#anyway this is MY dead souls au any questions or comments will be seen by my lawyers

[todayisafridaynight]

[uyuartik]

othello ch.3| anakin skywalker x reader

tags: othello au mini series, no major character death (just want to make that clear), borderline dark fic, aND NOW DEAR READERS WE GET TO SEE THAT DARKNESS, FILTHY SMUT, kinda hate s*x, jealous ani, reader is in her discovery era, BUT I SWEAR IT'S ALL CONSENSUAL, oral sex(fem receiving), piv sex, bondage but not really, restriction? is it called that?,

summary: The celebrations end, but the night doesn't.

a/n: welcome back! this is *the* chapter we've all been expecting, i think. i'm still shocked that i wrote this, it is so different from my usual style. but the parasites in me wanted this on paper, so here we are! i hope you like it!!!

don't forget to leave likes, reblogs and comments! it means a lot!

also crossposted on ao3!

word count: 3168

prologue | ch.1 | ch.2 | ch.3 | ch.4 | ch.5 | finale

chapter 3

That was not the only acknowledgment he gave you that night.

Days of hate and yearning; love and lust came over him after that sentence, and he found his way to your room again, well past midnight. You were brushing your hair with an absentminded frown littering your pretty face, but the moment you saw him enter, it transformed into the loveliest smile he’s ever seen, then quickly disappeared for a variety of reasons. Fuck, he hated to see it fade away, see you abandoning out of your chair yet standing next to it, not reaching out to him like you always do. A little afraid, a little too angry to do so… You were the more contained one of the two of you, as always, yet he always had the ability to see those emotions behind bars, and held the spare keys.

“My Lord.” Your voice couldn’t contain the excitation of having him in your chambers, though. “Can I help you in any way?”

“Yes, yes you can.”

And he was grabbing you, stealing a deep, dirty kiss.

For a second, your shocked whimper which was successfully muffled by his lips was your sole reaction, but then the wanting overcame you- your hands cupping his face, raising on your tiptoes to be closer, trying to keep up with this strange rhythm. Anakin was the only man you’ve ever kissed in your entire life, and he was always sweet, treating you like you were a flower he was afraid to crush. Even when things got heated (and it did), he would always try to keep things where you could function too. But now, he seemed to have forgotten that principle, just drinking in your soul. That’s how it felt like, the breath stolen from your lungs, all voices drowned, the need for an explanation never a priority. He sucked on your lips ‘til they were swollen and numb, and occupied your mouth with his tongue, a challenge you didn’t fight to win anyway. The grip on your chin was borderline painful, and your weak point, your puppet string which he mastered. The wetness of your messes threatened to spill from the corners of your mouth. Filthy, so filthy.

He held your waist, pulling you to himself so tight that your balance was entirely maintained by him, but there was something different about this proximity, this way of touch. It was as if he didn’t hold you to be closer, seeking your warmth, but more like he groped you, conquering every inch of your skin again, declaring that it was his.

The man in front of you was somebody else, you could’ve sworn. It would have scared you.

But all in your questions and dead protests, you came to realize that you enjoyed it, perhaps not as much as when he was adoring you, but you did. There was no explanation you could make about it. You saw the storm in his eyes, but that blue was still thecolor of the sky you had memorized.

Thus, when the two of you eventually parted, you didn’t push him, or take a step back. You stood there with your mouth agape, trembling with each shallow breath, and that glimmer in your eyes telling a different story than just a stupor. Your cheeks reddened under his piercing stare, but you still didn’t want to let him go, clutching to his shoulders.

“You liked it, didn’t you?” The scorn was obvious. Did other men treat you like this too? Did you let them?

“I-“ You stuttered, not able to find the right words, not able to utter them out of shyness.

“You little whore.”

You flinched and shrieked, taken aback by the insult. How could he ever use that word against you?

“I’m not-“

“Let’s see, shall we?”

It took you a couple of seconds to understand what he meant as you were tossed to the bed, the soft material bouncing under you a few times. He was over you in a blink, knees planted on the sides of yours, haphazardly trapping your night between him and the bed, the fabric of your nightgown taut over your body. He found your lips again, ready for his taking, but you were not as trapped as you looked, and you were beating him on his own game with those hands, prompting him to devour you further, reaching for his neck, clinging, pulling him closer, touching him the way he likes to be touched, (that was nothing special actually, because, he liked your touch, each and every way your fingers traced him).

How could he hate you?

How could you hate him?

It was about the trust you had in him, knowing all his aversions are reserved for the battlefield and nowhere else, knowing he’d never hurt you deliberately, knowing a word from you and he would stop, anytime. Even with all the plots and mystery, you still held onto each other, desperate for the other. You didn’t shut down his advances, defying his tests by being your authentic self, and he couldn’t stay away from you, even while the accusations still dwelled in his mind.

“Ani, what’s going on?” You whined.

“I think you know what’s going on.”

The answer was so appalling that you were left mute.

You remained stuck as he traveled downwards, a path that would’ve taken him so much longer before. But now, he trashed the fabric up up up your body, the big fat lumps of white stacked on top of your belly, revealing just enough for what he had planned.

He was craving your taste for so long.

You cried out when he parted your legs, and delved right between them. At first, you winced when the cold air hit your core, but the more shocking thing was his very audible sniff, brushing his nose up your skin like he wanted to fill the entirety of his lungs with your scent.

Yes, that was how much he has been craving you.

Gasping, your hands flew up to his hair, albeit with a little difficulty. Your craving for him was not any different. Even in this intimate position, you needed to hold onto him further. He would try to hold your hand while he did this, it had always been the case for the two of you. He adored how your relatively tiny fingers grasped his so tight that they could actually bruise or even break, he liked how you tugged on his hair, that little short yanks as you lost control for a second, and regained it, afraid to hurt him. God, you missed his chuckles when he stopped to reassure you about it. But now, there were only groans, animalistic sounds as he seized you with his tongue, burrowing into your hole while he drank your essence to the last bit. You grasped his tresses a few times like before, short yanks before you came to your senses, and he couldn’t stand it.

Actually, he couldn’t stand the way you were the same.

If you were not as innocent as before, why couldn’t he sense it in your touches? How could it exist, and not have a trace in the twinkle of your eyes? How could your voice waver most naturally, most randomly as you were subjected to unimaginable accusations if you were truly guilty of them?

With more questions muddying his mind, he reemerged from his position, ripping your hand away. you opened your eyes, rising- til he stopped you, and with a flip you found yourself in a completely different position, on your hands and knees. For the first time, ever.

“Ani!”

You’ve pleaded his name before, but this time it was different- and he froze, waiting for your intervention.

But it didn’t come. It wasn’t a warning. You were starving too. Involuntarily arching your back, falling onto your elbows as if presenting yourself, urging him to keep touching you. His hold on the back of your thighs traveled up, ‘til his right thumb was pressing on your clit. That alone was enough to steal a sigh from your lips, an indicator of your willingness. Poor you, just needed a second…

“Cat got your tongue, my poor wife?” He tried, one last time. “Tell me what you need, I am not as cruel as them.”

Them? “I- I need you. Only you.” You whispered, burning with the exposure, and lust. Of course, the change was abrupt, but you were not opposed to it, especially when you were with him.

Thus, he got to revel in your essence once more, the fabric of your nightgown draped over his hair, essentially covering his head, and he was engulfed in you, your taste, your softness, your perfume… He basically pushed his nose right through your folds, stimulating you in the strangest way, while his tongue worked over your clit, chasing that pearl as you failed to contain your hips. While the two of you never kept things chaste behind the doors of your bedroom, this was about the most scandalous position you two ever shared. Your heart donned its wings and flew out of you just at the thought of it, knowing this wouldn’t be the last time you’d think about it, knowing one day you might ask for it again.

You lasted so short, for it was impossible to keep your every neuron from firing with these new sensations. You shook and shook, your legs only kept up with his support, leaking all across his face. Your sounds were half-muffled by the pillow you’ve buried yourself into, and you stood like that some time, just trying to process it all and he watched you, caressing your inner thighs. When he retracted his hands to undo his trousers, you whimpered, and fell to your side- or you would’ve fallen, if he didn’t catch you. The firmness of his hold was a clear warning, and you whimpered again, now knowing what he intended to do, besides the ache in you to reach out to him growing unbearable.

You heard the clothes fall to the floor, and your chest panged with how handsome he looked in the moonlight. Of course, you could only see half of him as your neck could only rotate that much. You didn’t even realize you held your breath, watching him locate himself between your legs once more, goosebumps rising on your skin with the anticipation of his next touch. Still, the expectation never lived up to the real sensation, dragging his cock through your wet folds with a loud squelch that reverberated in the silent room. You pushed back without a thought, and one of your hands reached backward, begging for him to take it, like he wasn’t already touching you. He took it- though it was your wrist he held, and he pressed it against the low arch of your back, your elbow bending.

“Are you going to behave?” He hissed, “Are you still my good wife?”

You nodded, your hair rubbing against the sheets in an unflattering way, one last flex of your fingers. He dragged his length across your entire pussy again, for he couldn’t contain himself nevertheless, his desire for you so great-

“Say it.” He reminded.

But, your answer was not what he expected. “I love you.” You said, breathlessly. “I love you. I want you- I’m trying to be good for you.”

What a shame, for the words “you already are” traveled all the way to his tongue, but wasn’t let out. Instead, he decided he was covered in your slick enough, and pushed the tip of his cock in. He could feel every hitch in your breath, every small sound of pleasure you let out, the sinful furrow of your brows challenged him greatly, with your words still echoing in his ears. He never wanted to hurt you, so he took great care in going slow, agonizingly slow, despite the wish of his primitive self. There was always the fact that he never took you in this position, and you were already on edge because of it.

You shuddered when the tops of his thighs met yours, going mad with how deep was in you like this, how good it felt, even though you couldn’t see or touch him properly. “Please move, my love.” Your plea came after a few seconds, and when he got the permission, he used it.

The first roll of his hips elicited a moan from you, your voice split in two by the thrust. Then, another. Even the barrier of expensive sheets wasn’t enough to mute them as you squirmed in pleasure, the yearning of the week before dissolving in a way that made you more delirious, and you felt like the world was showing you another layer of life, how love could be manifested without gentleness, and still feel this good, this pleasurable.

Anakin didn’t prefer this arrangement, not on most days. He favored seeing your face; your shy gaze turning hungry, the giddy eye rolls when he taunted you with “See something you like?”, your eyelids closing with tiredness- he’d die for every single detail his eyes could capture. But seeing you writhing with bliss unlocked something in him at that moment. He snapped his hips harder, burying himself deeper, a bulge prominent in your lower belly that he could feel with his fingertips, and abusing that sweet spot in you. You were dizzy with the inability to fill your lungs with oxygen- but then again, you were convinced you needed him more than you needed oxygen. His touch, the fact that he was touching you, being with you… Right now those were the matters that kept you alive.

The way your pussy gripped him, almost making it impossible for him to pull back- the struggle was evident in his rugged exhales, deep groans leaving his mouth louder than he intended to. With each sound he produced, you quivered against him. The desperation you had for him never failed to make him surprised. You hadheld him in every way before, wrapping your arms around his shoulders, holding onto his biceps, burying yourself in the crook of his neck… But now, you had no such chance, yet, you held onto his voice. It only fueled him further ‘til-

“Anakin.” He stopped at once. “Please, I want to touch you.” It was more than a wish, like a necessity.

He obeyed.

“You want to touch me?” He teased, still gripping your hand. You expected him to release you at any second, and pull out, that dreaded empty feeling disturbing you, but he did none of those things. With his free hand, he pulled your middle flush with his chest, letting your head rest on his shoulder. A few stray pieces of hair fell to the middle of your face, but your deep exhale blew them away. He watched it happen, your lips opening up, slightly shaky with the air leaving. This was surely one of the moments that would come back to haunt him as he died, one of the memories that flashed in front of his eyes.

Your free hand held onto his, meeting below your ribs, and your gaze consumed him. Without delay, you held your end of the bargain and reached for his mouth. You felt him twitch inside you, and continued to kiss him with greater need, your thumb brushing his arm repeatedly. He was proud of the way you did the most of it, even with one hand behind you, plucking the control out of him with such gentleness that he didn’t mind at all. He almost lost track of the situation, solely focused on the movements above your waists. Honoring the instinct to follow the curve of your body, his hand traced the underside of your tit, then your nipple, all with your hand glued to his arm. The thin fabric provided no obstacles for you to feel every catch of his callouses.

It was only when you fell to his shoulder again, breathless, that he was reminded of your previous activities. Maintaining eye contact, he captured your free hand, watching your eyes widen, and brought it back with the other, properly restraining you. Alas, you had no objections, and you only sighed when he lowered you back. Still, you were so needy for him, and you propped your hips even higher.

Of course, with both of your needs met, you were not far from the peak, and your warning, “Ani, I’m- oh” came in minutes, interrupted by a particular thrust.

“You’re what?” He knew exactly what, repeating the movement already.

“Just like that, please.”

Please. You were trying to break his mind, for sure.

With a cry and your back arching impossibly, you came, squeezing around him even tighter and painting him with your leak. The pulsation of your walls was too much for him to bear too, prompting his release. Throwing his head back, a beautiful moan left his throat and he pulled out at the last second, covering the small of your back with his cum.

The hot droplets hitting your skin impossibly scorched you. Did he not want to start a family with you anymore? During your first months, he did it on purpose, claiming he wanted you to himself for a while, and you thought the same. Besides, a shameless part of you guessed they would be scurrying around soon with the rate you were going at it. What had happened to sever him from that dream?

Your knees gave out when he moved to get a clean rag, a coldness seeping into your bones as he cleaned you, methodically and quickly. He handed you a new nightgown, and your muscles ached trying to take the old one off. Then, you watched him tidy himself too, much harsher than he treated you, filling you with the desire to kiss that patches of skin better.

Alas, you were too tired to do that when he laid beside you. You were too tired to even smile, but surely, the frown that occupied your forehead was gone that night, despite the new questions forming in your mind, as his scent filled your nostrils. Unlike the previous nights that kept him awake with gnawing doubt, he too found it easy to fall into the pits of sleep, in contrast to his will to do otherwise. How could he not, when it was the sight of you that brought him peace, the immortal old habit? Together for an hour, and with ten words top, the vision of your face he looked upon for merely minutes- yet there he was, stiffness of his muscles relaxing, the anxiety that chewed on his spirit lessened, his weary eyes meeting with sleep once again.  He had a feeling, a hope, that these emotions would last ‘til the morning, for he had not the cruelty to wake you up and speak about what troubled him.

Unfortunately, that was not the case.

[sundaysundaes]

Before Our Story Began

Lee Donghyuck/Haechan X Reader | Smut, Fluff | 7.4k | College AU Summary: The popular new kid at your campus has this habit of raising his eyebrows when he flirts and you just realized that maybe you have a kink for it.

It has the same setting as my previous Mark Lee X Reader’s stories (Our First Time and Drunk Antics) but if you’re not into Mark (I’m not judging but what is wrong with you) you can just skip those two because this story can be read separately. 

Before dating the socially-awkward, yet utterly adorable Mark Lee, you have had your fair share of relationships that are now reduced into the form of awkward friendships. Your last boyfriend was Lee Donghyuck—who also publicly known as Haechan—and that fact does not sit well with Mark, because well, they were the best of friends. They still are, but it feels like they’re walking on thin ice whenever you’re in the picture so you try your best to stay away from your ex just to make sure everything is all right with the three of you.

Which is quite weird, knowing how close you were with Haechan before.

It was weird in the beginning, but fate really did play a major role in your relationship. You were in your second year of college and you’d managed to pull yourself together by that time, though you hadn’t really made any real friends yet. You weren’t aware of Mark’s existence either at that point, though he probably had with him being your long-time secret admirer after all. You were too busy trying to adapt to the new college and dormitory life, as well as trying to keep your grades up, that you could barely spend some time socializing with people. Project partners and study buddies were really as far as you could go with the term of friendship during your first year.

Your relationship didn’t exactly start as friends with Lee Donghyuck. Even though he had made tons of friends since his orientation days in college, you were certainly not one of them. You didn’t even know he existed in your world, and neither did he. Younger than both you and Mark, Haechan shone like the sun almost in every aspect of his life and unlike you, people had surely noticed that because he was academically smart, physically good-looking, very social and adventurously funny. It didn’t take long before he became popular at your campus. So popular, in fact, that you heard chatters of his name when you walked down the campus’ hallway with your textbooks in your arms. You had only known his name but not his face, so you didn’t really feel nervous or overly excited like any other girls would’ve probably had when you accidentally sat next to him during public speaking class and saw that he had a silly note stuck on his back, pressed against his black hoodie.

“Hey,” you called, loud enough for him to hear but quiet enough so the people around you wouldn’t notice. “You’ve got something on your back.”

The boy was young, and he had the smoothest golden skin you’d ever seen on a boy. You would probably kill to have his perfect sun-kissed skin. He had slightly chubby cheeks and a mop of dark brown hair with bangs falling over his eyes. He was slouching forward in his seat with his arms draped over his table, staring lifelessly at the board. His lower lip was jutting out in boredom and slight annoyance, reminding you of a five-year-old boy missing his favorite cartoon. He threw a glance to the side, looking at you with big, chocolate brown eyes, and his eyebrows raised in question.

“What?” He asked and you pointed to the back of his hoodie with your pen.

“I won’t judge if it’s the kind of thing you’re into,” you said, “but I don’t think placing a note behind your back with the words Spank Me, Mama, written on it is the best way to actually, you know, get it.”

He blushed and he blushed so hard that it made you think huh, he’s kinda cute, but you buried the thought right away. You had promised yourself to focus better that year. Falling head over heels for a fellow student on the first day of your new term was not the right way to do it.

“Right, thanks.” He struggled with the note, reaching behind his back as if his skin was on fire. You were about to help when he finally snatched the paper and read the words under his breath, eyes widening in shock.

“I assume that’s not your handwriting?” You were amused but tried your best not to tease him so much.

He did this pout that actually kind of fit his face, probably because he still had that baby face going on. Most of the guys you knew would look immensely disgusting if they pulled that kind of pout. Take your brother, Johnny, for example. Even the thought of him doing that already made you feel like punching your fist against a wall.

“I would weep myself to sleep if my handwriting was this bad,” he grumbled and you smiled secretly to yourself. He turned to you, an awkward grin painting his face. “Sorry, my friends are assholes. Do you happen to know a swamp nearby where I can dump dead bodies without being found out?”

You nod. “I know a place but it’s no longer free, though. They charge you, like, ten thousand won per body. Which is why I’m broke.”

His timid grin grew into a bright smile, probably feeling quite elated that somebody shared the same type of dumb humor as him. “I’m Lee Donghyuck.” He sneaked a hand under a table and you took it for a handshake, answering him with your name. “Thanks for saving my life.”

“Most welcome. You can save me back later when I have the words spank me, daddy, glued to my back.”

“So your friends are assholes too?”

“It’s what people have in common these days, I suppose.”

But when your professor spoke louder to make sure he didn’t any other noise in the room except his own, you had to cut your conversation short and only threw small grins at him every now and then.

When the class ended, you both parted ways with nothing more than a small wave of a hand and a casual, “Well, I guess, I’ll see you later.” You thought it would be too weird to get even friendlier than that, and he probably did too. You admitted that he was cute, but not cute enough for you to ditch your next class and make out with him in the nearest parking lot. You thought you were going to see him again soon anyway, probably the next week when the same class started.

And you were right, but you wished you weren’t because Donghyuck came back to your class the following week looking like a full-course meal.

Donghyuck probably had his hair cut short somewhere on the weekend and it looked absolutely fucking perfect on his head. His bangs were no longer hiding his eyes, and it was clear to you then that Donghyuck with his forehead seen, combined with those thick beautiful eyebrows and mesmerizing round eyes, were really something to behold.

He didn’t notice you were already in the class when he walked in, with his bag slinging on one shoulder. Some rowdy boys were shouting at the back of the room, “Haechan-ah, over here! Saved you a seat!” And Donghyuck grinned at them, waving his hand before he walked toward their seats and you thought Lee Donghyuck is Haechan?! That Haechan?! And mentally slapped yourself on the face when the flashback hit you. You had the chance to talk to one of the most popular boys in school and you talked about swamp and dead bodies.

Absolutely fucking perfect.

After you managed to collect yourself, you couldn’t hold back this urge to sneak a few glances to the back of the class, trying to catch a glimpse of that beautiful forehead of his—which you realized by then that you had some kind of a kink for it—without having him notice you.

But he did. He did notice every time you tried to secretly stare and he reciprocated each time with a smile, raising one of his eyebrows almost dangerously seductive at you and you thought goddamn if that wasn’t the sexiest thing I’ve seen in my twenty years of living I don’t know what is.

You offered your best effort to stay fucking calm despite everything that had been going on in your head, waving one hand at him with a small—hopefully not creepy—smile on your face. You immediately turned around right after, swallowing your breath, and tried not to vomit because your stomach felt like it was about to lurch out of your mouth. It wasn’t really an unpleasant feeling; it was just kind of new to you and you loathed the way your heart was slamming against your ribcages.

Okay, you mentally calmed yourself, get a hold of yourself. No need to panic. He’s just another cute boy, with a cute haircut, and a cute smirk, and a cute forehead and—

You really didn’t like where it was going.

When the class ended—and you didn’t learn a thing about it—you shoved your iPad back into your bag and let out the loudest sigh you had ever made in your sorry life.

“Bad day?”

Haechan’s voice was next to your ear and though you only jerked slightly on the outside, most of your soul had actually gone to heaven—or hell, from all those dirty thoughts you had about him during the last two hours of that lecture.

“Yeah,” you cooly replied. Thank God, your voice didn’t betray you. “My swamp is full again. I have to start looking for a new place.”

AM I SERIOUSLY TALKING ABOUT ANOTHER FUCKING SWAMP—

But Haechan was laughing about it, not too much but the amusement on his face was genuine. “It’s cute that you remember our previous conversation.”

“It’s cute that you do too.”

“Well, actually, that’s what I’ve been thinking about for the last week,” he told you with a smirk on his face. You dared to bet on your life that he was flirting with you and you were about to scream out of joy but you reminded yourself to play it cool.

“I don’t think it’s a conversation worth remembering,” you commented nonchalantly.

“Not if I had it with anyone else.”

You almost fell from your seat. “On second thought, it was a pretty interesting conversation, what with the—”

“Noona.” He suddenly leaned close, laying one hand on your desk to prop his weight. There was that smirk again—the one with his eyebrow raised. “I’m trying to flirt with you and ask you out on a date, if you haven’t noticed.”

Your tongue felt heavy in your mouth and you could hear your own heartbeat in your ears at that point. You had thought about it—about him asking you out—but your imagination did not do justice on how smooth and confident or how goddamn attractive he looked in real life. “Oh.”

“Oh.” He imitated, smirking a bit wider and you were dazed with how bright he shone. “So, can I take you out for lunch? Not anywhere close to swamps full of dead bodies, I swear.” Then after a small pause, he added, “Unless, that’s what you’re into.”

“Shut up,” you retorted, standing up and gathering all your belongings into your arms. “You’re paying.”

He laughed softly to himself, trailing after you with a cheeky grin on his face. “This swamp thing could be our thing, though.”

“Shut up.”

***

Haechan was not one to take it slow, you remember, which is way different from how Mark does things with you.

It wasn’t like Haechan was overly aggressive—as far as boys go, he was pretty normal about the whole dating and sex thing—but he really just head straight to the point whenever he had something in mind, whether it was by a sudden change of topic in your conversation, or acting it out directly with his body.

While Mark tends to plan things, Haechan just did everything out on a whim. You could be talking about science fiction movies at a cafe at one point, and ended up with having your clothes soaked with water by the next few hours because he suddenly felt like the day was too hot and jumping into the campus pool fully clothed was a good idea. You weren’t sure why you’d said yes to all of that when you just barely knew him but Haechan could be very persuasive. So dangerously so, that you would probably say yes to anything.

It was on your third date when he suddenly bent his head down and cut you in the middle of your sentence with a kiss. It was only a small peck, a quick pressing of his plump lips against yours, but it still managed to literally stop you from breathing for a good couple of seconds.

“Sorry,” he said, pulling away with his eyes still staring at your lips. “I was… distracted.”

You knew it was lust in his eyes and you were familiar with yourself enough to know that you usually preferred to have your first kiss after you knew the guy for a certain amount of time. But Haechan—the way he sometimes stared at your lips for a millisecond while you were talking, or hugged you for a few seconds too long before you parted ways—really made you feel special. Made you feel… wanted. And it had been a long time since someone made you feel that way.

So it really didn’t come too much of a surprise that when he dipped his head down to kiss you again, you responded with as much passion as he emitted. You didn’t care that both of you were still standing in the middle of your co-ed dorm’s hallway, though it was empty from how late it was. You had your fingers tangled in his hair as you tiptoed and leaned your entire weight to his body, making him inhale sharply and curl his fingers around the fabric of your dress.

“Again,” he breathed when you pulled away for a split second and immediately brought you back to him again. Haechan had one arm around your waist and another one holding your face, angling your head to the side so he could kiss you deeper.

Haechan was a good kisser—so frighteningly so that it made you feel conscious of how inexperienced you were compared to him. And with the way his hands were moving around your body, you could tell that things were going a bit too fast.

“Haechan—”

The hand that you laid on his chest to give you both some space, was brought over your head as he pressed your body against the door of your room. He kissed you harder, almost knocking your head against the wooden surface, and you could taste the flavor of the lollipop he had on his way back to your dorm. His scent was intoxicating in the best way possible, numbing your mind from thinking how this could probably end up in a bad decision.

“Haechan-ah, wait,” you gasped against his mouth, and when he did, pulling away from you for a few inches to catch his own breath, you noticed that even if you managed to stop him, you probably wouldn’t sound very convincing.

It was really fortunate that although Haechan was a man of passion, he still had the patience to make your consent his priority. “Too fast?” He asked, warm breath fanning against your lips and you really wanted to just close those few inches between you and be smothered with his kisses again.

So you did, and you could feel him smirking into the kiss. The way he slipped his tongue between your mouth made your knees buckle underneath your weight so you clutched onto him as if you were hanging to dear life. Haechan formed this low grunt at the back of his throat that made your skin tingle in delight, knowing that you had that kind of effect on him.

But really, something still didn’t feel right.

“Do you want to stop?” He asked, noticing how you fidgeted uncomfortably under his touch. He looked like stopping at this point would be the last thing he wanted to do but he still gave you the space you needed.

You nodded your head slowly at his question. Haechan looked like he had to put his best effort to gain control of his body and move away from you, and you could totally relate at that point, actually. You weren’t really sure why did you even stop him before. It just felt like the right thing to do but at the same time, it was the last thing you wanted to do.

“Haechannie—"

“I’m sorry,” he said, taking a step away from you and releasing you from his hold. You were surprised by the fact that you almost fell down to the floor when he wasn’t holding you.

“No, don’t be—it was, umm,” You cleared your throat. The collar of your knitted sweater suddenly felt too tight. “It was good.”

“Good?” Haechan asked, smirking as he raised an eyebrow and you thought fuck there’s that look again and you cursed inwardly a few more times for feeling so whipped for his little, seductive eyebrow raise. “I thought that was more than good, Noona.”

“Probably for you,” you wanted to tease but you could hear your voice crack at the end.

“Oh, really?”

And he kissed you again because he never wanted to lose his game. He knew he already had you wrapped under his fingers; he just wanted to make you succumb to him. To have you say how amazing his touches really felt on your skin because he was just that kind of a guy.

And he was winning. Your reaction was exactly the way he wanted you to be, arching your back under his touch, pressing your chest against his, tongue darting out to taste the inside of his mouth better and longer.

“No, wait, timeout.” You pushed him away again and you noticed that his hair was a mess from the work of your fingers and weirdly enough, it only made him ten thousand times hotter.

“Noona, you’re torturing me.” He whined against your shoulder, playfully biting the skin over your clothes. “Do you want me to stop or not?”

Haechan had the habit of whining when things didn’t go his way. It was immature and it would probably look childishly annoying on someone else, but it only made him  that much more adorable. Still annoying most of the time, but always adorable.

“I’m sorry.” You were torn between feeling bad or laughing about it because my God, look at that pout. “Maybe a five-minute break? I could make you some coffee. My roommate is away for the weekend.”

He sighed, the pout on his lips grew even more apparent. “You’re inviting me to your room? At this hour? After this?”

“I’m not going to have sex with you tonight, Lee Donghyuck, just to be clear.”

“Which is the more reason why you shouldn’t be inviting me over then!”

You laughed because his voice was becoming quite high-pitched. “Are you so incapable of using your brain instead of your dick?”

“Noonaaaaa~” He threw his head back in exasperation, which gave you the chance to ogle at the column of his throat. “Seriously, is torturing guys at the end of a date your sick hobby or something?”

“Look, if you stay over, we can still make-out.” You throw a smirk at him, unlocked your door and pushed it wide open. “And I make the most amazing coffee, trust me.”

“Fine,” he exhaled, walking into your room with a suppressed smile on his face. “And I’m only here for coffee, nothing more. Making-out with you is just a bonus.” And you found yourself giggling like a child as he cradled you into his arms and pushed you down to your bed because you both knew, it was the other way around.

***

About a month later, a similar situation happened again and there was no getting out of it.

It started with Haechan coming over to your room on a Sunday afternoon. Your roommate was staying over at her boyfriend’s place again for the weekend, so you had the room to yourself for the entire day. Haechan came unplanned and he’d brought his MacBook with him because, “I know myself well enough that I’d end up playing Overwatch instead of working on my assignment, so could you please be a responsible adult and force me to do my work even if I start crying at your feet?”

Haechan was always the dramatic one in your relationship but you nodded your head and let him in. You brought over some snacks and made him coffee like usual—which he always replied with, “Noona, I don’t want to sound like an ungrateful boyfriend but this coffee tastes like shi—” but was always finished with a pillow smacked to his face, a form of your courtesy.

You were working on your own papers too, sitting on the carpeted floor with your back pressed against the foot of your bed and a MacBook resting on your lap. Your textbooks were sprawled all over the place, and Haechan was lying down on your bed, head falling over the edge. He was looking at his phone, his thumb running up and down the screen.

“Noona?”

“Hmm?”

“I’m bored.”

“Aren’t you supposed to work on your assignment?”

“Finished it already.”

You threw a look over your shoulder, glancing to see him lounging on your bed as if it was his own. Haechan already had his MacBook closed, and was looking at you upside down with a completely bored look on his face. You knew he was smart, but you didn’t know he was that smart when he really put his mind to it.

“Well, that was fast,” you commented.

“No, you’re just doing it painfully slow.”

“Well, sorry for not being as smart as you,” you mumbled, even though you weren’t really annoyed about it. Haechan  huffed and walked closer, sitting closely right behind you, and trapping you between his legs.

“You’re the smartest girl I’ve ever met, though,” he said, wrapping his arms around your waist. “What are you working on exactly?”

“I don’t even know, honestly,” you sighed, leaning against his chest, dropping your head on his shoulder. “You wanna order some take-out?”

“Can I eat you for dinner instead?”

“Was that a sex joke, Lee Donghyuck?”

“Could be, if you’re interested.” You could see him wiggling his eyebrows from his reflection on your standing mirror. Both of you looked adorable, if you could say so yourself, wearing a matching white shirt (though not on purpose) and enjoying each other’s warmth with Haechan’s arms wrapped protectively around your figure. You sighed as you admired the sight of Haechan’s features in the mirror.

“Have I told you how sexy you look with your hair pushed back like this?” You asked, reaching out to touch some of his strands and he followed your gaze, looking at his own reflection in the mirror.

“Huh.” He seemed surprised. “It’s the first time you said that actually. What else do you think is sexy about me?”

“Promise you won’t get cocky about it if I tell you?”

“Can’t. You know how I am.”

You sighed but you succumbed to his wish. He praised you from time to time, it was only fair for you to do the same. “The way you dance.”

“You saw me dance?”

“Hm-hmm.”

“When?”

“That time when we went to Jaemin’s party. You were dancing to Billy Jean.”

“You saw that?!” He was flustered, scarlet painting his cheeks and ears. “That was—I thought you were in the bathroom!”

“Well, I was going to but then I saw you and kinda had to stop and stare for a little. You dance more with your hips than with your hands, do you know that? It was kinda hot.”

And just like that, the flabbergasted look on his face was immediately replaced with that Godforsaken cocky smirk again. “Were you turned on back then because of me?”

“A little. Or maybe I just really had to pee.”

“You should’ve said something, you know.”

“And then what? Have sex with you in Jaemin’s room? No freaking way.”

“We could’ve used my car. My hips could do so much more than just dancing, you know.”

“You’re disgusting.” You elbowed him slightly on the stomach to stop him from giggling, before you focused back on your MacBook. “Now, shoo, my boy. Mommy’s gotta work.”

Haechan had his chin on one of your shoulders. “But Noona~”

“I’m studying.”

“I’m bored~” He whined like the baby that he was, nuzzling his nose against the crook of your neck and you flinched slightly when his breath tickled your skin. “Can we make-out? Please pretty pleaseeeee~”

“Give me half an hour to finish this real quick—”

“Noonaaaaaaa~”

“What?” You were trapped between laughing and acting annoyed about it. “I seriously need to study. Didn’t you tell me to be a responsible adult for today?”

“You could also be a responsible adult by making-out with me though.” He chuckled to himself. “We could do adult things if you—”

“No,” you firmly stated though your smile kept on appearing on your face. You pushed a palm against his cheek, playfully shoving him away. “Now, go away, Dongsookie, I really have to study.”

“Fine,” he exhaled loudly against your shoulder and you could practically feel his pout growing on his face. He didn’t let you go, though. He kind of just sat there behind you, still circling his arms around your waist as he lazily stared at the words you were typing on the keyboard. You had trouble concentrating with the way you could feel every time he took in a breath from how close his chest was pressed against your spine but eventually you got the hang of it.

You were already working on your third page when Haechan suddenly had his lips on the side of your neck, lazily suckling on the skin until you could no longer ignore him.

“Haechannie.”

“Hmm?”

“What are you doing?”

“I’m playing a game,” he murmured against your skin, licking at the soft skin before he nibbled at it with his teeth. “It’s called how fast can I distract my girlfriend from working over a stupid assignment instead of spending time with me.”

“But I am spending time with you, though.”

“You know what I mean.”

And you had to bite your lip because he had a certain kind of pressure on his words that made your skin tingle in anticipation. His lips were soft but scorching hot as he drew bruises on your skin and it felt so good and dangerous at the same time. It was like standing on a bridge made of glass, both exciting and terrifying.

“You know what I think is sexy about you?” He quietly asked, one hand running down your body, slipping under your shirt and hovering dangerously close to your bra. “The way you say my name when we kiss,” he continued, adding a soft moan when he latched his lips around your earlobe.

You shivered, feeling heat growing on your cheeks. “Haechannie—”

“Yes, like that,” he chuckled, his voice suddenly became deeper. “You’re so sexy, you’re driving me insane.”

You tried your best to ignore him, you really did. But the second he had his warm mouth against your lips, his fingers grabbing your face almost forcefully to turn towards him, you just lost it and you found yourself crawling into his lap, tangling your legs around his waist and moaning against his mouth as he was against yours.

“Noona,” he sighed when you kissed down his neck, as if your every touch was a gift that he craved more and more. He shuddered slightly when you had your hand under his shirt and as if you just pushed the wrong button, he suddenly picked you up by the waist, shoved your textbooks away with one swipe of the back of his hand, and laid you down on the carpeted floor in one swift motion.

“If you keep doing that,” he breathed out heavily, eyes glazed as he stared at your kiss swollen lips. “I won’t be able to stop, even if you beg me to.”

You weren’t sure what came over you but you found yourself hooking your fingers around his necklace and brought his face down, whispering, “Then don’t stop,” directly against his lips.

It was all rush and passion and Haechan was not wasting even a second away before he began to undress you, removing each clothing very easily and you secretly wondered just how many times had he done this before from how smooth he unclasped your bra with one flick of his finger.

He pulled his shirt over his head, his silver necklace hanging loosely around his neck. “Tell me if I’m being too fast,” he said, before he climbed on top of you, throwing the piece of clothing away without a care. Your heart jumped at the sight of him, knowing how this could lead to something more but couldn’t really stop him. Not with the way he had his hands reaching down from the valley of your breasts, down to your stomach, his fingers brushing above the hem of your jeans.

His kiss was always breathtaking, to say the least, but it was a bit different this time because it felt like he was losing control of himself. His kiss was almost forceful, his teeth roughly nibbling at your lower lip before he moved down your chin and found his place in the crook of your neck again. His hand was on your chest, cupping you fully with his palm and let out this sexy groan when he felt you gasping his name against his mouth.

“Fuck, you’re just doing that on purpose now, aren’t you?” He hissed, eyes clouded with lust. He peppered kisses down your chest, lips hovering above your nipple when he said, “You’re being cruel, Noona.” You were tugging at his dark locks when he placed it between his lips, sucking at the sensitive spot, and you tried to hold back your moan but failing every time.

Haechan was giggling to himself, his tongue flicking around the bud. “The way you’re reacting to me is so cute. I didn’t know you were this sensitive.” He ran his tongue across his lower lip, staring at you like he wanted to ravish every part of you, which he probably did. “You’re so goddamn cute.”

“Haechannie.”

“Yeah?”

“I won’t be needing that kind of commentary ever again in the future, thanks,” you uttered, trying your best to focus on his touch and not his words because Haechan could be annoyingly talkative sometimes.

He chuckled again, moving along to land a few kisses on your stomach. “If you’re that sensitive here, how sensitive will you be if I touch you right over…” He trailed a finger down from your belly button to the edge of your underwear. His eyes twinkled gleefully before he rubbed your clit over your underwear. “…here?”

You gave your best strength to stay sane but Haechan’s giggle over your reaction only tortured you even further. “Stop playing around,” you hissed under your breath, pretty sure that you were blushing from ear to ear.

“Playing?” Haechan grinned tauntingly, “I’m being pretty serious, though.” He spread your legs, kissing the inner part of your trembling thigh before he hovered dangerously close to the point you could feel his breath down there. You couldn’t help but gulp in anticipation and Haechan knew that. He knew how much you wanted him to take off your underwear and eat you out like it’s his last meal.

But of course, being the little fucking devil that he was, Haechan only threw you his usual smirk and said, “You know I’d do anything for you, right, Noona? You just gotta beg for it.”

“No way.”

“Otherwise, I wouldn’t know.” He faked a pout. “I’m younger than you, you know. I need you to teach me these things.”

You reciprocated by kicking him right on his abs because as desperate as you were, there was no way in hell you were going to grovel at his feet, begging for him to please you. “All right, all right, I’m sorry, geez!” Haechan said, laughing as he successfully dodged two of your first kicks. Soon after, he grabbed your moving legs, carefully placed them on his sides and ran his hands slowly from your legs to your thighs. He took a long glance at your body, sighing like it was some kind of beautiful torture for him to take. “You don’t even realize how hot you are, do you?” He leaned closer and grabbed you by your chin, locking both of your gazes together. “Do you even know how hard I am right now because of you?”

It was a rhetorical question, clearly, because you could definitely tell how hard and hot he was pressing against you, even if his jeans and your underwear were still on the way.

“God, just—” you gasped when he slipped a knee between your legs, pressing it against your core. “Just stop being a fucking tease and fuck me already, Donghyuck.”

And he grinned against your skin. “Fucking finally.” You heard him say under his breath, before he carried you in his arms and moved you to the bed. It felt somewhat scary, how fast he was being, because you had only experienced sex once and it was the painfully awkward kind of sex with your high school boyfriend and you didn’t really have the chance to practice it with anyone else while it seemed to you, at this point, was clearly not the case for him.

Haechan had his eyes on you, all half-lidded with lust and passion, as he unbuckled the belt of his jeans and you had to gulp at the sight. He didn’t really have six-pack abs like Jaehyun—considering your boyfriend was quite an athlete during his senior days—but his shoulders were broad, his chest was toned, his stomach was lean and his skin, as it glistened slightly with sweat, was just absolutely breathtaking.

“Enjoying the view?” He asked, and you knew how he’d always been cocky in his entire life, but he’d never been this cocky. “You’re practically drooling.”

“I am not,” you retorted but you lacked confidence. Haechan grabbed a condom from the pocket of his jeans before he climbed back into the bed with his jeans unbuttoned.

“Why do you already have a condom with you?”

“Because I came prepared.”

“I thought you said you wanted to study.”

“Among other things,” he grinned against your lips and shushed down your next protest. “I will be studying your body, if you give me the chance.”

“That was so lame.” But even your insult couldn’t mask how nervous you sounded, especially when Haechan was settling himself between your legs again, fingers hooking around your underwear.

“Final chance if you want me to stop, Noona,” he said though it felt like it was almost impossible for him to stop. “I’m serious. After this, I won’t stop even if you cry.”

You swallowed your breath, heart thrumming loud against your chest. “Just do whatever you want,” you answered, almost too quiet for even your ears to hear but Haechan’s eyes gleamed in anticipation.

“That’s my girl,” he said, grabbing your thighs and spreading your legs apart before he leaned in to taste your mouth again. “I’ll be gentle, don’t worry.”

You realized you were holding your breath when Haechan wrapped the condom around his length and he had his eyes on you before he pushed in, asking with an unexpected low voice of his, “Ready?”

But he did not wait for an answer and you found yourself hissing when he pushed in, slowly at first and suddenly all at once. You twisted your fingers against the bed sheet, biting your lower lip because it hurt trying to adjust to his size and Haechan was a little bit lost in his own thoughts, muttering, “Fuck, you’re so tight,” under his breath, slightly throwing his head back out of pleasure. “Noona, you’re so fucking tight. Do you know that?”

He leaned closer to you, chest pressing against your breasts as he mouthed against the skin of your shoulder and slowly began to move his hips. “You all right?” He asked, making eye contact after a while and you shakily nodded your head, though the pain was still there. “Then I’ll move faster.”

You almost hit your head against your headboard when he suddenly picked up the pace, thrusting into you hard and deep; it knocked the breath out of your lungs. “Haecha—” you could barely speak at that point, arms clutching tight to his back, nails raking against his spine.

“Fuck,” he uttered between heavy breaths as he sat on his knees, holding both of your legs in the air, almost splitting your body in half and pushed deeper. “How the fuck do you feel this good, I—” he ended his sentence short, kissing your ankle instead, his eyes never leaving yours. “I wanna keep you—you’re so pretty like this, Noona—so fucking pretty—”

Haechan was always good with his words but at that time, he was making incoherent noises at the back of his throat, jumping from one sentence to another as if he was thinking about several things at once and he was running out of time.

“Haechan, wait—s-slow down—” You placed a hand on his shoulder, tears forming in your eyes. “You’re moving too fast—It hurts—”

Haechan was unfocused, but the last two words that slipped from your mouth brought him back to reality. He stopped almost immediately, looking at you with eyes searching your face. “Does it hurt?” He asked and you nodded, your body shaking a little bit. His gaze softened, cupping your cheek in his hand before he slowly pulled out of you. “I’m sorry, come here.” He cradled you into his arms, sitting down on the bed and helped you climb into his lap. “Maybe if we do it this way,” he said, wiping a tear from your eye with his thumb, “You’ll feel better?”

You could feel him twitching below you, the tip of his cock pressing against your folds. Haechan stayed true to his promise, he wasn’t going to stop even if you cried and that’s fine because you didn’t want him to.

“Take your time,” Haechan said, smiling gently in a way that was so not him that it made you feel weird. You could tell that he was trying to keep himself calm and composed even when all he wanted to do was to fuck you senselessly.

He pushed inside again, but let you take control of the pace this time. You slid down slowly, wincing slightly at the friction but it no longer hurt as much. Haechan was staring at you the entire time, unconsciously licking his lower lip when you slowly began to bounce on his lap.

“Kiss me,” he demanded and you did, sharing his breath and his moans, and tangling your hands in his hair. When he felt your body relaxing against him, he grabbed you by the waist and suddenly thrust forward, making you gasp and clenched your legs together.

“Fuck,” he moaned under his breath, hissing at how perfect you felt around him. “Noona, you can be mad at me as much as you want after this but for now let me just—” he groaned, furrowing his eyebrows at the feeling of him sliding in and out of you. “Just let me fuck you the way I want.”

And you found yourself thrown back to the bed with him thrusting into you deep and raw, faster and much more forceful than before. His nails were sinking into your skin from how hard he was holding you by your hips, keeping you still as he rocked his hips forward as hard and as fast as he liked. Expletives were falling from his lips between his low grunts and breathy moans and you couldn’t help but sob a little at how strong he was going. It felt painfully amazing, and you knew your body wasn’t making any sense, and it surprised you when your orgasm hit you like a wave, just a few seconds before he reached his. You honestly never thought that something so painful could also bring this much pleasure and you wanted to be mad at him but you couldn’t even find the energy to keep yourself up.

You fell down to the bed with Haechan toppling on top of you almost immediately, chest heaving fast as he tried to bring back some air into his lungs.

“Holy fucking hell,” he said, breathing heavily at the juncture of your neck. “That was so good. This is probably the first time I—”

“Haechannie.”

“Oh right, shit!” He immediately jumped away, giving you some space and gently placed his palm on the side of your face, checking your condition. “Are you okay? Are you hurt somewhere? Noona, I’m so sor—Yah!“

You pinched him by the nose, glowering at him with the little strength you have left and you didn’t let go even if he was tapping frantically against the back of your hand, asking for time-outs before you broke his bones.

Well, he said you could be mad at him all you want. It was time for him to face your wrath and it was not going to be pretty.

***

It wasn’t long until your name became a famous topic to discuss around the hallway too and it felt weird yet exciting at the same time, because it was true. You were dating Lee Haechan. And no matter how many times you had to convince yourself that it wasn’t solely your imagination, it still felt unreal.

Because Haechan was shining like the sun, and you couldn’t really shine as bright.

It suddenly felt like high school all over again when you’d once dated the Prom King, Jung Jaehyun, where people always talked behind your back, making comments about your face, or your body, or your attitude and how every aspect of your life did not fit the legendary high school prince that was Jung Jaehyun. It had gotten so much into your head that you had to break up with him, and hating yourself for over a year on how weak you’d become.

Dating Haechan was similar but different in the way he treated you. Jaehyun was too kind, not really saying anything back to anyone who said awful things about you and instead, just told you to not pay any mind about it. Haechan was much braver in saying the things that came to mind, so whenever he heard people talking trash about you, he would come up to them with words laced with venom. It was kind of childish, the way he got worked up rather easily, and even more childish when he continued to pout and fume about it even after a whole day had passed.

“Seriously, I said I’m fine,” you once said to him, entering his Hyundai after he opened the door for you.

“Well, I’m pissed off,” he said, unconsciously closing the door a bit too hard, making you flinch slightly. He walked to the other side of the car, sinking to his seat behind the wheel and exhaled loudly.

“Haechannie.”

“What?” His tone was still a bit harsh, but you knew he didn’t mean to shout at you.

“Thank you for defending me,” you softly said, reaching out for his hand. “But at this point, you’re gonna be mad with literally everyone and anger does not look pretty on you.”

“But aren’t you pissed, though? They literally have no business whatsoever to—”

“I know.” You squeezed his hand. “Look if it gets worse, we can always plan out something. There’s this perfect swamp I know outside of town.”

And Haechan couldn’t help but smile. Maybe he was right, that swamp thing could really be your thing. “You and your stupid swamp,” he muttered, shaking his head in amusement as he grabbed your face for a kiss. “Can we have sex at your place today?”

You sighed. It was always like this when it came to him.  “Sure, why not.”

Because certainly, you weren’t complaining.

***

[8uggestionamplifie6]

I just had the dumbest but coolest thought.

You know how there are soulmate AUs for Star Wars, right? And usually everyone in the galaxy has a soulmate, right?

Well, I just came up with a genius soulmate AU for Star Wars that'll fit in (I think).

First of all, the only people who have soulmates are Jedi (and their soulmates, obviously). Second of all, 'soulmates' aren't actually soulmates, not in the traditional sense at least.

Most soulmate AUs have it where the two persons both combine to make a single complete soul (person A: 1/2)(person B: 1/2) (which makes 1 whole).

But my soulmate AU is different.

And here's why. (Yes you'll need the context, so don't skip it.)

When the galaxy was first created, there was no such thing as soulmates. And it stayed that way for billions of years.

Until eventually, that changed.

During one of the first Sith-Jedi wars, the Sith realized that they were losing. The Jedi had more soldiers, more people, etc. They were losing BADLY.

So you know what they did?

They placed a curse on the Jedi Order.

This curse would split the soul of any Jedi in half, thus making the Jedi weaker and easier to kill.

(Restrictions: Person must take vows as a Jedi/acknowledge themselves or be acknowledged as a Jedi in order for the curse to take affect. Either or, just fulfill one of these requirements.)

Of course, the Jedi Order found out about the curse quickly and tried to capture the Sith who created it in hopes of reversing it.

But the Sith who participated in the ritual knew that the Jedi would find out, so all fifty-something of them committed sewerslide right after the curse took its affect.

So now the Jedi couldn't reverse it anymore. They don't know what rituals the Sith used, they don't have any information, they don't know how to reverse it, they don't know anything.

And that's when the Force came in clutch to help them.

So basically, the half of any Jedi's soul that was ripped from them will be sent to a person who needs it most.

(Ex. Very sick girl at home. Boy joins Jedi Order and becomes a Jedi. Boy's soul is torn apart. Girl is given that half of Boy's soul and becomes healthier.)

Not only that, but Jedi can access the other half of their soul (not the soulmate, just their soul) in their last moments.

I like to call it, "The Final Hour".

What I mean by this is that when a Jedi exhausts themselves near death's door or dies or is fatally injured, the other half of their soul (soul B) will gradually be brought to them (soul A), momentarily increasing their strength and power. This gives them a better chance at killing the person attacking them or to protect more people, even if they've already 'died'.

On average, this state lasts about an hours, give or take a few minutes, hence the name.

When the soulmate dies first however, Soul B disappears, which leaves only Soul A (which is with the Jedi).

Think of it like this: the soulmate is the anchor Soul B uses and needs to stay 'alive'. When that anchor dies, Soul B doesn't have a way to travel from point B (the soulmate) to Point A (the Jedi) anymore, so Soul B just disappears into the Force, waiting to be reunited with Soul A.

But when the Jedi dies first, Soul B still has the soulmate to use as an anchor point (the other anchor point being the 'main' soul aka Soul A), which means that it can travel to the Jedi in order to start the "Final Hour".

But anyways, back to the 'soulmate' part because I'm about to do some world-building for this AU.

One, having a soulmate is generally seen as a curse. This is because when the Jedi dies, the Soul B that was inhabiting the 'soulmate' will leave to join Soul A, thus killing or incapacitating the 'soulmate'.

Like I said, the Force specifically guides these half-souls to people who need it most. Say a terminally ill boy is given the half of a Jedi's soul, he gets better and is no longer terminally ill. The moment the Jedi dies however, Soul B will be taken back and the boy will return to being terminally ill. Which is why having a soulmate in this AU means being 'cursed' and not blessed.

Two, most people don't know why soulmates exist or they don't know why the people who have a Jedi's soul is 'cursed'. To them, they can't explain it. One second the boy is all fine and dandy, and the next he drops to the ground dead.

Three, Jedi are weaker than Sith. Since Jedi only have half of their soul with them (unless they die and enact the "Final Hour"), they are weaker and thus need to train a lot in order to make up for their lack of pure power. Remember, the Sith don't have this curse on them, so they still have an entire soul.

Four, Sith hunt the soulmates of Jedi. (Another reason why being a soulmate is seen as a curse bc no one wants to be murdered by a Sith). For reasons stated above, by killing the soulmate, you basically permanently kill off half of a Jedi's soul, which makes them even weaker.

Five, yes, force-sensitives can be the soulmate of a Jedi, it has happened before. This usually makes the force-sensitive soulmate even stronger because since the soulmate is only force-sensitive and not a Jedi, they don't have the curse on them, so they technically have 1 & 1/2 souls. When this happens, the Jedi and the Sith scramble to find the soulmate. The Jedi want to hide the soulmate in order to keep the soulmate safe and stop the Sith from gaining another weapon. The Sith, however, want to train the soulmate and turn them into an extremely powerful Sith Lord.

(My head canon is that quite a few notorious Sith Lords are these special force-sensitives with an extra half of a soul.)

Six, the reason why the Jedi Order is so small during the Prequels Era is because the Order stopped seeing a reason to have more people have their souls brutally torn in half. That shit hurts mad and it's not fun. More importantly, the Sith were 'dead'. The Order believed that, so that's why they stopped conducting major Searches and stopped accepting initiates. They also placed stricter acceptance rules in order to discourage people from sending their children to the Order.

So, what do yall think? Like it or nah? Which Sith Lords do yall think would have 1 & 1/2 of a soul? Questions, comments, concerns?

(Why the hell did I write this?)

[moonbeamsung]

Sink or Swim

You plunged deep into an ocean of love for Huang Renjun, the boy who had already fallen for the sea itself.

member: renjun

au: sailor!renjun x gn!reader

word count: 2.7k

genre: angst, fluff, slightly dystopian

warnings: character death/drowning, mentions of water (one passing mention of a typhoon and a very heavy focus on the ocean), light profanity

recommended song: when i was older by billie eilish

author’s note: Not only did the lyrics to the above song inspire this fic, but so did the general mood and sound of it :) I would recommend listening while you read, since I think it really adds to the atmosphere. My creativity took quite a while to cooperate on this one but I like how it turned out and hope you do as well, feedback is highly appreciated as always. Thanks to @astroboy-lele for her help beta-reading this (like 2 hours ago), and enjoy!

taglist: @astroboy-lele @kyuwoyo @rvse-hvvck @nakamotocore @kisshim @hunjins​

network tags: @kpopscape @neo-constellations @culture-cafe @dreamlab-nct @k-dinernet 

The sleepy little fishing village you call home seems to sigh with the tides, waves lapping at the shore in a rhythm not unlike that of steady breaths. It’s the world’s way of inhaling the salty air, sometimes laced with the pungent scent of a fresh catch.

The sport itself is a life force here, the key to any sort of contact with the rest of civilization. Without it, the hill that the small town is nestled into might just swallow up the dozens of small brick buildings, reducing them to nothing but a memory. The murky waters would carry minuscule traces of its existence far and wide, but not even a name could break the surface.

Unfortunately, the village’s dependence on exporting fish leaves little room for the personal aspirations of its residents. At some point in your life, you’ll be called to assist with a certain aspect of the product’s distribution. The elders in charge find ways for even the most unskilled of hand and mind to participate, but they always save the hardest work for those who were born into it: the sailing families.

Quite literally, a love of the sea is in Huang Renjun’s blood.

His great-grandfather was around to see the beginnings of the seaside community, and he became the most famous fisherman known to the village by returning to the docks with large nets in tow, just bursting with sharp fins and thrashing tails. Those were the glory days, and generations later, the Huangs want their young son to follow in his footsteps, to become just as well-known for legendary angling expeditions.

But... he’s not really interested.

He would much rather take to the waves in a boat and chase the horizon, not bothering with casting a net or even a rod. To him, the ocean air is beyond suffocating, like a poison meant to expel any wanderlust from his lungs, to rip it from his soul. Renjun is a fiery spirit, and not even the crashing, slate-colored waters can dampen the adventurous spark burning bright and warm inside of him. It would take more than a typhoon to do so.

You admire that about him, too. How he holds a strong but steady resistance to the traditions of the village, the limited and meager expanse of the world that you’ve both lived in—no, been confined to—all your life.

Just think of the endless possibilities that await, beyond the hazy fog obscuring the fine line between land and sea. The faint shapes that loom in the distance, perhaps a trick of the eye but perhaps another sign of life besides you, seem so close but are still just out of your reach, teasing you both with what could lie outside this languid, ashen realm. Your heart races at the mere notion of such a thing.

The waves are impossibly blue when their image is reflected in Renjun’s dark eyes; you notice this one dreary afternoon as you let your feet dangle above the gentle ripples, sitting at the edge of one of the many docks that tangle through a mess of sailboats and fishing gear. The burnt orange of his threaded sweater stands out against the rest of the scenery, so monochromatic you sometimes swear the world is black and white.

He’s a splash of color, a splash of adventure and determination among a colorless mass of villagers who wouldn’t trade the way things are right now for anything. The dull, scuffed toes of his boots drag along the wooden planks as he trudges towards you, settling down at your side with a small gust of wind. Both anticipating and dreading the impending day when his father would teach him how to take to the seas and steer the boat that’s run in his family for generations, Renjun finds himself at the humble and rickety marina often. Anticipating because that knowledge would enable him to change the course of his own life on his own terms, and dreading because he knew of the harsh disapproval those actions would receive.

But still, Renjun stays right there on the dock next to you, diving past the shallows of his conscious mind and into the darkest, deepest abyss of his own thoughts, letting them bubble and sputter up and puff into the air like sea spray. If both your hearts are oceans of their own, they collide in this moment, as his ambitions and aspirations spill over into yours and settle on the seabed below. He’s chosen you to entrust these secrets with. You, the only other resident of the village with a familiar restlessness in your eyes when the sun disappears below the distant horizon, gaze wistful and longing to do the same.

And as if they’re the precious riches of a mythical swashbuckling pirate, you keep them there, each word a golden coin or sparkling gem hidden away in a long-lost treasure chest. The twilight sky that evening is the most vivid you’ve ever seen it, and daylight is fading fast by the time Renjun finishes telling you everything.

“I never knew there was someone who felt the same way I did about all this.”

The realization sets in late, just as the weathered surface you’re both perched on sways in the wind. You fear for a second that you might slip forward into the icy water; that’s how strong the breeze whipping through the air around you feels. That, or it’s due to the sheer force from your heart as it swells at finally meeting someone you’ve admired from afar for what feels like an eternity, ever since you understood what life was like and what it meant for you here.

Sure, Renjun’s grandfather may have been well-known in the past for one reason, but to you, Renjun is creating a legacy of his own for another, one of more than just adolescent rebellion and defiance. It’s one of undoubtable self-awareness, of an adamant refusal to conform to an existence he hadn’t chosen, and he’s finding a way to alter what he’s been seemingly destined for all his life.

“Me neither,” you shake your head, still in a small fraction of euphoric disbelief. “All that’s left to do now is stow away on a ship together in the dead of night, I suppose.” The comment is joking, but he takes it more seriously than you anticipated. The cloudy sky above brightens with his eyes.

You convene in shadowy alleys when no one’s looking, wasting away the hours as you mutually yearn for just a sliver of knowledge of the unknown, enthralled by the waves in the distance and what lies below and above and beside. Renjun sometimes whisks you away to a steep overlook that provides a panoramic view of the beach, the powdery sand so far beneath your bare feet gray enough to pass for finely packed pebbles. You find yourself melting into his embrace like the sea melts into the sky, blurring the already thin lines between air and water and between friendship and love. The way his fingers encircle your wrist with a curl like that of a cresting wave is telling enough on its own. His heart belongs to two bodies now.

You can’t help but notice all the similarities he bears to the element you’ve never lived a day of your life without seeing, without hearing the undulations of, without smelling or tasting the salty tang it brings to the air. Always moving, a force to be reckoned with, and evidently a possessor of the ability to travel far and wide on even the most fleeting of whims.

He’s utterly himself around the water, too. You’re almost positive he could effortlessly duck beneath the surface, take a breath, and his lungs would drink it in as if it was air. The only place he doesn’t feel like drowning is below the waves.

“Look!” Renjun points out an unfamiliar vessel tied down at the far end of the pier one day, sails torn in jagged lines as if they had been slashed by a larger-than-life creature. Upon closer examination, you find that the wooden bow of the sailboat is splintering and the windows into the cabin are shattered. The name carved into the hull is simply too faded for you to decipher the letters.

“This boat must’ve gone through hell and back,” you comment, your response delayed like an echo. “Who do you think it belongs to, anyway?”

He’s lost within a symphony of thoughts before he answers, “No one.”

Both incredulous and doubtful, you whip around to meet Renjun’s assured gaze. “No one ever comes and no one ever goes, it’s that simple. These same boats have been docked for years. They’ve belonged to the same families one decade after another.” The boy sighs, scanning the horizon for anything that might appear the slightest bit unusual. “The real question is where it came from.”

You have no answer for him.

“Regardless,” he speaks up again, quite matter of factly, “It’s ours now.”

“Ours?”

“Yes, ours. You said you’d sail away with me, right?”

It certainly isn’t the aspiration you would have envisioned yourself pursuing. You could have chosen to quietly obey, to live and work exactly as you were told by a community so rigid that you felt frozen to the bone. Not like the pleasant chill of the ocean, rather a restrictive pair of icy shackles, ever-tightening around your limbs and subduing your mutinous thoughts. But here you are, longing for a little something more both in life and with the only person that understands your heart’s deepest desires like they’re his own. And at their core, they are.

Without fear, Renjun takes a confident stride onto the boat’s deck, turning back to you and offering his hand as you mimic the action. “What are you waiting for?” He asks, eyes twinkling.

A warm thrill courses through your veins, growing hotter with each small preparation you make towards your inevitable departure. It’s an affair of many weeks, but at last you’ve gathered all of the necessary supplies and courage to carry out your plan.

The day finally comes, the day you’ll spring into action and take hold of your futures by the ropes, no one but yourselves telling you how or where to steer.

On the most moonlit night you’ve ever been alive to witness, you and Renjun both slip out from underneath your fraying comforters, unbeknownst to the rest of your households. Save for your two restless souls, the entire village is sound asleep, the unceasing lullaby of the tides casting its steadfast spell on bodies and minds like clockwork. Wooden floors so hollow and dusty that they barely creak under your weight, you successfully glide out your respective front doors in silence like translucent spirits.

No one else in the village had even acknowledged the foreign ship’s presence, but this shouldn’t surprise you, not in the slightest. The thick, colorless fog of life had long since settled around the shoulders of anyone and everyone who allowed it to, ensnaring them in a mind-numbing, monotonous routine. It blocks out the sun and the rain, the light and the darkness. It’s all so sickeningly the same. Empty eyes can’t pay any mind to their surroundings. Meanwhile, yours are full of hope, the brightest in the land.

In the distance, Renjun appears as vibrant and sprightly as ever. His form cascades down a flight of stone steps, leading from the sheer hills clustered with homes onto sea-level ground, and glides over the small dunes of sand separating you. He reaches the edge of the beach and your side a minute later, the thump of his heart keeping time with the tides. A nod, and you’re sprinting towards the docks, fingers trembling in excited anticipation.

It isn’t until after you’ve clumsily set sail that you see the ominous shadows of dark clouds laid out ahead, directly in your path. Even in the dead of night, a flash of distant lightning illuminates the world in a harshly jagged blaze for as far as the eye can see, as it strikes some unknown location out in front of the sailboat.

You’re certain the repairs you’ve spent days and nights working on with Renjun will be enough to keep the ship intact, despite the weather you’re sure to endure if you continue on this route. So you press on, missing the apprehension furrowing his eyebrows.

But because every force of nature has decided to convene against you both for reasons eternally unknown, the harsh winds weave their way in between the threads your careful hands had stitched on the canvas, meant to catch the breeze but being torn apart by it instead. Suddenly you’re struggling to hold on to your balance and you feel as flimsy as a leaf in a blustering current of cold, crisp wind.

Perhaps you should have practiced first. Renjun had not yet received a single ounce of training from his experienced father, and it was far from wise to leave the only life you’ve ever known without any knowledge of how to get to your next one. He’s trying to hide his panic now, wavering between the steering controls and warily glancing up at the gloomy midnight sky. One more flash of lightning, and all goes awry, all at once.

The water around you surges, as if physically drawn to the heavens, and more falls from above. Raindrops pelt down onto your arms and soak your hair, drenching the sails and filling the shallow hull almost instantly. Wave after towering wave crashes down, hard, and you’re no longer certain which way is up. About to lose your footing, you feel a pair of arms wrap around your middle like the snug hold of a life preserver.

Before all vitality can be lost and smothered by the raging ocean, a desperate Renjun holds fast to you, your thin clothes clinging to the damp skin of his hands. The storm is just too much, and there’s no way you’ll see the journey through like you had hoped. It’s difficult, excruciating even, to accept, and even more difficult for Renjun to let go of you like this. He’ll fight until the end, fight the fates and the invisible forces that life entails to hold you for just a few more seconds.

He won’t be able to live with himself, even in whatever afterlife may or may not come after the darkness he already sees, feels closing in on him, if he doesn’t sacrifice his last breath for a final moment of bliss, of you.

The sensation of Renjun’s wan lips pressing into yours overwhelms and surpasses all others, his palms tracing the edges of your figure like the tides trace the sandy shore. Urgently he draws you close up against him, trying his best to shield you from the inescapable terror of the sea. A lifetime’s worth of energy and emotion and passion is expended, making up for all the time in the world he wouldn’t and couldn’t have. The tang of saltwater meets your tongue, and you’re not sure if it’s the taste of him or of the ocean.

A weak tug on your palpitating heart, an internal scream in your ringing ears tells you that you should resent him for this, for propelling you forward in your apparently unachievable fantasies of living the life you wanted for yourself. But you don’t, you can’t. It’s no one’s fault, really. With this thought, a peaceful stillness washes over you amidst the chaos, and your awareness of the boy in your embrace fades steadily, slowly, then rapidly. Reality is getting paler, more black and white than ever, and you’re sinking further and further down towards the ocean floor miles below. The faint light of the moon becomes distorted from underneath the water, blurring with your failing vision. It all slips away, and then there’s nothing.

It’s a shame no one in the village takes notice of the two extra stars that blink into existence on that moonlit night, but yours and Renjun’s souls take their place among the rest, both a warning and a calling to anyone who dared attempt what you did. Two guiding lights pointing any other dreamers towards the hope of a better, brighter future.

[doitwritenow]

DRAGON!! Questions: 2, 4, 27 aaaand 32. XD Also 35, release the rambles.

ADA!!!! Let’s see what I can do here... >:3

2. Why do you write fanfiction? I write fic because of the spaces between the lines of a story. The gaps and unanswered questions in canon encourage me to come up with deeper mechanics, more complicated lore, and complex character motivations in order to explain. Sometimes, one of those pieces will click into canon so well that it becomes inspiration. And then there’s nothing else to do but write! Lol. Stories are so wonderful because of what we can do with them, individually and all together, and I really like being a part of that. 

4. Are there any writers that inspire you? Absolutely. Brandon Sanderson and Neil Gaiman are the novelists who’s skills blow me away and remind me why I like to write. Robert Hass,Trista Mateer, and Robert Graves are inspirations too, though I’m not a poet. I like to think and they make me do so.

27. What’s the nicest comment you’ve ever received? Oh that’s hard!!! I get a ton of wonderful comments--from long, analyzing, discussion ones to short, joking, fun ones that make me laugh when I’m having a bad day. I love to be able to interact and banter with my readers; it’s my favorite thing, and they’re all so lovely. ANYWAY a comment that jumps to mind is a recent one from @writingish1210​ on all but my oldest fic ever, Wire Figures, praising characterization and tone. (i WILL cry, don’t test me)

32. Summarize a random fic of yours in 10 words or less. I used a random name picker for this, uh “they said I couldn’t fit calculus inside of endgame angst”

35. Ramble about any fic-related thing you want! Release the ramble!!!!  okokok how about a first-page blurb from something I may or may not ever actually write? I’m in the mood for ironstrange fairytale au because I’m working on a Prophets in the Graveyard chapter today, so have some fantasy Rapunzel vibes!

The candle flame sparked weakly at the very base of its wick when the knock finally rattled at Stephen’s window. Stephen didn’t move from where he was kneeling, a hand extended in a careful downstroke to complete the right edge of the design he’d almost perfected. It was vital that his movements were smooth and controlled. He didn’t let the knock surprise him into skewing the line, and it took a long moment to loop his fingers to end his stroke with a flourish. 

Only then did Stephen jump to his feet, tucking the sapphire feather of his quill behind his ear and tumbling toward the window. The glass was fogged from the warmth of the inside air against the chill of the autumn temperature outside, and Stephen could just barely see movement through the cloudiness. He slid his fingers between the windowpanes and threw them open. 

“You’re late,” he said, bracing his hands on the windowsill. He leaned out to peer down at the prince standing on tiptoe atop the closest parapet. 

“Yeah, well, maybe I got some sleep for once,” Tony Stark huffed. 

“You’re lucky I’m still working and was in the bottom room.” The lowermost area of the North Tower—the part of the tower where Stephen spent most of his time and did most of his work—had the only window within reach of the castle wall. Tony was still too short to do much more than fumble blindly at its surface until Stephen noticed.

“You’re always still working,” Tony told him, extending a hand. 

Stephen gripped it with both of his and hauled Tony upward, assisted by the prince’s scrambling feet bracing on the frozen stones of the North Tower. Tony got his free hand around the window frame and swept his legs inside. He perched comfortably atop the sill. 

The cold air had turned both of their faces pink, and Stephen could already feel his nasal canals getting clogged. “Come on,” he said, jerking his chin. He knew Tony liked his spot in the window, his perch somewhere between Stephen’s world and his own, but it was cold and Stephen couldn’t help but worry that Tony might one day lose his grip. That he might fall, and not just to the top of the wall six feet below, but down and down to the bottom of the turret all those stories beneath, and Stephen would lose the prince they were all trying so hard to save. 

“What are you working on?” Tony asked, letting Stephen tug him into the tower. He trotted over to the wide canvas spread across the center of the floor as Stephen latched the window behind them. Tony’s fingerprints were pressed into the mist on the glass. 

“Nothing new,” Stephen replied with a shrug. “Still the fox.”

Tony hummed, walking a circle around the design. “I still don’t know how you get this from those dusty old books.”

“I’m a genius, obviously,” Stephen snorted. 

“You’ve never even seen a fox, Stephen.”

“You know I don’t have to see something before I spiritsketch it.”

Tony glanced at him, raising an eyebrow. “You have to see me.”

“Well yeah, you’re a person.” Stephen sat back in front of his canvas, patting at his head until his fingers curled around his quill, as Tony circled a few more times before joining him. The prince was like a cat—fidgeting and circling and testing before finally relaxing enough to sit. “When I spiritsketch you, I’ll be reforming an existing soul, not producing a whole new one. All this is just to practice my technique.”

Spiritsketching was a complex art, relying on precision and power and the layered designs that matched ink to spirit and back again. Stephen’s life had been dedicated to it since he was seven years old. For ten years, he’d learned the properties of the soul and how to map it into a sketch, how to draw life into a mind assembled with the right lines and dots and angles, how to capture the essence of a thing by speaking the language of the spirit. 

He’d started small, as the notes of a dead teacher had told him from the margins of the books. ‘Begin with what is manageable, and from there you can flourish.’ He’d started with drills to build his eye for symmetry and exactness. He’d learned how to layer his ink and control the thickness of his stroke. And then he’d begun to form creatures, matching designs described in the texts. There were butterflies huddled in the corners of the room even now; the first being he’d perfected. 

 He didn’t have to see the creatures. The only thing he had to see was Tony, until he could map the prince’s shining, complex spirit onto a canvas and do with it as he was bid. Stephen saw only the creatures he could build himself.

The king made sure of it.

“How close are you?” Tony asked, and for a moment Stephen thought Tony was talking about his own spirit, before he remembered the fox.

“Almost done,” he replied. “Six weeks and I’ve reached the last phase.”

“Oh fantastic. This is my favorite part.”

Stephen hid a grin, fingering his sapphire quill for a moment. He found his place on the canvas once again and drew a stroke of deep blue ink up into the tool. Leaning forward, Stephen carefully sought out the perfect connection and began to sketch. 

That was fun!!! Thanks so much for the ask <3

[jessikahathaway]

Into Eternity - Part XII

Pairing: Park Jimin X Reader

Genre: Fantasy!AU, Romance

Warnings: Pining, illness, Jimin being an impatient baby. If I forgot anything please let me know!

Words: 4,050

Hoseok sat in the kitchen of the abandoned palace, guilt eating him up inside. You had a fever, one that was hard to control and it was beginning to take its toll on you. Coughing could be heard daily as you tried to get air into your lungs. 

His original plan was to get you away from Jimin and to bring you to Morgana for sacrifice, but now... Now you might die before the damned witch could even take you. He’d travelled into the village in search of an Apothecary or a Priest, someone with any kind of medical knowledge... But there wasn’t anyone.

He’d tried to read books found in the library on how to aid you in your sickness, but he wasn’t well versed in the herbal side of them... He didn’t want to poison you and have a very upset Morgana on his tail after it all.

So, there you lay in your room. Sick and asking for your husband.

You asked every day... Every single day you asked Hoseok if your Jimin had come to see you. And each day Jimin didn’t show, he saw you get paler and paler. Falling deeper into sickness as you longed for the one you couldn’t see.

“H-Hoseok.” Your voice would be cut off with coughing. “Has Jimin arrived yet? I couldn’t look out the window this morning, I couldn’t stand.”

He’d tell you no, like he did every time you asked. A small frown would appear on your face and you’d take the tea and broth from him. You’d struggle to lift your cup, as it was hot in your frigid hands. Hoseok would help you, lifting the mug so you could sip at the tea. Hoseok would stay until you’d finished it all. 

Each time you thanked him.

“Thank you, Hoseok, I feel much better.”

You were lying. Because everyday you looked worse. Thankfully you had kept some weight on you, so you didn’t look to be a skeleton under your clothing. But you were so pale and lethargic he wondered if you’d fall to pieces after a hard enough coughing fit.

Once you were finished with your meal, Hoseok would remove the dishes, help you back into bed to rest. The shame would follow him down the stairs and into the kitchen where he washed the very dishes he’d help you eat from. 

And then he’d sit and feel remorseful. 

This repetitive cycle made him dizzy. He wasn’t sure how many days had passed since you’d fallen ill, but he knew it was a decent number. He knew of your fragile state, and he was aware that you probably could be unwell during your time here. 

Hoseok thought that it might come in handy when the time to kill you was here. But Morgana was a fickle creature, and she wanted Jimin there to see the light leave your eyes. She wanted him to feel the pain she did when his ancestor chose another woman before her. 

Someone who had broken her powerful spell...

“Hoseok,” a chilling voice creeped through the walls. 

“Morgana, what is it you come to ask of me?” he sighed, standing up and placing your utensils away. 

“The girl, she isn’t well,” she pouts. “Why is that?”

“She was a weak creature to begin with, being in this cold has made her sick. I fear you may not get to have her die before Jimin as you had hoped,” Hoseok stated.

“What!? That... That wench! How dare she defy me even in this way!? Not only does she take my beloved away from me, now she doesn’t even give me the pleasure of killing her before the one who betrayed me?”

Hoseok rubbed his face then looked to the black mist that was swirling around the hag looking being.

Morgana could take on any form she wanted, but with her magic waning, she was no doubt running out of masks to wear. “Morgana, I don’t know what you’d like from me. All I can tell you is that I fear she may not make it through this very night. I doubt she’ll be able to wait for Jimin much longer,” he stressed.

Morgana looked down at the floor and growled in frustration. “Damn them! Damn you feeble bodied humans who can’t handle the meagerest amounts of change!”

“Shall I just kill her for you now?” Hoseok asked, bringing forth his cursed blades to show them off to his mistress.

“No... It won’t be the revenge I’ve waited years to see. All because this insolent brat must have lungs of paper!” 

“Then what do you suggest I do?”

“That... Priest,” Morgana spit after the word. As if it was sour in her mouth. “He could heal her, certainly he could.”

“They’ll never come here, it would be too risky with you possibly knowing her whereabouts,” Hoseok declared.

“Then I’ll attack that Lord’s Castle, drive them out!”

“Then they’ll just run back to the Royal Palace. Either that or they will choose another stronghold to defend. Morgana, you may have to stop the assaults all together,” Hoseok stated.

“No! My children must feed in order to bring me sacrifice!”

“Then we make a show,” Hoseok announced.

“How do you mean?” she asked. 

“Pretend to be slain by me, and during that time we can have Lady Y/N healed and-”

“And give her a chance to make an offspring with my beloved? Absolutely not,” Morgana rejected.

“Well, it’s either that, or you don’t get your revenge the way you intended. I am merely at your will, I will do as you ask,” Hoseok said solemnly.

“Fine, make a spectacle of me then. But bring me sacrifices in the meantime, animals will suffice. I won’t be nearly as powerful as I’d like... But once that wench dies, I will be able to have my love back,” Morgana grins, teeth blackened and gnarled. Hoseok cringed at the sight, but nodded anyways. 

“Then how do you expect me to proceed?”

“Call upon them, say you have captured me,” Morgana states.

“How will I have been able to manage that on my own?” he questions.

“I will allow them to kill my children, it will weaken me so I demand several animals to keep my strength,” she snarls. 

“Of course,” Hoseok nods.

“Call them here, and use those blades to puncture my heart. Only cursed weapons and poison will take down she with a blackened soul. Lie, slather this potion on your blade. I’ll burst into flames, make a ‘show’ for them as you put it,” Morgana explains. “During that time, heal the girl. Then when she is finally back in health and my beloved comes to her, I will appear and you will slay the girl. With that sacrifice I will be able to bring back your wife and child.”

Hoseok thought of his wife whom he’d loved so dearly... And it hurt... God it was killing him not to hold her in his arms. To kiss her sweet face and cradle his infant in his embrace. 

“Very well,” Hoseok nodded. “I will send the letter tonight.”

“If you betray me, Hoseok... Know your family will suffer for eternity in oblivion,” Morgana warned as she slipped back into mist, dissipating into the air.

“I know...”

---

Jimin sat in his study again, signing more papers and doing official duties. After the initial battle, he was told to stay at the Castle while his men went to fight without him. Jungkook said that he was far too worried about you to fight properly, and he didn’t want something to happen to him. So, he’d stayed behind and helped Taehyung catch up on some documentation and deals that were bothering him. It was all very mundane. Get up, go to his desk and sign his life away. Life was so unsaturated without a purpose... 

A knock rang in the dusty air.

“Enter,” he accepted, leaning back in his chair.

Taehyung came in, shutting the door behind him. He looked bright, compared to Jimin’s dull atmosphere. 

“You seem... somber, Majesty,” Taehyung commented, sitting on the chair in front of Jimin’s desk. 

“First my wife is removed from me, then I am told I am unable to fight for my Kingdom... Imagine the uselessness I feel from these statements, Taehyung... I-I am questioning my right for the throne under these circumstances,” Jimin wavered.

“Don’t ever think that you aren’t fit to rule, Jimin,” Taehyung declared firm. “You care more for these people than they know. And if signing papers is how you will help them, then do it.”

“Taehyung, something bothers me,” Jimin whispered, staring at the sheets before him.

“What troubles you?” Taehyung asked. 

Jimin’s face was dark, hidden behind the mask he put up for everyone around him. It was rare for him to remove it, unless you were around. But Taehyung slowly saw the edges peeling away before it crumbled. Jimin’s broken eyes stared back at him as he looked to his friend for help.

Taehyung was frightened. Never had he seen his friend in such a state before. 

“I miss her so much I feel like my heart is going to break, Taehyung... I need to see her, I long to hold her again... I want to know she’s alright, that she’s safe... And I can’t do that from here, I need to see her so badly,” Jimin whimpered. 

“Jimin,” Taehyung whispered, coming to embrace his friend gingerly. Jimin grabbed onto his brother in arms and dear friend, trembling as if he were his last tie to this world. 

“Taehyung my world is falling down around me. My father is dead, my family is halfway across the map from me, and I am not allowed to go out and fight for my wife because... Because all I can think about is what that damned Forsaken told me on the battlefield,” he growled.

“What did it say? You know they spout lies,” Taehyung admonished. 

“Taehyung it knew where she was,” he breathed. 

“What are you talking about? Are you certain?” Taehyung gasped, standing. 

“It said that the cold makes her weak... And she’s in the cold right now, Taehyung! What the fuck was I supposed to think when that damned thing told me that?! Shit, Taehyung I can’t sleep because of worry.”

“I’m sure that it was just trying to get a rise out of you Highness,” Taehyung attempted to be calming. 

“Jesus Taehyung! Are you not listening?!”

The room went silent. 

Jimin’s harsh breathing was deafening to his own ears. 

“She’s in the Northern Peninsula... And she’s susceptible to the cold, tell me how you would react if you were told that from the enemy? From the thing you’re trying to hide your loved one from? I can’t stand it, Taehyung... It’s driving me insane,” Jimin croaked. 

“I’m sure nothing is wrong, we must have patience-”

“MAJESTY!”

Jimin’s head turned towards the door, soon a frantic knocking came from behind it. “Majesty, it’s me, please open the door, I have news!”

Father Jin’s voice came through the wood. 

Taehyung quickly moved to open it, letting in a frazzled Priest. Jimin stood, placing his hand on his desk for support. Why did he feel like something bad was happening? What was this feeling in his stomach, why did he feel sick?

“Father, what’s the matter?” Taehyung asked, placing his hand on Jin’s shoulders.

“I received a letter from Hoseok,” Jin answered.

“What?”

“He’s not supposed to be sending letters to us! He could give away Lady Y/N’s position!” Taehyung yelled.

“Taehyung, gather Jungkook and Yoongi. I want to speak with all of you in regards to this matter,” Jimin announced. Taehyung nodded, moving out the door to quickly collect the men Jimin wished to see. The Prince then turned to the Priest. “Father, tell me, is my wife alright?”

Jin’s face fell and Jimin thought that he would truly be sick. “She’s fallen ill, sire. Hoseok called for my aid... He claims that he has captured Morgana...”

---

The strategy room was cold as Jimin looked at his fellow men with a deep gaze. Something serious was going on, and none of them were certain how to handle the proceedings. 

“Gentleman, Hoseok has broken a rule put in place by us to protect my wife’s safety. However, Father Jin tells me it is because she is ill... She needs help. Hoseok also claims to have captured the witch, Morgana.”

Yoongi scoffed. “No, there isn’t a way in hell he managed to get close enough to touch her.”

“Well, think about it Yoongi,” Jungkook began. “We’ve been taking out several of her Forsaken. Without them she isn’t getting sacrifices, Father Jin told us that she needs those to keep up with her dark magic. And she’s having to produce more to keep up with our assaults... perhaps it wore her down enough to as where Hoseok was able to capture her.”

“If he was able to capture her why didn’t he just kill her then?” Jimin asked.

“It’s not that simple. A creature such as her must be taken down by either a cursed weapon or poison. Regular weapons are futile against her,” Father Jin explained.

“So, he managed to get her into some restraints? If she’s so powerful how was he able to accomplish this?” Taehyung asked.

“Hoseok said he placed the necklace I charmed around her neck to weaken her abilities. It has made her unable to use her magic. And with her power already waning, it might just be enough,” Jin stated.

“What of Y/N?” Jimin asked, palms sweating.

Jin’s face took on a darker expression. “He stated she isn’t well. He needs me there promptly, otherwise he fears she may not make it,” Jin warned.

“Then we should leave immediately,” Taehyung declared.

“I agree, I need to make sure she’s alright,” Jimin urged. The thought of seeing you already making his heart swell. 

“Hold, impatience is a sin.”

The boys stopped their chittering. Jin stood and addressed the men before him with a grave look on his face. 

“I must warn you all. This is a dangerous situation we find ourselves in. Morgana is a being that has long defied God. She has no semblance for human life and takes what she wants, destroys when she can. If Hoseok has indeed captured her, then killing her is our first priority. We need to make a plan of how we are to deal with her,” Jin announced.

“What do you mean Father?” Jungkook asked, raising a brow in his direction.

“I mean, we need a plan if this goes wrong. Lady Y/N’s life is at risk. Morgana is being held underneath the palace, but I worry for her safety. With her being so close, she may be planning her demise.”

The room looked at Jin then to Jimin for confirmation. Jimin gripped the table in fury. His wife was being dangled in front of the very being who wanted her death, like a toy. It was disgusting.

“If Morgana manages to escape, I have a relic that could aid us,” Jimin explained. “The first dagger forged in pure Arcanian steel. It belonged to the very ancestors Morgana loved. If I place a poison upon the blade, I could end her,” The Prince stated.

“How would you get close enough?” Taehyung asked.

“Lure her into believing that her spell over him has worked. That he loves her,” Yoongi suggested.

“I think that would be worth the shot,” Jungkook stated.

“She would do anything to have Jimin be hers,” Father Jin reasoned. “If the situation turns sour, she will no doubt try to take Jimin. All you have to do is pretend that her spell worked, get close enough to deliver the killing blow.”

“It would be my pleasure,” Jimin snarled, fists curled tight on top of the table.

“What’s wrong with Lady Y/N?” Taehyung asked, leaning forward.

Father Jin looked at the paper and frowned. “She’s sick, a fever and chills taking. As well as a brutal cough. Hoseok says that it has been persistent, even with the broth and herbal teas he’s been trying. He knows only so much, but I know how to help her... I just hope that he didn’t wait too long to tell us,” Jin commented.

“I want the carriages ready as soon as possible. Father Jin, Jungkook and I will all go. Taehyung and Yoongi, stay here to defend the castle,” Jimin stated.

“Highness, perhaps we should just send Father Jin and Jungkook,” Yoongi warned. “Moving you to where that witch is located isn’t the best idea.”

“We’ve already made a decision, and a plan that involves me. I am going, Yoongi. I will see my wife,” The Prince declared with a steely tone.

The room sensed the tension. Everyone knew how on edge Jimin was not being able to see you. He’d been so tense and irritable these past weeks. Nothing like the man he was when you left. They knew you two needed to be reunited again. The men in that room knew Jimin wouldn’t stop until he got to see you once more. 

“When shall we depart?” Jungkook asked. 

“As soon as possible,” Father Jin noted. “I need to collect several herbs and my books as well as some tools. I don’t know how bad the progression is, but if it is as bad as Hoseok says, then I will need to be thoroughly prepared. I should be able to take off at dusk,” the Priest stated to his council.

“I will head to the stables and collect some horses and an older carriage,” Jungkook mentioned. “I can smear mud on it and things of the like to keep suspicious eyes from staying too long.”

“Perfect idea,” Taehyung smiled. “I can get some tunics from the guards quarters and you and Jimin can dress in those. That way it will look like a few gentleman on a trading route.”

“I concur. We will take a few articles of clothing, but we can keep them in the cabin with us,” Jimin stated.

“Yes, as well as some rations,” Jungkook noted. “The travel will be long, and we will want to be prepared for the cold when it comes.”

“Very well,” Father Jin nodded. He stood, gathering his robes before looking to the group before him. “Please take caution all. This is a dangerous journey we are to make, and we must be careful. Lady Y’N’s safety is at risk.”

With that he left, leaving everyone in the room unsettled. 

But no one more so than your husband, who looked to his wedding band and bit his lip. 

“I’m coming my love, I will see you soon...”

---

Father Jin was writing furiously in his book as the carriage moved along steadily in the dark of night. 

They’d been travelling for almost a whole day. They’d reach the castle by morning, it was certain.

Jungkook was at the reins, keeping a watchful eye on the horizon and all around in case of an attack. No one had approached and fellow travellers shared a small nod before passing them by. 

No one was aware that their future King lay within the doors of the beaten up buggy. And it was imperative it stay that way. 

Jimin was anxious as he thought of how long it had been since he’d held you in his arms... Had you lost weight due to your ailment? He hoped you hadn’t, he loved how soft and warm you were to wake up to in the morning. Had you been sleeping alright? Hopefully you were getting restful sleep and you weren’t being awoken by your coughs. 

Father Jin looked to his Prince and saw the fear residing in his features. Setting his book down, Jin placed a gentle hand on Jimin’s shoulder. The poor man jumped and turned to see the Priest eyeing him with curiosity. 

“You seem restless, what burdens you, Highness?” 

Jimin let his heart settle before looking at Jin with pensive eyes. “I worry for her, Father... I have almost lost her once, I don’t want to go through that again. It would kill me,” he breathed. 

Jin nodded, looking ahead. “I understand your fear, but believe me... Believe in Y/N, she won’t let you go so easily.”

“She’s stubborn,” Jimin smiled sadly. “I can’t imagine life without her... She’s made such a difference in my life. I never thought that... That I...”

“That you could love someone?” Jin tested.

“No one showed me what love was... My mother and father are products of arranged marriages all through the lineage and... I was supposed to be another in a long line. Yet there was something so much deeper within this story. I knew that Y/N wasn’t supposed to be my permanent bride, my mother had warned me as such... The Princess of Laureliea was supposed to be my final wife. Uniting our Kingdom’s would no doubt bring prosperity. But, I had to fall in love with her. I had to defy everything that had been set in stone, crumbling into dust within my hands. Mother obviously is enraged, I receive her letters. She asks me,  ‘why I can’t just kill the broad and marry again?’ We haven’t consummated anything. But each time, I refuse her. ``I can’t,'' I tell her. For to kill her would kill me as well. I fear we will be at odds until her death,” Jimin huffed.

Father Jin patted his shoulder softly. “Your mother is still your mother, she needs to respect your decision. You found love in a place that seemed impossible. It is such a blessing from God that you two were able to find the most purest form of love in one another. Don’t let others' emotions towards your own change them.”

Jimin bit his lip as he thought of these words. All he had done since you’d left was whine about how he wanted to be with you again. It wasn’t fair to all of those he had been working for. His people weren’t getting anything done with him pouting. 

How selfish could a future ruler be?

He wondered if something were to happen to you, he knew his response. He’d give up, he’d let his Kingdom fall to ruin if you weren’t there by his side. How incredibly greedy. 

“I don’t know what you’re thinking, but I’m going to tell you you’re wrong,” Jin stated, pulling him from his deprecating thoughts. 

“Father the whole time I’ve been without Y/N all I’ve done was-”

“Do your best,” Father Jin finished. 

“But I complained, and was difficult and-”

“And that’s what being in love does. It doesn’t make you weak, nor does it make you selfish. It makes you compassionate, it makes you loyal, it makes you devoted. None of these are bad things, Highness. None of them. You are allowed to feel anxious and worried without the one you love beside you. We don’t marry or fall in love with the expectation of being separated. You’ve been apart for almost two months, that’s long enough. You both have suffered, I know Y/N misses you. She’ll want to see you, and you are allowed to be just Jimin for a moment. You aren’t only the Prince of Arcane... You are also Jimin, a man who misses his wife,” Jin stated.

Jimin looked at Jin with wide bleary eyes. 

“I-I’m allowed to be just Jimin for the moment then?”

“You are allowed to be yourself whenever you feel the need, Jimin. Being Prince is merely a title, soon you won’t be Prince. You’ll be King. However, being Jimin is forever. Think about it. Lady Y/N doesn’t love you because you are a Prince. She loves you because you are Jimin. Even though you must be Prince, that doesn’t mean you can’t also be yourself. You are so different around Lady Y/N, and it fills my heart with joy to see you two together. I believe she lets you be Jimin. Not a Prince, not a ruler, just Jimin. And that’s another blessing you’ve been granted,” Jin expressed.

Jungkook shouted from the front of the carriage. 

“THE NORTHERN CASTLE IS IN SIGHT!”

[apurehetalian]

This is for one of my favorite pairings and for romnor week. Also, this is going to be an afterlife type au that I haven't came up for a name yet. I am going to be using this au for most of my entries so look forward to that. ^^

Theme: Nature

Warnings: Mentions of Death and OCness

Norway- Eindride

Romania- Viorel

▪▪▪▪▪▪▪▪▪▪▪▪▪▪▪▪▪▪▪▪▪

Eindride could no longer hear the beeping of the machines. In fact, he could no longer feel his body. He felt as if he was floating on a float gently down the river while being surrounded by nothing, but complete and utter darkness.

He knew he succumbed to the cancer that had slowly been killing his body for years. He no longer felt the connection to world of the living and he no longer could feel any more of that pain miserable pain. He was finally free and he could finally be with his little brother again...at least he hoped.

When Emil was on his death bed, Eindride had signed the paperwork so when they die, their souls would be send off to a virtual paradise that scientists created with some help of magic. He didn't understand how that worked or how they made this happened, but he would rather put his trust in the scientists then in gods.

After all, the gods had abandoned him and his little brother a long time ago so he didn't trust the heavenly beings to keep him and his brother together.

He was brought out his thoughts quickly when he felt him being jerked harshly towards a bright white light.

His eyes snapped opened to a black starry sky as his heart pounded wildly in his chest. He gave his heart a moment to settle as he brought his hand up towards the sky.

That was when he noticed the strange markings going down and up his arms. He sat up and to see if he had any more markings. The tattoo, if he could even call it that, started from the tips of his toes and ended at the tips of his fingers. The design is that of a tree where the roots were his feet to his ankles, the trunk being his legs to his stomach before branching out into branches and twigs.

However, the strangest part of this all, was the tattoo was glowing an eerie bright blue as small purple lights flowed through his body. He reached out and gently ran his finger against the markings as the little purple lights went by, but he didn't feel anything different...it just felt like normal skin. Maybe the lights were his life source? He didn't really know, but he was mesmerized by it all.

Once he finished staring at his markings, he stood up to take in his surroundings. He felt like he either stepped into a fantasy novel or he stumbled onto a alien planet...either way it was beautiful.

He was standing on a little, green sandy island in the middle of a lake that looked like it was connected to a river coming from the south while being surrounded by a forest on all three sides. The trees were black with many different colors of lights that arranged from many different shades of the colors in rainbow. From the trees's branches there hanged a string of white crystals that reached almost to the ground with a golden flowers hanging upside down at the end like a bell. Those trees were surrounded by dark red, white, and black grass with the same flowing lights as the trees.

The water in the lake was pitch black, but Eindride could see the bottom of the lake thanks to the natural light given off by the plants and other underwater creatures that lived there. To be honest, he didn't recognized any of the creatures under the water. They looked so alien to him and yet so beautiful that he wanted to touch them, but he knew it would be impossible to do so.

He was so caught up being fascinated by the nature that surrounded him that Eindride didn't even realized someone had snuck up right behind him until it was too late.

"Never expected to see anyone in this forest."

Eindride jumped when he heard a voice behind him and almost fell into the lake when he slid a little on the sand. He let out some very colorful Norwegian words before turning his violet eyes and body towards where the voice was coming from.

There standing on top of the surface of the lake was an unusual, but beautiful looking man. He seemed to be a bit shorter then Eindride and it looked like he only reach about his chin. His strawberry blond hair seemed a bit on the messy side reached to his shoulder. He wore a simple red shirt and black pants, but he had nothing covering his feet. Just like Eindride, he hand strange markings as well, but his was black twisted vines that had little red lights going through his and under his eyes lids he had black and red crystals or lights that spread out a little onto his cheek. When Eindride's eyes met with the stranger's red ones, he noticed his eyes were glistening in amusement and curiosity with a smirk that showed his little fang off as he studied Eindride.

"So why are you in Crystal Night Forest?" The man spoke again in a accent that might be Romanian, but he wasn't sure. "Shouldn't you be in the town?"

"I woke up here. In this exact spot actually..." Eindride responded. "I should be asking you how you are walking on water...well standing on it to be exact."

The man chuckled before walking towards him and with every step he took little pops of color would appear on the surface of the water. It was as if someone would splatter paint on a black canvas and it was really beautiful.

He stopped in front of Eindride and held his hand out to him. "Anything in this world is possible." He said. "If you want to swim, you can swim. If you wish to fly, you can fly. I mean its day and night here and the sun and the moon exist in the same sky. It should be impossible, but it isn't."

Eindride couldn't agrue with that. There was a lot of things that should be impossible like creating a new afterlife for dead, magic, and to be honest everything he had seen in this world should be impossible, but it wasn't. This place really was paradise in his eyes.

He noticed that the man still had his hand held out to him. He placed his hand into his and allowed him to lead him out onto the lake. A smile tug at his lips as colors appeared under his feet everytime he walked until they reach the otherside of the lake.

He let go of his hand as he looked around as he walked into the forest and when he moved the crystals out of the way, the bell like flowers on the end made beautiful chiming noises.

"The forest is quite beautiful isn't it?" The man said as he followed behind him as he had a small smile on his face.

Eindride nodded his head as he turned to look at him. "It is," he said. "I take it a lot of people live in here?"

His whole demeanor changed when Eindride said that. His eyes seemed a lot more sadder then before as he didn't want to look him in the eye.

"No, just the creatures of the forest and myself live here." He whispered. "People are afraid of unusual and unnatural things...so no one comes here."

Eindride nodded his head. He could understand that since history many times over has shown people being scared of things that were unnatural or not easily explained.

"Anyways, I should take you to town so you can meet the others and see what the day side looks like." The man said before he waved for him to follow after him.

On their way to the town, the man described the other side which sounded pretty normal with green grass, actual leaves on trees, and everything else. The only catch was that it was always day on that side, but since the dead don't need sleep and apparently, it never gets too hot there so it is all fine.

As they were talking, well Eindride only made a few comments here and there while he let the other do most of the talking, he found out the man's name was Viorel.

Viorel was very friendly, cheerful, and quite playful overall a ball of sunshine if Eindride could describe it. He also seemed to have an interest in magic and magical creatures and that sparked a deep conversation between the two of them. To be honest, Eindride was enjoying his company so far and found Viorel quite adorable.

With Viorel's company, it didn't seem to take too long to reach the line were day and night meet, but Viorel stopped walking and didn't move towards the line so Eindride stopped as well.

"Why did you stop?" Eindride asked.

"Let me show you why." Viorel whispered as moved towards the meeting point.

Eindride watched in curiosity as Viorel raised his hand before trying to reach out to the day side of the world. Suddenly, a glass wall appeared from the ground and blocked his hand from crossing over.

"I am not allowed to...I can never cross to the other side while others can and I don't even know why." Viorel's eyes seemed to sadden again as Eindride watched him remove his hand as the wall disappeared. "I am forever trapped on this side of the world. I can't be where the other souls are."

No one comes here. If no one ever goes to the forest and if he couldn't leave, then Viorel must be very lonely. He could understand that type of loneliness for it had always been just Emil and him. When his little brother passed away, he had no one, but the medical staff as his only company. That kind of loneliness eats you alive inside until there is nothing left. He never had the chance to make friends before so he could perhaps give it a shot with Viorel.

"I need to find my brother..." Eindride said. "...but I would like to see you again. How would I find you again?"

Eindride couldn't stop the smile appearing when he saw Viorel's eyes widen in such a comedic way. "Do you mean it?" There was uncertainty in his voice, but he just nod his head yes to confirm it.

Eindride wasn't prepared for the hug to come his way. He stiffened up for a second before he awkwardly patted Viorel's back gently. He finally pulled away as a blush dusted his cheeks gently while Viorel smiled brightly at him.

"To answer your question, you can always find me at the lake." Viorel said. "If you ever want to meet, you can go to the little sand spot where I met you and I can find you there."

Eindride nodded his head before walking to the line before stopping and turning to look at Viorel. "Goodbye Viorel," he said.

"Bye, I wish you luck on finding your brother!" Viorel waved.

Eindride turned his back to him before stepping over to the day side, but when he did his strange markings disappeared and he could no longer see the little purple lights going through his body. "Hey Viorel, why did my..." He turned around to ask him, but the man had already disappeared.

He just shrugged before turning around and heading towards the town to find his little brother.

[pi-cat000]

MSA: Winged Arthur AU (part 9)

Part 1, Part 2, Part 3, Part 4, Part 5, Part 6, Part 7, Part 8 

Part 10: here

The Lance POV:  

NOTE: I may have gotten a little carried away with the introspection, which kind of took over from the ‘Lance explains Lewis’ plan I originally wrote. 

.

Lance leaves Vivi with Arthur. The girl’s got a head on her shoulders so he can trust her to keep an eye on the kid in case he wakes from his- apparently- magic induced unconsciousness. Magic…Not something a regular person thought about, but, hey, it was quickly becoming a reoccurring theme in situations involving his nephew, so he should work on getting used the idea. Especially if the wings are permanent. Lance still doesn’t know what to make of that development. Wearily, he pulls a beer from the fridge before thinking better of it and replacing it with Arthur’s extra-strength coffee. This night is going to be a long one. He’ll need the additional energy. The herbal tea he finds pushed to the back of the cupboard in a stack of small coloured boxes. Lance spends a second staring at the odd assortment before rubbing his eyes. Arthur and the slowly expanding collection of drinks he kept around for his friends…Friend. A long sigh and he picks a box at random.

Never had he seen the universe have it out for two people more than his nephew and the girl. And his life hadn’t exactly been filled with sunshine and roses, so he has a sound basis for comparison. Lance slams two cups down with a little more intensity than is strictly necessary. What the hell is he going to tell Vivi anyway? The whole subject of Lewis is a bloody minefield. Sometimes, on the rare nights, when Vivi and Arthur decided to take a break from endless road tripping to just spend a quiet second relaxing in front of the TV, Lance would salubriously listen to them chat and act like ordinary young people. Mostly, the subjects were light and friendly, echoing a time from before the bullshit. Other times, he’d be subjected to Arthur’s heartbreaking attempts at describing Lewis to Vivi. A pointless endeavour, the girl’s memory was so scrambled she struggled to retain even the barest comprehension of Lewis for more than a few minutes. Not that that had stopped the boy from trying. Right up until Lance put his foot down, banning any talk of Lewis in the house for all their sanities. Not a popular move that one. Now Lance gets to be the one to explain how Lewis, a guy Vivi had been friends with -and probably dating but not like he had ever confirmed that- had been erased, taking half her memory with him. Also, Lewis might now be a ghost…wraith…or whatever, because sure, that made sense. Lance finishes up with his coffee and aggressively dumps a tea bag in some hot water, carrying the two drinks out into the lounge. Vivi is right where he’d left her, settled next to Arthur, working through more of the feathers. The wings don’t appear nearly as dishevelled as they had been. Both kids are covered in enough dirt and blood that he’s amazed, and insanely grateful, that they’re even alive. The room has dropped several degrees in temperature, which Lance attributes to the windows, empty, devoid of their glass. He’d have to work on boarding them up later. For now, he places the two cups down on the tv-tray, before shuffling over to the cupboard quashed behind the couch, pulling free a pile of old blankets. They are motheaten and musty smelling, but it’d do. When he shimmies back around, Vivi glances up and gives a strained grin, taking the offered blanket. She immediately throws it over Arthur. Lance snorts and doesn’t bother commenting, placing the pile at her feet, finding his seat in the recliner. “So, about Lewis. How much are yeh rememberin?” He starts, figuring he should first gauge just how much Vivi remembers before launching into the convoluted tale. The basics. He would start with the basics. An exhale of familiar frustration, “Nothing really. All I have is this feeling that I know him, the ghost that is, from somewhere. Maybe the Lewis you know is a different Lewis?… Did we meet on a case or something?” “Not quite….” Lance grunts. So that was a big fat zero on the memory front. Looks like he’d be telling this story from scratch. He leans back, crosses his arms, and gathers his thoughts. “Yeh know that thing… The thing Arthur’s been searchin for this last few years?” A suspicious, abet calculating, squint. “Yeah…of course I do. I mean I should, I’ve been here for most of it,” Vivi responds promptly. Her next sentence is a statement, “Lewis is connected to my memory loss isn’t he.” Lance nods, continuing bluntly, “That thing… not really a thing at all. More of a person. A person who went missing the night yeh lost ya memories and Arthur lost his arm.” “…and this person is Lewis,” Vivi finishes, catching on quick. He nods, “That’s the name,” leaning back to gulp down some coffee and watch Vivi silently work through the information. “That ghost…the one outside…is he the same Lewis?” Lance grunts, “No idea.” Vivi continues, her tone sharp, “Because he was pretty intent on hurting Arthur. Why would Arthur want to find someone who’d want to hurt him?” Lance doesn’t answer, considering the question carefully. He doesn’t know much about ghosts or wraiths or supernatural anything. All he knew was that he’d liked Lewis when the kid had been around. There wasn’t a person in Tempo who hadn’t. The boy had been polite, friendly, and good-natured in a way many people weren’t. Honestly, Lewis and Vivi had easily been the best thing to happen to nephew, what with how happy hanging out with them made him. After Lewis ‘disappeared’ - god forbid Lance suggest he was dead in Arthur’s presence- Lance had grown to quickly dislike the echo he left behind. Easy to hate a person who wasn’t around. Now, there’s some fire ghost claiming he’s Lewis, and Arthur is covered in blood and scorch marks. Never mind that Lance had walked in on the bastard threatening Vivi, who had looked two seconds away from lunging at said skeleton with only a bat as a weapon. All to protect his nephew. This…this wraith creature claiming to be Lewis? It’s very easy to hate. “The three of ya were close friends for years. Did everythin together. Don’t know nothin about wraiths, but if it wants ta hurt Arthur, then it’s not the Lewis Arthur is searching for.” A pause. That energy rush Vivi had described earlier appears to have been mostly physical because there is an aura of fatigue resting on her shoulders, showing the beginnings of mental exhaustion. “Surely, I would remember someone that important? Or Arthur would have mentioned him.” “The kid tried,” He says, toning down the bluntness, trying for more compassion, “Multiple times. Whatever got the memories, it targeted Lewis and stopped yeh from retainin any info about him.” Vivi hesitates at that, muttering to herself, “I knew it. There is a connection between all the missing memories. It's not random. No wonder Arthur always got upset when I asked questions.”  Then speaking louder, “…But I remember now. Well, I recognised the name at any rate…so that’s something.” She perks up in a way that tells Lance he’s about to learn a bunch of weird supernatural trivia. “A wraith is an embodiment of anger and pain. When a person dies, and the circumstances surrounding the death are traumatic enough, their negative emotions trap them between here and wherever souls go. That’s what the books say.” “You said Lewis disappeared the night Arthur…When Arthur lost his arm.” A physical shiver. “What if, whatever happened back then, it killed this person…Lewis. I mean, we already know the event was bad enough to give us both blackouts, and god knows Arthur gets enough nightmares from the incident. Maybe it was bad enough to create a wraith. Of course, that still doesn’t explain why it wants to hurt Arthur. If you are right about us being friends and stuff, it shouldn’t be targeting us.” Lance can only shrug, “The Lewis I remember wouldn’t have hurt either of yeh. Well, as far as I could tell at any rate.” It is odd hearing Vivi talk about Lewis with such dispassion. Frankly, it’s strange hearing the word Lewis again, period. Along with the name is that weight of frustration and minor irritation. Of course, it couldn’t be a normal, regular, wraith of a random stranger. No, that would have been too fuckin easy. This wraith just had to be the very friend Arthur was driving himself to collapse searching for. Of fuckin course it was. Because that’s what Arthur needed, a dead friend who wanted to burn him ‘to a crisp.’ Heaven help it if it’s pretending to be Lewis to mess with them because Lance is one more encounter with bullshit away from shooting the shit out of the next supernatural bastard he saw.

.

NOTE: Lance is decidedly not happy. 

Part 10: here

[atc74]

I Wanna Go Back

Square(s) Filled: Firefighter!Dean for @spnaubingo - Joshua for @heavenandhellbingo - Afterlife!AU for @spnfluffbingo2019

Warnings: Major character injury, description of injuries (not graphic), regrets, doubt, and a heaping dose of fluff

Summary: Dean is badly injured on the job and gets a glimpse of his past that makes him realize a few things. 

Pairing: Dean x Reader

Word Count: 2652

Written for: @spnaubingo @spnfluffbingo2019 @heavenandhellbingo

Beta’d by: @iwantthedean - I miss your face! @hannahindie - thank you always! and @muchamusedaboutnothing - thank you so much for your kind words! 

A/N: I have admired @muchamusedaboutnothing for a while now and I used her as a beta for the first time on this piece, but with comments like this, I just might use her ALL THE TIME!  This was fantastic! I love how much depth and characterization and story you were able to comfortably fit into a story of this length. And the inclusion of all the other characters just rounded the whole thing out. Thank you so very much for letting me have this sneak peek. I absolutely adore this story! You rocked this, girl.

Like Dean’s scent? Buy it here from @scentsfromthebunker!

“Winchester! Do you copy? I said get out of there!” Chief Singer screamed through his walkie.

“I’ve got the kid Chief, I’m on my w-” Dean coughed then his radio cut out just as an explosion rumbled through the four story apartment building, bringing most of it down.

“Winchester?” Chief Singer screamed into his walkie again with no response.

Sam Winchester, Dean’s brother, ran toward the burning rubble, Benny, Cas, and Jody hot on his heels. Chief Singer shouted at everyone to stay back, but none of them listened. Typical of his crew.

~*~

“Dean, baby, if you can hear me. I’m here, okay? I’m not mad, I just want you healthy and back home with me,” Y/N whispered. She had been sitting by Dean’s bedside since he got out of surgery. The prognosis wasn’t good.

“Dean has a pneumothorax, or a collapsed lung, and a broken sternum caused by a section of a wooden beam that had penetrated his chest. That caused a hemothorax, or bleeding in his chest cavity,” Dr. Shurley relayed the extent of Dean’s injuries to his family. “We’ve repaired the damage and reinflated his lung. His heart stopped while we were operating, most likely as a result of the trauma, but we were able to restart it. We’ve induced a coma to help his body heal, but Dean is strong and in great physical shape. All we can do now is hope and pray.”

Dr. Shurley turned and left the room, leaving the family alone with their loved one. Sam had resumed his seat on one side of Dean’s bed while Y/N remained on the other. John and Mary chose to stand, holding one another. The beeping from the machines gave Y/N comfort that his heart was strong and he would come back to them, to her. She lay her head on top of their hands and closed her eyes, the tears spilling over.

“Hello? Y/N? Sam?” Dean’s voice rang out. When he woke, he found himself in a garden, but he had never been there before and nothing looked familiar. He must have hit his head. “Where the hell am I?”

A low chuckle broke the eerie silence. “Not Hell. Heaven, son.”

Dean whipped his head around to find a man of small stature behind him. “Who are you?”

“My name is Joshua. Welcome to Heaven, Dean Winchester,” Joshua smiled and started down the walking path.

“Hey, why am I here? Am I dead?” Dean questioned, quick to catch up to the man.

“No, you’re not dead. Not technically, anyway,” Joshua replied.

“Then why am I here?” Dean demanded.

“You were dead, Dean. Your heart stopped allowing your soul to leave your body and come here to my garden in Heaven,” he explained.

“What do you mean I was dead?” Dean asked.

“While your corporeal form is still on earth and functioning, your soul remains here. Until you make a decision, that is.” Joshua revealed cryptically. “You can stay here if you wish. It’s nice, isn’t it?”

“So while I’m here, my family is worried sick. My brother, my parents, my...oh God. Y/N.” Dean’s voice faltered as he thought of her.

With possibly the exception of his immediate family, Dean loved Y/N more than anything. They had been together since he had first laid eyes on her at the Fire and Ice Ball nearly five years ago. She was the only child of his boss, Chief Singer. While the chief wasn’t exactly happy that his daughter was dating a firefighter, he admired Dean’s work ethic, his dedication and he treated his little girl right.

“They’ve got to be worried and I bet they’re really pissed,” Dean muttered. He had a tendency to rush in any situation on the job, regardless of the dangers. He didn’t have time to think when people’s lives were at stake. Now, his personal life? That was a different matter entirely. He did nothing but think. He over thought every little thing. Especially when it came to his relationship with Y/N.

He knew he loved her from the moment they met, but he wasn’t the best with words. Dean Winchester considered himself a man of action and even if he didn’t say it, he showed her every day that he loved her. But did he? Did he show her how much she meant to him? How much he loved her? Did she know that he would lay down his life if it meant saving hers? Did she know he had gone out and bought a ring after their first official date because he knew she was it for him? Nearly five years later, that ring was still in his brother’s sock drawer. She didn’t know, because he chickened out every time he had tried to pour his heart out and tell her.

“Dean, you’re here for a reason. Think of this as your greatest hits,” Joshua chuckled and laid two fingers to Dean’s forehead. Memories flashed before his eyes.  

Their first date. Dragging Sam to a dozen jewelers until he found the perfect ring. The first time he made her dinner. Introducing her to his mother. The day the chief pulled him into his office and ripped him a new one about dating his little girl. Five minutes after that when Dean confessed his love for Y/N to her father. Anniversaries, birthdays, lazy Sundays.

Picking out the perfect house where Dean had dreamt of raising a family with Y/N. Surprising her with a trip to the shelter because she wanted a dog to keep her company when Dean worked long shifts and settling on the name Blaze.

“I’m an idiot,” Dean whispered.

“That remains to be seen, son” Joshua responded nonchalantly as he trimmed one of the hedges on the edge of the path.

“I’ve made my decision, Joshua. I wanna go back and do it all over. But I can’t go back, I know. Things would never be the same. But I wanna go and do it right now,” Dean blurted out. “I’ve got to make it right. I’ve been so asinine.”

“You’re sure this is what you want, Dean?” Joshua looked at him pointedly, a small smile tugging at his lips.

“Yes! I have plans and I need to act on them. Please,” Dean begged the gardener.

Joshua snapped his fingers and everything went black.

~*~

Y/N sat in the same chair hour after hour, day after day. She watched the machines that told her Dean was still there. She watched the clock that ticked by the minutes of their life together, the dreams they’d yet to share. The memories they’d yet to make. She only left when someone forced her to shower and eat, but she was never gone more than thirty minutes.

After three days, Dr. Shurley had taken Dean off of the phenobarbital, but he had not regained consciousness. Every hour he stayed still, Y/N feared that he would never come back to her. Every hour she surprised herself by crying the tears she didn’t think she had. Alone with Dean in the middle of the night, she talked to him.

“Blaze is going to be so excited to see you when I get you home. He’s staying with Jody and she has been bringing him to the station with her. My dad pretends to hate it, but we both know he loves that dog,” she laughed for the first time in days, even if it was half-hearted.

“Baby, I know you probably think that I’m going to be mad and yell at you for being so reckless, but Sam told me...he told me how you saved that little girl’s life and kept a family together. I’m not mad, I’m so proud of you. I’m lucky to be able to call you mine and our children will be even luckier to have a daddy like you, Dean. But I need you to wake up, baby. Please wake up for me,” she pleaded. Her sobs echoed quietly off the sterile walls as her shoulders shook. Y/N laid her head back down on the bed, next to Dean’s hand, still clasped in hers.

It had been ninety-eight hours and twenty-seven minutes since Dean’s surgery and more than twenty-six hours since the doctors had lifted his medical induced coma. The clock on the wall continued to tick. Along with the beeping and the steady hum of the machines sustaining Dean’s body, it lulled her to sleep, too fatigued to maintain the schedule, despite the obscene amount of caffeine she was forcing on herself.

Blaze raced around the backyard chasing a ball while giggles bounced off the fence. Y/N sat back in her chair, the sun bright and warm on her face. She was in her happy place. The home she shared with Dean, living the life they had built together.

“Sweetheart,” Dean whispered in her ear, his rough fingertips gently caressing her cheek. “Sweetheart? Y/N, you gotta wake up for me.” His voice was a soft plea in her ear. “Y/N?”

Her head shot up off the side of the bed and her eyes locked with his. “You’re awake. You came back to me!” She didn’t think she had anything left, but tears of joy streaked down her face.

“I got plans for us,” Dean whispered. “I’m so sorry. I’m an idiot.”

“Dean, baby. It’s okay. You’re going to be okay,” she whispered words of encouragement. “We don’t need to talk about the accident right now.”

“Not the accident, Y/N. Me, you...us. I’ve been an idiot and I should have told you how much you mean to me, how much I love you. But I thought you knew,” Dean voice cracked and his eyes welled up.

“Shhh, it’s okay. I know, Dean. Baby, I know how much you love me,” she cupped his cheek, pressing a kiss to it.

“But I don’t tell you enough. Nowhere near enough. What if I died and you didn’t know? I didn’t tell you how much you mean to me? That would be the worst thing I could imagine,” Dean admitted.

“I’ve been here imagining the worst, Dean. For more than four days, I have been sitting here, thinking you might never come back to me. That was near the worst for me. I’m so glad you came back to me,” she cried.

“I had to. Heaven was nice, but it doesn’t have you. I had to come back to tell you all the things I’ve been taking for granted and assumed you know,” Dean informed her.

“Heaven?” Y/N asked, pulling back to look at him.

“Yeah, it’s beautiful, but that can wait,” Dean said.

A knock sounded at the door before it was pushed open. “Mr. Winchester, it’s nice to officially meet you. I’m Doctor Shurley. Welcome back.”

The doctor did a full check on his healing. Dean’s prognosis was good, and after all the phone calls had been made, Y/N finally let herself relax a little bit. She pulled out her laptop and Dean’s favorite movie, Tombstone, when another knock sounded at the door, Sam peeking his head inside.

“Hey!” Dean greeted his brother.

“I just came by to bring you both a change of clothes,” Sam set the bag he was carrying in the corner by the restroom. He took a seat in the chair on the opposite side of the bed. “Tombstone?” He groaned catching what was on the screen.

“You love it,” Dean jabbed.

“Yeah, sure I do. Right now, I’ll watch anything you want. It’s good to have you back, brother,” Sam smiled up at his older sibling, feeling whole now that Dean was awake and recovering. “Anyway, I’ll let you two crazy kids get back to your movie. It’s good to see you awake, Dean.” Sam stood and shook Dean’s hand with a brotherly pat to the shoulder. Until he was up and about, that would have to do.

“Thanks, Sammy,” Dean said, his hand squeezing around Sam’s hand.

“I’m your Huckleberry,” Sam laughed and headed for the door.

“I fucking knew it!” Dean shouted in victory. “I knew he loved this movie!”

“He loves anything his big brother loves, Dean,” Y/N pointed out.

“And I’ll give him anything he wants and needs. That’s my job,” Dean agreed. “But that’s not what this is about. I asked him to bring something for me.”

“Dean, what’s going on?” Y/N sat up, concerned.

“No, everything’s fine, Sweetheart. But I had a very interesting conversation with an angel named Joshua while I was out. He gave me a rewind of my life and I realized a couple things,” Dean started, taking a deep breath. “But the most important thing I realized is that I should have done this a long time ago.” Dean opened his hand and picked up the shiny gold ring with two fingers. “When I’m on the job, I don’t have time to think because I could lose someone in the time it takes me to make a decision. I rush into danger without pause.

“But when it comes to us, to you, it’s all I do. I think about you when I wake up and you’re the last thing on my mind before I go to sleep at night. I put so much thought into each and every decision I make and the ones we make together, that I tend to overthink and talk myself out of my first instinct. I decided I need more balance. I need to take a bit more time on the job to think about how my decisions affect my crew and think a little less when it comes to our life. I mean it took us three days to name our dog and I want to spend more time living my life with you than planning it.

“After our first date, I trusted my gut and went shopping, but I let my brain talk my heart out of something that it really wanted, because I thought it was something that I had to plan out. But then I got hurt and in the process, so did you. I don’t ever want you to go another day without knowing, without a doubt, that I love you more than anything,” Dean paused, his voice breaking and his eyes wet with unshed tears.

“I wanna go back to do it all over. But I know it wouldn’t be the same. All I can do now is do better, be better for you. For us. Y/N, will you marry me?” He opened his hand that held the ring he’s had for almost five years. The diamonds still sparkled even in the dim lights of his hospital room.

“Dean, I know every morning I wake beside you that you love me. I know each night that I fall asleep in your arms that you love me. I can feel it in every single thing you do, every time you hold me. I feel it when you make me soup from scratch when I’m sick. I feel it when you pick up my favorite takeout, when you hold my hand when we walk Blaze. I feel it in my bones and you’re the only one that could ever make me feel like that,” Y/N smiled, her eyes locked on Dean’s as she spoke.

“Is that a yes?” Dean asked, his nerves taking over.

“Yes! God yes I will marry you!” She shouted, throwing her arms around him, mindful of the wires and tubing still attached to him.

“Oh thank god! I was starting to think I waited too long,” Dean pressed his lips to hers quickly before he remembered the ring. He slipped it on her finger, then admired the perfect fit.

“You think too much,” she laughed, pulling him for another kiss.

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The Whole Enchilada: @iwantthedean @dolphincliffs @mrswhozeewhatsis @meganwinchester1999 @cherrycokegirls1 @closetspngirl  @roxyspearing @flamencodiva @blacktithe7 @sis-tafics @just-another-busyfangirl @evansrogerskitten @amanda-teaches @hannahindie @wotinspntarnation @winchesterprincessbride @winecatsandpizza @kickingitwithkirk  @wi-deangirl77 @hobby27 @mogaruke @gh0stgurl @paintrider13-blog @hunterscabin

The Dean’s List: @jerkbitchidjitassbutt @dean-winchesters-bacon @maddiepants @thing-you-do-with-that-thing @supernatural-jackles @docharleythegeekqueen @adoptdontshoppets @mtngirlforever

[jae-canikeepyou]

| marked | j.jh | epilogue

genre: superpower!au

a/n: if i had or made you spark waterworks at the previous chapter, i’m so sorry. 🥺🥺😭🤧 tell you what, i was tearing up as i was writing it. epilogue’s down there. better late than never. i know i promised to post it right after i posted ch.12 but i wanted to make sure it’ll be a good wrap-up. ;-; anyway hahaha! enjoy! ~j.

the softness of the sheets felt like clouds as if swimming through in a dream. the sun had shone brightly than it ever did in the previous decades. birds were chirping, already showing off their voices and they probably annoyed the sleepers early in the morning.

it sounded like peace had come. after the battle with the neighbouring country, a pact was made that the two lands would not fight anymore; for it was to lessen the number of souls lost. the consensus was still to be processed and discussed. but at least they wouldn’t expect wars in the upcoming years.

eunwoo stood by the room, where the other members of the 097 crew sat in silence. he looked to the distance of the now spring’s horizon. the long winter was gone, and the memories from that day forgotten. rather, they chose not to remember, or in fact maybe just you and jaehyun. it scarred them so much that if one brought it up, for sure there will be tears; and if one started, it would definitely be a chain reaction to the rest of them. you both were part of the 097 crew after all.

“every time a new morning comes, i’m reminded how grateful i am to be alive.” yugyeom broke the silence.

bunch of cringed breaths and comments came from the rest.

“ew. since when were you this positive?” bambam asked so disgustedly. “it’s so not like you. at least that’s not how i last remembered you.”

“i am changed man.” yugyeom smirked, earning several pillows thrown at him. “ow! what was that for?”

“for being a changed man!” mina scoffed. she laughed soon after the boy responded with a pout. the windows were opened for fresh clean air. it was warm, and everyone in the core had their thick clothes hidden away; for the cold days were still far ahead into the year. since that day of the battle, the system remained the same, and new users kept coming to the core for refuge.

a soft groan and a shuffle from the bed alerted the rest of them. it meant a sign of going into the conscious. a smile on one’s face was contagious and it made everyone to do the same. their wait was long but it was worth it in the end. eunwoo looked to the person on the bed, and chuckled in relief.

“who opened the windows? it’s chilly.” a voice spoke, still drowsy from being awake. it was someone everyone hadn’t heard in a long, long time. they laughed at the unexpected first words from their weak, frail friend.

“hi. welcome back, jaehyun.”

━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━

jaehyun ate like he had never eaten before. the trays of finished food stacked on his side had built up a pile since he woken up. his team stared at him in awe and in shock. “i knew jaehyun’s a big eater but i’ve never seen him this hungry.” mingyu crossed his arms.

“compliment or not, i stand by the fact i’m still a big eater than all of you combined.” jaehyun munched on his food. “you mastered the jae-yook recipe, mingyu. i approve of this.”

“is it just me or i feel like i’ve seen this happen before? this exact same scenario.” mina mumbled as she rubbed her temples.

in a soft whisper, seokmin leaned in towards mina. “remember y/n acted the same when she arrived to the core? i officially call them the ‘happy hungry duo.’”

“oh so that’s why!” mina whispered and covered her lips in excitement as she tiptoed.

a sound from the trays, bowls and utensils fell onto the ground, startling the rest of them. they looked at jaehyun, who now stared at his friends. “y/n..?”

the dimpled boy’s eyes grew larger, closing his eyes and holding his temples as little fragments from that damned night came to a close in his mind. “and i’m alive? agh..”

“slow down there, jae.” eunwoo patted his shoulder. “what are you-”

“i was dead, eunwoo.” jaehyun sighed, “she was the last person i saw..”

soft beeps indicated on the monitor that his blood pressure was rising. mina held his hands in attempt to calm him down. “jaehyun, wait-”

“where is she? if i’m back here at the core, then she should be too, right?” the tip of his ears quickly turning crimson red, his body trying to get off the bed he was on. “i have to see her.” he removed the dextrose injection from his forearm and got off the bed, quick enough for the rest of them to not be able to catch him within their reach.

jaehyun stumbled and wobbled in his pj’s, pacing through the brightly lit hallway. his heart stammered in heavy beats in each pound. he helplessly looked through slim windows attached to the doors, hoping to see your face behind in any of those rooms. he ignored some of his friends who greeted him for his awakening. his legs dragged to every room, head throbbing whenever you didn’t show up.

eunwoo and the rest ran to catch up to him, only to see the young boy stood so still. the sun rays made him glow, making all of them wonder.

“y/n.” your name left his lips when he finally spotted you in front of his eyes. “y/n! i’m so gla-”

“wheein..” your hands tugged on the older girl’s shirt, startled with the sudden entrance. your little frame hiding behind hers, and the ash grey markings from your forearms to the fingertips stung a painful memory in jaehyun’s head.

“y/n, it’s jaehyun.” she whispered to you, caressing your shoulders.

the boy in front walked towards you, a little closer this time. you looked at him with a questioned face and knitted brows. you gulped as you blinked several times. “w-” your lips quivered. “who are you?”

jaehyun’s heart dropped low. soon his eyes clouded quick, remembering the outcome of the power he possessed. he never thought it would take a toll on you, that he had to be alive in order for it to actually work. but right now, everyone else heard and witnessed,

that you had forgotten him.

“what?” he let out a pained chuckle as he asked with a wavering voice. “y-you don’t know m-me?” his fingers curled as his attempt to hold your hands had failed.

“s- should i know you though?” you asked. you tilted your head to one side, averting your eyes from him. wheein felt the tight grasp of your palms onto her arm where she sensed fear and confusion. “i’ve never seen you before..”

you saw him step back after your honest response. his reddened ears alerted his friends. jaehyun’s breathing became heavy and his eyes bored into yours like you’ve done something wrong. eunwoo and mingyu held the shocked boy as he tried to get closer. “let go.” he demanded in a whisper.

“jaehyun, you’re scaring her.” mingyu said, even if he knew that that will hurt the boy more. “give her a-”

“i said let go!” jaehyun’s pricked with tears as his friends restrained him when he tried to free himself from their hold. the tall boys held him back. you jolted at the volume of his voice, your body almost hiding completely behind wheein.

“she can’t forget me! my powers shouldn’t have-” hiccups and tiny sobs were heard and you snuck a little peak from behind wheein. “it’s only me.. h- how is this possible?”

eunwoo bit his lips. “we’re not sure, jae.”

you noticed the red markings on the boy’s wrists. the force and pressure put onto him from eunwoo and mingyu’s hands. you felt bad. even if you didn’t know the brown haired boy, holding him down just to have a normal conversation with you was mean. “maybe you have mistaken her for me?” you asked, making jaehyun look at you. “if she’s here, i can help you pass the message.”

jaehyun took a step closer to you. he saw your eyes; filled more with life compared to the last time he saw them. yet he felt empty, because your eyes shined brightly without him in them. he sniffed as he tried to find the words. “y-yeah, we can try that.” a curve at the ends of his lips showed a small smile, making the rest of his friends smile too, in hope.

the rest of them watched intently in complete silence. their hearts and minds internally screaming at the fact both of their friends conversed as if they were strangers. however they too, were confused how jaehyun was forgotten by someone he was very close with, someone he considered to have the same identity with him.

“so what do you want to tell her?” you pursed your lips to wait for an answer.

“can you close your eyes?” he asked, and you did as you were told. “i.. wanted to tell her-..” he stumbled slightly at his words as he grabbed your right hand. you then felt his large but warm hands just underneath of your palms. although you wanted to question him of his actions, he didn’t seem to mean any harm. so you just let him be. “i wanted to tell her this.”

jaehyun began signing, and to his friends’ surprise, it was their first time to ever see such a new technique. he felt your flinches and the shaken limb. but he continued signing and his friends were anticipating the result with pained and worried hearts.

when he was done, he let go of your hands and tilted his head up high, not wanting for tears to fall. he covered them with his palms, sobbing quietly like a child. seokmin immediately saw how jaehyun bit his lips like they were about to bleed.

eventually jaehyun broke down and his sniffs were becoming frequent. he didn’t want you and him to be like this. he hated the fact that you forgot about him, just him. if that’s what the universe had decided, he had no choice but to accept this harsh reality. he exhaled and hiccups came out of his lips.

“crap i hate seeing these things..” eunha turned around with crossed arms.

“oh gosh tell me about it..” mina cleared her throat.

with heavy hearts, the rest of them stayed and watched jaehyun cry. they let him be in his own world and moment of acceptance. mina soon started to tear up, followed by the rest. though they felt extremely helpless, they could only give silent support to the heart-broken lad.

a little while later, jaehyun, who still had his head up high then felt his chest being leaned upon. he dropped his hands when he saw you huddled so close to him, just like you did when you both were back in the warehouse.

even with eyes closed, you knew your tears were dampening his shirt. as if your heart wanted to come out, it hammered so quickly that it became harder to breathe. flashes and fragments of memories of jaehyun came flooding right to you when he signed. you remembered him and it was painful to see him alive and well now.

instinctively but thought with care, your fingers curled into a fist, hitting him slightly on his torso and chest with the sides of your hands. you let out tiny sobs and they soon turned into wails. large hands immediately were wrapped around you, and that was when you stopped hitting.

“i.. hate you..”

jaehyun didn’t breathe for a second. you were actually conversing with him, where you remembered him. his heart skipped a beat. “is that the first thing i hear after-” jaehyun asked but was cut off.

“that time y-you said the plan will work, you promised you won’t die, you promised that i won’t kill you but i did. i felt you pass away in my arms. why did you lie-” you said in one breath.

“the plan did work, y/n.” jaehyun cupped your face, wiping your tears with his thumbs. “we defeated the enemy.”

“but you died. i felt you pass away in my ar-” you cried, not caring how you looked as you sniffed like crazy.

“i’m alive though.” he said and that made you speechless.

your head didn’t come up with words to reply him. “i hate you..”

loud voices, several lines of vicious profanities and heavy footsteps echoed the hallway. your heads shot up to two young men holding papers as they entered the once silent room. “oh my- chanyeol, gongchan, please mind the langu-” wheein hissed at their sudden entrance.

“we figured it out.”

━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━

you sat back comfortably on your bed, still light-headed from the sudden remembrance of memories of jaehyun. he sat just beside you as you all waited for the gongchan and chanyeol’s start of their research.

jaehyun felt his stomach churn at their short silence. he wondered and always had a lot of questions unanswered when he woke up from his coma. the shuffles from your legs made him look at you. his eyes widened and later softened at your ash grey forearms and held them in his hands. “they’re like how i last remembered..”

you held back tears. “might be permanent if there’s no solution.” you sighed, feeling circles drawn onto your palms.

“there has to be a way.” jaehyun’s grip tightened.

flips of pages soon caught attention to everyone. eyes locked to gongchan and chanyeol who readied themselves for a precise and concise result. for everyone, their hearts were the only thing they hear. “well, jaehyun and y/n had woken up.. quite sooner than we all had predicted.”

“just get to the point.” wheein crossed her arms. “they still need time to recover.” she tilted her head to the side as to point to where you and jaehyun were.

“right, okay you two.” chanyeol coughed as his eyes directed at you. “whilst we battled that day, we saw a mass of of dark light rays from the warehouse, equivalent to a volume of an explosion smoke. then it was followed by a white light. although we knew that it was both of your doing, we didn’t know what triggered it.”

“they did mention something about a plan-” seokmin said, his fingers pointed elsewhere.

“the plan was to make y/n use her marked powers and kill the enemies-” jaehyun interrupted.

“in which i killed you too even if i didn’t want to.” you said bitterly as you rubbed your temples.

“but her powers was said to lure everyone to death. why weren’t we drawn to it?” mingyu asked.

“exactly. also it doesn’t explain why jaehyun’s powers triggered as well when he was said to be ‘dead’.” eunha lifted a brow in question.

“can i continue? you all interrupted me.” chanyeol said, gesturing that he should be the one talking. “gongchan and i thought the reason why jaehyun ended up the way he is now, and y/n only forgetting him was.. the theory of yin and yang.”

“the philosophy of dualism concept?” eunwoo asked, earning a thumbs up from the older lads.

you tried to understand but nothing seemed to get to you. jaehyun on the other hand, also had a confused look in his face.

“we know that the yang is light, affirmative, full of life, strong; where as the yin is the dark, negative, death, weak. but in that thought, there’s still bad in the good, and good in the bad. with them together they create balance. we applied that concept to the powers of a marked, with the both of you, and we found that it’s exactly the same.” chanyeol explained in a simple manner.

“your powers are of life and death right? jaehyun can bring a person back to life, that’s the good. yet the effect is the lost of memories of a person, that’s the bad in the good. for y/n, she lures people to death without any control which is, of course, the bad. y/n said she feels guilt and sympathy as it triggers, and that’s the probably good in the bad. we also think that there’s more meaning to the ‘good’ in her. we just don’t know what it is, for now.” gongchan paused for the others to comprehend.

“we concluded that y/n might’ve realized something, causing both powers to activate. hence, when the yin and yang converged, it created life and this really explains why jaehyun is alive now.” he closed his file he was holding.

you sat there and was speechless at the facts and information they had gathered and researched. eunha and mina hugged you, and you couldn’t help but tear up at the revelation. the days of being alone were ending. the battle’s done.

“so no one’s gonna bother to answer why we weren’t lured into y/n’s marked powers?” mingyu asked, breaking the silence.

“i think it’s because she realized the good before her power was unleashed.” gongchan said, he walked towards you and tapped your head. “somehow, that part of her protected us all.”

“i think i know.” eunwoo snapped his fingers, making everyone look at the doe-eyed boy. “guilt and sympathy are just par, not a hundred percent ‘good’. y/n, when you first arrived you were against everything we do here, but once you hung out with jae, you gradually changed.”

“and your point is?” gongchan asked, clasping his hands together as he leaned on them.

eunwoo stayed silent, and a small smile visible after a second, “she was able to love..” giving jaehyun a quick glance. “..and with that realization, it merged with jae’s powers, that’s the good in the bad. so it protected us all.”

the rest of them saw your face turn red, and your eyes frantically looking everywhere. meanwhile jaehyun too, slowly turned red at the sudden comment.

“oh yeah, one more thing.” chanyeol spoke as he headed for the door. “because of the convergence, you both are ceased to be marked.”

the three leaders left for your group to catch up. you took a pillow and hid yourself from everyone, making eunha and mina tower over you with hugs as they squealed at the possibility of you liking jaehyun.

mingyu and seokmin too, teased jaehyun for having redder ears. they asked if he’d done something to make you fall for him. he kept denying, however he was transparent to everyone in the room.

the rest of them quarrelled with each other, defending and proving a point to whoever had possibly confessed first. eventually a bet was made.

so.. we’re not marked anymore.. you told yourself.

“but i could hear your thoughts?” jaehyun cleared his throat.

“stop hearing my thoughts- wait, why are we still absolutes?” you asked.

your question made everyone look at you.

“well my guess is that.. boreum did erase our powers as an absolute but they died before the convergence happened. maybe it backfired?” jaehyun sat beside you and grabbed the pillow to uncover your face. “so yeah, we are still absolutes.”

“oh my gosh, do you know what this means?” eunha whispered to mina, and mina gave a giggly laugh.

“oh yes,” she whispered to eunha’s ear, “absolute babies!”

“do you think it’ll happen?” seokmin joined in.

“absolutely.” “absolutely.”

the latter three giggled at you and jaehyun’s response to their thoughts. upon saying that, he let out a small chuckle that was so contagious, making you smile as well. his dimples showed as he leaned in closer to you, attempting to close the gap in between. you planned to give in, but you hit his chest gently.

jaehyun scoffed, pretending he was hurt so much at the force. “ow what was that for?” he asked and rubbed his chest.

“that’s for breaking your promise, dimples.” you chuckled and his lips agape at the nickname you gave him. he then felt his collar being pulled in closer and he smiled, feeling warmth on his lips. it was warmer than the winter. you giggled as you pulled away. “and that’s my answer to your signed confession.”

jaehyun held your hand. he realized the ash grey marks on your forearms now slowly faded and he smiled because it wouldn’t haunt him anymore, and that you were back to normal.

“okay, here’s 10 bucks, you two.” eunwoo handed the cash to mingyu and seokmin in defeat of the bet they had come up with, the other two overjoyed with their win.

“tsk, jaehyun didn’t man up when i thought he would.” eunwoo uttered in a low voice.

looking at the positivity in the room, he smiled at his group. he thought that you and jaehyun- were just people who haven’t encountered each other and walked in their own ways in the years before. you shared everything in common except for the time and place. sometime in the past, your stories might’ve happened simultaneously. yet you both didn’t know the other existed because you’ve never crossed paths. and because you both didn’t, one couldn’t continue without the other.

“do you love me?” you hugged jaehyun’s arm, your head leaning on his shoulder. he just chuckled at your child-like question.

“with this beauty?” he kissed your cheek, and he felt most satisfied than he had ever been in his life..

“absolutely.”

now that you both did find each other, and at this very moment, the both of you were finally in balance.

and that’s what matters.

a/n: thank you so much for reading up until the end! i know it was complicated to understand but we can discuss if you didn’t catch any of the important facts. 😂 picture above is a snippet of the time the spent during the survival game. 😊 i hope to see you in the next jaehyun au series! ~j.

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| marked - epilogue: the world’s still beautiful |

<prev | marked masterlist | fin.

[mrfeenysmustache]

A String of Souls

Chapter 6

Pairing: InuKag

Genre: angst, romance, SORT OF soulmate AU

Summary: Kagome Higurashi lives in a world where everyone has a soulmate, and they don't have to wait long to find them. She is more than happy with the person fate has chosen to stay by her side, but as soon as Happily Ever After can begin, it's ripped away. Fate, it seems, can be a cruel mistress. Or maybe not... Time travel/Soulmate AU/No jewel/InuKag

—————

A.N: Couple of things... First: SO SORRY about more than a MONTH in between this chapter and the last! I don't like going that long between updates. I have a reason: Along with this story AND my Pushing Daisies crossover that is also in progress, I'm also currently writing what I expect to be a pretty big project. It's taking up most of my plot bunnies lol I won't be posting on that for a while yet, I think, because I'd like to have a lot of it written and most of it planned and brainstormed. It's an Inuyasha/Thor/Avengers crossover. SO BE READY FOR THAT! Second: THANK YOU to all who have left faves, follows and comments! I love you all.

If Kagome wasn't convinced before that she'd somehow managed to time travel, she was convinced now.

Sitting on the floor of Kaede's little hut, she glanced around and took everything in slowly.

'It's all so ANCIENT. How did I even get here...'

"Well child, ye said ye had explanations."

"Oh, right... well, you see... we aren't really sure what's going on. I guess you could say that I'm not from around here. I fell down a well on my family's shrine property and woke up here. Inuyasha helped me out of the well on on this side. I had no way to climb out."

"I see. And Inuyasha, how did ye manage to break my sister's curse?"

"I don't know. I just woke up and pulled the arrow out. Simple as that."

"Hm."

Kaede stroked her chin and eyed them speculatively. Kagome glanced at Inuyasha, but he was glaring at Kaede with his arms crossed firmly across his chest.

"I'm sure ye know this, Inuyasha, as ye we're there, but Sister Kikyo is dead."

The ears on top of his head snapped back and sadness filled his aura. Kagome felt her own heart shudder in response. It was a fey feeling, and she rubbed her chest to make it go away.

"She died... that day?"

"Aye. From the wound ye inflicted on her."

"I never put a scratch on her, old hag! Not a single scratch! I never would have!"

His aura was writing in pain and anger. It felt harsh and overwhelming and Kagome wondered why she having so much trouble muting her ability to feel it. Usually she could drown this part of her powers out if she needed to. It was as if his soul was demanding to be seen by her.

Kaede stared at him with a hard glint in her eye, weighing his response.

"I know."

"What?! Then why would you say-"

"I was testing ye, Inuyasha. I know not what sort of feelings ye may harbor towards us or my sister. Ye fell into your sealing slumber believing she'd turned on ye. I simply wanted to know if ye held any feelings of animosity or vengeance."

He glared at the old woman and then huffed in agitation, nodding for her to continue.

"We figured out the culprit behind BOTH of your demise several years after. A very injured man my sister had been tending to in secret had fallen in love with her. Before he could pass on, he gave his body to a hoard of demons and was reborn. I'm sure he planned to sow discord between ye both and take her for himself, but the demons had no plans of being tied to a priestess and killed her instead. He came back looking for that jewel that rumor keeps placing here. We have managed to chase him off, but he's still lurking around somewhere."

"So, that wasn't Kikyo who... it was him?"

"Aye Inuyasha. He is a shapeshifter. And a crafty one at that. Tell me, what did ye and my sister plan on doing that day?"

His cheeks burned red and Kagome's brows disappeared into her hairline.

"She said... she said she'd found a spell. One that she could use to make me human. And we could... we could have a normal life."

Kagome couldn't stop her horrified gasp as disgust and disbelief and, oddly enough, guilt pulsed through her.

"She was going to turn you into a human?!"

Inuyasha's brow furrowed as he stared at her, confusion painted all over his face.

"Yeah?"

Kagome's heart squeezed in an unexplainable way. She would have been alarmed by it had she been in more normal circumstances.

"But why?" She whispered almost brokenly, and Inuyasha tilted his head to the side as he considered her.

"So we could be together."

"But that's... that's... that's terrible! If you want to be with someone, you don't try to erase half of them!"

Inuyasha's face grew red with a mixture of embarrassment and anger, his voice rising over the rapid thumping of his heart.

"Hey, it wasn't her fault I was born this way!"

His words seemed to have the opposite effect he'd intended them to have. She didn't immediately understand and sympathize, didn't grasp the fact that a hanyo and a priestess had no business together, and cleansing him of his demonic blood was the only way to be together. Instead, her eyes and her scent grew ever sadder, and it seemed as if she was seeing straight to the bottom of his soul.

"Yeah? Well it's not your fault, either."

He blinked, his ears laying back down on his head as he allowed her words to filter down through the fuzz that now filled his brain.

That was something he'd always believed about himself, but to have someone else just... get it like that? He'd never, ever received that kind of understanding from another person before, and he wasn't sure what to do with it. He looked away, crossing his arms and hunching his shoulders defensively.

"Kaede-Sama, is such a thing... even possible?"

Kaede glanced at Inuyasha, who still looked pointedly away though one of his ears had perked in their direction, still interested in their conversation.

"I believe I know what spell my sister intended to use on Inuyasha, and no. It would not have worked. I'm sorry to say Inuyasha, but ye need to know the truth."

"Keh. Don't matter now, anyway."

"Indeed it does not." Kaede turned back to Kagome. "Now child, how about ye? Where do ye come from where doorways hide in wells?"

Kagome pulled at a loose string on the pants hem around her ankle, nervous that her only reasonable explanation would be rejected and she'd be chased from this village with torches and pitchforks.

"Um... it's not really where I'm from... so much as when."

"Come again child?"

"I think... I think I might be from the future. The future of this village."

"How would such a thing be possible?"

"I don't know." She shrugged helplessly and Kaede stared deep inter her eyes, searching for truth or a lie or something. She felt the old woman's spiritual aura begin delicately prodding at her own and she tried not to cringe away in defense.

"I see. There is a familiar signature in your aura, child. I believe I may be able to give you at least one answer. Whether it will lead only to more questions, only time will tell."

"Familiar... signature?" Kagome felt her heart rate begin to rise and a faint dread set in. For some reason she knew the knowledge about to be imparted to her was going to change everything, and there was no way to stop it.

"I believe, young Kagome, that you may be the reincarnation of my sister."

Her eyes blew wide and her jaw dropped and her heart beat beat so fast and hard she could hear her blood rushing through her ears. She looked over at Inuyasha, who was staring at her with a look of bewildered astonishment before she felt his own demonic aura probing hers. He reared back, apparently finding what he'd been looking for, this 'familiar signature,' and he got up and stalked out of the hut without a word.

Kagome couldn't imagine how he must be feeling, faced with the reincarnation of the woman he'd hoped to build a life with. He probably needed some serious space. She turned back to Kaede, completely unsure where to even go from here.

"Kaede-Sama... are you certain?"

"Oh yes. Most of your aura is your own, Of course. But the core of it, the core of your soul, is much the same. I would recognize it anywhere."

She felt sad and confused, and like she didn't quite fit in her own skin anymore. She wanted a bath and large mug of her mother's tea.

"Well, what now?"

"I know not, child. I know not."

"Ok then," she responded, determination filling her and warming the places in her that had chilled with this recent revelation. "Tell me more about this shapeshifter. Where can we find him?"

She had every intention of trying to get home, but she would glean as much useful information as she could to give to Inuyasha before she departed. She hoped her departure and the death of the man who had tried to ruin his life would give him peace. She hoped he'd find a place to belong and people to accept him as he was.

And she hoped she'd be able to forget him, and this whole strange adventure, and move on with her life.

[justice-for-shayla]

The Shadow and the Soul

A/N: This has been finished for hours but I couldn’t post it without a title. The prompt I received (Many days ago) was Historical AU and Secret Relationship, only one of which is a focus for this part. I have a second part planned but it may need a third to wrap things up. 

Word Count: 4000 

A note on Historical Accuracy: The inaccuracy here is intentional. I will break all rules of history in order to steal the aesthetics of a time period, (in this case the Antebellum South, without all the nastiness. I’m not going to write characters I like as former or current slave owners, that’s fucking gross.) Don’t send me messages or write comments about how this isn’t true or wouldn’t work. I don’t care.  

Warnings: Historical Inaccuracy, Civil War Mentions, Death Mentions, Melodramatic Period Piece Tropes, Smut in Later Chapters (18+ Only) 

The locals called them leeches and parasites, the Northerners who’d descended on New Orleans in the wake of the war, but Aurelie never flinched at their hurled insults. She never flinched at all, in fact.

Long ago, she had learned that it was better to be seen as sweet. Sweet girls who never got into any trouble could get away with anything, because no one could imagine a “Sweet girl like her” getting up to any trouble.

Four years of war time had toughened even the sweetest girls, and Aurelie was no exception. Her once round cheeks had grown sharp and narrow when rationing had started, and her soft fingers had become calloused with all the times she’d pricked her fingers sewing up uniforms or burned herself on the water they boiled to bring to the hospitals.

Losing all three of her brothers had toughened her too. By the time they’d lost Henry, Aurelie didn’t even cry, only stood near her mother, somber and steady while her mother sobbed and fell to her knees. Henry had been the oldest, and the one she’d thought most likely to live, but even he had fallen, shot dead on a battlefield far from home. 

Lucas had been first, the first time her youngest brother had ever been the first to do anything, and Jean-Paul had been right in the middle, as always. It had destroyed her mother, the loss of all her boys, and in an effort to help her regain her health, the family had decided to move down to New Orleans to stay with relatives.

Though she had said she was looking forward to living with her sister, Aurelie’s mother never seemed particularly excited about the idea, even as she stepped off of the train into the sweltering air. 

Aurelie was neither excited nor perturbed. Her life up North had been boring until the war and difficult during it, leaving her feeling restless and purposeless now that it was over. Though being sweet had always been a lie for her, now act was heavy against her skin, itching like wool underclothes and cloying like a too-tight corset.

The only thing worth looking forward to had been the presence of her cousin, Eugene, the only young male in the family to make it out of the war. Aurelie sought him out now and found him lounging against a large tree in the garden.

“Is my mama looking for me?” He asked her, politely setting his pipe aside, though she wouldn’t have minded if he’d kept smoking.

“No, just me,” She said, taking a seat beside him and carefully arranging her skirt around her.

“You alright?” She had remembered him as an awkward and sickly boy, but he had come back a sad-eyed man, stronger than he had been before, but wounded in a different way. Aurelie never asked him about it, but she sensed that he was pretending to be well in the same way that she pretended to be sweet.

“You met Sidney yet?” He asked.

Aurelie groaned. “I’ve done nothing but meet Mr. Phillips. There are too many mothers trying to match us; it’ll be the death of me.”

“They just want something happy, I think. He’s not a bad one, you could do worse.”

She just shrugged. “I don’t care either way about him, and that’s just the problem.”

“Well, every surviving young man with any kind of money in New Orleans will be at your welcome party tonight, so if you’re ready to announce an engagement, now’s the time.”

Groaning, Aurelie gave up trying to keep her dress nice and flopped all the way onto the grass. “God, I’d love to make them happy but I can’t get engaged just to see my mama smile, Gene. I just can’t do it.”

“I don’t think you should, even if he’s my friend. You oughta wait.”

“Wait for what? For all the surviving men who fought in blue but live in New Orleans to get married to the other girls everyone’s shipping from up North?”

“Then at least you won’t have to be one of them.” Eugene shrugged.

“And what about you, Mr. Sledge, are you hoping to make your mama smile tonight?”

He rolled his eyes. “She smiles plenty because I came home. She only had one son and I came back. Your mama sent three and didn’t get any, I think she might hate me for it.”

“She doesn’t hate you,” Aurelie protested, “But you look like Henry, if she squints and turns her head right. I think you make her sad, but I’m sure she’d like to see you wed and naming babies after her boys.”

Eugene shuddered. “Not yet. Maybe not ever.”

Aurelie accepted this without question. If she’d had other options, she would have said Not Yet about marriage and babies too, but her choices were limited. “I oughta go inside and start dressing.” She shifted but didn’t stand, not wanting to leave her quiet moment with Gene.

“Can I ask you a favor, Rellie?” He asked, using the nickname he’d given her when they were children, before he’d mastered the pronunciation of her name.

“Of course.”

“I invited a friend of mine, Merriell Shelton. This isn’t really his type of party, so it might be nice if someone… helped him. I know he’d like you.”

“Why’s that?” For all the time she’d known him, Gene had only had one friend-- Sidney-- so the idea of him having someone else, someone who didn’t quite fit with the rest of their circle was intriguing enough on its own, but Aurelie fished for information anyway. She was hoping it might reveal something about this mysterious friend.

“You’re pretty, but you’re not soft. You’ll look him in the eye and not let him give you shit, which he will try to do.”

Aurelie smiled, picturing a bold sort of man who wouldn’t be afraid to make jokes around her, and wouldn’t flinch if she accidentally used some of the swears she’d learned from hanging around the nurses during the war.

“Sure, Gene, but only if you try to have some fun.”

Gene sighed and looked away from her, a shadow passing over his face, which he’d tried to arrange into a smile for her. “I’m doing my best, Rellie.”

She nodded and turned away, hating that sadness that clung to him like mud, but unable to do anything about it.  

“Rell?” He called, just before she was out of earshot, “He says he’s got a way with women; watch out.”

Laughing, Aurelie tossed her words over her shoulder. “All men say that, Gene; I’m immune.”

Submitting herself to the terrifying ordeal of getting ready for a party was distracting, but did little to lift her spirits as she was pinched and pulled and powdered until she looked like a perfect little doll nestled on top of a skirt wider than most door frames. Her mother had picked the dress and her maid had picked the hairstyle, she could barely recognize herself underneath all of it.

“Miss? It’s time; folks are waiting.”

She nodded, stealing one last glance at her reflection and defiantly tugging one red curl out of its place and letting it hang next to her eye. It was a small flaw, but with no time to fix it, she would be allowed to keep it, and with it some semblance of herself.

The Sledge’s ballroom was packed with people, though the festive atmosphere felt forced and oddly turbulent, like someone holding a match next to a powder keg. It was obvious that not all the people in this room had fought on the right side of the war, and tension ran high as everyone wondered who would start the first fight.

Aurelie hoped it wouldn’t come until later. She hoped it might not come at all. She wished the boys in gray could all just go home and lick their wounded pride in private, rather than frothing about it at every society party people felt obligated to invite them to.

Though she’d only met a few of the assembled guests-- Eugene’s oldest friend, Mr. Phillips, among them-- Aurelie felt like she knew them all. They were rich and polite and would spend many hours making small talk and pretending that less than a year ago they’d all been trying to slaughter each other. Aurelie hated to pretend, but she plastered a honey-sweet smile onto her face as she swept down the staircase and into the ballroom.  

Her eyes found the person who didn’t fit in almost immediately, and she knew that she’d spotted the friend Eugene had told her about. His suit almost fit perfectly, but even if it had been properly tailored, she would have seen his discomfort in it. This was not a man who spent his time at parties making small talk.

He had spotted her, caught her staring at him.  

His gaze was intense as she stepped lightly through the crowd, greeting people and smiling shyly, always gently dancing away before someone could pull her into a conversational circle. She was an expert at this type of weaving, and she made it across the room in record time, only stopping when she was standing in front of the stranger.

She held out her hand, as much a challenge as an introduction. “You must be Mr. Shelton. Eugene told me about you.”

He took her gloved hand, holding it gently. “Nice to meet you Miss…”

“Aurelie,” She said, flinching slightly when he kept his grip.

“Aurelie…” His voice lilted over her name, reducing it to something smooth and melodic, completely new to her. “Nice to meet you.”

His wasn’t an accent that one found in most society ballrooms, but Aurelie loved it immediately. For a long moment they stood like that, with her fingers still gripped in his hand. She glanced around, sure that someone had noticed this odd interlude, but no one was looking at them.

“Have you been staying with the Sledges long?” Aurelie asked, trying to find a normal conversation with a man who was very, very far from her normal.

“Not staying with them; I’ve got a place in the city. Sledge invited me and I’m not one to say no to a party like this.”

She nodded and then impulsively said, “I might have said no if I could have.”

“Why couldn’t you?” No one in her circle would have asked that. No one in her circle would have had to.

The question made her stumble and answer honestly. “Because this is my job.”

“Your job?” He tilted his head, studying her.

This time, it was his intense stare that caused her uncharacteristic ineloquence. “It’s what I do; it’s what I’ve been trained to do since I could walk and talk. I smile and dance and make conversation with the right people.”

She sounded like a doll, or some sort of teachable puppet, and she inwardly cursed her idiocy.

He looked around, apparently unbothered, though new tension hardened his face when his eyes fell on a coupe of men across the room from them. “I don’t think I’m the right people, but I’m better than those two.”

He pointed to two classically handsome men, similar enough to be brothers. “They fought with the rebels and show up here claiming they were just doing what they were told. Cowards.” He spit the word, glaring at the two, who had noticed his stare and were looking back.

Flushing when she made eye contact with one of them, Aurelie turned away, hoping they wouldn’t comment on her impropriety in front of her parents. She felt that men like them had no business on the Sledge’s property, but her parents weren’t as discerning. If they had money, a decent name, and no wives, she would be introduced to them with the same hope her parents expressed whenever she spoke to any man.

“They’re staring at you,” Merriell said conversationally, watching them over her shoulder.

“Don’t stare back, maybe they’ll go away.”

“They’re coming over here.”

“Damn.” The word was barely out of her mouth when the men approached. Up close, Aurelie could see that one of them was slightly taller, and the other had a very square face, but both had a bitterness in their eyes and stance that made her immediately wary of them.

“Miss Aurelie; it’s a pleasure to make your acquaintance. We’ve heard so much about you.” The taller one said with a smile that looked like it had been carved into his face and a drawl like thick syrup, poured too heavily over his words and rendering them sarcastic.

“Charmed,” Aurelie said in a tone that indicated she wasn’t. “I don’t believe we’ve been introduced, Mr…”

“Simmons. And this is my cousin Frederick Pierce.”

She nodded, allowing the conversation to stall in the hope that they might leave.

It didn’t deter them. “Is this man bothering you?” They studied Merriell with barely disguised scorn that made Aurelie bristle, though she didn’t let it show.

“Not at all!” She plastered on her best smile. “In fact he saved my favorite cousin’s life in the war, so I feel I owe him quite a debt.” She took Merriell’s arm in a slightly bold act that would send a clear message. *****I am not one of you.*****

This made those marble smiles falter on their faces, and Aurelie tried not to outwardly cheer for her victory.

“Most ladies don’t pay their debts with their company,” The shorter one-- Mr. Pierce-- said, nodding in a mockery of politeness before he and his cousin walked away.

Aurelie was fuming. “Those bastard sons of whores,” She muttered, glaring at their backs.

Merriell was laughing at her and a sudden flush crawled up her neck and into her cheeks; she’d sworn in front of him. She’d sworn in front of a gentleman! If her mother found out she would die on the spot. “I’m terribly sorry you had to hear that--”

“I’m not.”

“--I just got so angry at what they implied. The audacity of coming into my family’s home and suggesting that--” She paused, realizing that he was watching her pleasantly and seemed utterly unphased by the entire situation. “You’re not?”

“Not sorry I heard that. I kinda liked it.”

The flush burned even hotter, probably leaving her pale skin blotchy and scarlet under her freckles. “I…” She couldn’t think of anything to say.

He held out one improperly ungloved hand. “Dance with me?”

Any polite conversation she might have tried to make died in her throat. “I… Yes, thank you.”

Aurelie didn’t expect him to be good at dancing, and she was correct. Her massive skirt mostly hid his errors, and she was good enough to guide him through the rest without too much trouble, though she caught Gene’s eye and saw his sympathetic smile as he stood off to the side.

“Is he alright?” She asked Merriell as she eased herself carefully into a turn, subtly pushing hm in the right direction. “Gene, is he… happy?”

He looked at her like she was insane, bringing yet another hot flush into her cheeks. “No.”

“Of course, it was an idiotic question, I just… we’re worried about him. He used to smile so much, and he was much… brighter, I suppose. I don’t want to lose him too.” The last words slipped out without thought; they were inappropriately honest, but Merriell didn’t seem to notice or care.

“He’s right there.”

“He’s changed--”

“That shit changes you.” Abruptly, he dropped her hand, stepping away from the dance and leaving her where she stood. It was an awkward rush to go after him before someone noticed that he’d left. Leaving a girl on the dancefloor was an insult, and though she knew she had offended him first, it was hard not to feel the sting of it.

“Please, wait,” Reaching out, she caught his arm, once again surprising herself with her boldness. Though she had thought about it many times, she couldn’t remember ever having grabbed a man like this before. “I didn’t mean it like that. Everyone’s changed after the war, I know. I just… we all lost so much, I can’t bear the thought that he might not get better.”

“Better doesn’t mean same as before,” Merriell said.

“Of course it doesn’t. I’m sorry.” Ducking her head, Aurelie thought about moving away, returning to the comfortably familiar crowd with their predictably polite conversations. Whatever this was with Merriell, she preferred it to the artiface that surrounded them.

“Seems like you’re the same as you were before.” Perhaps he didn’t mean it as a challenge, but she couldn’t help but take it as one.

“You didn’t know me before,” She said coolly, “And you don’t know me now, so you’re hardly in a position to judge that.” She wanted to believe that he was somehow clever enough to see past the carefully constructed mask of words and behavior, rules and etiquette, that she wore constantly.

She met his gaze boldly, waiting for his apology or his next move, swallowing the pain that his words caused. &&&Just because you can’t see that I care doesn’t mean that I don’t care.&&&&

When he didn’t say anything, she turned and walked away from him, avoiding looking at where she was sure Eugene was standing and watching them, unable to hide the guilt she felt at breaking her promise to him.

She spent the next couple hours dancing with various men who were paraded in front of her by her mother or theirs, having the same conversation over and over as they did the same steps to the same dances, with few exceptions made for different songs. The men were, to her, utterly interchangeable, and her eyes drifted back to the only unique face in the crowd, before they would snap right back to her partner’s face, forcing herself to pay attention to whatever droll observation he was making about the weather.

When it all became unbearable, she stepped out into the garden, breathing the thick, warm night air deeply. Underneath the smell of heat and mud that permeated the garden, she caught a faint whiff of cigarette smoke, and considered investigating before its source stepped out of the shadows.

“Miss Aurelie,” He said, his accent once again smoothing out her name until it sounded more like a collection of notes than a word.

“Mr. Shelton.”

“I didn’t mean to offend you,” He said rather stiffly, after a too-long pause.

“You didn’t,” She lied instinctively.

He watched her, clearly spotting the lie.

“I have changed,” She said, daring to be honest in the dim garden, surrounded by night air that felt as heavy as a wool coat. “I never liked all this, but after the war I could see how pointless it all is. Now I’m… I’m so angry it takes my breath away sometimes. It scares me.”

“Makes sense to be angry.” He paused as if considering his next words. “You don’t look angry.”

“Ah, well, you know ‘Look like the innocent flower but be the serpent under it’,” She quoted, smiling at him.

He nodded, glancing away but not before she saw the confusion on his face.

“It’s Shakespeare,” She explained. “It… It’s a man’s wife telling him how to commit a murder.”

That made him laugh, and she stared, transfixed, at his smile until it had faded off his face. “You planning on killing anyone, Flower?”

The nickname brought back her blush, which she hated. “No, of course not! Though I wouldn’t be sad if Johnny and Jimmy Reb over there happened to not make it through the night.” It was by far the boldest joke she’d ever made in front of a gentleman, and she felt a rush singe through her veins when he laughed.

“See, before I never would have said that; I would have been too polite.” She told him, laughing with him and savoring it.

He nodded. “I’m glad you said it. Been thinking the same thing all night. I didn’t like what they said to you.”

A group of people passed the window nearest you, their voices carrying out into the night, and Aurelie stepped closer to him, into the shadows where she wouldn’t be seen.

She hadn’t been paying enough attention, and she ended up directly in front of him, only a breath away from being pressed against his chest. He looked down at her, his strangely reflective eyes studying her face in the darkness.

The polite, proper thing to do would have been to step away, to apologize and then to take his arm and allow him to lead her back into the ballroom, away from this compromising position. She didn’t do that, though the thought occurred to her, just like it always did. Just because she knew what she should do didn’t mean her mind was made up about what she was going to do.

Even though she was certain she knew what she wanted to do. “I’m different than I used to be,” She said, not sure if she was talking to herself or to him.

“I believe you.” His head bent lower as he breathed the words, so quietly she had to lean even closer to hear them.

At that point, she was too close not to do anything, so she lifted her lips the final inches they needed until they were pressed against Merriell’s. His hands started on her waist, brushing against the satin of her dress before one slipped up to cup the back of her neck, drawing her even closer as his tongue slipped between her parted lips.

She had been kissed before. She had done more than that before, with a soldier the night before he left, his blue uniform in an untidy heap in the corner of her bedroom. All of those kisses had been tinged with the desperation of a man who knew he was going to die, and needed one last thing before he could go.

Merriell had none of that desperation as he kissed her. He was slow, exploratory, and thorough, leaving her breathless when he finally moved away from her, taking a full step back.

“I can’t do this,” He said.

Aurelie stared at him, flushed, wide-eyed, and mortified. “What?”

“You’re Sledge’s cousin, practically his little sister--”

“He’s barely older than me!” She stepped closer, her blush now brought on more by anger than embarrassment.

“--He’d never let…”

“Eugene doesn’t let me do anything,” She insisted. “And he likes you! He wanted me to talk to you, to keep you company tonight--”

He shook his head sharply. “Don’t say that.”

“Say what?”

His hands found her hips again, pulling her close. “Don’t say you’re keeping me company tonight.”

The alternative meaning of her words struck her when he said them like that, with his warm breath against her ear and his hands strong on her waist. “Oh.”

Her lips fell open again, and he hesitated for the briefest of seconds before kissing her again. It was another perfect kiss, possibly even better than their first, but once again Merriell pulled away.

“People like you and people like me… They won’t allow it; you know that.”

Aurelie did know that, but she refused to admit it. “They don’t have to know.”

“You’re my best friend’s cousin.”

“You’re my cousin’s best friend,” She retorted, unphased.

“If he found out--”

Cutting him off, she kissed him again, savoring the feel of his lips as they moved over hers. “I have secrets already,” She told him when they parted. “What difference does one more make?”

Merriell still didn’t reply as he looked down at her, his face a mix of emotions she couldn’t decipher.

“Please, think about it,” She said, dipping into a slight curtsey before she left him in the shadows and reentered the ballroom. She felt warm and strange and powerful and scared, all things she had to tuck away into the back of her mind so she could pretend to be the girl they all expected.

Beneath her placid smile, she let herself relive every moment outside with Merriell, where she’d been allowed to act on impulse, to yearn and pursue and feel in a way that she never had before.

Immediately, her mother appeared to force her back into Mr. Phillips’ waiting arms for the final waltz of the evening. While she spun across the smooth wood floor with him, she felt a pair of eyes, burning into her back, and hoped that Merriell had made up his mind. She wanted her moment of freedom back, she wanted to be allowed to be the girl she’d been with him again.

Before he left for the night, he thanked her briefly, bowing rather clumsily over her hand. When he stepped away, she could feel a scrap of paper in her hand, barely noticeable through her silk gloves. 

In the privacy of her room, she unfolded the note and read his bold, messy scrawl. Our secret. 

[celticvampriss]

The Four Rules of Trost

(Not sure why I decided to write this, but it was partly inspired by a post I read recently on Fairies and names and also in part from a book I started and never finished.  It’s been so long since I’ve posted anything I basically forgot how this works. Anyway...

Jeankasa: Fairy AU (For the Fairytale Weekend)

He was an idiot, honestly, with a knack for trouble and a big mouth.  All his life the warnings were drilled into his head.  He could recite the Four Rules of Trost--a quaint village lost in a lush wilderness, you’ve never heard of it--in his sleep.  They were nursery rhymes and ghost stories.  The Four Rules were etched into wood and engraved into metal.  A little decoration in every home adorned with flowers and vines--A Happy Home Abides the Four Rules of Trost.

Rule One: never stray from the path.

Not that it mattered, there was no where to go.  The woods were too dense, the trees too giant, the wilderness too massive.  Sure, travelers had ventured off beyond the town’s borders, beyond the great lake for fishing or the ten miles or so used for hunting trails, but none returned.  (Why would they?  Jean had often wondered if they were asking themselves the right questions.  Were these travelers consumed by the nightmares of the Fairy Lands or did they just have the good sense not to come back?)

Either way, Jean never left the path.  Maybe a foot, as a dare, but that was a right of passage for kids in Trost.  See how far you can go before you got scared and Jean would not be called chicken by the Jeager boy, not a chance.  So he had set a single boot off the path.  The wind had nearly blown in him over, tearing his coat clear over his head to cover his eyes, and the sounds--such other-worldly shrieks that sent chills down his back.

Rule Two: Never, ever stray from the path at night, in fact, stay inside if at all possible

This rule was harder to follow, but the only one that had a bit of leniency.  A pressing chore or server sickness might mean you left your house at night, but you sure as shit stayed on the path.  Jean never tested this rule, expect for one single time when necessity sent him out of doors after the sun had set.  His mother had been so awfully sick and the doctor was three miles away.  Armed with a rake, a lantern as a shield, Jean had set out into the darkness to fetch him.

That was the first time he saw one, a Fae.  There were all sorts magical what-not in the woods--that was the reason for the Rules, better to be safe when a small human village finds itself in the midst of a Faery Wood--but the Fae were the worst.  Tricky, mischievous spirits with no sense of right or wrong.  Curse your entire family for five generations?  Sure, why not, it’s Tuesday.  Fix your horse’s lame leg?  Fine, just bring me the hair of your first born.  

Over time, Trost had learned it was best to avoid Fae entirely.  Which brings me to 

Rule Three: Do Not Talk To The Fae

Now, Jean was twelve, precocious, stubborn, and a bit of an idiot.  So when he saw her--just past his little bubble of lantern light, just off the path, engulfed in shadows, eyes gleaming in the beams of moonlight breaking the canopy--it took every ounce of willpower in his twelve year old body to turn his head forward and keep walking.

She followed, slowly, lazily.  Like he was a frog she spotted and decided to follow back to its pond.  He would glance without turning his head and there she was, watching, silent.  But he was twelve and, yeah, Fae were supposed to be “possessed of an ethereal beauty” but what the elders didn’t tell you was that they were hot.  

So try as he might, he was a hormonal boy, so he kept glancing.  More than he should if he were only afraid--which he was, to clarify, terrified.  

“You can look if you like, there is no harm in a look,” she said, voice like magic--he swore he could taste it--and then he tripped.

Jean scrambled to catch his lantern, praying under his breath that it remained lit, and trembling when she stepped into its light.

She had stood just off the path, radiant in the glow, hair black as the night and face set in a serious sort of scowl.  

“You’re afraid,” She said, almost like a question, then she looked away, “You’re all afraid.”

Jean had sat in the dirt, thankfully struck dumb and incapable of breaking Rule Three.  But it was looking that did all the harm.  Because she was clearly Fae, clearly powerful, clearly terrifying, but also...sad.  Her scowl, her eyes, they were...heavy.  Like she had known more horror than happiness.  

Then he did something truly stupid, he empathized.  He felt sorry for her, felt her loneliness, her sorrow, and was genuinely grieved for whatever she had endured to put that grief in her eyes.  

But the moment was fleeting, because she was gone before he could break Rule Three and with her leaving his wits returned.  His mother was sick and he had a mission, there was a reason he was out after nightfall.

And that was that.  He dreamed of the Fae girl for months, years.  He thought about her in passing moments, but time lessened the intensity of those thoughts.  

But then he turned eighteen and did the truly idiotic.  He broke the fourth Rule, which everyone knew to be the most severe.

Rule Four: Do Not GIVE A FAE YOUR NAME

Eighteen and angry.  Angry because a small village with no travelers or tourists left one a bit suffocated.  He felt caged, constricted, which was insane because he didn’t know that anything else existed.  All he knew was that the life he’d been dealt felt wrong and stifling.  Restlessness settled in his spirit.  A longing for something he couldn’t name or understand.  Which was the worst sort.  He couldn’t even properly dream of ‘other’ because to a small village cut off by a sea of magical monster trees the only ‘other’ was the very possibly deadly unknown.

And this frustration had burrowed into his heart for a few years.  While the kids his age were doing their village thing--becoming farmers or merchants or parents--he was left brooding and annoyed.  Which made him so very reckless and so very, very stupid.

Twigs and leaves snapped and crunched beneath his boots as Jean worked the little used hunting trails on the outer most limits of their village.  It was starting to get overgrown, but still definitely a path.  His toes caught on rocks and he accidentally startled a squirrel that kicked up a flurry of dead leaves as it scurried up a nearby tree.

In other words, he wouldn’t be catching anything that day.  Instead his bow was slung on his back, not even in hand, and he stomped his frustration into the dirt.  At least the outer trails offered some sense of thrill.  Their low traffic made it difficult to recognize their course and he would find himself searching from the log of a fallen tree cutting the path in two.  But he always found it, for it was always there in the dirt, and so the risk was not that great.  

Jean hopped from the fallen tree--a giant, that appeared to have been beaten by a round of unlucky lightening strikes--and as his feet landed, his eyes caught movement.

At first he reached for his bow, considering that he might have gotten lucky and a very unwise deer had ignored his noisy wandering and come too close, but then he realized that was not the case.  

She was there.  In the day light, autumn wind catching the ends of her black hair, and eyes staring through him.  

And he was too unhappy to fight the recklessness in his soul.  For first, he broke Rule Three.

“It’s you,” He said, hoping she would recognize him.

Her nod was a victory and he savored that elation as he reminded his feet to stay put.

“Are you feeling better?”  He asked, though he didn’t think she was, for she looked exactly the same.

But her eyes narrowed in curiosity and her head tilted, “What do you mean?  Better from what?”

He shrugged.  “I don’t know, I guess.”

“I had a feeling you’d talk to me,” she said, “But you realize it’s against the Rules.”

The Fae knew about the Rules?  Figures.  “Yeah, I know.  I think I’m beyond caring at this point.  Besides, I get the feeling you won’t hurt me.”

“I may.  I may not.  Hurt can mean so many things.”

“Fair, I guess.”  He scratched at his head, finally tearing his eyes from her face.  He looked at the path and suddenly all those warnings went off in his head.  This was a very stupid idea.  He shouldn’t have opened his mouth.  He started to turn away from her, to walk back toward the safety of Trost, “Look, I gotta get home.  I just...” He stopped, he turned back to her, just for a second, “I wanted to say I hope you find happiness.  I doubt I will, but you seem like the type who deserves a bit of good in their life.  I hope you get it.”  He gave her an awkward wave.  “Bye.”

But she was fast, insanely fast, and she was ahead of him.  Not on the path, obviously, but near it.

“Why would you say that?”

“What?  Did I offend you?”  He wrung his hands through his hair, “Oh shit.  I’ve offended a Fae.  Please don’t curse me.”

“Quiet,” She said, and his jaw snapped shut.  “I am not going to curse you.  I simply...I only wish to understand.”

“Understand what?”

“Why?  How?  You have seen me once, yet you speak like you have intimate knowledge of my past.  And...you are kind.”  She huffed, clearly frustrated.  “Humans hate and mistrust the Fae.  Why would you wish me well?”

Jean honestly didn’t know.  He said what felt right, he didn’t think about it.  “Look, I can’t give you any sort of insightful answer.  I don’t know you, I just know that when I look at you...I guess it’s like I can see your misery and I hate it.  Especially now, cause it looks a little like mine.”

“Like yours?”

“The loneliness.  I get that.  I may not really know trauma, my past has been pretty sheltered and uneventful, but my present is...shit.  Or I feel shitty, at least.  Like I don’t belong here.  Like I want more than what I have.  Which is wrong, I know, but it’s how I feel.  I don’t even know if there is anything beyond the woods.  No one does.  But I may be tempted...”  He bit his lip, thinking better of his comments.  He may have entertained a fantasy or two of venturing out past the woods, but it was only a fantasy.

She was silent for a long time.  He was beginning to feel like he’d done something wrong.  Well, aside from the obvious talking to her in the first place.

“Do you really want to see the Woods?”

Jean shivered.  His gut screamed.  He took a step back.  “Why?”

“Because I know what’s in the wood and beyond.”

“Yeah, but...humans don’t ever come back from that.”

“Maybe they don’t want to,” She said, and he couldn’t hold in the laugh.

“That’s exactly what I thought.”  She was putting him at ease again, which was dangerous.  “Wait, but how do I know you’re not just leading me to my death? Those people could have all died.  We don’t know.”

“Oh, they died,” She said, tone even, “You need permission to walk through the Fae Wood.  And magic.  They didn’t have it.”

“O...kay.  Then why in the hell would I follow you?  They all died.  You just confirmed it.”

She held out her hand, “I can give you permission.”

Jean paused.  He considered it.  Which was insane.  He needed to run.  Turn around and run home and never leave his house again.  He couldn’t be trusted.  But that is not what he did.

“What will it cost me?”

She smiled, for the first time, “Only your name.  Will you give me your name?”

Some stored away vault in his brain tried to remind him about Fae and their tricky wording, but it was no use.  He was too busy being very reckless.

See, instinct can be a funny thing.  While, Jean knew he should be running scared, that is not what felt right.  He was a slave to honesty, brutal or otherwise.  Idiotic or otherwise.  And he honestly trusted her.  

“I give you my name and you can help me leave?  See more than just the village?”

“For a start.”

While he stood there and considered, a part of him had already made the decision.  It had been made when he saw her on the path.  It had been made seven years ago when he was twelve and he saw more than Fae.  

He was an idiot, honestly, with a knack for trouble and a big mouth.  

“My name is Jean.”

And the magic was sealed.  For to give a Fae your name was to give them power over you.  And her wording had been precise.  But it was a magic that could work both ways.  

“You going to give me your name?”

“Mikasa.”

He smiled.  And then he broke Rule One.  He stepped off the path.  And all was quiet.  He was free.

For when Fae and human have power over each other, they are equal.  

[mistical52]

At Your Service - Chapter 1

Hey everyone, I’m back with an Overwatch fanfiction. Yep, I’ve been hooked and dragged under by this epic fandom. Yay! XD

Please enjoy this work! 

Description: Jesse doesn't get picket up by Blackwatch, he joins the Shimada Clan instead.

Soulmate AU.

Chapter 2 (link)

---

Six hands tried to hold Jesse down. He wasn’t strong enough to warrant that many people, but the way he was bucking and squirming, combined with his biting and scratching made him harder to keep down than a wild stallion.

When they finally managed to get his hands behind his back McCree responded by kicking. His heel connected with something and was satisfied to hear a loud yelp.

Jesse’s satisfaction didn’t last long when he heard yelling in Japanese calling another person over to help restrain him. The group of people managed to hold McCree still long enough to snap the restraining cuffs on him.

A man wrenched Jesse to his feet and McCree didn’t hesitate to headbutt the guy. There was a crunch and Jesse knew that he’s broken the man’s nose.

The cold click of a gun and a warm barrel to McCree’s head caused him to freeze.

             “Behave.” Came the heavily accented word. Judging by the voice it was a woman, and looking through the corner of his eye Jesse could see that he was right.

Jesse would have raised his hands if he could, but the bite of the cuffs on his wrists reminded him that he couldn’t. “Well since you asked so nicely.” McCree responded instead straightening up.

             “Move.” Commanded the woman with the gun.

McCree took half a step forward before he stopped, “If you don’t mind could one of you please grab my hat?” Jesse asked nodding his head to where his fallen hat was.

There was a moment when no one moved. Then the man with the broken nose slowly picked up the battered hat and cautiously moved in front of McCree. Jesse bowed his head, letting the man put on the vital piece of his aesthetic. The man with the broken nose gently put it on wary of another attack, but McCree did nothing.

             “Thank you kindly.” Said McCree and finally started moving in the direction the woman wanted him too. Just because Jesse was captured that didn’t mean that he couldn’t be civil, at least until he found a moment to escape.

 They took McCree outside and shoved him into the rear of a black van. In the back sat a few members of the Japanese organisation along with the head of Deadlock, Arron Knight and his right hand, Izzie Mendoza. Jesse sat with as much dignity as he could muster across from Deadlock’s leader. Before the door was slammed shut McCree saw Peacekeeper tucked into a man’s waistband. Well at least they hadn’t left his gun behind. Hopefully he could get it back when he escaped.

It wasn’t long before the van started moving and McCree couldn’t help but be uncomfortable with his hands behind his back. So Jesse fidgeted, every five or ten minutes he’d adjust to a new position, trying to work around the hands at his back.

             “I don’t think I’ve ever seen your soul mark before.” Commented Knight.

Jesse curled his fists and shifted them behind his back, trying to hide the twisting dragons which danced from knuckle to wrist. Too many people had seen the mark today. Jesse had lost his gloves in the brawl. Someone grabbed his wrists and he slipped his hands out of the gloves to punch them square in the jaw. Jesse wasn’t dumb, he had a feeling something else was going on here.

             “Can I have a look? It’s a bit boring in here.” Knight said casually and nodded his head to indicate to the van.

“No. You don’t get to talk about that. It’s because of your stupidity that we’re in this situation. You’re the idiot who double crossed the Shimada clan.” McCree snapped, “I was against that plan. And now look what’s happened, Boss, they came back and wiped out Deadlock.”

“Now boy, you don’t get to talk to me like that. What I say goes, if you didn’t like it, you could’a left.” The grin which Knight gave said otherwise.

“We all knew this would happen if ya’ crossed them, but you got greedy an’ did it anyway!” Jesse retorted ignoring Knight’s comment, “And now probably everyone’s dead ‘cept us!” Jesse didn’t really consider any of the people in Deadlock friends, but some of them weren’t half bad. McCree had seen the best members kick the bucket during the ambush, and he was sure a coward or two had escaped. Torres, that annoying little weasel, probably made it out during the first two minutes.

“McCree, leave it.” Mendoza ordered giving him a side-eyed scowl. Her dark skin was pulled into a frown which scared most other Deadlock members.

McCree grumbled, but ultimately decided that he didn’t want to continue the conversation anyway. He’d already said everything that he needed to.

  The whole trip was a little under two hours and they had reached a large town on the outskirts of the desert. It was a nice town, Jesse had been here a few times, which is how he recognised his location. After being directed out of the van at gun point Jesse could just see the town from the property they were on. The property had surprisingly green grass and a huge pre-Civil War home. The garden was well maintained and mostly contained plants that could handle the dryer climate. The only thing that disturbed the pretty picture was the hefty number of guards dotted through out the property. Some guards were patrolling while others stood stoic and vigilant.

The three remaining Deadlock members were lead up to the front door and pushed through. Jesse paused at the door and quickly wiped his boots on the mat.

From behind Mendoza snapped at him, “McCree this is not the time to have manners!”

             “I an’t gonna walk into someone’s home and track dirt all over the place. Especially not one as nice as this.” Jesse called back. This trip was coming to it’s end. If McCree was going to act he had to do it fast.

The remnants of the American gang were lead up an almost too clean staircase and too what was probably a meeting room. It didn’t look like a western style meeting room. There were no chairs, however there was a long table and some mats on a raised platform in the back half of the room. Most of the chairs were occupied, a third however were vacant, but a screen at the end of the table was likely to be connecting the absent members to the conversation.

The man at the head of the table, Mr Sojiro Shimada himself, looks unimpressed at the interruption.

The man with the broken nose, which looked like it had been somewhat repaired during the journey, said something in Japanese. Not a moment later every member of the ambush in the large room bowed, except for the members holding guns at the Deadlock members.

Jesse didn’t like this room, he had an uneasy feeling and he wanted out. Jesse shifted uncomfortably and used that movement to hide the lockpick he pulled out from the waist of his pants. Maybe he should have taken his chances in the confined van.

All the yakuza members rose with a word from Mr Shimada, from there the man with the broken nose reported how the ambush went, or McCree assumed he was reporting. Mr Shimada asked the occasional questions while the man with the broken nose did most of the talking.

McCree looked around the room noted the only exit and observed the people sitting at the meeting table while he cautiously picked the lock on his cuffs. Every person at the table except one looked thirty and over. The group was mostly men however all the woman at the table had an air of confidence that not even Jesse would mess with. At the head of the table to Mr Shimada’s left was a vacant chair and to his right, the youngest member who, like Jesse, was obviously under twenty. It was likely that the guy was one of the Shimada heirs, however Jesse didn’t know their names. The young men had long dark hair and angular features with sharp eyes.

The heir looked at McCree and Jesse grinned and tilted his head. The heir scowled at him and Jesse knew that he was enjoying this interaction far too much. McCree realised that he probably shouldn’t be practically flirting with the heir of the Shimada clan, especially not with Mr Shimada sitting right next to the man.

The conversation in Japanese continued as more of a background noise, but soon Jesse started to get nervous about what they were saying, especially when the council, the heir and Mr Shimada kept glancing or looking at him. They looked at the other Deadlock members sure, but as the conversation continued they turned to McCree more and more. This could not be good.

Finally McCree was just about done picking the lock and for once his luck came through. The man with the broken nose gestured for someone to move forward, and they stepped on a squeaky floorboard, giving Jesse just enough time to unlock the cuffs with a small and drowned out click.

The young man stepping forward started to walk past McCree with Peacekeeper held out like an offering.

Well it was now or never.

As the young yakuza stepped past McCree’s left Jesse kicked out at the man’s knee. Not a moment later the man was falling, and McCree had snatched Peacekeeper into his hand. Peacekeeper, the beautiful thing was fully loaded. A man from McCree’s right started to charged at him. Jesse spun and shot the man in the thigh before shooting under his own arm at the woman behind him. He hit exactly where he wanted too, her upper arm, and she dropped her gun. Before the gun clattered to the ground McCree had Peacekeeper aimed at Mr Shimada.

With an easy smile Jesse started to talk, “Now we’re gonna take this nice and easy. If I wanted your people dead they would be, and the same goes for you Mr Shimada.” There was respect in Jesse’s voice, he may not know a lot about this clan but he knew they should be feared.

McCree’s eyes flicked the room taking in everyone’s position and their readiness to reach for a weapon.

The heir was standing and had an arrow loosely slotted onto a bow. The man’s left sleave, which must have been draped over his shoulder, had fallen down to reveal an intricate tattoo with a dragon wrapped around his arm. McCree paused for a moment, then changed his mind.

             “I was just going to be on my way out, but now I have a couple of questions. The first, do two dragons mean anything to you?” Jesse got his answer by the multiple sets of eyes which narrow at him. “Well then, that’s good to know. Don’t try anything, any of you move an’ your boss gets it.”

With steady hands McCree swapped his gun to his left hand, “Next question,” Jesse was directing this one at the heir and Mr Shimada, “This ring any bells?” Inquired Jesse giving everyone at the table a good look at the twining dragons on the back of his right hand.

The heir’s eyes widened a fraction before his features were schooled back into place.

McCree switched his gun back to his dominate hand. “Right then. Final question, do you have one to match?”

The Shimada’s exchanged a quick look.

             “Do I have your word that you will not shoot?” The heir asked, lord McCree couldn’t believe he had to wait almost eighteen years to hear that wonderful voice.

             “So long as no one tries to shoot me I have no reason to shoot.” Replied Jesse easily giving a half shrug.

The heir hesitated a moment before lowering his bow and removing an archer’s glove. Jesse knew, he knew even before the glove came off, this man was his other half.

The young Shimada showed the back of his hand and McCree couldn’t stop the wide grin that reached his face.

             “Aw now ain’t that cute, you got Peacekeeper!” Even half a room away Jesse could make out the inky image.

             “What?” Asked the heir’s confusion obvious.

             “My gun.” Replied McCree simply still grinning.

             “Of course.” Said the young Shimada with spite.

             “I’ve been hoping I’d get to meeting you. Where are my manners, Jesse McCree at your service.” Jesse introduced with a tip of his hat.

             “Hanzo Shimada.” Informed the young Shimada, Jesse’s soulmate.

McCree’s grin got infinitely wider when Hanzo introduced himself. “The pleasure’s all mine. I’m at your mercy.” The last sentence was accompanied by Peacekeeper hanging loosely from a finger and hands out in surrender.

That seemed to surprise Hanzo and the heir still hadn’t schooled his expression by the time several Shimada members tackled and pinned McCree with no resistance.

---

Chapter 2

[yugirl-with-dragons]

Arabic AU - Painful memories

Last Arabic AU piece! Go and leave nice comments to @aceyugiohdreamer!!! My friend is great and I’m so in love dfghjkdfghjk (be careful guys this piece will feel like a stab in your soul) ---

[The night Jack arrived, Aki returned him close to the city by magical means since it took a few hours to get there in the first place and he didn’t have a good explanation for having left, so it would be a hassle to try to say why he had gone so far away without notice.

Then she also gives him a magical means to communicate.]

Yusei watched as the small sandstorm encircling Jack and Aki atop the horse squeezed closer and closer into itself, then lost all energy and dissipated. Nothing remained, not even the footprints, for the wind had swept them away.

Out of unconscious habit, he leaned his head back. It was still dark, but Yusei had a feeling the sun would begin to make its appearance in the next hour—maybe two. He should be tired. He should want to go back to bed to make up for what sleep he had lost. But he was too awake now, mind too full and buzzing. So instead, he decided to take advantage of this opportunity: he paced himself slowly as he ambled further out beyond the edge of the tribe’s settlement, and when he felt sufficiently distanced, he lied down and gazed straight up, bent arms cradling his head, to take in the last view of the stars.

Aki returned in another tight pillar of sand to discover that Yusei had gone. She noticed his trail, and following it with her eyes found him lying down, looking the size of her finger. She thought maybe he wanted to be alone, but she also felt a growing desire to be around him. It had been so long since she had had someone to—

She pushed the thought aside. No need to bring up unnecessary things. She wanted to go to him, that was all. Besides, they were going to be working together now, it was reasonable to want to grow comfortable around him. And if for now he said he wanted to be alone, she would honor that, but until she asked, how could she know she wasn’t welcome?

So she followed the path printed into the sand. If he noticed her, he made no sign, staying engrossed with the view above. When she arrived beside him, she asked quietly, “May I join you?”

He finally glanced at her without shifting from his pose, then nodded with a smile. “Sure.”

She felt something in her chest unclench, and she breathed easily as she sat down. Yusei watched as she settled, leaning back on her arms with head tilted back, and returned his eyes to the sky when she had gone still.

A minute passed in peace. She could have stayed that way longer, but she couldn’t help wanting to learn a little more about him. And something about sitting there together—in the dark and the quiet and the illusion of isolation—felt like an invitation to do so.

“You like stars?” she asked softly. The stillness felt sacred in a way, and she didn’t want to disturb it more than necessary.

Yusei considered the question for a moment. Like them? Hmm. That wasn’t right.

“I’d say . . .” He lay there, eyes taking in such a full view that, besides Aki, he could see nothing but sky all the way to the periphery. “It’s more like . . . I can feel them.” He put his hand over his heart. That was where the sensation was strongest. And along with it, ever since that first night, he still couldn’t stop feeling that there were eyes hidden somewhere among those stars. “It’s like,” he continued thoughtfully, “. . . like something inside of me is made of stars. Like calling to like—that’s what the vibration in here is. So when I look at the stars, something just feels . . . right.”

She was looking at him now. He could feel the weight of her gaze. It made him curious enough, so he shifted his eyes to meet hers.

He smiled again. “Did I say something strange?” he asked, because she looked like she was trying to puzzle out the meaning of an abstract poem.

“No,” she answered quietly. “It’s just . . . it’s so perfectly expected that it’s . . . unexpected.”

He lifted himself up on his elbows, taking his turn to give her a curious look.

She sighed and pushed forward so she could sit up, crossing her legs. Yusei followed her example.

“You’re a Signer—the Crimson Dragon has chosen you to bear its mark and some of its power.” She eyed his arm and the mark stained there. Every time she did that, she had this look—a look that made Yusei wonder if she was hearing it speak to her. She returned her eyes to his before continuing, “Part of that includes a connection with one of the companion dragons—lesser gods who side with the Crimson Dragon. And actually, while the Signers together form a kind of avatar of the Crimson Dragon, the main source of our powers are the companion dragons we are paired with.” She looked down at her own arm then. “What you just described sounds exactly like the spiritual connection you as a Signer should have with your companion dragon.”

He had the feeling from her expression that she knew this from personal experience.

Unconsciously, Yusei looked down at his own arm, too. “What does that have to do with stars?”

She looked up. “A lot, actually. Your dragon’s name is Stardust—a being said to carry stars in its wings, and, if you want to take myth literally, to create them.” Yusei thought she looked like she expected to see this mythical dragon up there in the sky. “The stars speak to you because they’re the elemental substance of your divine companion.”

Yusei considered this, turning his eyes upward again, too. His companion? All those stars, all those hours spent transfixed with his body humming like a string plucked, resounding with a strange voice not heard but felt. Had that really always been the connection between them thrumming, a kind of communication transcending distance and worlds, soul to soul?

Something about it rang true to him, like she had merely articulated something that he had been vaguely aware of all his life.

He had never seen this Stardust, and he had no image in his mind of what it would look like, but he felt that he knew it, that he would recognize its soul if it ever appeared before him.

And . . . and . . . if this was true, if this presence that was simultaneously far away and imminent in his heart was real, then . . . what about . . . could it be . . .

He hesitated. He wanted—and didn’t want. He almost wanted—and didn’t quite want. Back and forth, round in circles, a hundred times in the span of a single breath. The question was there, ready on his tongue, but . . . his body felt rigid. Could he do it? Could he ask her . . . ask what she and her people believed about the afterlife, about the souls of the dead? He had heard several different versions from a variety of cultures, and none of them, when he thought on them, ever provided any solace or insight. What was the truth? Could he believe her version out of so many others?

But again, this Crimson Dragon was real, so maybe anything else from the mythology would be too . . . ?

“Aki . . .”

Why did he feel hesitation? If he asked, if she answered, maybe he would be able to stop wondering where his parents were. But . . . what if he didn’t like the answer? What if . . . what if he found out . . . that those eyes he had felt on him all these years were just . . . his imagination?

Could he handle that?

But, could he stand not knowing, either?

As he struggled silently with himself, Aki waited patiently, sensing that there was something of import he needed to prepare in his mind. She could respect the delicacy of that.

Yusei lifted his eyes to the sky again, relying on them for fortitude.

“What happens . . .” he began slowly, then faltered. “Is there . . . Do you . . . do you believe we go somewhere when we die?”

She held still for a moment, feeling the weight in the air.

She examined his sober expression. Felt the yearning that was afraid of its own hunger. And in a quick flash of memory, she understood what he was thinking. She turned her eyes up, gaze parallel with his.

“I do,” she said quietly. “But, I don’t know where.”

He looked at her with surprise. “Your stories don’t tell you?”

“Not exactly. The Crimson Dragon isn’t known for being a god of creation or the afterlife, it’s main concern is the protection of this world. And there’s nothing really specific in our texts that explains in detail what happens beyond this world. But, there is a general sense that there is something—because when you think about everything that is possible, all the power and magic that the gods have—and when you think about how the King of the Underworld is sealed in a world separate from ours, and how he wants to transform everything into his domain and substance, it doesn’t take much of a leap to think that there are even more worlds of other times and substances, including one for our souls—at least. We can’t know for sure until we get there, I suppose, but . . . I think all of us feel it, like a truth we’re faintly aware of, like intuition, sewn into the fabric of our souls and bodies.”

Yusei knew what she was referring to, though he had often worried that that very feeling could also easily just be collective wishful thinking. But he could neither prove nor disprove anything. And with what he knew now, it seemed like more was possible than he had ever imagined.

“I’m sorry if that’s not helpful.”

“Don’t be,” he said, giving her a smile. “I appreciate what you told me. I still don’t know what to think, but . . . I do feel something, and even if I don’t know the truth, there are times where I’m still glad I feel it anyway.”

She decided to voice her guess.

“Your parents?”

He nodded, eyes shifting up again. “Yeah. It’s like . . . I can feel them watching me.” He couldn’t remember ever telling anyone this, because it felt like if he did, the spell would be broken, and he would realize how foolish it was, how childish, how impossible. He would realize how he had obviously only convinced himself of something to ease his loneliness and heartache. But, with her, it felt easier to say, because with her, anything was possible. Anything could be real. And as he looked up at the stars, he not only felt their eyes, but their smile, too.

“I see no reason why they wouldn’t,” she said with gentle encouragement. “You were obviously very important to each other, of course they’d want to stay with you.”

He wondered about that. Could someone really choose to go somewhere where they could stay connected to the ones they left behind? Could bonds be that strong?

“Do you . . . want to talk about them?” she asked tentatively.

He smiled. He could still remember them so clearly, their essence etched indelibly into his heart. Even if some memories were blurry, if he concentrated, he could still feel them as if they were right there. He wasn’t sure if he could express that feeling through words, but he appreciated the offer to try.

“Maybe another time,” he answered, meaning it. “Thank you.”

She nodded, twisting some stray hair between her fingers.

“Do you mind if I ask . . . what happened to you? After they . . .” She faltered, feeling the awkwardness she should have anticipated when she started. “Died”? “Were killed”? Which would be better?

Fortunately, he didn’t need her to finish.

“I found somewhere to live. I was thirteen when it happened, and I ran away to a part of the city I had never been in. I didn’t know what I was going to do, but then I got taken in by a woman named Martha. She has a gift for taking in strays and raising them—caring for each one of them. She made me feel welcome, even safe. And I got to know the other kids, too. I never had a big family before—it was just me and my parents—or many friends, but living there in that house crammed full of kids . . . I guess I got used to it, and it didn’t take long for me to start caring about them, too.”

“So you like having lots of people around?”

Yusei paused before answering. “Well, it’s not that simple. I care about them, yeah, and I’d do anything to help them. But, even so, I prefer time to myself. Time where I can be alone and think. Even when I’m there, I always need to get away for a while. I don’t mind coming back, though, because I like having people to care about. It’s worth it even if it feels cramped and overwhelming sometimes.”

She tilted her head, smiling warmly

“You really are a good person, Yusei.”

He wasn’t sure how to respond to that. It was only what was natural to him. It didn’t feel like anything special, but that smile gave the impression that it seemed special to her. He didn’t feel like arguing the point, not right then. But he did wonder what it meant.

“What about you?” he asked. “Who all do you live with?” He remembered the group that had first met them upon their arrival—had they been priests as well?

“I live alone.” The smile faded and she sat up straight again. “As the priest, the temple is my space—mine and the Dragon’s, I mean. My purpose there is to be constantly ready to serve in any way the Dragon desires, and to tend to the needs of anyone who comes to me, and to lead our rituals when it’s time.”

“And you’re the only priest?” That seemed like a lot of responsibility for just one person.

“Yes, there is always only one. Even when the next priest is in training, they’re still not given the title or position—not until the current one dies or becomes unable to perform their duties.”

“Then the people from before, they were they all just . . . normal?”

“There are some attendants who help with some services that don’t require a priest’s magic, but they don’t have any official title or religious station, so yes, otherwise they are ‘normal’.”

Yusei considered her. She looked about his age, yet she held such an important position? Impressive. And she certainly seemed capable. But still.

“So, you really do live alone? In that temple?”

“Yes.”

“How long?”

She paused to count. “Well, I became the priest about three years ago when the one before me died, but I’ve lived in the temple for a total of twelve years. More or less.”

He didn’t understand the somber look on her face then. Perhaps she was more lonely than her confidence and devotion let on. Were priests too consecrated to socialize with others?

“Are you able to see your family much?”

The way her eyes deepened with an abyss of sorrow told him that his question stirred no pleasant thoughts for her, as he had hoped.

She said nothing for a moment, just stared, and to him she seemed to be sinking down into that abyss. He could think of nothing to do or say to undo what his words had done—she would have to return to him on her own. But he could at least wait. Patience and silence were familiar companions.

Eventually her eyes regained their focus, but before she spoke, she turned them away.

“Do I scare you?” she asked with a hushed voice.

That threw him off, and he had to readjust his mind in order to respond to the unexpected tangent.

“At first,” he admitted slowly to soften the impact. “Down there, when there was so much happening all at once. I was already afraid because of the king, and then you showed up out of nowhere, using magic I’ve never seen before, and obviously wanting to kill. So I was pretty on edge, and scared, but . . . being here now, with everything quiet again . . . I’m not anymore.”

She turned her eyes back to him, and they seemed intense—superficially, with anger, but he could read better. He could see it was something closer to . . .

“Do you think I’m a monster?”

He was taken aback. Another surprise.

“No.” He held her gaze steadily to convey his seriousness. “Not even close.”

Her eyes softened with sadness then, making what he had sensed earlier more clear: guilt.

“Well,” she sighed, “you might as well know the truth.” With a grimace, she added, “Everyone else does.” She looked down and took a slow, deep breath. Yusei felt his body tense, like it so often had when he mom had told him a particularly suspenseful story.

They sat facing each other, legs crossed, Aki’s hands tight on her ankles and eyes directed toward the ground between them. He thought about telling her it was ok, she didn’t have to tell him anything, not if it brought her this much sorrow to think about. But he also didn’t want her to think he was afraid of hearing it. So he sat silently, an attentive listener.

And Aki began.

“I was six years old. I don’t even really remember what led up to it. I think some boy about my age was teasing me—or at least I thought so. He might have just been playing. I don’t know. But I think he took something I had been playing with and was taunting me to get me to chase him. Or something.”

She shrugged.

“I remember that I got mad and knocked him down with some magic. Then I took what he had taken back—I think I hit him, too, for good measure. Well, he started crying, and my parents came out to see what was going on. My mom helped the boy and comforted him a little, which annoyed me because he was the one who started it. She said he’d be ok and that he should go home, and then she and my dad started talking to me about how it wasn’t right to get violent and that I shouldn’t abuse my magic like that—that wasn’t what it was for—and that there are other ways to solve conflicts, and that kind of thing. But, I wasn’t in the mood for that. I was young and angry and I felt like they were ignoring what he had done to me, and I told them so. I acted like a whiny brat, saying stuff like he got what he deserved for messing with me when he knows I can hurt him and that I’m the next priest so he should show me some respect and blah blah blah. My parents got more serious then and told me I shouldn’t be so arrogant, my magic is a gift, it’s supposed to be used to serve the Dragon and protect others, not for selfish reasons. And that only made me more angry, because I really was a brat, and I thought they were disrespecting me, too. And I remember feeling this surge—I felt so hot. I was so angry. And I wanted to show them that they were wrong. That if the Dragon gave me my magic then that meant I was free to do whatever I wanted. It was mine. And then—”

He saw her voice catch. It looked as if something had knocked into her, and really, something had: the pain of whatever memory she was reliving. Yusei stared without blinking, taut and anxious.

She swallowed visibly, and her eyes were so wet. She wiped them one by one with her hand and sucked in a deep, shuddering breath.

“I don’t know what I wanted to do, but what came out . . . it was like . . . like . . . like I just brought out all the anger and indignation I was feeling. It just . . . happened. They . . . they were fine one second, and then the next . . . they were on fire.”

She licked her lips, her eyes staring wide at the ground before her, her brow twitching.

Yusei felt his stomach sink.

“Not just their clothes, but everything.” Her voice was thick and shaky. “The fire was so much bigger than it should have been—if it had been a normal fire.”

She wasn’t blinking. Tears dripped heavily over the brim of her eyes. She was so spellbound by the memory that she didn’t seem to notice. Several seconds passed, and Yusei could hear her breathing, heavy with horror.

“Do you know what a burning body smells like?” she asked in a near-whisper without looking up. “Or a charred corpse? What flesh looks like as it’s peeling away, flames consuming it, blood searing, fat melting? Do you know what the screams sound like?” Her face contorted, twisted with revulsion, yet her eyes were still locked, unable to turn away from the vision playing in her mind. “I can still hear them. I feel them in my bones. Vibrating—enough to feel dizzy and sick. No other memory is as vibrant as this. The fire was such a deep red, and their skin . . . as it burned off I could see the wet pulp underneath, bubbling and blistering. I couldn’t look away. And everyone came. Everyone was scared. Some tried to throw water on them, but it didn’t help. I watched my parents scream and try to slap themselves or claw the fire away with their own hands, but it didn’t work, and I can still remember the moment when I could see in their eyes that they had given up, and all they could do was stand there in agony, screaming with nothing but pain and a wish to die—all hope of surviving lost. I stood there and watched, and watched, and watched, because I didn’t know what to do, and even if I had, I was too frozen to act. It didn’t feel real. Even though I could feel what was happening with every sense I had—I could taste the flavor of their blood and skin in the air—I couldn’t comprehend it. I was rendered completely useless. When the current priest finally arrived, my parents were on their hands and knees. They had no hair, and their eyes had melted away along with their skin. He held out his hands and just by his will, the fire receded down to nothing. But my parents kept screaming, because even without the fire eating away at them, they were still in unbearable pain. They were black and red and dripping ooze and bleeding so much . . . Imagine the sensation of salt in a single wound, then spread it over the entirety of your body. Can you even imagine it? I can’t. Not really. I’ve tried. I thought I deserve it, to feel what they felt, what I made them feel. But I can’t. And at that time I could only watch. They collapsed into the sand—sand drenched in their blood—and the priest knelt beside them, put his hands on each of their heads, and he said something I couldn’t hear, and then they went quiet and still. At first I thought maybe he was going to heal them, but . . . there was too much damage. He could only release them from their suffering.” Her lips twitched. “And then, of course, we finished it by burning what was left of their bodies on a pyre. I wonder if anyone else watched that and heard their screams the entire time? Or was it just me?”

Yusei could tell in her face—in the way her body held petrified—that she was hearing them now.

He couldn’t prevent the thought—or ignore it:

Had his parents screamed, too? When whatever had happened to him happened?

Could he have lived with the sound, if he had heard it?

His mind began to construct a ghostly resemblance of what their voices might have sounded like, loud and drawn out with agony . . .

He clenched his jaw, cursing his mind for taking up such an unnecessary task.

Yet, with that brief exercise of imagination, he could get the smallest glimpse into the horror she had been carrying inside her.

But the weight of the condemnation she felt was too heavy for him to ever fully grasp.

He felt an overwhelming desire to hold her, to provide her a sanctuary where she could feel relief from it, even if just for a moment.

But was that something in his power to provide? Would she really feel such comfort with him, even if he desired it with all his heart?

He decided to hold back—afraid that if the timing was wrong, it would only make things worse. Instead, he reached out experimentally and placed a hand on her shoulder. It wasn’t much, but he hoped it at least let her know he was there with her.

It seemed to break her out of the spell. She blinked, sending a thick collection of tears gushing down her face, and looked up at him. She seemed a little lost, staring, and looking, in Yusei’s mind, very much like the six-year-old she had just been in her memory world.

She took in another deep breath, coming back to herself, and wiped her face. Yusei released her shoulder, but not before giving a small squeeze to calm the shaking he had felt there.

“Well, after that,” she continued, smoothing out the stickiness in her voice, “the priest took me in permanently. We had the funeral that night, but before, after he had pulled me out of the chaos and had someone take the bodies away, he spoke with me. He asked me if I understood what had just happened. I told him the only thing I understood: I had killed my parents. He told me it wasn’t entirely my fault. My powers were greater than expected of a future-priest my age, and he had not properly prepared me. But that meant that from now on he would take my education more seriously so that I would never hurt anyone else again.”

It wasn’t fair. He felt that loudly in his heart. It was too terrible for someone that age to go through. He had known many orphans, had heard many tragedies people had suffered. But this was beyond his imagining. How deep her heart must be to bear so much pain.

“You ask how long I’ve lived in the temple?” she asked, sounding spent. “It’s been twelve years and one-hundred seventeen days. And for the past three years one-hundred forty-eight days, I have been alone.”

He wondered how much of that was imposed upon her. He imagined that she might become a legend herself, a story passed down from generation to generation, a warning about how to raise all future-priests with more humility, lest they too threaten people’s safety. And despite how heavily the people relied on her, such a story circulating over and over would do nothing to make them less wary of her. They would only approach when needed.

His gaze didn’t waver from hers.

“I’m sorry.”

She seemed surprised, but then she shook her head. “No. I did it. I have to live with it.”

“It wasn’t your fault.”

Again, she shook her head. “No, I did this wrong. I didn’t mean to tell it like a sob story. You shouldn’t feel sorry for me, I’m the one who did something terrible. It’s my parents you should feel bad for.”

Her guilt was compounding. He had to make it stop. “I do,” he agreed. “But they’re not the ones still here who need support. And I don’t have to take sides—I can feel for all of you.”

“I don’t deserve it.”

“Yes you do,” he insisted. “You said it yourself, you didn’t know what you were doing.”

“I should have, though,” she insisted back. “Even kids are supposed to learn to control their impulses at some point, but I let all the ‘chosen priest’ stuff go to my head and inflate my ego.”

“Kids can be egotistic and selfish, that’s nothing unusual,” he countered, thinking back to all the kids he had helped take care of. “I’m sure there are plenty who would lose control too if they had that kind of magic. It just happened to be you who had it. That’s horrible, unforgettable, but it doesn’t make you a bad person, or a monster. You learned from it, you changed.”

Her eyes welled with tears again.

“My parents shouldn’t have been the price for me to become a better person,” she croaked through a swelling throat.

He put his hands on her shoulders again, holding her firmly.

“You’re right. And that’s why I’m sorry. None of this should have happened, and I’m sorry the past can’t be changed. And I’m sorry you’ve been carrying this alone for so long.”

Her face cracked.

“Why would anyone want to carry this with me?”

He squeezed.

“Friends are willing to carry anything with you.”

“Friends?” she repeated, then hung her head dejectedly. “No one is going to be my friend.”

Wrong.

“Why not? Are all the others here afraid of you?”

Wrong. She was wrong. They were wrong. Couldn’t they see she was suffering? How could they let her . . . ?

“I don’t know,” she mumbled. “They respect me, and they accept me. Well, they can hardly reject me,” she laughed bitterly. “But . . . I don’t know that when they look at me, they don’t see that little girl who burned her parents to death. They forgave, but how could they ever forget? I never will. Do they wonder what else I might be capable of? If I’ll ever lose control again? If I’ll ever find another power that’s stronger than my own will?”

He felt the fear in her shoulders.

“Do you?”

She nodded slowly.

“Yes.” It was a whisper, another truth that haunted her, a constant presence in her heart. “I want to have control and do my best in this role, but, I can’t help but be a little scared. I’m better than I was back then—I’ve learned so much and gotten so much stronger—but I can’t shake the feeling that anything could happen, anything is possible, and what if one day I hurt more innocent people again?”

There was so much pain—he could feel it as tangibly as the rage from earlier. But where that had been hot and strong, this was a dead weight, heavy chains dragging her down into darkness. The despair brushed against him, and he felt the stars in his soul light up in defiance.

He had to pull her out.

He had to bring her light.

“It’s ok if you’re afraid,” he said. “You’re going through something I doubt anyone else in the world ever has. But you’re doing your best, and you should believe in yourself. The Crimson Dragon chose you for this, right? And listen.” He gave her shoulders an encouraging shake. “You’re not alone. You don’t have to hide or carry all this by yourself—I’m here. I can handle it.”

She looked at him—like she couldn’t believe he was real and not a dream.

“How can you say that? You barely know me.”

“I know plenty.” He tightened his grip. “I know you’re brave and strong, but you’re also hurting, and lonely. And I know you want to do good in the world. And I know you’re a person with human needs—for love and understanding. And if no one else is going to be your friend, I’d love to have the honor myself—if you would accept me.”

She stared at him, stunned. His blue eyes were unwavering, unhesitant, utterly sincere. Who was this man? She had never met anyone like him, with such a steadfast and abundantly generous soul. It humbled her to be in his presence—her, the priest, the highest station among her people—because for the first time she felt like she was facing someone who was truly better than herself, and infinitely more worthy of her god’s favor. Compared to him, she felt morally inadequate—by a mile.

The sensation bubbled up in her like some unstable mix of ironic amusement and existential hollowness. She laughed, a sharp sound revealing the brief bout of delirium that overtook her, his words so profound and surprising as to shake the foundation of her world.

It passed quickly, and she settled into a dull sense of disorientation and sadness, but the aftershock still rippled against her in an undercurrent.

Because his offer still hung in the air between them, and she still didn’t know how to answer. It was too surreal to wrap her mind around properly.

Instead, she said what she could understand—what she was sure of. With her lips still trembling in a watery smile left behind by the laugh, she said, “I’m glad your parents watch over you. I’m glad they loved you enough for that. You deserve it, you really are such a . . . a good person.” She closed her eyes. “Mine must hate me, or at least resent me. I’ve never felt them—not once. And when I remember them, all I feel is condemnation. How can I face them, when the time comes? What if I find them in the afterlife, and they don’t want to see me? I’m scared. I want to earn their forgiveness, but if they won’t watch me from wherever they are . . . how can I?”

Yusei didn’t know how he could answer her with any authority when he had been the one inquiring about the afterlife just a short while ago, but he still felt the conviction of his words like an undeniable truth.

“Aki,” he called, sliding his hands down her arms until he could take hold of hers. It felt appropriate, a suitable means to get her attention and convey his earnestness. As he hoped, she looked at him, eyes wide—he had surprised her again. He continued, “Listen, you feel like you have to spend the rest of your life making up for something you did when you were too young to understand what you were capable of. That’s not fair to you. And I think your parents feel the same way. You’re their daughter, they’d understand, and they wouldn’t want you to suffer the rest of your life. It’s not right that they died, but I’m sure if they looked at you now, they would be proud of the person you’ve become. There’s just no way they could hate you.”

She stared, shaking. Whether she couldn’t speak or simply didn’t know what to say, he couldn’t tell. He probed to find out.

“You don’t believe me, do you?”

She swallowed. “I don’t know,” she answered, voice thick and wet. “I want to, but . . . it’s too hard right now.” It felt too good to be true, weighted against twelve years of self-loathing.

He shifted his hands so he could squeeze her wrists.

“I understand.” Because he could. Trauma didn’t magically go away—not even when the people involved had magic. “But, maybe someday it won’t be.”

Maybe someday she’d be able to look up at the sky and feel her parents smiling down on her, too.

And in that moment, he did what felt appropriate, what it felt like the conversation had naturally progressed toward. He didn’t hesitate this time. He stood up, and in her dazed state she didn’t resist when he pulled at her wrists to bring her up with him. Then he opened his arms and gently wrapped them around her. When he felt her slowly lean in, test the feel of his body and its strength to hold her weight, and finally relax so she could let loose the fresh tears that rose up, he responded by tightening his arms around her. As the stars began to fade in the paling wash of the dawn’s emerging light, he became her sanctuary, and the tears that soaked into his tunic and dampened his skin seemed to sink into his soul—where he felt the bond between them take root.