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mirthful-sonnet · 3 years

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Rise Above the Ashes | Chapter 2

Summary: Jean and Mikasa grow closer while battling with their inner demons. Jean feels alienated in his own country and realizes in a brutal way that the Alliance’s endeavors for peace may be harder than he expected.

Notes: Thanks once again to @deans-ch-ch-cherrypie for beta reading this and putting up with my fandoms cause she must be so confused what this is about lmao

Warning: One short depiction of graphic violence

Ao3 link

“Stop moving.”

Mikasa froze, a startled look on her face as she tried to stay still.

Jean chuckled, turning back to his sketchbook. The afternoon was pleasant, with the bright sun profiled against a blue, cloudless sky. The only sounds were those of the light breeze and the strokes of graphite against paper.

The drawing was taking shape, the outlines of Mikasa’s likeness staring back at him from the page. He turned his eyes back onto Mikasa, and he thought that no matter how hard he tried he could never do justice to her actual beauty. She broke from her pose again and stared back at him.

“Mikasa,” he said, both in amusement and disapproval.

Mikasa ducked her head and muttered an apology, trying to go back to her former pose once again, with her body slightly turned away from him while staring to the side. They had found a secluded spot while everyone else was back at the farm. Jean had been trying to spend more time with her since their encounter at Eren’s grave.

He learned that she had a house near the farm while occasionally working as an informant for Historia and found himself as a constant guest along with Armin. The three of them had established a sort of routine in which whenever they had time they would meet up at her house and have dinner together. Jean would be lying if he said that being a part of this routine didn’t make him feel good.

Their current position in the grassy corner resulted from Mikasa catching him flicking through his old sketchbook. He did not plan on taking anything from his home in Trost when he reunited with his mother. But this sketchbook was a vestige from a time where there was much less violence and heartache in his life, and he took it with him.

There were portraits from most of the people he had met as a Scout. There was even a portrait of Eren, which Mikasa had stopped to stare at with an unfathomable look on her face before Jean broke the tension with a joke about what a lousy model Eren had been. It led to Mikasa asking him why he never drew a portrait of her, to which Jean could not offer any other explanation than that he had simply never worked up the courage to ask her.

Now they were in this quiet spot, enjoying the peaceful afternoon together. He added the finishing touches before sitting more comfortably on the spread blanket and admiring his work.

“It’s done,” Jean said, and Mikasa turned to him. He gave her the finished drawing, awaiting her reaction. She appeared taken aback when seeing her portrait, staring at it for a long while before turning to him.

“It’s amazing, Jean,” she said, and Jean felt a little embarrassed at the frankness in her face, not knowing how to react. “I would only say that she’s too beautiful to be me.”

There was a jesting tone in her voice, but Jean immediately replied. “Then that means I did an accurate job.”

Mikasa widened her eyes slightly before looking down, and Jean mentally berated himself.

He had been careful not to make things strange between them, especially now that his feelings were messier than ever. The last thing he wanted was to make her uncomfortable.

Jean had successfully locked away that part of himself when he realized the place Eren had in her heart. He resolved to be her friend and it had worked. Aside from that, he had certainly not wasted any time in seeking other companions. First during his years as a young Scout who was too curious and hormonal for his own good, and more recently as a glorified refugee in Marley with an uncertain status and plenty of need for pleasured distractions.

He was ashamed when thinking about his time in Marley, as he remembered the phase he had fallen into which he was too numb from the war and had excessively sought out those distractions. Moments of bliss were fleeting, and they would only lead to him relapsing into the same pattern and making him feel worse than before. The entrustment of the peace negotiations between Paradis and Marley into the Alliance’s hands had brought hope and a change that he desperately needed.

Still, why was he feeling so confused around Mikasa now? What he felt now was an echo of his former crush, similar yet so different. Whereas before it had felt like a small ache that he kept hidden, now it felt like a flame slowly spreading and threatening to overwhelm him.

“Earth to Officer Kirchstein,” Mikasa’s voice interrupted him, her hand waving in front of him.

“Oh, sorry, I got lost in my thoughts,” he told her, raising an eyebrow, “and I’m no longer a commanding officer, you know.”

Mikasa only smiled, laying back down on the spread blanket, her red scarf acting as her pillow. Jean was glad to see her smiling and acting with ease around him, since despite her calm demeanor he knew that she was still grieving no matter how much she tried to hide it. Sometimes he would catch her staring off into nowhere or holding her scarf a little tighter than usual. While he remained in this place, he was determined to be there for her as much as he could.

“Do you know how much longer you will stay here?” she asked suddenly.

Jean paused before replying, taken aback by her question. “Our stay has been extended indefinitely; it depends on how things go at our sessions. Though in any case, I imagine we’ll have to leave soon.”

Her face fell, “I see,” she murmured. “What do you plan to do after this?”

“I…” he trailed off, “I don’t know. Wherever the Alliance goes, I will end up going too. But my mom lives here, and I don’t want to leave her alone. Then again, we are not exactly welcomed here. I’ll just see what happens, I guess.”

“What about marriage and children?” She asked, quickly regretting her forwardness. She was about to apologize but he spoke first.

“Oh, that. Well, I’m not too sure about that either. I always dreamed of having my own family, but things are still too strange and uncertain,” he paused, looking away. “I don’t think I can truly settle down anywhere because I don’t belong anywhere.”

Mikasa stared at him, that dazed look that he seemed to constantly wear coming back, as if he were lost in a place where she could not reach. She grabbed his sleeve impulsively. These days she found herself doing that a lot when Jean would appear too lost in his own head.

“It…It’s probably not much, but I want you to know that if you’re in a pinch or need anything, you’re always welcome at my house,” Mikasa told him, not sure where these words were coming from, but knowing they were true. It was the least she could do.

Jean was visibly shocked, his face flushed. “Thank you, Mikasa.” he whispered, avoiding her gaze. After a moment, he turned to her suddenly.

“What about you? Do you have any plans?”

“I don’t think so, I like living here.” She explained, “Kiyomi and her delegation insist that I go to Hizuru but I’m not sure I’ll do that any time soon. I did want a family but…”

He understood. That was impossible now that Eren was gone. The meaning of her words hung over them, and Jean felt a weird kind of sadness overtake him. He knew Mikasa would have been an amazing mother. Despite whatever pain and jealousy remained in his heart, he realized that he would have liked to see his two friends together with their own family. A welcome respite after years of misery and destruction. But Eren had to run ahead of them and set himself ablaze.

“Well, you can consider us your family now,” Jean said, referring to their friends, and wanting to ease her mind.

Mikasa beamed at him, “I guess you are,” she replied, coaxing Jean to lay down beside her on the blanket and he complied. From the new angle, she could make out a scattering of tiny moles on his neck that was not covered by his shirt. She hadn’t noticed them before and found herself strangely transfixed before she heard him speak.

“I’ll tell you what, no matter what happens, we’ll always be there for each other.” he offered, turning his head to her. Mikasa paused, rendered a little speechless at the openness in his hazel gaze. In that moment, she had no choice but to agree with anything he said.

~0~

Jean pressed the timer and waited for Armin’s next move. The blond was scrutinizing the chessboard before moving a knight.

“So this is it, the final countdown until we decide if we can stay or if we should be running for our lives,” Connie commented from his seat near the fireplace in the living room. The residence was bigger than they had remembered.

“The queen has ensured our protection,” Armin said, his gaze still fixed onto the board, waiting for Jean’s move.

“With the same people who want us dead.” Connie spat.

All sectors of the government had finally agreed to a voting session in which they would vote on the proposals from the Alliance and other nations. Soon, they were to show up at council with other delegates from Marley who had also worked with them.

“It’s more complicated than that,” Reiner replied, his hands busying themselves tying knots with an old rope. It was a habit he had picked up during his treatment at the mental facility and he kept doing it long after he was discharged. He found the distractions helpful when his thoughts would become too much. “There are people who are strictly loyal to Historia, and she knows who they are and how to pick them.”

There was truth to what Reiner was saying. They had misjudged just how divided the island would be when they arrived. Currently, there were all kinds of factions and insurrectionists on the rise, from imperialists who wanted Paradis to establish itself as a global power and expand its territories, to reformers who were advocating an alliance with the other nations.

“Whatever supporters we have seems meaningless as long as the Yeagerist faction is still in power,” Annie added, watching the game between the two friends.

Armin clicked the timer, unfazed, “We have had to deal with worse things; the liberation of Paradis started with a revolution from the Survey Corps, a group that was a mere minority and ridiculed by most. What we want to achieve isn’t impossible,” he paused, hearing a click from Jean. “This time we have the support of other influential nations and the protection of the queen, who is in turn protected by staunch monarchists.”

Jean listened quietly, a strange unease surging up within him. It seemed surreal that they had finally reached this point in their enterprise for peace between Paradis and Marley. They had worked tirelessly to present their motions to the government and recount their testimonies of the war which were carefully modified to protect Mikasa. The Ackerman had insisted on coming clean and bearing the blame for Eren’s death, but that suggestion was quickly shut down by Armin.

The rumbling had not only practically wiped out other regions that now had no choice but start all over again, but it had also left a good portion of Paradis destroyed and still vulnerable, a point that the Alliance had used to their advantage in lobbying for a new coalition of trade between the nations.

Their main objective was to establish a peace treaty. It was the most talked-about subject all over the island, and it had brought feelings of hope but also plenty of hostility. While Jean had busied himself as much as he could in his new duties as ambassador, the reality was becoming clearer to him: that he truly belonged nowhere.

In Marley, things weren’t any easier for someone like him. While there were major changes happening in the Marleyan government and the internment zones were being eliminated, many areas were still heavily segregated and Eldians were still looked down upon.

Jean found it easy to interact with his peers in Marley sometimes. He had his share of friends, and there was the usual neighbor who would greet him, the lady who would bring him warm meals, or the lovers who didn’t seem to care he was Eldian. But other times the animosity was obvious. Now he was experiencing the same feeling of ostracization, but it was worse because this was his home.

“Armin is right. The circumstances are too different now and we have a considerable advantage. For now, we must be patient and wait for the next hearing,” Pieck remarked from her place laying down on the sofa. Naps were becoming more common to her.

“I don’t have a good feeling about this,” Connie said, then gave a tired sigh, “it seems like the violence never ends.”

“That is a reality we have to accept,” Armin replied, clicking the timer once again. “I heard Commander Erwin say that as long as humanity lives, they will always find a way to destroy each other. That is an indisputable fact, no matter how much it irks us to hear it. The cycle will always continue in one way or another.”

“And what do we do meanwhile?” Jean asked, breaking his silence.

Armin stared at him, before moving a pawn, and finally replied. “We keep moving forward.”

~o~

Mikasa stared at her friends bantering back and forth on her dinner table. Tomorrow would be the voting session and she had invited the group to have dinner in her house before the important day.

She felt an odd peace while watching everyone talking and enjoying the food. Back in her days as a soldier, such scenes were rare, and when they weren't, there would always be the knowledge that they may not live for long.

While things were certainly not perfect at the moment, this was a welcome change. It seemed so long ago since she got to have moments like this. It was why she had appreciated having Armin and Jean visit her whenever they could. Their visits took her mind off the troubling thoughts that plagued her at night. They slithered onto her consciousness when she was alone and only she would bear witness. The burden of guilt she still felt over Eren’s death had been like a shadow trailing on her feet, a bitter seed that she couldn’t cut out.

There were days where she felt a semblance of peace, where the prospect of a new dawn seemed like a possibility. She remembered the strange bird she saw on Eren’s death anniversary and the feeling of grief and hope that had overwhelmed her as it flew away. Free and glorious. A promise of new things to come that she didn’t dare believe in. But other days, the shadows of her dreams would morph and speak in a familiar voice.

Traitor.

The wounds were clear cut, its shapes still engraved in every crevice of her heart. The bloodstains of the boy who she had loved unconditionally still ran endlessly through her very being. She wondered if she was being too selfish in daring to have peaceful moments like this.

A movement by her side caught her attention. Armin was currently sitting beside her, his presence serving as an anchor even while he was engaged in lively conversation with Annie.

She was glad he had found someone, even if it took her a while to get used to the idea of them being together.

He had changed so much, from that timid boy who wanted to see the ocean to a determined leader with the same quiet strength. Now he was leading an enterprise that had the world’s eyes on him.

She didn’t know how he could stand it, or how he even looked at her with anything but repulsion. He was carrying an incredible burden for her sake after all, and she could do nothing but watch helplessly from the sidelines, knowing he would never forgive her if she spoke the truth.

Useless.

Her thoughts froze when she noticed that he had turned to her.

His bright blue eyes were narrowed for a moment before he gave her a small smile, as if he knew what she was thinking, and squeezed her hand under the table.

Mikasa could only smile back at him, a quiet understanding between them.

Currently, Reiner and Connie were engaged on a heated, drunken debate about whether cereal should be considered soup or not, having Pieck laughing uncontrollably while Annie looked like she would rather be somewhere else. For all that was troubling her, she liked seeing everyone happy.

One person was visibly quiet, and Mikasa turned her eyes to Jean. The former commanding officer was smiling and watching his friend’s antics. There was a distance in his gaze, one that she noticed too often when he was with her. She didn’t know what to make of it, but despite the time they constantly spent together she noticed that he had a certain guardedness, a wall he had carefully built up and she could not trespass.

She had appreciated him being here more than he could understand. In days when her mind was her own worst enemy, his presence had come as a haven of such comfort that she wondered if she even deserved it. Whether he was talking about how his day went, grumbling about having to argue with ‘constipated geezers’ as he had called them, or just remaining by her side quietly, his company had quickly become one of the highlights of her days. She only wished she could know what was going on in that mind of his.

Jean suddenly stood up from the table and excused himself. She thought he was probably going to the restroom. But after a while, he still did not come back. Mikasa eventually excused herself as well, with Armin reassuring her that they did not mind.

Her instinct told her to go to the backyard, which consisted of a small lawn with an apple tree and a wooden fence separating it from an extensive meadow. She stepped out into the yard, tightening her scarf in the cool breeze as she looked for Jean.

“So, you found me.” She heard him say, and finally spotted Jean leaning over the yard’s wooden fence, face half-hidden by shadows.

Mikasa quietly walked over to where he was. She noticed he had a cigarette in his hand and fought the urge to slap it away. At one point in their reunions, she had noticed him sneaking away to smoke but didn’t say anything, only earning shrugs from Armin when she turned her questioning eyes to him.

“Was Reiner and Connie’s debate that uninteresting?” He asked.

Mikasa grimaced, “remind me to never let them drink again.”

Jean snorted, “prepare yourself, because they’ll be at it for a while.” he said, taking a drag.

“I never took you for a smoker,” Mikasa prodded, narrowing her eyes at him. He looked a little embarrassed, looking away as he exhaled, whiffs of smoke swelling and disappearing in the darkness.

“Sorry, it’s a bad habit I picked up in Marley,” he explained, scratching the back of his neck, “I don’t do it a lot, but when I do it sort of helps.”

Mikasa nodded, figuring that he was nervous about the next day and deciding to not press him further about his new habit.

“Are you alright? I’m sorry if I’m bothering you too much, you probably wanted to be alone-”

“You could never bother me, Mikasa,” Jean interrupted her, then taking a deep breath, “I just- I guess I just realized that this is it. What we have been working for all this time has finally had a result. Isn’t that crazy?”

She nodded and beamed at him, “I know you will do great things.”

“I never thought it would come to this, it just hit me that I have no idea what will come next. I still don’t feel like I truly belong anywhere. Plus, I’m thinking that we probably won’t achieve anything tomorrow and this damn war will just keep on going. My mind’s been playing a lot of shitty tricks on me,” he explained, taking another drag before sighing and looking at her. “I’m sorry, you didn’t come here to listen to my problems.”

She immediately shook her head in protest, “I told you that I would be here for you, and I meant it.”

He looked at her fixedly, “what about you? You do know that you can tell me anything, yet I can’t help but sense that you’re not always honest with me. With any of us, really.”

As soon as he finished, he immediately regretted his words, suspecting that the alcohol had probably made him bolder than usual. He almost wanted to laugh at his hypocrisy, since he knew that he had also not been completely honest with Mikasa either.

“I’m sorry-”

“No, Jean,” Mikasa interrupted, looking elsewhere. “You’re right, I’ve been trying to pretend that things are fine now. And they are in a way, but other days it-it’s too much.”

Jean nodded in understanding, “I get it, you know; I’m not saying I’m entitled to hear everything that you’re thinking, but I also want you to know that you don’t have to hide things from me either. I know that you’re still mourning him, and there’s nothing wrong with that.”

It happened suddenly, but his words caused her heart to constrict and unexpected tears to gather in her eyes. “I’m glad to hear you say that,” she whispered, her voice wavering.

Jean dropped the cigarette and crushed it with his shoe, sticking his hands in his pockets. “I really miss that idiot; I even dream of him sometimes,” he admitted. “I like to think it’s him talking to me, you know?”

Mikasa hummed in response, turning away so he wouldn’t see her tears. “I dream of him too, not a day goes by where I don’t think of him. I once believed I couldn’t possibly live without him, and yet I still killed him.”

“That was not your fault Mikasa,” Jean said firmly, his eyes like embers. She needed to understand that.

“But I keep asking myself what if I had done things differently? What if I had stopped him in another way? What if I tried harder? What if…” she trailed off, gathering her breath, “What if I had been honest about my feelings to him? Would it have changed anything? And I know the answer is no, but I keep asking myself the same questions anyway. I guess my mind plays tricks on me too.”

Jean looked down, “I can’t possibly tell you how to make it stop, but you must remember that you’re not alone. No matter what happens, you have us,” he said, pausing and then looking back at her. “You have me.”

Mikasa nodded jerkily, this time making no attempt at hiding her tears. “I do, don’t I?”

Jean stepped forward and pulled her into his arms.

Before he could regret it, she burrowed her head into his chest, his buttoned shirt quickly becoming damp with her tears.

He did not care, tightening his arms around her in his large frame, wanting to absorb every pain and every troubling thought she ever had.

Mikasa could only press herself even further into him as if she was seeking something but had to keep delving in for it. The night was quiet except for the whimpers that escaped her as they both hastened to get even closer, creating a cocoon of warmth, a little sun between their bodies. Whatever thoughts were troubling her before disappeared, and even if just for a moment, she could lose herself in Jean’s embrace and try to believe that things would get better.

~o~

They had done it. Despite the noises of protest that still echoed throughout the council they had done it.

Jean understood in that moment that they still had a long way to go, but this was an important step in the right direction. For now, a more peaceful world was possible.

They had achieved a quorum of votes in their favor, with Historia presiding over the hearing. The next moments passed in a blur of formalities and shaking hands with officials from all political factions.

He felt as if he were in a daze, every action, and every word he spoke coming almost as mechanical.

After the conclusion of the session, everyone made their way outside of the room, tension permeating the atmosphere. As expected, there were all sorts of manifestations for and against the peace treaty outside.

Jean could hear all kinds of insults outside as he followed Armin closely to the back of the building, where they were supposed to wait for a carriage to take them back to Historia’s residency.

Traitors. Murderers. Turncoats.

The past years had hardened him to any slander, and he could only hold his head up and continue walking to the main hallway, where he could see Mikasa waiting for them.

Her head perked up when she noticed them both, immediately walking towards them.

“Were you here this whole time?” Armin exclaimed over the background noise. They had seen her before the start of the session, but Armin did not think she would stay.

“There was no way that I would miss this moment. You were almost unrecognizable in there,” she said, recalling the scenes she witnessed from her front-row seat in the stands that were free to the public. “I’m proud of you two, of all of you. I had no doubt you would achieve it.”

“We’ll see if they don’t eat us alive first.” Jean retorted, looking grim as the noise of the crowds outside became more prominent.

They went to the back of the building, stepping out onto the cobblestones of an extensive alley. Mikasa had insisted that she could make her way back home walking, but Jean and Armin had none of it. Vehicles and carriages were coming and going in the dim light of the alleyway as the three friends waited for the rest of the group.

Jean could not help but think on how the island was just starting to use vehicles but still relied mostly on carriages. He had gotten used to the strange steel machines with time, which was more than he could say for Connie who had quite the record in car crashes back at Marley.

“Mikasa! You’re here!” Connie shouted as he emerged into the alley with the rest of the group trailing behind him. He gave her a crushing hug, and Mikasa smiled, heartily returning his embrace.

“Of course, I am,” Mikasa replied.

“This demands another round of drinks at your house. What do you say?” Connie said and Jean rolled his eyes. Leave it to Connie to invite himself to people’s houses.

“As long as you and someone else behave…” She commented while staring at Reiner, who was behind Connie and could only look sheepish and turn away.

“Is the carriage here yet? We better get away from these crowds of lunatics.” Annie added, looking shaken while Armin tightened her coat around her.

“There it is,” Pieck pointed to a coming carriage bearing the queen’s emblem. As they walked Jean stayed behind, letting everyone get into the carriage first.

Mikasa was the second last to get in, and Jean moved to help her up before he heard it.

“Death to the Alliance!”

He moved in a flash before they got to her and then he was falling backward, catching a glimpse of her horrified expression, with everything morphing into screams in the distance and the noise of steel tearing through flesh repeatedly.

“Jean!” He heard Mikasa scream.

Maybe it was sheer will, but he shoved the man who had brought him down, scrambling to get to him despite the blade that was lodged between his ribs. He managed to grab the bastard by the hair and hit his skull against the hard cobblestones.

The rush almost left him dizzy, but he kept slamming the man’s head against the ground until the hard noises of bones breaking were soon replaced by the slick sounds of blood and joints being torn. Not too far he heard the guards and his friends taking care of the man’s lackeys. Extremists, no doubt.

He should have seen this coming. Whatever strength he had left him suddenly, his grab on the man’s head loosening before he was shoved and felt two pairs of hands grabbing his neck to strangle him. It wasn’t long before Jean caught the flash of a red scarf and the man was pulled back abruptly and slammed harshly against the carriage, losing all consciousness. Jean clambered to his feet while coughing, feeling someone stabilizing him from behind.

“Jean, don’t move,” Connie said shakily, holding Jean by the shoulders. One look at Mikasa told Connie that they were both replaying another bloody scene from their past in their heads, where their best friend had been taken away from them with a single bullet.

“You’re hurt,” Mikasa murmured, her face looking pale.

The body of the man who had stabbed Jean lay carelessly beside her, as she had done a quick job in knocking him down.

Jean however appeared to not understand what his friends were saying, his eyes glazed over and his body beginning to wobble from side to side. “My suit got ruined,” he tried to joke but only groaned as he felt himself getting dizzier.

He heard the others come near him, but at that point, their voices were just cryptic noises and the lights from the lampposts stretched into long hazy lines. Someone gasped as the circle of blood on his shirt grew and dripped onto the cobblestones below. The violent encounter had given him such a rush that he barely registered any pain and did not notice that the bleeding was rapidly increasing.

“Jean, stay still! We need a medic!” He heard Armin shout as he ran from the place in search of help.

Jean still appeared lost, trying to shrug off Connie and Mikasa’s hold on him. He turned to Mikasa, who looked terrified as she saw Jean becoming as pale as a sheet of paper.

“What a drag, huh?” He said before his eyes rolled back and his body collapsed.

~0~

Everything looked black, with flashes of a fluorescent tree coming and going like waves, distant static noises, and a hand reaching out to him. He found himself surrounded by a dense white fog that engulfed him and then slowly dissipated, revealing an empty street. Jean suddenly recognized where he was, the street from his childhood home in Trost becoming apparent in all its simpleness.

The place was empty as Jean slowly made his way down the steps that interpolated with the old street. He kept walking down the steps, the silent streets appearing to be his only company.

Or so he thought.

“Jean.”

He froze and turned towards the voice, meeting a pair of unmistakable green eyes. It felt like all the oxygen left him as the reason for their current plight appeared before him.

“Eren?” He choked, watching as Eren stood in the middle of the street, tall and unmoving. He didn’t know whether he wanted to run and embrace him or beat him to a pulp. “What is this?”

“I wanted to find something meaningful; this is the first thing that appeared.”

Eren’s words were punctuated by a sudden noise, and he saw the flash of a boy running down the street and fading away. There was a youthful cry and Jean saw the same boy on another corner of the street with a woman. He soon realized that the boy was him as a young child and that the woman was his mother, who was kneeling before him and wiping away tears from his chubby cheeks.

“I don’t understand,” Jean muttered, turning to Eren.

Eren lowered his head, never looking at Jean directly. At least he had the decency to look remorseful, Jean thought.

“I…wanted to say goodbye.”

Jean let out a breath he didn’t know he was holding, feeling all sorts of emotions surge up inside him.

“Why, Eren?” Jean said, his voice quivering.

Eren still wasn’t looking at him. “I don’t expect you to forgive me. But I needed to say goodbye.”

The word goodbye made his chest tighten, and he did not trust himself to even speak but he did anyway. “You-you left, you left and didn’t tell us anything! You acted on your own without trusting us. And now millions of innocents are dying because of you! Why?!”

Eren still avoided his gaze. “None of that matters anymore. I made my choice, and there is no going back for me now. I needed to see you before it happens.”

“Before what happens?” Jean pressed him, but Eren did not answer, he only stared at him with a look he couldn’t quite decipher.

The scene changed, with the streets morphing into indecipherable shapes before they found themselves in the dining room of the training camp. The place they had all met as young trainees. Before them, a pre-teen Jean was talking for the first time to Mikasa, his nervousness obvious through his red face and his awkward attempt at complimenting her hair.

Jean frowned, looking at Eren. “Why are we here?”

“This is your consciousness, I technically have some control, but these moments…they are all meaningful to you,” Eren explained, eyes fixed onto the scene before them. This was the first time he had met Eren and Mikasa.

Their surroundings changed into another scene in the same dining room, where he and Eren were brawling before Mikasa separated them. Jean felt embarrassed not only at their childish behavior but at the fact that Eren knew that Jean had secretly treasured these moments. He fixed his eyes on the scene.

“She always had to mother you around,” Jean murmured, referring to Mikasa.

“Mikasa was always protective of me, yet she never defended me from you. She would reproach me when we would get into fights. Even when you started them,” Eren said as Mikasa gave his younger self a disapproving look after separating them.

“It wasn’t always me. If you weren’t such a pain in the ass, it would have been easier,” Jean grumbled, his words contradicted by his behavior on the scene before them, where he had grabbed Eren in a fit of jealousy.

Eren only gave a sad smile as their surroundings kept changing, fading scenes playing one after the other like the strange projections of those films Jean had seen when they arrived in Marley. There were several moments with Marco, the part of his soul that had been violently ripped away from him. They landed in a different scene, where there were massive pyres of fire and a fifteen-year-old Jean was kneeling before the pyre that took the center, his body shaking in sobs.

“What-“

“You truly loved him, didn’t you? I think he would be proud of you.”

Jean winced, the shadows from the flames dancing all around them. The beautiful friend who had believed in him now turned into ashes. “I don’t think he’d be proud. I never amounted to anything, and now I will probably die trying to stop you.”

Suddenly they were in a different place, with throngs of people walking away hurriedly in their direction. Jean tried to move away but the people passed through him as if he were a mere ghost.

There was a stage set up at the front, where the statuesque figure of Commander Erwin could be seen standing still.

Of course.

This was the night he decided to join the Survey Corps.

They watched as almost everyone walked away to the promises of comfort and safety inside the walls, while only a few stayed. Even when watching as an onlooker, Jean could feel the weight of resolve and terror hanging over everyone that remained behind.

“That is not true. I know you do not want to hear this from me but he always spoke of you at every turn he could. Even the simplest thing would have him singing praises about you. He always said that you would be a leader. I didn’t believe him at the time, but I was proven wrong. Every decision you have made since you joined the Survey Corps has led you to this point… to saving humanity. If anything, you went further than anyone’s expectations.”

Jean felt a lump form in his throat, shaking his head. “I…don’t want to see this anymore.”

As if on cue, the scene changed yet again. The sudden brightness made him shield his eyes as the sun shone brightly and the smell of sea salt invaded his senses. The air was filled with the splashes of water and laughter. In the distance, he could make out the three figures of himself, Connie, and Sasha playing on the shore of a beach. Currently, his friends had succeeded in toppling him over the water, making him yell out curses as they cackled.

“Sasha…”

Jean felt something tighten painfully in his chest as he watched her. This was how he liked to remember his dear friend; happy and carefree, not cold and lifeless.

“I think this was one of the last times any of us was happy,” Eren said.

“Were you?”

Eren looked away, fixing his gaze on another trio by the shore who looked much quieter. Their figures standing still and seemingly staring into nowhere. “I can’t remember if I ever truly was happy.”

Jean scoffed at that. “That sounds like bullshit.”

The titan shifter paused as if in deep thought, then turning to Jean. “You’re right, there were happy moments. You guys…made it a lot easier.”

“And now look where we are. You still haven’t answered me why Eren. Why did you do this? Armin and Mikasa…they try to look strong, but you broke them both.”

“They will move forward just as I expect them to do. I don’t know the exact details of how everything will play out but Armin… Armin will lead humanity to peace with you close by his side. And Mikasa…she’s strong and will move forward with her life. She has always been so much stronger than me, while I didn’t even have the guts to tell her that I love her.” Eren said with a self-deprecating laugh.

Jean’s breath hitched as he heard him. “Then tell her that! You can’t let her go while she thinks you hate her!”

“It’s too late now, what I have done…there’s no way to come back from that. I didn’t always treat her like she deserved, you know. Now all I can do is encourage her to forget me and be happy no matter how much it hurts me.”

There were more shrieks of laughter, with Connie and Sasha now halfway sunk in the water as they swam around Jean, all three of them splashing each other. Not too far, Commander Hange was picking up seashells and staring at them in wonder while Captain Levi stood further from the shore, staring quietly into the horizon. Eren’s words sank in, and he felt a surge of anger and panic at the finality in what he said.

“You…you say that like it’s so easy. Do you ever think about the pain she’s going through? What you put all of us through? You did all this for what? Trying to play the hero for us? Fuck you!” Jean yelled as he lunged and punched Eren, making him fall backward and sending wafts of sand flying up. “You broke me too, asshole! Now I’ll have to live with that if I make it out alive!”

The background was changing yet again, blue skies turning into an azure shade and then into ink-black, with a few scatterings of stars. The beach was now dark and empty, and the air was dead silent.

Jean was breathing heavily, feeling hot tears running down his cheeks but not really caring. Eren was staring up at him, anguish clear in his bloody features. He scrambled to his feet, and Jean moved to help him up. He meant to let him go as soon as he was able to stand, but he only pulled Eren into his arms abruptly, hugging him tightly and letting his tears flow freely.

He didn’t know whether it was something in the atmosphere or the look in Eren’s eyes, but he could feel him fading away. The background changed in a flurry of colors and waves while they held each other firmly and finally landed in a different place.

Jean pulled back and soon realized they were in the barracks from their trainee days. The room was empty, the air only filled with the creaking noises of wood and the chirping of birds outside. He turned back to Eren, who had that same indecipherable look in his eyes.

“I won’t ask for your forgiveness, but I am truly sorry I brought so much pain to all of you. And…I know I have no right to request anything from you, but I am selfish, I have always been so selfish…so I need you to promise me, that no matter what happens, you will move forward and live your life to the fullest.”

Jean felt a thousand protests gather on the tip of his tongue, not ready to acknowledge the finality in his words. There was a certain heaviness in his chest that made him sit down in one of the bunk beds. “I’m not sure that I can.”

Eren knelt in front of him, “you can, you’re strong. More than you give yourself credit for. Promise me, Jean.”

The words echoed painfully, and Jean looked down, his voice coming out weak. “Why does this sound like a goodbye?”

He was met with silence and Eren getting closer, holding his hands.

Jean gasped as he noticed that Eren’s hands looked different.

Their surroundings were becoming dark again, and the fluorescent light that he had seen briefly now appeared to be spreading from Eren’s fingertips and extending towards him.

“It is time,” Eren finalized.

Jean froze. And as irrational as he knew it sounded, Jean could not help but deny what he was saying. “No! We-we can work things out, Eren. Please stop this and come back to us! Please!”

As he finished his desperate plea Eren pressed his forehead against Jean’s, a little frantically. “This is it, Jean. Please don’t ask me to come back. Just promise me that you will move forward.”

The light was spreading more rapidly now, their bodies illuminated in a searing light, two figures in a flame. Jean swallowed the lump in his throat, shutting his eyes tightly before nodding against Eren’s forehead. He felt him breathe a sigh of relief.

“Thank you,” Eren said, and it sounded like the saddest goodbye to Jean.

“I don’t know what to do. What will be left?” He choked, feeling completely helpless.

Eren lightly shook his head, his eyes sad but also alight with unspoken things. “I think you’ll be surprised by the things life has in store for you, Jean.”

Jean was confused by his words, but decided not to question him, knowing that he would disappear at any moment.

“Don’t look away,” Jean said, and Eren obliged, fixing his piercing gaze on him. They remained like that for a good while before the strands of fluorescent light completely engulfed them.

“Goodbye, Jean,” Eren said, a little broken but still strong.

“Goodbye, Eren,” Jean replied, his hands still holding onto Eren’s blazing form until there was nothing left.

~o~

The oil lamp was the first thing he saw when he opened his eyes. The flame appeared to be the only thing lighting up the room. Slowly but steady, everything was becoming clearer to him even if he still felt very strange. There was the sterile air, the smell of mercury and alcohol, the moonbeams filtering through the window, and the tears warming his cheeks, a last residue from his dream.

He didn’t know why he was remembering that vision now of all times. His last moments with Eren had happened in a landscape that wasn’t real, and that was something that he rarely if ever wanted to remember. All his memories with the green-eyed boy had contorted into a permanent bloodstain on his soul. And the fact that he did not follow his promise to Eren and instead became a pathetic shell of a man made everything worse.

But his self-deprecation did not last long as he noticed that he wasn’t alone, a shift by his side catching his attention. He could not see her very well, but Mikasa was now looking at him closely, shock and confusion on her face as she noticed his tears.

“Armin! He’s awake!” She exclaimed as she ran out of the room, and Jean heard muffled voices outside where he could only make out the words “doctor” and “Mrs. Kirschtein”.

Mom?

While the voices went on Jean remained dazed, moving the fingers of his right hand in front of his face. He felt so out of it that he barely noticed Mikasa coming back.

“Jean? How are you feeling?”

He only groaned in response, “wh-where am I?”

“The Hospital of Mitras. We were lucky it was close by. Armin went to find the doctor and your mother.” She explained, staring worriedly at the wetness in his face. Mikasa said something else, but he didn’t hear it, his body feeling like a thousand bricks.

“Mom?” he mumbled, scrunching up his face as he tried to move before Mikasa stopped him. “‘the hell did they give me?”

“You’re dosed on morphine. They told us you would be feeling drowsy when you woke up.” Mikasa took in how Jean seemed to stare at her but not at all at the same time.

His eyes were clouded and watery.

Since they arrived the day before, she had been hearing him make all sorts of noises in his unconscious state, muttering different names or things she couldn’t make out. One look at him could tell anyone that he was still heavily drugged. But she also wondered why he was crying.

She saw that he was sneaking a hand to touch the bandages on his ribs, and she immediately moved to pry his hands away. “No! You’re in a delicate state, you have to stay still.”

“Ah my hero,” Jean slurred, “so protective and gentle.”

Yes, definitely drugged.

She was gathering the blankets around him, remembering the way his body couldn’t stop shivering when they had first arrived and how nervous she had been with every single movement.

Reiner had helped carry Jean all the way to the hospital. While they had been lucky enough to be close to the hospital, Jean still caught an infection on the way according to the doctor. Mikasa had some hope now that he was awake, but she couldn’t help the fear that still plagued her. No. She wouldn’t lose anyone else. She would make sure of that.

Her thoughts were interrupted by him mumbling something she couldn’t hear clearly.

Jean’s eyes were blinking slowly, and he was turning his head from side to side. She leaned closer to hear what he was saying.

“It was him…Eren…he talked to me.” He muttered and gave an exhausted sigh, trying to fix his eyes on Mikasa even while she was blurry.

Mikasa was now frozen as Jean looked at her, his eyes still glazed over but there was something else in them now.

“I liked you, Mikasa, y’know? I think I even loved you. Since we were trainees…” he confessed, his voice still slightly slurred before he laughed. “Ah, what a stupid fool. It’s kind of funny,” Jean continued while laughing, a strange picture with the tears that were still drying on his face. He stopped with a groan when the strain was too much.

“Jean…” Mikasa muttered.

“Hmm…I wish he was here; I wish I could bring him back,” Jean mumbled, “I’m sorry I can’t do anything…I’m so sorry Mikasa…”

He turned his face into the pillow, looking like he was about to pass out. If Mikasa was planning to say something, it was interrupted by the doors opening abruptly. That didn’t seem enough to wake Jean from his stupor as the doctor walked in, followed by a trail of nurses. Mikasa could only stand aside as the doctor and the nurses covered Jean from her view, enveloping him in their prying hands and moving white garments.

She remained there as they worked on him, his dazed words replaying in her head like a broken record, his expression etched onto her mind. They had seen each other in the most brutal and vulnerable situations throughout their years as comrades, yet she felt at a complete loss with what she had just witnessed. She forced her intrusive thoughts into the back of her head and remained in her place, where she could do nothing but pray to whatever deity was listening that Jean would be safe and sound.

#jeankasa #snk #attack on titan #jean kirstein #mikasa ackerman #this chapter was long af #the erejean kind of jumped out in this chapter lol

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comfeyworks · 4 years

Text

Alastor writing/ Character ref sheet

NOTE: This is MY interpretation/ notes of my characterization of Alastor. Most is speculation and the other parts are just me having fun imagining what his character could be like. This is no way meant to be official or taken as cannon in any way.

A wonderful user by the name of dolly moon complied a lot of information from Viv’s streams. I’m referencing some of the information here so please check them out, they did a fantastic job making notes.

Warning: Contains talk about murder, cannibalism and other possible triggering subjects.

General

---NAME: Alastor--- Died: 1933 Age: 30′s Occupation: Former radio host and serial killer. Currently powerful overlord in hell

Main Personality/ notes

Always smiling (He sees people frowning as weak)

Sadistic

Charming and charismatic

Very proud( puffed out chest, arms behind back)

He's controlling/ does things his own way

Careful! He's not too braggy, or too forceful/ demanding. Ex: Viv stated in her qna that the pilot was originally going to have Alastor boast about himself and his backstory. Instead vaggie narrates his backstory. She changed this because Alastor wasn’t the type of person to flaunt his achievements. He knows that everyone knows how powerful he is, he’s not the type to rub it in. He's supposed to be charming, but still proud, juuuust in the right way

He knows what he wants, but doesn’t necessarily brute-forces his way to get it. Ex: "He-" "-llo!" He KNOWS he's getting in hotel regardless, but waits for Charlie to open up the door before invading the hallway.

Deceitful; When asked why he wants to help out at the hotel, he says: "Consider it an investment in ongoing entertainment for myself!" 'This is what you can think my reason is...' is essentially what he's saying. He answers Charlie’s question in a roundabout way that givers her what she wants to know while still keeping his true intentions secret. Time and time again, he lets his mask down slightly when Charlie isn’t looking. At 24:10 he narrows his eyes when she has her back turned to him At the beginning of his song he distracts her with magic so he can push Vaggie away. When he says “...And it’s just laughable-” during he reprise he turns away from Charlie to say this, he leans down to Vaggie.

He’s a hypocrite (hates being touched, invades other’s personal space)

Watches people do things the hard way and then reveal he can do it once it's done just to watch people fuck up

DELIGHTS in watching people failing/ struggling to do things. He likes observing people/ sinners as they are battling with their conflicted emotions.

He’s curious (He stopped by the ‘radio shack’ place to see what Charlie was talking about on the broadcast, and cocked his head when she started singing. To me that meant, “Oh? What’s this now? Something new?” he was intrigued and wanted to know more)

He analyzes people. He looks at the Magne family portrait when left alone. You can briefly hear him playing Charlie’s “Inside of every demon is a rainbow” song, and smiling.

He picks up on things quickly. Vaggie makes it clear she doesn’t like the idea of him being there, and he messes with her. He puts his elbow on her and pushes her away ( 20:44-20:48) He pulls her chin up and tells her to ‘smile’

He’s egotistical. No one is really ‘up to his level’

He gives verbal and physical affection constantly throughout the pilot, but it’s not genuine.

Likes being unpredictable

Primary drive: Decisions are weighed in his own wants/ feelings. He wants to be amused, he chases exciting/ entertaining things. Think of him as like a cat chasing a mouse.

Fears: He doesn’t fear anyone. But is wary of powerful threats. He dislikes dogs Physical Expression: He’s VERY, VERY expressive through his body language and eyes. Large/ easy to read emotions can be perceived through his body language (Leaning towards someone, or leaning away). Smaller/ pinpoint emotions can be read through his eyes and type of smile (Wide eyes, squinted, closed vs open smile, etc.) He’s like a bird, fluffing out his feathers constantly. (He fixes his hair briefly at 24:41) He expresses himself proudly. ‘This is who I am, remember that!!’. Viv said the reason why almost all of characters have nicknames is that a soul’s real name is dangerous, its a way others can have power over you. Yet Alastor uses his first name, because he’s not scared and confident in who he is as a person. He doesn’t hide from any aspect of himself. I’ve stated he hates being touched by others. When he picks up Nifty in the pilot, she poofs out and spreads her limbs out. At 25:41, Alastor turns his head away from her briefly so she doesn’t touch him.

Flaws/ Weaknesses:

(Note: Basically anything already stated can be a problem depending on the situation, I’m just saying things about his character that he’d find weak or naturally cause problems)

His mother, he’d do anything for her.

He has a darker/ more powerful demon side to him where he runs purely on instinct/ primitive emotions.

He’s arrogant. This can cause problems!

---

Killer/ moral compass profile (Living)

Motivations:

Thrill Killer- Pleasure from pain

Slight power/control aspect involved as well.

‘Causes’

Childhood trauma (abusive father)

Environmental factors (mother died when he was 18-20)

Type of killer: *Note: I’m still not 100% satisfied with this part, I might make some changes later*

He won’t just kill anyone. They have to meet a certain list of requirements.

Viv compared him as someone similar to Dexter

He’s a very goal oriented killer. Whatever he did it was with reason and purpose, meticulously planned. Ex: Maybe one year he’d kill someone who was a real jerk, to see how the others around him flourished. Likewise he might kill someone who was important to the community just to see how the grief made everyone react.

He was a very careful killer, he ended up dying purely on accident, bad luck.

He killed for the fun of it, pure joy, excitement, curiosity. But he only killed people he thought deserved it.

He considers what he does to be ‘work’. He expresses in the pilot how after decades in hell it’s become ‘mundane’ and ‘aimless’.

The victims had to be overconfident to some degree.(This ties into the ‘he wouldn’t chase his victims.’ They had to be somewhat full of themselves or naive)

Some kills are personal (Someone wronging him, trying to hurt him, otherwise he just wouldn’t care if some guy is an asshole) but others are just because he feels like they’re bad/ they’ve have done something that they need to die for.

He used ‘personal’ ways of killing people. (Knife, his hands). I don’t think he would have used a gun of any kind because of the noise, but he could have once every blue moon.

Generally doesn’t draw things out for too long ”...If I wanted to hurt anyone here... I would have done so already.” (He defeats Sir Pentious in under a minute. But still takes the time to crush him and drag his body across the floor.)

He ate people, and knew how to make delicious meals out of them.

Buried his victim’s bodies/ remains on a hunting ground for deer.

Morals

No human is pure or kind just because. They’re selfish beings. Who take and act to help their own causes. Everyone is a monster on the inside. “...redemption, the nonexistent humanity!”

Everyone puts on a mask to hide who they truly are. Life is one big game to see who can survive. “...the world is a stage! And the stage, is a world of entertainment!”

People don’t change “...there is no undoing what is done.”

Puts himself first, and above everyone else. He also degrades others. “I don’t think there’s any hope left for such loathsome sinners...” ”Inside of every demon is a lost cause, but we’ll dress them up for now with just a smile!” “...and show these simpletons some proper class and style...” “...do I know you?” “You think I’m [husk] some kind of fuckin’ clown!?” “...maybe!”

People deserve the consequences they get for being themselves “...the chance given was the life they lived before, the punishment is this!”

He understands what society views as good and evil, but doesn’t really believe in those standards himself. What is considered evil he just views as a hobby or something fun to explore. Ex: Cannibalism is wrong by society’s standards, but to him he thinks the greater wrong is killing something and not making use of it.

He has some level of empathy. (Again, He’d never kill a child or those running away.)

People’s emotions are a fun little game to him. “...I want to watch the scum of the earth struggle to climb up the hill of betterment! Only to repeatedly trip, and tumble down into the firey pit of failure!”

Doesn’t see value in being nice or honest. (He does find it funny to watch)

Other notes/ hc

He’s knowledgeable. In more ways than one. He knows not to fuck with certain people if he doesn’t want to get hurt, he’s got knowledge on the workings/ operations of hell and deal-making.

Likes to cook

He likes bitter things (Bloody meat, alcohol, black coffee)

He’s got a party side to him.

He speaks french!

He plays musical instruments

He knows how to fight without his powers

He’s an only child

He’s part creole

He hates silence, he always surrounds himself with noise of some kind.

Husk and Alastor have a long, complicated relationship

He does things to make Nifty happy (Wearing sweaters)

He’d go out into a hurricane just to let it beat him down for fun (Why is this so funny to me)

Despite all he is, Alastor is capable of having friends and loving.

Has absolutely NO romantic experience.

He hates modern technology in general, but hates tik tok the most

The idea of Alastor cross-dressing to lure his victims in is absolutely hilarious to me, but I don’t think he’d ever do it.

#i made this to help me write him #alastor is deceivingly difficult to write if you dont understand him #and he's WAY more complicated than you'd think #hazbin hotel #hazbin hotel alastor #alastor #writing

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minteyeddemon · 5 years

Note

Hello! Love your writing! I have a request! How do you think the crew ( all or a few) would react to you surprising them at an art gallery that you are a part of with a painting of them? Maybe they were confused as to why you were so distant recently (not knowing about the gallery) only to find that you were busy working on their surprise painting. Excited to see what you think!

Dante:

The poor guy can’t lie to you, he was honestly feeling a little neglected that you were disappearing so often. Of course, he understands needing space and distance makes the heart grow fonder, yada yada; but boy does he miss being able to hold you in his arms. So expect him to be rather clingy when you invite him out this art gallery shindig you are excited about. He’s honestly just happy to hold your hand and put his arm around your shoulder, and he smiles seeing how excited and into the art pieces you are as you talk about them. When you come to one particular exhibit however, he freezes. A large portrait of a man in red, aptly titled, is of him. It’s dramatic and poetic, the image of him and his coat billowing behind him, as he stands up against what looks to be some demonic presence. He can’t describe how, well, awesome it genuinely looks to him. You point out your name on the bottom of the portrait, and he flips. He’s complimenting you and gushing about the piece, and than it finally clicks why you were gone so often. You were painting this to surprise him. He apologizes for being so needy, but thanks you on top of that for the amazing piece you painted of him. He totally doesn’t brag about to everyone that walks by, nope, not at all.

Nero:

He’s definitely sad that you aren’t around as often for a few weeks, but will never nag you about wanting attention from you. When you do come around, he’s all about you, and when you have to leave, he’ll just text you or have you call him to talk a bit before you go to bed. He’s definitely excited when you invite him to attend an art gala with you, but he feels so out of place. He’s a mussy twenty-something in a room full of important looking people, so he needs a lot of reassurance from you that he deserves to be there by your side. He listens as you describe the art pieces to him, makes little comments here and there about the colors and brush strokes, even though he doesn’t fully understand the complete depth that art can have at times. He’s genuinely startled when you walk him towards the space where your painting is hanging. It’s of him in his Devil Trigger form, seeming to volley over a black cloud of what he could only assume were demons. He looks, for a lack of a better phrase, completely badass. You explain to him that you were working on the piece for quite a while, and that’s why you hadn’t been able to be around him for so long; he crams a fist to his mouth to stop himself from crying, touched that you would do something so heartfelt for him.

Despite his urge to follow you almost anywhere you go, you make him promise to give you some space for a little while. It breaks his heart in two that you would need space from him, and he desperately wants to ask why; but he does as you ask, despite slightly stewing in his own worries. He’s rather clingy, despite his attempts to act aloof, when you are around, and it makes your heart hurt having to keep a secret from him. Relief comes quickly though, once the day of the gallery finally arrives. He happily accepts your invitation to the gallery, and will not let go of your hand the entire time you are walking together. He actually recognizes some of the names of the artists on the older pieces, reading the information cards before looking at the actual piece. So you hide a small smile when he comes to yours, reading it and freezing when it registers that it’s your name on this piece. He finally looks up and sees that it’s him, cane pointed up and his hair white, calling forth his familiars as they seem to be readying for battle. You hear the small gasp he makes as he turns to you, pulling you into a tight hug. He immediately realizes that your time away was to make the piece a surprise, and he apologizes for his worries; but you reassure him with a soft kiss on the cheek.

Vergil:

Considering he has always been used to being by himself, he doesn’t take offense when you tell him you need some space. He misses you, of course, but he will never hound you. If you want him around, he will be there when you call. He does take notices of the paint stains on some of your clothing, and it does make him rather curious; though once you invite him to an art gallery event, it all clicks together for him. Though, he was definitely not expecting what you had set up for him. While you were secretly leading him to your own display, you both would stop to admire a piece here and there, listening to him speak on what he knew of the older artist’s displays, his vast knowledge of the arts always impressing you. When you finally came to your exhibit, he froze almost immediately upon seeing the piece. It was definitely the first time you had ever seen his eyes widen. The image was a profile of him with a halo of bright blue swords around his head, and the Yamato, blade and sheath, crossing in the background. He looked down at you, and all you could do was smile, telling him it was a surprise you had been working on while away from him. A genuine smile graced his face as he hugged you, and listened as you described each bit of the image to him and the meaning behind each one.

Nico:

She. Was. Mopey. Not having you around to keep her company felt like complete torture, not matter how dramatic it may have seemed. She was already used to you always being at her side, so you taking some time away from her was eating her up inside. She’d try to sneak over to your place to catch you off guard; but you always seemed to catch her and shoo her off. She royally hated it. So much so that she almost turned down your invitation to your art exhibit. Almost. She was never one to dress prim and proper, but she did so for you. She held your hand tight as well as you both walked, daring any judgmental prick to give her any kind of look so she could wallop them. When you reached your exhibit room, you stepped in first and gave a flourish over your arms towards your painting. She rolled her eyes at your antics at first, but gasped when she finally saw it. It was an image of her sitting atop her beloved van, a sunrise setting in the background. You could say it wasn’t something one would see in a respected art gala; but she was over the moon at the piece. She hugged you and spun around, hooting and hollering about how much she loved you and the painting of her; so much so, she almost had the two of you kicked out!

Lady:

Like Vergil, she was honestly used to being on her own often; so of course, she gave no quarrel when you told her you were taking some time alone. She missed the hell out of you though. Whenever she had the chance, she would call you and keep you on the phone as long as you were willing to, telling you about anything and everything that happened during her day. Okay. Maybe she wasn’t as used to being alone as she was before. She was there with bells on when you invited her to the gallery, and all smiles just getting to be at your side. She listened intently when you spoke about each piece that you passed by, though she really had never found interest in artwork before. It made her happy to see you happy, more than anything. You came up to a piece covered by a white sheet, and she narrowed her eyes as she watched you walk towards it. You told her it was what you had been working on while away from her, and pulled the sheet off to reveal the painting of her. She was standing before a stained glass window, a black dress along her figure. She looked almost angelic, despite the dark colors. Her eyes shined as she looked at you, and she pulled you in for a hug, thanking you for the beautiful piece.

Trish:

She couldn’t help but worry that maybe she had done something to you to make you want some space from her. She knew her reputation was not the best, and the likely hood of hurting you was very high; but she didn’t want to hound you with questions on it. Instead, she just relished in the phone calls and little meetings that you both would get to have before you had to leave again. The gala was perfect, considering she could be at your side the entire time, so of course she agreed to go. She apologized for not being as interested as she would liked to have been in the artwork; but you gently shushed her, telling her you were happy she was there in general. Your exhibit was coming up, and you were worried she might not like the piece you painted of her; especially since she explained not showing interest in art, you worried she might get mad at you for spending so much time away and working on something so trivial; but the way her face lit up when she saw the painting made those worries disappear immediately. It was of her dressed in flowing white, standing atop a cliff with the sea expanding before her. It was poetic and beautiful, and she adored it. She asked if she could actually keep it after the gallery was over, and you said of course.

#devil may cry #dmc #dmc dante #dmc nero #dmc v #dmc vergil #dmc nico #dmc lady #dmc trish #headcanon #request #sadghost4life

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thewanderingknight · 5 years

Text

Aside the Outlaws, Ch. I

Life with your newfound family among the Van der Linde Gang is pretty rough and tumble, but your modest skill of riding sidesaddle could benefit the gang while infiltrating a wealthy Lemoyne estate.

Chapter I | Chapter II | Chapter III | Chapter IV | Chapter V

Arthur Morgan & Reader No warnings Word Count: 1,829 Notes at the end!

Life at Clemen’s Point moved slowly, or so you surmised, especially during the downslide of the day, when chores were done and the rest of the gang had not yet returned from their missions. You kept yourself busy, tidying your shared tent with Arthur, washing clothes, picking herbs for Kieran to fashion into tonics for the horses. You climbed the small hill and waved to him, greeting your bay Turkomen, Godiva. She nickered as you gave her grain for the evening and set a curry brush to her, getting lost in the motion. The shout from the guard pulled you out of your reverie. Your eyes scanned for Arthur’s blue shirt and you smiled when you saw him ride up behind Lenny.

He smiled as he saw you walking towards him. “Hi, handsome,” you cooed as he hopped off his dapple Thoroughbred. You stroked the jagged stripe on the horse’s face.

“Hey to you, too.”

“I was talking to him,” you gestured at his horse with a coi smile, as Arthur pinched your hip and you squeaked, leading him by the elbow to the tent.

“Go and change outta those clothes, I’ll wash them tomorrow,” you said as he sat down and stiffly pulled off his boots. You kissed his temple before going to fetch some stew for him.

“What kinda trouble you get up to today?” you asked when you returned, handing him a bowl.

“Ah, just some scoutin’. We’re checking out another one’ah these families down here.”

“Which one?”

“The Pilot Plantation,” he answered through a mouthful of stew. “One with them huge gardens. Ladies riding sidesaddle and whatnot.”

“Really? It’s 1899. Them things is kinda outdated, right?”

“You’d know, darlin’. When’s the last time you rode sidesaddle, anyhow?”

You let out a breathy laugh, “Longer’n it should be, I guess. Daddy’d be cussin’ my uncle, knowin’ he sold my saddle, not before cussin’ me for joinin’ up with some outlaws.” You touched your hat hanging from the tent post. It was a wide, stiff-brimmed hat your father had never left home without, and now adorned your head most days.

On the small table next to the cot, a small portrait of your mother sat next to the one of Arthur’s mother, the two of them staring out side by side. Your mother was delicately poised atop a proud Palomino Saddlebred, her smile beaming from under a round bonnet. Apart from Godiva, these were the only remaining vestiges of your life before the Van Der Linde Gang.

You gathered Arthur’s discarded clothes in your arms and leaned down to peck his lips. “Feels like a different life now, anyhow,” and swept out of the tent, away from burgeoning thoughts of lives long gone.

*****

The next day, Arthur stayed close to camp. The two of you slowly walked the shores of Flat Iron Lake; Arthur was looking for a decent fishing spot with his rod slung over his shoulder, and you walked behind him, scanning the ground for herbs and flowers to collect, placing them in your satchel. A good portion of the morning found Arthur wading barefoot into the lake, whistling as his line sung off his spool. He turned to see you with an armful of wildflowers, cautiously stepping your way to the top of a boulder poking out into the lake a few yards away, dipping your feet into the cool water. The lining of your chemise caught the tips of small waves and soaked up the water, clinging to your legs. You watched him fish, content with the silence and the hot sun warming the boulder. You shifted your hat, and found yourself staring at the fuzzy line on the lake where the steel water toed with the cloudless sky.

You were startled back to the present when Arthur splashed some water your way. You jumped into the knee-high water with your dress bunched in your hands, Arthur guiding you back to shore by your waist to share in some lunch.

The afternoon found Arthur with a good haul of trout that he had gilled and prepared for Pearson, and you with a satchel stuffed full of berries and flowers. You began your march back to camp. At one point you had looked back at the rounding of the shoreline to see the pair of footprints you and Arthur left in the sooty sand; his deep lengthy stride cut deep, while yours flitted across the surface. What a pair the two of you made.You smiled at the thought.

You crossed through camp and dropped off your contributions to Pearson. Dutch had waved Arthur over to his tent before you had emptied your satchel, and he had skulked over with Bill, Micah, and John. You noticed Arthur’s tackle box on the table, and picked it up to return it to him. He was standing outside Dutch’s tent, leaning against the tent pole with his arms crossed. He looked at you walking towards him. You held up his tackle box and began to lift his satchel flap to return it as Dutch poured over a map and loudly spilled ideas of his new scheme.

“He’s havin some.. garden party or some such. During the day.”

“What’s the take like?” Arthur barked while you clasped his satchel shut.

“Risky, but he’s got bonds in there. In the house.” Dutch tapped the map.

“You thinkin’ somethin’ quiet?” Hosea chimed, “gotta be someone who can play the part. Quick, no fuss. Put on an act. You or I, maybe..”

“Ah, we don’t wanna spread our faces ‘round here too much, with all the dust we’re kicking up with the sheriff in Rhodes. Gotta be someone else. A low profile.”Dutch’s slow unveiling of words composed the ideas of the men around him. They buzzed around each other, battling for position.

Before you could stop yourself, or think about why you were leaning forward, you spoke out.

“I can do it.”

All heads turned.The looks had completely stilled you. All but Dutch, who’s careful gaze never left the table. You took a breath and continued. “I can do it. Nobody would know me there. And, ladies ride sidesaddle around their gardens. I can do that. I know how to do that. These families down here with deep roots, they seem to….appreciate tradition.” Arthur reached for you, but you grabbed his forearm and stepped forward even more. “Reckon I can ride in there, like I’m a lady of nobility or some such to ride through their gardens, figure out where the bonds are, or let some of the boys in through the back and take em’ all. A lady without an escort, even, would cause a distraction, giving you a way in. Could probably hide somethin’ underneath my skirt for...insurance.”

“Our own trojan horse, as it were,” Hosea smiled.

“Your little maid’s got ideas, Morgan,” Micah sneered, at which point Arthur stepped up behind you. No matter, your eyes remained on Dutch, hunched over and hands sprawled over the map, the lantern hanging from the tent ceiling illuminating his sleek hair.

“I did see an old sidesaddle for sale at the Stables in Saint Denis…” Trelawney chimed.

“Arthur put you up to this?” Dutch drawled.

“No sir,” you lifted your chin, “I am capable of making my own decisions. Figure I’d like to help the camp, is all.”

“Oh I know you are, dear, and I admire that.” He finally looked up and met your gaze. You held it, only a little nervous, remembering the time when you were young and got caught between the fence and a large Shire stud. “Let me think on this. It’s simple enough it could work without a hitch. Trelawney, take her into town to make sure she looks the part. Arthur, go with ‘em and make sure her horse looks the part as well.”

The light from the lantern bloomed as the heat around you dispersed, all the men had walked away. You caught a glance from Arthur and again without really thinking, walked to the shores of the lake, stiff-legged. The fingers of waves stroked the toes of your lace-up boots.

You had never done something like this before. Not even the small-scale coach robberies you would see Karen, Mary-Beth, and Tilly all return from, never minding taking over their chores for that day. But now? Well, you had something to offer, and you didn’t want to give that up. An actress you were not, but even if Bill could play a drunken idiot, the role of a high society woman would come to you just as easily.

In your tent, you walked in on Arthur hunched over his journal which he promptly snapped shut when he saw you enter. He had laid out your night clothes on the cot in a learned attempt to mimic how you would fold extra clothes for him; always making sure he had a winter coat and an extra union suit packed on his horse He got up and immediately handed you an open bottle of whiskey.

“What an odd reward system,” you smiled before taking a long swig.

“Just thought you needed somethin’ after today,” he simply replied. You handed the bottle back and grabbed your night clothes, beginning to change. Arthur took a sip and stared at the bottle. You looked at him after you slipped out of your dress, wondering at his lack of attempt to seat you on his lap, like he usually tried.

“Are... you surprised?” you tried.

“No, no. Well, maybe a little.”

“You think I can’t do it?”

“No! It’s not like that!” He sat back down on the cot. Took another swig. Looked at you.

You grabbed the bottle from him and took another gulp. You knelt between his legs and began to undo the buttons on his shirt. He gently grasped your shoulders, rubbing with his thumbs.

“You already do so much for the camp. For me,” he started quietly, ”even when I don’t ask you to.”

“You do too much for the camp,” your words gently clamped down on him. “And I want to do things for you, how many times I gotta tell you?”

“Probably ‘til I believe it.”

“Then what’s the matter, Arthur?” you tilted your head to look at him, the only thing in your vision.

“You want to do this? I mean, for real.”

At the time, you wouldn’t realize that he might have been asking, even after all this time you had been with him, if you wanted him. If you wanted a small portion of the work that forced his hand, forged his workhorse mentality that snorted after a long day in the yoke. That you would willingly become a part of whatever happened after leaving the camp. Not just for the gang, but for him. With him.

“Yes.”

He pressed your foreheads together with the light finality and deliberation of a seal in wax before it cools. “Alright then.”

Notes: OMG I am so sorry, I had to delete the first post and re-upload it because something glitchy happened.

While Rockstar kind of skims over this, ladies almost exclusively rode sidesaddle up until 1900! But 1899 could be justified as a transition year where women started wearing trousers and riding astride, like Sadie.

A female reader was kept in mind, because skirts can hide all sorts of things. Wink!

Arthur’s horse is the reverse dapple Thoroughbred that came with some pre-order editions of the game.

#Arthur Morgan x reader #Arthur Morgan fanfic #Arthur Morgan x female reader #red dead redemption 2 #rdr 2 #red dead redemption 2 fanfic #my red dead #my writing #aside the outlaws

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astralune · 6 years

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“I bet that Xe’ra wrote terrible self-insert fanfic about herself and Illidan,” my friends said. I make no apologies for this.

(ao3 link)

----------------------------------------------

Zonya heard a noise suspiciously like apoplexy bellowing from Cail’s office, and poked her head through the doorway. “Is everything alright?” she asked cheerfully.

He looked up from the thick tome in front of him. “Hmm? Oh. It’s this novel. Shards and Hearts. Remember that cache of relics that was found in that one tower Xe’ra insisted get captured? Buried in it was this.” He closed the book, then held it up and waggled it for emphasis. “It got forwarded to me, with the standard sort of hogswash about how I should publish it, despite the missing pages.”

She entered the room, her curiosity piqued. “An ancient Draenei holy work, perhaps?” She peered at his face a moment. “How bad is it?” She asked, a sense of dread creeping upon her,

“It’s absolutely horrid,” Cail said.

“It can’t be that bad,” Zonya replied.

“I'll bet you a weekend at a tropical beach for two that it is.”

“You're on,” she said, grinning.

Cail held out the tome across his desk to her. “Pack that bikini I like,” he said, grinning back.

------

Page 1

It was night-time, as Azeroth reckoned such things, when she shot like a bolt of holy fire across the sky. When she streaked through the atmosphere, burning bright and radiant.

When she crashed into sod and dirt, helpless and alone.

But do not fret, gentle reader, for her fated destiny is at hand.

Illidan was brooding.

At least, that’s what everyone else, currently inside the large common area grown out of the giant tree a few hundred feet behind him, would say. Illidan’s brooding. He’s dark and mysterious, and broods a lot, with his shirt off, they’d say, mockingly.

They didn’t understand him. They didn’t understand at all.

Well, it wasn’t the first burden he’d suffered to bear, nor would it be the last. Let them have their celebrations, he thought - he would consider their next move, here in silence.

Well, mostly silence. He could hear his brother, Malfurion, delivering some saccharine speech back there somewhere. He tried to drown it out, and looked up at the sky.

Which is why he saw it, streaking across the sky. As it passed the treeline, a muffled thud could be heard - it hadn’t crashed too far from here.

It could be a threat, Illidan thought, glancing back again at the partying men and women back at the tree. But they won’t take it seriously. They don’t understand!

He looked back in the direction of the crash. It would be up to him, then, to ensure their safety. As always.

The green tattoos burning bright across his bare chest, he set off into the forest.

-----

The crater was small, only a dozen feet across and just clipping a tree at the far edge, and he stared at what was at the centre.

She looked like a Draenei, though not like any he had seen before. Golden tattoos adorned her perfect skin, an intricate mirror of the artistry in his own. She wore a tiara that seemed a crown, to his sight, and a thin, simple dress that somehow looked ornate on her. Her legs are crossed beneath her, and her weight rests on her hands, planted firmly into the ground, and framing her large breasts. A single cut marred her cheek, bright red against purple.

Elune, she was beautiful, though he wouldn’t admit that.

Instead, he grunted. “Was that you that fell from the sky?” he asked roughly.

She looked up at him, and gasped. Her eyes burned gold, and she looked awed. Well. He was Illidan Stormrage, after all. It was about time someone recognized him as worthy of awe.

“I…” she tried to speak, delicately. “I am… yes.” She nodded to herself. “Yes, I am the one who fell from the sky.” She pulled a gentle hand to her full chest.

“I am known as Zeraa.”

-----

She didn’t remember much, not from before waking here. It was like a kind of haze in her mind, when she tried to recall. She was disappointed that she couldn’t answer many of the questions this stern, brooding - shirtless - man was asking her. She found she wanted to impress him, and was surprised by the strength of the feeling.

“I have answered your questions as best I can,” she trilled softly, blinking up at him. “Will you tell me your name?”

He glared at her, and it sends a shiver down her spine, but from some deep wellspring she found the strength to hold his gaze. “I am Illidan Stormrage,” he finally intoned.

“Illidan,” she repeated, a smile curving her lips at the name. “I promise I am no threat to you. But I seem to be in need of a place to stay…”

His eyes burned, their ferocity almost scaring her, as he looked her down. “I have no reason to trust you, Draenei,” he snarled. Then, his expression seemed to soften - or maybe she just imagined it. “Come with me. I will tend to your wounds.”

She held out a hand to him, and with a grunt, he moved to help her to her hooves.

Page 35

She looked up as the door slams open, and Illidan came storming out in a rage. “Pathetic!” he snarled. “Their lack of vision blinds them!” She hastened to stand up, to hurry over to him, nervous.

He seemed to calm down at her approach, something she has noticed tended to occur, as if her mere presence soothed him. “It is alright,” she told him, daring - after a moment’s hesitation - to comfortingly stroke his bare arm with her palm. His head snapped around at the touch, but he subsided without comment.

“They do not understand,” he grumbled in that gravelly voice of his. “They think our work is done. They think nothing of the costs to make it this far, of the costs to come. The threat is not gone. Sargeras will return.”

“His armies are legion,” she hastened to agree.

He looked across at her, and for a brief, shining moment, he actually smiled. She wasn’t sure that he could! A bright warmth filled her, even as his smile waned.

“You do understand, don’t you,” he mused.

Her eyes went wide. “You have paid much,” she said. “You have suffered for every one of your kin, to bring them the victories of your campaign.” She gave him a sad smile, hinting at the depth of her feeling. “None have sacrificed as you have. I just wish they all could see it, as I do!” She stomped a hoof in irritation.

He took her hand in his, and squeezed gently before releasing it. “I have sacrificed everything,” he said. “But it helps, to have… someone… who understands.”

Page 49

He stomped through his home, trying to burn some of his frustration and anger off. Damn his brother! Had he not done his time? For ten thousand years he had been imprisoned, and still they ignored the obvious threats, merely because he, Illidan Stormrage, would act on them?

He had flung open the door to his guest room and stomped in before he realised where he was.

In front of the window sat the Draenei - sat Zeraa, he thought, some of his anger dulling at her name - on a stool, the warm sunlight from the window behind casting her into silhouette. She was…. Was that a paintbrush in her hand? And she was before an easel, and canvas, he noted belatedly.

She noticed his entry, of course, and with a squeak she bolted upright on her stool. “Illidan!” she called joyfully, and again he felt the fury in his heart recede. He prowled around the room, but she moved the canvas from his line of sight. “Did the meeting with your brother and his wife not go well?” she asked.

“What are you hiding?” he asked, suspicious.

“Nothing,” she trilled soothingly. “I- it’s nothing.”

“Zeraa,” he asked again.

Her face tendrils writhed, and she looked downcast, embarrassed. “It’s, well…” Reluctantly, she placed the canvas flat against the easel, letting him see.

Illidan stopped dead in his tracks. It’s a portrait, of him, drawn like a courageous hero, bare-chested, hair storm-tossed, his expression handsome and roguish. His right hand rests on the head of a battle-hardened mistsaber, and behind him stands an army innumerable, lit by a storm-tossed sky.

“I… I wanted to thank you,” she explained in a small voice. “You, you have done so much for me since I arrived here, and I have… not been able to repay you in kind. I thought maybe, this one thing I…” She glanced at him. “You do not like it. I will be rid of it.” She stood up, and moved to grab the canvas frame.

“No,” he rasped, reaching out to place a hand on her shoulder. “No,” he repeated. “I… do not hate it.” He looks her in her golden eyes, their glow a match for his own in green. “It is the nicest thing anyone has ever done for me.”

She looked at him a moment, then let out a breath - half sigh, half laugh. “Surely you exaggerate. It is only a portrait, and surely one such as you has had many nice gestures done for your benefit by others?”

He is silent for a long moment. “They have not,” he said at last. Letting go of her arm, he turned from her, his face only visible in profile as he looked over his shoulder towards her. “Finish your painting. Please,” he asked, voice trembling with barely contained emotion. “I would… treasure it.”

Then, he fled from the room.

Page 68

Lorlathil was a busy place, and she had learnt that Illidan wasn’t fond of crowded places - but she had wanted to see more of Azeroth, and he had been willing to indulge her. Still, she found herself looking at the sky wistfully, as much as about the bustling village. Some part of her, she felt, somehow knew what it was to fly amongst the stars, to bask in their light and filter it around her.

She glanced at Illidan, his hand brushing against hers as they walked. Of course, there was light to bask in down here, too.

“They’re looking at you,” he rasped softly, for only her to hear.

“What?” She looked around, but could not catch anyone looking at her. Surely they would be looking at Illidan himself? He was a great hero, a saviour of all at great sacrifice, and she was… she was…

Well, she was Zeraa.

“Nonsense,” she said. “Why would they look at me?”

“Your golden markings,” he noted. “You never did tell me where they are from. Other Draenei don’t have them.”

“You never asked!” she teased him.

He grunted, turning to look away down the path. No other would, but she could tell he was bruised by the remark.

“I am sorry,” she trilled softly. “I do not remember much, but I will tell you what I can.” Now that she looked around again, she could spot the odd child or two pointing at her.

“I am Draenei, yes, but I am Lightforged,” she explained. “Blessed by the sacred Naaru, the divine and righteous leaders, guardians, and guides of the Army of the Light, sanctified with great and worthy purpose.”

Illidan looked at her, amazed and impressed. “That is amazing,” he said, “and impressive. Surely you have done many great things to be blessed with such a gift.”

“I do not know,” she said sadly. “I do not remember.”

They walked along a curated garden path, towards the outskirts of Lorlathil. “Your markings,” Illidan began, and he sounded almost nervous to her - but no, that was not possible. “They are not dissimilar to my own.”

“I had noticed them,” she admitted. How could she not? He was so handsome, and they accentuated his bare chest so very well, jagged arcs cut across his skin.

He nodded. “Mine came at great cost and sacrifice. They are part of the price I pay, every day, for the power to save my people. I wear them proudly, and would do so again, were the choice once more before me.” They passed a carefully tended flower bed. “But they scar me, Zeraa, while your markings only make you the more beautiful.”

She felt a warm glow within her chest. Illidan thought her beautiful? Her heart beat faster, and she found herself reaching to take his hand in hers, amazed all the more that he did not shy away. She stopped their walk, and turned to face him directly.

“These scars,” she trilled softly, letting her free hand come up to trace a single finger along the trail they mark across his chest, “are their own beauty, for those who have the grace to see.” She stared into his burning green eyes, willing him to see her sincerity. “And they make you all the more handsome,” she said, almost demurely.

“I…” he rasped, appearing lost for words. “I don’t know what to say, Zeraa.”

“Then do not speak,” she said, leaning towards him and pressing her lips to his in a slow, gentle kiss.

Page 94

The meeting was wrapping up, and Illidan was about to leave, when Malfurion spoke. “Please, Illidan, stay a moment.”

Grumpily, he sat back down, staring across the table at his brother and at Tyrande, who sat at his side. She had never liked him, and after all he had done for her too.

Huh. The usual surge of irritation he felt at being reminded of that felt dulled somehow. When had that started happening? The last few weeks, he realised.

It took a few minutes for everyone else to file out of the room, blathering on to each other about shipping and economics and other such rot. The doors slammed home, and Illidan turned to glare at his brother. “Well?” he demanded after a moment of silence.

“How are you feeling, brother?” Malfurion asked, while Tyrande smirked at him. What is this about, he wondered.

“I was better before you started wasting my time even more,” he growled. “And what is it that you find so amusing?” he threw at Tyrande.

Malfurion sighed. “People have been talking, Brother,” he said. “About you, and… about that odd Draenei you’ve taken in.”

Illidan bristled. “You make her sound like a stray pet. And people-” he glared at Tyrande. “-should mind their own business. We have a Legion to defeat.”

Tyrande stifled a silly giggle, and Malfurion frowned at his brother. “That is precisely our concern, Illidan. We have a legion to defeat, and you have found….” He shrugged. “If not a stray pet, then what? Someone willing to tolerate your company? Did you bribe her, Illidan? Is she perhaps very confused, falling from the sky?” Beside him, Tyrande burst out in snorting laughter, unable to contain herself.

“Did she hit her head very hard?” Tyrande asked in a voice getting higher pitched with each word.

“We’ve all seen her, Illidan, and even I have to admit she’s very pretty on the eyes,” Malfurion added with as straight a face as he could manage. “I’m just concerned that maybe she’s confused you with literally any other person in a thousand mile radius.” A twitch of his lips is the only tell that he’s enjoying this.

“Enough,” Illidan snarled, getting up from his seat and twirling his cape around his shoulders dramatically. “I do not expect you to understand - either of you. You never understood me. You never even tried. I have sacrificed everything for our people, and still you refuse to recognise it. Zeraa recognises it, and appreciated me for who I am.” Even as he said it, he realised that every word was true.

He left the room, their laughter ringing in his ears, and almost barged into Zeraa as he left the meeting room.

She reached out to grab him to steady herself, before looking up at him, tears marring the golden glow of her eyes and her perfect skin.

“I heard what your family said,” she admitted in a small, broken voice. “I… I do not want to cause trouble for you. You have done so much, and I have done so little…” She reached to wipe her nose with her hand, sniffling. She took a deep breath. “I will go. I will leave, and I will no longer be a- a- a problem,” she finished, breaking into a full cry.

“Zeraa!” he cried protectively, wrapping his strong arms around her and pulling her to his bare chest. “Please, no. I… I do not want you to go. Malfurion may be my brother by blood, but that does not matter. We’ve never gotten along. And Tyrande…” He paused a moment, feels the idea in his head for a moment, and finds it is true. “Tyrande means nothing to me. Not anymore. Do you understand, Zeraa?” He reached to cup her cheek, and looked her beseechingly in her golden eyes.

She looked up at him, tears running down her face, and saw only love - his love for her - in his burning green eyes. “Yes,” she said, weeping now for joy. “Yes, I understand you.” She pressed her head to his shoulder, her nose pressed to his neck, and stood with Illidan.

Illidan and her, against the world.

She made a decision.

“Let us go,” she asked. “I want to be alone with you.”

“Alone with-?” He could tell, light bless him. He knew her so well. And she him. With another of those oh so rare, far too fleeting smiles, he bent, and - inciting a yelp from her - he picked her up, one arm curled around her back, the other hooked under her knees, and carried her down the hallway.

“I’d never imagined,” he said as they pass doorways and hallways, “that I would find someone like you, Zeraa,” he said, and only she could hear the amazed bewilderment in his voice.

“And I,” she answered in kind, “never thought to find one like you on all of Azeroth,” craning her neck to press a kiss to his throat as they reach his room. She kicked with a leg, and knocked the door open, so Illidan could carry them over more thresholds than one.

Illidan lowered her to his bed, where she reclined provocatively for his view. He worked the fastenings on his pants, skilfully removing what little clothing he wore. The green tattoos did go all the way down, she noted with wicked delight, and he was more than generously gifted below the belt. She felt a smile tug at her lips, even as she worked to unlace the bodice that strained to contain her own impressive assets.

“Come,” she said, seductive and alluring. “Show me this Kaldorei thing you call love.”

Page 102

“Please,” she cried out, as he thrusts, filling her, “More, Illidan, I’m going to- I’m- I’m-”

With a rising moan, she shuddered around him, feeling herself shatter to pieces in bliss and release. She splintered, breaking into shards of pure joy as she feels him roar, their ecstasies commingling and cresting together, as they rode each other down into joyous release and contentment.

He collapsed atop her, rolling to the side as he does, leaving them both panting for breath on his bed.

It was many long minutes before either of them spoke.

“Is this what it feels like?” Illidan asked at last.

“What, my love?” Zeraa asks.

He looked over at her tiredly, yet radiant - as is she. “To not suffer,” he answered.

Page 123

Lorlathil still bustled as ever, but somehow to her eyes, it looked brighter, lovelier. Perhaps it had something to do with Illidan, who walked arm in arm with her. He still didn’t smile - in public, at least - but she knew him. She could tell he was smiling inside. And she knew that he knew how happy he made her, too. Ever since that fateful day, when they had made love to each other, the tattoos on his skin had begun shifting in colour, becoming gold like her own. It had been like a balm for his soul, an ease to his suffering, and sacrifice.

Deep down, somehow she knew, they were destined for this.

Across the village green, she saw Malfurion, his brother, sitting morosely at a table. She pointed towards him, and glanced at Illidan, raising a perfect eyebrow.

“You really want me to talk to him?” he asked gravelly, before sighing. “Alright. Only for you, Zeraa, my love.” They made their way towards the Archdruid.

“Has there been any word?” Illidan asked, as Malfurion looked up from the several empty mugs strewn before him.

“None,” Malfurion practically wailed. “She’s gone! Oh, Tyrande, my beloved…” He sobbed into his mugs.

“She knew the risks,” Zeraa said, “when she decided to sneak off into the legion camps alone. She should not have done so.” She tsks softly. “I would have advised her not to.”

Illidan nodded sagely at Zeraa’s wisdom. “Tyrande was never one to listen to advice,” he rasped.

Malfurion glared up at them both. “Oh, go on and gloat, you two. I know you want to!”

Zeraa pulled a hand to her full chest in shock, and Illidan looked ill at the thought. “No, Brother. Why would I gloat? Now you know something of suffering, too.” Together, Zeraa and Illidan turned, and continued on their walk.

Page 156

Aboard the Vindicaar, Illidan and Zeraa stand, elegant and supremely confident, commanding in presence and in fact. With Malfurion alternating between drowning in drink and wandering in circles looking for Tyrande, something had to be done, and so they had done it.

Together, Illidan and Zeraa had commanded the invasion of Argus, and together, they were driving the Legion back.

Something about all this had felt strangely familiar to Zeraa. Had felt right. She glanced over at Illidan, her love. By day, they fought for all the peoples of creation, and by night… well, by night, they shared of each other. Vigorously, and enthusiastically.

She felt a headache coming on, and pressed a hand to her head. Instantly, Illidan was there, asking if she was alright, but it felt like it was coming from far away, down a tunnel.

The last thing she saw before she blacked out was his face.

-----

She came to gradually, the sound of windchimes in her head. She started, her gaze casting about to find her love.

Illidan, of course, was by her side in a flash. “My love,” he said, and only she could see the fear in his eyes. Fear for her.

“My love,” she replied. “I… I remember,” she said.

“Who you were, before you crashed here?” he asked, understanding instantly.

“Yes,” she said. “I… was a Naaru. I was Xe’ra.”

Illidan blinked at her. “A… Naaru?” He looked confused.

“Yes,” she said. “I… I knew you were there, on Azeroth. That I needed you, and you needed me. That we needed each other.”

“It was destiny,” he agreed.

“But… I think they are calling me back. I think… I think I could be Naaru again.”

Illidan froze. “I see,” he said. She understood he was suddenly terrified. She herself did not know what to do. Surely she should be who she was? But… She looked at Illidan. She loved him. And he her.

She turned, getting up from the cot, and walked to the viewing windows. Azeroth, and her moon, could be seen in the sky. “Curse you, moon!” she cried out in anguish. “Why must you force me to make this choice?” she screamed. “Damnable moon, and Elune, who is definitely not a Naaru! Or maybe a shitty Naaru, but that does not count! And despicable Tyrande, who represents the moon!” She made fists of her hands, and banged them against the window.

“Zeraa,” Illidan rasped softly, and the way he says her name is a balm against her soul. “I… I do not wish for you to go, for I love you. But…” He breaks off, almost unable to continue. Almost.

“But if you must go, then you must go. I will not, cannot stop you. But, please.” He swallowed a sob. “Please. Don’t.”

“You have known suffering,” she whispered through a sheet of tears.

“Yes,” he agreed. “But not like this. Never like this.”

“Alright,” she said. “I will stay, Shard of my Heart.”

Illidan smiled. Only Zeraa understands how he feels.

#Astra Writes #wow #Xe'ra #Illidan #Legion #Shards and Hearts #sorry not sorry

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