to say something like that right?
Hange what are you projecting?
And that at least distracted Levi enough, enough for him to ignore the dull pain in his left knee, channel his focus elsewhere. The next few days, having been left alone in the apartment while Hange went about classes, lab work and library visits, Levi did manage to channel his energies to academics or to filling his gaps in his own stories: Levi Special Squad, the Beast Titan and something about some new rookies in the survey corps.
The pain in his knee never left though. It was nagging and annoying like a cavity. It was a pain Levi had assumed would disappear in time. His left knee had always been painful since the injury.
Yet, maybe his left knee had started to get a little frustrated at Levi’s negligence. Maybe it had started to get angry. It was a creature and Levi soon realized, it was a monster that demanded attention.
The night it demanded his attention so stubbornly, so angrily., it did it through sharp pains that coursed through him like bolts of electricity, it did it through a crushing sensation that left Levi almost unable to breathe.
And maybe it did have Levi hallucinating----Or could it have been dreaming--- of having saved one of his soldiers from being eaten by a titan.
A Tale of Two Slaves
“Connie!
“Captain!”
In his dreams, he had been too out of breath, or maybe a little too distracted to have reacted at the crushing pain that had spread through him like bolts of lightning. The dream was hazy that Levi doubted whether he had been completely rooted in anything or not.
He had been flying. He had been in pain. And he had been pushing past the pain, slicing at a titan in every direction. And when he had seen one of his soldiers unconscious, about to be eaten by a titan, he had jumped in between the titan and the soldier so instinctively, so desperately that the in-between had been a blur. He found himself in the midst of an excruciatingly painful ordeal. He gritted his teeth, biting back any attempt to scream. For god knows if he screamed, he might just run out of energy, he might just pass out.
When he woke up to the dark room though, he processed almost naturally the fact that the circumstances his reality had offered him were different. The view in the middle of the night, the faint sound of cars had been different. He wasn’t in a battle field and as if his body had been completely aware of that, it did push past his attempts to subdue any reaction.
Even before he realized it though, he had been screaming. Only when his throat burned and the sounds faded into a whimper, only when the tears started to run down his face, only when he closed his eyes and keeled over, a pathetic reaction to the bombardment of stimuli, did Levi realize the pain of having his leg almost bitten off by a titan was still there.
“Levi! I’m here. What’s going on? Are you okay?” Hange was right next to him. Beyond the pain, that was all he could process.
Hange hadn’t been there in the dream. God knows where Hange had been when he was flying from titan to titan. God knows where Hange had been when he found himself, jumping in between his fellow soldier and the titan that had lunged to eat him.
And god, it was painful. Even past the dream, even when he started to realize that Hange was right next to him at least in the dark room at 3am. The pain stayed and it was crushing his knee, it was leaving him unable to even take any sort of a decent breath, his own coping mechanism reduced to ragged breaths in between tears.
“Levi, breathe…”
How pathetic where his own breaths sounding for Hange to have to coach him like that?
“Oh god, Levi, we might have to get you to a hospital?”
How pathetic did he look for Hange to have to suggest a hospital visit? When she helped him up at least, when she slung her free arm over his shoulder and helped him to a sitting position, he did at least feel the unnatural weight on his left knee. What was going on?
Everything after that, came as a hazy dream. As hazy as the fight against the many unnatural looking titans. In that dream, Hange had been absent for some reason he could not yet comprehend. And Levi found himself trying to push it away, instead focusing on the Hange in front of him who had put a blanket over him, who had dialed a number on her phone and who was rattling off medical jargon to someone on the phone.
“Erwin… I…” Why would you need to call Erwin at three in the morning?
After that, Hange had helped put a hoodie over him, she had called one more number. And within a few minutes, Levi found himself lying down on a taxi, half conscious, only hanging on by a thread at the view of Hange under the dim light of the taxi and the city lights.
Somehow, he was terrified of falling asleep again. Hange hadn’t been there in the dream. And she might just disappear if he closed his eyes. As he unwillingly held on to the crushing pain in his knee and the view of Hange who sat next to him on the taxi, he was awake. Only barely, but barely was enough to not fall into another world of dreams, a world of wars and a state of complete chaos and confusion.
Eventually, he lost consciousness but it had been a gradual process.
He had lost some sense of time along the way, his body having been too focused on Hange. The darkness in the taxi had quickly shifted to the stark white of the hospital as he was helped onto a stretcher. Then along the way, he may have heard Erwin’s voice rattling off something about a swelling knee that was crushing his joints and a knee aspiration.
Then there was something about painkillers, an IV, a slight pain in his hand before everything enveloped him again. Maybe at his peripherals, Hange had been by his bedside.
It was a huge improvement at least from the messages of his own dreams. And maybe it was relief that finally had him letting go of his tight yet weak grip on reality. The crushing pain on his knee hadn’t been from a titan biting it off. Hange’s absence in the war had only been a dream.
The last few things he had processed then before completely letting the darkness enveloped him, may have been the sound of a laptop opening next to him, a few wires pattering on the floor below, the sound of the mouse and finally, the relaxing rhythmic clacking of the keyboard..
Hange was right next to him and she wasn’t leaving anytime soon.
A Tale of Two Slaves
“Sorry.” It came out as a croak but Levi was still hoping she heard it. Despite the haziness of the first few moments as he opened his eyes to the light streaming into the hospital room, despite the discomfort which came with a dry throat, it had been Levi’s first instinct to apologize.
Hange looked worse off than last night. He at least picked up enough images of her to know that there was a stark difference between the Hange of a few hours ago and the Hange then. The laptop hadn’t moved, it was still on the table next to his bedside, just like he had guessed it to be having fallen unconscious to the sound of the clacking of the keyboard.
Right then and there, Hange’s hair fell in chaotic waves, her glasses askew. And compared to last night where he saw panic, in front of him, he saw calm etched on her face, an ominous calm that somehow seemed even more alarming.
“Hange,” Levi said a little louder. The concern he felt only gave him the motivation to push past the discomfort of having just woken up. “I’m sorry.”
“Why are you saying sorry? Hadn’t everything to this point been my fault?” Hange’s voice was soft, reflecting the ominous calm. It was cold, maybe even frozen. “"The reason the fluid built up in your knee was overexertion apparently. They’re guessing it was the physical therapy session last Saturday." Hange looked away. "I can't help but think... If I didn’t bring you to the tournament or talked to you about jumping , maybe you wouldn’t have pushed yourself too hard."
Levi had listened closely and he could have sworn he heard a crack in her voice. “But the fluid is gone right?” He asked. He noted that his knee was numb and to his relief, the pain had devolved into a dull ache, similar to the one he had been dealing with the past month. Not at all as alarming as it had been the night before.
Hange shrugged. “Maybe it’s the painkillers or maybe it’s the fact that they drained the wound. But don’t count your eggs before they even hatch. Your back to square one. All progress, out the window. Fuck this. Fuck all this. And you wouldn’t have been in this damn situation if he hadn’t fucked up way too many times. Was I pressuring you to jump? Was I pressuring you to recover quicker? Maybe I shouldn’t have mentioned Elijah, or maybe I shouldn’t have mentioned MIkasa? Maybe I shouldn’t have let you go to that fucking meet in the first place.”
Levi kept quiet. Watching what had been Hange, leaving her laptop open on the table, watching her pace around the room, avoiding his gaze as she fell into her soft tirade had been unsettling. Even he couldn’t tell how it was making him feel. “It’s over. It happened. So many things had happened at once, it couldn’t have been anyone’s fault.”
“Fucking hell Levi, when I’m supposed to be writing about your injury, when I’m supposed to be writing every single bout of mini progress, writing out the mechanics of the injury… I can’t help but see… you were in no condition to jump. You were exhausted, your wounds from the first time we met were far from healed. But for fuck’s sake, if I had told you to wait it out a week, instead of letting you do jump after jump, maybe you’d be in class right now or maybe you’d be preparing for your next tournament… I don’t wanna write this anymore. I don’t wanna reduce whatever is going on inside you to a fucking case study.” Hange slammed her hand on her keyboard, and sat so violently on the chair, she had pushed it a few inches back.
“You need to graduate,” Levi said. What will Erwin think? What will your parents think?
“At this point, who cares? I’m miserable. I can’t fucking get anything written. I write a paragraph, I get self conscious and I delete it. I write out my interpretation of the numbers, of my findings, my gut wrenches then I delete it again."
“Take a break?” Levi weakly suggested.
Hange had laughed at that. The reaction came out of nowhere and Levi found himself speechless and maybe a little confused. Take a break? That had seemed like a natural suggestion. He had at least spent a good few seconds thinking in between listening to Hange’s rant to have come up with such a suggestion.
Either way, from the way Hange had laughed it off and slammed her laptop close, from the way she had sat back on the chair and looked at nothing in particular, the way she had avoided his gaze through the whole tirade and the fit that had followed, Levi was sure that had been the wrong thing to say.
A little ashamed at his own ability to have come up with something a little more comforting, Levi kept quiet. And for a second, he looked up at the own ceiling above him, and maybe distracted himself by appreciating the view from the wide hospital window, following the birds that were doing some sort of dance in the sky
For a moment, he did forget about Hange. She hadn’t helped at all to make herself any memorable, having kept silent.
The silence in that moment had been too peaceful, had been too otherworldly that it was only natural that it would be broken by even the softest and steadiest things.
Like an off-rhythm knock on the door.
“Hange?”
Levi recognized the voice even before his head popped up from behind the slightly opened door. “Moblit?”
Levi looked towards Hange. The latter sat unmoving on her seat, her head bowed down, her face unreadable. Even as Moblit opened the door a little wider and approached her, she hadn’t moved at all or even looked back to greet him. Levi bent over to get a better look at her and saw panic. A type of panic he had never seen before. Panic, confusion, maybe a little urgency. “Hange? Moblit’s here.” Levi managed to say. He kept his voice gentle, a natural gesture having to process Hange’s face at that moment.
“Hey Hange. Erwin told me you’d be here. The others were worried about you--- I was worried about you. You’re supposed to be presenting now."
Hange stayed silent. From what Levi could see, her face was frozen. Was that panic? Shock?
Moblit continued. "I explained your situation… They said they could push it back until this afternoon...You think you can make it?" Moblit paused as he got closer to her, as if waiting for her to say something. He had his phone out,as if ready to call the panelists at any moment.
"Hange. Go to the presentation," Levi said. It was difficult to bend over and make eye contact with her with her head bent down, her eyes downcast. He kept his words firm, hoping at least that was enough to reach her.
“I can’t…” She managed to say. She left her mouth half open, as if she had expected to say something after. She looked back up at Levi, then bit her lip. Levi could have sworn that was the first time he had seen her in such a loss of words yet at the same time, struggling to get something out.
“Hange, go. I’ll be fine…”
“You don’t understand, I can’t… present.”
“Hey, I’ll help you set up. We have until tonight.” Moblit scooched beside her on the table and typed out her password.
“No, you don’t get it, I have nothing…”
“Hey, I’ll help you get a powerpoint. We can revise your manuscript together. That’s what friends are for,” Moblit pressed as he pushed the laptop towards Hange. “Come on, type out your password.”
“No Moblit, there’s nothing in here. It’s over. I’ll try again next year.”
“It’s too early to give up Hange, remember how fast you got Elijah’s data processed? It helped me a lot.”
“You don’t get it do you?” Hange pulled the laptop towards her and angrily typed what could have been the password. The laptop booted to life and from where he sat, Levi made out the characteristic log in tone of the computer. “There’s nothing in the document. Just the introduction. No preliminary results. No observations. Nothing.”
Levi couldn’t see the screen from where he sat. But he did see the flashes of a changing screen through Moblit’s eyes. He could guess the results from the way Moblit’s jaw dropped and the way Hange just avoided both their gazes, keeping her eyes downcast.
Levi maneuvered himself to the side of the bed, getting Hange’s laptop at arm’s reach. His leg protested the action but that was the last thing on his mind. God forbid, what Moblit was seeing at that moment could have been Levi’s first assumption.
Hange… Didn’t you spend hours in the library getting everything written out?
Didn’t you spend whole days outside working in the lab?
Didn’t I fall asleep every night to the angry clacking of the keyboard?
Didn’t I wake up in the middle of the night to you in the dining room writing out your thesis?
She had been writing at least. The introduction, the review of related literature were all filled out. The methodology had been filled out. It was a far cry though from what she had made in high school. Each part had been furnished with links to sources, half completed sentences and maybe a few question marks here and there.
The observations and the results and discussions though, were all blank.
“Hange… You….” What were you doing? This can’t be it. Levi didn’t even know if he had said that last part out loud. His brain was on overdrive trying to prove his own quick conclusion wrong. He navigated through old versions of the document. His hands were quick, maybe they had been moving on their own and the PC couldn’t catch up.
A few times, Levi found himself tapping impatiently on the keyboard as the laptop loaded each version.
More links, more half completed sentences, and a very empty observations and results section. “We can get something written right? Help make a powerpoint? If we work together, we could get something presentable."
Moblit shook his head. He bent down next to Hange and spoke softly. “Does Erwin know about this?”
“I told him to just leave it to me… But I can’t. I can’t write this anymore.” Hange shook her head as she looked up at Moblit then up at him. There was some sort of a smile of resignation plastered on her face, reminiscent of the laugh of only a few moments ago.
That was what the laugh had meant when he had suggested the break.
Of course, she would laugh. There was no time for breaks. There was no time for work either. Hange was royally fucked.
Moblit left the room, neither Levi nor Hange asked for what. For a few more minutes, maybe for even an hour longer while Hange had been in her catatonic state, Levi did continue to look through her drafts, see what kind of sense he could make of the half complete sentences and the links to journals in her document with his limited knowledge on human anatomy.
His background had him very much unready to complete a thesis proposal on a technical subject he studied nothing about, let alone in the span of a few hours. Having been pumped with painkillers and sleeping drought only an hour before, his brain was in no state either to bullshit what he could. Despite all his desperate attempts to make sense of it, to write out something coherent, he found himself converting it back to the state he and Moblit had found it in.
Levi closed the laptop slowly and pushed it towards Hange. He was surprised and a little relieved to find that she did pull her weight, setting the laptop back on the table next to his bed.
Hange smiled at Levi and spoke up. “I appreciate you trying to do all this Levi but… I’ve given up already. I’m not getting this thesis done.”
It was a pained smile. A smile of resignation. A smile that was so clearly telling him that he had definitely wasted those last few minutes pouring through the versions of her document for nothing.
Levi took a deep breath and spoke up. “Then what’s your plan now?”
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From the soulmate alphabet, letter r? (Red string)
A/N: I’ve had this in my inbox for such a long time!! I loved the idea but never really got the time to write anything down for it, so here I am now, and I wrote it for Tito. This is just a quick one-shot, it could have been the start of something but I honestly don’t feel like jumping into another series when I already have so many WIPs lol.
Word count: 2091
.
Montreal was loud.
The view from the rooftop of your new building was incredible, but you couldn’t get over the noise of cars driving past constantly in the streets below. It would take more than a week to get used to, so you didn’t lose hope that you would eventually get a peaceful night of sleep in this apartment. Shutting your windows tight helped drown out the cacophony of the city below you, it made you terribly regret the lulling sounds of the waves where you came from.
Up on the roof, however, you almost felt like you were looking at some sort of ocean. The buildings rose at different heights, shaping the city with grey concrete and windows that reflected the blue of the sky as well as water would have. There was a beauty to it, something that tied you to this place and made you feel like you belonged.
Your long sigh disappeared into the wind, carried off before you could even hear it yourself. You imagined it going as far as the red string that was tied to your heart and extended all the way to the horizon. You had always promised yourself that you wouldn’t give up your life and goals to pursue your soulmate, but you remembered the way the string extended west over the ocean back home, and you couldn’t say your relocation to Canada had nothing to do with the fact that you were supposed to find your soulmate in this direction.
Now that you were as far west as you had been able to go, the string pointed south. It gave you hope that you were on the right continent this time. Maybe your string was simply tangled with other people’s south of here, it was common, and it made finding your soulmate much harder than one could have expected considering you were literally tied to each other.
You could have stared at the view for hours and wondered who was at the end of this string, but the wind was colder than what you were used to and your hands were beginning to feel numb. You found the small trap door that had led you up here and climbed down the ladder, thankful for the protection of the walls and the warmth you immediately felt. You closed the trap as quietly as possible, unsure of whether you were actually allowed to go onto the roof.
It wasn’t like anyone would find out unless they were coming up to knock on your door, being alone on the top floor had its perks. You sighed again as you shut your front door behind you, reminded by your bare living space that you desperately needed to go out to get furniture and at least a bouquet of flowers to brighten up your apartment.
A few hours in stores to find the perfect couch and an iced coffee later, you crashed into your bed for what you hoped would be a restful sleep.
It was past midnight when your eyes shot open. You weren’t sure of why, maybe it was instinct, or maybe it was a particularly loud noise from the street, but with a flicker of light from outside you realised that this wasn’t just a normal night. You scrambled to turn the light on, still unfamiliar with the position of your light switch, and your eyes widened when you realised it wasn’t an illusion. The pretty red string that extended from your heart now pointed to the ceiling.
You cursed loudly as you bumped your toe in your bedroom’s door when you rushed out, barely grabbing your keys before pulling the trap door open and climbing onto the roof. The string still extended upwards towards the sky, which didn’t make any sense to you until you caught a flicker of lights in the darkness of the night. A plane. Your string led to a plane, and a particularly low one at that. Your soulmate was about to land in Montreal.
.
“Wake up Beau, we’ve landed,” Mathew shook his friend’s shoulder, earning an annoyed grunt as the other man got pulled out of his sleep.
“Fucking hate late night flights,” Anthony grumbled and rubbed the sleep out of his eyes.
The rest of the passengers were quiet too, but as soon as the plane came to a stop they were scrambling to get up and grab their bags. Anthony sighed, staying seated with Mat next to him to let everyone else out first. Neither of them wanted to push people around to grab their things and they knew they’d have to wait for their bags afterwards anyway. The further back they stayed the less likely they were to be recognised. Both men were always patient and friendly with fans, but there was something about being in the middle of the night that made them despise just the thought of running into one now.
That gave Anthony time to look out of the small window, he couldn’t see much but he was excited to be home for a few weeks. He wouldn’t rest much with Mathew around, but he’d at least be away from the busy streets of New York. It was only then that he noticed the red string that had steadily pointed east for his whole life now pointed north.
A rush of excitement flooded him, and he was suddenly ready to push through the whole crowd to get out of this airport as fast as possible and find his soulmate. He turned to Mathew to tell him, but got cut off by his best friend yawning in his face.
“What?” He asked, sensing Beau was much more awake than he had been moments ago.
“Nothing,” he ducked his head down and hid his smile. He wanted to keep this to himself, partly because his soulmate could still be far from him, but also because this was his moment, and he wanted to enjoy every part of it alone.
The two men eventually stepped into the cold air of the night to find a taxi, and Anthony watched the way his red string pointed, tempted to follow it immediately but knowing the middle of the night was not the time for it.
.
You almost got ran over about ten times the next morning, out for a walk before you even considered breakfast to hopefully find your soulmate. It was so early that the entire city was quiet, the light was dim and golden as the sun took its place in the sky, and you tried your best not to get too distracted by following the string so that you wouldn’t forget to look around before crossing the street.
Your red string was angled up, which you could only assume meant that your soulmate was somewhere in a building. Your cheeks warmed with embarrassment as you realised you were out looking for them before it was a decent hour to knock on anyone’s door, but you could always wait once you knew where they were.
And wait you did when you found yourself in front of a very nice building with restricted access. There was no way you could get in to knock on anyone’s door, you’d just have to hope they’d wake up soon and come out to meet you. The urge to get a warm coffee ran through you, but you were worried that just going a few streets down from here to grab a drink could make you miss your soulmate. This was a once in a lifetime moment. Coffee could wait.
Luckily for you, there was a bench on the street across from the entrance and you took a seat there to wait, your eyes trained on the entrance so that you wouldn’t miss anyone coming out. You would have been sleepy if the excitement of meeting your soulmate wasn’t making you so nervous your hands shook.
.
Anthony blinked several times to make sure he was seeing things right when he woke up. The red string attached to his heart was guiding him down and a little bit south. He rushed to his bedroom window and looked around for someone that might be passing by. He noticed you then, sitting on a bench across the street, bundled up in a warm coat and waiting with your eyes set on the entrance of his building.
In the heat of the moment Anthony almost forgot to get dressed, and he hurried to pull on the gym clothes he had prepared the previous night.
“Ah, ready to go?” Mat grinned when he saw his friend step out of his bedroom. He had been ready for a while himself, waiting on Anthony to get up so that they could go for a morning run and then hit the gym to start the day right.
“Yeah,” his friend answered mechanically, grabbing his keys by the door and stepping out while Mat was already beginning to ramble.
He nodded without ever talking through the short elevator ride while Mat talked his ear off, and he found himself stepping outside a few more seconds later.
“And anyway, I thought maybe we could-” Mathew’s ramble stopped when he bumped into his friend who had abruptly stopped in the middle of the sidewalk. “Beau?”
You practically shot up from the bench when you saw him, your eyes wide with bewilderment. You knew he had to be there, but seeing him, the same red string tied to his heart, made you feel something completely new.
He looked down at himself and then back at you, making sure he was getting it right while your heart hammered in your chest. Should you cross the street or would he? It was a stupid thing to wonder about but it was the most your brain was capable of putting out in that moment. Deciding that standing there wasn’t helping your nerves at all, you quickly glanced left and right and got across the street in a few strides.
“Oh,” things finally clicked in Mat’s head when you approached, and he cleared his throat awkwardly. “Uh, you know what, I’m gonna go find myself a coffee,” he patted his friend’s shoulder, not expecting a response as he walked away.
“Hello,” you breathed out, taking in the man in front of you as well as you could while internally screaming.
“How did you get here?” Anthony was barely capable of forming a sentence, and this was all he could think of as he tried to process he was truly meeting his soulmate.
“Excuse me?” You frowned, unsure of what he meant.
“Montreal,” he clarified. “I’ve lived in Montreal for years, you weren’t here,” Anthony couldn’t get over the shock of finally finding you. His eyes were shining, open a little bit wider than normal as he took in every little detail of your face.
“Yeah, uh, I just moved here, I-I work in communication and marketing for a sports team,” you ran a hand through your hair, shifting your weight from one leg to the other.
“I play hockey,” he replied and internally cringed. Could he have sounded any weirder?
“Cool,” you nodded, trying to figure out what you were supposed to say after that.
“Shit, I’m sorry I’m so awkward,” Anthony realised he had put an end to the conversation and his cheeks flushed a deep shade of red as he glanced down at his feet. “I’m Anthony Beauvillier, a lot of my friends call me Beau,” he held his hand out for you to shake and you took it. It was much warmer than yours, and you almost didn’t want to let go.
“I- uh, kinda got that from the clothes,” you pointed out the blue and orange outfit. It was your turn to feel your cheeks warm in embarrassment. It wasn’t that you had anything to be embarrassed about, but thinking that this man was the perfect match for you made you nervous beyond reason. Maybe it would have been easier if he hadn’t been so damn gorgeous. “I guess I kinda just got a job working for your team,”
“That’s fucking crazy,” Anthony laughed, unable to contain the bubbly happiness in his heart any longer. “Do you want to go get a coffee somewhere?” His smile was wide as he asked, his emotions hadn’t settled much but he seemed to have control over them now. Seeing that he was more confident helped you relax too, and you took a deep breath before you smiled back and replied.
“I would love that.”
.
Please reblog and let me know what you thought <3
taglist (add yourself here): @itrocksmysocks @kerwritesthings @pupsandpucks @barzysreputation @whythough1319 @smit41 @glassdanse @fiveholegoal @brokeninsidebutnobodyknows @thefootballfaithfull (strikethrough means tumblr was being a little bitch and I couldn’t tag you, sorry)
#tito beauvillier#anthony beauvillier#anthony beauvillier fic#tito beauvillier fic#hockey fic#nhl fic#hockey imagine#nhl imagine#tito beauvillier imagine#anthony beauvillier imagine#soulmate AU#writing#request#New York Islanders#ny islanders#18#soulmate fic
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Rage Is The Sound Of Love
PAIRING / dean winchester x fem!reader
SUMMARY / dean gets pissed at the reader for being reckless on the hunt, but what was he exactly annoyed about?
WARNINGS / angst, swearing, mentions of blood, anger, kissing, illusions to sex, my writing, idk.
AUTHORS NOTE / angry dean is, and always will be, my kink.
[Gifs aren't mine!!! Got them off Google so creds to them <33]
One of the many, many ways you could tell that Dean was annoyed was by his face. His face held every emotion -- every thought that he couldn't say, or couldn't bring himself to say.
For example; Dean had a habit of clenching his jaw so hard that had you wondering how his teeth didn't snap. Also, his eyes would also send a glare that could a hundred percent kill its recipient if they were able to you.
And that 'recipient' just happened to be you. But he wasn't just a teeny bit annoyed, he was enraged. Boiling, seeing red, rage.
Why was he so pissed at you? Well, you were being reckless which, quite obviously, isn't a good thing to be in your line of work (if being a hunter is even qualified to be a job, since you technically weren't being paid).
The case was supposed to be easy, just a few vamps that you would kill and then you would return back to the bunker and all would be well, right?
Wrong.
Apparently, the 'few' vamps turned out to be a nest. Even though Cas had joined you on this case, you were still outnumbered; thirteen to four.
And when you're outnumbered, shit hits the fan...or blood hits the wall, in this case. Your blood, more specifically.
Thankfully, between the four of you, you had managed to gank all the blood sucking freaks but not before one of them had managed to turn your machete around on you, causing you to slice your leg open.
Cas, being the angel of the Lord that he is, he was able to heal you -- not before giving you a disapproving shake of his head.
Sam, on the other hand, was just glad you were okay. You were like a sister to him and you were alive, that was all that mattered.
You just wished that's how Dean felt.
Upon entering the Men of Letters bunker, the first thing that hit you was just how cold it was; similar to how Dean was being to you.
You knew for a fact that Dean -- perhaps Cas aswell -- was going to yell at you for your behaviour, but your leg being sliced and then being healed had done a number on you.
So, you went straight to your room and threw yourself on your bed, staring up at the ceiling. It was peaceful, kind of. You could still feel the blade piercing through your skin on your leg every so often, and it hurt like a bitch. Logically, you knew that your leg was now fine, but that didn't stop you from checking every so often.
A few minutes had passed before your peace was rudely ripped away from you by someone barrelling into your room.
"Uh, what the fuck?" You cursed, lifting your head up to see who the intruder was. When you saw who it was, you fell back against your bed in a huff. "Go away."
"No." His gruff voice replied, annoyance lacing his tone.
"This my room, Winchester. I can kick you out if I want to." You stated, flipping him off from where you were splayed.
"I need to talk to you." Now that got your attention, but not enough for you to move.
"Y/N." He stated plainly, causing you to roll your eyes and lean on your elbows to look at him.
"You said you needed to talk to me, so talk." You stared at him, waiting to him to explain. During the beat of silence, you took the time to examine his features. You had always found him attractive, every woman and man would've, but you didn't realise just how attractive he was. Although, you could still tell he was annoyed by the subtle tick to his jaw.
"What you did was stupid," He crossed his arms over his chest and used the tone of voice that always oozed authority, "and beyond careless."
You rolled your eyes once again, but didn't interrupt. "And if Cas wasn't there, then -- "
"But Cas was there."
Dean glared at you slightly before carrying on. "What I'm saying is; you could have gotten yourself killed."
You got up and stood in front of the six foot one, dark blond man. "I didn't, though. Shouldn't that account for something?"
Dean's eyes flicked across your face, chuckling dryly. "Do you really not get it?"
You could feel your face scrunch up in confusion, "Get what?"
"You could've died!" He reiterated, arms flailing about to emphasise his point. "You could've died before I was able to tell you that --"
Dean cut himself off with a heavy sigh, shaking his head and began turning around to head out your door.
You stood there, wide eyed before your body moved infront of his, effectively blocking him from the exit. You put your arms on either side of the door frame as your eyes stared into his. "Finish the sentence."
He shook his again and tried to move you, "Winchester, I swear if you don't finish that goddamn sentence then I will make Rowena hide a hex bag somewhere in your room!" You demanded, fists clenched.
"Rowena?"
"Seriously? That's all you got from that?" You asked. "We're good friends, but that's not the point! I'm not letting you leave this room until you finish what you were about to say." You breathed heavily, getting more annoyed by the second. Oh, how the tables have turned.
You watched Dean's face, his mouth slowly forming into a smirk. "How about I show you, sweetheart?"
You frowned, the annoyance leaving your body to make room for confusion. "How can you show me the end of a sent--hmph." Dean's lips crashed onto yours, swallowing your words.
It took you a few seconds to reciprocate the kiss due to surprise, but you did nonetheless. The kiss was full of everything; rage, fear, love and adoration.
By the time you both pulled away, you were gasping for oxygen, smiles gracing yours two's lips. "Woah, okay. Wasn't expecting that."
"You told me to finish my sentence, but you didn't tell me how to finish it." Dean shrugged, smirking once again.
"I guess you're not pissed at me, now?" You questioned, smiling at him.
"Oh no, I'm still pissed." He stated, and you could feel your face drop. "But I guess we're just going to have to find a different way to channel that rage."
Your eyes widened in understanding. Apparently, you were going to be in for a long night.
#dean winchester x reader angst#deanwinchester#dean winchester imagines#dean winchester imagine#dean winchester fanfic#dean winchester x y/n#dean winchester x you#dean winchester x reader#dean winchester#sam winchester#castiel#fluff#angst
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Sasuke Retsuden (Unofficial English Translation)
Here’s the next installment! Enjoy~
DISCLAIMER: This is not an official translation and was not made for profit or distribution. This translation was fan-made and done for purely enjoyment and translation practice purposes. I do not own the rights to NARUTO or any of the related materials.
Translation note: There was a section in here (Shikamaru’s letter) that was very difficult for me to translate. It’s supposed to be an excerpt from ancient texts, so the Japanese was written in a older style. I tried my best to get the meaning, but it was confusing for me as well. I believe that is intentional and that it’s supposed to be cryptic. Thanks for your understanding!
Prologue | Chapter 1
Chapter 2
The next day, Sasuke was punished for the first time.
The reason was that he hadn’t bothered to “make proper eye contact” during roll call. The guards took much joy in smashing their batons on his hips, his chest, and his back in turn. Of course, the strength of their punches were that of civilians, so to Sasuke it was nothing. Still, it hurt, and that made Sasuke angry. Unconsciously he let a “tch,” slip out, and the guards took that as him being disrespectful. The situation quickly devolved into a mess, and they slapped him across the face in their excess.
“What’s with those guys? Just yesterday they were scared shitless of you, and now all of sudden they act like they’re tough guys?” Jiji complained loudly during their work shift, not noticing the guards present behind him. He was hit in the stomach with their batons as a result.
Immediately after, Sasuke was beaten three times the amount of Jiji, for “not censoring Jiji’s words,” which made no sense.
Clearly, they were operating under the Director’s orders: go for Sasuke.
He hadn’t been chained up or thrown into solitary confinement, so he doesn’t think his being a shinobi from Konoha had been revealed. He shouldn’t be mixing so leisurely with the other prisoners, lest they interfere with this plan.
There were rarely shinobis within the prisoner population here, therefore he had tried to interfere with the all-important Menō. He was in good condition and felt that he should give Menō a taste of his Sharingan—that was probably the Director’s perception of Sasuke.
By the end of the day, Sasuke had been beaten by all eight of the patrols a number of times. He was late to his work shift, no matter how many times they called on him he didn’t reply, he was giving them dirty looks—any number of excuses. No matter how much he was hit, it didn’t do much damage to Sasuke, but it added up over time and pissed him off. When the day ended and the guards came around for their pre-bedtime patrol, they used the excuse of “your hair is too long,” like he was a student breaking school rules to beat him, and Sasuke thought it was about time to pay them back tenfold. If this infiltration wasn’t for Naruto, he would’ve broken one or two ribs already.
“Man, Sasuke, today was a disaster.”
“I wonder why the guards started targeting Sasuke suddenly.”
Both Penzira and Ganno felt bad for Sasuke. In the past it’s been common for the guards to pick on prisoners, though usually their targets were the timid and weak ones, the type who wouldn’t retaliate even when struck. Sasuke was the exact opposite of that.
"I don't care about this much," he said. Though he looked indifferent, his tone was overtly frustrated. "I'm just being stupid." His words came out in a rush.
“Did you do something to make the Director hold a grudge against you?”
“He just hates your existence, huh? Doesn’t like people who are smarter than him.”
“Ah, yeah, he’s the type to think too much of himself.”
It was time for lights out. No one ever knew when exactly the lights would go out, and they would not be turned back on for anything until the morning. Even when the man in the cell three doors over had a heart attack, they did not turn the lights on. Jiji and the others groped around blindly for their futons and slipped inside them. After a few minutes the sound of their breathing evened out as they fell into slumber. They were exhausted from the day’s work and had grown used to their daily schedule here in prison. Sasuke confirmed that they were all were asleep, then he pulled out one of the iron bars from the door and left the cell.
*************
Sasuke wore a strip of red cloth around his wrist as he walked the cells. It served as proof that he had permission to be out at this time of night. The guards provide one when a prisoner has to work after hours or when they have to go to the nurse’s office during their free time. If Sasuke was wearing this, he wouldn’t be considered as violating the rules and wouldn’t be attacked by Menō. In the daytime, it was a boon from the guards who swung around their batons.
As he disappeared down the freezing hallway, sobbing could be heard. It came from where a steel cleaning tool was placed against the wall. Sasuke could guess what was going on inside there, and yet he couldn’t just pass by. When he opened the door there was a thin man with curly hair, his limbs tied up with hempen rope, crammed inside.
The man stiffened and gasped when he saw Sasuke. The wrist tied up in front of his chest was dripping wet with saliva and had indents the shape of teeth on it. If he raised his voice, Menō would find him in the next instant, so he’d probably been biting his hand in an effort to stifle his cries.
“What are you doing here?”
“U-uh… on my way back from the bathroom I was caught by some of the old timers and... they locked me up in here…”
Bullying.
Sasuke cut the rope tied around the man’s wrist. If you kept such bloodthirsty guys locked up for days in an environment like this, they'd eventually go looking for someone to take out their stress on. Their typical targets were the weak guys. The ones without any friends to come help them. Or the ones who looked weak and like they were about to bite the dust.
“Do you have a red cloth?”
“No… it was taken…” Sasuke clicked his tongue and took off his cloth, thrusting it at the man. If this guy were to go out into the halls without the cloth, he would eventually be caught by Menō and eaten alive.
He felt true sympathy for the man as he watched his back disappear, running down the hallway. For Sasuke, this was merely a place he temporarily infiltrated. But for the man, this was his graveyard. At the rate construction was going, there was no telling when the telescope would be completed. He did not like seeing those who were weak and had a high probability of dying before construction finished.
Pat.
Behind him came the sound of hard nails hitting the floor.
A rush of air touched the back of his neck as claws raked down Sasuke’s spine, cutting him in two—but the illusion faded. Menō snorted and noticed Sasuke perched on the ceiling, and his long tail flew up at him.
Crash!
The tip of his tail shattered the ceiling. Sasuke landed on the ground, pieces of wood falling around him, and from a close distance he inspected Menō’s stomach. As expected there was no wound. He was certain he had cut him clean in the middle of his belly the night before.
“A miraculous recovery. Or were you replaced by another lizard?”
Menō gave no response and his nails lashed out at Sasuke. They cut through mere air as Sasuke had already dove beneath his body, and the momentum caused the lizard to fall forward. Sasuke kicked at his hard, scale-covered jaw and delivered two more kicks to his stomach.
As he wound up for a third strike, the tail came flying at him from the side. Sasuke stopped the attack with his right hand and pulled, causing Menō to lose balance and fall onto his back. Grasping his neck, Sasuke tried his Sharingan on Menō again. The result was the same—the genjutsu did not take.
Menō’s eyes narrowed, probably feeling humiliated to be looked down on like this. He twisted his body and stretched his neck out, trying to bite Sasuke’s head off his body. Sasuke flinched and dodged to the side, and the claws on Menō’s right foot scratched his cheek. The skin was torn through, and the drops of blood that slipped out melted when they made contact with the air.
Sasuke unsheathed his hidden sword, awaiting Menō’s next attack. Unexpectedly, however, Menō jumped away and fled.
What’s he planning?
He was deliberating on what kind of attack he could do from this mid-range distance, when all at once he was overwhelmed. His body staggered, and for a brief moment, his attention left Menō. By the time he realized this and came to, Menō had already appeared in front of him, fangs bared. Four claws flew at him from the side, grabbing at his hair. Sasuke threw himself to the side, managing to dodge the attack, but he was dizzy as he landed.
His body staggered a few steps, his vision shaking, and he desperately tried to focus. Menō jumped and attacked Sasuke, smashing his hand against the wall.
Ba-dum.
His heart slammed against his chest and his legs gave out on him. His chest burned.
The sharp claws of Menō shone bright through his white, cloudy haze of vision. Sasuke pulled out his sword with his other hand and sliced it in front of him. The floorboards collapsed and wooden debris fell down below. Menō immediately jumped down into the hole to follow after Sasuke. He landed one floor below and looked around, searching for him.
However, there were no traces of Sasuke to be found.
*************
Sasuke was breathing rapidly. He was practically leaning against the wall, slinking down the dark hallway. Although he had managed to lose Menō, the numbness in his body had spread. Menō’s claws scratching his cheek came to mind. That was probably when he had been poisoned, but he had never heard of any lizards being poisonous. Zansur had likely laced his claws with poison.
His body began to convulse in small fits. A tremendous chill crawled up Sasuke’s back like a tsunami, his vision going white. His skin was burning hot. Yet his back was cold, so cold, and he couldn’t stop shaking.
Sasuke gathered chakra into the palm of his hand and used a jutsu to create water, bringing it to his mouth to drink. However, before he could create an amount thicker than a sheet of paper, his fingers began to quiver, and soon he couldn’t summon his chakra at all. The water spilled out of his hands and down his chest.
His vision wavered. His ears rang painfully as if fireworks were going off inside his head. He was in a terrible state. He had enough tolerance built up to common poisons that even lethal amounts did not work on him. Was this a powerful enough substance that it could affect Sasuke, or some kind of rare poison exclusive to this region?
His breathing grew shallow and it felt as if his throat was closing up. Sasuke breathed out harshly, dragging his body along the wall, ignoring its condition. His chest was now making a terrible noise and his breath was obstructed. It seemed that he was hyperventilating and having a heart attack at the same time. He sipped at the remaining drops of water in his palm but it brought him no reprieve.
In the same moment he leaned against the wall and thought he would just wait for the symptoms to subside, he heard something. Sasuke froze as the sound of footsteps could be made out between the incessant ringing in his ears.
This is bad… someone’s coming.
If a hostile enemy crossed his path while he was in this condition, he would be done for. The footsteps were growing closer. Sasuke’s vision flickered and wavered, and he desperately tried to focus. His body was no longer cooperating. He had no choice but to use genjutsu on whoever came. He held his breath and waited for the approaching footsteps.
The footsteps hitting against the cobblestone hallway suddenly disappeared, and in the next moment, Sasuke felt someone appear behind him. His mind reacted, but his body did not. A hand reached out from behind and covered his eyes, hiding his Sharingan.
Softly.
Sasuke sucked in a breath. He recognized the feel of this hand.
No, you idiot, there’s no way she’s here.
Sasuke tried to turn around and look, but his body was weak. He fell back and was accepted into the warm embrace behind him.
“Relax, Sasuke.”
It was Sakura’s voice.
*************
Sasuke breathed lightly, lying on a bed in the nurse’s office. The ringing and terrible pounding in his ears seemed to have calmed down. He timidly tested out his body’s strength and was able to move his arms and legs normally.
“How are you feeling?” The curtain surrounding the bed on all four sides opened, and the face of his wife popped in.
“Hm.. relatively okay.” Moving slowly, Sasuke rose off the bed. It felt like he still needed to not move around too much and to do so slowly, but he would recover before long.
The more pressing issue at hand is how this happened to Sasuke in the first place.
“Based on your symptoms, this was probably a type of poison that acts on action potential. It inhibits your chakra pathways and causes depolarization in your networks, leading to overexcitement of the nervous system. I wonder if this is a substance native to this land that your body isn’t resistant to.”
Sakura rolled up the sleeve on his right arm. She wiped down the crook of his elbow with an alcoholic swap, said, “This will sting,” as if to a child and pierced his skin with a needle.
“...Sakura,” watching his own blood fill up the syringe, Sasuke suddenly asked, “Why are you here? What of Sarada?”
“Iruka-sensei is looking after her. I came to inform you of a change in your mission.”
“A change in my mission?”
Currently, Naruto and the Nine Tails were suffering from an illness of unknown cause. According to the Nine Tails, the Rokudō Sennin once had the same illness. He apparently recovered from it while in Redaku. How he recovered and what methods were used was unclear. To that end, first Kakashi had infiltrated the capital of Redaku in order to find clues.
However, it took several days to reach the outskirts of Redaku. Without contact from Kakashi, Naruto’s condition had worsened by the minute. Most of the relevant literature in Konoha was written in ancient languages, and even with a team of specialists assembled, deciphering the contents was slow going. Apparently the Rokudō Sennin had a long stay at the “Astronomy Research Institute” with someone called “Jean Tartar” but they had not yet been able to glean more information than that.
If things continued at this rate, it would become too late to save Naruto. Without needing to hear anything else, Sasuke had dropped everything and headed to the Tartar Astronomy Research Institute alone. He wanted to find additional clues related to the Rokudō Sennin’s illness. And then soon after Sasuke departed, Sakura had followed him and also headed from the research institute.
“On my way here I got a hawk from Shikamaru. In the literature that Kakashi-sensei found in the capital, there was a description of the Rokudō Sennin’s illness. Here’s a copy of the relevant passages.” On the folded paper were the familiar characters of Shikamaru’s handwriting.
The Rokudō Sennin, after contracting a strange illness and traveling around the country of Redaku, met an astronomer named Tartar.
Though he underwent heavy treatment with Tartar, he did not get sick.
That night, Tartar found a meteorite fall to the ground in the heavens.
The Rokudō Sennin caught the meteorite in his right hand and split it in two.
The sparkle of the meteorite spilled onto the Rokudō Sennin. Suddenly, the Rokudō Sennin had a long-standing illness.
The meteorite that fell from the heavens has the power to open chakra endlessly. Tartar named the substance “Polar Particles” and it is the source of his power.
In addition, because there was conflict between people over his power, he hid half of the polar particles in “the sky descending to the ground” and the other half in “the start that travels without leaving”.
In this world, the polar particles sleep lined and protected by the stars.
If the Rokudō Sennin is sick, and there is someone who wants his power, it will come to his land.
A person who doesn’t know the whereabouts can use an astronomical illustration of the land of Redaku.
“If there’s someone with the same illness as the Rokudō Sennin, huh…” Sasuke whispered as he reread the last three lines.
The key to curing the illness were these “polar particles”. According to this literature, the Rokudō Sennin split the polar particles in two and hid half in “the sky descending to the ground” and the other half in “the star that travels without leaving”.
“The consensus between me and Shikamaru is that Naruto’s illness is a kind of chakra dysfunction caused by having a Jūbi in his body. And if this substance from the meteorite, what Tartar calls “polar particles,” has the power to cure the illness…”
“We have to get it.” Sasuke said quietly and Sakura nodded in response.
“So, the new mission is to search for this astronomical illustration and obtain the polar particles. First, we need to figure out what it is we’re searching for. A book, a picture, or perhaps something else entirely.”
“I accept this change in mission. But that’s not the reason you’re here.”
Sakura’s eyebrows wrinkled in dissatisfaction. “...Because I’m a shinobi. When necessary I leave the village.”
“It’s not worth the risk. Sending a message via hawk would’ve been fine.”
“I did, but the message wasn’t delivered. The hawk came back with the letter.”
“What?” This time it was Sasuke’s turn to frown. Such a thing might occur if it was a species of wild bird from somewhere random, but it was rare for this to happen to a hawk trained in the village from the time it was a chick.
“I’m not sure of the cause, but… I didn’t know how much time was left, so I decided to infiltrate this place as a doctor because I wanted to tell you this directly. And I can support you if I’m here.”
“That’s not necessary. Go back immediately. This place is dangerous.”
“Dangerous?” Sakura’s face grew serious. “Are you doubting me?”
“I don’t doubt your abilities. But I’m telling you that just having me here is enough. And… there’s something going on at this research institute. Dōjutsu is ineffective on both the Director and Menō.”
“Even more reason for me to be here. If you can’t solve a mission with your power alone, then you need a partner, don’t you?”
She had a point. When it came to battle prowess, there was no one stronger than Sasuke, other than the 7th Hokage himself, but this infiltration mission was closer to intelligence gathering. When you wanted to get information from someone who was resistant to dōjutsu, or when you wanted to get things done without hurting anyone or drawing attention—having friends was a great advantage in situations where you can’t get anything done by yourself.
“Also… the state of things here is terrible. People are collapsing from malnutrition and overexertion and no one thinks it’s a problem. I proposed an improvement plan to Direction Zansur, but no one listened to me. “No matter how many people die, you can quickly resuscitate them,” he said… the Director and the guards, they think of everyone like a workforce that can be replaced.”
“I said not to do anything dangerous. What will you do if you draw unwanted attention from the Director?”
“I’m a doctor. I’m obliged to look after the health of everyone here.” When it came to work, Sakura was resolute. It was Sasuke who gave in, letting out a sigh of resignation.
“...Okay. Do as you please. But don’t overdo it.”
“Of course.” Sakura smiled then looked back at her desk. “Alright then, for now I will send your blood sample to Konoha. And then, just in case, I’ll send a status update to Kakashi-sensei.”
“Aren’t hawks unable to contact people?”
“Look.” Sakura whistled, and then a small hawk flew into the center of the room. A red cloth, much like the ones prisoners wore when out after curfew, was tied around its neck. “I think the reason the hawks were returning to Konoha was because Menō was driving them away. It’s a strict rule to keep outsiders away. But with this cloth, they might not be considered intruders.”
Sasuke nodded in understanding. At that moment, someone knocked on the door. Consultation hours were already over. The two of them looked at each other, wondering what someone could want at this hour.
“Doc, you still awake?” came Jiji’s voice. His tone was softer than usual. Sakura nudged Sasuke’s shoulder to direct him back to the bed. The curtain closed around him, and he heard the sound of Jiji approaching.
“Hey, doc, are you here?” Realizing that his legs were visible from beneath the curtain, Sasuke raised them on top of the bed. At the same moment, Jiji’s silhouette appeared on the curtain.
“...Ah, hey, you’re here.”
“Jiji. What’s wrong? At this time of night.” Sakura pretended to be calm and listened.
“Look at this. I hurt myself yesterday during work. It hurt so much that I couldn’t sleep, so I got permission from the guards to come here.”
“Sit here. What is your prisoner number?”
“544.”
The sound of a pen scratching against paper, likely Sakura writing up a medical report for Jiji. A medical examination would probably take a while, so Sasuke made himself comfortable on the bed and prepared to wait until Jiji left.
“Doc, do you smoke? That’s the number one painkiller, you know.”
“That is not true. What kind of doctor’s office do you think this is?”
“If you gave me a smoke, I’d be able to do anything. You really don’t have any? It’s totally okay if you do smoke.”
“I’m going to disinfect you then prick you with a syringe.” Sakura grabbed Jiji’s arm and rolled up his sleeve past his elbow. Sasuke could not see them, but was able to make things out based on the shadows on the curtain. Listening to Jiji’s word and seeing the way he was acting, it was obvious that “he was hurting so much he couldn’t sleep” was just an excuse. In reality, Jiji came here with ulterior motives.
From the other side of the curtain, Jiji continued on about wanting painkillers and feeling feverish, while Sakura danced around this in stride and continued on with the medical treatment.
“Hey, you’re not like other people here.”
“What makes you say so?”
“Your name, and your hair color. This is the first time I’ve seen pink hair. It’s pretty.” Sasuke watched as Jiji’s hand reached out for Sakura’s hair, and unable to hold himself back, seized his wrist from behind and stopped him. Sakura made a face of resignation.
“...Huh?” Seeing his roommate suddenly appear, Jiji’s eyes widened in surprise. “Sasuke, you’re here? What’re you doing here?”
“I could ask you the same. Why did you come here?”
“I came to get treatment for my injury. When I got hit it hurt. The bleeding stopped, but it still tingles.”
He’s lying.
“If the wound festers it’ll be painful, so drink this.” Sakura handed a small cup filled with green liquid to Jiji.
“What’s this?”
“A medicinal herb soup. It has good antibacterial properties.”
“Ugh, it smells horrible. If you want me to drink something that kills bacteria, alcohol is fine…”
“This is in answer to your earlier question, Jiji, but this doctor here is my wife.”
Jiji had just brought the cup up to his mouth to drink and started to cough it up. While wiping up the spilled soup, his eyes flicked back and forth between Sasuke and Sakura’s faces. “Really? You said wife, so that means you’re married to this doctor? Really? What? You—Sasuke, you’re married?”
“I never said I was single.”
“Yeah, but a guy like you? Probably single.”
What kind of prejudice is this…
“Eh, but why is your wife working as a doctor in this place?”
“I came to see Sasuke-kun.” Sakura lied. “Unlike a prison, there is no visitation system in place here. But I wanted to see Sasuke-kun no matter what, so I got hired as a doctor.”
“Huh, is that so.”
“Don’t be so surprised.” Sasuke turned his gaze to Jiji, who looked convinced.
“Why would I be surprised?” Jiji looked at Sasuke mysteriously. “It’s normal behavior. Married couples are always together.”
*************
“Jiji. Keep the fact that Sakura is my wife secret from the other prisoners.”
Departing from the doctor’s office, the two of them walked down a long corridor. Sasuke seized Jiji’s wrist in his. Wrapped around his wrist was a red cloth he had received from Sakura.
“I know. If people find out that she’s your family, she won’t be able to stay here… still, I can’t believe you’re actually married. You should say that kind of thing sooner.”
“You didn’t ask.”
“The subject was brought up, surely.” He interacted with his cellmates on a daily basis, so the subject was brought up more than once. Of course lovers and marriage was the topic of conversation a few times, but since he was undercover on an infiltration mission, he had always excused himself from the conversation.
“Jiji. You’re engaged to someone, aren’t you?”
At Sasuke’s words Jiji smirked in delight. “Yeah. Right now they’re working in Redaku’s capital. When that’s finished, we’re going to get married.”
Sasuke’s gaze fell to his feet. The carpet was dyed white from the bright moonlight shining through from the windows.
Married couples are always together.
Jiji’s words rang through his head. For Sasuke, someone who was often away from the village on long term missions, they were not words that came easily.
“Jiji. Do you think that married couples should be together?”
“Yeah, that’s right.” An immediate answer. “The doc, she came all the way here, to such a godforsaken place, because she wanted to be with you, right?”
“No… I don’t know. It’s because I’m usually away from home.”
“How long are you away from home for?”
“For long periods. There are times when I don’t return home for many years.”
“Really?!” Jiji’s voice was raised in shock. “Many years, at that point you can’t complain if your partner up and leaves, huh?”
“...Why would that happen?”
“Why wouldn’t it?”
Sasuke turned to level Jiji with a serious look, but his cellmate met his gaze with an equally serious one, not backing down.
“It wasn’t a one-sided decision. Sakura is needed within our hometown, and I was requested to work outside the country, so there was nothing that could be done. That’s it. We exchange letters.”
“Yeah, but, even with that… don’t you think that when you’re gone, there are bad guys like me who will do unsavory things? In your country, do you wear rings?” Jiji continued staring at Sasuke, a worried look on his face. “Married couples should always be together.”
Sasuke really didn’t understand what Jiji was saying.
Sakura was family. No matter where they were, that wouldn’t change, he thought. He’d never heard anyone say that if you separated over a certain number of kilometers, you were no longer family. Even when he’d held a deep hatred for Itachi, he was still his older brother. To Sasuke, Sakura is family and his life partner. Even if they don’t share blood, even if they couldn’t see each other every day, that would never change.
That’s how Sasuke felt, but it was troublesome to translate that into language and explain it to Jiji, and it wasn’t in his nature to do so anyway. Instead he said, “I see,” and changed the subject.
“Have you heard anything about an ‘astronomical illustration’?”
“Astronomical illustration?” Jiji repeated and leaned over. “I don’t know. Based on the name it sounds like an astronomy resource of some kind? You should try asking Penzira.”
“Why should I ask him?”
Jiji blinked in surprise. “Um, because it’s Penzira. He’s in charge of the archives.”
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wednesday
3.3.21
Good things come to those who wait, they said. But he always believed that to be bullshit. Especially tonight, when they’d been made to wait what felt like an interminable amount of time to get into the club. They’d attempted the VIP entrance at first, cut past the long snaking line of patrons right up to the bouncers, the girl with the clipboard and list in her hand. They were on the list, Joe said. Had to be. If not, there was some mistake. Joe had promised Tyson that he’d sorted it all out with Jordan and the label and that he’d put them all down on the list. But no, they were not on any list.
Great. To the end of the endless line and wait it would have to be, even though it was between eleven and midnight, the party well under way, music leaking from inside, the people outside antsy and anxious. It wasn’t the most ideal start to the night. In fact, it was a pretty shitty one, and frustrated, he burned cigarette after cigarette as they waited in this bullshit line. Sasha said something, to the effect of it being alright, to the effect of not minding the wait, but it pissed him off even more. He shouldn’t have left that shit up to Joe. Of course he would fuck it up. More frustration when a car with tinted windows pulled up, and security opened the door for some couple, the bouncers immediately parting ways to let them pass. Fucking celebrities. Of course they got that treatment anywhere and everywhere, and it was just horseshit. Just like standing in this line was.
He wasn’t sure how long they stood in that line, but the better part of an hour, it certainly was. Then finally — to the front. Tickets bought, hands stamped, and they were in, still in the hall in between the coat rack room and the long passageway into the interior of the place when the blaring music made the floor shift underfoot already. Then the nightclub proper, which probably put scenes in science fiction movies to shame. Drinks were bought in quick succession, and Joe pulled out a small baggie he’d brought with him. Tiny, pale blue heart shape pills were passed around, one each, and that was the beginning of it. At first, nothing, or rather, gradual bits of something as they got used to the noise, the pounding beat, the crowd, the assault on all senses that Sound brought to them. And then gradually, bit by bit, he felt himself mould and become a part of it.
Now this was more like it. All the way around. The shitty night at Dungeon left miles and miles behind, both the way it had unfolded and carried on, full of disappointments. There were no disappointments here, in any sense of the word. Sound felt at once endless and cavernous, and yet tight and claustrophobic in the best sense of the words possible. People dancing shoulder to shoulder, sweating, each on some different combination of drugs but the main drug of all here, the music affecting them all to bounce in unison. He liked that. He sure liked that, indeed.
Most of all though, he liked who he was with.
There was no illusion here, no pretense, just him, her, the crowd, Joe, his girl, and a girl named Molly gracing them all with visions that made everything ten, twenty, a hundred times better than they were. The beat wormed its way right into his heart, and when he closed his eyes even for a second, that second lasted off into an eternity and carried him on chrome wings into another kingdom not accessible to humans here on earth. Holy shit. He’d missed these kinds of nights, they’d become far and few in between and the last one he really remembers could have been years ago. But here it was again, that feeling. And with it, his feelings.
Time and memory warped into a tunnel that travelled at lightspeed, and he wasn’t sure what happened when, or in which succession. But he does remember a blur of hands, lips meeting, bodies colliding, his and hers, dipping into corners dark and unknown, then making their way back out of them. Laughing, too loud, the laughter lost among the spirits, the lights, the vortex of spinning figures, the ceiling shifting and throbbing and thrumming right above them, flipping and reversing. It was the nicest and best trip he’d had in a long time, and what could he chalk it up to? The right company? The right drug? The right night and the right music? The right state of mind?
For once, he didn’t think of any of the shit he shouldn’t think about. All those things he shoved into the closet in the back of his mind that had the tendency to spill out every now and then. Fuck all those things, he’d set a torch to that closet as soon as he was sober again come next morning, evening, whenever he slept off this molly and high and good feeling. He’d make a fresh start, become a new person. Focus on nothing but himself, and his skill, and the things he wanted to get out of his life.
Which — he wasn’t entirely sure what those were. But he’d be damned if it didn’t include this girl right here in that vision because fuck it, whether he could deny it or not, he sure felt some type of way. Maybe the molly would flush out this feeling tomorrow, but here it was, right now, staring him in the face, or somewhere between brain and heart because his eyes were closed, screwed shut tight and his lips too busy kissing her again, hands on her face, some question mark in the back of his head concerning Joe, but whatever. Joe could know, anyone could know, and he wouldn’t care.
He wasn’t sure how one night could stretch into an eternity, but this one does. There’s drinks, because of course there are, far be it for them to satisfy themselves with a single pill, so there’s drinks on drinks on top of more drinks which at some point are abandoned for the chaos of the dancefloor. And he’s not sure what’s making his heart spike up this fast, if it’s the molly or the liquor or this music that’s relentless at 400 beats per minute, or his heart going 400 beats per minute. Feel my heart, he says and puts her hand to his chest, to let her feel it pounding like some sick unnatural thing, the kid he was taking delight in this anomaly the drugs are causing. A scary good feeling Then there’s a point where he’s not dancing anymore, too wet, sweat dripping from forehead face and every pore and he needs a minute. Wandering off.
There’s a long stretch of black leather couch he finds and falls onto, stretches the whole length of. That’s a bad idea because vertically, things were going whack, but in this state? It’s all spinning. He might as well be George Clooney strapped in a spaceship hurtling towards the sun like in that one movie. There’s a pair of legs he spots upside down, long blonde hair and a huge pair of tits shoved in his face, some girl looking at him funny and saying words. He realizes it could be concern she’s voicing. In retrospect he doesn’t remember what he told her, but it’s some version of I’m okay, and off she goes again. A part of him wonders if he’s made a mistake because what if he’d just sent Pamela Anderson packing? But it’s 2029 and not 1999, so surely it cannot be that. Eventually someone else drifts into his line of sight from the crowd on the dancefloor several steps below, and it’s the face he wants to see. Hey, he says, and it’s like seeing Sasha sets the world right side up again and he sits up, completely fine, better than fine, on the right side of coasting his high again.
He’s not sure how long they sit on that leather couch but it leaves a deep imprint long after they’ve gotten up. There was a conversation left behind there that he doesn’t remember now, not sure what kind it could’ve been when half of it was probably shouted. But he remembers it making him happy. Maybe he made plans with her again. Plans to go to the moon together sometime. To Mars. Now that’d be something. They’d probably fit there, on Mars, more than they do here on Earth.
Eventually 5 in the morning rolls around, and they’ve stayed until the house lights are thrown up, bright and jarring, lightbulbs to fry bug specimens under. The patrons file out into the night, into cabs, into Ubers, and disappear. The gang reunites, him and Joe and Joe’s girl Leanne and Sasha. A couple of steps from the club is an alleyway. They stand there and Leanne pulls out a lighter to light herself and Tyson a cigarette. They talk about the night. Unbeknownst to either, they’re standing next to a ‘This Alley Is Private Property. No Trespassing’ sign. Joe points it out. Finds it amusing. They take a picture next to it, mill about, and move on. Four shadows walking a street where their shadows keep shortening, the sun coming up.
Sun’s rising now and they’ve walked a block. The pavement turns black and full of glitter and stars, and they’re on Hollywood Boulevard. Too far out from Grauman’s to actually work out who anybody on the stars is, just names that mean nothing, names he’s seen before and hasn’t ever been impressed with. They spot a Joe Garcia, and Joe squats for a photo next to it, his foot covering the last name — just the Joe part, throwing up peace signs. More idiot photo opportunities, sure, why not. There’s a 24/7, hole in the wall fast food spot open with no line by it so he lets people who are hungry get whatever they want. Leanne orders fries. Tyson wants nothing, leans up against a wall and smokes another cigarette while this all happens, talks to a homeless man sitting not several feet away, some words exchanged about baseball. He’s from up north so he’s a Giants fan. Tyson says fuck you, the Dodgers are superior, but still slips him a five dollar bill as their Uber is pulling up.
And then they’re in an Uber headed home — home being Dom’s and Silverwood Terrace. Coming out of the high with every passing moment, but the remnants of the drug still littering his system. There’s minimal traffic in these between-hours of the morning, so in less than fifteen minutes, they’re all pulling up to Dom’s. And here it finally is, the grand tour he’d promised her so long ago, though Tyson not entirely in the state to give it to her currently. Not that it matters.
Uncharacteristically quiet, the house is. Asleep, that’s where Dom is probably and Marlon’s away, so Joe and his girl and Tyson and Sasha almost have the entire house to themselves. They’re not exactly quiet coming in, but they’re not the loudest, either. Jackets are tossed onto couches, the kitchen is beelined for, water poured into glasses and passed around, the fridge raided. He gives Sasha options, gives himself options, where they can go, what they could do. There’s the pool — he points it out, the very same one he’d jumped off of the ramp into (the ramp long destroyed and turned into firewood for an impromptu bonfire that nearly turned into an actual fire).
Plans are made for the house tour to happen tomorrow — or later today, seeing as it’s somewhere around or past 6 in the morning. He hopes she’ll stay, that she won’t have to run off to work, that dreaded work, hopes that she could stay all day and the following night too, but she only said she had tonight off, didn’t she? Not two nights. The less he thinks about that the better, like acknowledging a very real hourglass counting down their hours and minutes together until time’s up, until the hourglass can reset again because living on borrowed time, someone else’s time, really is tiring.
But he doesn’t mention that, instead it’s upstairs in a manner both quiet and unlike him coming home from a party usually, but hey, Dom’s asleep in the master bedroom and if that crackhead wakes up to barrage them with questions about the party, he wasn’t sure he was in the right state for that. Instead, he beelines to his room, a smaller one but cozy. He’s not sure what happens in this interval either, looking back on it when he wakes up late, late in the afternoon, that part too, hazy. But as usual all clothes are discarded, and limbs find themselves tangled in one another’s like some kind of default state. And nothing happens happens, not that he’s entirely sure, logic dictating there being nothing left, having danced every ounce of energy he’d had onto that dancefloor and left his heart and lungs there too, but he finds himself where he’s happiest again, in that corner street between her shoulder and neck, half suffocated by wispy pale hair, breathing it in with not a care in this world. The fadeout to the track of the night is now a slow hiss, a record scratch of the needle now that the song is over, and warmth, such warmth enveloping him before it all fades to black.
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Respite
Unwanting to rise before the morning sun, they talk in hushed voices and between lazy kisses.
From the series Affections Touching Across Time on Ao3. For more updates, follow the affections touching across time tag on this blog.
Decades upon decades of battle experience had taught Sesshomaru the necessity of maintaining awareness even while resting. There was no telling when an enemy would show their face. Preparedness, the difference between life and death, was always at the top of his priorities. He couldn’t spend time lazing about like his half-brother. Preparedness dictated purpose and purpose was maintained by action, discipline, and willpower.
It was before dawn’s first light that Sesshomaru awoke, fully intending to dress and prepare for the day’s tasks before his ever loyal retainer loudly crowed the morning news. Without opening his eyes, he could tell it was still early. If not for the lack of birdsong and quiets murmurings of the castle’s attendants milling about the halls, then the gentle even breaths from the one at his side. With a sigh, Sesshomaru opened his eyes and blinked away the thin haze of sleep clouding his vision from the sight of Rin.
Her soft dark hair, a thick shaggy swath of curled ends, fans out across the veritable mountain of pillows between them. A long lock of it caught between her parted lips, jaw slack and cheek pressed against her closed fist. Drool leading a thin trail from the corner of her mouth, and Sesshomaru thought her no less charming. With how animated Rin was in her waking moments, it was difficult to reconcile her with the slumbering spirit beside him.
However, their duties to the Western Lands and its people were exhausting. And for Rin, who was trusted and beloved, her time was spent talking fervently to all who welcomed her. Biased though he may be, Sesshomaru felt her title should have been the Heart of the Western Lands. Rin spared alms to the people and tended to their wounded and sick herself. She leant her hands to those in need of her and in Sesshomaru’s opinion, stretched herself thin. He couldn’t subject her to rising before the morning sun as he did.
She was deserving of every second of peace they could have in their quarters and then some. Propping himself up on his elbow, Sesshomaru stared down at her sleeping face for a moment longer before deciding he dallied enough. He’d scarcely begun to roll on his side when a soft touch at his hip stilled his movements. The faint presence growing bolder as nimble fingers massaged slow circles in the dip where Sesshomaru’s thigh met his groin. Discipline wavered briefly as a warm palm pressed to his hip and with fingers anchored, gently pulled to coax him into lying on his back.
He could have resisted the touch. That much was obvious. But as Sesshomaru settled on his back and turned his head, sleep-hazed brown ensnared him.
“Sesshomaru,” Rin murmurs groggily, a smile tugging at the corners of her lips when he brushed a clawed thumb beneath her eye. Despite the roughness of her sound, she uttered his name with a saccharine warmth. “Where are you going?”
Nowhere, his addled mind replied traitorously, he would stay here and rest for a bit longer with her at his side. His lips protested the desire, stating plainly and with hidden reluctance, “The training yard.”
Rin rolled her eyes, trailing her fingers across the line of his hips as she pressed closer to him. Her body was warm and soft, fitting perfectly against his side with bare skin inviting to touch and caress.
“The sky isn’t awake yet….” Rin protested.
A familiar excuse if Sesshomaru had ever heard one. “And yet I am,” he said with an upward tug to the corners of his lips.
This time, Rin keep this gaze before she rolled her eyes affectionately. “For some unearthly reason,” she said, pausing with a jaw-cracking yawn before settling with her head tucked to the crook of his neck and shoulder. “Lay with me.”
Sesshomaru cursed inwardly. Temptation was there, and he fought to resist it. Tipping his head away as he caught the scent of honey and wildflowers from the top of her head. Her arm loosely wound at his waist, deft fingers languidly tracing shapes and letters at his back. Their bedding, cozy and warm, held his weight easily and the window’s height gave a clear view of the lightening sky. It would have been nice to bask in one of the sunrises Rin was fond of telling him about. To watch as warm sunlight filtered through the curtains, a stripe of gold painted across her back, haloing here in a dreamlike mi—
“Rin,” Sesshomaru managed to say, cutting himself off in thought before he could dwell any longer. His voice lacking in its usual firmness and from the slight toothy grin she gave him as she propped herself up with her hand against his chest, she knew.
They kept one another’s gaze, a battle of wills that would end in one way or another. Unfairly, Rin leant closer until their lips almost brushed. “Sesshomaru,” she whispered softly and he felt her smile against his lips when he leant forward to catch her own.
It lasts for a brief moment before he hears Rin’s discontent grumble. Bitterness from the previous night’s sleep, along with the lingering taste of stale honey on her tongue, making her nose wrinkle as they broke apart with eyes locked.
“That was a mistake,” Rin huffed, covering her mouth with a hand.
Sesshomaru quirked a brow, inclining his head. “My breath or yours.”
“Yes,” Rin said, easing back the blankets and climbing over him. A firm hand pressed to his chest when she straddled his waist, eyes narrowing challengingly. “Stay here.”
Sesshomaru raised his hands and reclined into their pillows, watching her mill about their bedroom before disappearing into the adjacent bath. Returning shortly after with a few mint leaves, and a glass of lukewarm water, setting the latter aside and handing two of the former to him.
“Here,” she said, sitting down at their bedside and setting the mint leaves between her lips. Waiting until he’d had the water himself to take a sip of her own.
It wasn’t until after they’d both cleaned and the glass was empty that Rin slipped back to his side and the chill was replaced with her warmth. Her hand cupped his cheek as her thumb leisurely traced the marks beneath his eyes. His eyelids drifting shut as her lips found their way from the curve of his jaw to his lips unhurriedly. Mint was fresh between them, sharp and poignant, but pleasantly warm. Sesshomaru was content to press his hand to her lower back and tangle his fingers in her messy hair, until they parted with Rin’s easy-going smile pressed to his lips and a smaller fainter one curving his own.
“Spirits, why do you have me up so early?” Rin sighed, tucking her arms around Sesshomaru’s waist and nestling her head beneath his chin.
Sesshomaru snorted, not minding her weight as she shifted to lie over him. “I did nothing,” he protested, narrowing his eyes at the ceiling before glancing down at her in disbelief as she settled with a sigh. “Am I to be your pillow now?”
Rin hummed pleasantly. “Such is fate.”
Unbelievable, Sesshomaru thought. Although, he should have known letting his guard down around her would end in nothing but this. He could hardly complain but he could stay awake until Rin inevitable dropped back into sleep. Reminding himself of how hard she’d been working, he decided he could permit this. It wasn’t as if she asked him for many things at all.
“Sleep…” Rin drawled, her voice quieter but no less aware.
Sesshomaru drew the blankets over her back, settling them at her shoulder before laying his hand against the back of her head, smiling faintly as she melted when his fingers rubbed slow circles against her scalp. “We’ve things to do today, Rin.”
“Yes,” She agreed, and Sesshomaru was struck with an intense deja vu until she added. “When the sky is awake.”
Of course, he thought, continuing his ministrations until she sighed with exasperated fondness, propping her chin against his chest and gazing at him with barely open eyes.
“If you truly want to start, there’s a pile of requests you can read through while I sleep.”
Sesshomaru arched a brow then glanced over as Rin inclined her head toward their bedside table where the empty glass sat alongside an almost menacing pile of scrolls and bark-bound journals undoubtedly filled with accounts for him to assess. He would have preferred the training yard to this or even the wilds beyond the castle walls. Glancing down at the top of Rin’s head, his eyes softened.
Sleep with her wouldn’t have been such a terrible thing either.
Her hair obscured most of her face from view but after a few gentle sweeps behind her ear, he could see her dozing without a care in the world.
With a small sigh, the illusion was broken, Rin opening her eyes and glancing up at him before allowing them to close. “Changed your mind?”
Sesshomaru smiled faintly then settled with his arm behind his head and the other round her shoulders. “Mm…” he muttered, allowing himself to drift off.
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“Horsehead”
I’ve seen
The middle of five foot
Airtight walls and
I’ve told
The setting sun a joke
He laughed his head right off’
Horsehead
It’s never quite enough
I wanna breathe in
And never breathe back out
Horsehead
I’m never quite enough
I wanna breathe in
And never breathe back out
I sat
In a slump so my shadow
Sat slumped too
Then I laid among the
rocks and stones
Fuck it all
Horsehead
It’s never quite enough
I wanna breathe in
And never breathe back out
Horsehead
I’m never quite enough
I wanna breathe in
And never breathe back out
Wake up, throw it all away,
If nothing’s changed, nothing changes
Wake up, throw it all away,
Everything is nothing anyway
We’re each the rotten squall
At the center of it all
“Like Before you were Born”
the wind fans deadpan,
we plummet through the wake
well, that’s my last mistake
birds land then
stand and fly astray
they’d do that anyway
It’s just
Like before you were born
Through that peaceful moment to
like before you were born
I’m an old man
I tell the same old sun
“I get it, i’ve done it, i’m done.”
Cars breeze past
winding through the calm
I guess their lives go on
It’s just
Like before you were born
Through that peaceful moment to
like before you were born
“Skin Game”
one
afterthought
on a skin game
‘i took it as prescribed’
vow do no harm
buy the cure
but first you buy
the disease
I can see you’ve had some struggles lately
Hey man, i’ve had mine too
fighting to get through the door
But i can’t live like this anymore
they gave us
wings to fly
But then they
Took away the sky
Well, what you want?
‘Serve me’
Sell me to the spoon
I’m cashing in
falling out
tear me down
hang me up
strung out to please the King
in Metropolitan’s Sackler wing
I can
help you
it’s how i
help myself
I know you’ve had some struggles lately
You know i’ve had mine too
fighting to get through the door
But I can’t live like this anymore
They gave us
wings to fly
But then they
Took away the sky
I wanna be your doll
But i won’t be your dog anymore
You gave us
wings to fly
But then you
Took away the sky
sunken ceiling and a sideways grin
we lived to use and and we used to live
crack a
window
get some
life in you
holding in coughs, hiding my head
“everybody respects the dead”
I can
help you
it’s how i
help myself
sunken ceiling and a sideways grin
we lived to use, we used to live
crack a
window
get some
life in me
“Between Tides”
On and on, the clock was wrong
‘You’ve been numb so long’
His words they lapped an endless rote
‘It’s gonna rain, build a boat’
On masterstrokes of ebb and flow
Down the drain the current flows
All along the alpenglow
It seems my pain was self-imposed
I’m just waiting for the storm to die out
I’m just waiting for the storm to die
On and on, in memory
You’ll have my company
Mountainbuilding, anodynes
Both in handfuls at a time
I asked the trees why they grow
they said it’s all we know
I apologize to all i see
For everything i used to be
on and on, the clock was slow
Down the drain, we surely know
How to drink the oceans up?
‘Better start with a cup.’
I’m just waiting for the storm to die out
I’m just waiting for the storm to die
“Taker”
You watched my lips make
the promise i betrayed
the years i lived in vain
chasing the pain with pain
Stand down
There’s oil in my name
my tongue flickers like a wilting flame
Lay it all out
the path of wreckage that i cut
all in want of what?
Who were you to believe?
Your lying eyes or me?
‘I won’t let them tie to you
The shit i put you through’
Stand down
There’s oil in my name
my tongue flickers like a wilting flame
Lay it out
the path of wreckage that i cut
all in want of what?
“For the guilty”
love, revenge,
love, redemption
Rise and fall,
start and stall
cash and prizes
You heard them say
Are for the guilty
And stay that way
But how are you today?
Curtained in with arms outspread
I was a stranger in our bed
Shut away and getting thin
I was a stranger in my skin
Old friends
Consequences
Forgive yourself
Starting now
No matter how
Things may change
Don’t turn away
you’re present now
But the past is in your blood
I’ve been
Curtained in with arms outspread
I was a stranger in our bed
Shut away and getting thin
I was a stranger in my skin
Curtained in with arms outspread
I was a stranger in our bed
Shut away and getting thin
We were both strangers in our skin
“The Spark”
Sit at the foot of my bed
She said like a ghost
Watch a boat
in a cove
Lose hope, who knows?
Here there’s a shadow
A girl in the shade
Wants to find someone
So what, who knows?
In our past
we were such a mess
We did our best only
Time will tell
it’s our past
It’s a wreck
We do our best and
the spark will glow
Sit at the foot of my bed
She said like a ghost
Watch a boat
in a cove
Lose hope, who knows?
As summer fades,
waves carry
your soft knowing gaze
Marigolds in a row
So what, who knows?
In our past
we were such a mess
We did our best only
Time will tell
it’s our past
It’s a wreck
We do our best and
the spark will glow
Letting go, the lines we tow
Surrender what we think we know
Letting go, the lines we tow
tending to the spark up close
Letting go, the lines we tow
Patience pulls the spark up close
‘Lorelei’
dog-star, ram, and pomegranate
fox swam and swans descant
Entranced
In an awful dance
for Lorelei
Pine box or mantle top
circe’s humdrum song
Is pleading for help at my
overcoat of clay
forget my youthful sins,
Lay waste to my transgressions
scream that melody in vain
my lorelei
“Blankenship”
armageddon is a product
And one we choose to buy
Dwell on that for a moment
With Paradise on fire
I guess it’s all the way,
Blankenship
Children lead the cry
You sold them all away,
Blankenship
With thirty years of lies
Who sold us the dominion
over swine that smell their knife
The vicious creature thin and dying
On a scrap of melting ice
The earth is ownerless
Blankenship
Children lead the cry
You sold them all away,
Blankenship
With thirty years of lies
I should have treated you better
Blankenship
the lives you weaponize
You sold them all away
Blankenship
With silver-plated eyes
Think of your sons and daughters
Laid in ashen water
Sirens louder and louder
‘destroy those
who destroy the earth’
“Acheron”
This heart-pounding day has finally arrived
All my living footfalls sigh like the night,
outside the war between illusion and truth
I found wisdom lain among putrid fruit of
Desperation, cold wild gift of youth
Urgent and dead-eyed
Hate the god
i don’t believe in
Heaven’s just a part of hell
Hate the one
Who wouldn’t save us
Shikata ga nai
In the blue mist death has finally closed in
All my gasping words at war with the wind
Worshipping the fear of hell left me lost
i’ve found something for us, souls who have crossed
Charon’s torrent cold spiked black with frost
ashen and dead-eyed
Hate the god
i don’t believe in
Heaven’s just a part of hell
Hate the one
Who wouldn’t save us
Shikata ga nai
Nothing can be done
I’m no one
He’s my blood
Reflected in mud
Leave my body
Among the poppies
I’m nailed to your flaws
You were my god
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DIY Wedding Decor Ideas to Wow Your Guests
Bikes + Blooms
Add a touch of whimsy to the entrance of your venue by nestling a bucket of overflowing seasonal blooms and lush seeded and silver eucalyptus bunches down into the basket of a vintage bicycle.
Reclaimed Runner
Bring texture and height to long dining tables with a rustic, reclaimed wood runner. Above, a piece of aged wood runs the length of the table and offers the understated arrangements and dainty votive candle holders a boost to give the illusion of a grander, more elegant display. Bonus? The reclaimed runner sports a rough texture that contrasts against the velvety white blooms and brings dimension and interest to each table.
Understated Ambiance With Hurricane Lamps
Pull off a sleek, minimalist-style table design with a mix of ultra-sleek glass hurricanes, glowing white candles and rustic greenery vines. Incorporate glass hurricanes in various heights to add drama and dimension to your centerpiece display. Pro tip: Ground your tablescape with a simple white table runner, providing a crisp, clean canvas that allows your lush greenery to shine.
Geometric Table Runner
If flowers aren’t your thing, go for a cool, modern tablescape that’s totally unexpected. This 3-D table runner will have guests gushing all night. You’ll be proud to say, “Actually, I made it myself!”
MAKE IT
Hand-Lettered Signs
Communicate with your guests by crafting personalized signs to spread throughout your reception. Not only will your hand-lettered signs pretty up the space, but they’ll also help the night flow smoothly.
MAKE IT: Hand-Lettered Wedding Sign
Vintage Charm
Give your tablescape a touch of old-school charm by creating place settings using mix-and-match, thrifted vintage dishes. Add color with a simple white tea cup filled with an abundance of vibrant, fresh-cut seasonal blooms. We especially love this approach for casual, al fresco receptions in the spring or intimate celebrations with friends and family.
Cool + Custom Touch
Keep guests cool and comfortable throughout your outdoor ceremony by crafting pretty, practical fans for each seat. Shop basic white paper fans online, then use vibrant paint to create a custom design that mirrors your wedding theme and color palette. This whimsical design sports hand-lettered names wrapped in a bold, fuchsia floral border. A pale pink tassel is secured at the base to give the fan a luxe, bohemian look that guests are sure to admire.
Wine Cork Bar Sign
In the midst of wedding planning stress, you probably don’t need a reason to drink wine, but here’s a reason to save the corks. Trace out the word you want to spell on craft paper, and hot glue your corks together using that template.
MAKE IT: How to Use Wine Corks To Make Monogram Letters
Silk Flower Wreath
This project is ideal for the DIY bride because you can get started months before the chaotic wedding week arrives. The best part? The silk flowers look so real that guests won’t know they aren’t. Hang these gorgeous wreaths as a ceremony backdrop, or display them at the reception.
MAKE IT
Clipboard Decor
Take uninspiring office supplies from bland to glam by coating the metal pieces of a clipboard in liquid gold leaf. While waiting for the paint to dry, print this free, downloadable quote art onto cardstock, then snip a few stems of seeded eucalyptus greenery. Assemble it all to create gorgeous signage for the gift table, bar or any other spot that could use a pop of prettiness.
Wax Paper Backdrop
Soft and airy, this wedding backdrop definitely doesn’t look homemade. Lucky for you, it is, and you can recreate it with string, ribbon and wax paper. MAKE IT
Say Cheese
No wedding is complete without a fun photo booth station. Grab your pals and snap some pics with this trendy DIY prop. Don’t forget to use the wedding hashtag when posting on social media.
MAKE IT: DIY Balloon Photo Booth
Home-Grown Centerpieces
If the idea of spending hundreds (okay, thousands) on custom floral centerpieces is nauseating to you, you’re not alone. Skip the florals and invest your bloom budget on a collection of pretty, potted shrubs and aged concrete planters that you can bring home and enjoy long after the reception ends. Sprinkle modern glass hurricanes and crisp, white pillar candles throughout the table to soften the centerpiece and create a cozy ambiance throughout the night.
Wire-Wrapped Signs
If you’re looking for a DIY that’s quick, easy and inexpensive, this one’s for you. Grab some copper wire and start bending. These stylish signs provide an adorably effective way to save your seats all night. MAKE IT
High-Dollar Doilies
Dollar store doilies may not be the first things that come to mind when you think chic, but they can be. When paired with gold candlesticks and some greenery, this table runner looks like a high-dollar display.
Upcycled Napkins
Instead of renting fancy custom napkins for a hefty chunk of change, buy plain white ones in bulk and personalize them with your monogram.
Pretty Hydrangea Globe
Also known as a kissing ball, this floating floral sphere can be used many ways. It can be hung indoors or out — from a ceiling beam or a tree branch — as part of your ceremony backdrop or reception tablescapes or carried down the aisle by bridesmaids or flower girls. You’ll need real or faux hydrangeas, a floral sphere and twine for this project. MAKE IT
Monogram Cornhole Game
A personalized cornhole game will keep wedding guests busy while waiting for the bride and groom to arrive. Use our step-by-step instructions to create a corn hole set for your big day and customize it with your marital surname initial and a paint job that coordinates with your wedding color palette.
MAKE IT: How to Build a Regulation Cornhole Set
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An eye for an eye.
(1- 1 of 3)
Anti screamed and sat up in his bed, clutching his throat. Another bad dream. He’d had been having more and more of them of late, and each night the felt more real, more detailed, more painful. This time he felt the hot breath of the knifed creature against his face, he felt his wrists being squeezed as he was pinned to the floor, he felt the icy gust of air that flowed around the slashing of the knife, and he felt the shock of the bade against the gullet of his neck.
But after a few deep breathes, and after letting his fingers feel the reality of his scratchy torn up bed sheets beneath him, Anti calmed himself down. He grabbed his blade from the table beside him and looked at himself through the reflection.
No. His throat wasn’t cut. It really was just a dream.
Since he was up and fully awake, he got out of bed, the broken frame of the bed squeaked like a mouse in pain as it was released of his weight. He stood up and stretched in the darkness of his room. There was no point opening the curtains of his window, as it led to an endless abyss of dark blue which would forever remain that way. The only light that shone in that room peek from under his door, casting a fan of faded green on the floor from it. Anti flopped his arms to his sides after straining them with a stretch. He picked up his knife and slipped it into his belt before opening the door and stepping out into the green corridor. He looked down one end of the endless corridor to the other endless end. He tilted his head as he listened closely.
Footsteps. Heavy boots. Boots of a full-grown male. He’s panicked. He’s already lost.
‘Back to work.’ Anti thought.
He turned and walked down one corridor, which began to bend and shift under his feet as it morphed itself to lead its master towards his prey.
Chase stopped to catch his breath, slumping against the wall as he did. He’d been running ever since he fell asleep. How long was this nightmare going to last this time? He was getting sick of it, tired of playing the same game every night. He was sure that soon, probably at some point tonight, he would snap.
With no time to gasp, Chase was suddenly hurled to the floor as a jolt of something burning hit him in the back. As he slowly recovered and opened his eyes, teasingly lying next to him was a man who looked just like him. He smiled and winked at him, his eyes flashed back as he did. Chase stumble to get up and hit him, but the doppelgänger vanished with a giggle.
Chase growled like an animal under his breath. “Stop this!” He yelled, “Just let me go!”
A voice, very much like his own but broken and unsteady, echoed up the walls around him. “You can’t go.” Anti giggled, “You wouldn’t leave your loved ones behind, would you? What kind of father would that make you?”
Then, somewhere deep down around a hundred corners somewhere, the voice of a young child called out Chase’s name. It was followed by the sound of light running footsteps, which Chase could lightly feel through the floor under his feet.
Chase resisted the urge to follow the sounds. “It’s not real. You promised you’d never touch them if I gave myself up for this.”
There was another childish giggle, but this one came from Anti. “You think I can keep promises?” he cooed with a small laugh, the lamp above where Chase was standing flickered with his chuckles. “You’re so easily fooled.”
Chase pulled out his gun and shot the light out, staggering as the hot glass landed on him. Angry at his own stupidity and angry that he was also stupid enough to think maybe Anti was inside the bulb, Chase raised the gun in the air and almost hurled it into the ground out of frustration, but also realising that also was a very stupid thing to do, he quickly put it back in his pocket, noticing there was only one bullet left in the chamber.
‘I’ll save that for the back of your skull, Anti.’ He thought to himself.
“Don’t count on it.” Anti responded.
Chase roared.
Anti shivered in the satisfaction Chase’s madness increasing with every breath he took. He tried to contain himself from laughing so much, as the smallest movement made and Chase would know where he was hiding in the wires of the lamps along the ceiling. Anti enjoyed being a small glitch in a wire; there was something comforting about being so small and observing something so big make a huge fool of itself for your entertainment.
There was another distant child’s voice from far off; it sounded worried and distressed, asking where daddy was, whimpering how sacred it was.
“Are you not going to find them?” Anti teased. Before Chase could answer Anti implied, “They could be real, they could be illusions. How would you know unless you can prove it yourself?” Anti appeared at Chase’s side, but Chase didn’t lash out; he was just staring at the wall, wide-eyed, frenzied, his right eye twitching slightly. Anti leaned closer so his lips almost brushed against Chase’s ear. He spat, “Prove it to me. Prove it to yourself.” He moved Chase’s hand to retrieve the gun from his pocket, and, almost blissfully unaware, Chase accepted and held the gun tightly in his hand. Anti disappeared to his secret place in the wires hanging over Chase’s head. The ring of children’s laughter, almost sounding like the same recorded laugh stuck in an endless loop, bounced around the walls and around the motionless gunman as he looked at the gun in his hand. Suddenly his head snapped to attention as he heard the familiar sound of his daughter call him. Then the sound of his son calling him. Chase smiled, and began to exhale short bursts of manic laughter.
“I’m coming, kids.” Chase called. He stormed towards the voices, the gun at the ready in his hands, and Anti eagerly stalking him along the wires.
Anti heard another distant echo of a childish giggle. This one was out of the usual key, and full of life. Well, nearly full of life; it didn’t sound like the laugh of a living human child. It sounded like the laugh of a dead child, not of a killed child however, but of a child who had never even been alive-
‘Salli?’ Anti thought suddenly, freezing himself on the spot. He shook his head. It was probably the daughter illusion. Maybe it suddenly found something to play with and instinctively laughed, as Anti had designed it to do so. Anti watched as Chase headed towards the laugh himself, whispering his daughter’s name under his breath before he began to sprint towards it. Anti crawled along the wires to catch up with the father as he was about to enter another maze of corners and dead ends Anti had planned ahead of him.
“Salli!” shouted a boy’s voice from a distance.
Anti’s glitched form screeched to a halt. Damien?
“Salli, where did you go?” Damien’s voice called out again, “We’re not supposed to be here. Let’s go home.”
Anti’s electric form shot hastily down the wires towards Damien’s voice before it burst the wires open and he rolled out onto the floor, picked himself up, and began to run. What the hell where they doing here? He told them millions of times before never to follow his to work! How long had they been here? What had they seen? Of all the times to show up, why now, just as Chase reaches hysteria. At hysteria, Chase becomes delusional, completely uncontrollable, driven but bloodlust to kill anything that’s not his wife or kids. If Salli or Damien bump into him in that state…
Anti picked up the pace, practically sprinting to get to Damien.
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The Snow Prince (Fic, TOZ, Sorey/Mikleo, Fairy Tale AU)
Title: The Snow Prince
Series: Tales of Zestiria
Pairing: Sorey/Mikleo
Summary:
Upon a beautiful day in late summer, Mikleo's heart is frozen by a terrible curse, and he is spirited away by a woman in dazzling winter white. Sorey sets out on a journey to save his one true love, and winds up making friends with half the continent along the way.
(A variation on The Snow Queen, written for the 2018 Chocomint Fairy Tale Compilation. With illustrations by Nami/defragmentise/@shamingcows!)
Link: AO3
This was written for the 2018 Chocomint Fairy Tale Compilation. @chocomint-srmk is a Sorey/Mikleo fan project!
The zine’s purchase period is now over, but you can check out some of the other fic and art from the zine in the links below. You might start seeing more of the Fairy Tale pieces go up now that the exclusivity period has ended!
Chocomint’s Tumblr: https://chocomint-srmk.tumblr.com/
Chocomint’s Twitter: https://twitter.com/chocomint_srmk
Read on Tumblr!
Once upon a time, there was a mirror, and the mirror came with a most terrible curse.
The mirror did not reflect, it only distorted. Even the loveliest of landscapes would show as a barren wasteland in its glass. A delicious feast would be shown as rotted, stinking refuse. Art that should properly stir the heart with exquisiteness would be transformed into something repulsive. It turned beauty to disgust, love to disdain. The stronger the feeling, the greater the deformation.
What kind of being would craft such a wretched artifact?
It was the work of a terrible spirit known as Symonne.
Symonne loathed the world and everything in it; from flora to fauna to humans and her fellow spirits. One can presume a fairly tragic event that caused her seething hatred, but her resulting behavior did not inspire sympathy. She was cruel and merciless, and tormented all living creatures that crossed her path, regardless of whether they had done a thing to deserve her ire. But this did not satisfy her thirst for terror, and she set her sights higher – most high. Symonne’s spirit magic allowed her to craft powerful illusions, and with this skill in her arsenal, she set forth in crafting her awful mirror. She poured every ounce of her magic into the mirror, and planned to carry it to the throne of Maotelus, the king of the spirits, to force him to look into its glass and behold the truth of his form.
However, the crafting of the mirror had exhausted Symonne’s strength, and while carrying the terrible thing to the heavenly palace, she dropped it. The mirror shattered into a thousand tiny shards, and the thousand tiny shards flew over the world to lodge in the hearts of humans. Symonne was furious, but when her raging calmed, she realized that this presented an altogether wonderful opportunity to terrorize the world that wronged her – on a scale that she had never achieved before.
This is what brings us to the matter of Sorey and Mikleo.
These two boys were friends from the cradle, and played and grew and learned together. Their hearts were as one, and their love for each other was a simple truth of the world – like the movement of the stars, or birdsong in the morning. This made them a perfect target of the wretched mirror, as it was an artifact that craved the distortion of everything right and true in the world. If it could destroy the love between these two kindred souls, it could surely shake the very foundations of the world.
Sorey and Mikleo were adventurers and scholars, and adored all things archaeological and natural, all things great and small, just as much as they adored each other. They would often race each other on the dirt-and-cobblestone path from their tiny town to the ruined castle in the nearby forest. This ancient stone castle was a beloved play spot of theirs, and over the years, they continued to explore and examine and study its crumbling walls and aging artwork. Sunlight shone through the cracks in the ceiling, and rainwater pooled in the ruined floors; blanketing the ground with a soft cushion of moss to nap and read upon. The very walls echoed with the sounds of their laughter and the warmth of their love.
One fateful day, Sorey and Mikleo were walking the path to their castle, with packs full of notebooks and sketchpads on their backs, and a picnic basket in Mikleo’s hand. It should have been a wonderful afternoon, full of happiness and joy. But a glint from the sky and a terrible whistling noise heralded the arrival of a mirror shard. The shard was thin and crystalline; too fine to be seen by the naked eye, and too sharp to be felt even as it pierced the skin. The shard pierced Mikleo’s chest, and his heart.
Mikleo fell to the ground, causing their picnic lunch to spill over the path. Sorey was at his side in less than a moment, carefully helping him to his feet and dusting the dirt from his clothing. Sorey’s own heart ached with sympathy at Mikleo’s bloody palms; scratched and cut from his tumble.
“Mikleo, are you okay?” asked Sorey. “Did you trip?”
Mikleo looked around them, at the apples and prepared sandwiches and treats that he had so carefully packed for their afternoon trip. His lip curled in revulsion.
“It’s okay,” Sorey assured him. “Five second rule, right? We can just pick out the grass and--”
Mikleo’s gaze finally fell on Sorey, and Sorey could hardly understand the disgust he saw there. Mikleo shoved Sorey’s comforting arms away, and stumbled backward, shaking his head.
“…Mikleo?” Sorey said quietly. He reached out to him, still. “Are you hurt? The castle still has the supplies we stashed there, let’s go in and get you bandaged up--”
“And just why,” Mikleo said with annoyance clear in his voice. “Would I want to traipse through that crumbling wreck with you?”
“Because it’s…fun?” Sorey offered helplessly.
Mikleo rolled his eyes and wandered off in a random direction, scowling at everything around him. Sorey scrambled after him.
“Mikleo! That’s not the way back to town--”
“I know,” Mikleo said irritably. He yanked his arm out of Sorey’s gentle grip. “Why would I want to go back?”
“Because…” Sorey grasped for words to try and describe the obvious. Why wouldn’t he? “Our families are there. And…and the harvest festival will be on soon, and then the merchants from the city will probably be by and we can buy more books with the money we’ve been saving up…”
Mikleo just shook his head at every word out of Sorey’s mouth, as it the very sound of his voice repulsed him. Sorey was at a loss. They’d fought before, but Mikleo wasn’t like this when he was upset with him. This was something different. Something terrible, and something that Sorey had no idea how to handle.
“…if you don’t want to go back to town, where do you want to go?” asked Sorey, finally. He would go with him, if Mikleo wanted to leave. He’d follow him anywhere. “Please. If you want to leave, let’s treat your hands, first, and get some supplies and money from home before we--”
“‘We’?” Mikleo repeated coldly. Blood dripped freely from the scrapes and cuts on his hands; dripped from his fingers to the grass beneath his feet. It looked so painful, and Sorey’s heart ached at the sight.
“Your hands,” Sorey said. “Can you at least let me help with them?”
Slowly, Mikleo looked to his sides. His arms were slack, and he seemed to be observing the sight of the blood with the same detached disgust as he now regarded everything else. He did not resist as Sorey touched his shoulder to guide him into the ruined castle; their special place. He did not resist.
The castle, their little home-away in the forest, was well-stocked with supplies that they had carried in from town over the years: food, medicine and bandages, blankets, and books. All things necessary for a happy home. Sorey washed and tended to Mikleo’s wounds, and was pained himself at his cruel silence. The water was fresh and clean, but it surely would sting such raw and deep cuts. Were the bandages too tight? Mikleo did not respond when asked. He did not even spare Sorey the flushing of his cheeks when Sorey leaned down to kiss his freshly-bandaged palms. He would only stare into the distance; his disdain such that he would not even look at the things that repulsed him so. Sorey despaired.
The supplies in their special place kept them in comfort for that night – Sorey did not dare to bring up the subject of heading back to town, lest Mikleo try to wander off by himself once more. However, before the morning sun broke the horizon, while there was still dew on the grass, Sorey awoke to a commotion outside. Panicked, he looked beside him – to find nothing. Mikleo was gone.
Sorey raced outside, to find a frozen world of dazzling white.
It was early autumn still, and the heat of summer still thrummed in the soil. It was far too early for frost in the mornings, or for Sorey to see his own heaving breath. But there it was – frozen grass, and puffs of mist, and a grand silver-white sleigh pulled by a team of silver-white reindeer. A woman in a snowflake crown and white robes was helping Mikleo up into the sleigh. Mikleo’s chestnut-brown hair had become frosted with white. It shimmered in the first rays of the morning.
“Mikleo!” Sorey called out, racing forward. “Mikleo, wait! Wherever you’re going, please, let me come with you--”
The woman turned her attention to Sorey as she settled in the front seat of the sleigh and picked up the reins. Hers was an expression of great pity, and with a wave of her hand, she summoned a herd of little snowflake-capped creatures to block Sorey’s path. Mikleo’s expression was completely blank as he quietly settled himself to lie down on the back seat of the sleigh – Sorey would have preferred his previous cruel disdain. He did not appear to hear Sorey at all, no matter how Sorey screamed his name.
The woman in white stole Mikleo away, and left behind a remnant of winter. Sorey wanted to race after the sleigh, but was stopped by the little creatures that surrounded him.
“Whoa there! Easy, buddy,” said one. “Don’t worry about your friend. Lailah will take good care of him.”
“Where did she take him!?” Sorey demanded, tears stinging his eyes. “Please, tell me – he’s hurt, and barely ate anything last night, and--”
“He’s hurt more than you know,” said another of the little creatures, solemnly. “Mistress Lailah has taken him in, and will do what she can to save him.”
Sorey’s stomach dropped out. “What happened to him? Please, tell me…”
The creatures murmured amongst themselves for a moment, peeping over their shoulders to make sure Sorey wasn’t eavesdropping. After their discussion, one of the creatures stepped forward to speak.
“A terrible curse is spreading throughout the world, and your friend was unlucky enough to get hit by it,” the creature said. “It’s a curse that…makes people hate everything good and beautiful in the world. Makes them cruel to the people they love. Miss Lailah’s been charged by Lord Maotelus to gather up the people who’ve been cursed, and take them away to try and break the curse before…”
The creature trailed off.
“Before what?” Sorey asked quietly.
But the creature was silent. The whole troupe of them joined hands in a circle, and began to dance. The summer snow swirled and blew into the air, blocking them from sight. When the air cleared, they were nowhere to be seen. Sorey rushed forward in a panic, and begged the empty clearing for answers.
“Please! Please, I’m begging you, tell me where she took him! I can help save him, I know I can!”
An answer rang out from the trees:
“Seek the mountains beyond Meirchio. Your Snow Prince awaits you there.”
And after that, there was silence.
Meirchio was the northernmost city of the land. Beyond it, there was nothing but impenetrable mountains and frozen lands. But if Mikleo had been spirited away there, if Mikleo’s life was in the balance, there was no other possible trajectory.
The compass of Sorey’s heart was pointing north, and he would follow it to the ends of the earth for Mikleo’s sake.
Sorey set out on his quest from his tiny home village that very evening, loaded with what supplies the town could spare, and the tears and well-wishes of his own family and Mikleo’s.
His mother provided him with warm-weather clothes: a scarf, thick gloves, and a warm woolen travelling cloak, with wool from their family’s own sheep. The love woven into it would surely keep the cold at bay, even in the forgotten, distant mountains beyond Meirchio.
Mikleo’s mother provided him with the money she had been keeping safe for them: the money that Sorey and Mikleo had been saving for the harvest festival that autumn. It pained Sorey to take it without Mikleo’s permission, just as it pained him to use it on fares and inn stays instead of the books and gadgets that he and Mikleo had dreamed and talked about all year. But coin was a necessary thing, when it came to the matter of adventuring and rescue.
And Mikleo’s uncle provided him with the gift of knowledge: a copy of his beloved encyclopedia, filled with maps, wisdom, and countless fond memories. Turning its pages, Sorey could recall any number of nights where it was just him and Mikleo under the covers; just them, a candle, and this book. They would read about the wide world beyond town and whisper and dream until dawn; curled around each other, two hearts as one.
Meirchio was a far trek, and it took Sorey a few nights’ worth of camping under the stars before he stumbled onto the first roadblock of his quest. The thicket of trees had looked like a lovely spot to settle in for the evening, and Sorey had done just that. However, when he was lighting a fire atop a pile of gathered sticks and fallen leaves, he heard a sneeze from the surrounding trees. He looked up to see a small girl there; bedecked in spring flowers and lace, and sporting a miserable scowl as she shivered. While it should have still been summer, ever since Sorey saw that mysterious woman and her sleigh, ever since Mikleo was stolen away, the weather had been…strange. Winter seemed to be seeping into everything overnight, and was becoming keener with each passing day. Sorey was warm in his cloak and scarf and gloves, but his guest was clearly suffering.
Sorey smiled and beckoned her close to the fire.
“Are you cold, miss? Please, come sit by the fire and I’ll make you a hot drink.”
The girl snorted, then sneezed again.
“C-c-cold? W-why would I want to accept drinks from a t-t-trespasser—ACHOO!”
Sorey blinked, then looked abashed.
“I’m so sorry. There are no towns or farms anywhere nearby – I thought this was un-owned land. I’m but a traveler, passing through on a mission to save someone I love. Please let me stay on your land for the evening.”
The girl, despite her scowl and dismissive words, had bundled herself up to the fire to get warm. She glared at Sorey, then huffed through her nose.
“You may address me as Lady Edna, human. And where is the drink you promised?”
Sorey prepared hot tea for his host, and presented it with a smile.
“Here you are. Lady Edna, are you a spirit? Have you heard any gossip of a mysterious woman stealing people away in her sleigh? Or word of what is causing this strange weather?”
“Yes to all three,” Edna said, snatching up the tea and warming her hands around it. Her shivering began to ease, which gladdened Sorey’s heart. “I suppose you want me to spill the beans on it, though.”
“If you have any information, any at all, please tell me,” Sorey said. “I have to find Mikleo before it’s too late. I’ll do anything.”
Edna eyed his warm clothing.
“…give me that scarf of yours. The gloves, too.”
“Of course,” said Sorey, already winding it from his neck.
Edna arched an eyebrow. “That’s it? Honestly. I was hoping for something more dramatic.”
Sorey blinked as he held out the scarf and gloves to her. “Hmm?”
“Normally when I make a trade with humans, there’s a lot more haggling involved. You could’ve argued me down to just the scarf, you know.”
Sorey tilted his head to the side, confused. “…but you’re cold, and need it more than I do.”
Edna eyed him suspiciously, and huffed again as she snatched up the offerings and put them on.
“Whatever. Don’t come crying to me when your fingers fall off in this weather.”
Edna took a deep drink of her tea, cleared her throat, and began to explain.
“That woman in the sleigh is Lailah, a spirit. She serves the Great Spirit, Maotelus, and does his dirty work for him. If she stole away your little boyfriend, then he was probably collateral damage in some drama at the big palace upstairs. Said drama is probably also to blame for this weather.”
Sorey’s heart twisted in worry. “Her little creatures said to go to the mountains beyond Meirchio to find Mikleo. Do you know what I’ll find there?”
Edna shook her cup at him, wordlessly demanding more tea before she spoke. Sorey obliged.
“The Killaraus Mountains. Home to a dazzling array of absolutely nothing at all. It used to be the seat of the heavenly palace until they moved it to somewhere more hospitable, so Lailah and her irritating little normins might have your boyfriend locked up in the old ruins somewhere.”
Sorey smiled happily and bowed low to Edna in thanks. He had so much more to go on now – he had evidence that Mikleo was being taken care of, and would remain so until Sorey reached him. It renewed his hope that he’d be able to reach Mikleo and save him.
“Aren’t you going to beg me to teleport you there with a snap of my fingers?” Edna drawled. “Whine at me for a map? Try to threaten more information out of me?”
“Do you have a map? Or – the finger thing?” asked Sorey, curiously.
“No,” Edna said. “But I don’t know what you humans think we’re capable of, anymore. I know what your kind is capable of, though, so you’ll excuse me if I keep some information to myself.”
Sorey nodded in understanding. He bundled his cloak tightly around himself – he was already feeling the chill from the loss of his scarf and gloves. His money was carefully rationed, but perhaps he could find some inexpensive replacements when he next encountered a town. He knew he was careless, and foolish, but he was not so inexperienced to run full-tilt into the icy mountains without protection.
He was quite tired, and his eyes were heavy. He closed them, just for a moment; just so he could conjure up the image of Mikleo’s sparkling eyes and smiling mouth beyond his lids.
“Sorey,” dream-Mikleo laughed as Sorey buried his face in his neck. He smelled so sweet; like the dampness of the soil at the start of spring. “I swear. What am I going to do with you?”
“Do with me what you will,” said Sorey. “You’ll never get rid of me.”
Mikleo’s smile went so soft, then, and Sorey’s heart soared.
“Is that a promise?” Mikleo asked.
“A promise.”
Mikleo’s lips, too, were very soft.
When he opened them again, it was morning, and the fire was nothing but embers. Edna was gone, and there was little more to be done than to pack his things and keep heading north.
Sorey noticed the root vegetables and apples that had not been in his pack before. He also noticed a small, perfect yellow bloom. He thought upon these gifts as he continued to travel another three days, then another three days after that, until he reached the outskirts of a harbor town. He would have to buy passage on a ship headed to Meirchio – Sorey suspected such a vessel might be difficult to come by. Meirchio was a distant, quiet town, and was certainly not a hot tourist spot or business destination. He would potentially have to wait weeks for a vessel to have business going there; camping outside the town the whole while in the freezing cold, with dwindling supplies.
One day, after a week of asking at the docks for any vessels headed to Meirchio – after a week of sailors laughing in his face, acting like Sorey was asking them to ferry him to the moon – he came across a ship he had not seen make port before. It was a small but stout vessel; clever-looking, even. Sorey spotted a red-haired woman on its deck, inspecting a shipping list, and shouted for her attention.
“Hey! Are you guys headed to Meirchio?”
The woman eyed Sorey and his ragged countenance with an amused expression.
“Meirchio? That dinky little mining town? Who’s asking?”
Sorey bowed deeply, and let his desperation show clear on his face. Though he likely looked desperate enough already – the cold nights of camping were taking their toll.
“My name is Sorey, and I have to get to Meirchio as soon as I can. Please. I’ll pay you everything I have, I’ll work your ship during the passage. Anything you ask.”
The woman put her hand on her hip and looked Sorey up and down. He lowered his head.
“I know it doesn’t look like I have much,” Sorey admitted. He looked an utter mess – he was filthy, and his clothes were wrinkled from days of travel on the roads. His hair was wild and windblown. Dark circles bloomed under his eyes – a good night’s sleep was hard to come by, sleeping on the ground. His bare hands were stiff and aching from the cold; the inclement weather having skyrocketed cold-weather gear to a price he simply couldn’t afford. “I’m but a traveler, passing through on a mission to save someone I love. I have to get to Meirchio to find Mikleo before it’s too late.”
Sorey dug in his pockets to present the woman with his travelling funds – the money he and Mikleo had saved up all year, through chores and hard work.
“All I have is yours. Including an extra pair of hands on your crew.”
The woman traipsed down the plank to the dock, and took Sorey’s money pouch from him to count it out.
“…it’s not really enough to make me consider deviating from our delivery schedule,” she said.
Sorey’s heart dropped. But then, the woman was twirling the flower Edna had given him between her fingers, examining it with great interest.
“But this herb here more than makes up for the difference. A single petal from this thing sells for a cool mint in the spice market. If you’re willing to trade it, I’ll be more than happy to put my deliveries on hold to shuttle you to that frozen wasteland.”
Sorey gave an excited shout, and bowed deeply from his waist.
“Thank you, thank you so much--”
“But if you’re coming on my ship, you’re gonna need to clean up first,” the woman said firmly.
Sorey’s cheeks flushed, and he scratched at his wild hair in embarrassment. The woman tossed the coin pouch back to him.
“Go to the inn with the green sign on the main road, and tell them that the Sparrowfeathers sent you. You’ve got enough in there for a hot bath and a good meal. And believe me, if you’re going to Meirchio, you’ll need all the help you can get.”
Sorey bowed again in thanks, then turned and headed down the road. The woman called after him again.
“The name’s Rose, by the way. And your flower is back in your pouch – were you just going to leave it with me while you ran off to blow all your money at the inn?”
Sorey blinked in confusion. “…Yes? You wanted it as payment, after all…”
Rose snorted. “And you were just gonna trust me to not run off with it? You barely know me.”
Sorey smiled a sweet, self-conscious smile. “I guess I don’t. But you seem like a good, trustworthy person to me.”
Rose laughed and shook her head in disbelief. “Go and get washed up, and make sure you keep that herb safe. We leave at sundown.”
Sorey dutifully parted with the money required for a bath – he knew Mikleo would never let him hear the end of it if he showed up to rescue him looking like this, after all. However, though his stomach growled at the thought of hot stew and warm meat, he saved the remainder of his coin for the trials that surely awaited him in Meirchio.
As his freshly-washed clothing dried next to the fireplace, Sorey brushed his fingers over the illustrations in their beloved encyclopedia. Just as its knowledge of edible plants and berries had kept him fed over his journey, just as its maps had kept him on the right path, the memories of reading this book with Mikleo kept his heart and spirit strong. Sorey’s eyes fell on his own stiff, frozen fingers as they turned the page. They were a sorry sight in comparison to the memory of Mikleo’s beautiful hands.
“So to the capital first,” Sorey said in the haze of his dreams. “We’ll check out the libraries and architecture, and then heading south, we’ll be on the pilgrim’s path, so there’ll be plenty of roadside shrines to examine--”
Mikleo laughed. What a beautiful sound, even as a memory!
“You say that as if you’d ever be finished ‘checking things out’ in Pendrago,” he chided. “I know you could happily set up camp in a library for a year. Or a lifetime.”
“A lifetime?” Sorey teased. Head on Mikleo’s lap, he buried his face in Mikleo’s thigh, making Mikleo squeak. “Only if you’re there too.”
Luckily, Sorey awoke from his fevered sleep with time enough to get down to the docks and Rose’s ship. He handed over the herb, and she was true to her word – they set sail for Meirchio.
It was a journey made longer and all the more difficult with the terrible weather; that grew only more terrible as they approached Meirchio. It was proof enough to Sorey that they were approaching where Mikleo was being held, and it was enough to make Sorey pace the deck anxiously as the ship slowly wove its way through the icy waters. Sorey hoped Mikleo would forgive him for being late, just as he hoped Mikleo would forgive him for spending their money, and losing his clothing in this weather. Mikleo had always fussed over his health, ever since his sickly childhood. Sorey hated making him worry, but he seemed rather incapable of not doing so, all the same.
They arrived in Meirchio, and Rose called to him as Sorey made his way into the town proper from the docks.
“Hey! If you’re looking for info, you’re going to have the best luck chatting up the miners at the tavern.”
“Thanks!” Sorey said cheerfully, waving farewell to her. “I will. Mikleo and I owe you so much, Rose.”
Rose watched him go, and quietly said a prayer aloud for his safety. He was a clueless young idiot, and needed all the help he could get – lucky for him, that smile of his could melt the heart of damn near anyone, Rose would bet. It was like the light of spring. Or something cheesy like that. She sighed and wondered if Sorey would question why there was more money in that coin pouch of his than he remembered, and hoped that he wouldn’t get scammed out of all of it anyway at the tavern.
Rose’s prayer did not go unheard, for unbeknownst to her, there was a young wind spirit accompanying her ship. This wind spirit was named Dezel, and, being a spirit, was bound by ceaseless compulsion to grant the prayers asked of him. Heaving a sigh, he trudged unseen by all along the roads after Sorey, irritably sending out gusts of wind to knock over suspicious-looking individuals who were eyeing Sorey like a walking target. The town was not wealthy to begin with, and the cold weather had made people all the more desperate. With Dezel’s assistance, Sorey made it safely to the tavern. Cheerfully, Sorey turned and opened the door for Dezel to enter after him.
Dezel paused. “…you can see me?”
Sorey smiled. “Of course. You’re Rose’s friend, right? I saw you on the ship on the journey here. Did you want a drink before you headed back out?”
Dezel sighed and entered the tavern wordlessly. He could understand why Rose was so concerned about this idiot’s safety, and maybe even understand why she was fond of him. Maybe. A little.
As they entered, they overlooked a sea of dour-faced miners. Sorey didn’t really know where to start asking for information – the bartender was likely a good start, in any case. Sorey walked up to the bar (Dezel following him, still unseen by most) and sat down stiffly. The bartender raised an eyebrow at him and waited for him to speak.
“Do you. Um. Know anything about a lady in a white sleigh? Or a palace in the mountains?”
The bartender wordlessly polished a glass. Sorey fumbled out his coin pouch and carefully counted out a few coins – what, exactly, was a good payment for information?
“Less than that,” Dezel hissed in his ear. “You don’t know if this chump knows a damn thing.”
Still, the coins that Sorey offered seemed to make the bartender more willing to talk. He hummed, as if deep in thought.
“A lady, not so much. But I’ve heard talk about a white sleigh, being driven by a lad with white hair. Dressed like a prince. Sightings started ramping up when this damn weather rolled in, and people constantly whisper about seeing that sleigh when the worst storms roll in. As for your mountain palace, that’s just a fairy tale. If you’re planning on heading into the mountains to go looking for some palace, or that snow prince, may the gods have mercy on you.”
“Is there anyone who knows anything about the palace? Anyone at all?” Sorey asked. He held up his pouch. “I have money, and…”
Sorey heard someone whistling for him nearby, and swiveled his head. A man sat in a corner, and beckoned him near. Sorey nodded his thanks to the bartender, and moved to where the man was sitting.
“Lookin’ for the old palace in the mountains, eh?” said the man. “Has that snow prince stolen your heart away?”
“I – well, maybe,” Sorey said. “You see, my friend Mikleo was stolen away by a woman in a sleigh, and his hair had turned white when she got to him, and he’s so beautiful that anyone would think he’s a prince, so I thought that it’s possible that--”
“He’s a spirit, you know,” Dezel interrupted, gesturing with his chin to the man Sorey was speaking to. “A wind spirit, like me. He’s probably just looking for juicy gossip, and doesn’t have a damn relevant thing to tell us.”
The man clutched at his chest dramatically. “You wound me, my brother-in-elements!”
Sorey hummed thoughtfully. “I figured he was a spirit,” he said. “I’ve always been able to sense them, even when others couldn’t. But I thought a spirit would know better than anyone where the old heavenly palace is in the mountains. Especially a spirit that looks as old as him.”
The man looked far more legitimately heartbroken at that comment. “Really? Do I look old? Is it my hairline? It’s my hairline, isn’t it…”
He patted at his hairline mournfully.
“No, it’s just that you have a certain…air around you,” Sorey said. “An air of worldliness?”
It wasn’t a lie, but it was also kind of the hairline. Still, the man puffed up a little at the compliment.
“The name is Zaveid,” he said with a little flourish of his hand. “And I too have had my heart stolen away by someone driving that sleigh. Her name is the Lady Lailah, and she has had to freeze her fire on the order of the Mao-Man to clean up after some heavenly politics.”
“Politics?” Sorey asked. “Please, tell me whatever you can – I have to save a person I love, and his life might depend on your knowledge.”
Dezel sighed in irritation. Sorey didn’t even need his help to make this Zaveid character talk – there was nothing wind spirits loved more than drama and gossip. (Except Dezel. Dezel was proud to Not Be Like Other Wind Spirits. He was entirely and perfectly undramatic.) Zaveid’s eyes sparkled with tears.
“A romantic rescue…” Zaveid whispered mistily. “You see, there’s this spirit named Symonne who’s a real piece of work. She’s got it out for Mao-Man, and made some crazy cursed mirror to make him think he’s ugly or some shit, I dunno what her endgame was. But she accidentally smashed the thing in the process, and all those little mirror shards flew across the world. They pierce people’s hearts, and suddenly, they’re not who they were anymore – full of hate for everything they once held dear.”
Mikleo’s strange behavior before he was kidnapped made sense now, but the knowing was almost worse than the mystery. Sorey swallowed hard, his heart beating in his ears.
“How can they be fixed?” Sorey asked quietly.
Zaveid shook his head sadly. “That’s something Mao-Man is still trying to work out. In the meantime, he’s having Lailah head out and spirit away the victims and keep them in the palace on the mountain. If she stole your man, he’s there.”
And that was enough for Sorey. He stood up and bowed to Zaveid.
“Please. Lead me to the heavenly palace,” he begged.
Zaveid blinked at him. “…why don’t you ask your other spirit buddy there?”
“I’m not his to ask,” Dezel shot back. “And I wouldn’t do it anyway. I’m not venturing that far away from Rose.”
Zaveid nodded sagely. “We are all slaves to love, I see.”
Dezel sputtered. Sorey bowed deeper.
“Please, spirit; Lord Zaveid. I’m so close to finding Mikleo again – I just need someone to lead the way. Won’t you please grant me your assistance?”
Zaveid grimaced and leaned forward, waiting for Sorey to look him in the eye.
“Leading someone to the heavenly palace is no small thing to ask,” he explained. “Even though the big cheeses have since moved house, the enchantments are still there on the old place. You’ll need to give up something incredibly dear for me to even be able to help.”
Sorey had gotten used to giving things up on this journey. But he had so little left – and he knew that Zaveid wasn’t talking about the few coins he had left in his pouch. Sorey took out his and Mikleo’s beloved encyclopedia, and touched the cover with aching fingers and an aching heart. It was a precious memento. The notes they had made in the margins, the memories in the pages, were irreplaceable.
But what was more precious and irreplaceable was Mikleo himself.
Sorey bowed again, and offered the book to Zaveid.
“Please, spirit. Lord Zaveid. I’m but a traveler, on a mission to save someone I love. Won’t you please grant me your assistance?”
Zaveid accepted the book, and tucked it into his pack.
“It ain’t gonna be easy. Let’s set out while the sun’s still high.”
They parted ways with Dezel, who quickly beat a retreat back to Rose’s ship, and set out from Meirchio into the barren snowfields and towering mountains beyond.
Zaveid spoke true – the road to the palace through the mountains was difficult indeed, even with the assistance of a wind spirit at Sorey’s back. The weather made their way all the more treacherous. The snow weighed down Sorey’s cloak, freezing the fabric and making the cold bite through deep into his bones. Even tucked firmly under his arms for warmth, his bare fingers felt numb and useless. Sorey truly did not know if he could make it through. He kept the memory of Mikleo close to his heart, a gentle warmth that prevented him from freezing all the way through.
“Sorey! Buddy! Eyes up ahead!”
Sorey squinted through the blowing snow, and thought he saw the outline of a structure. Zaveid shoved him forward, and guided him to what looked like a chasm standing between them and the palace. Zaveid whistled aloud, and the chasm glowed with white light. A beautifully-designed bridge appeared to shuttle them across – Sorey would have loved to examine it closer were it not for his duty to Mikleo, and his imminent death in staying outside a moment longer. He and Zaveid hurried across, and Zaveid grabbed him by the hand, dragging him along through the strange glassy doors with their intricate silver filigree work. Through them – as if they were passing through mist.
Sorey had not known what, exactly, to expect when he found where Mikleo was being held. Perhaps maybe Mikleo, chained to a wall, swooning sweetly into his arms. Perhaps that was a bit too much. But what he did not expect was a receiving-hall filled with frozen statues. Sorey wandered up to one, and to his great dismay, he found that these statues were not statues at all.
“Zaveid! These are – these are humans! Frozen humans!”
Zaveid was examining a few of the statues himself, with a grim expression.
“This was their solution to the mirror problem, huh…” Zaveid murmured.
Sorey dashed from statue to statue, trying to find one that was still alive, dreading finding one wearing Mikleo’s face.
“Solution? What do you--”
One statue’s eyes stared back at him, listlessly. Sorey nearly jumped out of his skin, but calmed himself enough to take action. He loosened his cloak, as if to drape it around the frozen person – as if they had any warmth left to keep in.
“Sorey!” Zaveid yelped. “Keep your clothes on! You’ll freeze just like the rest of ‘em!”
Sorey hesitated at the thought of not being capable of saving Mikleo, but – but he couldn’t just leave this person to…to…
“Useless,” said the person in a flat, emotionless tone. The ice around their lips and neck cracked as they spoke. “Why would you sacrifice yourself so readily? Our frozen hearts are beyond saving.”
Sorey’s own too-soft, foolish heart ached. “Who did this to you? That spirit Lailah?”
“The mirror filled our hearts with hate,” said another frozen statue across the way. Their neck snapped with an awful sound as they slowly, painfully slowly, turned their head to look at Sorey. “The spirit Lailah froze our hearts before they rotted from it.”
There were so many statues. So many people. Some murmured their assent to the previous statue’s statement, but others were silent – frozen through with the silence of death. Sorey’s pulse raced, his eyes darting around the room. Not Mikleo, not there, not there either; none of these poor souls were Mikleo, so where—
The gate that Sorey and Zaveid had entered through glowed. Another guest stepped through – but truthfully, this was no guest. A trumpet blew, and snowflake-capped normins raced from every nook and cranny to form a receiving-line. The doors at the end of the receiving hall flew open, showing the throne room – and the throne, perched atop a dazzling frozen lake.
Through the front doors came that same familiar sleigh that stole Mikleo away. But instead of Lailah at the helm, it was Mikleo himself.
He was so beautiful. Mikleo was always beautiful, always, but he was simply…otherworldly. It was no wonder why there were whispers of a snow prince. Mikleo was dressed in a suit and cape fit for royalty; white and icy blue, trimmed with silver and royal navy. His high boots clacked against the marble floor as he dismounted, and his white hair glimmered in the iridescent light of the strange silver flames that lit the lanterns around the palace hall. Mikleo reached up to help his passenger off the sleigh, and led them to stand with the rest of the frozen people. The passenger went wordlessly, and stood without complaint or comment next to their new neighbors. And then Mikleo turned and walked, straight-backed, toward the throne room. He made no indication of seeing Sorey, or caring about the plight of the frozen people around him.
Mikleo was a kind and warm person, who cared deeply about the pain and suffering of those around him. What had that mirror done to him? What had that Lailah done to him?
“Mikleo!” Sorey cried out in despair. “Wait! It’s me!”
Mikleo did not turn to acknowledge Sorey’s voice, nor did he even slow down. He walked across the frozen lake confidently, without slipping a bit on the ice, and arranged himself on the throne with the same air of wordless complaint as the new arrival to the receiving hall. Sorey raced down the hall toward the doors to the throne room, his muscles aching with weeks of stress and strain, his heart aching, also—
The normins blocked his path, again. Sorey gritted his teeth and was about to just vault over their tiny heads, but one stepped forward. They raised their trumpet, and tooted another receiving flourish.
“The Lady Lailah approaches! Show some respect to your host, human.”
Sorey whirled around, trying to see where Lailah was approaching from, trying to see if he had time to grab Mikleo and run (he was sure driving that sleigh wasn’t that hard). And then, she appeared in a crackling of silver flame in the doorway to the throne room. Her expression was pained, and she extended a hand to Sorey.
“You are Sorey,” she observed. “I am Lailah, servant of the great spirit Maotelus--”
Zaveid wolf-whistled. “Lailah! My heart was about to waste away without you. Why don’t you turn those flames of yours back on to warm us up--”
Several of the normins rushed Zaveid to whack him in the shins with their trumpets, causing him to yelp and stumble back into the arms of one of the frozen people. Lailah’s cheeks were colored pink, and she coughed lightly, and started again.
“I am Lailah, servant of the great spirit Maotelus. Sorey. You have travelled so far, and touched so many hearts. Truly, you bring spring wherever you set foot.”
“What did you do to Mikleo?” Sorey demanded.
Lailah folded her hands and stared at her intertwined fingers.
“I am Maotelus’ closest servant,” she began. “And the only one who can wield even a portion of his power. Maotelus charged me with the mission of gathering those afflicted by the shards, and bringing them here for safety…and freezing their hearts so the shards do not destroy their very immortal souls. But I am a fire spirit – the taking away of heat is within my purview, but a more graceful application of the art of ice magic is…beyond me. My clumsy attempts at it have only caused more disaster – this terrible weather, for example.
“However, your friend Mikleo is possessed with a gift for magic. When I froze his heart, it awakened his latent abilities. He was able to take up my duties with far more dexterity and finesse. He has saved so many souls from eternal damnation, and once the Lord Maotelus has determined how to purify the mirror shards--”
Sorey slowly approached her as she spoke, and carefully, bones aching, went down on one knee. He bowed his head.
“Please, Lady Lailah. I’m but a traveler, on a mission to save someone I love. Won’t you please grant me an audience with the prince of this palace?”
Lailah extended a graceful, smooth hand, and Sorey accepted it with his battered, bloody one to rise to his feet again. Lailah made no indication of disgust – only pity.
“You may speak to him,” she said. “But he is unlikely to respond or recognize you for who you are. His heart is frozen through – were it not for his magic talents, he would be just as stiff as the poor souls you see here.”
That seemed like a challenge Sorey was willing to take up. Sorey would never be able to forget Mikleo – through trial and tribulation, through death and on to the ends of the earth. Sorey limped across the frozen lake; his feet not as sure on the ice as Mikleo’s, but his path just as set.
The throne room was dazzling, and an architectural marvel. Intricately-carved white marble spires twirled up to the high ceilings, which were under some strange enchantment – it showed the night sky, and an ever-moving map of the moon and constellations. These enchantments reflected onto the surface of the frozen lake, making Sorey’s path an otherworldly journey through the cosmos. The room sparkled with a sheen of ice and snow, which grew into flower-like blooms around the foot of the throne.
Mikleo did not acknowledge him as he drew closer. He did not acknowledge him as Sorey collapsed to his knees in front of the throne. He was as pale and lovely as a fine marble statue, but his eyes – those beautiful, expressive violet eyes that sparkled with love and intelligence – were so terribly blank. Sorey felt his tears freezing to his cheeks.
“Mikleo,” he said quietly. “It’s me. Sorey.”
Mikleo did not respond. Sorey continued.
“I was so worried when you got stolen away,” Sorey said. “I was worried the night before, when you were acting strangely, too. I’m so sorry I didn’t realize what had happened. You must have been in so much pain from that shard, and your hands were all scratched up on top of that, and you didn’t even eat the lunch we’d packed. Have you eaten since?”
Mikleo remained impassive.
“I wish I had more to offer. I only have some jerky left in my pack,” Sorey went on. “It’s not really a meal meant for royalty. You look even prettier than usual, Mikleo. I didn’t think either of us would have our hair going white for a few decades yet, but it really suits you. So do those clothes. Do you remember how we used to dress in our best for the village festivals? You always looked so nice in that vest and ribbon tie. I always just looked like a barn animal stuffed into a suit. Or I think that’s how you put it, once.”
Sorey flexed his battered hands, watching as fresh blood oozed from the cracked skin. He was battered, as a whole. He was dirty and ragged from travel, he was bruised and bloody and looked like he hadn’t slept in weeks. He was a sorry sight, compared to how stunning Mikleo looked.
“I lost my gloves and scarf on the way here,” he admitted. “And all the money we saved up for the harvest festival. And…and our encyclopedia. I’m so sorry, Mikleo. I’m…I’m so sorry…”
Sorey crumpled, and crawled forward, shuffling over to press his forehead to Mikleo’s knees.
“Mikleo,” he sobbed. “I’m so sorry.”
He wept, and wept, and wept. Perhaps if he stayed here long enough, tears frozen to his cheeks, he would become a statue like the ones in the receiving hall – a statue that crouched at the foot of the throne like a loyal dog waiting for his beloved master’s return.
He almost didn’t notice the soft touch to his ruined hands.
Mikleo examined Sorey’s hand, turning it this way and that. Sorey felt color flood his cheeks, and pouted, despite himself. He knew his hands looked terrible, but Mikleo didn’t need to rub it in. Mikleo blinked slowly, and rubbed his thumb across the dried blood on Sorey’s knuckles.
“…hurts…hurts?”
Sorey stared at him, tears beginning to fall from his eyes anew. Mikleo bent, and pressed his other hand to Sorey’s chest, over his heart.
“Hurts here. You too?”
Sorey nodded, and reached out with an aching hand to press his own palm to Mikleo’s heart in turn.
“It hurts for me, too.”
Mikleo’s hand twitched, and as if on reflex, he moved it to cup Sorey’s cheek and brush his tears away with his fingers. Sorey gave a choked-off wail, and buried his nose into Mikleo’s hand – he thought he’d never feel this touch again. He closed his eyes, and pressed a kiss to the soft skin of Mikleo’s palm.
He heard a sharp intake of breath, and slowly opened his eyes. Mikleo was looking at him – really looking at him – and he looked absolutely distraught.
“Sorey,” Mikleo whispered. “What happened to you?”
Sorey really had thought his crybaby years were over, but here he was, weeping again. Mikleo scrambled down from his seat on the icy throne, and wrapped Sorey in his fur-trimmed cape, rocking them both back and forth and shushing him with gentle noises. Sorey had thought he’d never be fully warm again – how wrong he was.
“I had my heart stolen away by a snow prince on a white sleigh,” Sorey said, through his sobs.
Mikleo pouted at that, and color rushed to his cheeks. It was the most beautiful sight Sorey had seen in weeks, even after travelling the whole of the kingdom. Sorey smiled up at him, and leaned up, tilting his chin, pleading for a kiss. Mikleo leaned in as well, ready to oblige.
They were interrupted by sloppy crying from the throne room’s door.
“I-i-it’s so beautiful,” wailed Zaveid, sobbing into the arms of a normin who was weeping just as hard as he was. “Love! Love is what melts hearts and purifies cursed mirror bullshit! LOVE!!”
He trailed off into more crying. Lailah tugged a hankie from her sleeve and dropped it on Zaveid’s head for his later use, then approached Mikleo and Sorey, happy tears in her own eyes.
“Mikleo,” she said. “You are well again. Though the Lord Zaveid’s explanation was…simplistic, it seems that Sorey’s love for you has rid the shard of its corrupting power – in addition to melting your heart of my magic.”
Mikleo touched his hand to his chest, as if testing it for any sort of pain.
“…I can’t feel it at all, anymore. The shard. Do you think it’s gone?”
“I do not sense its presence within you any longer. A tiny piece of glass is surely nothing in the face of such powerful love. The Lord Maotelus thanks you so much for your service. Do you remember where you are, what has happened…?”
Mikleo nodded slowly. “…I do. Those – the people I spirited away, whose hearts I froze. Will they be…are they…”
“When the Lord Maotelus finds a way to purify the shards, it will be safe for them to be unfrozen. Your skillful work with your magic will ensure that they will live again – it will be as if they wake from a deep winter sleep.”
“And the rest of the shards?” Mikleo asked.
Lailah hemmed, and plucked at her sleeves. “I will tend to those shards that remain. You must tend to Sorey, to get him home and back in his own bed – you have gone above and beyond your duties, and Maotelus will surely bless you in all your endeavors for the rest of your days--”
“I do need to get Sorey home and patched up,” Mikleo said. “And bathed. But please. You saved my life, so I want to make sure no one has to suffer while we wait for a cure. I’ll come back to help, I promise.”
“I’m coming too,” Sorey said, a bit miffed at the bath comment. “You’re not leaving without me this time.”
“Do I really have a choice in whether you tag along?” Mikleo asked mildly, though he already knew the answer. Sorey smiled mischievously.
Lailah gave a watery smile of her own, and curtsied. “Thank you. Please, take the time you need to make Sorey well. He has journeyed far to save you, and his heart has melted a path through the coldest winter.”
A pair of normins trotted up to slide a pair of warm snowflake mittens onto Sorey’s hands, and wrap a matching scarf around his neck. To top it off, he was blessed with a snowflake cap, like the little creatures themselves wore.
“I will see to it that this foul weather is lifted,” Lailah said. “Now that I can rekindle my flame to do so. Mikleo, please take your sleigh and carry Sorey home to care for him.”
“Can I drive?” Sorey asked as Mikleo helped him to his feet.
“Absolutely not,” Mikleo said.
Zaveid stumbled up to the two of them, still crying, and bundled them both into a bear hug.
“You’ve allowed me to bear witness to the greatest romance in the past few centuries,” Zaveid sniffled. “Sorey, my man, you’ve overpaid me for my services.”
With that, Zaveid handed Sorey the encyclopedia back. Sorey took it gratefully, and clutched it close to his chest. Zaveid loudly and obnoxiously blew his nose into Lailah’s hankie, and it was clear one of the normin at his feet wanted to nail him in the shins with their trumpet again out of spite.
They journeyed home with incredible speed, sailing across the skies and making it back to their tiny village before the sun rose. They were welcomed back with open arms and tearful faces, and Sorey was bundled into his family home for a hot bath, a fresh set of clothes, and a big warm breakfast.
“The fruit trees are blooming all over the village,” Sorey noted to his mother and grandfather as he stuffed himself. “And the harvests look even bigger than I remember them. What happened?”
“Well, we thought we’d lose the whole harvest to the early frost,” his mother said. “But somehow our little village was spared the worst of it. It was a miracle.”
Sorey had seen Edna on the way back to his home, sitting on a bench in the town square, pretending to ignore him. She had still been wearing his gifts. He hoped she hadn’t strained herself too much.
Luckily, Sorey and Mikleo made it back just in time for the harvest festival – although they were out the funds they’d saved for it (“Sorey, stop apologizing for spending the money – I would have done the same for you!”), they enjoyed the hustle and bustle, and each other’s company, and the sight of each other in their festival clothing. On the second day of the festival, a caravan bearing the name “Sparrowfeathers” rolled into town, bearing an array of goods and gold to be traded for the village’s envious harvest bounty.
“For the wool, cloth, and goat cheese,” Rose said, handing Sorey’s mother a hefty pouch of coins. “And this here is on the house.”
Rose handed Sorey a stack of freshly-printed novels and journals, straight from the capital. Sorey smiled at her brightly, and thanked her profusely – and waved to Dezel where he sat atop the caravan, also pretending to ignore him. Spirits were so moody, sometimes.
The festival went long into the night, and Sorey and Mikleo curled together under a blanket in front of the bonfire, sipping at hot cider. Sorey was healing up well, and soon, they would be off on their mission to gather the remainder of the shards – Sorey wanted to make the most of this evening together. He nosed at Mikleo’s still-white hair, and watched as the firelight played off the silky strands.
“Is the fire too warm for my snow prince’s comfort?” Sorey murmured.
Mikleo idly traced the air, sending a few snowflakes flying into the night sky. “Hardly. I’m not a delicate, swooning thing, Sorey. I help you and your mother wrestle sheep for shearing.”
Sorey laughed. “I know. But isn’t that below your station, now? Wrestling with barn animals.”
Mikleo slanted a look up at him, and the side of his mouth twitched.
“Wrestling with barn animals is something I’m quite passionate about, thank you.”
It was Sorey that was a bit too warm, now. But with the light of the bonfire, and the beauty and crispness of an autumn night to enjoy, Sorey could make do for a while longer before they headed inside. He tucked his cheek against Mikleo’s silky white head, and sighed happily.
Yes, a while longer.
--
#sormik#soremiku#suremiku#soymilk#sorey/mikleo#tales of zestiria#i guess this is my personal tales of zestiria tag now#a tenderly crafted fanfiction#chocomint-srmk#chocomint fairy tale compilation#chocomint
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Kevin and Jake bond in the safe house and it's emotional?
“Detective-” “You can just call me Jake you know. You don’t have to keep up the whole ‘detective’ thing.” Kevin stared at Peralta to discourage him from interrupting again. The other man seemed to panic under the silence and began blabbering more, a nervous smile spreading across his face. “I mean!! Detective’s cool yeah yeah yeah worked my whole life to be- well not my WHOLE life because-” “I shall not be calling you Jake. I have only met you once.” “We’ve…you’ve seen me!” “When?” “Uhh, when Holt got stabbed!” “Ah yes. You dragged me around the city and instigated a fight between me and my husband.” “That’s..not how I would describe it.” “Pray tell.” “…What?” “Pray, tell me how you would describe it.” “Who says ‘pray tell?’ and I wasn’t gonna mention it but shall not?” “…..” “I mean are we in a Shakespeare play?” “Goodbye, Detective Peralta.”_______________________
“So….” “………..” “…we gonna sit here in silence or?” “……….” “Kevin buddy? I’m getting a bit worried here.” “……..” “…Keeev? Kevvie? K-” “What.” Kevin’s voice was like choking on ice and Jake’s stomach tied itself in a knot. He hated this, he wished he’d just let them switch who watched Kevin. He obviously didn’t want him here and he honestly didn’t want to be here anymore. “Do you want to talk about it?” “I do not.” “Yeah yeah cool cool cool like I get that buuut.” “…..but what!?” “What?? Why are you yelling?? What’d I do!?” “You left the sentence incomplete. Open-ended like my time spent here in this hell hole of a ‘home’ with you!” Jake grit his teeth, feeling weeks of annoyance and anxiety bubble up to his lips as anger. “Like it’s such a picnic being stuck here with the most humorless robot man on the planet!? Leaving the outside world behind, in this shitty fake house I get dumped here-” “Danging participle.” Kevin murmured. “…What now?” “Your participle’s dangling.” Kevin repeated, now turning around so his back was facing the other man. Jake got the feeling that he’d lost the argument although he wasn’t sure how it turned into an argument or exactly how he’d lost it._______________________________“So how are things going with Kevin?” Amy asked quietly, once the man in question had fallen asleep. He went to bed at eleven o’clock like clockwork it was unbelievable. If Holt was a robot then his husband was an alien whose biology had no room for emotions. Or a heart. But then he remembered Kevin’s hurt. “How could you not know that? Raymond, you are unbelievable.” and he felt bad for thinking it. Jaked cursed himself for being so good morals-wise…and face wise. “He’s great! No, I lied, he’s the most difficult person on earth. All we do is argue and life’s a living hell.” “What!? That’s awful!!” Amy sat up and reached for her phone, eyebrows scrunched up in worry. “I’ll tell Terry that we should go ba-” “No no no no Ames it’s way too late for that! If we have a bunch of random dudes coming in and out now it’ll be hella suspicious! I was exaggerating, it’s not that bad!” Amy looked at him, doubt splattered across her face. He’d always been a horrible liar, again, he’s so damn moralistic he can’t help it, also he has a cute smile. Which wasn’t vain to think, Amy had told him that. It’d made his week. “We just need to..click, you know? Get to know each other better! I’m gonna ask him to watch some movies with me tomorrow.” Amy sighed and laid back down, cuddling into Jake’s side which made his heart feel warm and skip-y. She kissed his chest. “Alright…just, a word of advice?” “Hm~?” “Don’t show him any like, Die-Hardy movies? I don’t think he’d like them.” “Yeah, of course not Babe! What, you think I’m an idiot?” he said, laughing stiltedly and thinking about the pile of exclusively Nick-Cage films he’d bought with him. Maybe having a theme would make it more artsy? In the darkness Kevin kept his eyes closed and his breathing steady as he has at eleven o’clock every day since being locked away in here, if only to get the illusion of a moment alone. He kept his eyes closed and longed for Raymond._____________________________________“I will admit this is…not terrible.” “Saying you’re enjoying yourself isn’t like, against the law you know? I won’t arrest you for having fun.” “…….” “Also, you just tore the movie to shreds for the entire hour. Are you the man behind cinemasins?” “Cinema what? What are you talking about?” “Oh my god you know what?…that’s kinda cute.” Kevin made a gesture that Jake had come to understand meant he was close to getting up (getting down?) and leaving (crawling) so he changed the subject as quickly as he could. “My dad used to like this one Adam Sandler movie- he’d like, watch it al the time and it was basically just about being a shitty dad and not caring.” And he’s stepped right into an emotional landmine, a lot of those popping up lately. “So I guess he found a kindred spirit in him. Only it wasn’t nearly as funny when my dad did it.” And there it was, the explosion. “……..” And his toro was near the door and his arm was on the ceiling fan and his foot was directly in his stupid idiot mouth. “Let’s watch this one next.” They watched four more movies in a quiet that slowly grew more and more noisy as whatever thoughts Jake’s words had pulled around Kevin’s head dissipated. It turned into a sort of a game, Kevin pointing out the smallest inconsistencies or “logical gaps” and Jake vehemently defending them. They fell asleep like that, and for the first time in nearly a month it wasn’t plagued with nightmares.Not the bees!! Not the beeeesssss!!!!_____________________________________
“I believe my father shared some similarities to yours.” Kevin said primly one day. They were sitting in the ‘kitchen’ and Jake was nursing coffee like a dying man nurses water. Kevin was drinking nothing, having finished his morning water. “He also liked Sandler?” “Oh absolutely not. He was a very well respected surgeon and was never there for me or my brother.” “Too busy saving people’s butts?” Jake slurred deliriously. Kevin had woken him up at eight am, which was when he woke up. Every. Day. “Was he a butt surgeon Kevin?” “…….” “No ifsandsor…ohhhh….god it’s so early.” Kevin stared at the nearby wall, sun-dappled and bare. Jake groaned, resting his head against the cool wood of the table. Later Jake would realize, after having injested his coffee and taken a four hour nap, that Kevin had been trying to do something. So he waited for him to try again, swearing he’d be on the lookout for it._____________________________________ One night after they’d both awaken from independent nightmares, Jake had had to wrestle Kevin to the floor to prevent him from crawling out a window. There’d been a lot of screaming and a lot of tears and mournful wailing for escape escapeescapepleaseletmegopleasepleasepleaseimsorryimsosorrypleasebequietpleasepleasepleaseple They were silent now except for heavy breathing, both of their tears drying on their cheeks and pajama shirts. Jake was holding Kevin down like a corpse in a coffin, arms crossed and pressed together so he couldn’t use them to climb out windows or hit him for stopping him from climbing out windows. “Do you think your father ever loved you Jacob?” Kevin said, voice faraway. “Uh…I think so. I think he still loves me, as much as he can love anyone? He just doesn’t…care. About me or anyone.” He responded. He had a headache and he was worried someone had heard their fight. He wasn’t thinking about his words, or Kevin. He was thinking about death. “My father would hate to see me crying. He always hated that.” “…….” “I hate him so much.” “…..yeah, I hate him too. My dad I mean. And…yours too, I kind of hate him too now.” “I hate your father as well.” “Thanks.” “I miss Raymond.” “You saw him like earlier to-” “I miss him.” and Kevin’s voice was so strangled and broken Jake had to take care not to cut himself on it. He felt his throat knot. Kevin began to sob and then cough, wet and awful because he was sobbing on his back, eyes up on the ceiling and it was choking him. Jake let go of his arms and watched as he immediately curled up into a ball like a time lapse of a flower wilting. The safe house was silent and undisturbed but neither of them slept that night, spending their time in the darkness wandering around the house like spirits, wailing and weeping for their lost loves._____________________________________ “In one minute Kevin and I will finally be able to leave this awful place!”“And yet we’ll never be free of the nightmares.”“Nope, those shall haunt us for always.”“Whoa..things got really intense in here, huh?”“Oh yeah, got dark. This place is a Hellmouth.”
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@agentheft liked for a Starter!
Tired.
He’s tired. Not in the emotional sense entirely but more in the sense that Morgana woke him up multiple times the night before, the first two times had been to share important research findings with him, and the third time had been on accident, he’d woken up when the book Morgana was fetching from the shelf had toppled to the ground in a whirlwind of pages and the final heavy thump of impact, Morgana had apologized of course, when Joker had thrown himself out of bed, had nearly toppled the nightstand seeking the weapon he keeps there.
You know.
Normal reactions to a falling book.
But the damage had been done and while Joker had insisted to Morgana that it wasn’t an issue and he had been mostly awake anyway, the truth was that now his pulse was simply thrumming too hard to simply return to sleep. So he had left Morgana with a shallow dish of cream to continue reading and had himself emerged into the back alleys around Leblanc from his apartment. At first, it had simply been about taking a walk to clear his head, but now as so often happened, he had slid almost without thinking into the world of Mementos.
Mementos wasn’t safe by any means, it hadn’t been before it had been destroyed and it wasn’t after it had come back. No place for a nap, but it wasn’t about that, it was just about the walking, he could deal with shades, shades wouldn’t ask him questions or stop him on the darkened streets to see if he was lost. So Mementos made for a good place simply to wander.
Sometimes, that wandering brought him to fascinating places. Rainy cities or warm forests. This is not one of those times, or rather it is neither of those places, though the damp air and occasionally droplet of water which falls from the earthy tunnel ceiling might certainly make him think it could be the former for a moment. This isn’t the same however, it has a sort of odd scent to it.
An arm extends, hand out, to catch a droplet upon his fingertips. No, it isn’t water. His face scrunches slightly at the scent, just a little, a movement of nose and corners of eyes.
‘Paint thinner?’
It’s a scent he recognizes offhand only because he has spent so much time around Yusuke while the artist paints, either way he shakes his hand once to clean the glove off, and decides to make a decision; turn back, or emerge? He won’t stand here and let himself be dripped upon by anything foul smelling, that’s for sure. Luckily it’s so sparse, it’s not likely to drip upon him unless he’s clumsy and Joker is not, by nature, clumsy.
He is curious however.
Between dream and reality; mind and matter, he finds the thin seam and emerges, the idea of a city is familiar, but it certainly isn’t a city he’s familiar with. His eyes trail down to examine his own outfit, no longer the same as the uniform he bears in the Metaverse; black jeans, black boots. Those are normal, he owns those. The shirt is unfamiliar though, black button up, sleeves rolled up to the elbow, the dark struck through only by a violent, vibrant splash of red across his chest, it gives a cartoonish illusion of having been struck through the heart.
When he reaches up to run his now ungloved fingers through his hair, he immediately recoils. Not violently, but his fingers jerk away from his own not-hair at the semislick feeling of tentacles. He would rank himself as not a fan of that. He’s used to changing to match the worlds he emerges into; those changes are not always pleasant, but he doesn’t like to be taken off guard.
They’re short, dark a black as his hair always is, the undersides are so dark a gray as to only barely be different, cut through with the red ringed circles of suction cups. He’ll try not to think too hard about it.
Instead he tucks his hand in his pockets, and wrinkles his nose just slightly against the overwhelming smell of paint and underlying tone of sea. He’s certainly had more pleasant entrances to universes before, but he’s had less pleasant ones as well so he figures it evens out.
That said, the overall oddness of this place puts him on edge, being tired doesn’t help. It’s why he’s immediately aware of sounds which approach him, and though he does not whip around anxiously to face incoming footsteps, his smoke gray eyes are piercing in a way usually only a hunting falcon’s eyes are piercing when he turns to face the source...
#agentheft#this is the part where I shamefully admit I know nothing abt Splatoon#At all. Literally nothing aside from the character designs :#:.D
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Return to Crimson Peak
Disclaimer: This story is written as a sequal to Crimson Peak. If you couldn’t handle the original story, please don’t read, because that would be dumb.
Sir Thomas Sharpe x Reader
Mini Series Halloween (Special thanks to @bambamwolf87 for going back and forth on this idea!)
My name is (y/n), and I would like to tell you a story.
A love story. Filled with hate. Filled with sin. Something real and imaginary, exciting and terrifying.
I want to tell you a ghost story.
There were all kinds of ghost stories that have floated through the world, like a dense fog, capturing the imaginations of those who hear them. Some based as far back as when nobility and class were all anyone cared about, some as notorious as Jack the Ripper, some as tragic as children getting taken by monsters. Each story holds some truths, based on some sort of factual event that forever concretes the illusion of a ghost to the world of the living. Alas, they all inevitably fade away. They become fables we tell children, destined to be nothing more than boy scout campfire tales.
Utter nonsense really.
But then, every once in a while, against all reasonable belief, there is a ghost story so rifeting, so heart wrenching -so full of lust, ambition, and murder- that at the end it leaves one questioning their sanity.
Crimson peak is one of those ghost stories.
The first time my brother Luke and I heard the story of Crimson Peak was from our grandmother. I remember visiting the family home in Buffalo, New York, listening to her spin fantisful tales of this or that while pouring me tea. Grandmother was a wonderful storyteller, a trait I was told she inherited from her own mother, Edith McMichael. Better known by her maiden name, Edith Cushings.
She told us that Edith had grown up a beautiful, well educated woman of the upper society of New York. An unwed heiress that only cared about one thing: writing stories. That is, until her own story had an unexpected character added to the plot. Thomas Sharpe.
From there, everyone knows the story, most likely even read the book.
But this story became something more to my brother. He wanted more than the book. He wanted the experience.
He wanted to see and live it for himself.
As he grew older, he researched more into the story and found the home in which everything took place: Allerdale Hall. As it turned out, the gothic mansion had been made over to be a secluded, lavish hotel for rich bureaucrats traveling the English countryside in the 50’s, however in the 80’s the attention died down. It went a long time without use until 2010 when a new owner took over and turned it into a Victorian Bed and Breakfast with a twist: while it’s 50’s counterpart tried to pretend nothing awful happened in that house, the new owner exploited it. There was even an episode of Ghost Hunter filmed where someone stayed the night in the bed and breakfast. They stayed in Lucille’s room but never saw her ghost. He did say the new owner and her husband were rather odd, though he thought they were just trying to give into the haunted theme they tried to portray.
It was disheartening to say the least that other than the story of Crimson Peak itself, it seemed like there was no actual haunting. I eventually lost interest and moved on with my life, diving into school and social life. But not Luke. He still felt drawn to the story and after working doubles for two months and convincing me to split the fees, we were set to travel to England and actually stay the night in Allerdale Hall.
Which is where my story begins.
*****
“This is it!” Luke exclaimed, heaving one bag onto his shoulder and another under his arm. “Crimson Peak!”
I cut my eyes at my brother, almost annoyed at the whole situation. His Ghosts are Real shirt, his bag of ghost summonings, our grandmother’s copy of Crimson Peak all in hand so as to crescent it with what he deems the unholy land. “I can’t believe you talked me into this…”
His blonde curls bounced as he turned to face our home for the next few days. “But… Just look at it, y/n....”
Turning up from the cab, I took in the entirety of Allerdale Hall. Grand, magnificent, dark, and foreboding, it stood against a gray canvas of fog. In front of it, the key part of the entire story, Sir Thomas Sharpe’s mining invention.
My eyes followed upward the structure, absorbing every last archway and stone of the complex before resting on a single window where I caught sight of a pale faced man.
I was snapped back to my brother when he called my name for what I had to assume by his aggravated tone was not the first time. “What?”
“I said grab your shit, I ain’t no packmule.”
I grabbed my bags and followed him through the double doors.
Inside, it was evident all the work the new owners had put into the mansion. It was extravagant but dark, framed perfectly with a massive wooden staircase that opened all the way to the other floors, victorian era artwork lining every inch of wall space, and a single grand crystal chandelier shining over the foyer.
“Welcome!” called out a british accent. A pink haired woman popped up from behind the registry desk with a gleaming, misplaced smile. “I’m the owner, I go by Rain. You must be the Cushings!”
As if the overtly brightness of her hair was too much for the gothic mansion, she countered with a steampunk style victorian dress of silk, leather metal loops and chains that dangled from her sleeves and a leather corset hugging at her waist.
“Actually, that’s not our name…” I corrected while Luke simply began signing the guest book.
“But you ARE descendants of Edith Cushing, right?” she pushed.
“I… Yes, we are. How did you...?”
“I found you on Ancestry.com! I have been a huge fan of your great, great grandmother for a long time! I saved up for years to buy this place,” the owner said as she looked around the empty lobby with a since of overbuilt romanticism. “Crimson Peak has always been a passion of mine.”
“You two should get along swell then,” I mumbled as Luke laid down the pen. “Now, about our rooms….”
“OH yes!” she exclaimed while pulling out two skeleton keys, handing you each one. “You will be in the west wing, Lucille’s old room,” the owner told Luke. “And you,” she said with a sideways grin, “You’ll be down the hall in Sir Thomas’s room.”
I took the key and stared at it, feeling my heart start to race. “I....”
“Excellent!” my brother cut me off, taking the sets of keys. “Are we allowed to explore some?”
There was some mischief behind the owner’s eyes when she answered, “Its actually encouraged.”
While Luke looked more than please, I had to stop and ask, “Won’t that be disruptive to your other customers?”
“Judging by the guest book, we’re the only ones staying here.”
“Correct! We normally slow down on visitors during the colder months. Which is a shame, because that’s when things always get fun around here.” Rain cut me a wink before finishing, “Now, enjoy!”
Luke’s hand grabbed hold of my shoulder to steer me away from the desk. “Yes, we will, thank you, Ms. Rain!” Just passed her I could make out another grand room with a marble fireplace and piano.
“That’s where Lucille used to play music for her brother,” Luke told like an extremely zealous curator at a museum. I wrinkled my nose, remembering that detail from the book. “Come on, let’s go find our rooms!”
At the base of the stairs was a framed layout of the house to help guests find their way around. A large YOU ARE HERE arrow laid out where you began. Luke’s finger followed the line up to the right and down a hall to West Wing where the two of you would be staying.
Luke held out my key before flashing me one of his overly excited grins, he spat out, “Race ya!”
Before I could argue how rude, childish, and annoying he was being, Luke was off. Never one to be outdone, I bolted up behind him, hoping I remembered the layout. By the time I got to the top of the stairwell, I saw my brother’s sneakers right before they disappeared down a hall. When I got to the opening of the hall, I turned and saw no one. Taking a few steps forward, I listened intently to try and pinpoint where my brother had gone.
But nothing.
“Fuck,” I mumbled under my breath. Giving up on the race, I let out an exasperated sigh and wandered deeper in to the house.
‘Do I turn here?’ I asked myself when I found another hall off the main one. I still didn’t see Luke, so I called out for him but I got no answer.
A round window at the other end of the stretch was all that illuminated my path, casting shadows from the intricate woodwork of the moldings and ceiling.
I was distracted when I heard a soft disruption in all the stillness of the house. I stopped and listened. Someone was moving around in one of the rooms, but which one, I wondered. Following the sound, I came to the end of the hall. A light on the other side was so bright that it boiled through the small gap where the door met the floor. Some more ruffling from the other side confirmed I was at the right room, I could even see shadows move through the light.
“Luke, is this your room?” I asked, going to turn the knob. But it was locked.
“No?” I jumped when I unexpectedly heard his voice from the other end of the hall, where I had just come from. “What are you doing down here?” he asked, “We’re this way.”
“I heard someone, I thought it was you...” I turned back, eying the floor where the light shone through. But there was none now. No light. No movement. Just stillness.
“Oh…” I swallowed but shook my head, knowing it had to be my own imagination getting the better of me.
“You’re already getting haunted?” Luke asked with a hint of jealousy.
“No, you idiot, this stupid house just has me on edge is all.” I grabbed up my bags and eyed him. “Now show me where our rooms are so I can sleep off this jet lag!”
Back down the main hall, he showed me where a set of double doors led down a private wing. The West Wing.
“Here’s your room,” Luke said, taking my key to open it. “My room is the last one on the left.”
The door creaked so horribly it felt like it echoed through the whole mansion.
It did not disappoint. The room, like everything else in the house, was massive, the walls solid wood carved and etched with such fine, minute detail it felt like a painting. The ceiling had golden loops around where two chandeliers hung on either side of the massive four poster bed that sat opposite of a fireplace.
“Holy shit…. Maybe this won’t be so bad, “ I reasoned as I pulled out my phone to text my friends back in the US.
Luke’s voice cracked as he watched, knowing what you must be doing. “Actually, I had one thing I had to tell you, and don’t freak....”
“I HAVE NO SIGNAL?” I raged as my eyes narrowed at him. His hands were up in defense, waiting for the slew of slaps he deserved, but I just let it go. “Fine. Ok. Whatever. Have you found the WiFi password?”
“Actually, about that…”
“Luke…”
“It’s good to take a break from modern advances now and then, y/n, you know it’s healthy…”
“Luke.” I stopped him, staring deep into his soul. “Are you telling me you brought me to the middle of nowhere England, to a haunted house, with no working means to contact the outside world?”
“It’s only for a few days…”
“LUKE, I WILL MuRdEr YOU! You will no longer be looking for a ghost because YOU WILL BE A GHOST!” My hands went flying and all he could do was protect his face.
“Come on, y/n. Don’t be so melodramatic,” he said before stepping out of your doorway. “Take it as an opportunity to get to know yourself. That’s why I told you to bring books.”
The realization that he had known the whole time we would be without technology was even more infuriating, so I started chunking pillows from the bed at him until he closed the door
I threw myself onto the bed and screamed into the comforter.
How was I going to stay sane without the internet for three days?
Sitting back up, I couldn't help but reassess my situation.
I'm stuck.
In a haunted house.
For three days.
A strange sensation washed over me, like the sudden chill of someone walking over your grave.
The house, I realized, was quiet. So quiet. Not another soul to be heard.
That was the first time I noticed that I had been hearing a steady movement the entire time I was alone and hadn't paid it any attention until now. When it stopped.
What had stopped moving?
I stayed still and listened for it to start again.
But it didn't.
Wondering why I had unnecessarily scared myself, I shook my head clear of the thought while opening up one of my bags.
My first bag was my safety net.
Junk food (because I’m shameless), sodas (because I’m shameless), and romance novels (because, you guessed it).
I opened the music on my phone and pulled out my thirstiest book.
Chapter One: How They Met
About twenty minutes into my story, the music was interrupted by a tap on the door. One solid knock. Of course I jumped, anyone would have. Then I heard some shuffling as an envelope flew under my door.
I instantly sprang from my seat- curiosity always being both my best and worst quality- and tore the letter open.
~~We would like to cordially invite you to dinner in the Main Dining Hall this evening at 6pm. PS On the back of the door, you will find attire for the event.~~
Of course my first thought was what a gimmick to pull, but then I had to appreciate their creativity. The place wanted to bring out the Gothic Romance of Allerdale Hall, and it certainly didn’t hold back. Opening the door to find a white silk dress, I saw the depth of that devotion.
I pulled the dress down when I heard Luke’s door open. “Holy shit!” he cussed. I went down the hall to find him awing at a suit hanging from his door. “Y/n!” he squealed through his teeth, “Holy shit!”
I laughed but really, I was excited.
A dressed up dinner in a haunted mansion. Through all the cliche, through all the irritants, I thought maybe this could turn out to be a fun get away.
After all...
What was the harm in playing along?
Part 2 is up!
The role of Luke will be played by Evan Peters:
Like my garbage? Read more of it! Master List
If you would like to be tagged or untagged from this series, comment or message me!
ALL TAGS: @socialheartbreak @kcd15 @maladaptive-ninja-returns@nephalem67 @jessiejunebug @woodyandbuzz20-01@lokislilslut @bambamwolf87 @avenging-blackwidow
#tom hiddleston#sir thomas sharpe#crimson peak#lucille sharpe#edith cushing#edith sharpe#ghost#ghost stories#halloween
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