#jeankasa au weekend

[artofeclipse]

Date night 💖

Jeankasa AU Weekend 2018

[pickalilywrites]

♡

Real Beauty 

Jeankasa. Celebrity AU. 

6412 words. 

He’s always unsure whether if it’s good or bad news when he’s told to come into Mr. Smith’s office. While Jean’s sure his work is decent enough to prevent him from getting let go (or, you know, fired) from the company, there’s always something about the CEO’s office that makes him uncertain. The last time he had been called up it had been about his debut as the head photographer for Sina, the biggest beauty and lifestyle magazine in the entertainment business. He had received a pat on the back for his work and a rare smile from the enigmatic Mr. Smith, but that had been months ago and Jean’s not sure if his boss holds him in such high regard now.

“Sir? It’s Jean Kirstein from photography,” Jean says, knocking on the door with a quick rap of his knuckles.

The room is beautiful in an untouchably perfect way. Jean’s afraid of even breathing in here, but Mr. Smith tells him to come in and sit down across his desk.

Mr. Smith flips through an old edition of Sina, an unfathomable expression on his face. As Jean watches him, he thinks that it’s a shame that his boss had never become a model or some other sort of Hollywood star at some point in his life. He has the air of an old Hollywood god, someone who knew everyone and everything that went on in the entertainment business, and perhaps it’s because he does. Mr. Smith has an impeccable eye for what people want to see even before it’s a faint idea in their mind, and Jean admires him for it. At the same time, it scares the absolute shit out of him and he’s not sure how much longer he can sit in the same room as his boss before he cracks under the stress of not knowing.

“You said you wanted to see me, sir,” Jean says, resisting the urge to tug nervously at his sleeves.

Mr. Smith finally looks up as if he’s remembered that Jean is also in the room. He doesn’t look pleased, but he doesn’t look unhappy either. Instead, he closes the magazine he was reading and slides it across his desk so that Jean can see it.

“Do you know what that is?” he asks Jean.

Swallowing nervously, Jean leans over to look at the cover. A beautiful blonde starlet stares back at him, an infectious smile on her face as she gazes at the reader. He remembers seeing pictures of the same girl, her eyes dead and her face in a permanent frown. It was only after she had rejected her stage name Christa, the one she had since she was a child, and reinvented herself into her true self that she was able to smile like this. Everyone had believed she was going to flop after making her debut as a singer, tossing away her acting career as if it was nothing, but even Jean noticed that her smiles were more authentic in her paparazzi photos and her actions more genuine instead of planned and fabricated like they were when she was just an actress. He had been surprised when Mr. Smith called him in to take pictures for this girl in Sina’s next edition. He was even more surprised when he meets the girl as she extends her hand and introduces herself as Historia. Her smile was even more brilliant in person and it was during that first meeting that Jean knew she was going to be an even bigger star than she already was, and he was right.

Her first album sold one million physical copies within its first week, a feat that’s unheard of in this day and age. She’s currently going on her stadium tour and, the last time Jean checked, nearly all of the venues had sold out. Historia had sent him flowers just the other week to thank him for working with her on the Sina shoot, writing on the note that she couldn’t have gotten this sort of recognition without him. Jean’s never thought that his photos could ever make such an impact and he’s half sure that most of Historia’s success comes from her own hard work and talent, but he’s happy to be remembered by someone like her.

Clearing his throat, Jean replies, “Of course. Historia Reiss. My first piece as the head photographer. How could I forget? She was wonderful to work with.”

“Hm.” He’s never sure with Mr. Smith’s answers. Sometimes he’d rather have a negative response instead of all the ambiguously neutral reactions he’s received. “Many people were impressed with it, myself included. But one person in particular called and said they were interested in working with you after seeing Historia’s photos. An Ackerman. Mikasa Ackerman, to be precise. You know her, of course?”

Is there anyone who hasn’t heard the name “Ackerman” sometime in their life? The Ackerman family is a family of every type of celebrity anyone could ever imagine – models, singers, songwriters, actors, you name it. They were a big name when Jean was a child and they still are now. He’s sure stars were invented when the Ackerman family came into existence, but they’ve dimmed since their ascension. After multiple scandals – stories about cheating, lies, drugs, all the bad things that came with being a celebrity – began to plague them and the family began to fade out, disappearing from the public and only reminisced by older stars and fans like they were legends instead of people who were still living and breathing today.

One of the Ackermans is a girl named Mikasa, a rising starlet that was a model-turned-actress. Jean remembered many people admiring her beauty and quiet nature before they all turned on her unexpectedly for becoming involved with another star: Eren Jaeger, lead singer of band Wings of Freedom. Jean can’t recall if they were ever really involved or not, but he remembers the backlash she received from fans on social media. All her accounts were bombarded with messages harassing her to leave the musician alone, that she was no good for him, that she was a dirty slut for even thinking she could get near him.

That wasn’t even the worst of it though. It seemed to get worse every day. Despite being critically acclaimed in the few roles she had in movies, people would find a reason to despise her.

There were fake nudes leaked of her, accusations of incest with her cousin who happened to be another popular celebrity, and even death threats targeted at her and her family. The media was no better either, poking and prodding her for details about every scandalous affair she was accused of despite her obvious discomfort about talking about such topics. The paparazzi and news media outlets, hungry for anything that had to do with her, would chase her down, invading her privacy just to take a photo of her no matter how crappy it turned out. It was no wonder that she began to disappear from the media along with the rest of her family. There were jokes about her falling off the face of the earth, and sometimes Jean believed she might never have existed at all. But it seems she is still here.

“I know of her,” Jean says instead. He might know many things about her, but he can never say he knows her. He’s sure many of the rumors that swirl about her are fake anyhow.

Mr. Smith sits back in his chair, his fingers steepled. “She says she’s considering coming back into the spotlight after her long hiatus. She read Miss Reiss’ article in our magazine when it came out and said she enjoyed your work,” he tells Jean. “She thinks you’re talented, that you can capture a person’s true essence with your camera. Your work, she said, is ‘beautiful.’”

Beautiful. Jean mouths the word, not quite believing that Mikasa Ackerman had used it to describe his photos. He clears his throat. “And this is her first magazine interview since her hiatus?”

“Correct,” Mr. Smith says. There’s a rare smile on his face again. “It would be foolish of us not to work with her, especially since she’s the one who came to us. Wouldn’t you think so, Mr. Kirstein?”

“Absolutely, I’d love to work with her!” Jean says immediately. One would be a fool to disagree with Mr. Smith. There’s a reason why he’s been in this business for so long. “I won’t disappoint you, sir.”

“I’m sure you won’t,” Mr. Smith says, but he goes back to the paperwork on his desk, not even bothering to send Jean out on his way.

Jean mumbles a clumsy goodbye that he’s sure his boss doesn’t hear, scurrying out of the office as quickly as possible. It’s silly, but he breathes more easily once he’s out of that room.

Once he gets back into his own office, he scrolls through the internet for pictures of Mikasa Ackerman. As he remembers, she’s beautiful. It’s a shame that the world demanded that she hide herself away.

He’s a bundle of nerves the day of the shoot. He doesn’t know what to expect. In interviews and talk shows, Mikasa had always been very reserved, a perfect lady, but there are stars that act differently behind the scenes. He’s tried contacting other beauticians and photographers that worked with her in the past, but they don’t really say much about her besides the fact that she’s stunningly beautiful as if he can’t already see that for himself. It also doesn’t help that she’s flown under the radar for the past couple of years. Perhaps he shouldn’t be surprised though. She had wanted to disappear, and she had done a successful job of it.

He stumbles into the room, disgruntled because he didn’t get the chance to talk to the hairdresser or makeup artist that worked on Miss Ackerman. They had merely rushed into his room, told him that Mikasa was ready for him, and disappeared. He had tried calling their name, running after them, but they had told him that she wasn’t anything special and that he would probably need luck to get anything out of her because she sure as hell isn’t sociable.

So he pastes on his professional smile and gets ready to be as civil as he can be. He prepares himself for stilted conversations with a brick wall, but once he sets eyes on her, he forgets everything.

Mikasa Ackerman, one of the mysterious Hollywood legends that disappeared out of the blue, is suddenly there in his studio and she looks magnificent in this brilliant red dress with its billowing layers of skirts and sparkles that Jean would think too extravagant on anyone else, but it looks perfect on her. When she hears his footsteps coming towards him, she looks at him with a cautious expression, a little lost and a little confused as if she doesn’t know how she arrived in such a place, but she gets up, holding onto her skirts, and walks to him. No, she doesn’t walk. It’s like she’s floating all the way towards him, gliding across the floor to him, and she extends a hand out to him. Her hand is so white and pretty that he thinks it must be made of porcelain, but her grip tells him that she’s made of something much stronger.

“You’re Jean Kirstein?” she asks, looking up at him through her thick black lashes. Her gray eyes aren’t cold; they’re cool, careful, cautious, and it makes him wonder why she had come in the first place. “Your piece with Historia…it was very beautiful. I spoke with her after I saw that issue and she told me that you have a natural eye for beautiful things.”

It doesn’t seem quite real, him talking to her like this. He’s surprised that her voice is so soft, delicate, and can’t believe that she’s said his name with those lips. When he had begun working at Sina, he had understood that there’d be a chance he’d speak with big celebrities, but Mikasa Ackerman isn’t like any of the actresses or Hollywood stars he’s met. She’s ethereal, some type of heavenly entity than one from this world.

He manages to stammer, “Thank you, Miss Ackerman. It’s an honor to work with you.”

She flashes him a wary smile, one he recognizes. It’s so different from the one she wore early in her career – beautiful, vibrant, genuine. This one is brief, forced, and polite. It’s the smile he’s seen in all the photos she’s been in before she completely disappeared, and he wonders if she even remembers the last time she smiled, really smiled.

Realizing that he’s been shaking her hand for a while, Jean clears his throat and guides her to the set where the lights are blinding. He hovers around her nervously, not quite sure how to speak with her. “This is where we’ll be working today. I’ll be taking a couple of shots – it’ll probably last until late this afternoon depending on whether or not you like the photos – but I understand you want this done in a day –“

“Will I have to look at the camera?” she asks him suddenly. Her eyes are cast downward, avoiding the bright light. Gone is the smile and it has been replaced with a frown. It worries him for a second before he sees that it is not one of displeasure, but one filled with worry. He’s sure that she’s done many shoots like this in the past, but perhaps she’s forgotten what they were like or she had never gotten used to them because she’s chewing so nervously on her lip that he’s afraid she’ll ruin her lipstick. “I know it’s strange but…would it be alright if I didn’t look at the camera?”

He’s about to open his mouth, confused and wanting to ask her why she would agree to a photo shoot even though she was unwilling to look at the camera, but he realizes the question is insensitive.

She’s been surrounded by cameras her entire life. Before she had even stepped foot on the red carpet, made her debut as a star, before she could even walk, she had been followed and harassed by the media and paparazzi. She’s been stared at and hunted down like a rare animal. She’s probably had enough of cameras and the spotlight to last the rest of her life. She might be returning to that life, but he can see that she’s reluctant to do so, so he might as well make it as easy as possible for her.

“No, not at all,” he finally says. He looks at her again, already thinking about how he wants to position her for this particular shot, and stumbles backward towards his camera, nearly stumbling over a wire lying on the ground because he isn’t looking. He sees that Mikasa Ackerman is looking at him, startled, but he waves his hand to tell her that he’s fine. “It’s alright. I do that all the time. Just sit down on that white box over there and we’ll get started.”

“Okay,” she says hesitantly, but she does what she’s told. The way she sits on the white box is stiff, more like she’s a robot than an actual human being. He remembers this too from the last photoshoots she’s done – her blank stare at the camera, her empty smile, her mechanical poses. She wears that same fake smile that she had when she first greeted him, and he wonders if he’ll even be able to get one photo of her smiling genuinely.

He remembers not to frown. If this is difficult for her, he doesn’t want to agitate her any further by pointing out things she’s doing wrong. It’s not as if she’s doing this on purpose, he’s sure. So he looks up from the lens and tells her, “If you don’t want to smile, don’t. You don’t even have to face the camera if you don’t want to.”

“Won’t that be strange?” she asks, but she turns away from the camera, looking to the right where the interns are flitting about to grab donuts and coffee and other things that the beauticians and makeup artists on standby are demanding.

“Not at all,” he replies, returning to look at her through the lens.

She doesn’t look as mechanical as she did when she had first sat down. It was probably the fault of the camera all along. He doesn’t blame her. His looks particularly intimidating, all black with his large lens and loud shutter noise. Looking away seems to ease her nerves somewhat though, and he hopes that he’ll be able to capture her more natural expressions before the shoot ends.

“What’d you do during your time off, Miss Ackerman?” he asks, still looking through the lens. He’s probably not the best conversationalist around – and he gets the feeling that Mikasa doesn’t talk very much either – but he doesn’t know how else to get her to become more comfortable. “Did you travel anywhere? Perhaps take up a hobby like scuba diving or hiking?”

She doesn’t answer for a while, perhaps surprised that he’s trying to strike up a conversation with her. At first, he’s afraid that she’ll just ignore him, not wanting to talk to him at all, but she finally replies, “I went to Europe with my cousin for a bit. It was very beautiful although the weather was dreary. I traveled to Japan as well to visit family members and stayed there for quite a while. The atmosphere there can be quite peaceful, and it made me feel at home.”

Talking seems to be working, so Jean decides to forget about his shoot, wanting to talk to her enough so that she feels comfortable taking pictures. Maybe he won’t get her to look at the camera, but perhaps he’ll get shots where she’s more relaxed and willing. Leaning against the camera, something he’s not supposed to do because the equipment is expensive but something he does anyway because the tripod it balances on is rather sturdy, Jean asks, “Japan, huh? I’ve never been there before, but I hear it’s beautiful in the spring. Do your folks live in the countryside?”

“They live in the Kyoto Prefecture,” Mikasa answers. She looks as if she’s remembering something pleasant. It’s not quite a smile on her face, but it’s a hint of one. “It’s magnificent in the spring when the cherry blossoms bloom. You should go visit if you ever have the time. If not Kyoto, then perhaps some other place in Japan. Tokyo or Osaka, maybe.”

“Maybe,” laughs Jean. Ah, if his work schedule ever allowed for it, although he could look into working for one of Sina’s other divisions if he really wanted a change of setting. “Would I like the food there?”

She sits still as a statue, and he thinks now would be a good time to snap a photo, but he doesn’t want her to stop talking. She’s lifted one of her eyebrows up. “Are you a picky eater?”

“A bit,” he admits, a sheepish grin on his face. “Is that bad?”

She shrugs. “There’s quite a bit of seafood, but there’s a lot of other things too. I’m sure you’ll be fine if you ever decide to go. I think you’d like it there since you like beautiful things.”

There’s the smile that he’s been looking for – an incomplete smile but the closest he’s gotten so far to her real smile. It’s similar to her old one – the bright and smiling one that she had when she had first started out before the world began to turn on her. Did she manage to find it after all this time?

He wants to run to his camera right now and snap the photo quickly before it disappears, but he finds that his finger hovers just above the button. It stays there for a while, but he finds he cannot bring himself to take the picture.

Lifting his head once more from the lens, he asks, “Would it be alright if I took the picture now? You can just stay as you are – you don’t even have to move – and I could just take it if, er, that would be fine with you.”

Mikasa stays there, unmoving, before finally saying, “Please take the photo then.”

He’s afraid that her smile would have faltered by the time the shutter clicks, but he reviews the photo and it’s still there. He can’t quite believe it – how perfectly her hair falls into place, how hesitant but beautiful her smile is, or how elegant she looks as she gazes off into space – and he looks up at her, opening his mouth to ask her another question, this time about how settling back in Shiganshina was for her.

That’s what they do for the majority of the shoot – he asks her questions and she answers, letting her guard down slowly and becoming more natural, and he asks every time before he takes a photo. It takes a much longer time than normal. Most of the interns and those standing around leave despite their earlier excitement at seeing one of the elusive Ackermans. Jean doesn’t mind taking a long time if that’s what it takes. Besides, talking to her is actually quite pleasant. She’s kinder than he thought she would be and very interesting, telling him about all the places she’s traveled and the things she’s seen during her time off. Before he knows it, he has dozens of photos of her to pick and choose from.

Jean looks them over while Mikasa is in the changing room, flipping through them one by one. She doesn’t look at the camera in any of them, but she’s beautiful all the same. He’s seen shoots with celebrities in extravagant dresses or suits, smiling with their pasted-on smiles and empty beauty. Mikasa isn’t like that in any of these photos.

A picture is worth a thousand words, yes, but there aren’t enough words in the world to describe her ineffable beauty. To capture her in a frame, to freeze her, should be a crime because it does not allow the viewer to see the elegance with which she holds up her head or the angelic atmosphere about her. True, it’s easy to see her wide cheekbones, her sculpted brows, and the effortless way that her hair falls to shape her face, but it’s still not enough if the viewer cannot witness her careful, cautious gaze as her eyes look across the room or even the grace she has in even the smallest of movements. It makes him want to delete all these photos at once because, while they’re stunning, they’re not enough.

“Are you alright?” a voice asks, and he looks up to see Mikasa looking down at him. She’s finally out of the fancy designer dresses she was made to wear for the shoot, clad in a simple dress with a black top and colorful patterned skirt instead. It’s much simpler and more casual than anything he thought she’d wear, but it’s a good look for her. It’s a nice change from the overly formal things he’s seen her wear on the red carpet. “Are we going to pick the photos now?”

“It’s fine. It’s better if we take a break from all this. We’ve been taking these photos for hours after all,” he says. Jean stands up, turning the camera off quickly so that she can’t look at it. In truth, he doesn’t want her to look at them. He doesn’t want her to be disappointed that the photos aren’t perfect; they’re as perfect as he can make them, but it’s still not good enough to satisfy him and he’s afraid she’ll feel the same way. It’s not a lie that he thinks they should take a break though. While he knows Mikasa’s a professional, she’s been away from doing photo shoots and other things typical of her career, so he’s sure she’s tired after all this. “Want to go out to the balcony? The city looks pretty amazing around this time.”

There’s that smile again. Each time she smiles, it looks a little more brilliant than the last. He’d snap a picture right now if he hadn’t already turned off his camera.

“I’d love to see it,” she says.

He leads her to the balcony that overlooks the city. While he sometimes tires of living in the bustling city and its cramped quarters, working in a towering skyscraper is one of the perks of living in a big city. He sometimes takes a breather here after particularly bad shoots with moody starlets who believe they’ve already made it big or grumpy actors who aren’t quite happy with how their photos came out. It’s high enough up to make everyone in the city look like ants as they drive away in their toy vehicles through the crowded streets. Mikasa seems to like the view too because she has such a serene smile on her face.

And it’s that one, Jean realizes as he stares at her wide-eyed. It’s that smile that he’s been chasing all day, the smile he hasn’t managed to see until now. Fumbling for his phone, he curses as he almost drops it, but he taps in his password before looking at her desperately, breathlessly.

“Can I take a photo of you right now?” he asks. He’s already tapped on the camera app, opening it up, but he forces himself to point the phone downwards until she gives her consent. “It’s not for the shoot, but you just look so perfect right now. If you don’t want to, you don’t have to say yes, but I just want you to see it. You don’t even have to look at the camera either. You can just look somewhere else if you want.”

“Yes.”

He’s babbling so hard that he almost doesn’t hear her. Pausing for a second, sure that he’s just imagining it in his crazed desperation, he asks, “What did you say?”

She purses her lips a little bit, amused, but the smile returns to her face. “I said yes,” she says again. The wind is blowing her hair every which way, so she tucks a lock of it behind her ear so that it doesn’t fly into her face. “I’d like to see it afterward.”

Blinking because he still can’t quite believe his ears, Jean shakes his head to snap out of it and raises his phone, not wanting to lose this moment. It only takes a second to snap the photo, and he shows it to her immediately afterward. He lets her hold his phone in her hands, looking at her carefully as she inspects the picture.

Looking at it over her shoulder, he knows that this picture is a lot messier than the ones he had shot in the studio. Her hair is in disarray and her clothes are so much plainer than the ones she had worn for the shoot. Still, he thinks it’s the best shot they’ve taken today because none of those photos has this smile. It’s not the one he had seen in the earlier days of her career. This smile is not as wide or carefree, but it has another sort of happiness to it. A fearless happiness, a brave smile that dared to exist even though the rest of the world tried to take it away.

She’s silent for a moment as she observes the photo, touching her own face as if she can’t believe that she’s the same person in the photo. At first, he thinks she hates it because she doesn’t say a word, but Mikasa turns to him suddenly, thrusting the phone back into his hands and asking, “Would it be okay if you sent it to me?”

“Sent it to you?” Jean asks, startled. He clumsily taps away at the keys, opening up his e-mail so that he can compose a swift letter to her agent with the attached photo. He’s tapping on all the wrong keys though and he curses under his breath. “I’ll send it to your agent if that’s okay. If not, I can send it to your e-mail too-“

“No,” she interrupts him, putting a hand on his wrist. She looks at him, biting her lip again in that nervous way she has. “You can just send it to me. I’ll give you my phone number. I just…I didn’t know I could look like that.”

He never thought he’d ever head the photoshoot for an Ackerman. Getting the phone number of one just makes this seem like it’s all a dream, but he gives her his phone so she can tap in her phone number and hit “send” so she can see what she really looks like.

“Thank you,” she says, beaming at her phone once she receives the photo. There’s that same brilliant smile on her face. He can only hope that it doesn’t fade away when she finally makes her return.

They go back to the studio after that and pick out her photos. Out of the many dozens that he’s shot, she picks out ten, but he e-mails the rest of the photos to her agent in case she changes her mind. She isn’t smiling in any of them; the closest she comes to smiling is the ghost of a smile she had when talking about her trips to Japan and Europe. It’s certainly pretty, Jean thinks, but he thinks even those who pick up the next issue of Sina won’t fully appreciate her beauty. They didn’t before and there’s a part of him that worries that she’ll be taken for granted again, beaten down, and thrown away.

“Thank you again, Jean. It was lovely working with you,” Mikasa says, extending her hand before she leaves.

“Likewise. Take care, Miss Ackerman,” he says, and he takes her hand in hers.

When she grips his hand, shaking it firmly, he thinks that he shouldn’t worry at all. She’s stronger than anyone gives her credit for.

Jean doesn’t expect to be called to Mr. Smith’s office so soon after the photo shoot. The last time he had headed a photoshoot, he just sent in the photos to be touched up slightly, got them approved, and then received a copy of the magazine as soon as it was published. He had thought it would work the same way this time, but the call from Mr. Smith’s secretary said that his boss wanted to speak with him about something.

Like he did the last time he had come to Mr. Smith’s office, Jean rapped his knuckles on the door nervously and said, “Sir? Jean Kirstein from the photography department. You said you wanted to see me about something.”

“Come in.”

When Jean walks in, he sees Mr. Smith sitting at his desk. A manila folder sits on his desk, opened. The contents are in Mr. Smith’s hand – Mikasa Ackerman’s photos. His boss’ face is expressionless as it flips through the many photos, both the ones that were chosen and the ones that were rejected. After Jean had been seated for a while, Mr. Smith finally looked up, giving Jean his full attention.

“So, Jean,” Mr. Smith says, putting the photos down. Jean thinks he liked it better when Mr. Smith would only half pay attention to him. The intense stare of his cool blue eyes makes Jean want to fidget in his chair. “How did the shoot with Miss Ackerman go last week?”

“Er, it went well, I think,” Jean answers. He hates that he tacked on the “I think,” but talking to Mr. Smith always makes him feel so unsure about himself. “She was charming to work with and seemed pleased with how the photos came out.”

“Her agent called earlier this morning. They want to pull her out of this edition,” Mr. Smith says. He looks at Jean carefully.

“Excuse me?” Shocked isn’t even the right word for what Jean feels. It feels a little like betrayal, like she had come over and ripped his heart out even though he had known that her return to the spotlight was a tentative thing. Still, she had seemed so ready at the end of the day. She had helped him pick the photos, she had shaken his hand, she had told him that it was lovely working with him. Why then would she decide against being featured in the magazine after having done the photoshoot?

But Mr. Smith seems to already be done talking about it. He’s picking up the photos off his desk, stacking them up, and putting them back in the manila folder. “Her agent says that she’s given it more thought, and Miss Ackerman believes she isn’t ready just yet to return to the spotlight.”

“I see.” Jean numbly takes the folder that Mr. Smith hands him. It really was too good to be true – the photoshoot, those conversations between photos, that last picture on the balcony. In the end, all his work – his photos and his words – meant nothing.

Mr. Smith must have excused him at some point because Jean stands up to leave and is heading towards the door, his hand hovering on the doorknob, when his boss calls him one last time.

“Jean,” Mr. Smith says. When Jean turns around, Mr. Smith is looking right at him again with those piercing blue eyes. “You did great work. Those photos were incredible. The reason why she decided not to do this in the end had nothing to do with you, I’m sure. Don’t be so hard on yourself.”

Praise from his boss is rare, but it still doesn’t make him feel better. Still, Jean feigns a smile at Mr. Smith and mutters a quick “thank you” before disappearing to his office.

---

What had he done wrong? Was it letting her not look at the camera? Was it because he had been to personal in asking her questions? Or was it perhaps that last photo on the balcony? Jean doesn’t which it is, and he nearly drives himself mad thinking about all the possibilities that caused this to happen. He stares at the printed photos, scrutinizing them closely, but he doesn’t quite know what’s wrong with them.

It’s hurting his eyes to look at them for so long, so he drops them down on his desk and rubs his tired eyes.

After he thinks about it for a while, this was bound to happen. He’s far from experienced and the shoot with Historia Reiss was just a stroke of luck. To think he would find the same success with an Ackerman was pretentious of him. Of course, she would pretend to like them and then quickly change her mind as soon as she was far enough away. He would have done the same thing. If Mr. Smith ever allows him to stand behind a camera again, Jean would be lucky.

His phone rings and Jean picks it up without looking at the caller ID.

“Hello?”

“Hello, is this Jean Kirstein?” says the person on the other end. It’s a female voice, soft and delicate. It sounds so familiar, but Jean doesn’t dare to think about who it might be. It would be too good to be true.

“This is he,” he says cautiously.

“This is Mikasa Ackerman,” the speaker says.

“Mikasa?”

He can hear her smiling on the other end, can imagine it without having to look at her, and he wishes he had a camera with him right now so he could run over and capture it.

“That’s the first time you’ve called me by my first name,” she laughs. Jean realizes that he’s never heard her laugh before. It’s a short laugh, like a burst of happiness, but it’s beautiful like the rest of her.

“Yeah, I just…I’m really surprised that you called,” he says, laughing himself. He’s still confused and hurt, but hearing her voice makes him feel better. Perhaps he had overthought it. Maybe it really does have nothing to do with him.

“It’s fine,” she assures him. There’s a pause on her end and she finally says, “I’m sorry I changed my mind after everything. The pictures were amazing. I showed them to my agent and he said they were the best he’s seen in a while.”

Jean wants to ask her but wonders if he should. He has a right to know though. After all, he had been the ones to take the pictures in the first place. He’s not even upset about his photos not being featured on the front page. She had just seemed so happy that day and he wants to know what changed her mind. So he asks.

“I guess it’s because…it’s been a while since anyone has ever really seen me, the real me,” Mikasa says. He wonders if she’s chewing her lip in that way she does when she’s nervous. “And I really want people to see me in the same way that you do, but I’m not sure I want them to just yet. For now…I think I’m just satisfied if you can see me that way.”

The way she says that, so earnestly, makes him blush even though he’s sure she’s just being kind. But her explanation makes perfect sense to him. After being hurt by the world before, it’s not like she could return so easily. The fact that she had even thought to return at all is amazing to him.

“Well,” Jean says, no longer feeling upset. Rather, he feels hopeful that this isn’t the end – for her, for him, and for the two of them both working together. “The world better be ready when they see the real you.”

She laughs again and he closes his eyes, soaking in the sound of her happiness. “Yeah…I look forward to working with you again soon, Jean.”

“Likewise…Mikasa.” He sets down his phone once the call has ended and leans back in his chair.

The world isn’t going to be ready when they meet her again. That’s fine, Jean thinks as he opens up the photo of her he had taken on his phone. She smiles brilliantly back him, radiant as the sun. They’ll be blown away when they see Mikasa next, her in all her real beauty.

[aprilcolbert]

The bad boy is not that bad, and the goth is not that gloomy. First date

[davenpitts]

Belong

In which Jean's date to Sasha and Connie's wedding is simultaneously the hottest woman to ever grace God's green earth & so much more than just a pretty face.

READ ON AO3

[heavenlyshadowhunter]

Hi! First of all, thank you @jeankasa-events for hosting this awesome event! I really wanted to contribute something for the fairytale au. I can't draw humans but I tried my best. I hope at least it's recognisable. Jeankasa as Rapunzel and the prince. And yes, Mikasa lets down her red scarf, not her hair. That thing is more powerful than any Ackerman!

[jeankasa-events]

Once upon a time, in a far far away land...

Are you ready?

Jeankasa Fairy Tales Weekend

September, 15 & 16

[celticvampriss]

The Four Rules of Trost

(Not sure why I decided to write this, but it was partly inspired by a post I read recently on Fairies and names and also in part from a book I started and never finished.  It’s been so long since I’ve posted anything I basically forgot how this works. Anyway...

Jeankasa: Fairy AU (For the Fairytale Weekend)

He was an idiot, honestly, with a knack for trouble and a big mouth.  All his life the warnings were drilled into his head.  He could recite the Four Rules of Trost--a quaint village lost in a lush wilderness, you’ve never heard of it--in his sleep.  They were nursery rhymes and ghost stories.  The Four Rules were etched into wood and engraved into metal.  A little decoration in every home adorned with flowers and vines--A Happy Home Abides the Four Rules of Trost.

Rule One: never stray from the path.

Not that it mattered, there was no where to go.  The woods were too dense, the trees too giant, the wilderness too massive.  Sure, travelers had ventured off beyond the town’s borders, beyond the great lake for fishing or the ten miles or so used for hunting trails, but none returned.  (Why would they?  Jean had often wondered if they were asking themselves the right questions.  Were these travelers consumed by the nightmares of the Fairy Lands or did they just have the good sense not to come back?)

Either way, Jean never left the path.  Maybe a foot, as a dare, but that was a right of passage for kids in Trost.  See how far you can go before you got scared and Jean would not be called chicken by the Jeager boy, not a chance.  So he had set a single boot off the path.  The wind had nearly blown in him over, tearing his coat clear over his head to cover his eyes, and the sounds--such other-worldly shrieks that sent chills down his back.

Rule Two: Never, ever stray from the path at night, in fact, stay inside if at all possible

This rule was harder to follow, but the only one that had a bit of leniency.  A pressing chore or server sickness might mean you left your house at night, but you sure as shit stayed on the path.  Jean never tested this rule, expect for one single time when necessity sent him out of doors after the sun had set.  His mother had been so awfully sick and the doctor was three miles away.  Armed with a rake, a lantern as a shield, Jean had set out into the darkness to fetch him.

That was the first time he saw one, a Fae.  There were all sorts magical what-not in the woods--that was the reason for the Rules, better to be safe when a small human village finds itself in the midst of a Faery Wood--but the Fae were the worst.  Tricky, mischievous spirits with no sense of right or wrong.  Curse your entire family for five generations?  Sure, why not, it’s Tuesday.  Fix your horse’s lame leg?  Fine, just bring me the hair of your first born.  

Over time, Trost had learned it was best to avoid Fae entirely.  Which brings me to 

Rule Three: Do Not Talk To The Fae

Now, Jean was twelve, precocious, stubborn, and a bit of an idiot.  So when he saw her--just past his little bubble of lantern light, just off the path, engulfed in shadows, eyes gleaming in the beams of moonlight breaking the canopy--it took every ounce of willpower in his twelve year old body to turn his head forward and keep walking.

She followed, slowly, lazily.  Like he was a frog she spotted and decided to follow back to its pond.  He would glance without turning his head and there she was, watching, silent.  But he was twelve and, yeah, Fae were supposed to be “possessed of an ethereal beauty” but what the elders didn’t tell you was that they were hot.  

So try as he might, he was a hormonal boy, so he kept glancing.  More than he should if he were only afraid--which he was, to clarify, terrified.  

“You can look if you like, there is no harm in a look,” she said, voice like magic--he swore he could taste it--and then he tripped.

Jean scrambled to catch his lantern, praying under his breath that it remained lit, and trembling when she stepped into its light.

She had stood just off the path, radiant in the glow, hair black as the night and face set in a serious sort of scowl.  

“You’re afraid,” She said, almost like a question, then she looked away, “You’re all afraid.”

Jean had sat in the dirt, thankfully struck dumb and incapable of breaking Rule Three.  But it was looking that did all the harm.  Because she was clearly Fae, clearly powerful, clearly terrifying, but also...sad.  Her scowl, her eyes, they were...heavy.  Like she had known more horror than happiness.  

Then he did something truly stupid, he empathized.  He felt sorry for her, felt her loneliness, her sorrow, and was genuinely grieved for whatever she had endured to put that grief in her eyes.  

But the moment was fleeting, because she was gone before he could break Rule Three and with her leaving his wits returned.  His mother was sick and he had a mission, there was a reason he was out after nightfall.

And that was that.  He dreamed of the Fae girl for months, years.  He thought about her in passing moments, but time lessened the intensity of those thoughts.  

But then he turned eighteen and did the truly idiotic.  He broke the fourth Rule, which everyone knew to be the most severe.

Rule Four: Do Not GIVE A FAE YOUR NAME

Eighteen and angry.  Angry because a small village with no travelers or tourists left one a bit suffocated.  He felt caged, constricted, which was insane because he didn’t know that anything else existed.  All he knew was that the life he’d been dealt felt wrong and stifling.  Restlessness settled in his spirit.  A longing for something he couldn’t name or understand.  Which was the worst sort.  He couldn’t even properly dream of ‘other’ because to a small village cut off by a sea of magical monster trees the only ‘other’ was the very possibly deadly unknown.

And this frustration had burrowed into his heart for a few years.  While the kids his age were doing their village thing--becoming farmers or merchants or parents--he was left brooding and annoyed.  Which made him so very reckless and so very, very stupid.

Twigs and leaves snapped and crunched beneath his boots as Jean worked the little used hunting trails on the outer most limits of their village.  It was starting to get overgrown, but still definitely a path.  His toes caught on rocks and he accidentally startled a squirrel that kicked up a flurry of dead leaves as it scurried up a nearby tree.

In other words, he wouldn’t be catching anything that day.  Instead his bow was slung on his back, not even in hand, and he stomped his frustration into the dirt.  At least the outer trails offered some sense of thrill.  Their low traffic made it difficult to recognize their course and he would find himself searching from the log of a fallen tree cutting the path in two.  But he always found it, for it was always there in the dirt, and so the risk was not that great.  

Jean hopped from the fallen tree--a giant, that appeared to have been beaten by a round of unlucky lightening strikes--and as his feet landed, his eyes caught movement.

At first he reached for his bow, considering that he might have gotten lucky and a very unwise deer had ignored his noisy wandering and come too close, but then he realized that was not the case.  

She was there.  In the day light, autumn wind catching the ends of her black hair, and eyes staring through him.  

And he was too unhappy to fight the recklessness in his soul.  For first, he broke Rule Three.

“It’s you,” He said, hoping she would recognize him.

Her nod was a victory and he savored that elation as he reminded his feet to stay put.

“Are you feeling better?”  He asked, though he didn’t think she was, for she looked exactly the same.

But her eyes narrowed in curiosity and her head tilted, “What do you mean?  Better from what?”

He shrugged.  “I don’t know, I guess.”

“I had a feeling you’d talk to me,” she said, “But you realize it’s against the Rules.”

The Fae knew about the Rules?  Figures.  “Yeah, I know.  I think I’m beyond caring at this point.  Besides, I get the feeling you won’t hurt me.”

“I may.  I may not.  Hurt can mean so many things.”

“Fair, I guess.”  He scratched at his head, finally tearing his eyes from her face.  He looked at the path and suddenly all those warnings went off in his head.  This was a very stupid idea.  He shouldn’t have opened his mouth.  He started to turn away from her, to walk back toward the safety of Trost, “Look, I gotta get home.  I just...” He stopped, he turned back to her, just for a second, “I wanted to say I hope you find happiness.  I doubt I will, but you seem like the type who deserves a bit of good in their life.  I hope you get it.”  He gave her an awkward wave.  “Bye.”

But she was fast, insanely fast, and she was ahead of him.  Not on the path, obviously, but near it.

“Why would you say that?”

“What?  Did I offend you?”  He wrung his hands through his hair, “Oh shit.  I’ve offended a Fae.  Please don’t curse me.”

“Quiet,” She said, and his jaw snapped shut.  “I am not going to curse you.  I simply...I only wish to understand.”

“Understand what?”

“Why?  How?  You have seen me once, yet you speak like you have intimate knowledge of my past.  And...you are kind.”  She huffed, clearly frustrated.  “Humans hate and mistrust the Fae.  Why would you wish me well?”

Jean honestly didn’t know.  He said what felt right, he didn’t think about it.  “Look, I can’t give you any sort of insightful answer.  I don’t know you, I just know that when I look at you...I guess it’s like I can see your misery and I hate it.  Especially now, cause it looks a little like mine.”

“Like yours?”

“The loneliness.  I get that.  I may not really know trauma, my past has been pretty sheltered and uneventful, but my present is...shit.  Or I feel shitty, at least.  Like I don’t belong here.  Like I want more than what I have.  Which is wrong, I know, but it’s how I feel.  I don’t even know if there is anything beyond the woods.  No one does.  But I may be tempted...”  He bit his lip, thinking better of his comments.  He may have entertained a fantasy or two of venturing out past the woods, but it was only a fantasy.

She was silent for a long time.  He was beginning to feel like he’d done something wrong.  Well, aside from the obvious talking to her in the first place.

“Do you really want to see the Woods?”

Jean shivered.  His gut screamed.  He took a step back.  “Why?”

“Because I know what’s in the wood and beyond.”

“Yeah, but...humans don’t ever come back from that.”

“Maybe they don’t want to,” She said, and he couldn’t hold in the laugh.

“That’s exactly what I thought.”  She was putting him at ease again, which was dangerous.  “Wait, but how do I know you’re not just leading me to my death? Those people could have all died.  We don’t know.”

“Oh, they died,” She said, tone even, “You need permission to walk through the Fae Wood.  And magic.  They didn’t have it.”

“O...kay.  Then why in the hell would I follow you?  They all died.  You just confirmed it.”

She held out her hand, “I can give you permission.”

Jean paused.  He considered it.  Which was insane.  He needed to run.  Turn around and run home and never leave his house again.  He couldn’t be trusted.  But that is not what he did.

“What will it cost me?”

She smiled, for the first time, “Only your name.  Will you give me your name?”

Some stored away vault in his brain tried to remind him about Fae and their tricky wording, but it was no use.  He was too busy being very reckless.

See, instinct can be a funny thing.  While, Jean knew he should be running scared, that is not what felt right.  He was a slave to honesty, brutal or otherwise.  Idiotic or otherwise.  And he honestly trusted her.  

“I give you my name and you can help me leave?  See more than just the village?”

“For a start.”

While he stood there and considered, a part of him had already made the decision.  It had been made when he saw her on the path.  It had been made seven years ago when he was twelve and he saw more than Fae.  

He was an idiot, honestly, with a knack for trouble and a big mouth.  

“My name is Jean.”

And the magic was sealed.  For to give a Fae your name was to give them power over you.  And her wording had been precise.  But it was a magic that could work both ways.  

“You going to give me your name?”

“Mikasa.”

He smiled.  And then he broke Rule One.  He stepped off the path.  And all was quiet.  He was free.

For when Fae and human have power over each other, they are equal.  

[kycantina]

To Turn This Around

New blog who this? Happy jeankasa weekend everyone!

Mikasa can't help but feel bitter over being cast as an understudy of her dream role: Cinderella. Even worse, her rival gets the role instead, and Prince Charming, Eren Yeager.

Enter Jean Kirstein: the tall, handsome, minivan-driving light technician who always felt like more than a friend and occasional dinner buddy.

Then it all falls apart (and maybe back together).

[kyojuuros]

22 Jump Street Jeankasa au where Jean and Connie are undercover cops working for Captain Levi. One day Jean meets a gorgeous Japanese girl named Mikasa, one thing leads to another and they end up dating and sleeping together. He brags about it to the precinct and even the captain can't help but give him congrats since he figured Jean was a lost cause dating wise. That is until his niece brought her new boyfriend to dinner that weekend.

(2) just picture that scene where Channing Tatums character twigs to what's going on and laughs his ass off and replace them with Connie, Jean and Levi.

Pffft asdfdgfdh this is amazing lol

[aboutmikasa]

@heichou-in-my-head requested Flowershop using Alexa and this is The flower Shop au Alexa kind of suggested. Sorry, it’s not canon. Ask Alexa/Siri prompt | “Las Flores” by Café Tacuba 

The answer is in the flowers Jeankasa Summer Weekend | AU | Fluff

.

Summary: Every two Fridays ten minutes past seven, like a clock—unless the train arrived late—, the same guy entered her shop. First, he’d walk around the greenhouse for a few minutes, then he’d approach her, asking for flowers. It’d be a short conversation while she finished the day. Mikasa noticed the pattern by accident, the first time he wasn’t on time. For eight months he did the same. A different flower every time, as if he had a list, in alphabetical order.

[shinnex]

Sorry guys, but this is what could give on time for jeankasa au weekend, but I'll post the other thing tomorrow. MLP: fim Au Mikasa= Violet Maroon Jean= Golden Painted Skies (or GPS)

[artofeclipse]

It isnt entirely winter themed but I felt like uploading this self indulgent Jeankasa I drew for a Band AU I have been rping for awhile with friends. I've posted art about it before 😉 For some context; we based the band Jean (and Eren) started off of Twenty One Pilots, hence why Jean's look is self indulgent on my part lol...

I did draw this with a winter tour in mind though so I figured I would share it during the @jeankasa-events winter weekend in case I don't do anything else with it~

[pickalilywrites]

I see your flustered Jeans and raise you a flustered Mikasa. 

Smug Smiles

Jeankasa. Post Break-Up AU.

1512 words. 

The plan is to get her coffee and study for her finals in the corner of the café. At least, that is the plan until she steps inside and sees her boyfriend studying the menu. Well, her ex-boyfriend.  Her first instinct upon seeing him is to run in the other direction but another part of her tells her to stay. After all, they’re not awkward middle schoolers and it’s not like they left on bad terms. No, she can be in the same space as him and the world won’t implode because of it. They’re adults after all.

Maybe she should wait for him to notice her, but she’s not sure how well she can feign surprise. She’s never been that much of an actress and one time her teacher scolded her for not being more “tree-like” when she was an extra in an elementary school play. It’s better to just charge into the inevitable post-breakup meeting herself, she decides. She’ll have the upper-hand since she approached him first and if he doesn’t take it well then it just means she’s the bigger person.

She’s fixing her hair as she walks up to him. Part of her is annoyed that she’s even worrying about how she looks right now since they’re just friends now and why should she care if he thinks she looks cute? The other part of her is slightly irritated that he hasn’t noticed her yet.

She clears her throat before she speaks. “Jean?”

It’s then that he finally looks up and he stands up straighter, blinking a little as if in disbelief. “Mikasa?” She’s wondering if she’s grown two heads or something because he’s still looking at her strangely. Is this better or worse than him being angry for approaching him after breaking up with him? She thinks maybe the latter. “Hey!”

“Yeah, um.” It’s so rare that she ever stumbles with her words but she’s doing it now for some stupid reason. Her hand is also fiddling with the ends of her hair and she has to shove her hands into her pockets so that she stops fidgeting. “I saw you when I walked in and thought I’d say hi. So, you know. Hi.”

His eyebrows are still raised but he must realize he’s staring because he’s looking at the floor now. “Yeah, that’s nice! It’s been a while, huh?” She already knows what he’s going to say before he says it and prays that the next words don’t leave his mouth, but they do anyway. “I haven’t seen you since…ah.”

Since we broke up.

There’s an awkward pause.

This was such a mistake, Mikasa thinks, and she’s about to just wish him good luck on his finals and run away but he opens his mouth first. This shouldn’t be surprising since he’s always been the better conversationalist. She just didn’t think he would have wanted to save this train wreck of a conversation.

“You look great by the way,” he tells her. It’s not flirtatious; it’s a genuine compliment and she can’t help but feel a little flustered by it. “Looks like finals hasn’t gotten to you yet.”

She shrugs. It’s not that exams were a piece of cake for her, she just didn’t cram everything the weekend before unlike most of her classmates. “This outfit is just something I threw on this morning.”

Now he looks even more surprised than he did than when she first approached him. “Really?” A smug smile begins to spread on his face. “Well. It looks good on you.”

“Thank you?” she says. It’s nice to see that he’s in a pleasant mood, but she’s not sure why and doesn’t really know how to ask. She notices that he’s humming now as they stand next to each other in line, giving her an occasional side glance and continuing to smile even more to himself.

The cashier has to speak to her a few times before she realizes she’s spacing out. “Miss?” the barista asks. “Your order please.”

“Er, sorry,” she mumbles. “Just an americano, please.”

The cashier tells her the price for it and she digs around her bag for her purse except Jean waves her away, giving the cashier his card.

“Just think of it as a good luck present for finals,” he tells her as she begins to protest. “It’s what friends do, yeah?” She would argue with him some more, but he’s already turned to give the barista his own order.

She sighs and is about to find a table to sit at while she waits for her coffee, but she sees Jean out of the corner of her eye and sees that he has that smug smile on his face again as he looks at her. Why is he still doing that?

“Grab my drink for me. I’m going to the restroom,” she mumbles to him. Asking him to pick up her drink is a little too close to her liking to relationship territory, but she really needs to find out why he looks so pleased whenever he looks over at her.

She doesn’t look any different than she does on any other day, she thinks as she stares at herself in the mirror. She’s a little sloppier than usual, but isn’t everyone during finals week? She runs a hand through her hair to check for any tangles but there don’t seem to be any. Mikasa bares her teeth at the mirror, expecting to find something between her teeth that Jean perhaps was laughing about, but her teeth are clean. There isn’t anything stuck to her face either.

Is it her clothes? She doesn’t have anything in her wardrobe that’s particularly ridiculous and the clothes she’s wearing right now are rather plain compared to other days. Still, it’s not incredibly lazy like sweatpants and a hoodie. She doesn’t see any stains on her jeans or her shirt either.

But maybe it’s because her shirt is too big on her? It doesn’t quite fit her, but people wear over-sized things all the time. It’s not unreasonably large on her either. The sleeves are a little long and the collar is kind of big, but that’s only because…it was Jean’s shirt.

“Oh, fuck me,” Mikasa groans. No wonder that bastard was so fucking smug.

She doesn’t know if she should just wear it out and pretend nothing happened. All she’d have to do is grab her coffee, tell him that she forgot a notebook at home, and leave. It would take about two seconds and he wouldn’t know she realized it at all. But then he’d probably say goodbye and she’d have to look at his stupid smile again as he watched her leave with his shirt on and she decides that she can’t do it.

She ends up taking his shirt off and shoving it into her bag, not caring that it’s not appropriate to wear just a tank top out in this weather.

Jean is waiting at a table with both of their coffees. He looks up when she stops by only to grab her cup and seems more surprised at her change in ensemble rather than the fact that she doesn’t seem to be staying to chat with him. “What happened to your shirt?”

“There was a stain on it. I didn’t notice it until a few moments ago,” she tells him. He knows her well enough to probably know she’s lying, but she doesn’t care. “I threw it out.”

He raises his eyebrows. “Aren’t you going to be cold like that?”

“Nope,” she says, not even meeting his eyes anymore. “I’m going to go home and study. I forgot one of my notebooks at home and just realized.” She doesn’t even bother wishing him good luck, just starts to head towards the door.

“You sure you don’t want to borrow my jacket?” he calls after her and she doesn’t even have to look back to know he’s smirking.

She resists the urge to flip him off. “No thanks!” She hurries out the door before he can say anything else.

The wind blows by, but she doesn’t even shiver. She’s far too embarrassed to be cold right now.

Mikasa sits alone on her bed that night wondering what to do with the shirt. She probably should have packed all his things in a box like her friends had suggested. That way none of this would have ever happened. She could give the shirt back now, but she had already told him that she had thrown it away and having him know that she lied seems even more humiliating after what happened this afternoon. Maybe she really should just throw it away.

That’s such a waste though, she thinks as she rubs the worn fabric of the shirt. It wouldn’t be a bad idea to give it away to a thrift store, but thinking about someone else wearing it is a little too much for her right now.

I’ll think about it tomorrow, she decides as she slips it on once more and goes to sleep dreaming about him and his stupid smile.

[aprilcolbert]

You look beautiful, Mikasa.

[celticvampriss]

For the prompt... Jeankasa/ the princess and the frog?... maybe a late entry for the fairy tales weekend?

Thanks for the request!  I took inspiration from the Grimm Fairy Tale version and the Disney version, but it’s really condensed.

On a bright mid-summer morning a girl strode through a wild meadow.  She had no direction or aim, but to be free for only a moment.  Her boots found the stones of a creek and she balanced her way down the current.  

Mikasa did not allow herself much indulgence, for to find her dreams she knew she must work hard.  During the day she went to school, then work, then home.  The weekend was filled with more work and study.  And one day a month she set aside for this.

Out here there was no waiting alarm clock, night shift, or chores.  She could grieve and cry.  Or rant and kick.  Stomp through the grass or let water wade through her fingers while she watched it trickle past.  

Her creek led to a pond.  Willow branches dipped into the still pool, cattails bobbed on a breeze, and dragonflies kissed the water between lily pads.  Her soul relaxed here.  Anger had been simmering in her heart–any trip to the bank was laced with a strong dose of reality–and her thoughts had spiraled until now.  

She sat in a beam of sunlight on soft grass, stretched out her legs and closed her eyes.  Peace.  She could only hear the rustle of the leaves, the babble of the creek, the little splash of frogs, the–

“Hey.”

Mikasa leapt to her feet, her fists ready, and spun to find herself completely alone.  As her heart stilled she asked the emptiness, “Hello?”

“Yeah, hey.”

A voice, clear as day, right next to her.  Mikasa looked up, scanned the other side of the pond, searched for the source of the voice.  But there was no source to be found.

“Sorry, you seem a bit riled up…” The voice continued, “You planning on attacking me?”

She looked down at her fists, knuckles white, and decided against dropping them.  A girl could never be too careful.  She was not a fool, not again.  That day had made her guarded and cautious.

“Where are you?”

“Well, first promise you’re not going to punch me.” The voice was male, but wrong somehow.  A deep…croaking quality.  Was it an invisible person?  She had heard of magic deep in these woods, witches and hags ready to curse anyone foolish enough to cross them.  But here?  This part of the wood was always safe.  And invisible boys was not something she’d ever heard of before.

“Show yourself and we’ll discuss it.”  She was still pivoting on her foot, her eyes scanning, scanning.  She balanced on the toes, ready to spring in any direction should the voice appear.

“I get that I scared you, I’m sorry, but I don’t mean you any harm.  Honest.  If you could just…” his voice moved, “Stop moving…” moved again, “You’re getting dangerously close to killing me, here.”

Mikasa nearly threw her hands up in exasperation.  The voice continued to hop around…

She looked down.  Ants scurried through the grass, a cricket jumped and a moth fluttered away, and a frog sat near her boot.  A big frog, bright green and slimy.

“Please stop staring, I know I look disgusting.”

Somehow, the voice coming from the frog did not scare her.  It shocked her, certainly, Mikasa was frozen in place.  Though, she supposed, if he did turn out to be evil she could just step on him.

“Figures.  First person to come here and it’s a hot girl.”

His speech was youthful for a frog, like it should be coming from a teenager and not an amphibian.  She couldn’t bring herself to respond.  If she didn’t acknowledge it, maybe he would go away.

The frog hopped over to a log and sat atop.  She didn’t understand how, but its frog features appeared miserable.  Pathetic, really.  

“Listen, I was gonna ask for your help, but I can’t.  So can you please just leave me here to rot in peace?  Or, at least, just stop staring cause you’re really beautiful and I swear I don’t look like this normally.”  He groaned, which turned into a croak, and then groaned again.  His frog hands covered his eyes.  “I need to just shut up.”  He shook his head back and forth, before throwing his hands down and crying out, “I’m so much better looking than this, I swear.”

Mikasa understood that he was no threat, but rather pitiable.  While he prattled on about his looks she had made a few deductions about him that gave her pause.  When he was finally quiet she asked, “Are you normally human?”

“YES!” He wailed, “But I didn’t know she was a witch when I said that.  How could I know?  I was just being honest.”  He took a deep breath.  “Anyway, here I am.  Been stuck here for weeks.”

She wrinkled her nose, picturing the scene of a human boy trapped as a frog in the woods for weeks.  Oh, gross, what did he eat?

“Don’t pity me, I beg you.  I’ll figure out how to get this fixed…” He was quiet for a second, then he looked up at her, “Any chance you’d, maybe, carve your number into this log before you go?”

Her mouth dropped open.

“Never mind, it was worth a shot,” he sighed.  “Anyway, thanks for listening.”

“Wait,” She called before he could hop away, “Did she tell you how to break this curse?”

His cheeks puffed up, like he was holding in his answer.  Then he slowly answered, “Yeah…”

“What do you need to do?  I might be able to help.”

He hung his head.  “You definitely would, but…uh, can’t.”

She crossed her arms.  “Do you want to stay a frog?”

“Of course not.”

“Then stop being a child and just tell me.”

He closed his eyes.  “Fine.  The witch said I could break the curse ‘if I could find someone willing to kiss a frog.’”  Mikasa pursed her lips, but he was already shaking his head.  “But no.  No way.  I don’t expect you–”

“You’re being dense.”  She walked over to the log and knelt down.  She supposed it was kind of gross to kiss a frog, but somehow, the idea that he was actually a person helped.  “A kiss is only a second.  Two seconds and you’re free.”

He considered.  “I guess…”

“Hold still.” She didn’t close her eyes, this wasn’t a romantic gesture, but just leaned forward and placed a small, gentle kiss on the frog’s head.  She sat up straight and wiped her mouth on her sleeve.  He was much wetter than she anticipated.  She swiped at her mouth again.  Two more times.  Okay, it was a bit grosser than she expected.

And while she rubbed her lips, sparks of light caught her eye.  Enchantment swirling around the log, engulfing everything in light, until it all vanished with a radiant snap.  And in place of the frog sat a boy.

He opened his eyes and looked down at himself.  His hands roamed over his t-shirt and down to his sneakers.  He jumped up.

“My legs!”  He caressed his own cheeks and ruffled his short, ash-blonde hair.  Mikasa looked away, refusing to acknowledge that he’d been right, he was definitely more attractive than a frog.

While his elation subsided he began to take notice of her again.  His cheeks turning a bright red.  “Uh, thanks.  Thank you.”

She nodded and stood up beside him.  Now that he was a boy, and an attractive boy around her own age, their tranquil pond had become an awkward oasis.

“So…um,” he scratched at his cheek, “Any chance of getting your number now?”

That made her smile.  It had been a long time since she smiled.  Mikasa put her hands in her pockets, “Don’t get ahead of yourself.”  She gestured for him to follow and he ran to her side.

“To be fair, though, we’ve already kissed once so it wouldn’t be weird to do it again.”

Mikasa pushed his shoulder, hard, knocking him completely off balance and into a bush.  “You’re pushing it.”

She left him to untangle himself from the bush, obviously not fully adjusted to having human limbs again.  But she walked slowly.  Plenty of time for him to catch up.

[jeankasa-events]

Once again thank you, guys!

You’re so creative and wonderful I have no words. The AU Weekend was so fun.

If you still want to participate, please do. I’ll be reblogging late entries :)