#i wish things could be simpler but i also understand its not like the before times were perfect either | Explore Tumblr Posts and Blogs

feral-ella-flynn · 3 years

Text

Paying the Toll, pt 2: M Troll x F Human, SFW (for now)

Part 1

Male Troll + Female Human

still SFW (so far)

2.5K/6.5K word draft

tagging @feralprose @monster-bait @apocalypticromantic666 @pre-schoolervengance @bresilienne-ami @soivebuiltupaworldofmagic @dont-call-me-a-faerie @kirmalight (comment to be tagged in updates!)

I bet no one expected this to be updated! Including me! This installment is definitely not as long as I intended, because I got really hung up on details--that’s why I’m posting anyway, to get some momentum so that hopefully the third part will be both longer and not so tardy.

Escaping a goblin raid on your village leads you to a bridge, but you have nothing to offer the troll who guards it for a toll...except yourself

You wake in darkness. At first you aren't sure you're awake at all--it's only by touching your own eyelids that you can feel sure they're open. It seems to make no difference between the thick, pressing dark around you either way.

“Mattie?” you whisper, your voice thin and hoarse.

There’s no answer, and understanding comes crashing down on you, like floodwater overwhelming a dam. You are not in your cramped room under the eaves of the big house, Mathilde is not sleeping on the narrow bed an armspan away–if she’s lucky, perhaps she was able to hide in the cellars or the attics, somewhere that was safe enough until the goblin raiders felt they had run out of things to raze and ravish and moved on. Or perhaps help would come, from the regiment billeted outside the market town, or from rangers who might have been near enought to see the smoke. If Mattie was unlucky….

A sob catches in your dry throat, then turns to choking dry heaves that leave you shuddering. Bile burns on your tongue. You huddle into the nest of furs, remembering now where you are and how you came to be here, naked and alone in the pitch black.

Not alone. There is the hush of leather brushing against stone, a faint musky scent.

“Brúsi?”

“Aye.” The troll’s gravel-rough voice is low and close–you almost reach out, ready to blunder once again into his arms rather than be alone with your fears.

The scrape of flint is loud enough in the silence to make you jump. Sparks illuminate the troll, kneeling at your side, and as he coaxes the tinder to unfurl into flame you hastily wrap a fur around your bare flesh. Whatever mood made you so bold before has been banished by your nightmares.

“Is it morning?”

The troll shrugs. “Near enough.”

“Shall I–shall I make breakfast for you?” Your fingers knead anxiously in the soft nap of the pelt that you clutch closed over your chest. “What do you like for breakfast?”

The troll–Brúsi–glances at you, his head tilted in the way that is already familiar. You think it means he’s just as bewildered by your contract, and by you, as you are yourself.

“Dried goat,” he says. “Morning meal, evening meal. Unless there is a new goat.”

“Oh. Where do the goats come from?”

He shrugs. “The bridge provides.”

Well. You take a deep breath, pushing the fear and panic of the last day, of the dark dreams, down into a tight ball at the bottom of your stomach, where you can ignore it for a little while. “Does the bridge ever provide eggs?”

And so you begin your month as housekeeper to a troll.

Your clothes are badly stained, and chilly from being spread out on the stone floor, but they're dry and you dress in them anyway, trying to ignore the scrutiny of Brúsi’s dark blue eyes as he watches you. He seems fascinated by the layers as you lace your stays over your shift, tie the strings of your petticoat, and your cheeks burn with a blush as you finally button your gown. You do your best with the tangles in your hair--letting it hide your face until your heart stops thumping in your ears before you twist it into a hasty braid.

There are no eggs. But you take a lantern the troll indicates and follow him into another cave that serves as a store room.

“There is goat,” he says, pointing at the considerable supply of dried meat, “and other goods, if tha wish them.” His gesture at the heaps of bags, crates, jars, casks, boxes–all jumbled together and shoved to one side–is dismissive, as if there is nothing of value to be found. You stare wide-eyed at a bolt of fine silk, at the glint of gold from a carelessly overturned casket with a broken lid.

“What is all this?”

“Payment for the toll, for when there were no goats.”

“You don’t do anything with the things paid for the toll? They just sit and rot?”

He shrugs. “I butcher the goats.”

You can only shake your head, but the practicality can’t be denied–gold and silk isn’t much use in a cave, and it’s with less wonder but more delight that you find flour, oil, and salt.

Breakfast is fried bread--and goat meat.

Once the meal is prepared and cleaned away, the troll vanishes up the dark tunnel. He takes no lantern with him. He also doesn't say a word to you before he leaves, and you stand in the cave for a while, expecting him to come back with instructions, or–well, something. But he doesn’t, and you can only twist your hands in the skirt of your gown for so long. Eventually you pick up the lantern and explore.

There is little enough to see. Other than what you noticed when you arrived, there is an alcove that must be where the troll sleeps, on piled furs that smell musky but not unpleasant. There is the storage cave, although it seems larger than it did at first, because you realize that you can’t see the far wall before the circle of light gives way to darkness.

And then there is the tunnel entrance, where your new employer disappeared, and which presumably leads out, to--your stomach lurches at the memory of being upside down from the sky–the underside of the bridge. But perhaps that had been an illusion, and the tunnel merely led out to an opening in the bank underneath the bridge? You had been half out of your mind with fear, after all. Maybe you dreamed that part.

Maybe…maybe you could simply walk out of this tunnel, out of the dark, and walk all the way home.

Except that you agreed to a contract. And the troll did say he wouldn’t eat you, wouldn’t even touch you, which was more than any of the men at the big house ever promised...none of them had touched you, but you knew that was because you had been careful, so careful, all the time, to be invisible.

It had helped that Mattie made it easy to fade into the background. She flaunted her pretty curls and winsome dimples, and when she sometimes crept into your shared attic room well after midnight she always had a new length of fine fabric for a dress or a necklace of amber beads to show for it. You asked once if she wasn’t afraid of falling pregnant, but she just shrugged.

“I know to be careful,” she said, and hid the coins she’d gotten for selling her latest bauble away beneath her bed.

Thinking of Mattie makes your eyes sting with tears, and reminds you that probably there was no home to walk back to–and if you tried, there would likely be nothing to be done there except burying the dead. You leave the tunnel entrance alone, and busy yourself with organizing the heaped goods in the storage cave.

When Brúsi returns, he brings you eggs, freshly laid and nested in a straw packed basket.

“They had no goat." He shrugs.

Other than struggling to invent new ways of preparing goat meat, most of your time is spent sorting. You find all manner of things in the storage cave, from precious jewels to plain linen fabric. The gems and gold you store in caskets, and then can’t shift on your own–Brúsi laughs at you, and picks them up with one hand, arranging them neatly along one wall as you direct him. You stack bolts of fabric, folding shorter lengths neatly into a another chest, you line up swords with gold wrapped hilts, swords with elaborately carved scabbards, swords that are short, swords that are nearly as long as you are tall, and then there are maces and axes and other things you can’t name. There’s even a pair of pistols in a tooled leather box, their handles gleaming mother of pearl. It’s more treasure than you ever imagined, and you feel that you’re in a dragon’s den instead of a troll’s cave--except that Brúsi shows little interest in the goods, except for the goat meat.

“If you don't have a use for these things, why accept them?” you asked, after the third day of sorting boxes and bundles and barrels, and still not finding the back wall of the cave. You’d found a crown, heavy and lumpy, like something out of an ancient grave, and under it a belt of bronze scales that linked together.

The troll just shrugged. “They are the toll, for the bridge. There must be a toll.”

“Then…" you bite your lip, but blurt "can I use some things?”

“If tha hast a use for them, then mayhap the bridge meant them for tha to use.”

“You make it sound like the bridge is alive,” you murmur, running your fingers over the bolts of fabric, already imagining yourself in a dress made of such soft material.

“The bridge is the bridge,” Brúsi says.

“What does that mean?”

He just shrugs.

You sigh, picking up a bolt of wool–practical, and still finer than anything you’ve ever worn. “If the bridge provides, can I give it a list? I need thread, needles, scissors, buttons…I can’t keep wearing this dress,” you gesture down at yourself. “Not without something else to wear while I wash it, at least, but I can’t make anything without supplies. And for that matter I need soap–”

Brúsi tilts his head. “Tha may always ask the bridge, but it works slowly. Simpler for tha to go to a market.”

You stare at him, your mouth falling open. “I can? I mean, is that allowed? I thought…”

He stares at you, the intense blue of his eyes unblinking, and you finally shrug. “I just thought I couldn’t leave the cave.”

“Not for long, but art not bound to the bridge as I am. Come.” He scoops a handful of coins into a pouch and leads you into the tunnel.

The ground slopes upward under your feet, and after a time there is a door before you, swinging outward. Brúsi ducks under its arch, his broad form filling the opening. When he doesn't move to let you through, you realize that he's blocking the way deliberately. Unease spikes through you.

"Is something wrong?"

"The bridge made tha sick before," he says. “Tha shouldst close thine eyes.” You squint suspiciously up at him–is he laughing at you?–but obey. You hear the rattle of his bone-decorated belt as he steps toward you, but then he stops. “I must touch tha,” he says. “Just to lift tha over the topside.”

“All right,” you whisper. You stifle a gasp as his enormous hands circle your waist, lifting you easily off of your feet, and then after a blur of motion you feel stone under you again.

When you open your eyes, you’re on the narrow stone arch of the bridge. Your lantern flame becomes suddenly pale compared to the warm sunlight that makes you blink and squint. There is no dark and shadowed forest hemming in the river. Instead there is a road, smooth hard dirt fringed with wildflowers on either side, and the rooftops of a village in the distance.

“Where…” You look down at the bridge under your bare feet.

“The bridge is all bridges,” Brúsi says. He holds out the leather bag of coins, and you take it, staggering a bit at the weight. “Buy whatever tha need.”

You hesitate, glancing from the troll to the road. What is there to stop you from walking away and never returning, from making a life somewhere? The bag in your hand holds more money than you had ever expected to earn in your life. There would be nothing to hold you to the bridge…except your promise.

“Tha canst not escape the bridge.” Brúsi seems to be reading your thoughts, although he’s not even looking at you. He’s gazing down at the water. “Every bridge tha sets foot on will be this bridge, until the toll is paid.”

“Of course.” The bag of coins drags at your arms, and you fumble it open, taking out a handful. “I should be able to get everything I need with these–it would be dangerous to carry all the rest of this.”

The troll frowns, glancing from you to the distant rooftops. “Danger from other humans?”

“Only if I seem to have more money than I should,” you assure him hastily. “It would get attention from the wrong kind of humans. I'll be careful.”

The coins bite into your palm as your fingers clench unconsciously. The frown creases his forehead, not smoothed away by your reassurances, and you half expect him to shake his head and pick you up under his arm again, ready to toss you back under the bridge.

“Please?”

You bite your lip too late to keep the word in, but there are lazy curls of smoke rising from the distant chimneys, and you can hear the lowing of cattle nearby, the friendly chime of chapel bells...and all you can think about is cheese. Cheese, and fruit to pair it with, or potatos, perhaps. Honeycakes. Your stomach rebels at the very thought of dried goat.

Brúsi jerks his chin toward the road. “Go, then. The bridge will be waiting for tha to return.”

You hand off the sack of coins–your shoulders more than grateful to be relieved of its weight–and the troll adds it to the other oddments that dangle from his belt among the bones. He folds his arms.

The handful of coins you kept are barely enough to make your pocket sag with their weight, but you can feel them as a reassuring lump under your skirts. You run anxious hands over your hair and stained gown, smoothing uselessly at wrinkles.

“I wish I had been able to bathe properly,” you mutter. “I look like a ragamuffin.”

But your hands and face are clean, your hair neatly tied back, and dusk is not far off, so perhaps your bare feet will not be noticed. You step from the cool stone of the bridge to the warm hardpacked dirt of the road.

"I'll be back s--" Your voice breaks off as you glance over your shoulder. The bridge behind you is a simple one of wooden logs, straddling a stream that a child could leap across. Gooseflesh prickles the back of your neck. You hurry down the road towards the village without looking back a second time.

#exophilia #monster boyfriend #monster lover #m monster x female reader #troll boyfriend #Brúsi the Bridge Troll #troll lover #Feral Flynn Fics #monster romance #fantasy romance

282 notes · View notes

taetaespeaches · 4 years

Text

“When I say I love you forever, that’s what I mean.”

yoongi x reader (oc)

genre: fluff; smut (just barely at the end)

word count: 2.8K

a/n: Hi lovelies! It’s Yoongi day!!!! This is the night Yoongi starts working on People for his mixtape and he and Kid/reader have a long conversation about life, people, and the meaning of everything. Idek if the conversations make full sense but that’s kind of what I like about them, these two are just bullshitting and getting to know each other even more and I think it’s sweet. Anyways, I hope you all enjoy, and thanks for reading! :))

And happy birthday to our favorite honey boy 🍯💛

Seated on Yoongi’s studio couch, your eyes scanned over the words of the paperback novel in your hands as the sounds of the beats from the man’s computer started and stopped at random, filling the room with evidence of his genius and artistry. As you turned the page, the man sat back against his chair with a small huff, your gaze lifting from the book to your boyfriend.

You waited a moment, seeing if he was going to initiate conversation or if he was simply taking a quick moment to himself. However, when his head turned to peer behind him, sneaking a glance at you, you couldn’t help the upward curve of your lips.

“Hey,” he chuckled lightly, your smile growing.

“What’s up, Honey Boy?”

He appeared bashful, as if he was embarrassed and almost guilty for interrupting your reading. Lowering the book to the cushion next to you, holding your place with your finger, you cocked your head.

“Would you mind giving this a listen real quick?” He asked shyly, your eyes widening in slight surprise. Yoongi asking for your opinion on his music wasn’t new or even rare, but the tentativeness in his demeanor certainly was. The man could be bashful when sharing his work, but rarely hesitant.

Nodding at him, he sat back up and pressed play on the track. It was different than anything he’d ever shown you before, the slow melodic flow of the song, paired with interesting xylophone-type of sound, immediately capturing you. Your eyebrows pulling together as you listened, a focus overtaking you.

It was just the instrumental, but it felt comforting; calming.

“This is from,” he thought out loud, “2016 probably.”

“It’s amazing, Yoon,” you complimented sincerely. “I’m actually kind of offended you’ve had this all this time just hiding in your hard drive,” you teased with a smile, Yoongi chuckling as he spun his chair around to face you.

“You think I should use it for the mixtape?” He asked, already knowing he should, but seeking your opinion anyway.

“Definitely,” you told him as you lifted the book, only to fold the corner of the page down. Dropping the novel onto the couch, you stood and easily approached the man, his gaze following you intently as you neared him. Leaning against his desk, Yoongi spun in his chair so he continued to face you. “It’s really good.”

Giving you a single appreciative nod, he held back a grin. “Thank you,” he whispered, the shyness in his gratitude adorable, making you smile. “I love your smile,” he told you suddenly, a small breathy chuckle escaping your lips.

“Thanks,” you told him quickly, trying to brush over the compliment, feeling bashful under his gaze. You both simply stared at one another, both of your minds trying to decipher each other’s expressions.

“What is it?” Yoongi asked you, clueless as to what was going on in your mind, but knowing there was something weighing on it.

With a small sigh, you flashed him a small smile. “Do you think I’m a good person?” You asked him, the man’s eyebrows pulling together.

“I do,” he replied simply, though his expression remained the same. “Why?”

“I saw an old friend today,” you told him as you lifted yourself onto the desk so you were seated atop it, your feet dangling above the floor.

Yoongi’s eyebrows raised in curiosity, his hands coming to rest on your knees.

“She’s changed so much, I barely recognized her,” you continued. “We used to be so close in school and now, it’s like I hardly know her,” you told him, the fragility of your voice apparent to your own ears, so you knew Yoongi heard it too. “She has a baby I had no idea about.”

Yoongi stared at you thoughtfully, locking his eyes with yours, a rare occurrence for him. “Why is that making you concerned about your goodness as a person?”

“I just-” you paused thoughtfully. “I let that relationship fade away. You know, I was the one who stopped communicating, I was the one who cancelled plans, I just pulled away and withdrew.”

“That doesn’t make you bad, that makes you human,” he informed you, his thumbs soothing along the insides of your thighs, just above your knee caps. “People change.”

Nodding in understanding, you directed a small tight smile at him. “You know, as happy as I am with my life and the people in it,” you scrunched your nose, poking his hand with your finger to emphasize his important role among those people, Yoongi letting a small smile grace his features, “I feel nostalgic for something,” you finished. Lifting his hand from your leg, he wrapped it around your own hand, holding it comfortingly in his grasp. His palm was as warm as his considerate gaze, and you realized for the hundredth time that Yoongi was warmth embodied. “Does everyone feel like this or is there something wrong with me?” You scoffed lightly at yourself.

“Do you really want me to answer that?” He teased, making a small giggle leave your lips as you softly jerked your knee up to bump his arm in light-hearted complaint. “I can’t speak for everyone, but sometimes I think I miss the person I was before,” he looked around the studio, “you know, all this,” he admitted, referring to his career.

Leaning toward him, you listened intently, your orbs scanning his features as he pondered over the thoughts within his mind.

“Maybe not even the person, but the life,” he elaborated, you humming in understanding.

“Do you find that it was a simpler time?” You asked, intrigued by his words.

“Not so much simpler but just different, I guess,” he thought out loud. “It feels like I sacrificed the ordinary for the extraordinary,” he added, latching his gaze onto your legs as you stared down at him. “And now the ordinary becomes extraordinary,” he said, lowering his chin to your knees as his fingers picked at the fraying around the hole in your jeans.

Your free hand that wasn’t being held by his found its way to his hair, your fingers digging into his soft strands.

“I sound ungrateful,” he chuckled dryly against your legs, you shaking your head despite him not seeing it, his eyes still glued to the hole in your clothing.

“No, just human,” you spoke up. “It’s natural to long for those realities that belong to some but not to us,” you assured him, the man rotating his face so his cheek rested against your leg, his orbs gazing up at you.

“People dream of having my life though,” he mumbled, his lips slightly pouted making him look precious despite the negative thoughts swirling around his head and leaving that adorable pout. “And here I am just wishing I could walk down the street without a care in the world,” he smiled a bit. “Am I even a good person? I feel greedy.”

Brushing your fingers through his hair, you pouted, watching him for a moment before responding. “I’m biased, but I think you are.”

“You sure?” He quipped, a teasing glint in his eyes that made you smile as a breathy chuckle left your lips.

“You’re a good person, Yoongi, I won’t have you thinking otherwise,” you insisted with a glare, Yoongi’s lips curving into a grin in response.

“My life isn’t any more special than anyone else’s,” he suddenly decided. “Just different.”

Nodding at him, you agreed. “You’re just a person.” Yoongi’s eyebrows raised, preparing to tease you for the lackluster conclusion, your mouth already shaping into a knowing smile. “But my favorite person,” you added. “So that’s something.”

Placing a kiss to your jean adorned knee, he grinned. “It’s everything.”

“I think it has meaning,” you noted, your and Yoongi’s conversation taking several different paths throughout the past forty-five minutes or so. You were now talking about the meaning of life, and whether there was a meaning at all. “I just don’t know what,” you added with a shy smile.

Yoongi’s gummy grin beamed up at you as he squeezed your thigh playfully. “I go back and forth. Like, we’re here by chance, right? Maybe life is no deeper than that,” he explained, you nodding in understanding. “But also, I found music and BTS, and here I am with you, and all of that feels meaningful,” he added thoughtfully.

“Do you believe in fate?” You questioned curiously.

“Maybe,” he responded, his voice sliding up slightly in pitch.

“I find myself thinking that same thing. Like maybe we don’t have a purpose as living beings except to just, be here, and live. And maybe it’s the people we know and the experiences we have that give it all meaning,” you thought aloud, Yoongi humming as he peered up at you.

“Yeah, I like that,” he settled with a small close-mouthed smile that pushed his fluffy cheeks up adorably. Moving your hand from his hair, you poked his cheek, Yoongi giving you a feigned grimace in reply.

“Ok, so question for you,” you started, Yoongi’s eyes widening in anticipation. “If your life wasn’t so extraordinary, what would you do?”

“Like, without the fame?” He asked.

“Yeah, let’s say for a day, no one knew who Min Yoongi, Suga, Agust D was, what would you do?” You asked with a small smile, feeling giddy to hear his answer.

“I would take you out on the most normal run of the mill date,” he answered easily.

“That’s what you’d do?!” You asked in disbelief, Yoongi smiling cutely. “What like to the movies?”

“To the movies and to dinner and to get ice cream and we’d walk around Seoul without a care in the world about who could see us,” he grinned.

“We’ve done all those things though,” you pointed out.

“I mean, yeah, we have our spots that feel safe, and we venture out on occasion, but we could go anywhere without the stress of being seen,” he explained. “No worries, just us.”

Flashing him a fond smile, you pushed his hair off his forehead gently. “I didn’t realize you had so much stress when we go out,” you noted, a softness evident in your tone.

“I’m just- hyperaware,” he clarified.

“Would you hold my hand in the street, Honey Boy?” You asked with a wide grin, Yoongi chuckling at you.

“I wouldn’t let go of your hand,” he told you, his thumb running along the side of your hand as he spoke the words. “You know what else I would do?” He asked happily.

“What?” You whispered through your beaming grin.

“I’d kiss you in front of everyone,” he returned your smile. “And I’d post a cheesy photo of us on my pubic instagram to brag about how beautiful my girlfriend is.”

“You’re ridiculous,” you laughed, Yoongi giggling as his chin rested on top of your knee.

“It would be nice,” he hummed thoughtfully, as if he was losing himself in a day dream where he could live so carelessly.

Moving your hand to the side of his face, you pulled his attention back to you as you cocked your head at him and smiled at him. “Wouldn’t it be nice if we were older, and we wouldn’t have to wait so long,” you stared to sing playfully, Yoongi dropping his forehead to your knee as he laughed at you.

Sitting back in his chair, he looked back up to you with his gummy grin, his eyes bright and full of adoration. “I love that song,” he noted, you giggling.

“Me too,” you replied in a whisper.

A pause in the conversation took place as Yoongi’s eyes scanned over your features, yours following the movement of his gaze. When his eyes met yours, he slowly pushed his chair away from the desk and stood in front of you, his hands finding your waist as his face hovered close to yours.

Placing a kiss to the side of your mouth, you breathed out slowly, the intimacy between you both blossoming more stunningly than it ever had before.

“I love you,” he whispered, his lips brushing over yours as your hands found his neck, your fingers greedily but gently exploring the soft skin of his neck and jaw, grazing over his throat.

“I love you too,” you told him. “Forever.”

Pressing your lips to his, he brought his body as close to yours as he could, wanting you as close as possible. As he deepened the kiss, your mouth moving in synchronization with his own, his hands found the bottom of your shirt.

Tugging up, you removed your hands from him to allow him to pull the clothing from your frame. Dropping the shirt onto the desk next to your bodies, his eyes glanced down at your chest to see the flimsy lace bra. As one of his hands moved behind you to feel your back, sliding down to grasp the top of your ass, he dragged the finger of his opposite hand along the edge of your bra cup.

“What does forever mean?” He suddenly asked in a low timbre, just before pressing a lingering peck to your mouth. “You never know what the future holds,” he said realistically, though his tone was still seductive and light.

“I think the intent behind the word is what matters,” you told him, trailing kisses along his neck, Yoongi tilting his head to the side to allow you more access. “What a person feels when they speak the word.”

“So what do you feel? What do you mean when you say forever?” He questioned, your head raising to look him in the eyes.

Scooting off the desk, you stood in front of Yoongi, your gaze locked on his. “When I say forever,” you started, your hands finding the sides of his face as his held your waist. “I mean it literally. For always, evermore, in this lifetime and the next. Maybe even past lifetimes. The future is unpredictable, but when I say I love you forever, that’s what I mean,” you assured him as the man stared at you with a surety you weren’t sure you’d ever seen from him before.

Leaning in to kiss him again, you began pushing him backward, you both stumbling as he bumped into the chair. Your lips curved upward into the kiss, you both chuckling as you continued your clumsy ministrations.

Finding your way to the couch, you dropped onto it, sliding across it so you could recline, Yoongi standing above you watching you intently. As you stared up at him with a smirk, he shed himself of his shirt. Crawling atop you, your hands grabbed onto his hips, your fingers digging underneath the waistband.

He kissed you passionately, pouring his feelings and emotions into the action, causing you to moan, the sound melting against the man’s mouth, making him smirk. Sitting up on his knees, he undid the zipper on his own jeans before reaching for your own. His eyes left your legs for just a moment as he reached for the book shoved against the back of the sofa.

“This any good?” He asked, you quirking your eyebrow.

“It is, want me to read it to you?” You asked, Yoongi scoffing as he tossed it onto the table, you giggled as he went back to pulling your clothes from your body.

As he removed his clothing, you reached for your bag on the floor next to you, pulling a condom out, Yoongi smirking at you.

Once your clothing was removed, giggles flooding the room as you both struggled to wiggle out of your jeans and your bra flung somewhere across the studio, it was a matter of seconds until his skin was against yours, your body caged by his arms.

He kissed you passionately, a hand on your waist as his other arm supported his weight over you. Slipping inside you, you groaned out at the sensation, Yoongi breathing lowly at the feeling of you.

As you clasped a leg around his, your hand grasping at his ass, he placed delicate kisses across you face, giving special attention to your cheeks as he began dragging his hips.

“I love you,” he whispered before pushing his mouth to yours, swallowing your breaths and whimpers. He moved slowly, savoring every moment of being together, wanting this night to last, forever.

Your hands clutched his back, clinging to him as he moved in and out of you with a passionate force that had you moaning out near his ear. And he reveled in your sounds, knowing he was the cause, knowing you were his. Forever.

Leaving a kiss to his earlobe, you confessed your love for him once more. And then again. And again.

“Forever,” you repeated, the word coated in intention and meaning. You’d be loving him forever.

570 notes · View notes

crimsonophelia · 3 years

Note

Can I request for a fluffy friends to lovers fic with Venti and a human gn reader? They’re good friends (but the reader doesn’t know his real identity) and when reader brings up their desire to see a wind wisp in real life Venti decides to surprise them by transforming into his true form and paying them a visit. The reader finds this mysterious little wind wisp at their doorstep and gets excited, takes care of it, and while feeding it apple slices starts talking about how their good friend Venti would love to see them - but oh, he’s less of a friend and more of a crush who I’ve loved for a long time… wait, where did the wisp go? Wait, Venti?! When did you get here?!

featuring: venti x gn!reader

warnings: none

published: june 30, 2021

form: imagine

a/n: thank you for sending this in—i need more venti requests, he’s my baby <3

you could tell that the drink was beginning to hit you hard when you felt your muscles go slack. it was your fourth pint of the night, and although you thought that you could hold your drink fairly well, you could never hold a candle to your bard friend’s seemingly bottomless appetite for wine. venti was on his seventh--or was it eighth?--mug of cider for the night, and was still fairly unfazed, if you consider his usual bumbling amiability to be his default. after a long day of working and whatever it was that venti did in the daytime, you two had decided to meet up at the angel’s share that evening for a drinking night between friends, and to catch up on life and whatever else goes on in the city of mondstadt.

the night had begun with a mug per person, as you and venti caught up with each other. due to your duties at home, and his rather inconstant job as a traveling musician, it was oftentimes difficult for you and the bard to stay in touch--responsibilities always seemed to get in the way. so, naturally, you took advantage of every opportunity you could get to see venti, one-on-one, and simply talk. after knowing him for quite a while, he really was a delight to talk to, always full of witty riddles and forever knowing the right thing to say at the right time. venti really was quite remarkable.

he also had the unique talent of contagious alcoholism; after having spent an hour or so drinking and chatting with him, you unwittingly started drinking more than your usual limit, absolutely carried away with whatever small conversation venti had you engaged with at the moment. the conversation had somehow strayed into the topic of myths and legends of mondstadt. venti was speaking of some strange conspiracies surrounding the origin of the anemo hypostasis up in the mountains, and as the alcohol began to break down your proper judgement, you began to go on and on about how you, as a child, dreamed of seeing an elusive wind wisp.

you had heard stories about the boy revolutionary, armed with his bow and his words, accompanied by a little white wind wisp, leading mondstadt’s journey to freedom. the story had enchanted you when you were young, and clearly you still had not given up hope of meeting a similar wind wisp. perhaps it would bring you the same joy and power to change your life for the better, just like it did for the hero of old mondstadt.

venti listened to your reminiscing closely, looking at you with a quizzical look of interest. your intoxicated state made it so that you didn’t notice the look on his face as if he was plotting something, but, to be fair, venti’s poker face was notable for its impregnability. the night ended with him having to walk you home, propping your arm over his shoulders so that you wouldn’t trip and fall on the cobblestone streets. the last thing you remembered was him tucking you into bed, and singing you one of his funny little songs.

the next morning, you woke with a pounding headache and the bright noon sun peeking through your shutters. archons, was it so late already? you pulled yourself out of bed, trying not to stumble, distracted by the pounding in your head. you had a long list of things to do today that you had to complete, and you severely regretted drinking so much and so late with that damned bard last night (though you could never really hate him--he was too adorable).

slipping on whatever clothing closest to your bed and sluggishly following through with your daily morning routine, you got ready to head out the door to water the carrots and potatoes in your backyard. as you pulled open the door, prepared to step out and face the piercing daylight, you caught yourself as you almost stepped on the little figure at your doorstep. lying there on its side, was a wind wisp. yes, just like the ones you had read about all your childhood and you had mused about endlessly last night. it had its little eyes shut, sleeping probably, its delicate little form curled up on the step.

you were bewildered, partially at the coincidence of it all, but mostly by the rarity of what had occurred before your eyes. a wind wisp, something most people never even saw once in their lifetimes, suddenly showing up right at your doorstep after you had talked about your desire to meet one just the night before. crouching down, you scooped up its little body in your hands. the little thing began to wake, hands rubbing its eyes sleepily, as it made a chirping noise. it was ridiculously adorable.

“hey there, little guy”, you cooed. “what are you doing here?”

as it began to regain consciousness, the wisp floated up off your hands, small gusts of air emitting from its form, and it flew up to nuzzle against your face. it felt like a warm breeze brushing against your cheek, and you heard it chirping in your ear.

you giggled. “well aren’t you the cutest little thing!” you raised your hand to pet it, and it made a little gurgling noise, leaning into your touch. something about its mannerisms felt so familiar, almost like something you had known in a past life perhaps, but you couldn’t put a finger on it. its presence was just endlessly comforting, even though you had only known it for a few minutes.

reaching into your pantry, you pulled out some apples you had picked the day before, and cut it into small slices. the wisp watched you eagerly as you went about your business, like it could understand everything you did. holding up a thin slice to the wisp, a little hole in its void of a face opened up and enveloped the slice whole. a little shocked but certainly entertained, you gave it an approving head pat.

as the day went on, the little wisp continued to follow you throughout mondstadt as you ran your errands. you went outside, behind your house, to take care of the crops you were growing. as you watered your plants, the little wisp helped you disperse the water more efficiently, blowing a gentle wind from your watering can so that you didn’t have to walk as far to water the faraway plants. you go to pick some apples and sunsettias nearby, and the little fellow would fly up to the hard-to-reach fruits and throw himself against them to knock them loose from the branches, right where you could catch them. you worried a little bit whether he was hurting himself by doing so, but he appeared to be pleased just to assist you, and he certainly was not ashamed to take a few bites from the fruits of your shared labor at the end of the day.

considering how efficiently your errands were completed today, of course all thanks to the helper you acquired that morning, you thought it would be nice to use the time you had in the late afternoon to take the wisp out for a picnic dinner at windrise to show your appreciation. gathering some of the fruit the both of you had collected, and some sandwiches you made, you placed it all in a little wicker basket and set off for the great tree with your companion upon your shoulder.

upon arriving, you laid down a gingham blanket in the shade of the great tree of windrise, just a moments away from the ancient statue of barbatos. you felt like a child again, remembering the summers of carefree exploration, tunneling through the thickets in the forest, or catching frogs by the creek, or tumbling down the hills by the sea. and now, a wisp joined you, taking you back to the memories of those years, when life was much simpler.

you couldn’t help but to think of venti, the bard, the friend, who had brought you such comfort through difficult times, whose music, like the warm touch of the wisp, reminded you of home and the beauty that life could bring. your companion was now feasting comedically fast on the food you had brought along, swallowing up fruits whole, and chewing for several moments before helping itself to another. you chuckled and gave it a pat. “greedy little fellow, aren’t you?” you couldnt help but to think venti would have loved to meet the wind wisp, considering his love for nature and all sorts of fauna, and considering the small resemblance between himself and the creature.

“stick around for a bit and i might introduce you to my friend, the bard”, you told it, not really caring that it probably couldn’t understand you. “im actually not sure that we are friends, to be honest. these days we rarely see each other but...” you trailed off, distracted by the sound of the breeze through the branches. the wisp stopped eating and watched you intently. “well”, you began. “i sometimes find myself wishing him and i were more than friends. maybe not lovers, not right away but... i just know that dearly. i cannot be sure that he feels the same, but that is of no matter.” you pat the wisp’s little head again. “if i can make him happy, even just as friends, that is enough for me.”

out of nowhere, a strong wind blew past you, knocking over your wicker basket and sending it flying several feet away. agitated, you scrambled up to chase after it, finally grasping it before it could fly too far. you were perplexed—where in the world could such a strong wind have come from? the sky was clear, and there were no clouds obstructing the setting sun. how odd, you thought to yourself.

you turned around to bring the basket back to your sitting spot, but to your surprise, the wisp was gone. no, in its place was now your bard friend, venti, sitting there on the blanket like he had been there all along. how in the world did he get here without you noticing, and where in the world did the wisp go off to? you hurried over to venti, questioning, “since when did you get here?”

the bard smirked, and fiddled with his lyre that you just noticed he had brought along with him. he had that look on his face again, the one he wore whenever he had some sort of plot in mind. “whatever do you mean, [y/n]?”, he replied amusedly. “i’ve been here all along.”

#genshin impact #genshin headcanons #genshin impact x reader #genshin imagines #genshin impact fanfiction #genshin x reader #venti #venti x reader #venti headcanons #venti imagines #venti fanfic #venti x y/n #venti x you #fluff #venti fluff

317 notes · View notes

theartofdreaming1 · 3 years

Photo

Katniss, bravely stepping inbetween Gale and Thread (and his whip) - she’s so courageous and protective, she deserves the world 😭

As usual, my thoughts regarding this week’s prompts and (many) random thoughts on chapters 7-9 are below the cut. (Is it just me, or are my notes getting longer and longer with each and every post? I swear, this book is so meaty, we’ll soon reach the point where I have to type out the entire chapter, with my thoughts in the margins)

heart

“Gale is mine. I am his. Anything else in unthinkable.”

I think these words are a result of Katniss being so afraid of losing Gale that she’s kinda overcompensating; their relationship has been strained these past few months and they’d just had a row, separating from each other on bad terms - and the next time she sees him, he’s been whipped so bad that he’s lost consciousness and could be potentially dying from his wounds. Of course she’s so terrified of losing him, that she’s holding on as tightly as she can to him. It’s important to keep in mind how important their relationship is to her and we see that in her preceding thoughts: What a pair we were - fatherless, frightened, but fiercely commited, too, to keeping our families alive. Desperate, yet no longer alone after that day, because we’d found each other. I think of a hundred moments in the woods, lazy afternoons fishing, the day I taught him to swim, that time I twisted my knee and he carried me home. Mutually counting each other, watching each other’s backs, forcing each other to be brave. - Gale was the first person who was her equal, a kindred spirit, her partner. After Katniss had lost both of her parents when her father died and her mother succumbed to her depression - the people who were supposed to care for her and guide her through growing up - she was stuck with the role of sole provider and protector of her family at age eleven. She must have been so lonely all this time until she met this boy who understood what she was going through and they learned from each other and shouldered their burdens together, to take off some of the overwhelming pressure. Of course that relationship, of course Gale is important to her. But also now their relationship has become more fragile, after the Games they are in danger of growing apart - it’s got to be so terrifying to feel like the one proper, mutual relationship you’ve had seems to be slipping through your fingers. With everything that’s going on, her entire life as it is teetering on the razor’s edge (heck, the president himself has been threatening her and her family!), it’s no wonder that Katniss is craving that familiarity and safety that her relationship with Gale used to provide her with. And seeing Gale in this state just has her holding on to him more tightly than ever.

mind

Hmm, no big moment is coming to my mind right now; I think I’m always most impressed by the tiny moments that show how tenacious, resilient and fiercely kind humans can be - like Darius stepping forward to stop Gale’s cruel punishment, Leevy volunteering to tell Hazelle about Gale and promising to stay with the Hawthorne children, Madge bringing the morphling, Katniss pressing Darius’s hand in the Training Center, Twill taking Bonnie with her to flee to D13 and so on.

soul

I believe that Katniss was honestly surprised to learn that Gale had feelings for her; she had categorically shut down the idea of entering a romantic relationship for herself, so I don’t think she’d seriously consider anyone being romantically interested in her in return (that’s not how that works, of course, but I think that’s how she perceived the whole shtick). Their kiss threw her completely for a loop and if anything, she mostly saw it as something that contributed to the deterioration of their previous, easy and comfortable relationship.

Chapter 7

A mockingjay is a creature the Capitol never intended to exist. [...] They hadn’t anticipated its will to live. - In a way, the Capitol continues to make this mistake with the people living in the districts, too - underestimating their will to live (opposed to just surviving)

I look in his [Gale’s] eyes. His temper can’t quite mask the hurt, the sense of betrayal he feels at my engagement to Peeta. This will be my last chance, this meeting today, to not lose Gale forever. - Okay, we don’t know how much Katniss might be (incorrectly) presuming here, but the idea that Gale might feel betrayal because his best friend is being forced into an engagement pisses me off. It’s fine if he’s feeling jealous because she’s being paired off with Peeta when he wishes he could have a shot with her, but how in the world does this even rate as a betrayal?! A) It’s done against her will and B) Just because they’re friends doesn’t mean Katniss owes him anything when we’re talking about romantic feelings... Ugh 😒 Also, it’s quite noteworthy how insecure Katniss feels about their relationship - she’s constantly worried Gale will drop her and their friendship (waiting for Gale after the camera teams left after winning the Games: I’d begun to think that he’d given up on me in the weeks that had passed.- Ch. 2) and it doesn’t help that she’s been through that extreme, traumatic experience without him and they haven’t had much opportunity to spend a lot of time with each other (with the Victory Tour and Gale having to work so much) and when they do hang out, they don’t seem to really talk much, which doesn’t exactly help...

He [Gale] tosses the gloves on my lap. “Here. I don’t want your fiancé’s old gloves.” “He’s not my fiancé. That’s just part of the act. And these aren’t his gloves. They were Cinna’s,” I say. “Give them back, then, he says. - Gale can be so petty sometimes 🙄

While I talk, [...] [Gale] occupies himself with turning the food in the leather bag into a meal for us. Toasting bread and cheese, coring apples, placing chestnuts in the fire to roast. I watch his hands, his beautiful, capable fingers. Scarred, as mine were before the Captiol erased all marks from my skin, but strong and deft. [...] Hands I trust. - Oh boy, this moment really shows how these two are at cross purposes right now - Gale’s prepping the food as you would for a toasting (romantic connotation), while Katniss is oberserving his hands, thinking how their hands used to match (not anymore!) and basically wishing herself back into the time before the Games, when things were ‘simpler’/more clearly defined (and also platonic!); there is nothing romantic from her P.O.V. - it’s all about the friendship and trust

[Gale] steps in and I feel myself lifted off the ground. The room spins, and I have to lock my arms around Gale’s neck to brace myself. He’s laughing, happy. “Hey!” I protest, but I’m laughing, too. Gale sets me down but doesn’t release his hold on me. “Okay, let’s run away.” [...] “You’re sure?” I say. [...] “I’m sure. I’m completely, entirely, one hundred percent sure.” - Yeah, and I’m sure you’re not going to change your opinion in the next five minutes, Gale... In his defense, Gale didn’t know all the details, so in that regard it’s totally valid that he might decide to change his mind after having more input... It’s just that Katniss specifically asks him whether he’s sure and his reply is so full of conviction (100% sure!), only for him to do a complete 180 just a couple of minutes later; Gale’s very hot and cold, which makes for such a harsh contrast when compared to Peeta’s more measured reaction later in the chapter

He tilts his forehead down to rest against mine and pulls me closer. [...] I don’t try to move away. Why should I, anyway? His voice drops to a whisper. “I love you.�� That’s why. - Oh man, Katniss just can’t catch a break 😞 Really not wise of Gale to drop the L-bomb here (after, what? a kiss they never talked about and little else... their communication is truly abysmal and it’s really damaging to their relationship, hurting the both of them)

“Gale, I can’t think about anyone that way now. All I can think about, every day, is how afraid I am. And there doesn’t seem to be room for anything else. If we could get somewhere safe, maybe I could be different. I don’t know.” I can see him swallowing his disappointment. “So, we’ll go. We’ll find out.” - I mean, honestly, I totally understand where Katniss is coming from - she doesn’t need a romantic interest, she needs a partner, which is why she’s been so eager to talk to her hunting partner, someone she’s used to rely on for survival and now he’s also confounding their relationship by introducing that romance-angle (as if it wasn’t bad enough that her relationship with Peeta got kind of messed up when that same angle was forced upon them prematurely)... Also, telling how Katniss thinks she’d have to be different to maybe even consider a romantic relationship with Gale - Katniss as she is right now just can’t see herself wanting to be with Gale romantically; it would require a change... I’ve got to give Gale credit for still going along with it, and trying to push past his disappointment, though

“My [Gale’s] mother is going to take some convincing.” [...] “Mine, too. I’ll just have to make her see reason. Take her for a long walk. Make sure she understands we won’t survive the alternative.” “She’ll understand. I watched a lot of the Games with her and Prim. She won’t say no to you,” says Gale. - That’s interesting, I wonder what exactly Gale means by that? That Mrs. Everdeen won’t say no to Katniss because she feels guilty that Katniss had to go through the Games or because watching her daughter compete in the Games really made her realize how messed up Panem is? Or that she’s more inclined to trust Katniss’s judgement after everything that has happened?

“Haymitch will be the real challenge.” “Haymitch?” Gale abandons the chestnuts. “You’re asking him to come with us?” “I have to, Gale. I can’t leave him and Peeta because they’d-” His scowl cuts me off. “What?” “I’m sorry. I didn’t realize how large our party was,” he snaps at me. - Gale doesn’t seem to have realized how close and important Peeta and Haymitch have become to Katniss... maybe because they never properly talked about this aspect of Katniss’s life (I swear, their shoddy communication must account for at least half of the damage their relationship has taken in these past few months alone)

“What if he [Peeta] decides to stay?” he [Gale] asks. I try to sound indifferent, but my voice cracks. “Then he stays.” “You’d leave him behind?” Gale asks. “To save Prim and my mother, yes,” I answer. “I mean, no! I’ll get him to come.” “And me, would you leave me?” Gale’s expression is rock hard now. - Boy, oh boy! I think Gale knows (like Peeta) that Katniss could never leave behind the people she cares about; then, he’s kind of gauging whether Peeta has already received the Katniss Everdeen Stamp of ‘Caring’ - and, as it turns out, he has! And then Gale ends up making it into a bit of competition by asking her whether she would leave him behind (or, alternately, her turning him down has him confused about the depth of their relationship, I dunno); not fun

“There’s an uprising in Eight?” he [Gale] says in a hushed voice. I try to backpedal. To defuse him, as I tried to defuse the districts. - Katniss is going to be about as successful as she’d been at defusing the districts, too - But here we have another example of Katniss trying to rein in Gale’s temper because she’s afraid he’s going to get himself in trouble (like when she decided not to tell him about Snow’s visit to her house because she was worried what he’d do with that information)... It’s really not great that she feels the need to censor herself so he won’t do something dangerous... Katniss knows first-hand how badly impulsive actions and decisions can be received in the Capitol - and she never even meant for a rebellion to happen!

“And it’s my fault, Gale. Because of what I did in the arena. If I had just killed myself with those berries, none of this would’ve happened. Peeta could have come home and lived, and everyone else would have been safe. too.” “Safe to do what?” he says in a gentler tone. “Starve? Work like slaves? Send their kids to the reaping? You haven’t hurt people - you’ve given them an opportunity. They just have to be brave enough to take it. - Katniss is taking all the responsibility upon herself again... Gale is right to point out that she was merely a catalyst, not the cause for the rebellion - the cause are the awful living conditions of the people in the districts

“Stop it! You don’t know what you’re saying. The Peacekeepers outside of Twelve, they’re not like Darius, or even Cray! The lives of district people - they mean less than nothing to them!” I say. “That’s why we have to join the fight!” he answers harshly. “No! we have to leave here before they kill us and a lot of other people, too!” [...] “You leave, then, I’d never go in a million years.” [...] “What about your family?” “What about the other families, Katniss? The ones who can’t run away?” - This discourse is so painful because they are both right - Katniss has seen more of the districts and how things are handled beyond the (relatively tame) confines of D12 and it’s fair that she wants to know that the people she cares about are safe from harm; Gale, of course, has a point commenting that not everyone has that opportunity and the only way to have a long-lasting, wide-spread improvement of their conditions is through rebelling against their oppressor - but that will inevitably come along with sacrifices and collateral damage and it’s easy to say that it will be worth it in the long run, but when those who are hurt/dead could end up being your loved ones, it’s definitely easier said than done

He throws Cinna’s gloves at my feet. “I changed my mind. I don’t want anything they made in the Capitol.” And he’s gone. I look down at the gloves. Anything they made in the Capitol? Was that directed at me? Does he think I am now just another product of the Capitol and therefore something untouchable? The unfairness of it all fills me with rage. But it’s mixed up with fear over what kind of crazy thing he might do next. - Gale getting rid of Cinna’s gloves just because they are from the Capitol is a prime example of this “us vs. them” mindset that he will be (worringly) fast to adopt - of course, perceiving the opposite side as “other” will make it easier to fight against them; however, it’s all too easy to lose sight of your opponent’s humanity when you think like that (think of how Gale has a hard time understanding Katniss’s distress upon seeing her prep team being treated so terribly/inhumanely in D13); Katniss feeling upset that Gale might perceive her as a product of the Capitol instead of its victim is understandable (and isn’t that exactly what the inhabitants of D13 are going to think of Peeta in MJ?) - and yet, she is still worried Gale could get himself into trouble with his impulsivity; she’s a good bean

”Going to town?” I ask. “Yes. I’m supposed to eat dinner with my family,” he [Peeta] says. - I’m tripping over the word ‘supposed’ here - it doesn’t sound like Peeta’s looking forward to hanging out with his fam, although it can’t be that often, since they’ve been away on Victory Tour and he is living alone (maybe the end of the chapter will give us another hint why that is 😒😒)... I can’t help but wonder whether these family dinners are mainly for public perception (in that case... it really is no wonder Peeta is so good at playing the cameras - poor guy had to fool the outside world his entire life) or because they are the only chance for Peeta to hang out with any of the members of his family he might actually want to spend some time with

“Peeta, if I asked you to run away from the district with me, would you?” Peeta takes my arm, bringing me to a stop. He doesn’t need to check my face to see if I’m serious. “Depends on why you’re asking.” President Snow wasn’t convinced by me. There’s an uprising in District Eight. We have to get out,” I say. “By ‘we’ do you mean just you and me? No. Who else would be going?” he asks. - Peeta doesn’t just blindly agree to Katniss’s proposal; he needs to know what’s going on first (he has been burnt before - no more secrets!) - and it’s a testament to how well he knows her that as soon as he’s asking whether she meant just the two of them, he corrects himself because knows that Katniss would never leave the ones she cares about behind

“What about Gale?” he says. “I don’t know. He might have other plans,” I say. Peeta shakes his head and gives me rueful smile. “I bet he does. Sure, Katniss, I’ll go.” I feel a slight twinge of hope. “You will?” “Yeah. But I don’t think for a minute you will,” he says. [...] “Then you don’t know me. Be ready. It could be any time.” - Telling how Peeta immediately agrees to the plan once he gathers that Gale won’t come - he knows that Katniss cares about Gale and could never leave him behind, ergo she’d never actually leave under these circumstances - he knows her so well. Also, Katniss’s reaction is like that of a petulant child, it’s kind of funny 😄

“Katniss, hold up.” [...] “I really will go, if you want me to. I just think we better talk it through with Haymitch. Make sure we won’t be making things worse for everyone.” - Ultimately, Peeta would follow Katniss to the ends of the earth - doesn’t mean that he can’t throw in a sensible suggestion in there as well 😉 (Also, in the next chapter we will see how Katniss, Gale, and Peeta might be a little too inexperienced/naive to be able to form accurate expectations of what is to come - Haymitch and his generation have a little more experience in that regard)

He raises his head. “What’s that?” [...] I haven’t noticed the strange noise coming from the square. A whistling, the sound of an impact, the intake of breath from a crowd. “Come on,” Peeta says, his face suddenly hard. I don’t know why. I can’t place the sound, even guess at the situation. But it means something bad to him. - Why does my sweet boy know what a whipping sounds like, Suzanne, huh?! Care to explain that? 😭

Peeta steps up on a crate against the wall of the sweetshop and offers me a hand while he scans the square. I’m halfway up when he suddenly blocks my way. “Get down. Get out of here!” He’s whispering, but his voice is harsh with insistence. - Peeta was offering his hand to help Katniss up the crate because they are a team (and he’s a gentleman)! It’s only when he recognizes who is receiving those lashes and realizes that Katniss will lose her shit once she knows, which could make the current situation even worse, that he urges her to leave, and he is not the only one to think that: - Voices hiss. “Get out of here, girl.” “Only make it worse.” What do you want to do? Get him killed?”

Chapter 8

It’s too late to stop the arm from descending, and I instinctively know I won’t have the power to block it. Instead I throw myself directly between the whip and Gale. I’ve flung out my arms to protext as much of his broken body as possible, so there’s nothing to deflect the lash. I take the full force of it across the left side of my face. - Katniss is so selfless; she knows that it’s either Gale getting hit again or a lash to her own face and she chooses the latter

“Hold it!” a voice barks. Haymitch appears and trips over a Peacekeeper lying on the ground. It’s Darius. [...] He’s knocked out but still breathing. What happened? Did he try to come to Gale’s aid before I got here? - Haymitch sure appeared quickly - I can easily imagine Peeta taking off immediately to get him (or send someone to bring him to the square) once he knew Katniss couldn’t be stopped; but if Haymitch had been at his house in Victor’s Village, there is no way he’d have made that quickly to the square... maybe he was already at the Hob and had gotten wind of the whole situation? Also, poor Darius! Wearing a uniform/being in some sort of position of power is no guarantee you won’t get punished as soon as you show the tiniest glimpse of compassion - in a place like Panem, nobody is safe from the caprice of the people in charge

I see a flicker of recognition in the eyes of the man with the whip. [...] it wouldn’t be easy to identify me as the victor of the last Hunger Games. Especially with half my face swelling up. But Haymitch has been showing up on television for years, and he’d be difficult to forget. - Getting Haymitch truly was the smartest move to make (which is why I’m pretty sure it was a move on Peeta’s part - he’d know how to use reminders of ‘appearances’ to ensure a punishment wouldn’t go ‘too far’, y’know 😢). But also - Thread must have lived under a flipping rock, to not being able to recognizes Katniss (her face must have been plastered all over the place during the Victory Tour, which just had concluded recently) - or he was just too in the heat of the moment, with someone opposing him, bleugh 😒

“He [Gale] was poaching. What business is it of hers, anyway?” says the man. “He’s her cousin.” Peeta’s got my other arm now, but gently. “And she’s my fiancée. So if you want to get to him, expect to go through both of us.” - I love how Peeta’s just laying it down as it is; his phrasing just sounds so factual, rather than provocative (although it is, of course); he really has a way with words - Maybe we’re it. The only three people in the district who could make a stand like this. Although it’s sure to be temporary. There will be repercussions. - Haymitch, Peeta, and Katniss working together as a team again! Also, a good example of the effect people with public influence can have

One [Peacekeeper], a woman named Purnia who eats regularly at Greasy Sae’s, steps forward stiffly. “I believe, for a first offense, the required number of lashes has been dispensed, sir. Unless your sentence is death, which we would carry out by firing squad.” “Is that the standard protocol here?” asks the Head Peacekeeper. “Yes, sir,” Purnia says, and several others nod in agreement. I’m sure none of them actually know because, in the Hob, the standard protocol for someone showing up with a wild turkey is for everybody to bid on the drumsticks. - It’s kinda nice to see the local Peacekeepers supporting Purnia’s claim to get this display to stop - this is the only way out of this situation where Thread’s authority is not openly challenged (and we know Thread doesn’t take well to having his authority challenged - see Darius)

There’s no stretcher, but the old woman at the clothing stall sells us the board that serves as her countertop. “Just don’t tell where you got it,” she says, packing up the rest of her goods quickly. Most of the square has emptied, fear getting the better of compassion. But after what happened, I can’t blame anyone. - It’s sad how that air of intimidation makes people want to mask their acts of compassion (and also says a lot about the precariousness of the existing living situations if that old lady is still selling that board - I’d never even consider exchanging money for that, but that’s probably my privileged situation showing here; Katniss brings up the theme of fear vs compassion - very fitting, since it seems to be her driving force (although, generally, her compassion wins out over her fear) and despite her assertion that fear appears to be getting the better of compassion we see a good amount of people reaching out to help, such as the following example:

Leevy, a girl who lives a few houses down from mine in the Seam, takes my arm. My mother kept her little brother alive last year when he caught the measles. “Need help getting back?” Her gray eyes are scared but determined. - The subtle suggestion here that Leevy might be further motivated to help out because Katniss’s mom helped her little brother is also an excellent example of how kindness breeds kindness

“Get some snow on that,” Haymitch orders over his shoulder. I scoop up a handful of snow and press it against my cheek, numbing a bit of the pain. - This moment reminded me of Peeta immediately reaching for some ice from that fruit tureen after Haymitch hit him on their way to the Games in THG (Ch. 4) - their different immediate reactions to getting hit in the face could simply be due to the fact that Katniss is a little too preoccupied worrying about Gale to think about her injury, of course, but I feel like you could also interpret them as examples for how much experience Katniss and Peeta have with being hit in the face, respectively...

Gale must have gone to Cray’s house, as he’s done a hundred times, knowing Cray pays well for a wild turkey. Instead he found the new Head Peacekeeper, a man they heard someone call Romulus Thread. No one knows what happened to Cray. He was buying white liquor in the Hob just this morning [...] but now he’s nowhere to be found. - As I’ve already mentioned regarding Darius, inhabiting some position of power does not guarantee you any safety in Panem (there is always someone more powerful who will treat their inferiors like garbage, if they feel like it)

By the time I showed up, he [Gale]’d been lashed at least forty times. He passed out around thirty. - Jesus 😨 poor Gale!

“What about Darius?” Peeta asks.“ After about twenty lashes, he stepped in, saying that was enough. Only he didn’t do it smart and official, like Purnia did. He grabbed Thread’s arm and Thread hit him in the head with the butt of the whip. Nothing good waiting for him,” says Bristel. - It’s so messed up how it is not enough to have someone who’d stand up and do something about a horrible situation - they have to do it the right way, or else they’re toast; there really shouldn’t have to be a smart way of doing the right thing

Snow begins, thick and wet, making visibility even more difficult. - (President) Snow is coming down hard on them, making it hard to see what’s up ahead

Ever so gently, she [Mrs. Everdeen] begins to clean the mutilated flesh on Gale’s back. I feel sick to the stomach, useless, the remaining snow dripping from my glove into a puddle on the floor. Peeta puts me in a chair and holds a cloth filled with fresh snow to my cheek. - Although she’s quite squeamish, Katniss stays as Gale gets treated (the force that holds the loved ones of the hurt/dying, just like when Peeta was being treated after their Games); meanwhile, Peeta is taking care of Katniss - there is so much care + love to be found in this moment

My mother has to save the strongest [painkillers] for the worst pain, but what is the worst pain? To me, it’s always the pain that is present. If I were in charge, those painkillers would be gone in a day because I have so little ability to watch suffering. - Honestly, same; I can’t stomach seeing other people suffer without feeling overwhelmed and feeling like crying... I don’t know how professionals do it

“Just give him the medicine!” I scream at her. [...] “Take her out,” says my mother. Haymitch and Peeta literally carry me from the room while I shout obscenities at her. They pin me down on a bed in one of the extra bedrooms until I stop fighting. - Oof. Poor Katniss! But yeah, it was the best call to remove her from the situation, Mrs. E. had to focus on what she was doing... Also, Haymitch and Peeta are the ones to get Katniss out of there and stay with her - these three take care of each other!

After a while, my mother comes in and treats my face. Then she holds my hand, stroking my arm, while Haymitch fills her in on what happened with Gale. “So it’s starting again?” she says. “Like before?” - Katniss’s mom has become a much more active and soothing presence in this book, I like it... Also, what does “again” mean? Does this imply there has been an attempted uprising in D12 that needed to be squashed before?

Cray would have been disliked, anyway, because of the uniform he wore, but it was his habit of luring starving young women into his bed for money that made him an object of loathing in the district. In really bad times, the hungriest would gather at his door at nightfall, vying for the chance to earn a few coins to feed their families by selling their bodies. Had I been older when my father died, I might have been among them. - Horrifying and absolutely disgusting 🤢 Those poor women! How desperate they must have been!

... when the doorbell rings, I shoot straight out of bed. [...] “They [the peacekeepers] can’t have him,” I say. “Might be you they’re after,” Haymitch reminds me. “Or you,” I say. “Not my house,” Haymitch points out. “But I’ll get the door.” “No, I’ll get it,” says my mother quietly. - Again, Mrs. Everdeen is taking the initiative! She was so watered down in the movies

[Madge] holds out a small, damp cardboard box to me. “Use these for your friend,” she says. I take off the lid of the box, revealing half a dozen vials of clear liquid. [...] “What is that stuff?” asks Peeta. “It’s from the Capitol. It’s called morphling,” my mother answers. “I didn’t even know Madge knew Gale,” says Peeta. “We used to sell her strawberries,” I say almost angrily. What am I angry about, though? Not that she has brought the medicine, surely. “She must have quite a taste for them,” says Haymitch. That’s what nettles me. It’s the implication that there’s something going on between Gale and Madge. And I don’t like it. “She’s my friend” is all I say. - I mean, Katniss could be mad because A) Gale had literally just told her he loved her a few hours ago and if there was something (reciprocated) going on between Gale and Madge, that would have been pretty shitty for both girls involved and also B) she is friends with both of them and it would be hurtful to learn that two of your closest friends had been seeing each other without telling you anything about it... also, she’s super upset over Gale getting so seriously hurt just after they’d had an argument, her feelings are all over the place

... I’m selfish. I’m a coward. I’m the kind of girl, who, when she might actually be of use, would run to stay alive and leave those who couldn’t follow to suffer and die. This is the girl Gale met in the woods today. No wonder I won the Games. No decent person ever does. You saved Peeta, I think weakly. But now I question even that. I knew good and well that my life back in District 12 would be unlivable if I let that boy die. - Yes, Katniss, you knew that your life back in D12 would have been unlivable if he died - but not because you feared that people would shun you; it was because you “couldn’t lose the boy with the bread” and because “if he dies, I’ll never go home, not really”... This is an excellent example of how distorted your memories can get when you are in a bad headspace at present

The berries. I realize the answer to who I am lies in that handful poisonous fruit. If I held them out to save Peeta because I knew I would be shunned if I came back without him, then I am despicable. If I held them out because I loved him, I am still self-centered, although forgivable. But if I held them out to defy the Capitol, I am someone of worth. - Katniss, you don’t have to be planning to overthrow a corrupt and cruel government to be someone of worth! You’re someone of worth just by being yourself! - The trouble is, I don’t know exactly what was going on inside me at that moment. - Frankly, very rarely are our motivations clearly defined by a single factor - or my professor would not have been able to teach an entire semester-long course on motivation psychology😉)

Chapter 9

Gale’s dead to the world, but his fingers are locked around mine. I smell fresh bread and turn my stiff neck to find Peeta looking down at me with such a sad expression. I get the sense that he’s been watching us awhile. “Go on up to bed, Katniss. I’ll look after him now,” he says. - Peeta! Must have been hard for him to see Katniss like this (and the underlying strength of Katniss and Gale’s relationship, when his relationship with Katniss is still not all that solidified), and yet he’s being such a good bean about it 😭

I give a strangled cry and wake with a start, sweating and shivering at once. Cradling my damaged cheek in my hand, I remind myself that it was not Clove but Thread who gave me this wound. I wish that Peeta were here to hold me, until I remember I’m not supposed to wish that anymore. I have chosen Gale and the rebellion, and a future with Peeta is the Capitol’s design, not mine. - Katniss, gurl... Maybe your instinctive desire to receive comfort from Peeta is trying to tell you something??!? Also, Katniss is forcing this strange dichotomous association of Gale = rebellion and Peeta = Capitol, when in just a bit, she’s clearly connecting Peeta to the rebellion as well (aside from the fact that Peeta was basically the first person to suggest to her that maybe a rebellion was necessary... just saying)

Fighting the Capitol assures their swift retaliation. I must accept that at any moment I can be arrested. [...] There might be torture. Mutliation. A bullet through the skull in the town square [...] I imagine these things and I’m terrified, but let’s face it: They’ve been lurking in the back of my brain, anyway. [...] I’m already a target. - Oh geez! Despite admitting that she’s terrified of what the Capitol is capable fo doing to her, Katniss is still pretty composed naming the possible horrors in store for her, which is just a heartbreaking reminder of how many terrible things she has already had to endure.🙁

Now comes the harder part. I have to face the fact that my family and friends might share this fate. Prim. I need only to think of Prim and all my resolve disintegrates. It’s my job to protect her. [...] I can’t let the Capitol hurt Prim. - 😭😭😭 Katniss has reached a point where she can put her own need for survival/physical intactness aside, but the thought of something awful happening to Prim stops her short (it’s so strange to think that, in a twisted way, it wasn’t the Capitol who’d ended up inflicting the final harm upon Prim...)

And then it hit’s me. They already have. They have killed her father in those wretched mines. They have sat by as she almost starved to death. [...] She has been hurt far worse than I had at the age of twelve. And even that pales in comparison with Rue’s life. [...] Prim... Rue... aren’t they the very reason I have to try to fight? Because what has been done to them is so wrong, so beyond justification, so evil that there is no choice? Because no one has the right to treat them as they have been treated? Yes. This is the thing to remember when fear threatens to swallow me up. What I am about to do, whatever any of us are forced to endure, it is for them. - All these things are very true and it’s also very fitting that the main motivation for Katniss would be to ensure a better future for the children of Panem (and to avenge the evils done to the people close to her heart... while Katniss of course can see the abstract bigger picture/reason for the rebellion, she always operates best when it comes to specific people/circumstances she has a deep, personal connection with)... But also: all these things apply to you, too, Katniss! Despite your tendency to feel responsible for everything and everyone, you’re still a child that had to grow up way too fast and had to endure way too much!

We need someone to direct us and reassure us this is possible. And I don’t think I’m that person. I may have been a catalyst for rebellion, but a leader should be someone with conviction, and I’m barely a convert myself. Someone with unflinching courage, and I’m still working hard at finding mine. Someone with clear and persuasive words, and I’m so easily tongue-tied. Words. I think of words and I think of Peeta. - Katniss’s idea of a great leader for the rebellion is Peeta - interesting, isn’t it (she could have considered Gale, but no)? She makes a good point, though: it helps when a leader has plenty of charisma, and our boy has that in spades; he’s got a good set of morals, is not above joining in on the action/risking his own neck when the need arises and is very genuine and purposeful with his words and actions, which is inspiring... I think Katniss is severely underselling how courageous she is, though

He could move a crowd to action, I bet, if he chose to. Would find the things to say. But I’m sure the idea has never crossed his mind. - Why would you assume that, Katniss? Peeta’s literally the one to suggest to you that trying to placate the district might not be the right thing to do... Peeta’s not someone who’d stir up trouble just for the sake of stirring up trouble, sure; he’s much more deliberate about doing things the ‘right’ way, but he’s not generally opposed to challenging authorities (he’s literally the one to openly gift some of your winnings to another district!)

She knows what she’s doing, my mother. I feel a pang of remorse about yesterday, the awful things I yelled at her as Peeta and Haymitch dragged me from the kitchen. “I’m sorry. About screaming at you yesterday.” - It’s so sweet how Katniss feels sorry for yelling at her mom and apologizes to her; their relationship really has improved so much in this book - “I’ve heard worse,” she says. “You’ve seen how people are, when someone they love is in pain.” Someone they love. [...] Of course, I love Gale. But what kind of love does she mean? What do I mean when I say I love Gale? I don’t know. I did kiss him last night, in a moment when my emotions were running so high. But i’m sure he doesn’t remember it. Does he? I hope not. - Katniss is struggling to figure out in what way she loves Gale... She definitely doesn’t want him to remember their kiss because she knows it wouldn’t be fair to give him the hope that she might be able to return his romantic feelings when she is still in the dark about her own

... and I can’t really think about kissing when I’ve got a rebellion to incite. I give my head a little shake to clear it. “Where’s Peeta?” I say. - Lol, goes on to immediately mention the guy she’s been kissing these past few weeks (see, with Peeta you could actually have both: kissing and rebellion, Katniss - he’s the perfect man, isn’t he? 😉😋)

“He went home when he heard you stirring. Didn’t want to leave his house unattended during the storm,” says my mother. - Yeah, I don’t think Peeta left because of his house; I’m pretty sure he needed some time to himself after seeing Katniss and Gale this morning - he is the type of person who needs to be alone to work through his feelings when he’s feeling upset - “Did he get back all right?” [...] “Why don’t you give him a call and check?” she says. I go into the study, a room I’ve pretty much avoided since my meeting with President Snow, and dial Peeta’s number. After a few rings he answers. “Hey. I just wanted to make sure you got home,” I say. “Katniss. I live three houses away from you,” he says. “I know, but with the weather and all,” I say. “Well, I’m fine. Thank you for checking.” There’s a long pause. “How’s Gale?” - Aww, Katniss is worried about Peeta and gives him a call, although she hates being in the study 😊 Also, her calling him must have been at least of some reassurance to Peeta that she genuinely cares about him, in some way (though, he’s still clearly busy processing her relationship with Gale, since he’s asking about him as if he hadn’t seen that dude just a couple of minutes prior)

“Have you seen Haymitch today?” “I checked in on him. Dead drunk. But I built up his fire and left him some bread,” he says. “I wanted to talk to - to both of you.” I don’t dare add more, here on my phone, which is surely tapped. - Despite everything, Peeta still made sure to look after Haymitch! And I know, there is also the issue of their houses themselves potentially being bugged, but I couldn’t help imagining how they could easily avoid the whole phone-tapping thing simply by using a tin can telephone (they do live pretty close to each other, after all) 😂

“You don’t even have a phone,” I say. “Effie had that fixed,” he [Haymitch] says. “Do you know she asked me if I’d like to give you away? I told her the sooner the better.” “Haymitch.” I can hear the pleading creeping into my voice. “Katniss.” He mimics my tone. “It won’t work.” - Okay, but Haymitch mimicking Katniss’s tone reminds me so much of when Peeta mimicked her tone towards the end of their Games, when she was trying to persuade him to climb into a tree as a lookout while he was insistent she’d show him some plants to gather; these three, I swear! 😂 On a sad note, Haymitch is talking from experience here when he’s advising Katniss not to challenge the Capitol 🥺😢

Some streets away from the square, I see a blaze flare up. None of us has to say it. That can only be the Hob going up in smoke. I think of Greasy Sae, Ripper, all my friends who make their livings there. - Katniss considers the people from the Hob her friends - honestly, even if the Hawthornes, Everdeens, Peeta and Haymitch all had agreed to leave D12, I don’t think Katniss would have been able to go through with it - she cares too much about the people in D12 to have been able to leave them to their fate

“Well, I better go see how much rubbing alcohol the apothecary can spare.” He [Haymitch] trudges off across the square and I look at Peeta. “What’s he want that for?” Then I realize the answer. “We can’t let him drink it. He’ll kill himself, or at the very least go blind. I’ve got some white liquor put away at home.” “Me, too. Maybe that will hold him until Ripper finds a way to be back in business,” says Peeta. - Another instance of Katniss and Peeta being on the same wavelength, having taken precautions to help out Haymitch so he doesn’t have to go cold turkey again

We find Hazelle in her house, nursing a very sick Posy. I recognize the measles spots. “I couldn’t leave her,” she says. “I knew Gale’d be in the best possible hands.” - The second mention of someone having contracted the measles in D12 - Why the heck does the Capitol withhold measles vaccination from the people in the districts?! They’re inflicting unnecessary damage onto the very people they want to exploit... But I guess cruelty isn’t always about playing it smart and logical...

When we’re outside, I turn to Peeta. “You go on back. I want to walk by the Hob.” “I’ll go with you,” he says. “No. I’ve dragged you into enough trouble,” I tell him. “And avoiding a stroll by the Hob... that’s going to fix things for me?” He smiles and takes my hand. - They are a team, they stick together (and they are constantly holding hands, always physically linked to each other)😩💕 Also, Peeta pointing out the irrationality of Katniss’s train of thought to calm her down and stay with her reminds me of how he’s going to use logical reasoning to calm her down after the jabberjays in the Quarter Quell arena

We go back to the square. I buy some cakes from Peeta’s father while they exchange small talk about the weather. No one mentions the ugly tools of torture just yards from the front door. The last thing I notice as we leave the square is that I do not recognize even one of the Peacekeepers’ faces. - How weird is it that Peeta and his dad just talk about the weather?! Is this supposed to illustrate how in the Mellark family they just ignored the ugliness going on in their lives *cough cough* the abuse *cough cough* and just pretended that everything was fine, on a very superficial level? Also, it makes perfect sense that the Peacekeepers have been exchanged; the more time we spend with people, the more likely we are to like them - that won’t do if you want to have a ruthless authoritarian police force in the districts

As the days pass, things go from bad to worse. The mines stay shut for two weeks, and by that time half of District 12 is starving. The number of kids signing up for tesserae soars, but they often don’t receive their grain. Food shortages begin, and even those with money come away from stores empty-handed. [...] The eagerly awaited food promised for Parcel Day arrives spoiled and defiled by rodents. - This is just so awful and despicable 😞 Life in the districts was already horrible but now the government does not even honor the extortionary rules they themselves have set up! I can’t help but wonder if the lack of food could be traced back to rebellions in the food supplying districts and, to keep this from the inhabitants of the Capitol, the reduced amount of good food was (obviously) kept for the Capitolites, so that the bad food had to be sent to the districts, anyway... It just seems like such a breach of ‘honor’/etiquette on the Capitol’s part, I dunno... Or maybe Snow was just desperate to use any means necessary to stamp out any potential rebellions in the districts that he still had some control over...

Gale goes home with no more talk of rebellion between us. But I can’t help thinking that everything he sees will only strengthen his resolve to fight back. [...] Rory has signed up for tesserae, something Gale can’t even speak about - Poor, Gale! Poor Hawthornes :(

My fingers have all but decided to release the arrow when I see the object in the glove. It’s a small white circle of flat bread. More of a cracker, really. Gray and soggy around the edges. But an image is clearly stamped in the center of it. It’s my mockingjay. - It is so very telling that the true symbol of the rebellion combines something symbolic of Katniss (which also contains a nod to Rue) and something symbolic of Peeta (the bread/cracker!) The people in the districts have rightfully recognized the both of them as symbol of the rebellion; they have a truer vision of the matter than the more artifically/forcefully constructed symbol of rebellion that D13 /Coin will push - we will also see that when the people in D13 will view Peeta as a traitor, while the rebels Katniss will visit in D8 instead ask her about Peeta and assure her that they know he was speaking under duress

#thgagain #thg #katniss everdeen #hunger games #thg meta #peeta mellark #haymitch abernathy #gale hawthorne #my sketches and drawings #thg fanart #catching fire

103 notes · View notes

sylverstorms · 3 years

Text

Donna x Elena ----From Winter to Spring

This is a commission written for the lovely @saltwatereulogies and I cannot thank you enough for all your support! I hope you enjoy the story :)

She doesn’t know how she escaped that nightmarish inferno. How she still draws breath. Why her body keeps running despite its condition and despite the fact that she has lost everything.

The village is gone. Everyone she knew is either dead or a monster. She watched her own father growl like a beast and cleave a woman in half, then soon after wail out her name and succumb to the flames swallowing up the building. There is nothing left. There is nothing left for her.

Why? Elena wonders. A trail of blood marks her path through the snow, towards the unknown. Why still fight?

It will be easier to surrender to the agonizing burns, to the open gashes and wood splinters stuck in her skin. It will be far, far simpler to stop pressuring her rattling lungs to provide oxygen and fall into the snow, instead. It looks… peaceful. Soft. Pure.

It will welcome her to a quiet death, she thinks, so she may join her friends and her father.

Her father. The man who had never reached his hand out to help her when she fell –either on the fields or when she tripped over hardships— yet had always been there in his own stubborn, strict way, telling her to pick herself up.

“I didn’t raise no quitter.”

Ah, is that why.

Perhaps part of her feels it owes it to him to try. She did miraculously survive the fiery wreckage she’d initially thought would be her grave. But… the odds just aren’t with her.

Elena is only human. She’s lost too much blood, been through too much punishment. Her vision is growing blurrier by the second, her legs more sluggish. When she steps on grass instead of snow, she believes her mind is now playing tricks on her, too.

Something smells sweet, like wildflowers.

That is the last thing Elena is aware of, before she drops to her knees and blacks out.

When she blinks her eyes open, she is… confused.

She never thought heaven nor hell would have a wooden ceiling. She wouldn’t have guessed pain follows one into the afterlife, either, yet there she is, prone and throbbing with every weak breath on a bed too comfortable to be her own.

Unless…

Unless she’s not dead. Unless, against all odds, she survived a second time only to suffer some more. Elena wants to cry. What cruel game is the universe playing with her? The luck she never had in life is suddenly gracing her in extreme bursts now that she doesn’twant it.

“She’s awakeeee!” an overly excited voice exclaims somewhere around the room. Elena is too dizzy to tell.

“Shh.” A second presence makes itself known, calming the first.

“Who…” Who are you, Elena tries to say, but the words never make it past her dry throat.

Heels tap against the floor, until a black-clad figure comes to peer down at her. Elena expected to see the face of her savior, yet all she sees is a ghost, its visage hidden behind a mourning veil. The image is jarring; it sends her heartbeat skyrocketing, which doesn’t help her condition.

Oh, Lord, Oh, Lord what… Elena wants to tell herself she’s dreaming. It isn’t real, none of this is real—

Until a doll jumps into the edge of her bed and says something she doesn’t hear over the sound of her hoarse scream.

The ghost flinches backwards as the world turns dark once more.

The second time she opens her eyes, hours or days later, the pain has subsided somewhat.

Elena can feel her body, at least. All the wounded parts are carefully wrapped in gauzes and all her burns are covered by a soothing salve. Her lungs no longer hiss when she inhales, so long as she does so slowly, evenly.

That, of course, is not so easy to do when she turns to her left and sees the ghost sitting there, an open book in her lap. The veil is still on, obscuring her features, but Elena takes note of her fingers as they cradle the spine of the tome, long and pale, manicured black.

Appearances aside, there is a certain calm about her that doesn’t feel threatening.

“I… I’m not hallucinating, am I?” she whispers, not trusting her voice to go any higher.

The mystery woman tenses as though her voice has startled her. “…No.” she eventually replies. Her voice is quiet, like the rest of her.

“Did… you save me…?” A single nod is all she gets in return. Her company doesn’t seem very comfortable speaking, but Elena has questions that she needs answered. “Where am I?”

“The Beneviento estate.”

Elena would gasp if she could. I made it that far? And this woman… is she really Donna Beneviento? Her father told her all she needed to know about the four Lords residing at the outskirts of the village. He had also told her to avoid them at all costs.

“Um. I’m Elena—” A cough cuts her off. The sudden motion causes every injury across her body to burn.

“…I know.”

She is too much pain, in that moment, to ask how Donna knows.

In the following days, Elena comes to accept a few things that would have normally made her question her sanity;

The doll is alive. Her name is Angie and she is Donna’s friend. Donna is the adopted daughter of Mother Miranda, who, upon the former’s request, has given her permission for Elena to remain in the mansion. When she asked what would have happened had she denied, the doll only sing-songed that she doesn’t really want to know.

It still plagues her mind, probably because she has far too much time to think and this is the only thing she can focus on, lest she starts crying over and over again.

When Donna comes to change her bandages, it is a relief.

The woman sits at the edge of her bed, at the absolute maximum distance. Elena slowly brings her body to a semi-reclining position to assist. Angie hops on the bed and pulls the covers to the side… and that is when they arrive to a standstill. Donna doesn’t move, Elena doesn’t know what to do.

“Um. May I?” the veiled woman motions with her –admittedly very elegant— hands. It’s… endearing, how she approaches the subject of touching her.

Elena nods and tries to be a good patient for her. Tries being the key word. When she’s not fighting for her life, she is not nearly as brave in the face of pain. Her teeth are gritted as Donna’s cool hands unwrap the gauzes at her right arm, her eyes closed, breath held.

“…Am I hurting you?” Donna asks, quiet as ever.

“No.” Elena forces herself to exhale. “No, you’re… very gentle.”

Donna nods and continues with the same measured movements. Elena doesn’t want to look at her wounds, afraid of what she’ll find there, so she turns to the veiled visage of her companion. She wishes she could see her face. Wonders what she may look like, what flaw she’s trying to hide.

Until a bandage catches on a particularly bad burn and Elena cries out.

Her whole body jumps—

Donna’s hands fly to her shoulders, keeping her steady with surprising strength, yet she steps away the very next second as though she’s been scorched.

Elena bites her lower lip hard enough to draw blood. There you go, making her uncomfortable…

Angie takes over for a while, also quite precise. Elena peeks down to realize she isn’t in as terrible a condition as she may have imagined. Scars will be left, no doubt, but she will probably heal well enough.

Then the last difficult spot comes up. She knows it when Angie warns: “You need to stay still here.”

“No, no wait!” Elena pleads. “I—I can’t.” I can’t, I can’t deal with this again, not again—

But Donna sits back next to her and her mere presence calms her down. “You are very strong, Elena. This is the last one.” she says.

“Hold me down.” Elena requests.

Donna doesn’t seem to like the idea. Still, she slowly brings her hand back over the uninjured part of Elena’s shoulder. “It’ll be alright.” she whispers.

“On three.” Angie says. “One… Two…”

She pulls the bandage on two and Elena would jump high enough to burst through the ceiling if it wasn’t for Donna. When the agony subsidies she realizes she’s sobbing helplessly, clutching at the dollmaker’s sleeves for dear life.

“Shh, I’m sorry, it’s over now. It’s over.” Donna’s slender fingers comb through her unruly hair.

The brunette closes her eyes and lets her head drop back down into her pillow, but she doesn’t let go of the dollmaker right away. She smells like the flowers outside her house,she thinks.

She feels like a safe space, steady, in a world that’s broken and tilted for Elena.

Gradually, Donna talks to her more. Gradually, Elena tests her body’s limits until she is strong enough to walk around the house on her own.

Angie is with her, most of the time, but she knows it’s less a security measure and more one for her safety. Her mental connection to Donna is something Elena cannot grasp nor understand, but she tries to.

The first time she manages to get to the living room, Elena stops and stares at the painting of Donna adorning the wall opposite her.

“…is that her?” she asks Angie.

“Of course!” the doll replies excitedly. “I am so proud of that one, the artist did a great job! Mistress Donna looks splendid, but it is me who steals the show!”

Elena can’t look away from the canvas. Why is she so familiar…? “Is that what she looks like?”

“Well, excluding a scar she wishes to hide. Kind of like my face. We match.” Angie answers, giving her version of a grin.

For the rest of the day, Elena sneaks glances at Donna, then the painting. It isn’t proper, she knows, but she’s curious. And… surely, no scar is enough to justify hiding that cute face from the world?

Weeks pass. Elena has healed well and she owes it all to Donna.

The two of them have grown closer in the time the former’s injuries have forced them together, close enough to have tea in the mornings and brief chats over common interests throughout the day.

When the weather grows a tad warmer, Elena asks the dollmaker to take a stroll with her outside. She sees the decorated graves, of course, but she knows better than to ask. She doesn’t want their time to be poisoned by grief. The scars of losing loved ones run deep, she knows this too well and they never really heal.

The two of them are basking in comfortable silence for a while, until a thought that feels impossible not to be voiced strikes Elena.

“Donna.” she speaks.

“Hm?”

“When I first woke up and I told you my name… you said ‘I know’.”

“…yes.”

“I’m sure we’ve never met before…?” Elena stops and turns to face her companion. Donna mirrors her.

“How certain are you?” she asks. Upon Elena’s obvious confusion, she elaborates; “As a child, I used to visit the village with my father. In one of those visits, some of the kids made fun of my scar. A boy, especially, was saying some very mean things.”

Elena starts to recall one such incident in the blurry images of her childhood.

“You stopped him.” Donna says. Pauses. “…with a punch to the face.”

Elena raises a hand to her mouth, but a quick laugh escapes her anyway. “I did?” A nod. “No way.”

“You did.”

“It couldn’t have been a strong one, though.” Elena giggles.

“I don’t know. Rumor has it he still hasn’t gotten up, to this day…” The little exhale of a chuckle that escapes Donna makes something in Elena bloom and flutter.

She wants nothing more in that moment than to lift the damned veil and see the face of the gentlest, kindest woman she’s ever met.

The winter eventually gives way to spring. The earth heals from the wounds of the cold like Elena has, under Donna’s care.

She no longer has doubts about what she feels, what she wants. It is only a matter of overcoming her fears and nervousness. Only a matter of finding the right timing and the appropriate setting.

Elena has rehearsed the words she needs to say many times in her dreams and thoughts, yet she finds herself tongue-tied and completely lost on what to do in reality. She has asked Donna to walk with her, taken her to where the waterfall calms into a river… and now struggles to summon her voice.

“What is it, Elena?” Donna, ever the sweetheart, asks. “You know you can tell me anything… right?”

“What if…” she hesitantly begins. “What if I can’t tell you? …can I show you, instead?”

“Of course.”

Elena takes a deep breath and chastises herself to woman up. One little step brings her into Donna’s personal space. Her hand raises to the edge of the veil, blue eyes searching for a sign she should stop. The dollmaker is tense, but she hasn’t made a move to back away, nor lower Elena’s hand.

She trusts her.

And that’s all Elena needs to finally, finally remove the barrier separating them for months. The cute girl she defended as a child is a beautiful woman now, looking back at her with gentle, dark eyes. The jagged scar running down the right side of her face does nothing to retract from that beauty.

“You don’t need that.” she breathes. “You never did.”

Donna glances to the side, a hint of color spreading over her pale cheeks. Elena chases her chin with her fingers, then slowly inches closer, making sure the dollmaker has ample time to decide if she wants this, too.

When their lips meet, color blooms behind her shut eyelids, within her chest. Donna’s mouth is as soft and sweet as her personality, Elena discovers. It is a short, chaste kiss but it is also a promise for many more to come.

It is the gratitude Elena will eternally hold for Donna, who found her at the ending of her life and nursed her back to this,

A new beginning.

#Donna x Elena #donna beneviento #resident evil village #resident evil 8 #fanfiction #creative writing #mother miranda #commission #because two cuties make a recipe for success #donna my beloved

122 notes · View notes

yesimwriting · 3 years

Text

The Problem With Light

a/n i literally did not mean to write this, i was working on requests and then my mind was like ‘remember that lowkey love triangle kaz brekker x reader x darkling thing you always say you're going to write’ so yeah,, here we are :)),, two longer fics are coming!!

Summary: Kaz changes his plans after meeting the Sun Summoner and Kirigan teeters on a line the reader isn’t sure she wants.

Chapter One: The Conflicts of Prayer

Narrator.

Kaz knows a lot about patience. He knows how to bear the weight that the passage of time thrusts onto one's shoulder. He knows how to cultivate the seeds that he sews. If he wasn’t like this he’d stand no chance at one day avenging the ghost that refuses to leave him.

But Jesper is almost an hour late. Kaz has been standing in a dimly hit branch of a relatively important hallway in the Little Palace. Jesper was supposed to come while in disguise to bring Kaz his new disguise and his newly repaired cane. Kaz’s hand flexes again, wishing he could feel the detailed head of one of his few comforts beneath the broken-in leather of his gloves. A bitter part of him claims that if Jesper isn’t injured once he arrives, he’ll be injured once Kaz gets his hand on his cane.

He shifts his weight, the pain in his leg starting to take its toll. The slight relaxation disappears once he hears footsteps. Kaz turns, ignoring the ache the motion brings him. His entire body hardens, preparing for a fight. He doesn’t look like he belongs here yet and there’s nowhere to run. The person crossing his path will need to be taken care of--knocked out or something more permanent.

The person only pauses to look at him when Kaz angles himself forward in a fighting stance. He watches the person, a girl, shifts back slightly, eyes wide and defensive. She’s a mess--hair disheveled, nose slightly bleeding, and dirty kefta. Her appearance isn’t why Kaz finds himself frozen, not because of the girl’s appearance but because she’s her. Y/n l/n. The Sun Summoner.

“Sorry! I--” She almost winces, but then her eyebrows furrow together. “You’re not supposed to be here.” Kaz’s jaw locks. He could take her physically, but for all he knows she could raise her arms and blind him permanently with her light. “That’s okay,” she breathes, something in her looking a little relieved, “I’m not supposed to be here either.” Kaz watches her oddly, wondering if her trustingness is a trap in itself. “I won’t tell if you don’t.”

It’s a joke. That much is clear by the gentle uptilt of her lips. It’s as if she doesn’t know she’s bleeding and looks like she just ran out of a fight. Her expression doesn’t harshen at his silence. Kaz finds himself disliking that. It’s not enough that she can summon the sun, she also has to seem like it.

He needs to say something. Jesper was supposed to be watching her and now he’s not here and she is. The plan is unraveling and if he talks she’ll stay here or reveal where she’s going to next. That’s the kind of thing he needs to salvage this.

His lips part, but he’s not sure what to say. “You’re not supposed to be here?”

She shakes her head once. “No--I’m supposed to be in personal training, but I kind of got my ass kicked in group training and my pride needs a break.” The admission leaves her sheepishly. “It’s probably for the best, becoming a Sun Summoner overnight has given me a bit of an ego.” She sighs, the sound strangely light. “Then again, I kind of need an ego for what’s wanted from me and if one bad fight is all it takes to kill it then it’s not strong enough, considering--” Kaz tenses as she cuts herself off. “Sorry, I’m rambling, we both have places to be.” Hope presses into him stiffly. She’s going to say it. “Where--where are you supposed to be?” She shifts back slightly. “Not that I have to know, but you’re not from here, and--”

Kaz steps forward, pushing through the stiffness in his leg. Y/n’s gaze drops. Kaz’s discomfort worsens, someone like her doesn’t need to know his weaknesses. “Are you here for me to pray for you?” She scratches her arm, “I-I can, but I tell everyone I pray for I don’t consider myself a Saint.”

The honesty of the comment twisted something in Kaz’s thoughts. “Yes,” he lies, partially distracted by the beginnings of a scheme. He can feel Inej’s future anger as he lies again, “I’m here for prayer.”

“I spent so long rambling,” she says in a tone that implies apology.

He nods once, wondering how someone could be that apologetic and survive. The weight of such power must strangle someone like her. That could be a good thing. Someone like her must be spiraling with all this change and sudden strength. Maybe this could be simpler than an abduction plan, a few choice words and he could convince the girl to come with him. He could get her to believe there was something she needed to do in Ketterdam. If she went there willingly, things could be much more efficient.

Inej won’t like this, and for this to work he’ll have to think of the right way to present the plan to her. He weighs his options and the details as y/n whispers words with her eyes closed and hands folded together. The words he can make out are kind. He expected that, but what he didn’t expect was the earnestness of them.

She means each part of her prayers. Kaz regrets noticing that.

“I can’t promise my prayers do anything,” she finishes, voice returning to its normal volume, “but I hope you get what you need.”

What he wants is within his grasp now that he knows what to do. “I’m sure good things are near.” It’s the most honest he’s been since her arrival.

Y/n nods once, “I should go before my reprieve costs me more than it's worth.”

He watches her disappear down the hallway. Her movements are light, calm and unweighted.

“Boss,” Jesper’s appearance is brash, “I’ve spent this entire time looking for her. She was in training like she was supposed to, took an awul blow, delivered an even meaner one, and then disappeared.”

Kaz tries to imagine the same hands that were just so neatly folded in prayer as fists. “You just missed her.” He doesn’t wait for Jesper’s reaction, he just takes his newly repaired cane back. “And we’re changing the plan.”

Y/n.

I tried going to Baghra. I told someone who believed my prayers meant something that I was going back to training. But then I remembered her words from last time and the shame I felt when I could not create light. I haven’t summoned light once without Kirigan’s touch.

I’m the Sun Summoner--I am the person that summons the sun by themselves. Kirigan and I aren’t the Sun Summoner together. I’m pathetic. And instead of trying to get better, I’m wandering the library because all anyone can talk about is the way Zoya punched me in the face.

Baghra picked me apart when I looked shiny. I can’t imagine the kinds of comments she’d make if she saw me with a bloody nose and dead leaves in my hair. I’ll go tomorrow, once Genya fixes both my matted hair and cracked self esteem.

For now, I have the one thing that’s always comforted me. My books. I wander the library, trying not to think of anything. Of Baghra, of Zoya, of the strange man in the hall.

He seemed weighted by something. I always wish I could do more for those that ask for my prayer, but the longing is sharper now. I don’t know him, so it’s ridiculous to want to help him so badly, but my uselessness itches beneath my skin in a way I’m not used to. I don’t know why I feel more protective about this stranger than others. I’ve had people fall to my feet weeping, begging for me to save them. That hurt me, but the desire to help this one stranger burns in a way I’ve never felt before.

“I don’t know why they don’t look for you here every time you disappear.” His voice is as soft and subtle as a shadow. “They’d save so much time.”

I fight the urge to defensively grasp the first book I can reach. “You’re making it sound like I have a habit of vanishing in order to make a point.” My defense is weak. We both know that this isn’t the first time I ran away from something here. “Sometimes absence is just that.”

“When you’ve waited for someone as long as I have, all absence is significant.” The words are not harsh but they should be. I don’t know how I could respond to that.

He steps forward easily, as he always does. I keep myself still despite the way that warmth settles against my chest uncomfortably. I manage to hold onto my stillness even when he raises a hand, one gentle finger brushing above my top lip. I tense at his lingering touch.

Kirigan turns his hand slowly, exposing the red on his fingertips. “How di--”

“Training,” I interrupt quickly, “I promise I got a decent hit in as well.”

When he nods, his expression is clearly weighted but I cannot interpret it. He almost always looks like that. I shouldn’t find anything about the man that stole me from everything I’ve ever known (even though he had good reason to do so) alluring, but I want to understand him. It’d feel like knowing a secret the rest of the world is desperate for.

For a moment we just stand there, Kirigan closer than he’s ever been. Sometimes when he’s quiet I think he knows my secrets. All of mine. Even my curiosity about him. “I don’t doubt that.”

At least he tries to be nice to me sometimes. It’s more than anyone else here can say. Except maybe Genya. “You don’t have to say that.” He knows it’s true. “Keep in mind you found me in the library, hiding from Baghra.”

He hesitates. “No one likes training.”

“I think I’d find it tolerable if…” Can I say this to him? Admit the extent of my helplessness? He looks at me patiently, waiting for me to give something to him. “I’m the Sun Summoner--that’s supposed to be me. That’s supposed to be mine, and I can’t do it by myself.”

The patheticness of my struggle hits me in full force. I drop my head as he weighs my words. “It’s in you,” he says it so surely I don’t think I could argue.

I smile politely. “Thank you.”

Kirigan reaches downwards, towards my wrist. He latches onto me so quickly I’m too surprised to back away. “Light,” he prompts like it really is that easy.

I know I can do it with him, so I don’t see the point in showing it. “It doesn’t count if I get help.”

“Y/n.” Sometimes I think his voice is softer when he speaks my name.

I raise my hands, overlaying them, letting the hand that he touches make up the base of my cup. Reaching into myself, I search for the power beneath my skin. With him, that power seems to sit directly beneath the surface, desperate and greedy. I don’t call to it, instead I simply let it flow. The light bleeds from me, a sphere of blinding light bursts into my hands. It’s bright, burning, and desperate to escape my control.

My mind clamps around the power tightly, restraining it without choking it out until the light in my hands is exactly as small as I want it to be. I hold it there, letting its warmth melt away all of the bad. I let it grow, the light illuminating a path I can barely see--a path in which I do not disappoint those that need to have faith in something and for some unknown reason decided to place it in me. I hold onto that feeling, and then I let the light disappear.

I smile at my hands. The only good that’s come from this is the way the light makes me feel. “Y/n.” I look up at Kirigan, who’s showing me both of his palms. “That was you.”

A feeling better than the light coils up my stomach and into my heart. I grin. I did it without him. I can do it without him. “That--how did you know that would work?”

“I knew that you could do it, you just needed to see it.”

Warmth fills me, light and easy. A little too light. I have to work at not reaching for him, not because I need to, but because I want to. “Thank you.” This time I mean it.

“Your gratitude is premature,” he warns, but nothing about it is harsh, “I’m here to send you back to training.”

At least the thought of facing Baghra no longer devastates me. “There’s always a catch.” I smile, hoping he understands what he’s done for me. “But I think this time it may be worth it.”

He almost smiles. “Tell me if you still feel that way after spending time with Baghra.”

A fair warning. It’s more than I expect from him. “Will do.”

Kirigan’s expression threatens to soften, but he turns away from me with a soft nod before I can try to decipher the look. I let him leave before disappearing down another hall, forcing myself to look for Baghra. I think of my interaction with both Kirigan and the stranger, at least Baghra won’t be the weirdest part of my day

124 notes · View notes

awritingtree · 4 years

Text

Never Enough (4/7)

Sirius Black x daughter!reader

Summary: In the previous chapter, Y/N Black saved her father from death. What is the aftermath of the Department of Mysteries?

Words: 3.3k

Warnings: mentions of injury, mentions of violence, hospital, medical stuff, mentions of death, sadness, self-deprecation thoughts

A/N: You have @heloisedaphnebrightmore to thank. She’s the reason I decided not to end the series here 😂 But I am so excited for all of you to read this. GAH

Also if you want, LISTEN TO THIS SONG as you read on repeat. I swear it makes it so much better. I think of the song as Sirius’ POV. Start it at the point where I've put **

https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=8ofCZObsnOo

Series Masterlist

⭑*•̩̩͙⊱••••✩••••̩̩͙⊰•*⭑

It had been two weeks since Harry Potter and his friends had broken into the Ministry of Magic. Two weeks since the Battle of the Department of Mysteries. Two weeks since all twelve Death Eaters, except Bellatrix Lestrange, were captured and sent to Azkaban. Two weeks since the Ministry witnessed the return of Lord Voldemort. Two weeks since Umbridge was removed from Hogwarts and Dumbledore was reinstated as Headmaster. Two weeks during which Cornelius Fudge started to face backlash, ultimately stepping back as Minister of Magic. One week since it was decided that Sirius Black would be given a fair and just retrial for his ‘crimes’.

It had been two weeks since Y/N Black was admitted to St. Mungo’s Hospital for Magical Maladies and Injuries. Two weeks since Y/N Black had saved her father, Sirius Black, from death.

⭑*•̩̩͙⊱••••✩••••̩̩͙⊰•*⭑

“What are you doing here!?” Ted Tonks glowered.

Sirius glanced away from Y/N, seeming to just realize that there were other people in the room.

“I’m here to see my daughter, Ted,” he spoke, confused at the hostile manner he was addressed in.

“Really? One could have never known,” Ted scoffed back.

Sirius’ eyebrows furrowed in irritation. He didn’t understand why Ted had such a problem with him visiting his own daughter, his own blood.

Andromeda placed a hand on her husband’s shoulder, “Calm down, dear.”

“Calm down, Andromeda!? I will not calm down! This man is the reason our baby girl has been hurting these past few years. He’s the reason she questions her worth as a human being. He’s the reason she cried all summer. He’s the reason she’s here in the first place!”

Sirius snapped, “Your baby girl? She’s my daughter!”

“Of course that’s all you’d get out of this. I ought to-”

“What is going on!?” Molly shrieked at the scene in front of her. Sirius and Ted were almost at each other’s throats, wands out ready to throw curses.

“Come on, let’s get you some fresh air,” Andromeda softly said as she dragged Ted away, but not before throwing a nasty look towards her cousin.

Sirius continued to glare in their direction until they disappeared.

“Can you believe them? Just because they’ve taken care of Y/N when I went to Azkaban doesn’t mean she miraculously becomes their daughter,” he huffed.

Tonks looked at Sirius disapprovingly, “She might as well be.”

Sirius watched Tonks storm out, turning around to see Remus, Molly and Arthur looking at him disapprovingly.

“They’ve taken care of her since she was a baby as one of their own. They’ve watched her grow up. Instead of feeling jealous, you should be grateful to them. If it wasn’t for Andromeda and Ted, she would’ve surely been sent to live with the Malfoys.”

Sirius grimaced at the thought of his daughter being raised by such vile people. He sighed before settling down on the chair next to Y/N’s bed. He gingerly grabbed her hand to hold in between both of his.

⭑*•̩̩͙⊱••••✩••••̩̩͙⊰•*⭑

Y/N laid in the bed, bandages wrapped around her head and various parts of her body. The bruises inflicted due to the Cruciatus Curse were visible, exposed for all to see. Her body twitched occasionally, an aftermath of the curse and head trauma. The Healers didn’t know if this twitch would become permanent or if it was a temporary thing; only time would tell.

“She hit her head pretty hard. Twice from what we've been told. That doesn’t include the hits she took to her head and other parts of her body from the stone surroundings when she was being tortured by the Cruciatus Curse. There was some internal bleeding that we’ve managed to fix. But all of that blunt trauma damaged her brain.”

“The twitches… will they…?”

“We don’t know the full extent of her injuries. There is only so much we can tell while she is unconscious. We can think about doing anything further only after she is no longer unconscious. We’ve done all we can for now.”

⭑*•̩̩͙⊱••••✩••••̩̩͙⊰•*⭑

Ted and Andromeda walked in to see Sirius sitting next to Y/N’s bed. They paused in front of the bed as he looked up. All three of them stared at each other tensely before Andromeda and Ted moved to sit on the other side of the bed. Sirius watched Andromeda run a hand through Y/N’s black hair, as a mother would. He watched as she untangled her hair and proceeded to braid it to her side, with tears brimming her eyes. The sight of Y/N - the girl who she always felt was her daughter - bandaged, bruised and twitching seemed to start the waterworks. She sobbed into Ted’s chest as he collected his wife in his hands. He held her tightly to himself, trying to keep himself together for her sake. He couldn’t break down now, he needed to be brave for her. He needed to be brave for Y/N.

Sirius watched his cousin being led away by her husband. It was only when they were no longer in sight did he allow his own tears to flow.

**Sirius didn’t regret anything in life, but this was one of those rare moments when he did. His biggest regret was the way he treated his own daughter.

Sirius sat there well into the night, guilt-ridden. It was his fault for her being here at St. Mungo’s. It was his fault for being such a bad father. It was his fault that his daughter had grown up with his cousin, had a parental relationship with someone who wasn’t him. It was his fault for not escaping earlier, or not going to look for her after. His fault for not trying to build a relationship with her once he escaped.

Truth be told he was scared; scared that he’d end up being like his father, scared that she would end up like his family. It was not justified; he knew it wasn’t. It shouldn't have mattered to him that she was a Slytherin, he shouldn’t have jumped to conclusions. He didn’t know her; he didn’t even try to get to know her. Sirius knew what he did was wrong. If Lily was alive, she surely would’ve beaten some sense into him. He could just imagine his brother and sister-in-law chastising him for his decisions. Sirius had made too many mistakes; mistakes he was now paying dearly for. He let his own fears and assumptions be his and Y/N’s downfall. Now, she couldn’t even bear to live in the same house with him. He had royally screwed up and he knew it.

Sirius wished he could unsay all that he had spoken. She was his daughter and even though they had some bad blood between them, he hoped she would give him another chance. He hoped she would give him a one-in-a-million chance because he wanted to build their relationship back up again. He wanted a chance to get to know his daughter, and for her to get to know him. The probability of any of it happening was extremely low but he would take those odds.

Sirius wanted a chance to right his wrongs, show how sorry he was. But he couldn’t because she was here, unconscious and gravely injured at St. Mungo’s, because of him.

“I’m sorry. I’m so sorry. Please forgive me,” Sirius sobbed over and over again to an unconscious Y/N through the night until he fell asleep from exhaustion.

“I swear I’ll be better.”

⭑*•̩̩͙⊱••••✩••••̩̩͙⊰•*⭑

Three weeks after the battle, Remus walked over to Y/N’s bed at St. Mungo’s. Sirius was sleeping on a chair next to Y/N’s bed, his head resting on her bed. Her hand had found its way into his hair, holding onto it lightly in a fist. Remus was instantly taken back to a fond memory when she was no older than one and half years old.

Remus walked into the apartment of Sirius Black. He carefully made his way through the corridor, to the living room. As he got closer, the sound of adorable babbles filled his ears. Baby toys littered the floor, a miniature toy broom, stuffed toys, dolls, and many other things. But Remus took no notice of the mess as he could only pay attention to the most heartwarming sight he’d ever seen in his entire life.

There was baby Y/N sitting on the sofa in a blush-coloured onesie. Her bright grey eyes were shining with happiness, a familiar twinkle of mischief already visible. Near her tiny legs, that were kicking in a small jagged motion, was Sirius laying on the sofa. He was facing the ceiling, his legs draped over the arm of the sofa. He was wearing a pair of grey sweatpants and a plain old white t-shirt stained with food; no doubt from Y/N being picky and not eating her food. One of Y/N’s tiny hands was bunched up in Sirius’ shoulder-length black curly hair whilst the other petted his head as best as a one-year-old could. Sirius lay with his eyes shut. The affectionate smile on his face giving away that he was indeed listening to the nonsensical babbling of his daughter.

The sight of you both right now reminded him of the good old days. Remus dearly missed those days, when things seemed much simpler and happier - when James and Lily were alive.

“He’s been here since yesterday, refuses to leave her alone for even a moment. Dad tried kicking him out again, but he wouldn't budge.”

Remus turned around to look at Tonks.

“He has always cared for her greatly.”

“He’s never done a good job of showing it though has he? But now that she’s here, injured,” she said, bitterly.

Remus remained silent, pursing his lips together. He didn’t have any argument to defend his best friend. He couldn’t even deny what she had said, they had every reason to resent him and his actions.

Remus stepped up to the bed to shake Sirius awake.

“Padfoot. Wake up. It’s morning, we have to go. We can’t be late.”

Sirius woke up groaning. He carefully removed Y/N’s clutch on his hair before sitting up and rubbing his eyes with the heels of his palms.

“What time is it?” he asked groggily.

“Your trail starts in an hour. You need to leave now if you want to shower and change into something else to look more presentable.”

“Right, of course,” Sirius said. He got up and leaned over Y/N, brushing a stray strand of her hair out of her face.

“I’ll be right back, my baby girl. I love you,” he whispered, a loving look on his face. Though, his eyes were swimming with regret at the sight of his daughter laying there injured all because of him.

He pressed a delicate kiss to her forehead trying not to hurt her any more than he already did before hastily making his way out, not sparing anyone a glance.

⭑*•̩̩͙⊱••••✩••••̩̩͙⊰•*⭑

Sirius marched back to St. Mungo’s, a slight skip in his steps and a wide grin on his face. He looked like a kid on Christmas morning. However, the grin dropped right off when his eyes fell upon the utter chaos ongoing around the room he was heading towards. Healers were rushing in and out urgently. Sirius started to panic, fearing something had happened to Y/N. His eyes moved around the hall to look for someone, anyone. His eyes fell on Ted and Andromeda, the latter sobbing. Ted was unable to hold his tears back as well.

“What’s happening? What’s going on?” Sirius asked as soon as he reached them.

Andromeda sobbed out louder at his questions.

The sound of a bed being wheeled on the floor drew his attention towards the door. Sirius felt his heart drop to his stomach. There was Y/N, her body twitching and trembling. He could see dark red blood staining the back of her bandage and pillow as her head moved around.

“We’ll have to use the body-bind curse,” he heard one of the Healers say as they passed by him in a hurry.

Sirius did not realize that he was trembling, tears streaming down his face, until Y/N and the Healers disappeared around the corner.

“She- we don’t know what happened. She was fine one minute and the n- next… She started twitching and thrashing around and we didn’t know what to do,” Ted informed Sirius in a hoarse voice.

Sirius, Ted and Andromeda sat in the waiting room for what seemed like hours, awaiting any news from the Healers. Andromeda, exhausting herself from all the crying, had fallen asleep on one of the chairs, cuddled up to her husband’s side. Ted’s leg kept shaking, moving up and down. He was becoming restless; it had been too long since the incident and they still hadn’t received any word on what was happening. But no one was as restless as Sirius who had been pacing back and forth the entire time. He didn’t pause for one second, no matter how much Remus tried to convince him to sit down. Nothing anyone said or did would ease his mind. No one except a Healer.

The heavens above seemed to have granted his wish, a Healer walked into the waiting room with a slight smile, “Mr. Black? Mr. and Mrs. Tonks?”

Ted quickly shook Andromeda awake who abruptly woke up. They all rushed towards the Healer.

“Her brain had started to bleed again-”

“You said that you fixed that,” Sirius interrupted in anger.

“Yes, we had. But sometimes the bleeding can start up again when there is substantial damage.”

“Will she be okay?” asked Andromeda worriedly.

The Healer sighed, “She is stable for now. The damage to her neurons is extensive.”

“What- what will happen if she doesn’t get better?” Ted questioned, his voice trembling afraid of the answer he was going to receive.

“We do believe she will. But if she doesn’t wake up within a few days, we can only presume the worst. I am sorry. We can only hope for now. If you have any questions, please do not hesitate to ask.”

“Can we go see her?” Remus spoke up as the others seemed too shocked to do anything.

“Yes, of course,” the Healer gave them a reassuring smile, which didn’t fulfil its purpose the least bit, before heading out the door.

Sirius, Andromeda, and Ted regained their senses and proceeded to head towards their baby girl.

Sirius felt sluggish as he approached Y/N’s bed. Her body was thin and frail, having lost weight in the past few weeks. Her pasty skin stood out against the greasy, unwashed long dark hair. Her chest moved up and down in a rhythm that matched her ragged breathing. Her body continued to twitch from time to time.

Ted couldn’t help but break down at the sight in front of her. Y/N looked so close to death. He sat down on the bed next to Y/N, stroking her hair back, tracing the beautiful features of his baby girl’s face.

“You can’t leave me. Not yet okay? Who's going to wake up early with me to go on walks and pick flowers? Who am I going to spend the whole afternoon baking and having food fights with? You can’t leave me here alone with Dro and Dora. Who else is going to save me from their craziness, huh?” he said, weakly chuckling through his tears. “I- I’d be so lonely if you left. You can’t go. Hold on, Y/N/N. Please. If not for yourself then for me. Ple- please don’t leave me.”

Andromeda’s sobs filled the otherwise silence of the hospital room. Ted continued to quietly plead, choking on his own words, “Don’t leave me. Please.”

Sirius sat there in silence, his unblinking eyes fixed on Y/N’s form; watching her chest rise up and fall back down with each breath - a sign that she was still alive and breathing.

⭑*•̩̩͙⊱••••✩••••̩̩͙⊰•*⭑

Ted and Andromeda had left once visiting hours were over, but Sirius remained. No one, not even the Healers, could force convince him to leave.

He remained perched on the seat beside Y/N’s side well into the night. His eyes burned from the lack of sleep, but he refused to give in. He couldn’t sleep, not when she could need him at any moment. What if he fell asleep and didn’t realize something wrong in time to call for help? No, he would not allow that. Sleep could wait till he was completely sure she would be alright.

Sirius stared at his daughter, his battling-for-life daughter. Her protruding bones made her more visibly sickly under the shadows cast by the pale moonlight shining through the window positioned at the head of her bed.

Sirius leaned forward, his hand shakily caressing Y/N’s cheek. He brushed back the hair that covered her face. A choked sob echoed through the silent, dark room. The tears he kept at bay all day long fell at last.

“Y/N/N, my baby girl. I’m so sorry for all I have done. And haven’t done. But you need to fight. You need to make it through this. You have so much to live for. You need to wake up okay? You need to wake up so I can make this right. I still want you. I need you. I can't imagine a world without you. I’ll make it right; I solemnly swear to love you all my life. Please just fight. Live.”

Sirius sat there watching Y/N, not daring to close his eyes for a moment in case something happened; in case she stopped breathing. He sat in silence praying that someone would wake him up from this nightmare. If he could only see her sparkling grey eyes that were so much like his; filled with the same mischief, once again he would die a happy man. He wished he could take her place, for he would happily die if it meant she got to live.

⭑*•̩̩͙⊱••••✩••••̩̩͙⊰•*⭑

Sirius did not know when he had fallen asleep. His head rested against the edge of the bed and Y/N’s hand had once again made its way to his hair, holding on to it in a loose grip. Sirius was startled awake by the whimper that left Y/N’s mouth as her body twitched once again.

“Y/N? Y/N?” Sirius spoke in a rush, hoping his mind was not playing tricks on his ears. A groan left Y/N’s mouth as she moved around in her bed.

“Healer! Healer! Someone! Anyone!? Please, I think she’s waking up!” Sirius yelled, not caring about the other patients still fast asleep in the same room.

“It’s okay, baby girl. You can open your eyes now. You’re fine. I’m here. I’m here,” Sirius said softly.

Y/N’s eyelashes fluttered, her eyes moving under her eyelids. She slowly opened her eyes. She immediately squeezed her eyes shut, groaning at the sudden increase in brightness. Gradually, she opened her eyes again, blinking to adjust to the sun lighting up the room.

Y/N shivered as a cold draft swept through the unfamiliar room. She looked around the white-walled room. There were around seven other beds in the room, plain white curtains adorning the railings to hide away the bed if needed.

“Y/N?”

Y/N brought her attention to the man standing next to her bed. He was tall and well-built. Shiny black shoulder-length hair framing his fair-skinned face. His unfamiliar-familiar striking grey eyes were scanning her face, concern and worry shining through them as clear as the daylight seeping through the closed curtains. A slight stubble shadowed his face from having spent the night in the hospital. The man oozed a form of casual elegance, tattoos covering his chest and arms. He was handsome, but this was dampened by his prematurely aged face and wrinkled clothes.

“I’m sorry. But who are you?”

⭑*•̩̩͙⊱••••✩••••̩̩͙⊰•*⭑

General taglist: @heloisedaphnebrightmore @pregnant-piggy @approved-by-dentists @kashishwrites @remmyswritings @angelinathebook @idont-knowrn @coffee--writes @kinkyduuh @ickle-ronniekins @the-mighty-bookworm @chaoticgirl04 @malfoyspogue @dracofeltonmalfoy @dracosmainhoe

Never enough taglist: @evilluciferisevil @slyther-inn @bloodyxheaven @gcdric @mycobrakai1972 @loony-loopy-lupinn @mads-bri @tessaem @hannah220506 @hariosborn @kpopgirlbtssvt @xapham @90smessy @swearingsolemnly @hidejeon @whoreforfredweasley

Lmk if you want to be added to either taglist :)

443 notes · View notes

whatifxwereyou · 3 years

Text

The Oncoming Storm Part 3: Earthrealm

Fandom: Mortal Kombat 2021

Liu Kang x Reader or Kung Lao x Reader

Summary: You meet the mythical Lord Raiden. He reminds you of your dad, but nicer, oddly enough. Liu Kang might also be your new best friend.

A/N: Thanks again everyone! This has been such fun. I meant to say earlier that this takes place a couple years prior to the film (also that I know a bit about MK as a game series, so I will include tidbits here and there if I can). ALSO! I am open to any suggestions that you may wish to see throughout this story- either for Liu Kang or Kung Lao. I can't guarantee I will use them but I will consider them. I am delighting in writing this!! EDIT:: lol why did no one tell me there were so many errors in this one. All fixed!

The Beginning << Previous Chapter Next Chapter >> Chapter Index

The days that followed were a struggle. Monks would visit and care for your wounds at all hours of the day. You were in and out of consciousness. When you did manage to stay awake, you would meditate and do simple exercises to keep your body strong. That was a struggle in itself. Wounds needed rest to heal but you refused to become weak to them in the meantime. You were ready to fight.

Without fail Liu Kang would visit every evening. He brought books for you to read together. On his second visit he gifted you with a crudely bound leather journal and a pen to take notes with. You were inquisitive and Liu Kang was a wealth of knowledge. On nights where you finished a book or a lesson early, you would meditate together. Other nights you would chat and often times those chats would end in swapping personal stories. You had become fast friends.

You kept a calendar in the back of the journal. Liu Kang helped account for the time that you’d lost to unconsciousness. A week had passed since you’d woken up in Raiden’s Temple. You circled the x over the day and wondered where Kung Lao was. You’d asked around about him but had been told that many of the Earthrealm warriors were often absent. Apparently, he was frequently gone for long stretches of time. Many of the monks left on lengthy errands. Mortal Kombat and the protection of Earthrealm extended far beyond China. You wondered how much of the world Kung Lao had seen. You’d barely ever left your hometown for anything other than martial arts tournaments.

“Miss Y/N?” A monk pulled aside the sheet that had been pinned around the doorway of the small closet-sized space that had become your semi-permanent dwelling. You offered the monk a tired smile and gestured to allow him to enter. The monk bowed politely. “Your presence has been requested by Lord Raiden.”

“Oh?” You had known that you would meet with the man who the temple belonged to eventually. Liu Kang had told you that you would be summoned only after you’d been deemed well enough. You hadn’t passed out in exhaustion for the last 48 hours so you supposed this was as good a time as any. “Give me a moment to change, if you will.”

“Yes, of course Miss Y/N.” The monk bowed and left you with some privacy. You’d grown accustomed to the dressing gowns. They were comfortable and since you didn’t move around much, they worked. You’d been given several lightweight gi for future training and several hanfu, traditional Chinese garments, to wear if you desired. You wished, more than anything, that you’d gotten to pack some of your things before everything had gone to hell. No t-shirts or tank tops. No jeans or leggings. Not even any cute summer dresses. But you were grateful to have anything.

You changed into the soft blue and white hanfu that had become your favorite. It was simpler in design than the others but still long and flowing. You didn’t need anything terribly fancy to have a conversation with someone. You were sure that if Lord Raiden expected you to dress up then you would have been warned. Considering that Liu Kang rotated through the same three tattered gi and was almost always covered in soot, you doubted there was a strict dress code.

After you changed, you pulled your hair up lazily with a set of chopsticks. Then you returned to the monk who was waiting for you in the hall. The monk bowed again and then led you through the halls of the temple. The floor you’d been on had very few windows and only in the hallways. You followed the monk up several ramps and flights of stairs. Endless halls branched in every direction making the whole place seem labyrinthian. You were certain that you could spend weeks exploring the halls and still manage to miss things.

If the monk hadn’t been leading you then you wouldn’t have been able to resist your curiosity. After a good thirty minutes spent walking, you were led into a dark hallway with a rounded ceiling. It disappeared into the distance lit only by odd white statues that stood in a line along its center. The monk bowed and gestured down the hall.

“Good luck, Miss Y/N.” The monk then left you alone. You approached the glass statues in the center of the hall and found their insides sparking with electricity. They were funny in that they reminded you of a sophisticated and silent Tesla coil that fired constantly. Below the frosted glass you could see currents of electricity flowing almost as you imagined lightning would through the clouds. Your fingers brushed curiously over the glass.

“Miss Y/N?” A commanding and deep voice called from the end of the hall. You felt like a child who had disobeyed your teacher and winced. You hurried down the hall as quickly as your legs would allow then bowed before entering the room at its end.

“I’m sorry. I haven’t seen much outside of the infirmary. I was fascinated.”

The man who stood before you was of average build and height, his face mostly obscured by his hat. You grinned in surprise and recognition but then quickly fought to hide your glee. Raiden’s expression was severe, reminding you very much of your father and the way he’d glare at you when you’d said something un-lady-like as a child.

“There is much to discuss.” He gestured for you to take a seat on the floor in front of where he was seated with his legs crossed so you did. Much to your surprise, he was floating several inches off the ground and while you tried to hide your shock, you were sure your eyes had gone wide. “I am Lord Raiden; the protector of Earthrealm.”

“It’s an honor to meet you. Liu Kang has told me a little about you.”

“I am not surprised.” Raiden had a commanding voice as well as presence so you listened attentively. He explained the nature of other realms though he didn’t go terribly in depth with their origins or existence. Outworld was their greatest opposition with the desire to control earth and humanity. They were brutal warmongers from how Raiden described them. He then explained the tournaments and how if Outworld won a tenth tournament they could lay claim to Earthrealm.

Shang Tsung, a powerful sorcerer, would lead his armies there and take humanity as slaves. You didn’t ask but you wondered if Shang Tsung was the ruler of Outworld. You figured that if it were important then Raiden would tell you. He went on to tell you that Outworld had done this before with other realms and they had been devastated into waste.

Raiden spoke in a way that made it seem as though he had lived through countless lifetimes. While his tone often sounded severe, he also spoke with great purpose. “Our next tournament will not be for a few more years. You are one of Earthrealm’s chosen warriors.” Raiden’s lecture was winding down. “Do you have any questions?” You had known much of what Raiden had taught you that day but still sat patiently through it.

“I think I understand. If I have any questions later then I can ask Liu Kang. It’s difficult for me to wrap my mind around this craziness, for lack of a better word. He’s been very patient with me. The idea of arcana and how I’m meant to fight warriors from another world is still wild to me but I understand the concept. I think with time and practice I will be better off.” You stifled a giggle and then cleared your throat to stop any further giggles from escaping.

“Is there something you find funny?”

Guilt again. The kind you’d felt exclusively around your parents.

“You’re the man with the funny hat.” Your cheeks burned when he seemed affronted by your description of him. “I don’t mean to come off as rude! Forgive me. My shop is on the edge of town and there are many travelers passing through. I remember you from one of those visits. You chose your words carefully and spoke very little. You required precious stones and, as I often do, I made polite small talk. I asked what you needed them for and you said in the protection of Earthrealm which you quickly corrected to the protection of nature. You opened my eyes long ago to the secrets of the world though I was doubtful there was any truth to it until now.”

Raiden’s expression shifted and he seemed pleased but he was also difficult to read. You hoped he was pleased. Despite his severe and intimidating presence, he seemed well meaning.

“I don’t recall this instance but am happy to learn that there are those who learn the truth without panic or dismissal.”

“So, I have to fight then.”

“More than fight. You must find your arcana so that you may stand a chance against the warriors of Outworld. They are ruthless and possess skills that may seem impossible to you. Without your arcana you will not stand a chance.”

“How do I do that? Find my arcana, I mean.”

“Through trial and adversity. Everyone is different. Your arcana is unique to you.” Raiden stood and so you did the same. “Your training will begin tomorrow.”

You weren’t sure you were ready for that but you bowed respectfully. That was tomorrow’s problem. “Thank you. I promise to work my hardest.”

Raiden said nothing but didn’t look as though he quite believed you capable. You had long ago stopped seeking the approval of others. Actions spoke louder than words and you would do as you promised. Raiden turned from you without another word. You waited for an awkward moment to be dismissed then turned and left. You chose not to linger in the hall with the pretty lightning sculptures that had distracted you earlier.

The path back to the infirmary wasn’t easily found and you wandered aimlessly for a time before asking a monk to help you back to the infirmary. You were exhausted. Upon arrival you closed the curtain to your tiny room and sat on the edge of your bed. Your arms were aching. You were sore and tired. Gravity didn’t agree with your healing wounds. Training was going to be a bitch but you would be better for it.

Retrieving the journal Liu Kang had given you, you made yourself cozy after rekindling the flame of your lantern. You went over the notes from the day before and smiled. Your handwriting was often sandwiched between his. You’d had a difficult time holding a pen for the first few days and your handwriting was atrocious. There had been times where you’d been too dazed with exhaustion so Liu would take over and explain what he was writing down. He was incredibly considerate.

You drifted to sleep leaning against the wall behind your narrow bed, book in your arms. In your very brief dreams you’d been seated with a young Kung Lao in the field outside of your grandparents’ farm. The more you remembered of him the more you could see the man he’d grown up to be.

A knock against stone startled you awake and you jumped upright. Standing in your doorway, peering through the curtain was Liu Kang. He seemed surprised.

“Did I wake you?” He stepped inside and closed the curtain behind him for privacy. How long had you slept? Crap.

“What time is it? Did I sleep through training?”

“No.” He laughed and it was a welcome and comforting sound. “It’s quite late but I was busy today and had no time until now. I wished to see you before bed.” He spoke of you with such fondness that if you hadn’t been half asleep then you probably would have blushed. You adjusted yourself and made room for him to sit next to you on the bed as you often had while reading. He joined you gratefully. You watched as he brushed his thumb over the prayer beads that often went from wrapped around his wrist to his palm and back again. “Tomorrow is going to be difficult, Y/N.”

You guessed that he would be the one training you. He was one of the only warriors with the marking that stayed in Raiden’s Temple besides Kung Lao that you knew of.

“Promise not to pull any punches, okay?”

“I knew you would say that.” He nudged your shoulder with his.

“I mean it, Liu. It’s been over two weeks since this happened. I’m ready to fight. If I’m going to survive all of this… otherworldly supernatural nonsense then I have no choice. Besides that… I want to do this. I want to fight.”

“I need you to promise to be safe.”

“That’s very sweet, Liu, but I’m a fighter. I’ve been fighting for years. I’m ready to help and more importantly, I’m ready to feel strong again. This thing with the poison and my arms? It’s taken a toll on me. I need to be okay.”

“I understand, I think.” He slipped the beads back around his wrist and caught a glimpse of the journal that you’d fallen asleep holding. Then he looked back toward the door. He was nervous. You could feel it.

“Are you okay, Liu?”

“I’m fine.” He picked up the journal and tapped the pages. “Would you like to study?”

“Can’t sleep, can you?”

“Oh, right. It’s late. I apologize. I woke you. I should let you rest.” He stood, bowed, and then turned to leave. Without thinking, you grabbed his hand. If your arms hadn’t been aching, you would have pulled him back to you. Liu Kang was very aware of the strain that it would put on you to pull so he stopped dead in his tracks. He was always aware of what was going on around him and your aching arms appreciated that more than ever.

“You can stay. We can keep reading. I’d like that.” You insisted. Liu Kang smiled and so you let go of his hand, realizing that you’d been holding it for perhaps too long. He grabbed a hefty book that had been resting beneath your side table. You’d made your way a quarter through it over the past few days. Then you sat together, leaning against the wall. He read to you and his soothing voice nearly lulled you back to sleep. It provided you with a sense of security you hadn’t felt in a long time. Studying with him, even in your worst moments of pain, had become a fond memory.

The words were familiar and so you snapped one eye open. “We already read this.” You waited for a pause in his natural cadence.

“No, we did not.”

“We did, look.” You pointed to your journal and the scribbles in it from the night before. Your handwriting really was terrible. You could make out bits and pieces of it. Liu had the patience of a saint for trying to decipher it. He squinted at the letters.

“I can’t read that. No one can read that, Y/N.” He tapped the page you had pointed to. “That could say almost anything. Are you bored with the history of the Wu Shi Academy?”

“No! We were just further along than this, that’s all. Look, just…” You shoved the journal in front of the book and he laughed. His laugh was sweet and filled with warmth. “I think that this is highlighting this passage here about the foundations and the energy wells beneath it…”

“You can’t possibly read that. We have established that it’s gibberish.”

“I wrote it! I can sort of make out little bits…”

“We have to work on your penmanship, Y/N.”

“I got all sliced up where the tendons and stuff are. They’re still healing!” You whined and then pouted. Liu took the journal and set it on the bed just beyond your feet. You reached past him and turned the pages of the book, searching for the next chapter. “At least get to the part with the arena. You promised that we would learn about that next. You went on and on about it.”

“I did no such thing. You can admit that you’re bored.” Liu teased. You flipped the pages again without his permission so he tried to tug the book away and you jolted to the side with him, hair falling into your face, chopsticks now useless. Much to your surprise, as you righted yourself, Liu helped you and pushed your messy hair away and tucked some of it behind your ear. Your laughter subsided and you avoided his eyes as his admired you. You swore your heart skipped a beat. “Your hair.” He brushed a few strands between his thumb and forefinger.

“Oh?” You dared to look into his dark eyes that were rivers of thought and emotion. You had no aspirations of unraveling them. You liked their mystery.

“The color.”

“Oh, yeah… I uh… I haven’t been able to keep up with dye here and it’s naturally white.” You pointed to the roots that had begun to show.

“White? That’s peculiar.”

“Wow, thanks. Yeah, I know it’s weird.”

“I didn’t mean any offense. It looks nice.” He seemed to realize that his hand was very much still in your hair. His tongue ran nervously over his lower lip while he was lost briefly in thought before he pulled his hand back. “We’ll read about the arena but only because you have chosen to entertain me at a late hour instead of turning me away.”

“And because you realized I was right.” You joked but your stomach was very much in knots. This was no time to be feeling butterflies in your stomach but there they were. Liu Kang made you feel butterflies. Literal butterflies. You hadn’t understood that idiom until now.

“There will be a test, Y/N.” He joked and smoothed out the pages of the book. You retrieved the journal and pen but had given up on writing notes for the night. Your arms were still aching and you were drained. Liu delighted in sharing a map of the ancient arena and reciting battles that he’d won and lost there. His voice was a soothing and familiar drone and before you realized it, you were falling asleep, head falling against his shoulder.

Instead of leaving you there to sleep, Liu Kang continued to read. Sometime later you woke up and the flame in the lantern had gone dim. Liu was still seated next to you, his head now rested atop yours. From his soft, slow breaths, you guessed that he had fallen asleep too. The book was rested neatly on top of your journal as if he had made the decision to put it aside and stay. You should wake him and send him back to his room. He would be more comfortable there. Selfishly, you wanted him to stay. He’d chosen to stay so you decided to let him have his choice.

For the first time since you’d woken up in Raiden’s Temple, you went to sleep feeling secure and comfortable.

Next Chapter >>

122 notes · View notes