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alluringjae · 3 years

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queen of hearts - sjn

summary: for the first time, one of your star students hasn’t been fetched right after class. but when she finally does, you weren’t expecting such a fine man to be her father.

pairing: johnny x female reader

word count: 5.5k

genre: fluff, romance, comedy | ceo and single dad!johnny + ballerina!reader + modern day!au

warnings: mentions of an absent parent, johnny being an overthinker, sexual innuendos (ten saying dilf hehe), slight explicit language, technical terms of ballet, a mini reference to mean girls

author’s note: sooo i came in touch with my former dance life, which led me to write this. there are links for the variations i used; their names are underlined when they’re mentioned. i am going to get technical with ballet terms here (even when my ballet knowledge decreased), so to any dancers reading, i really did my best, so please don’t come for me or do correct me for any mistakes.

although one character and her dance background, plus the name of the setting, are real, everything else about it is still a work of fiction.

i miss dancing, no cap.

leave me some feedback, constructive criticism or hellos!

Ballet student and teacher by day, a soloist of the Korean National Ballet at night.

This was your daily routine, and it wasn’t the typical 8-5. But it’s debatable whether or not it was worse, because you’re always going overtime. That’s the thing when you’re an overachiever. Nonetheless, you loved what you do. It’s the lifestyle you gradually built since your preschool days.

Mornings on the weekdays were mostly vacant since all the kids were still in school. You’d start at 10 am for a warm-up class for the company. Before you delved into teaching and assisting, you’d train right after your lunch break. Partnering class, en pointe class, 1-on-1 sessions with choreographers, self-practice, then the company night class, that’s the organization of your week.

Now adding the teacher title, you mostly handled kindergartners to 5th graders in the academy aspect of the company. Your first teaching class would start at 1 pm. It’s when the younger students who finished their morning classes zoom into your assigned dance studio. One class would last an hour and a half, then you have a 30-minute break in between another class with the older kids. Their lesson repertoire was more strenuous due to the added across-the-floor lessons and jumps. Water was always your best friend, water refilling stations located everywhere in the company building.

You wouldn’t say you’re a strict teacher, but you weren’t shy to correct anyone from wherever you stood. You’d lightly align their arms or back properly so your students were working on the correct body parts. Compared to the other teachers, a lot of students enjoyed your kind yet frank approaches. Your former students, who’ve already gone to the higher levels, missed your lively presence and wished repeatedly that they want you back as their teacher.

“Teacher (Y/N), I miss you so much! Teacher Ten is so intense. I get the jitters especially when we’re en pointe on the floor.”

“Teacher (Y/N), Teacher Sicheng and Teacher Seulgi scare the heck out of me during partnering class. Especially when I tried to lift my partner, I keep losing focus because of Teacher Sicheng’s never-ending comments!”

Not to be sadistic, but you’d simply laugh at their minuscule complaints. Even if they’re struggling in the academy, those comments were directed to fix their techniques if they wanted to breakthrough.

“Kids, you’re going to be fine! They wouldn’t say or do those things just because they wanted to. They’re here to push you to the next level, like how I used to do with you. It’s a cut-throat industry after all.”

This was always your reply, bittersweet and truthful. Not everyone makes it, unfortunately, so if you’re really striving, you’d do whatever it takes. Throughout your career, you’re relatively impressed with how far you’ve come.

Trainee at 17, Corps de Ballet at 18, Demi-Soloist at 21, and Soloist at 23.

You’ve been a soloist for 4 years. The final stage, which was to become a principal dancer, is your running goal. Becoming a soloist was praiseworthy enough because you’ve seen so many give up in the Corps, but claiming a spot as a principal dancer has been the ultimate dream. Since you’ve watched Swan Lake for the first time at 4 years old with your parents, that’s where you found a passion for dancing and the stage. Here you are years later, practicing numerous variations daily, performing in opera houses, and mentoring all these gifted kids.

Your last class with elementary kids, which began around 5 pm, reached its end once all the students curtsied in front of you and scurried to their mothers or their nannies. The remaining plan on your agenda today was the company class at 7:30 pm, which exceeds the average hour and a half. It’s worse during show season. There have been times everyone went beyond midnight to polish every scene from head to toe.

Currently, there’s no upcoming show for the public, though the annual summer recital for the students was around the corner. Selected members of the company were chosen to perform individually in it, which was both exciting and intense. It’s also because it’s an evaluation on whether you’d get promoted in status or staying put. You’ve partaken in 3 recitals in the past, two of which elevated you from the corps and demi-soloist ranks. The recent one, however, didn’t change your soloist ranking.

It was a major first in your career in ballet, and after finding out the result of the latter, it emotionally pained you. Recalling how much soul you put into that piece, the rejection from your artistic director clenched your heart. Though in time, you moved on from it and viewed it as a stepping stone. Also, Sicheng and Ten personally stormed your apartment to pull yourself together with wine and pizza after going on a short leave.

Since you were trainees, Sicheng and Ten were your best friends in and outside the company. Working daily to occasional barhopping, that’s your youth summed up. It wasn’t because you didn’t like the girls you’ve worked with (though a lot of them were fake and bitchy), but these two were frank and humorous as hell. Together, you’d help each other with your goals rather than be competitive. Over time, Ten leveled up to a principal dancer for 2 years running while you and Sicheng were still soloists. The way you’d watch Ten take all the big roles, that’s where you want to be one day.

Back in your last teaching class, the entire dance room was vacant. Since it’s mainly used for ballet classes, you’d either run through anything you’ve practiced from the company classes and polish it or warm up a little bit more.

Except for today, this was the only free time to sew a new pair of pointe shoes because your current ones were dead. Dead in a sense that the hard shell turned soft, which won’t be able to support you when you’re up on your toes. You’re not taking any risks of minor injuries especially when you’re in the current lineup of company members performing for this upcoming recital again. You have to prove to everyone that you deserve a position as a principal dancer.

As your legs sprawled in a half middle split, your sewing equipment laid in front of you like you’re about to perform surgery, a tiny girl stood by the ajar studio doors. In her neat bun and holding on to her small duffel bag, you’re convinced everyone has gone home already since it’s quite late.

You may have your priorities as a company member, but she was still your student.

“Minji!” You shouted her name, speedily waving your hand. You’re not one to have favorites, though you couldn’t help wonder how extraordinary she was. She’s always taking charge in demonstrating the lessons to everyone and improving every session in the 3 years she’s joined the academy. “Come in! Come in!”

At age 7, she’s gotten taller through the years, above the average from how you see it. She must have amazing genetics. Her legs sauntered in seconds to you. Sitting down across you, she marveled at your setup. Specifically, at the fresh pointe shoes.

“Are those yours, Teacher (Y/N)?” She perked up, caressing its soft fabric and playing with the mini bows of the drawstrings.

“Yes, it is, Minji!” You answered while trying to insert the thin thread through the small eye of the needle. “Why are you still here? Is your nanny stuck in traffic or something?”

“My nanny went on sudden leave, so my dad’s the one fetching me. But I think he’s running late from his job.”

Oh, this was a first to know about her father. In all the years she’s been your student, you rarely caught sight of him, even in recitals. Maybe he sat in an unknown section, but you’re pretty much acquainted with all the parents of your students. Even if some were snobbier than the rest because they wanted their child to have more stage time, you still got to know them out of respect. Quite odd, if you said so yourself.

After deep concentration, the thread triumphantly passed through the eye so you tied the two ends of the thread in a double knot. Seeing as Minji attentively watched you, you tasked her to cut the ribbons of your shoes according to the trail of pencil marks. This was so she wouldn’t cut it too short or too long. While she did that, you hammered your shoes against the floor to soften the hard front, bending the shank back and forth so the arch of your feet could move without difficulty later.

Minji wasn’t expecting such loud sounds, her entire body shaken awake. Her facial expression was priceless, explaining to her, “Once you get your first pointe shoes in a few years, this is one of the basic things you need to do so your feet won’t hurt too much while dancing.”

“Will you be there to teach me how to make my pointe shoes?”

“Absolutely! Come to me first then I’ll mentor you all that I know.”

The process of sewing and breaking new pointe shoes engraved your mind since your adolescent years, with changes along the way. Inspired by some tricks from your former teachers, but there were some differing rituals you followed. There’s no definite process of it, just as long you’re comfortable to dance after.

With your feet, you stepped on the hard boxes of the shoes to soften it more, creating a popping sound. Followed by sewing your elastic bands in. For your ribbons, you liked to burn the edges with a lighter so the thread of it won’t run. Kindly asking your cute assistant for the lighter beside her, you scanned the edges back and forth the flame. In seconds, the edges had a distinct mark, fully closed. From there, you slid your feet to your shoes to make final sewing adjustments. Sewing your ribbons took you another few minutes, plus adding superglue inside the shoe so the shoe won’t collapse when it unstiffens and scratching the shank with a cutter so you won’t slip later while dancing.

Voila, the final product is done! Hopefully, it can last you a week at least.

“Wow, Teacher (Y/N), it looks pretty!” Minji applauded, collecting the mess you’ve both made to dispose of later. You, on the other hand, gave her your thanks once you applied some bandages on your big toes and put on your toe pads. Slipping inside the shoes and tying them, you rose up back to your feet and headed to the bar to break them in. From plies-relevésto forced arches, the shoes gave you the sensation that they were an extension of your feet. The ease flowed through, meaning you were ready to practice your variations.

While you stepped your shoes in rosin for friction, your curious student moved to the front where the mirror lied to watch what you’ve prepared.

“What variation are you dancing to?”

“This is the Gamzatti variation from La Bayadere.” You replied, tapping the play button on your phone and racing to your position on the side. Talking a short ballet walk, you strongly prepared your arms before the music of the orchestra takes off.

This variation consisted of a lot of jumps and turns. Grand jetés, attitude turns, chaîné turns, you needed a lot of core control and proper spotting so you won’t get dizzy. The thrilling music lessened your nerves because you enjoyed learning this piece from one of the principal dancers, smiling and letting the music guide your legs. Once you nailed 3 consecutive grand jetés, the variation ended with a sus-sous and the wrists of your hands flicking upwards.

Holding it for 5 more seconds, you landed back on your feet with heavy breathing and a need for water. But before you could, small claps and cheers from Minji in front erupted. Momentarily, you’ve forgotten her presence because dancing solo puts you in your own space. You’d never let anyone take you away from it.

“Teacher (Y/N), that was wonderful! Are you performing that in the summer recital?”

Yikes, she’s right but she wasn’t meant to see it yet. Solo performances from the company members for the recital were top secret, only unveiled during the production rehearsal. Well, you didn’t think this through, but you didn’t mind.

“Can you keep a secret?”

Time ticked a lot faster today, only 10 minutes left until the company class on the ground floor whereas you were in the second. Just a few steps down the stairs away, yet Minji was still here. You only presumed that within your hour break, her father could’ve made it already. But maybe he’s stuck in traffic or at work.

“Minji, my class starts soon. Have you contacted your father?”

“I already texted him earlier, but he hasn’t responded. This happens often, he’s a busy man.” She bowed in front of you suddenly. “I’m sorry, Teacher (Y/N) for the hassle.”

“Oh no, please!” You shook your hands so she’d stop. Because this situation was relatively new, you were unsure of how to handle it. Or that was until you remembered what Ten texted you earlier. “Minji, the blinds of the main studio are going to be lifted so anyone from the outside can view us practicing. Would you like to watch until your dad gets here?”

With her insistent nodding, she situated herself in one of the seats in the front row. When you entered the main studio, your two close companions already carried a metal barre to the center and leaned towards it while observing you walking to them in your flat shoes.

“I see we have a bit of an audience here.” Ten glimpsed at the young girl, astonished by the many dancers prepping and chatting away with their cliques from the glass barrier.

“Her dad isn’t here yet, and you did say the blinds were up today. Might as well give her a show while she waits, you know.” You lifted your right leg to the top barre, stretching it with your arms.

“Hmmm, shouldn’t her dad be more cautious though? It’s getting late and it’s a Thursday. Doesn’t she have school or something?” Sicheng pointed out, discarding his muscle tee to straighten out his leotard.

“That’s not my business though. She’s just my student, and since she’s still here, I have to entertain her while she waits.”

Before your friends said anything back, the artistic director of the ballet company strutted her way to the center of the room. It’s a common rule here that once she entered, everyone must be silent to listen and race to any free spot in the numerous barres spread out if they haven’t.

“Alright, everyone. We’ll do the typical barre, then before doing across the floor exercises, I’ll be requesting those performing solos already in the recital to dance any variation tonight as another evaluation on who deserves to perform twice.” She eyed the pianist directly beside her. “Proceed first with two demi-pliés then one grand plié. Don’t forget to do the port de bras of each position.”

As the live piano music played, your focus was divided. Partly properly executing the exercise while your artistic director roamed each barre area, partly thinking about what variation to perform. This was a first for the company, and everyone was just stunned to hear the breaking news. It’d be nice to get an extra opportunity to showcase to people your potential.

30-40 minutes flew by quickly. As the guys carried the bars to the side to clear out the floor and the girls changed to their pointe shoes, the artistic director ordered all the performers of the recitals to stand in a line in front of her. Everyone else was seated around the room, so the interested eyes of everyone were on you. There were 10 performers, half are from the corps and the other half are either demi-soloists or soloists. You and Sicheng stood beside each other, internally shaking with nerves under the intimidating eyes of the artistic director. She used to be a principal dancer for the Stuttgart Ballet in Germany before moving back to Seoul, making her undeniably capable of leading all of you.

“Okay,” From her seated position observing the 10 performers, her finger pointed at you directly. “Ms. (Y/L/N) (Y/N), you perform first.”

Your nerves intensified and more sweat streamed out your upper body. Even if going first felt more relieving, no one was ever brave enough to perform individually in front of the esteemed artistic director. Principal dancers aside from Ten that you’re close with were intimidated when they have 1-on-1 or partnering sessions with her. But anyhow, in less than 2 minutes, you’d be done. This wasn’t the first time she’s had your full attention either, so you’ll treat it like the other individual performances you’ve had.

You smiled to yourself when the other soloists left you alone, while you gave the name of the variation you’re dancing to the pianist. Running to the side to put on a practice tutu, the artistic director asked, “What will you be dancing for us tonight, (Y/N)?”

“I’ll be dancing Queen of the Dryads from Don Quixote.”

The last time you did this variation was 3 years ago during the recital that didn’t change your position as a soloist. Even if this variation hurt to think about for a while, it was still one of your favorites to watch and do. Moving on, you could only muse how powerful and beautiful you felt at that time. This isn’t an easy piece to perform in your opinion. Yet according to the members of the company, this was their favorite solo of yours.

As the starting notes unfolded, you took a deep breath and elegantly walked into the frame. You only wished you wore your fake crown again for this. Minimal smiling and light arms, you imagined yourself as an actual queen who captured the eyes of many. In this case, your fellow seniors and juniors held their breaths at the captivating sight of you.

Off you go into a series of glissade jeté developpé on relevé at elevating heights, then a fouetté arabesque and another arabesque on relevé before ballet walking again to the side to dance across the stage. Sissonne to the front, right developpé to the front on relevé, pique to prepare for a single pirouette, you gracefully did a chassé to the front twice and stood on your toes with a sus-sous.

Doing it a few more times, the climax of the entire variation was nearing. Returning to the center, you took another deep breath and lifted your left leg for the Italian fouettés. Spotting to the front and back while maintaining your balance, the variation approached its end with lame duck turns, posing with your arms were positioned at a 45-degree angle, your back slightly arched and your left leg doing a tendu derriére. Your eyes reflected at the mirror in front, surveying your alignment. Once your 5-second hold was finished, you properly put your arms down and closed your back leg into 5th position.

The applause from everyone in the room roared, Ten and Sicheng wolf-whistling even for more support. It’s a usual thing every time any of you perform individually, and no one minded it. The artistic director grinned, giving a quiet clap from the front before calling out the next performer, who was from the corps. Bowing to everyone hastily, you paid more attention to spot your student by the window. She was smiling ear to ear, waving both hands at you.

“You did amazing, Teacher!” She mouthed. Hearing words of praise from members was one thing, but hearing them from students was another. You’re so used to watching them and giving them your compliments that you often forget that you’re a dancer first before a teacher. Seeing them all delighted, saying that it motivates them more, showed that you’re doing a great job teaching them. You’re a reflection of what you pass down, and all you want was for them to be the best they could be.

From her jolly expression, a tall masculine silhouette hovered a part of the window. Her instinct of giving a brighter smile when the hand of said silhouette patted her head then carried her duffel bag again, that could only mean one thing. Excusing yourself to the artistic director, you stepped out to bid your goodbye and maybe meet her father. Minji and the tall man were about to leave the building if it weren’t for your breathy voice calling them out.

“Seo Minji and Mr. Seo?”

They stopped their tracks. Minji was fast to react, familiar with your voice and racing towards you for a sweaty hug. Meanwhile, your focus shifted once the masculine silhouette came into full view. You finally understood why Minji’s growth spurt spiked up, noticing that he was taller than Sicheng.

The top buttons of his shirt were off, yet he kept his formal blazer on. His hair was a bit tousled, some strands falling in front of his forehead. He must’ve run here. Peeking through were some roots of his scruff growing. His eyebags were almost as dark as his brown hair. Yet by the way his Rolex remained spotless, you blatantly assumed that he was more than well-off. Especially when the ballet academy was one of the most prestigious ones in Seoul.

Out of all the parents you’ve met, none of them appeared youthful like him.

“Teacher (Y/N)?” Thanks to Minji, you moved your staring eyes away from him. This was another first, since meeting only the fathers of your students wasn’t your norm. Meeting young-looking fathers, to be specific.

“O-Oh,” You ate your words, suddenly blanking out. “You’re leaving me without saying goodbye, Minji? Not polite of you.”

“My father was rushing right after watching your performance, and I don’t know why.” She responded, her finger scratching the top of her head in confusion. Speaking of said father, his strong presence appeared right in front of you. The wrinkles of his forehead creased while his eyes barely looked at yours.

“Uhm,” His fingers toyed with his Rolex. “I apologize for my tardiness. I got caught up in work and all, plus her nanny le-”

“Mr. Seo.” You halted his rambling, already aware of the situation. Like father, like daughter. “It’s fine. Minji loved watching us practice while waiting, and she wasn’t a bother either. You have nothing to worry about.”

“Phew.” He swiped an imaginative bead of sweat from his forehead, displaying his relief with his playful nature.

At age 23, Johnny Seo started his own company in the fashion scene and it grew internationally in the coming years. Then when Minji unexpectedly joined the picture, he’s been multi-tasking to make ends meet. Lately, as a CEO, he has had meetings and conferences on a daily. So, his position as a single father was always tested. It worsened when he rarely has proper time to spend any time with Minji unless it’s the weekend or late in the evening. Breaking it down, it wasn’t because he didn’t want to meet you. It was more like he couldn’t when his schedules were packed from head to toe.

Having the guilt of taking your precious time, “Seriously though, I am sorry for being late. Her nanny resigned suddenly, and I have no time to find her replacement.”

“Mr. Seo, again, don’t worry about it. As her teacher and a company member, I am practically here 24/7 so it won’t be a nuisance at all if this happens again.”

“Thank you so much, Teacher (Y/N). That is your name, right?” He planted his palm on his forehead, stressed. “Being a single parent is hard. I am always forgetting things.”

A part of you couldn’t restrain from feeling sorry for his struggle. Taking care of a child should be the work of both the mother and father, not one of them being absent. You’ve feared this would harm Minji, but she’s a strong girl.

“The fact you didn’t forget to fetch Minji despite the late time is still something to be happy over. I’m not a parent or anything, but parenting, in general, is a challenge.” You added an insight, patting the head of the young girl beside you. “Cut yourself some slack, Mr. Seo. I’m sure Minji still loves you, right?”

Minji shouted a big yes, now clinging to the leg of her father. “It’s okay, dad. Really.”

Over the years, Johnny has been doubtful of his parenting skills. He was an only child, and he struggled to ask for guidance from his own parents due to the shame of having a kid at a young age. So, he’d ask for help from his other friends and co-workers. No matter how many times they’ve reassured him that he’s doing well, he’s an overthinker who always reflected on the bad scenarios. There’s also that pressure to find someone who can fill that absent position not just for Minji, but for himself too. No matter how many girls he’s asked out or been set up with, he failed in the love department badly.

It’s the soothing way you voiced out your truth that made all these negative thoughts running through his head freeze briefly. Over the past 3 years since Minji started ballet, she always had a great story about you to share. One of them was how ballet made her a lot happier because of your influence. If he had at least an hour of his day to meet any of his daughter’s mentors, it would’ve been you.

“Do feel free to call me Johnny instead.” He casually introduced himself, taking his hand out for you to shake. “Mr. Seo makes me feel like I’m at work right now.”

Despite his informal approach, you understood his intentions and returned the action with a promising smile. “Pleasure to finally meet you, Johnny.”

“Pleasure is all mine, Teacher (Y/N).”

Earlier, the nerves from performing in front of the artistic director died down fast. But for some reason, they rose back up when you’ve spoken to this man in a matter of minutes. As someone whose feelings don’t flourish in a single glance, why did this man specifically deliver you such a strong effect?

If it weren’t for Ten calling for your name by the door, you would’ve held on to Johnny’s hand longer, which would’ve been inappropriate. Letting go first, this was your cue to return to your class.

“I must head back inside, Johnny. Don’t sweat on fetching your daughter late, though she is still a student with school the following day. Right, Minji?”

Minji nodded as Johnny kept that mind, knowing where he has to improve next. “Yes, Teacher (Y/N). Thank you again, sincerely. I’ll definitely see you again in the coming days until Minji has a new nanny.”

“That’s no problem with me at all, Johnny.”

Soon as Johnny held his daughter’s hand to exit the studio and you were re-entering the studio with an impatient Ten, he swerved swiftly as if he forgot something.

“Oh by the way Teacher (Y/N), I saw your whole performance awhile ago. I was blown away, you deserved the applause.”

Although you could only distinguish his silhouette, you didn’t suppose he watched you from head to toe. Most parents or nannies would’ve dragged their kids out of the studio once they find them like they were on a tight schedule, so this was novel to experience. That performance showed your prime too.

“Thank you, Johnny. See you again soon.”

Giving a final nod, you led yourself back to the studio, not bothering to acknowledge the erupting heat on your cheeks and entire body. Not to sound narcissistic, but compliments weren’t foreign to you. You’re conscious of the hard work that you put in your talent and if they pointed out your greatness, why would you deny it? However, receiving one from Johnny was like gearing your engine with new fuel.

Before you could try to reject these harboring feelings, Ten was fast to pick up on it. You cannot hide anything from this man at all because body language was like another language he’s fluent in (aside from the other 5). Unlucky for you, the saga continued.

“You’re so into dilfs, (Y/N)!” He shrieked in your ear, nudging your shoulder repetitively. He placed things in his own way, yet they always shocked you because it was so inappropriate. Typical Ten for you.

“Shut up, Ten!” You objected, watching the other performers. You’ve improved in ignoring his remarks over time. That was until Sicheng sat down beside you after his solo and got up in your business. That placed you in the middle of boys from the water sign clan of astrology. They just loved getting down to your love life, going raunchy and whatnot.

“Who’s into dilfs, Ten?”

“A Miss (Y/N) beside you, who met Minji’s dad awhile ago, was basically eye-fucking him.” Ten elaborated, planting his elbows on your leg and gave you a sneaky glare. “Minji’s dad is fine as fuck, guys! I’m telling you, like a literal god! I’m surprised this is the first time he showed up here after 2-3 years?”

“How come (Y/N) is always getting students with good-looking parents? Especially the single moms.” Sicheng slumped his shoulders, attempting to get your attention too. “Is he that hot, (Y/N)?”

“Yah.” Sighing with annoyance, you’ve given up trying to appreciate one of the corps dancers with her rendition of Dulcinea from Don Quixote. “Don’t speak of Johnny like that. You barely know the man, yet you talk about him so unprofessionally."

“Oh, Johnny is his name, huh?” Sicheng sing-songed, bobbing his head. He’s certainly going to stalk him later on social media, you felt it in your chest. Like it was ESPN or something.

“Talking about being unprofessional, yet you’re here referring him as Johnny, not Mr. Seo.” Ten barked back, his lips pursed and one eyebrow lifted.

Just as soon as you could retaliate, the artistic director’s velvety voice boomed the room.

“Alright, thank you to the performers. I will deliberate with the staff and principal dancers over the weekend, and let you know the results on Monday. Now please, let’s proceed to the center.”

Everyone began to spread out on the wide floor, snatching a good position so they could monitor themselves in the mirror. Maybe you’ll defend yourself later after class because now, you needed to beat everyone else and have a crystal-clear view of yourself doing these following exercises.

In the meantime, Johnny was in the middle of driving Minji home. He had a designated chauffeur, but he gave him the night off because he wanted to spend time with Minji. Around this time, she’d be sleeping soundly, but instead, she’s boosting with so much life. She hasn’t even eaten dinner yet, which was the first thing on Johnny’s agenda now.

Playing Coldplay in the car, Minji belted some lyrics from her favorite songs while Johnny smiled to himself while listening to her attentively. Taking a breath, her thoughts reverted to her fantastic ballet teacher and shared them with her father.

“Dad! Don’t you just think Teacher (Y/N) is so cool? Ugh, I want to be just like her when I grow up.”

“Oh, to become a ballerina like her, you have to work hard every day and memorize lessons fast. Are you up for it, Minji?”

“Absolutely, dad! I want to pull off perfect jumps and turns like her one day!”

In the other after-school activities Johnny enrolled Minji in the past, none of them compared to the passion she had for ballet. Her work ethic was alike to Johnny’s: if they want something, they’ll do whatever it takes to make it possible.

Aside from being a star student in her school, she’s aiming to be a star ballerina. Being the supportive father he is, Johnny was on board to do what it takes to make it happen. Unlike his parents trying to mold him into the next heir of their company, he’s all ears to the dreams of his daughter. His only dream for her was to be live long and happy, not to merely pass on anything.

Johnny lost so much in his young life, so he doesn’t want to lose Minji in any way. As much as he loves his profession, he wanted to be an active father as much as time allowed it. He mostly received complaints from others that he’s not prioritizing his time well, but after hearing your kind words, this heavy weight on his shoulders decreased. All this doubt started to vanish after meeting you for the first time.

“Dad! Isn’t Teacher (Y/N) so beautiful?” Minji honored whilst gazing at the twinkling night sky. “She loves what she does and shines at it.”

Johnny was accustomed to his female co-workers throwing themselves at him due to his attractiveness, more than flattered even to have them feeling weak for him. Yes, there were times he used it to his advantage, some he frankly turned down.

However, the radiance you carried whether you’re dancing or not was something Johnny couldn’t cease wondering about. Unknown to him, he’s the one getting weak. Behold, an unlocked first for the confident CEO.

“Yes, Minji. I do think Teacher (Y/N) is absolutely beautiful.”

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darkficsyouneveraskedfor · 3 years

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Hue and Cry II

Warnings: non-consent sex and rape; abuse of power, threats, chase.

This is dark!medieval!Bucky Barnes x reader and explicit. 18+ only. Your media consumption is your own responsibility. Warnings have been given. DO NOT PROCEED if these matters upset you.

Synopsis: You find a place to hide for the time being.

Note: Got this done quickly and was surprised with myself. Gearing up to go back to work tomorrow. I’ll try to catch up on responses after work and check in with y’all.

Thanks to everyone and thanks in advance for all your feedback. :)

I really hope you enjoy. 💋

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You didn’t stop running until the dawn. You didn’t head for the village as you knew that would be the first place the lord and his party would look. You kept to the forest despite the howls and the hoots of unseen creatures. You stopped to bury your cap and apron under an overturned trunk. If it was known that Barnes was searching out a servant, it would be better to be less obvious.

As the horizon turned to a soft amber, you found an overhang and nestled into the small nook. You turned your back to the bitter morning air and tried to sleep. If you kept going, you would only pass out in the open. Your slumber was shallow and fitful. You were stiff as you woke up just after noon and climbed out of the cranny.

You feasted on nuts and berries gathered along your clueless path, eating as the twigs and branches pulled at your skirts. You weren’t sure where you were or where you were going. You could be out of the county or you could be five minutes from the castle. For your luck, you could have just gone in circles.

The second night you found a cave and slept there instead of pressing on through the dark. You were itchy from a brush with poison ivy and your feet throbbed from the endless trek. You got a few hours under your eyelids before you emerged and carried on.

What were you doing? Where were you going? If you did manage to evade the wrathful lord, what then? Knock on the doors of another castle and barter an apron with your fingernails dirty and your face wind burned?

The third night saw your stomach squeezing painfully as you failed to catch a rabbit and drank from a river eagerly. You slept between two broken logs and woke to the sound of hooves. You didn’t move as you listened to the voices. None were familiar and the only prey they spoke of was some doe they sighted moments ago.

“Nolan spooked the creature just behind the hill, my lord, if we hook around the lea, we might catch it by the stream,” a man said.

“I’d rather the stag. He must be close,” a deeper timbre replied, “you and Nolan take your course and I’ll search these grounds for the mate. Whistle if you sight our game.”

“Yes, my lord,” the other responded and the horses cantered away.

You stayed as you were as you heard the remaining man dismount and tramp over the carpet of leaves. You rolled onto your stomach and wriggled away from the noise and kicked yourself out from between the logs. You kept on your knees as you crawled around the other side and headed for the nearest tree.

His footsteps softened and you kept on, hoping your dirty dress helped you blend into the wild. You pushed yourself behind a trunk and pressed your back to the bark. If you sprinted out, he might just think you another frightened creature. If he sought a stag, he would be uninterested.

You nodded and readied for your flight. You took a breath and yelped as suddenly a figure appeared before you.

“I thought I heard a rustle,” the man said as he looked down at you. He was a lord, you could tell by the pin at the nape of his cape, “you look to be lost, my lady.”

“My lord,” you stood and bowed your head, “I only wandered too far. I can find my way back.”

“Way back where?” his hands went to his hips, “you look as if you have been wandering for a time.”

“I only tumbled and mussed myself,” you lied, “my lord, my apologies, I did not realise this forest was noble land.”

“It is easy to break the threshold of the common lands and the noble sprawl. It would be quicker on horseback to reunite you with your home, would it not?”

“I am grateful for such generosity but I would be remiss to accept, I might go on my way and--”

“Where do you hail from, lady?” he squinted.

“The village over yonder,” you pointed away from him, “it was a game and I did go too far.”

“And the village you speak of? What is it’s name?” he asked.

“Ildersin,” you uttered, one of the three nearest villages to the castle you knew.

“Ildersin? That is far and beyond my holdings,” he tilted your head, “one cannot wander there in less than a day so I warn you now to be honest or I would have your tongue out with hot pincers.”

You gulped and looked away from him. He stepped closer and caught your wrist.

“I could chase you down easy on my horse’s back, trample you into the mud, so answer me now or I will take you to the stocks,” he snarled.

“My father,” you said, “my father, he does beat me and I waited until he was abed to leave but I lost the bundle I did prepare for the escape. You see, my spare clothing and my food… I only did want to be upon my own and toil for one who does not lash me.”

He breathed through his nostrils as his thumb brushed the stitching along your cuff. He dropped your arm and his jaw ticked. His blond lashes flicked and he considered you and the dirt as one.

“You seek work?” he asked, “and asylum from your violent father?”

“Yes, my lord, er,” you blinked innocently, “I know not where I’ve found myself but I would serve you loyal if you would keep me from the stocks.”

“You can hold a broom? Empty a pot?” he asked.

“I can,” you assured, “my lord.”

“You have good manners for a farm maid,” he mused, “I might find a place for you in my kitchens.”

“My lord? You might direct me to the nearest village so I might find labour there, instead, I would not presume to further tax--”

“My castle is big enough, another hand would be more help than a burden,” he stepped back and waved you around the tree, “I will accompany you back to my keep and return to fetch my men… you look to have been out here long enough.”

“Truly, my lord, I--” you saw his impatience in the vein along his forehead and bowed your head, “I am most grateful.”

“Let us be off or my men might be lost without me,” he said.

He lifted you onto his horse and climbed up behind you. You’d never been astride with a man against you, it was awkward and crowded. He snapped the reins and the horse fell into step. He steered it away from your hiding place.

“Might I ask where I am, my lord?” you ventured.

“This is Astrens,” his voice rumbled through you, “And I am its lord, Duke Steven Rogers.”

Your heart sank as you recognised his name and your mistake. He wasn’t easily known with his beard, newly grown since his last visit to the Lord Barnes’ hold. He was of the few who were granted company with the miserly lord of the castle but there was a chance yet he did not know you. You were after all, only a servant.

🏰

Lord Rogers handed you over to his steward. You were reassured as you were given a cap, apron, and a new dress. You washed out of a basin and reported for your new duties.

It might just be far enough away that you wouldn’t have to worry about Barnes. He never went far from his estate and Astrens was out of the way of the capital. Even if it didn’t work, it gave you time to plot a real departure.

You were sent to the laundries to sweat over boiling cauldrons as you stirred the linens with a large stick. The steams seeped through your clothing and left you out of breath as you wrung out the sheets. You hung them outside along the line and helped beat out the old woven rugs.

After nights in the forest, your first day felt far from a return to normalcy. You were in a new place, you had new duties, and you didn’t know anyone in the castle. You’d worked in Lord Barnes’ manor since his father was still alive and you were only a kid. It was only a few years before Barnes took over but you remember it being much easy to ingratiate yourself to the staff.

You were shuffled onto a feather mattress in the servants’ quarters with three others. The snoring, snorting, and coughing kept you awake and you missed the chirp of crickets and scratching of critters. You woke more tired than any night spent among the trees and went back to the laundries.

Your days took on this pattern, sleep, eat, work, and do it all over again. You were forgotten among the other servants and it really seemed like you might just be able to hide among them forever.

Nearly a week into your time as Astrens and the castle blustered to a storm. All the drapes were to be taken down, beat, and washed, and all beds were to be stripped and redressed. Servants littered the corridors scrubbing, sweeping, and running from chamber to chamber. When you asked what the occasion was, the response was vague. Lord Rogers is hosting a guest.

You weren’t used to the rush. Visitors were rare at the other castle and rarely were they accommodated so wholly. If they had a place to rest their head and fill their stomach, Barnes felt they could not gripe. Even his greetings were not required on such an occasion.

You helped with the scourging and scouring of the linens and the drapes. You worked so hard you didn’t even have the energy to gulp down the lumpy stew allotted to the servants. You fell into the heap of your bedmates into dreams laced with your own snores. You dreamt of the forest and the sound of hooves.

Another early morning and the gears began to grind once more. Darcy sent you away from the laundries to help refresh the rushes in the entrance hall with several others. You scattered herbs over the grand carpet that displayed scenes of hunting through the seasons.

You wondered if perhaps Rogers was to be betrothed at last, the news of his first wife’s passing had sent many into gossip even before she was buried. Or maybe the king would make progress to the ancient grounds of the historic castle. You let your mind wander as your body was led by habit.

You heard the rolling of the carriage and the clip clop of horses. You followed several other servants as the tall doors were opened and you peered out into the yard at the party. You backed away as Lord Rogers emerged from the archway that led to the spiraling stairs and crossed the carpet. You could hardly hide your curiosity as you reluctantly followed the other servants. It would be unseemly to remain as Rogers welcomed his guests.

“James!” Rogers’ voice boomed and you stopped just outside the chamber as you looked down the stairs that led to the servants quarters, “it has been too long.”

“It has,” Lord Barnes’ responded and your eyes went wide as Deandra hissed for you to go. You couldn’t move as you listened and she abandoned you with a flutter of her fingers, “you know my father only ever called me James.”

“Ah, Buck, I’m kidding,” Rogers chuckled, “it is a pleasure to have you drag yourself from your hermitage.”

“You would make me regret it already,” the other lord chirped, “but the king did request my presence at the tournament and he did not allow for refusal. I’d prefer to travel with a friend, my only friend.”

“Oh, the sentiment, Lord Barnes,” Rogers preened dryly.

“I don’t know if I should be able to wait to tussle until the tourney,” Barnes jibed, “oh, this old place, has it been so long?”

You shoved yourself away from the door and clamoured down the stairs. You nearly tumbled down the last few and caught yourself on the wall. You sidled past Agnes and towards the laundries. Harriet called after you as you passed and rushed out the doors past the muddy puddles of dirty water and hanging sheets.

The grass was slick beneath your shoes as you raced for the stables. You only needed to hide there for a time and sneak out before they closed the gates. You didn’t make it past the first stall before you heard the steel whine. You turned as Lester greeted you with the tip of his sword.

“The master has been searching for you,” the toothy guard smirked, “oh and what a reward I shall have for bringing him a prize of his own.”

#bucky barnes #dark bucky barnes #hue and cry #dark!bucky barnes #bucky barnes x reader #dark fic #dark!fic #fic #series #miniseries #medieval au #au #medieval!au #mcu #marvel #winter soldier #captain america

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kjack89 · 2 years

Text

Peace

Alright, so I promised soft old men, but then this happened, and well...

E/R, canon divergent post-Barricades. Canon compliant character death, canon-typical violence and mistreatment of prisoners.

It was barely dawn when Enjolras slipped out of bed, trying not to wake the man snoring next to him. But even the simple act of trying to get out of bed without rousing his companion seemed beyond him now, as the lump wrapped in the majority of the blankets let out a disgruntled noise, a hand emerging from under the covers to reach for the emptiness where Enjolras had just lain.

“Come back,” Grantaire said grumpily, and Enjolras just laughed lightly, bending down and reaching for Grantaire’s hand and entwining their fingers together.

He ran his thumb lightly over Grantaire’s gnarled knuckles and the veins that stood out starkly against the liver-spotted back of his hand before raising Grantaire’s hand to his lips. “Go back to bed,” he ordered, his voice quiet but no less commanding than it had once been.

Grantaire’s head emerged finally from under the covers, his grizzled features thrown into shadowy relief in the dim light. “Only if you come back to bed with me,” he said, his voice pitched low to suggest Enjolras return to bed for reasons other than resuming sleep.

Enjolras laughed lightly. “I’m not certain my back has recovered enough from last evening’s activities, and your knees absolutely have not.” He arched an eyebrow at Grantaire. “Of course, you are welcome to remove yourself from bed and prove me incorrect.”

Never one to forgo a challenge, Grantaire attempted to sit up, only to give up with a groan. “Fiend,” he muttered, waving a dismissive hand at Enjolras. “Leave me be to suffer in peace.”

Laughing again, Enjolras hastily dressed before shuffling around the side of the bed so that he could bend over and kiss the top of Grantaire’s head. “Sleep,” he murmured. “I shall return before you wake again.”

Grantaire rallied himself enough to kiss Enjolras properly, cupping Enjolras’s wrinkled cheek with his hand. “You had best,” he said. “Or else I shall have to content myself to seeing you solely in my dreams.”

Enjolras rolled his eyes affectionately, turning his head to kiss the palm of Grantaire’s hand. “I’m certain you would see me in your dreams regardless.”

Grantaire smiled softly at him. “You know I shall.”

Enjolras straightened again, wincing as he did, and by the time he made it to the door, Grantaire was snoring once more. He shook his head before starting slowly down the stairs, wishing he had thought to bring his cane upstairs with him the previous night.

Of course, the prior evening he had been rather preoccupied by the man now asleep again in their bed, their shared enthusiasm leading them to act, and at least temporarily feel, far younger than their current ages. And if his body protested this morning, he still couldn’t quite find it in himself to regret it.

Well, he regretted that they had not been able to do this when they were in their prime, when one night of lovemaking would not leave them both with well-earned aches for the next week, but better now than never.

He retrieved his cane from its spot by the front door and made his way outside where the sun was just beginning to peak over the rooftops that lined the narrow street, and he turned his face up to it instinctively, pausing for a moment just to feel its warmth on his face.

Then he strode determinedly in the direction of the baker’s, to fetch the breakfast that both men desperately needed after the previous night.

He walked slower now, but no less proud despite age and a bayonet wound to his knee having finally caught up with him. His hair glinted more silver than gold these days, the youth once embodied by his most-hated nickname ‘Apollo’ as well as his visage now lost to the wrinkles and creases that mapped the life he had lived.

Of course, he carried with him more evidence than that of the hardships he had faced over the years, but those scars were seen only by Grantaire these days.

The baker did not look surprised to see him despite the early hour, instead reaching automatically for a loaf of the bread that Grantaire favored. “Fine morning,” he said warmly, passing the bread to Enjolras, who nodded.

“That it certainly is,” he agreed, handing his coins to the baker, including, as always, a little extra in case any came in begging later that day. It was not much, but it was a small gesture for Enjolras to couple with the work he and Grantaire did to uplift those who needed it most.

“But where is your companion this fine morning?” the baker asked.

“Where else?” Enjolras grumbled, pretending to be put out, as if he and the baker did not have this conversation at least once a week. “In bed still, lazing the day away.”

The baker laughed. “Then give M. Grantaire my best when finally he rouses himself,” he said, and Enjolras just smiled.

“I certainly shall,” he promised, tucking the bread under his arm before continuing up the street.

He had a few more stops to make to complete their meal, and by the time he returned home, the sun had eclipsed the rooftops fully and the housekeeper was already bustling in the kitchen. “Oh, M. Enjolras!” she said when he came in to deposit the food on the table. “I thought you and M. Grantaire were still asleep.”

“He is,” Enjolras told her, breaking off the end of the baguette and taking a bite. “But one of us had to seek provisions, and I appear to have been the unlucky one.”

Her face softened. “I don’t think M. Grantaire would ever dispute you on who is the lucky one between you two,” she told him. “And not just because you let him sleep in.”

Enjolras nodded, his chest suddenly feeling tight, and it took a moment for him to speak. “On that count, I believe we are both lucky,” he managed finally.

She smiled at him. “Best take that up to him, then,” she said, hurrying to grab some cutlery and a napkin for him to take along with the food. “You know how he gets when he’s hungry.”

“Don’t I ever,” Enjolras said with a short laugh.

He turned to head upstairs but she stopped him. “I know it’s not my place to say anything, but I worked for M. Grantaire for a long time,” she said, and Enjolras paused, glancing back at her.

“Yes?” he said, curious where she was going with this.

“I just wanted to tell you that I don’t think he was ever truly alive until you returned,” she said, and Enjolras’s heart clenched painfully. “For whatever that is worth.”

“Everything,” Enjolras told her, the starkness of the word underlining its sincerity. “It means everything.

— — — — —

Enjolras had thought his life over when the barricade was taken, but life – or at least, the National Guard – had a crueler fate in mind. While his companions had perished, he had been dragged before a mockery of a court and promptly convicted of treason before being handed over to the prison system.

“Kill me, then,” he had snarled once while being beaten for the minor offense of, seemingly, continuing to exist.

His jailer, a paragon of cruelty, had just laughed. “You think we would be foolish enough to make a martyr of you?” he had asked. “Oh, no. Your punishment will be far worse than death.” He had grabbed Enjolras by the hair, yanking his head back as he sneered in his face, “His Majesty’s grace will allow you to live the rest of your miserable days in prison where you will suffer the worst fate of all: to be forgotten.”

And he had been, relegated to stints of hard labor in between prolonged periods of solitary confinement, seemingly at his guard’s whim. At first he counted the days, but as they stretched to years, he found he could no longer keep track. There was little point in counting, after all, when the number mattered not: five, ten, twenty years, his fate remained the same.

It would have been enough to break any man, as Enjolras had quickly learned that fortitude held little bearing on those who survived. Those who made it, it seemed, were driven by something far deeper than hope and stronger than courage.

Enjolras had thought, at first, that the Cause he had given so much for might be what drove him, but as the days dragged onward, he found himself tiptoeing closer and closer to despair. What good was believing in a Cause that presented no change to his circumstances, or those of any of his fellow prisoners?

For that matter, what good was believing in a Cause that had left all those he had ever loved in this world dead in the streets?

That thought plagued him most of all, haunting his nightmares with specters of his dead friends. Most of the time, he just saw their lifeless bodies in a horrifying tableau, but on occasion, they spoke to him, mocking and taunting him. Those were his darkest nights of all.

It was one of those such nights when he lay alone in a damp, cold cell, feverish and delusional, that he had seen them again, first Combeferre, eyes vacant and staring, then Courfeyrac, crumpled in a heap. “No,” Enjolras moaned, covering his face with his hands. “No, please.”

“Enjolras,” a voice whispered, and Enjolras shook his head wildly.

“No,” he repeated, pleading. “Not again—”

“Enjolras,” the voice said again, stronger this time, and different from the jeering tone the apparitions normally had.

Slowly, he lowered his trembling hands, staring at the figure of the man crouching in front of him. “Grantaire?” he managed, his voice a croak.

The figure nodded. “Enjolras,” he said, and Enjolras gasped at the familiar sound of his name from Grantaire’s mouth. He rarely pictured Grantaire in his hallucinations, but this was different. This was as if the man himself was there in the cell with him.

“This is a dream,” he said, and Grantaire cocked his head.

“Is it?” he asked.

Enjolras shook his head. “No, I mean—” He pushed his hair from his face. “This is not a nightmare. It is a dream.”

Something softened in Grantaire’s shadowy features. “A good dream, then, I hope,” he said. “A dream that might take away some of the pain in your heart.”

Enjolras’s expression tightened. “How can it?” he whispered. “When you – when they—”

He couldn’t continue, and Grantaire just nodded slowly.

By knowing that those you love will never truly leave you.

That is an answer for a child. I know better. With all I have seen—

With all you have seen, perhaps what you need is to feel like a child again, however fleeting it may be. You have seen loss, and pain, more than anyone should in one lifetime. Would it be so terrible to at least pretend, for a moment, that you haven’t?

It won’t change anything to pretend.

Won’t it?

How can I, though? It is too much to bear alone.

But you are not alone. I am here.

But you’re not. You’re not here. You’re—

He couldn’t continue, burying his head in his hands. “Peace,” Grantaire whispered in Enjolras’s ear, and he could almost imagine that he felt Grantaire’s arm around his shoulders. “I am here. I have you.”

Perhaps it was just that Enjolras had been exhausted, and ill, but for the first time in more nights than he could count, Enjolras had slept, wrapped in Grantaire’s lingering presence.

Maybe it was just that there was no one else he would rather have there, no one else he would tolerate to see him like this.

Or maybe it was that there was so much that he had wished he had told Grantaire, so many moments that he wished they had shared. All those late nights in the Musain…

But that was a different dream entirely, and when the morning dawned, when the guard banged on the bars of his cell, Enjolras woke up alone.

For one dark moment, he had felt worse than he had the night before, stricken as he was with the clarity that Grantaire was gone, that he had never really been there, that he, too, was dead, that he had inevitably been struck by a cannon blast or a rifle shot or pierced by the point of a bayonet, just like the rest of them.

But then Enjolras had sat bolt upright, realization hitting like a thunderbolt, because Grantaire had not been like the rest of them. Grantaire alone had not fought, had not stared down the cannons and bayonets.

That Grantaire alone had slept.

That Grantaire alone might have lived.

Enjolras had found what was to drive him, a singular obsession that held the despair just far enough at bay that he could survive. Even if he was to spend the rest of his life behind bars, knowing that Grantaire might still live meant that all hope could never truly be lost.

And while he would never be happy with his circumstances, he thought perhaps he could live with this kind of peace.

At least, until one day which later he learned was 22 years after their failed revolution, when he was escorted by the guard to the front door of the prison he’d spent some time in and told, roughly, “Your conviction is overturned.”

“Overturned?” Enjolras had questioned, squinting against the sunlight streaming through the window in the door. “But the king—”

“—Is no longer the king,” the guard told him curtly. “You’re free to go.”

With that, he has been all but shoved outside to a world that looked very little like the one he had left or even the one he had lost. In looking back on it, he had no idea what he would have done, put out on the street with nothing but the clothes on his back, save for—

“Enjolras!”

The years had been hard on Enjolras’s body just as well as his spirit, but still he would know the voice that called to him from the crowd even if 50 years had passed – even if 50 lifetimes had passed. “Grantaire,” he had gasped, clinging to the name and the memory like a buoy.

And there had been the man himself, like the vision from his dream. Time had perhaps been kinder on him than it had been on Enjolras, but he could mark its passage nonetheless in the gray that streaked Grantaire’s still-unruly curls, in the creases in Grantaire’s brow, even in the way he hurried forward to Enjolras, not quite moving as fast as he once had and lacking some of his usual grace.

But the hand that had closed on Enjolras’s elbow was as strong as ever, and Enjolras let out a wordless cry before embracing Grantaire, not caring that he was covered in dirt and grime and all the evidence of the horrors he had faced. Grantaire, it seemed, equally did not care, as he had pulled Enjolras closer still, burying his head against Enjolras’s shoulder.

“You lived,” Enjolras breathed, clutching Grantaire as if he could not bear to let him go.

Grantaire nodded. “I lived.”

Enjolras pulled back just far enough to search Grantaire’s face. “But this whole time, I thought – I feared—”

His voice broke, but Grantaire seemed to understand. “I know,” he said, his voice low. “And I do not know how I can ask you to forgive me for letting you—”

“But why did you?” Enjolras interrupted. “Why, when but one visit from you…”

“I wanted to,” Grantaire told him, his voice pained. “I asked the court to keep me apprised of your well-being – well, actually, I had Marius do it. He’s a baron now, did you know that? But—”

“But you did not come see me.”

Grantaire bowed his head. “I did not think you would want to see me,” he said, his voice soft. “To know that I survived, when all else was lost—”

“My friend,” Enjolras interrupted again, the word feeling strange on his tongue for how it failed to capture everything Grantaire was to him, everything he had always been, even if only in his dreams. “The thought that you still might live is what has sustained me these dark years. Knowing that you slept, hoping that you were not roused, that the National Guard might mistake you for one already dead…”

He trailed off and Grantaire shook his head slowly, doubt flickering in his features. “Truly?” he asked quietly. “You do not begrudge the libertine whose survival hinged solely on the overindulgence of wine?”

Enjolras shook his head. “No more than I begrudge those who could not be stirred from their beds. Besides, you were always where I pinned my hope. If I could convince no other but you, I would never consider myself to have failed. And this means I have time yet still to try.”

That realization hit him as he spoke the words, and his knees buckled. He would have fallen were it not for Grantaire’s arms holding him upright. “I have you,” Grantaire whispered, and Enjolras let out a wordless sob at the words he had dreamed so many times being spoken to him.

“I know,” he managed. “I know.”

When finally he was able to straighten, Grantaire gave him a slightly shaky smile. “Well,” he said briskly, clearly attempting to change the subject, “since you have consented to forgive me, or at the very least not begrudge me, I must tell you what I have done, or what I have tried to do, in your absence—”

“Beloved,” Enjolras said, and while he had never before called Grantaire that, it felt more right than friend ever had or ever could. “There is nothing you have ever needed to do.”

Grantaire had looked as if he wished very much to argue with that, but for once, he had said nothing. “Then let me, at the very least, bring you to my house, that there you might find food, clean clothes, and some respite.”

“Very well,” Enjolras said.

Grantaire had reached for his hand, then hesitated. “Do you permit it?” he asked, almost shyly, and wasn’t that a revelation – Grantaire, shyer as he neared 60 than he had ever been when Enjolras had known him before.

Enjolras had wordlessly taken his hand, squeezing it once.

Their hands had stayed clasped as Grantaire had led him through the streets of Paris, at once achingly familiar and hauntingly foreign. As they walked, Grantaire filled him in on the political happenings, but Enjolras found it hard to muster the enthusiasm that was perhaps expected of him for the revolution that had, this time, succeeded.

It would return, in time, and in no small part because of Grantaire – the cynic leading the believer back to faith! – but even the thought of it seemed too far away for Enjolras to then grasp.

When they had arrived at Grantaire’s house, a modest lodging, Enjolras spared barely a glance at the building before setting upon the food Grantaire’s housekeeper had thoughtfully prepared, wolfing it down as if he knew not when he would find his last meal.

“What next?” Grantaire had asked when he had finished, having watching all of this silently.

Enjolras had swallowed before hesitantly saying, “I thought, perhaps, to bathe?”

Grantaire had silently taken his hand once more and led him upstairs. There, he had a bath drawn for Enjolras

Again he had asked, so soft and low that Enjolras might have missed it had he not been listening for it, “Do you permit it?”

Enjolras nodded, and Grantaire’s fingers trembled for just a moment before he helped Enjolras remove his clothing. For a fleeting second, Enjolras wondered if he should be embarrassed, to be naked in front of Grantaire, but he could not bring himself to be, even as Grantaire’s fingers gently skimmed his ribs, sticking painfully from his thin frame, or traced a bruise against Enjolras’s thigh.

This was Grantaire. Even after all this time, Enjolras knew that he had no need to be embarrassed with him.

Then Grantaire helped Enjolras into the bathtub, and without asking this time, rolled up his sleeves before picking up the soap and carefully, reverently, beginning to wash Enjolras’s back.

His touch grew firmer but no less reverent as he continued, moving Enjolras as if he weighed nothing to lather and scrub seemingly every inch of his skin without flinching. Enjolras offered no protest, trusting Grantaire as he always had. He closed his eyes and leaned against the bathtub, drifting into a sort of half-sleep as Grantaire cleaned him.

When he was finally clean of at least the dirt that stained his outside, Enjolras stood shakily with Grantaire’s help, letting him towel him dry before dressing automatically. “I am sorry that I have no better fitting clothes—” Grantaire started, but Enjolras just shook his head.

“They will do,” he said softly. “Thank you. For – for everything.”

Grantaire’s expression softened. “There is no need to thank me. It is the least I could do.” He paused before adding, a little hesitantly, “And this house, I know it is not much, but—”

“It is more than enough,” Enjolras told him.

Grantaire worried his lower lip between his teeth for a moment before blurting, “Then I hope you will consent to stay, here, with me.” Enjolras stared at him and a mottled flush rose in Grantaire’s sagging cheeks. “This house, the life I have built, the work I have done – there has always been something missing, something I left room for – someone I left room for.”

“Grantaire—”

But Grantaire did not let him interrupt. “I know what you will say. You are predictable even now, at least to me.” Enjolras shook his head, but Grantaire did not pause. “You will say that you have changed, that you are no longer the man whom I loved all those years ago, and that may well be true. But I never stopped believing in you, and I hope in time I can convince you to believe in me, too.”

“I already do,” Enjolras told him honestly. “I always have.”

Grantaire searched his expression for a moment. “And yet you hesitate.”

“Because I have changed,” Enjolras said. “You have seen what the past years have done to my body but you have not yet witnessed what they’ve done to my mind, or to my spirit. And those are wounds that I fear may never heal. So to offer to shackle yourself to someone who may be broken beyond repair—”

“Did you love me, all those years ago?” Grantaire interrupted, and Enjolras flinched at the question.

It was one thing they had never said to each other, but even with all the time that had passed, he knew that they had never needed to. “You know that I did.”

“In spite of my drinking, and my cynicism, and the darkness that always threatened to overwhelm.”

He didn’t phrase it as a question but Enjolras still answered. “Yes.”

“Why?”

The question took Enjolras by surprise, and it took him a long moment to answer. “I do not know,” he admitted.. “I just did.”

Grantaire didn’t look surprised. “Then is it truly so hard for you to believe that, just as you loved me at my most broken, I too may still love you at yours?”

Enjolras did not smile. “Belief and I parted ways some years back, I’m afraid.”

Now Grantaire’s expression softened, just a little, and he took a step closer to Enjolras. “Then how is this for belief: I do not believe you beyond repair. But even if you were, it would temper my love no less.” He reached for Enjolras’s hand, lacing their fingers together. “And if you and belief have truly parted ways, then I shall simply have to believe it enough for the both of us.”

He said it with the conviction that Enjolras had once hoped Grantaire would espouse, and a part of his heart he thought might never heal seemed to beat just a little stronger. “I love you,” he told Grantaire, a little helplessly. “Still, always. You—” He swallowed, hard. “—you kept me alive when I thought I could not go on.”

“As you have always done for me,” Grantaire told him. “So will you stay with me? Will you make this house our home so that we can keep each other alive?”

Enjolras managed a small, tired smile, his first real smile in what was almost certainly years. “I have nowhere better to be,” he told Grantaire before asking, “Do you permit it?”

Wordlessly, Grantaire kissed him.

And after Grantaire had led him to bed, Enjolras had laid in Grantaire’s arms, feeling safe for the first time in years. And for the first time in years, he had allowed himself to cry.

“Peace,” Grantaire had whispered, his lips brushing against Enjolras’s forehead. “I am here. I have you.”

— — — — —

Enjolras stood in the doorway, watching Grantaire sleep, warmth spreading throughout his chest. Wordlessly, he set their breakfast down on the dressing table and with as much grace as his old bones would allow, he clambered back into bed.

Grantaire let out a snuffling noise before turning to squint at him. “What are you doing?” he asked.

Enjolras just pulled him close. “What does it look like I’m doing?”

Grantaire just hummed, his eyes already closing as he pillowed his head on Enjolras’s chest. Enjolras stroked Grantaire’s gray curls, marveling at how much had changed, and how much hadn’t. How much never would.

He closed his eyes, resting his cheek against the top of Grantaire’s head. “Peace,” he whispered. “I am here. I have you.”

#exr #enjolras x grantaire #enjoltaire #enjolras #grantaire #les miserables #fanfiction #canon era #post-canon #canon divergent #soft old men #the world tried to break them but they would not break #imprisonment #torture cw #angst #and fluff

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jokertrap-ran · 3 years

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(光与夜之恋 Light and Night) Osborn’s 5✩ Inspiration: Black VS Black [黑色对峙] Date Translation (END 6: Heart-throb)

“Do you really think that I think there’s no helping you?”

*Light and Night Master-list | Osborn’s Personal Masterlist *Spoiler free: Translations will remain under cut *Join the Light & Night Discord (＾▽＾)~ ♪ *This 5✩ Inspiration has 6 Endings!! *Osborn’s tag will be #For Night, For Freedom *Requested by anon! You can check my on-going requests and more here!

✥ Choice: Heart-throb [心动] ★Night★

The cat caused an incident! What should I do?

⊹ Check the fallen model ⊹

I didn’t think too much about it, instead, hurrying over to where the car model had fallen.

I picked it up and inspected the damages.

There was a long crack in the middle and several parts had broken off, scattering compartments all over the floor.

MC: Can this… still be saved…?

Just as I was thinking of how to break this bad news to Osborn, his low voice sounded from behind.

Osborn: What a big commotion.

Osborn: What? Did Mitt get into an accident?

I steeled myself and stopped covering the scene of the “car accident” that had occurred. I got up and handed him the car model that I held.

MC: The “culprit” knocked this car model down and fled.

Osborn frowned, reaching me in a couple of long strides.

He took the model and turned it around a couple of times, observing it with an indifferent look on his face.

MC: Is it too damaged to fix?

Osborn: I can just send it for repairs over the next few days. Let's go look for the cat first.

He calmly placed the broken car model back onto the shelf, taking a “let’s talk about this later” stance.

This model had been placed together with many other car models that looked new, pristine, and without a scratch. Not to mention, the glistening trophy that had been right next to it. A wild guess entered my mind.

MC: Do all the car models here hold some sort of commemorative meaning?

Osborn: Hm? Why do you ask?

MC: I mean, if they are some sort of special memento to you, then they should have been subjected to routine maintenance, right?

MC: If so, then you should also have the tools for it along with any part replacements, yes?

Thoughtfulness slipped into his eyes.

Osborn: You want to help me fix it?

MC: Yeah! That cat was just spooked real bad, and it wouldn’t do us any good if it got a bigger fright the next time and reacted even worse to it if we continued chasing after it.

MC: So, why don’t we leave the cat hunt for later and fix the car model back up first?

MC: Plus, I’m pretty dexterous with my hands. Wanna give me a chance to show you my prowess?

He raised an eyebrow, his pale green eyes glinting.

Osborn: Okay. Here's your time to shine.

Osborn stretched his arms over my head. For a while, all I could see was his broad chest. I felt my breath hitch.

Then, he suddenly lowered his head. His face was incredibly close to mine.

The scent of black cedar assaulted my nose. I blinked. My brain was lagging.

MC: Oh, okay.

Osborn: Take it.

My gaze slid to his hand. Turns out that he’d just been fetching the toolbox that had been in the cabinet above the display shelves.

Osborn: I'm waiting.

I took the toolbox from him and opened it.

I was greeted by a multitude of components in all shapes and sizes. Some of the tools in it were similar to the ones I used when making my designs, but there were also some that I’d never seen before.

I picked up a tool that looked like a cross between a pen and a knife, looking to Osborn for advice.

MC: What's this?

Osborn: An exacto knife. It’s used to cut off excess parts of the joints when required.

MC: Mmhm, okay. I've remembered it.

Osborn: This is a cutting plier, screw sanders, tweezers...

Osborn picked out a couple more tools from within the box and introduced them to me.

Osborn: Anything else you can't recognize?

MC: Not for now.

Osborn: Okay. Then let's remove the damaged compartments first.

MC: Okay.

First, we used a screwdriver to remove the damaged compartments. Then, we replaced them with brand-new spare parts.

This race car model was really different from those being sold out in the market. It was made with exquisite craftsmanship, and its internal makings were far more complicated than I'd initially thought.

When it was time to add colours to it, Osborn prepared the required paints and set them out in measured portions onto the palette with ease and finesse. He smoothly handed me a brush.

Osborn: Do you know how to touch up the paintwork?

I hesitated.

MC: I've painted outfit designs before for design needs, but I'm sure it's completely different from actually painting a model.

MC: I don't know if it works the same…

Osborn: See my demonstration first then.

He dipped his brush into the red paint, carefully painting it onto the model. It came out very uniform and smoothly layered.

I'd stared at him, watching him do it a couple more times. But, no matter how much I watched the same process, I couldn't quite grasp it. Even if I tried mimicking his actions, my paintwork always turned out patchy and uneven.

Osborn laughed, placing his hand over mine and directing the brush I held.

He directed my brush, guiding me on how I should be painting the compartment with a focused look on his face.

It was all serious and business, except… My focus was inevitably drawn towards his movements and breaths.

Osborn: Get it?

MC: Mmhm...

I tried my hardest to remember the way he did it and followed suit. The end result was much smoother than what I'd been accomplishing before.

After the finishing touches were in place, I raised the model and showed it to him.

MC: Like… this? This should be done now, right?

Osborn: Not bad. You've got standard.

My spirits soared at having received such direct praise from him.

MC: Since I'm such an apt learner, how about enlisting my help again the next time you make another model of a race car?

Osborn slightly raised a brow as he contemplated my paint-stained hands.

Osborn: I'll think about it.

MC: Does this even need to be considered?

MC: I'm pretty quick to pick up hands-on skills, not just fixing up models of racing cars! So I'm a fast learner no matter what it is!

MC: You can test me again if you don't believe me!

Just as I was boasting about my assets in an attempt to make myself appeal to him, Osborn's calloused fingers suddenly brushed against my cheek.

The rough texture of the pads of his fingers made my heart skip a beat.

MC: What's wrong?

Osborn: You got something on your face.

I doubtfully touched my face. Suddenly, I pulled my hand away to find my fingers stained with red paint.

Astonished, I look at Osborn's hands, only to find even more red paint on them…

MC: Don't tell me you drew something on it!!

Osborn: What gives?

MC: Hey! You're biting the hand that feeds!

Osborn: Whatever do you mean by that?

Osborn: I'm just adding some blush and colour to your face. Makes you prettier.

I was taken aback, nonetheless.

MC: Okay. Then, I'll add some colour to your cheeks for you!

Osborn: Whoa, hey! Easy!

MC: Nothing you say now is gonna stop me!

I swiftly picked up the brush and dipped it into the paint set out onto the palette, rushing straight for his face.

Osborn quickly reared back, but I subconsciously followed right after his retreat.

And this was how I toppled him down to the ground with him doing nothing to defend himself.

Osborn was astonished. He'd attempted to get back up, only for my other hand to immediately dart out to pin him down by the shoulder.

MC: No moving!

Surprise flashed through his eyes, as his usual impish smile crawled its way back up his face.

Osborn: Wow, what an aggressor.

MC: That's right. Now's my time to retaliate!

MC: No use trying to escape!

I circled the air with the brush, purposefully observing his face to make my mark.

MC: Hmm, what do you want me to draw on you?

Osborn seemingly accepted the fact that he was going to be an inevitable victim of mine since I already had him "pinned" down. He folded his arms behind his head, giving my question some serious thought.

Osborn: An air drawing?

MC: Dream on!

Osborn: Mercy, please. I beg you.

MC: It's too late to be begging me for mercy.

MC: Hmph. Just watch me improvise on the spot~

Just as I was rummaging through my brain for a glimmer of inspiration, a light bulb suddenly lit in my head.

I had an image now: Mitt as it was fleeing.

❖☆———————————★❖

I leaned down, supporting myself on Osborn's shoulder.

Following the curve of his jaw, I applied colour to his skin, drawing a colourful cat.

Osborn had his guard down, seemingly content to watch me work my "artistic talents" with him as the canvas.

The surroundings lapsed into silence.

I was drawing it on with such rapt concentration, yet I was still able to notice his long black lashes and hear his familiar steady breathing ever so clearly. I could somewhat feel the slight rise and fall of his chest.

I vaguely registered our close proximity to each other. My heart seemed unable to settle with the fact that we were so close to each other that our breaths intermingled, clamouring loudly within my chest.

I blinked twice, finishing off the last stroke before getting up and putting some distance between us.

❖☆———————————★❖

Osborn: Done?

I nodded.

Osborn: What do you think of your work of art?

Huh? Is he asking me to rate my own work?

I quickly gave him a once over, only to realize that I'd been distracted at the end, so it'd turned out a little funky. I nearly laughed at it right then and there.

MC: Ahem. I think it's not bad! You've got a big kitty on you now!

He waggled his brows, lazily raising his body halfway back up. His features were suddenly enlarged before my eyes once more as he leaned closer.

Osborn: Happy now?

MC: Mmhm… Pretty happy.

Osborn: Then let me tell you something that'll make you even happier.

He moved even closer, his words gently flowing with the air, wrapping themselves around my ears.

I shuddered as a scalding heat started creeping up my neck.

MC: ...What is it?

Osborn: The other kitty's right behind you.

Mitt: Meow~ Meow~

The last of his words were drowned out by the sudden meowing that sounded.

I snapped out of the trance of the moment, much to my embarrassment. Mitt had actually slinked behind me somehow without my knowing!

MC: Right, we should hurry and catch it before it gets up to no good again!

I quickly climbed off Osborn, flushing red as I fled.

A light chuckle sounded behind me in response.

❖☆———————————★❖

By the time we found Mitt, it was already sprawled out beside the TV cabinet with its paws stuck underneath, fiddling with something in the gap.

Recalling the layout of his living room, I quietly tip-toed and whispered my idea into Osborn’s ear.

MC: I’ll take left, you take right. We’ll pincer it.

Osborn: It’s already here, so there’s no need to go through so much trouble.

MC: Huh?

Osborn: Just wait and see.

Osborn took a couple of long strides forwards in the direction of the cat.

I followed after him, quietly approaching the black cat. However, my attention was suddenly caught by the photo frame that the cat had just been playing with.

Picking up the frame, I carefully observed it…

In the picture were Osborn and a couple of familiar-looking teammates. They’d all had an arm around each other’s shoulder, beaming as they held the same trophy.

Their faces all look much younger… Is this a photo from years ago?

The race car in the background had a red and white body with an orange rear spoiler, similar to the car model that Mitt had batted off its perch earlier.

MC: Don’t tell me… Was that car model made based on this race car?

I was lost in thought when a sudden meow broke my train of thought.

Osborn: Still wanna run?

❖☆———————————★❖

I raised my head to see Osborn with both arms raised, gently holding up the cat in question.

The bright and warm sunlight shone in through the window, carefully outlining his chiselled side-profile and the contours of his muscles.

Although Mitt had already been caught, it still glared daggers at Osborn. It was as if a cat and a human were engaged in a silent battle with each other.

After a while, Mitt seemed to register the fact that it’d lost, meowing pitifully in that soft cry once more.

❖☆———————————★❖

Osborn: Oh? You know how to beg for mercy now, don’t you?

Osborn carried Mitt to the little corner we’d set up for it. Mitt seemingly gave up on the game of chase, lowering its head to eat the cat food that we’d prepared for it since the very beginning.

Watching it eat its food so obediently, I couldn’t help but kneel down and stroke its round head.

Mitt cast a doubtful glance at me, but turned its head, indulging nuzzling itself into my palm.

MC: !

MC: I touched it! How cute…

Osborn: You’re that excited from just being able to touch it?

MC: Yeah. It looked so naughty that I thought I wouldn’t be able to touch it today.

Osborn: It’ll come running up to you for a lick or two so long as you have food.

MC: Then I MUST let it try the wet cat food! Maybe it’ll get closer to me!

I sped towards the sofa and picked up the packet of wet cat food, purposely waving it before its nose.

It couldn’t resist the offered temptation after all. Its soft fluffy paws batted at my wrist as it opened its mouth and cried its pleas.

MC: Okay, okay. Any more and you’ll end up a piggy.

I recalled something after putting away the remaining food. I picked up the photo frame that I’d set down earlier and handed it to Osborn.

MC: Oh, yeah. By the way, this was the photo frame that Mitt was batting with under the TV cabinet earlier. I don’t know where you normally display it.

He took the photo frame from me and glanced at it.

MC: And on that note, I realized that the car in the background looks very similar to the model we just pieced back together. Are they the same?

Osborn: Oh. The model was made according to this race car.

Suddenly, I recalled having seen the highlights of all his races before.

The year and month in which he’d won his first racing championship seemingly coincided with the time that this photo was taken.

My guess had tumbled out of my lips before I could stop it.

MC: Is this the car you drove when you won your first championship?

He quirked a brow.

Osborn: Why, you know me so well.

MC: Then… Is that car model something of a memento from that race?

Osborn: You can say that.

MC: I heard somewhere before that that car’s engine had to be changed out every two races. It shouldn’t be in use anymore, right?

Osborn: The engine exploded on me during that race, so it was only my companion once.

Osborn spoke lightly of it, but thinking of how exciting and terrifying it must have been back then, I couldn’t help but feel my heart sink a little.

MC: I’m glad the car model’s alright. Otherwise, it’d be such a pity for such a meaningful memento to get damaged like that.

Osborn: So I should thank you properly. Is that it?

MC: Huh? Thank me?

He chuckled lightly, his eyes sliding from the photo to my face. He had a slightly flippant look on his face.

Osborn: Weren’t you the one who made that car model more meaningful?

MC: ……

I was taken aback for a bit. I looked at him in surprise, only to find his gaze calm and gentle. There was a smile glimmering within his eyes.

Osborn: You were pretty clever when fixing the model. Why so stupefied now?

As his words sank in, I felt my heart flutter as I realized what he’d meant by having made it more “meaningful”. Something seemed to have filled my heart. It was a little flustering, yet also a little sweet.

I worried my lip and gathered my courage together before looking up to meet his eyes.

MC: Then, that makes me happier now…

MC: Although I didn’t get the chance to sit in on the race of your first championship and cheer you on…

MC: I was still able to piece the model back together and play a part in that precious moment of memory.

Inexplicable emotions surfaced in Osborn’s eyes, and in the next second, his big hand ruffled my hair with a vengeance.

Osborn: There’s really no helping you, is there?

I shyly ducked my head, but I couldn’t stop the corners of my mouth from rising.

At this moment, the sun had enveloped us both within its warmth.

The cat quietly ate by our feet, letting out a purr of satisfaction every once in a while.

Slowly but surely, unspeakable feelings started to bloom and spread within the confines of my heart.

I hope, from the deepest points of my heart, that time would always be eternally frozen in this beautiful moment.

⊹ ˚✩ ━━━━━━━━━━━ ∘◦ ✥ ◦∘ ━━━━━━━━━━━ ✩˚ ⊹

✥ Choose your Ending:

END 1 | Choice: Do Nothing [都不做]

END 2 +3 + 4 | Choice: Call Out [呼唤] ⊹Speak⊹

END 5 | Choice: Listen [倾听] ❖ASMR

END 6 | Choice: Heart-throb [心动] ★Night★

❖☆————— ⊹ For Night, For Freedom⊹ —————★❖

Previous Part: (Prologue)

#光与夜之恋 #Light and Night #Otome #Translations #Tencent #萧逸 #Osborn #For Night For Freedom #黑色对峙 #Black VS Black

128 notes · View notes

rotshop · 3 years

Text

UGHHH this is so bad. (head in hands) LOOK. look. im sleepy tired and i just needed to warm up w/ something and also took exactly One break during this to grab a dirnk !!! shhh.

This was by far the worst situation you could've been in. Nevadean winters were a simple fact of how it was, but that didn't take any of the bite from the freezing winds. Some years, it would be a decent one, there would be a fair amount of hot and cold days and little snow. Not entirely pleasant, but you could work with it with in relative ease. Other years though, the season seemed to just throw it all at you, shoving everything off the shelves and toppling dominoes to see how you'd fair. It was the cruelest whenever those years came about.

This though? This had to be a fucking joke.

The others had already been on edge about the mission, as you and your partner didn't exactly have the best relationship. There'd been several attempts to switch things around so that threat would be eliminated, but ultimately they'd proven fruitless. So, with great reluctance they went along with it, though Deimos had been particularly adamant on you all meeting back up as soon as possible. He'd been especially antsy and anxious as the mission had drawn ever closer, voicing the most concerns and posing the most questions to you. He wasn't the greatest at hiding his worries when it came to those he considered close, you admired that about him.

It was almost funny with how right he'd been to worry about it. Not only had there been far ore agents and mags than expected, there was also jack shit worth taking. Obviously, this had been some sort of trap in an attempt to catch you all off guard. It'd worked, evidently, just not in the way they'd probably expected. At some point or another, it was decided you all had to get out and go. Sanford was far too injured to continue on, 2b was too stressed to think straight, and you and Hank had the luck of getting trapped on the other side of base.

You didn't exactly feel too surprised when you'd been yanked up by the back of your shirt and thrown into the back of a truck, door slamming shut seconds after. You could see a hoard of agents and mags alike nearing closer, unable to tear your gaze away from them even as your partner got in the driver's seat. There was a bit of commotion from them, barking into the comms. about needing to get out and go. You were still too distracted even when they'd begun to speed off, and far too distracted to hear Deimos' confused shouting get cut.

You could tell it was coming, somewhere in between all the pre-existing stress and dread. It was like your own version of getting a headache shortly before it storms, except all it did was tell you you'd be royally fucked for the next day or few. It was always a little too hard for you to decipher exactly how long it would be, a little too fuzzy of a reading for you to say anything accurate on the matter. All you could tell was that it was coming soon, it wouldn't stop just for your less than friendly company.

Three days. You'd been stuck driving out here for three days now.

Originally, the plan was to drive off until the agents would give up, turn around, and go back to base to find the others. It'd started off easy enough, the agents chasing after you seeming to lose interest in the hunt after a good while, turning and leaving. You weren't sure why at the moment, but the action had shifted something uncomfortably in your chest. It just felt too easy, too convenient.

You'd soon figured it out when the storm had started to kick in. It didn't seem too bad at first, a minor inconvenience that drew a little grumble and a lean forward in their seat from your companion. Then, it'd worsened and worsened. By this point, neither of you knew where you were. Sure, the anti-aahw had been all over Nevada- but that was just of the Nevada they knew about. It wouldn't be far fetched to suggest you'd both gotten turned around and were now god knows where.

Eventually, it was decided there was no progress that could be made here. You'd both have to either hope for a place to stay or that the car wouldn't fair too uncomfortably. Which, considering the lack of space in it and you with far too little energy to get into an argument, the first would be the blessing of the two. It wasn't too long until your quiet prayers from the back seat had been answered, the faintest of outlines among the storm showing some form of shelter. You could already feel exhaustion settling in, far too quickly for your own comfort. By the time Hank had pulled over to walk in, he'd had to reach into the backseat and tug you by the collar of your shirt with an impatient noise, a gentle encouragement laced with the threat of dragging you out.

You were sure you couldn't have pulled your legs further to your chest than you already had. Your spine was already beginning to set with soon-to-be-aches and cramps as you curled into yourself. You'd attempted to keep yourself as taut as possible, not wanting to look as pathetic as you felt in that moment, half-shaking on the cold hard floor of some abandoned complex. Hank had gone off a while ago, leaving you in the lobby to go look for a room to stay in- a room for him to stay in.

You'd lost track of time, too focused on trying to keep it all together as your mind threatened to go blank and shut down. It was the worst when it was like this, where you could only lay and hope for exhaustion to kick you into sleep at one point or another. Your limbs all felt heavy with weight, uncomfortable with just how impossible it seemed to move them. Every part of your body felt locked up, stuck and stiff how it was when you'd dropped down to the floor. You were at least glad you'd fallen to face the door, able to see the snow falling from your position.

Sure, it was the cause of your current estrangement. Yes, it meant you were stuck with the man who hated your guts with a burning passion. Despite all that, it was still pretty. It was surreal to see the sky something other than a burning red, though that oddness was fully welcomed if it meant a break from that damned color.

You'd been snapped out of your daze by a light nudge to your back, you attempted to summon up a sound of acknowledgement- coming up with nothing. The lack of a response earned another, rougher nudge, shoving against your spine uncomfortably. You'd jumped away from the contact with a little mix of a whine and hiss, head jerking back to meet the eyes of your 'assailant.' Red lenses met your gaze, looming over you from your place on the ground.

"Get off the floor and come with me," it wasn't a request. He'd always been especially bossy with you, a little colder and more detached from you. It didn't take a genius to tell he was on less than stellar terms with you.

You didn't have time to stagger up onto your feet, a hand finding its way to the collar of your shirt to yank you up once more. The world spun around you in a haze as you stumbled forward, attempting to re-balance yourself as best as you could in the short breath you were given. Apparently, it hadn't worked well, you ending up crashing into Hank in the process. He'd barely stirred at the movement, still as a statue despite your disturbance. Distantly, you'd noticed how his hands had moved to your back, keeping you upright. You'd also noticed how they weren't a bruising grip on your form-

"....walk?"

You'd blinked. You had no clue what he'd even asked, did he ask anything in the first place? I mean, you could've totally just imagined it. Maybe you were just dreaming already, it happens sometimes..

"I don't ask questions just for you to not answer. Can you walk?"

You'd opened your mouth to speak, shutting it shortly after. Your tongue was like lead in your mouth and your voice seemed to have gone for a walk. You weren't going to play the chances of you not answering again. Instead, you'd simply given a little nod. He was..surprisingly warm, in all honesty. You found yourself leaning further into him, unconsciously nuzzling your face into the crook of his neck.

He seemed satisfied by the answer, giving a little grunt of acknowledgement before pulling away. You'd caught yourself before you'd fallen, sleep snapping from you momentarily again as reality came back. By the time you found some sort of feelings in your legs again, he was already down the hall, not waiting for you by any means. You were grateful for the little burst of energy that'd found you, stumbling after him quickly.

You were reaching for his arm before you could really even process it, holding onto him once more in a moment of unconscious indulgence. You missed the little curious glance he gave you, and the way he'd pulled his arm (and subsequently you) a little closer to him. Admittedly, you leaning onto him so much did force him to slow down a bit, much to his chagrin. He didn't make any comment about it though. You didn't either, happy to just stay close as you just barely stayed awake enough to continue walking with him.

The mattress felt far more comfortable than the floor.

"Better than laying on tile, isn't it?" Came the sarcastic question.

Nevermind, fuck this mattress.

You'd given a little hum, stirring a bit as you got comfortable. You were still curled up as small as you could, some sort of attempt to salvage what little heat you had. The thin fleece blankets didn't offer much relief from the elements, serving more as an empty pressure laying on you. Despite that though, it seemed you were given some mercy, as you were just edging into unconsciousness.

"I'll be in the next room over so don't be loud, alright?"

You'd nodded slowly. There was a pause. There was an abnormally long pause, to be exact. After a few breaths you could hear the clinking of metal and the shuffling of cloth. Curiously, you'd poked your head up, looking at the man over your shoulder in confusion. He'd met your gaze, pausing for the briefest of moments as he tugged his jacket off.

"What're you doin?..." you'd managed, words slurring together drearily.

He'd given a short 'tsk,' continuing his previous ministrations as he answered. "What I'm doing is making sure you don't go into some little coma on me, I'm not carrying your ass around if you pass out that hard. That's on you."

You'd given a little displeased hum at his words, narrowing your eyes slightly at him. He didn't react. Laying your head back down, you'd sighed in some sort of content, peaceful enough in the deteriorating room. You could feel yourself falling asleep, thought slipping from you as you finally found some sot of rest.

Just before you really fell unconscious though, you could feel the weight of a jacket being draped over you. You could've sworn you felt a hand settle on your arm for a moment, tracing a few shapes and lines idly before reluctantly pulling away. You were so sure you heard the faintest of 'Goodnight,'s before the door clicked shut. You could have just been hearing things or dreaming them up, though. You'd just have to ask him about it in the morning.

#IF THE FORMATTING IS FUCKY ITS BC TUNGLE MADE ME COPY PASTE THIS FROM A DIFFERENT TEXT POST TO SAVE AS A DRAFT #BC IT WOULDNT SAVE .#i hate this site i hate this site i ha (slams my fists so violent and blood hungrilt)#employer reader #hank j wimbleton x reader #hank x reader #madcom x reader #madcom imagines #madness combat x reader #madness combat imagines #rot writes

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absurdthirst · 3 years

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New Life {Max Lord x F!Reader}

Rating: E for Everyone

Part of @autumnleaves1991-blog Writer Wednesday for 7/14/21 Tagging @clydesducktape as well.

Warnings: Nothing but fluff, a few moments of guilt for Max, post dream stone incident

“Alistair! Don’t go too far out!” Max frets, jumping up out of his chair and hurrying towards the water. His son splashes happily in the waves, floaties attached to his arms and a life jacket around his chest but still Max worries. Even if the boy is only waist deep in the ocean water.

If something were to happen to him, Max would never forgive himself. Especially since Alistair was the one thing person that hadn’t blamed him, even though he knows he deserves every one of those accusatory stares, every judging look.

There weren’t many of them since he had moved away from D.C. Finding that he needed to put aside his Max Lord, CEO persona and concentrate on Maxwell Lorenzano, father and hopefully discover that underneath the blind selfishness that there was still a good man.

“He’ll be okay.” You walk up to him with a smile. Max turns, frowning even though you immediately strike him as gorgeous.

“There aren’t any lifeguards on duty.” Max turns to the small beach shack where the warning was clearly painted, sun bleached, but clear.

“Yeah, but we all watch out of the little ones in the water.” You nod towards the other adults that are in the water or walking along the shore. The bathing suits and sunglasses bright and colorful. One dog runs by, intent on fetching the frisbee that had been launched by its owner.

Max sighs, voicing the real reason he is so nervous with Alistair being in the water and moving outward towards the nets. “I can’t swim though.”

When he had promised the boy a pool, he had imagined that he would be able to find time to learn. Somehow sneaking it in and not having his son learn that his father didn’t know how to swim. That he had never learned and honestly the idea of drowning terrified Max. Which was why the boy was wearing what he was despite whining the entire time Max had clipped him into it.

If you are surprised by his confession, you don’t seem to show it. Instead you look out at where Alistair is playing and nod as if you are having some internal conversation with yourself. “Sounds like someone needs to teach you.”

His brows raise at that, watching as you turn back to look at him. Again, he is struck by how pretty you are, barely keeping himself from letting his eyes drift lower and look at the bathing suit that clings to your body. “And where do you suggest that I look for someone to teach me?” He asks, knowing that since he has moved to a place where the beach will become a part of his normal routine, he needs to learn. He can’t let his fears affect Alistair.

“Max, right?” He stiffens slightly. Expecting the comments about what had happened. Another story about how he had ruined your life with the wish. Except you hold out your hand and give him your name, the same friendly smile you had on your face when you had walked up.

His face is hot and he knows it’s not from the sun, although he could blame it on that. “That’s me.” He mumbles, nodding towards the water. “My son Alistair.” He tells you, taking your hand and shaking it, enjoying the firm grip you give him and he hates when he has to release your hand for propriety’s sake.

“Well Max,” you look over to the water again before giving him a challenging look. “A new life requires us to leave the past behind us and learn new things. Doesn’t it?” You ask, making him nod - a bit confused by your meaning.

“How about I teach you.” You offer, making his eyes widen and he is nodding before he really even thinks about it.

“You would do that?” He asks, amazed that it could just be that simple. That he admits a problem and a solution is presented. “Why?”

You shrug, looking back at Alistair with a wistful expression on your face. “Every boy deserves to swim in the ocean with his father. And I can help with that.” You tell him honestly. “Plus, I’ve seen you around town, and this was my opportunity to introduce myself.”

Max’s face burns, embarrassment mingled with curiosity at the seeming compliment. The idea that you’ve wanted to talk to him makes him stand a little straighter. When he’s been out, he’s tried to keep a low profile, but apparently you didn’t mind that and saw him anyway.

“Do you want me to pay you?” Money was still a concern, but he didn’t crave the power and wealth like he did before. He just didn’t want to be beholden to anyway. It was a change for Max, to not be in debt to people, but it helped ease the burden on his shoulders.

“How about dinner one night?” You ask, grinning when Max’s head nods quickly again. “Then let’s go teach you how to swim.”

Following you to the water, he wonders what he might have done to deserve your kindness. He wasn’t going to question it too much, enjoying the way the his new life with his son was starting to go. Bigger wasn’t alway better and power didn’t matter. This moment was one he was going to enjoy. The day at the beach was sweet and innocent, something he yearned for now.

#pedro pascal #pedro pascal character fanfiction #maxwell lord wonder woman 84 #max lord x you #max lord x f!reader #max lord x reader #max lord fanfic #max lord imagine

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katzkinder · 3 years

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Little Drops of Water

Tetsu is his pride and joy.

It goes without saying, really, that his dear Eve is his greatest treasure in the world, and that the Item he has been given, one half of the set of four hairclips Tetsu used to keep his hair out of his face all throughout middle and highschool, are almost equally as dear to him as the boy himself. Long after Tetsu is gone, their shiny plastic, ocean blue, will last and Hugh will add them to his treasures. There they will remain alongside a young noble girl’s favored comb, a king and hero’s favorite embroidery (done by the steady and lovely hand of his wife), and… A peasant girl’s dress, carefully, lovingly preserved against the ravages of time, so delicate now that only the most trusted of his subclass are allowed to care for it.

Yes, Tetsu is his pride and joy, and yes, it goes without saying that Hugh holds him near and dear to his heart… But that didn’t mean he wouldn’t brag about him to whoever was fortunate enough to have to listen to him.

...Which is why the situation in front of him is so… Frustrating.

Now, call him a coward, call him a fool, call him a doddering old man… Perhaps he was all those things. But he was not so fool enough as to blindly praise working oneself into the ground, nor was he the type to give praise where it wasn’t due.

Tetsu was not the brightest.

He would admit this, albeit no longer to his Eve’s face. And while he would admit this, he would also much more readily sing Tetsu’s redeeming qualities. Tetsu was a hard worker. Tetsu was steadfast. Tetsu was loyal. Tetsu was a good listener.

Tetsu was all these things and more, but most of all, Tetsu was dedicated.

Which is how Hugh found himself acting as tutor, with his brilliant mind and sharp wit, while his dear Eve prepared for university entrance exams.

It was heartbreaking, though, how hard he worked. Not because Hugh believed he would fail, oh no, far from it. Tetsu might not have been the sharpest tool in the shed, but he was fastidious, and really, Hugh thought, the thing that held him back the most was his lack of confidence in his own abilities, to which Hugh proudly thought he had been quite instrumental in rectifying, if he did say so himself.

It was heartbreaking because… Sometimes, it felt as if the only one who believed Tetsu would succeed was Tetsu himself.

And Hugh, of course.

Now, don’t get him wrong. He didn’t believe Tetsu’s family meant to discourage their son. Far from it, they wanted nothing more than for Tetsu to succeed, and they supported him fully in his university career endeavors. Except, well, Tetsu had told him that he wanted to go to university for one very simple, but very heartfelt reason.

He wanted to save their inn.

The inn which… Tetsu’s own parents felt had no future.

But Tetsu and his iron will, of course, thought otherwise, and he refused to give up on the family business, the place he had grown up and loved and worked so very hard to help run, even as far back as before he and Hugh had met. It was charming. It was lovely. It made Hugh want to fight for him, more than ever before.

The inn was something that, even more than a contract with Hugh, Tetsu took Pride in.

So Hugh, in order to nurture that pride, in order to care for his Eve, would do everything in his power to teach Tetsu everything he needed to know to make that dream of his come true. To make their home, because that’s what it is, this place. This little inn is Hugh’s home now, too. It’s no grand castle, no stone walls or towers or awe inspiring, imposing structures, but he loves it all the same, loves the people who make it such a warm, wonderful place.

He wonders how he could have ever considered letting this place die.

Hugh knows the answer, of course. It’s because he was a coward, a fool, and a doddering old man.

He refuses to be that way any longer.

***

“Hugh. Are you tired?”

The Servamp of Pride exaggerates his yawn further, rubs at one of his eyes with a tiny fist, and mumbles that he is fine, he can keep going, let them continue the lesson. Tetsu frowns at him, adjusts the reading glasses he now needs (and he’s grown into such a handsome young man, Hugh thinks, barely able to keep the smile off his face to continue his ruse), and sets the heavy prep book aside.

“No, it’s late. What time is it?”

“Check your phone, my boy… It’s almost a quarter to eleven,” Hugh informs him, just as Tetsu makes a startled noise when he confirms as such with his own eyes.

“It really is that late… Hugh, that’s amazing. You never need to check a clock or anything.” He shakes his head, willing the distraction away. “Sorry. I should have kept a better eye on the time. Let’s stop for the night. I didn’t notice, but… I’m kind of tired, too.”

And just like that, Tetsu starts tidying his space, placing his glasses back in their case and his books back in his bag while Hugh goes to fetch their pajamas. His Eve pats his head when he returns, murmuring a quiet thanks while Hugh soaks up the attention in a way very few people who aren’t big brother are able to earn from him, and after that, it’s the rest of their bedtime routine as normal. Getting changed, brushing their teeth, rolling out the futon, and climbing in together, Hugh always forever tiny against Tetsu’s larger frame, forever his Eve’s favorite teddy bear.

It suits him just fine, and he chitters softly, contently, when he’s snuggled close, tucks his head up under Tetsu’s chin and inhales the scent of pine he finds there, that wafts from Tetsu himself and his futon each. It’s soothing. It’s home.

Hugh cannot allow himself to fall asleep yet, no matter how tempting it is.

He lies there, being held, being loved, and waits for Tetsu’s breaths to slow, waits for his arms to go slack, just a bit, because once Tetsu is asleep… His real work begins.

It’s easy to slip away. A bat in the night, easing the door to Tetsu’s room open and swooping out into the halls, a wandering pet no one will see in the dark and no one will hear, silent as the beat of his wings are. He pauses, only briefly, when passing by the front desk where the lovely spouse of Tetsu’s elder sister still diligently works, greeting Miyako with a swoop and a cheep. She smiles at him, bids him safe journey.

“I’ll leave the lamp on for you. Take care, Hugh~”

A charming young lady, and she treats Tetsu well. Hugh can’t say he disapproves of her, even if her family is one he could do without. Of course, he never says as much, neither to her face nor to Tetsu’s.

That would be rude.

...To All of Love, however, he will gladly complain.

***

Hugh does not return until hours later, when the moon has passed its highest point in the sky and is on its journey back down to the horizon, chased by creatures neither he nor humanity can see, and yet, if you had asked him once, he would proclaim for certain that they were there.

Now, though, science tells otherwise, and he mourns the loss of that mysticism of the past at the same time he celebrates the inventions of the future, because it is only through the inventions of the future that he is able to monitor what needs to be monitored, and complete the tasks that need to be completed.

Such as keeping up with the local subclass, not all of which are his.

It is… Exhausting work.

Tokyo is a large place, and even without the Melancholy vampires to look after, knock on wood that it stays that way, even without Lust subclass, godspeed to All of Love, the number of them in Tokyo is staggering. Most of them are his, yes, and he does not regret granting them new life, no, never, not one bit, but… Well. Some of them need more assistance than others, and between tending the inn alongside Tetsu, studying, and this, his schedule is just… Completely packed full.

He wouldn’t trade this mind numbing feeling for the world. Not after they worked so hard to achieve what is still, unfortunately, an unsteady peace, but it’s an unsteady peace that has allowed his siblings and his subclass to prosper. To be happy, and healthy, and it leaves him puffing out his chest, tired but proud. Tired but happy.

Hugh would do even more if it were asked of him, he thinks as he sits to start putting together more flashcards and mnemonics and memory games, pens and books and note cards spread out in front of him while he lies on his stomach and gets to work. He would do even more, do whatever he could, if only to secure Tetsu’s future even more surely than the rising of the sun.

Because Tetsu is his pride and joy.

And as his pride and joy… Hugh would make certain that his Eve could rest without a single ounce of guilt.

Sleep well, my dear. The future is yours.

#kat's katerwauling #servamp #tetsu sendagaya #hugh the dark algernon iii #pride pair #pawprints #servamp fic #where my pride stans at

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ao3komorii · 3 years

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Lost Love’s Ruination (Viego/Reader)

Done at last! Was desperate to get this one out before Isolde was released for obvious reasons, so glad I got it done xD Once again, I tried to make it that you don't need any lore knowledge to get what's going on, though I would recommend maybe watching Ruination (the league short). Also no apologies for all the Senna because I love herrrrr

As a warning, there is smut at the end. Hope you enjoy it :) ----

A woman’s body, her beauty spoiled in apparent death, was lowered into beautiful crystalline waters. You couldn’t see who was lowering her into the water, or who stood around viewing the scene. You never could.

As it always did, the water grew poisoned with death as the woman revived from the dead, her features twisted with anger and confusion. Like a caged animal that had been freed, she lashed out, ripping a great blade out of someone’s grasp, and before you could react, the blade was plunged into your chest.

With a gasp, you woke up, your body broken out in a cold sweat, like it always did when you had that particular dream. You had had that dream many times before, but it never got any less terrifying. Long ago, you had considered visiting a dream reader to decipher what the horrifying nightmare meant, but you were scared that you would be told you were cursed and gave up on ever knowing.

It was a relief that most days you didn’t have much time to worry about your nightmares. You had been working on a farm in rural Demacia ever since you had been taken in at age four. You had been told that you were the only survivor of a fire, but you had been so young that you had no memories of the fire, or of your parents.

The owner of the farm had given you a home, but he was far from being family. You were given enough food to survive, but no more, and it was always contingent on you working on the farm seven days a week. You were grateful to have a bed to sleep in at night, even as hard as it was, but couldn’t help but feel some envy watching the other girls in your town go about their lives without the responsibilities that you had.

You might as well get up, even with how early you had woken up. Today was sheep shearing day, the longest day of the year for you. The sheep liked you more than they liked the owner, so that meant that you were stuck shearing all the sheep by yourself while he went to the town bar all day.

Putting on your old and worn boots with a sigh, you wished you could find a way out of this life. But you had no skills besides farming, and no money. The only way a girl like you could get out of this life was to marry a likely-older man, and that was something you wanted to avoid at all costs. The owner’s brother had previously expressed an interest in you, but luckily for you the owner hated his brother, or you would have likely had to live on the streets to avoid that marriage made in hell.

The owner was out in the field feeding the sheep when you exited the farmhouse. He glanced up at you, but you knew better than to expect a good morning, instead heading towards the small shed to fetch your shears.

Only when you returned to the field did he finally speak up. “Have some buyers comin’ for the wool tomorrow, so make sure it’s done today.”

“Right,” you answered. He was always the gruff, no-nonsense type, so you knew by now that talking back would get you nowhere. You had learned that lesson soon after you had come to this place twenty years ago. He was your employer, not your father, and he made sure you never forgot that.

“Alright, I’m off then,” he said, giving the field of sheep one more look over before heading inside to change out of his overalls.

You finished setting your things up as the owner left for the bar. You watched as he headed down the road, knowing that he wouldn’t be back until late. You didn’t really mind when he was gone, even if that meant you had a larger workload; he never seemed to have any interest in you other than what you could do on the farm, so he wasn’t one for long conversation. Without him around, you were at least able to relax and work without feeling like you had someone breathing down your neck to finish faster.

Luckily, the sheep were more than willing to listen to your worries, even if they didn’t understand what you were saying.

“I just want to stop having that dream,” you said as you began shearing one of your favorite sheep, Tulip. The owner had no interest in naming his livestock, so the job was left to you. Names didn’t make a difference to the owner, but it made a big difference to you, even as sad as it was to have your only friends be farm animals.

“I just wish I could make them go away,” you told the uninterested sheep. “Things would be much easier if I could dream about grass like you probably do, Tulip.”

Tulip turned her head to face you and you sighed, petting her freshly-sheared back. You always felt silly talking to the sheep, but it wasn’t like you had any better options around here.

Every time you had dreamed of a more exciting life, you had backed down and given up on your plans. Beyond your lack of money or skills, you knew very little about the world outside your small farming town. You had only been outside the town once, many years ago when you went with the owner to help pick out some new livestock from a larger town.

As your life stood right now, you had very little idea of what your future would be like. Would you eventually get tired of this life and set out on your own, get married off, or stay here until you were old and gray? None of those options seemed particularly appealing to you, but for now, all you could do was sit here and talk to sheep about your nightmares, wishing you could have a chance to see more of the world than your small town.

It was already a pretty warm day, and handling heavy sheep’s wool wasn’t helping. You had sheared about half the sheep by midday, but your work had been slowing down, likely due to your poor night of sleep. You would have to pick up the pace considerably if you wanted to finish in time to get any sleep tonight.

You had been pushing through your increasing thirst for at least an hour in the name of finishing on time, but had finally given in and headed inside for some water. Your dry throat ached, but the water was still nice, as you knew the owner would be upset if you passed out from dehydration before you finished your day’s work.

As much as you didn’t want to go back out there, you knew you had to work to earn your keep. It was a little harder to stay focused on work when you were dirty, sweaty and covered in balls of wool, but you had to push through and just look forward to a nice bath after the day was done.

You paused to stretch as you stood before the front door, knowing it would be back to work as soon as you were back outside. Stretching only served to emphasize how sore you were feeling after several hours of tedious work, with many more still to go. That was the same reason why you hadn’t bothered to pick the excess wool off of your clothes; why bother when you would look like a patchy sheep by the end of the day anyways?

Saying goodbye to your brief moment of rest, you opened the door at last, reluctantly ready to get back to work. Looking out over the area, you were surprised to see the field in more chaos than you had left it.

Your stool had been knocked over, but that was easy enough to fix; your real problem came from the sheep. You had expected them to wander around the field while not under your supervision, but the scene before you was something you had never experienced before.

The sheep were all crowded along the fence that faced the way into town. Walking closer, you could see nothing along the road that led past other farms and into town, at least nothing that would catch the attention of the entire flock of sheep. The dirt road was clear, the only noise around drifting over from the other nearby farms, but that wasn’t unusual.

You walked closer to the sheep, still unsure of what their problem was. You had never seen them act like this before, not even when large carts would pass by them travelling on the road. Could they see something that you couldn’t? You had never heard of sheep having supernatural senses, but were having a difficult time coming up with any other explanation for their sudden strange behavior.

Approaching the sheep, you tried to gently pry one away from the fence, but it wouldn’t budge, digging its hooves into the ground with an indignant bleat. You tried the same tactic with several other sheep, but were met with the same stubborn refusal to move. Even Tulip rebuffed you, regardless of any pleading on your part. What was wrong with these sheep?

You covered your eyes with your hands, taking a deep breath to try and calm yourself down. You really didn’t need this right now. You had a job to do, and a limited amount of time to get the job done or the owner would surely be upset with you. You would have to do whatever it took to get the sheep to comply with you, even if the owner was unhappy with you using extra hay as a bribe.

Before you could return your focus to the sheep in front of you, you were interrupted by a loud bleating from all around you. Removing your hands from your eyes, you looked around you to the flock of loudly-bleating sheep, and then back to the still-empty area ahead of you, still utterly confused as to what was happening.

All of a sudden, the sheep were desperate to be anywhere but where they were as they all turned and fled away from the fence. Unfortunately, you were unable to move in time and were sent falling to the ground, which was not helping your already-sore back. Sitting up with a groan, you lamented how rough your day was going, at least until you looked out at the scene beyond the fence.

Where there had been nothing out of the ordinary before, now you could see something that was not there before. Far off in the horizon, so far that you had to squint to see it, was a patch of dark black-green in the sky.

Standing up, you leaned over the fence, trying to see what it was when suddenly the patch grew bigger, or as you realized with a gasp, it was getting closer. The horrible black-green sky got closer still, close enough for you to tell that it was not sky after all, but a thick, dark mist, and it seemed to be closing in on your small town.

And then your world was swallowed by black.

Senna sat in the small boat, watching as the black-green mist began to dissipate, knowing that its creator had vanished as well. She could feel nothing but guilt and dread; she had failed not only herself, but all of Runeterra. Now that the ruined king had the memories, he was one step closer to achieving his goal, and then his focus would turn to the world that he felt had let him down.

“We have to find the girl,” Senna said suddenly, watching as the last of the mist faded from the cliff they had just been on.

“The girl?” Lucian asked.

Senna turned to face her husband. How often she forgot that Lucian hadn’t seen what she had seen, didn’t know what she knew. But this was no time to get lost in the past, not when so much was at stake.

“His wife died a long time ago,” she began as Lucian took hold of the boat’s steering wheel. “I’ve held her memory within me since the mist came to my island when I was a child. Now that he has her memory, he will seek out her body to reunite the two.”

“He’s looking for a thousand-year-old corpse?” Lucian sounded dubious.

“No,” Senna sighed ruefully. “His wife was reborn, but she has no memories of her past life. He thinks that he can force her memory into her new body and return her to his side.”

Only when it got closer did you realize the true amount of trouble you were in. The dark mist began to swallow the land, the sky, covering everything in its path as it headed straight towards your farm.

As it got even closer, you began to see more detail in the ominous mist, taken aback when you noticed ethereal green streaks in the mist that crawled along the black mist as if they were alive. This was no ordinary storm, no, this mist looked downright sinister. You stared, frozen with terror, until the screams from one of the neighboring farms snapped you out of your petrified stupor.

You had to run. Now.

You backed up a few steps, knowing that you had to leave but afraid to take your eyes off of the rapidly-approaching deathly black mist. Turning around at last, you ran across the field and towards the woods beyond the back gate of the property, hoping to find some safety within the dense forest.

The sheep had already got there first and were trying to break down the back gate to escape. The field was large, as you also had many crops growing, sections of which had been trampled underfoot by the terrified animals as they fled.

You were halfway across the field when the sheep scattered, bleating loudly as they gave up on the back gate, running instead to cower in their pen. As they moved away from the gate, you noticed with horror that the black mist was now rolling out from the woods as well. Stopping in your tracks, you looked around you, only to see that the mist was coming at the farm from every direction. You were trapped, and the mist was only getting closer to engulfing you.

Desperately looking for any way out of your impending death, you caught sight of the farmhouse. If you couldn’t escape this mist, then maybe you could delay its effects by hiding in the cellar of the farmhouse long enough for help to arrive. It was the only option you could see other than waiting here to die, so you took it.

Your legs were burning from all the sprinting you had been doing in the last few minutes, but you couldn’t stop, not when it was the cellar or certain death. You were almost to the farmhouse, so close you could almost feel the temporary safety within your grasp, when the looming mist beat you there, swallowing the house into its depths just as you were about to reach the door.

Jerking back with a scream, you backed away from the writhing mist, not wanting it to touch your skin. By now, the mist had surrounded the farm, so close to you that you could no longer see the fences that surrounded the property.

You stood still, having nowhere to run as the mist surrounded you on all sides. Shaking with fear, you were surprised when the mist stopped advancing, leaving you in the middle of a circular patch of field.

You watched with wide eyes, waiting for the mist to swallow you, but it didn’t come any closer. You weren’t dead, but it wasn’t like this situation was much better. You couldn’t fight off a supernatural mist with sheep shears, and even if you could, they were on the ground somewhere in that mist.

The farmland was deathly silent; you could no longer hear the screams of your neighbors or the bleating of the sheep. Now that it was so close and with nowhere to go, you had nothing to do but stare at the mysterious fog that surrounded you.

It was dark, so dark that you couldn’t see through it, the sickly green streaks running around the edge of the mist like circling sharks. Following them with your eyes, you struggled to figure out what they were. You had a very limited worldview to draw on, the only comparison coming to mind being like a ghoul described to you in stories when you were a child.

You weren’t sure what was happening; the mist had swallowed everything else without mercy, so why were you a different case? You weren’t left waiting long, as the mist gave way to a tall figure who entered into the open section of field.

He was tall and ethereally pale, clothed all in black, which contrasted sharply with his short, wavy silver hair. Looking at his well-defined torso, you realized that he was too pale; his face and shirtless torso were gray-white, like all the life had been drained from him.

His outfit was simple, a black pair of pants and dark cropped jacket, obsidian armor covering his arms and legs. More than anything, your eyes were drawn to two unusual features; on his head was a sharp three-pointed crown the same color of the ghouls still circling you, and on his chest was a black triangle, so dark that it seemed like it was a bottomless hole.

His eyes glowed with a supernatural light, a shiver running down your spine as your eyes met his. Immediately, he began to stride towards you, sending you into a panic.

There was nowhere to go but into the mist, and that wasn’t an option, but that didn’t mean you wanted the ghostly man anywhere near you. You clutched your hands to your chest, backing up as far as you could without entering the mist, but the man would not be deterred.

His eyes never strayed from yours, his gaze so intense that you felt it hard to look away from. With nowhere to run, he was quickly upon you, but to your great surprise, he came to a stop before you.

He raised one gloved hand, and you flinched as he reached towards you, stunned when the hand came up to gently cup your cheek. Shaking with fear, you stared at him, scared to even breathe and attract his ire.

“My love,” came his voice, gravelly and in an accent that you did not recognize. “Finally you return to me.”

“Who are you?” you whispered, shivering from the cold of his armor-tipped fingers against your skin.

His head tilted slightly to the side, as if he was appraising you. You wanted to shrink away from his gaze, to remove his hand from your face, but you were terrified of upsetting him and risking yourself. As stagnant as your life was, it was your life, and you didn’t want to die here.

“You do not remember me,” he spoke softly, voice laced with disappointment. “A shame. But you will soon.”

You were scared to ask him what he meant, but felt relieved as he finally pulled his hand away from your cheek. Your relief was short-lived as his hand instead went to lay over the deep black triangle on his chest. Now that he was so close to you, the triangle truly did look like it was made of endless darkness. You could see no flesh in the black space; it looked like a keyhole to a dimension of utter black, the sight of it reminding you of the black mist that swirled around you.

There was also the fact that he had spoken to you like he knew you. You had never seen this man before, that you knew for sure. The only part of your life that was hazy was your life before the fire that had claimed your home and parents, but you couldn’t imagine meeting this ghoulish man back then and not remembering him.

You inhaled sharply when out of his chest materialized an orb of wiry light. The strands of light that made up the orb buzzed with energy, and seemed to act as a sort of cage for a small white light in the center that looked like a flickering flame. You knew that it was not natural; but no matter how long you stared at it, you would not be able to place its origins.

The orb was so bright, and felt very out of place in the void of darkness that you were currently trapped in as its light helped to illuminate the face of the stranger before you.

Even with how deathly pale he was, his face was still handsome, jawline sharp and free of even stubble. No matter how much you stared at his face, you couldn’t tell how old he was; he looked around your age, but also had the aura of someone or something much, much older. He looked down at the thrumming orb with a strange fondness in his eyes before he turned his attention back to you.

“I have missed you so dearly, Isolde,” he said as he began to bring the orb towards you.

“No, please!” you cried out in response.

You weren’t sure what that orb was; all you knew was that you didn’t want it touching you. He didn’t seem to hear your desperate pleas as the orb got closer and closer to your chest. You had nowhere to run, and nobody to save you from this ghostly lunatic.

The orb was almost at your chest, a tear dripping down your cheek as you stared down at it, and then everything was light.

You closed your eyes against the bright light, but were surprised to feel no pain. Hearing a male grunt, you opened your eyes as the light beyond your eyelids faded as quickly as it had come.

Looking around you, you saw the stranger across the field, the orb on the grass nearby. Immediately, you noticed that the area was better lit, looking over to see a large split in the dark mist that led across the field to a figure holding a large metallic device.

“Hurry!” Came the call from the figure, too far away for you to see them in much detail.

A snarl from behind you had you looking back to see the strange man getting up, the sight spurning you into action. You made a mad dash for the gap in the mist, ignoring the stranger’s angered calls for you to stop. You didn’t recognize the figure in the distance, but you would take any help you could get as you sprinted towards them.

As you got closer, you noticed that the figure you were running towards was a woman. She was dressed in black and white, gold-accented dreadlocks hanging out of one side of her white hood. You couldn’t place the large metal device that she held; you had never seen anything like it before.

“You will not interfere!”

You glanced behind you, seeing the stranger following behind you, now holding a sword that was longer than he was tall, aglow with supernatural energy. The sight of him, of the fury in his eyes tripped you up, sending you tumbling to the ground.

You scrambled to your feet, but the delay was enough that he was rapidly catching up to you. The look in his eyes froze you in your tracks, only able to manage small steps backward until your arm was suddenly grabbed from behind.

You yelped as you were picked up and then quickly deposited back on the ground a short distance away from where you had been. Looking over, you saw a man in white standing protectively in front of you, twin pistols raised and pointed at the silver-haired man with the sword.

He quickly turned his head back to face you. “Go.” When you hadn’t moved after a few seconds, he barked the order again, his deep voice loud and commanding.

You nodded rapidly before turning to run, hoping that the man would be okay. You knew that you wouldn’t feel confident facing that ghoulish man down, but the man that had come to your rescue seemed to exude a quiet confidence, so you had to trust that he would be okay as you desperately sprinted towards the woman and her strange weapon-like device.

As soon as you were in her reach, she pulled you behind her. You saw the man who had saved you facing off with the sword-wielding stranger, rapidly firing bolts of light at him while narrowly dodging blows from the giant sword.

“Is he okay?” you asked, consumed with worry.

The woman nodded. “He can handle himself. We need to get you out of here while Viego is distracted.”

“Viego?” you echoed, turning your gaze from the fight in front of you to meet her startlingly green eyes.

“I’ll explain everything when we’re away from this place,” she answered, resting her large weapon against her shoulder. “We need to go.”

You were reluctant to leave the man fighting alone, but you had no power to help him. You couldn’t insist on staying here when it would doom all three of you.

As you and the woman ran towards the road, your thoughts turned to the owner, your neighbors… your whole town. Hopping over the fence, you found yourself facing down a wasteland.

The nearby farms looked like they had been hit by a tornado, fences broken and chunks of wood gouged out of houses. You couldn’t see anyone around but you and the woman at your side. Just an hour ago, those farms had been full of life, and now, nothing.

You were led around a bend in the road, where a metal cart waited with two large creatures hitched to it. One of the creatures turned its head to look at you and you stared back, trying to figure out what exactly it was.

“Greathorns,” the woman answered your unspoken question. “They’re very reliable.”

You nodded your head slowly; you felt like you had heard the owner mention greathorns before, but you knew that you had never seen one in person. They were bigger than any horse you had seen, with beige beardlike tufts of hair under their chins and large jagged horns that almost looked like a dragon’s wing sprouting from their heads.

The woman looked like she was about to say something, but she was interrupted by a horrible guttural screech from the direction you had just fled from. You met eyes with the woman, feeling unnerved when you noticed the worry in her expression.

Your momentary panic was shattered as a figure zipped around the corner. You were relieved to see that it was the man in the white jacket, though his clothing looked considerably more scuffed up than it had a few minutes ago.

“Is he–” the woman started to say.

“He’s down for now, but we have to go,” the man answered, running over to join you at the cart.

They both sprang into action, the woman placing her weapon into the cart before jumping in herself and helping you in while the man took his place at the reins, spurning the greathorns into movement.

You turned back to try and see what had become of the farm you had called home for most of your life. The dark mist still lingered over the farm, but it was getting thinner by the second. You didn’t see the strange man, the owner, or even the sheep. It was almost unbelievable how quickly your entire way of life had been decimated; as you watched the ruined farm get farther and farther away, you wondered if you would ever return.

You hadn’t realized that you had dozed off until you were being gently nudged awake. You weren’t surprised you had fallen asleep after the day you had, combined with the long cart ride.

You opened your eyes to see the woman who had rescued you, who offered a kind smile your way when she noticed that you were awake. “We’re here.”

“Here…?” you replied sleepily, before your attention was drawn to the scene around you.

You felt like you were in a world straight out of a fairy tale. Tall buildings made of polished white stone surrounded you, much more extravagant than anything you had ever seen before. The roads were paved, people in fancy dress and armor milling about. You were in awe of the fashion, suddenly feeling like a country bumpkin in your wool-covered overalls.

“Welcome to Demacia City,” the man said, steering the cart to a waiting stable.

You got off of the cart with shaky feet, feeling overwhelmed by the reality of the big city you had always dreamed of visiting. Looking out at the beautiful architecture of the city, you only wished you could have come here under better circumstances. The beautiful city instantly dulled in your eyes when you thought back to the state of your hometown, desolated by the dark mist.

“I thought it would be better to let you sleep,” the woman’s voice broke through the fog in your brain and you turned to look at her. “Now that we have a moment to breathe, I thought we should introduce ourselves. My name is Senna, and this is my husband Lucian.”

Lucian nodded to you when he was introduced, and you shyly gave your name back. Once the introductions had been made, you followed Senna through the streets after she had insisted that it would be safer to explain everything once you had arrived at a more secure location.

The more secure location ended up being a large building at the edge of town, the inside of the building a large circular chamber. You could see a few doors on the other side of the chamber, but didn’t get to see where they led as Senna stood in the center of the room, the light from a glass panel far above her bathing her form in a gentle glow. Lucian stood close to his wife, and you came to a stop a few feet away, nervous for what you were about to hear.

“Alright, so the start of this all goes back over a thousand years ago,” Senna started, the sheer amount of time involved stunning you. “That man… Viego… he was a king back then.”

“He was the king of Demacia?” you blurted out. It was hard to imagine someone so ghoulish and cruel being the king of Demacia, even a thousand years ago.

“Not here,” Lucian denied with a shake of his head. “A long-dead empire on a continent east of here.”

Another continent? You had never even heard of another continent; the farthest your geographical knowledge went were the other kingdoms that bordered Demacia. But if he was from another continent…

“…then how did he get here?” you voiced your sudden thought, watching as Senna’s expression hardened, as if your words hurt her to think about.

After a pause, she answered. “Viego was a poor king who instead focussed all of his attention on a peasant girl he had made his wife, Isolde.”

An unsettling feeling made its way into your stomach as Senna spoke her name, but you kept your feelings in, not wanting to interrupt her story.

“With his attention on Isolde, Viego did not govern. Wanting to be rid of their useless king, assassins came to take Viego’s life, but their aim was misplaced. Their poison dagger sliced the arm of the queen, who fell deathly ill from the toxin.”

As her story went on, the bad feeling got worse and worse. It was not at all helped by the knowledge of your mystery scar, the one on your arm that you had no memory of ever getting in the first place. Still, you kept quiet and listened.

“To cure his wife, Viego brought her to the Blessed Isles, but she didn’t survive the journey and was brought as a corpse,” Senna explained. “The elders refused him entry, as the blessed waters could not bring back the dead, but Viego forced his way through.”

You were beginning to have a hard time breathing, terror seeping into your skin as you thought about that dream, the same dream you had been having most of your life. You felt compelled to listen to rest of Senna’s story, even if you suspected that you knew how it would end.

“Isolde was angry and confused after being ripped from death. She stabbed Viego with his own sword, the touch of the ancient sword to the blessed waters turning the whole island into unlife. Viego’s death is what created the Shadow Isles.”

The Shadow Isles? You had thought they were just a myth. Everyone in your town had heard of the terrifying land that was said to be cursed with unlife, its residents thralls to the terrible curse. It had been said that anyone who ventured to the Shadow Isles would lose themselves to death and madness, but you had only heard the place mentioned by parents trying to discourage their children from behaving badly, telling them that the monsters from the from the isles would come and get them if they didn’t behave themselves.

You knew what was coming, but you couldn’t bear to say it out loud, feeling like the words were too horrifying for you to speak. Thankfully, Senna decided at last to get to the heart of the matter.

“Viego took Isolde’s memory from me, and now he intends to reunite her memory with her body,” Senna said, her eyes tinged with regret. “And that is why he’s after you.”

“So then that orb…” your voice trailed off as you thought about the ball of light that had nearly been forced upon you.

“Isolde’s memory from when she was alive,” Lucian confirmed. “Senna has had it with her for a long time.”

“And you think that I’m…” You couldn’t bring yourself to say it.

“Yes,” Senna confirmed gently. “You are the reincarnation of Isolde. Viego would not have come after you if you weren’t.”

“But I’m not… I’m just a farmhand…”

You knew that she was right. There was no other explanation, but you still didn’t want to believe it. You were a farm worker, not a long-dead queen. Yesterday you had been pulling carrots out of the ground, and today you were on the run from a demented king who believed he could use your body to bring back his dead wife. You didn’t have an exciting life, but it was yours, and you didn’t want to lose it to fulfil Viego’s twisted obsession.

Senna and Lucian had stayed silent, giving you a moment to try and calm yourself down, which you appreciated. You would probably cry about it tonight, but for now you would stay as strong as you could. You were used to talking about your feelings with the animals on the farm, but felt uncomfortable with being overly emotional in front of other people, considering the main person you talked to was the owner, and he was not one for heartfelt conversations.

“We won’t let him have you,” Senna promised.

“And besides, after what I did to him, he’ll need a few days to recover his strength,” Lucian added.

“Thank you both,” you said, bowing your head low. “If it wasn’t for you, I don’t even want to think about where I’d be.”

“Raise your head,” Senna said gently. You looked up to see her with a smile on her face, which made you feel a bit better. “Don’t go thanking us yet. Not until we send Viego back into the darkness for good.”

“Can we really stop him?” you asked.

“We’ll sure try,” she replied as you silently wished you had the confidence that she did. “But first, we have something else to do.”

You bit your lip, unsure of what she meant. What could be more important than dealing with the looming threat of Viego’s return?

“You’ve never left that town, have you?” Senna asked with a raised eyebrow, and you nodded. “How would you like to see the city?”

“But don’t we have to–”

“I’ll handle the work for now,” Lucian cut in. “We haven’t been back here in some time and Senna might aim her gun my way if she doesn’t get some downtime.”

“Me?” Senna replied with mock incredulity. “You were the one going on about missing Demacian sugar rolls.”

Lucian didn’t look bothered by his wife’s sass, staring at her with a pout until she relented with a smile and a shake of her head. “…we’ll get you some when we’re out.”

“Thank you kindly,” Lucian replied fondly.

After giving Lucian a quick kiss goodbye, Senna turned back to you, gesturing towards the door. “Ready to get a look at what the city is really like?”

You had thought the streets of Demacia City were big, but found yourself thoroughly blown away by the sheer size of the grand plaza in the center of the city. It was mostly empty now, but according to Senna, the entire space was packed with people when they held special events. It was hard to believe that you were standing in a place where wars had been declared and kings had been crowned.

The marketplace was less spacious, but no less overwhelming. Merchants of all types lined the streets, selling wares you could only dream of before today.

It was in the market that you got to try one of the sugar rolls that Lucian was so fond of, the crystalized sugar melting on your tongue. With so many new sights and smells, you were having a hard time deciding where to look, at least until you laid eyes on a colorful stand selling various types of clothing items.

Walking a bit closer while Senna perused some metalwork from a nearby shop, you found your attention drawn to a dress hanging on one of the racks in front of the seller. It was short, probably knee-length at best, and the same light blue as the sky. The dress was simple, with long sleeves and an a-line skirt, but it was the finer details that had caught your eye; sewn into the hem of the skirt and collar of the dress were little white birds in flight across the fabric.

You had never seen such intricate design work; in your town, people wore practical clothing for working; there was no need for a nice dress when you were just going to get mud all over it anyways. The more you saw of this place, the more you began to feel dissatisfied with how you had been living up until now. But then again, you may not live at all beyond the next few days, not if the ruined king got ahold of you. What a mess you had made of your own life, and Senna and Lucian’s as well.

“You know you’re not a burden, right?” Senna’s voice right behind you snapped you right out of your thoughts and you turned to look at her, her green eyes piercing right through you.

“I, uh…” You weren’t sure how to answer her as you processed her words. It was hard to think of yourself as anything but a burden; your existence itself had caused your town to be invaded by a long-dead king from the Shadow Isles, and now Senna and Lucian had to protect you or face the destruction of the entirety of Runeterra. You were an incredible burden.

“No, none of that,” Senna said, shaking her head with a smile, before her voice turned serious. “You’re a person with feelings and desires. You don’t deserve to be used in Viego’s plot to bring back his queen. You are worthy of being helped, so don’t you dare think otherwise.”

You were stunned speechless. You wanted to refute her words, but the look in her eyes was telling you that doing so would be a bad idea. Instead, you nodded reluctantly, and her stern face finally relaxed back into a smile.

“Good, then we’re going to practice being confident,” she said. “If we don’t work on your confidence, then you’ll never be able to stop fearing those who reside in the dark.”

She was right. You knew she was. “…okay.”

“See that dress over there?” Senna asked, jerking her chin towards the blue dress with the white bird trim. “You like it, right?”

You stiffened. You thought that she had been perusing the metal works being sold, but clearly she had been paying more attention to you than you had given her credit for.

“…it’s nice,” you admitted at last. “I’ve never owned a dress before. The owner of the farm said they would just get ripped and dirty.”

“I think we should get it then,” Senna replied, voice quieting so the seller couldn’t hear her next words. “Sometimes we all need a reminder that we’re not trapped in the dark. This dress can serve as your reminder that you’re brighter than the darkness that chases you.”

You were reluctant to accept the dress, but Senna paid the seller before you could properly object. Handing the dress to you, she looked pleased as she watched you marvel over the soft fabric and beautiful design. Looking back up at her, you were about to thank her, but stopped when she held up a hand.

“If you want to thank me, you can help me set the wards around the house. Besides, we’ll both get an earful if Lucian has to wait any longer for his sugar rolls.”

You thanked her anyways as you both turned to head out of the market, arms full of dress and sugar rolls.

The next morning found you outside with Senna, helping her set up complicated devices around the outside of the building while Lucian worked to set some of the same devices on the roof. You watched carefully as Senna demonstrated how each ward had to be placed in order to work properly, not wanting to mess up when you set up the next one yourself.

“Will these keep him out?” you asked as you bent down to place a ward against the wall.

“A little to the left,” Senna corrected, and you moved the heavy metal device to the left until she nodded with satisfaction. “Nothing can keep Viego out, but these should weaken his strength enough to give us a chance.”

You winced; you had anticipated her answer, knowing how powerful Viego had seemed from your short interaction with him. Hoping to defeat him seemed like a futile effort, but you wanted to believe it was possible. You knew so little about the world outside of your farming town, so at this point, anything seemed like it could be possible. You had no choice but to hope anyways because if you failed, you would be lost forever, at least if Viego had his way.

Your life had become infinitely more precious now that it had come under threat; you wanted to help Senna and Lucian, the people who valued you for being you, not a dead king who looked at you and only saw his departed wife.

“The roof’s all set!” Lucian called out from above you.

“Good!” Senna called back as she heaved another ward into her arms. “Then you can test the wards when I finish setting this one up.”

“On my way, dear,” came Lucian’s lighthearted reply.

The rest of the afternoon was spent finalizing the ward setup. You had never seen them before, and were surprised to see them light up as Lucian ran by them, leaving him looking exhausted by the contact. You had been even more shocked when Senna had told you that the wards had been set to their lowest setting for the test. If Lucian had been that tired on the lowest setting, then maybe you could have hope that the highest setting would have a significant effect on Viego.

“But are we sure he’ll set them off?” you asked Senna as she turned the wards back off.

“I’m sure,” she replied confidently. “Anywhere you are, he’ll go, except now we can use that to our advantage.”

The only problem being that you didn’t know exactly when he would come. Lucian’s guess of a few days was just that; a guess. He had explained that the day they had saved you was only their second time fighting Viego, the first time being when Viego had stolen Isolde’s memories from Senna. But it had been a few days without any sign of the dead king or his black mist, so you figured that Lucian’s estimate had been accurate.

By the fifth day with no sign of Viego, you began to prepare for the worst. He could come for you any day, at any time, so you were confined to the home with either Lucian or Senna with you at all times. You were disappointed that you could no longer explore the city, but you couldn’t make yourself an easy target for Viego to snatch from the streets.

There were some back rooms with beds to sleep in, but you spent most of your time in the circular chamber that made up most of the building, talking with Senna and Lucian or helping them with tasks. The time going by was wearing on you all as you wondered when Viego would come. By the seventh day, you were unable to relax, constantly worried that every noise you heard denoted the return of the ruined king.

It was late into night of the seventh day, but none of you could sleep, all finding yourselves in the chamber room. You were sitting against the wall, watching Senna as she cleaned one of Lucian’s guns, her own large gun resting on the floor next to her. Lucian had been pacing for a while, and you could tell it was beginning to wear on Senna’s nerves.

“Lucian, if you need to–”

Senna’s quip was cut off by a loud chime sounding from outside. The wards.

Immediately, Senna was on her feet, tossing the gun she had been working on to Lucian before picking her own gun up as they both turned to face the hallway, which was the only way in and out of the building.

“Hide yourself!” Senna called hurriedly to you before turning back to face the hall, Lucian at her side with his guns trained on the hallway.

You quickly heeded her words; you couldn’t see any sign of the dark mist yet, but you knew it would only be a matter of time. You dashed over to an ordinary-looking panel on the wall that you would have found otherwise unnoteworthy, if it hadn’t been for Senna showing you how it worked a few days ago.

Pulling the panel to the side, the secret door slid open to reveal a small nook, just big enough for a person to stand inside. You looked back to Senna to see her staring at you, giving you a quick nod when you looked worriedly back at her. Not wanting to trouble them by ruining the plans, you got into the nook, closing the door carefully behind you.

You were largely in darkness, the only source of light being the small eye-level slit that gave you a one-way view into the chamber. You were glad there was a wall directly at your back, because the lack of space was the only thing keeping you standing right now in the face of the onset of terror you were feeling.

Viego didn’t leave you waiting long; Senna and Lucian jumped back as mist flooded the chamber, retreating to the center of the room.

“There!” Lucian called as a figure suddenly appeared through the mist.

Viego moved quickly to the side, dodging a bolt of light from Senna’s gun. He emerged fully from the mist, eyes scanning the area, assumedly looking for you. You knew that he couldn’t possibly see you, but it didn’t stop you from shrinking back.

“Where is she?!” Viego demanded, the anger in his voice sending a cold shiver down your back.

“Nowhere you need to worry about,” Lucian answered.

“I can feel her,” Viego snarled back, his mystical sword appearing in his grasp. “Where is she?!”

“I think you have bigger concerns right now,” Senna replied smoothly, and then she and Lucian jumped into action.

Lucian quickly moved to one side of the ruined king, firing bolts of light at him before backing out of Viego’s range. Meanwhile, Senna sent several strong blasts of light from her own gun Viego’s way, the two working together to try and take the king down.

Viego let out a frustrated growl as the bolts hit him, but didn’t appear to be injured like you certainly would be if you had been on the receiving end of the might of Senna and Lucian’s weapons.

Now that you thought about it, he didn’t seem any less powerful for someone who had triggered a series of wards that had winded Lucian on their lowest setting. Your theory was confirmed when he didn’t seem affected by anything Lucian or Senna threw his way. You would be frustrated, but neither one of them wavered, sending shot after shot at the ruined king.

“Enough!” Viego shouted, waves of mist pushing Senna and Lucian back. “You will surrender her to me or you will drown in my mist!”

As Senna and Lucian recovered their footing, the mist grew denser as it swirled around the room. You gasped as demonic green figures made of mist rose from the haze of black, and at the same time that Viego vanished into mist, they charged.

Lucian was firing bolts of light at the mist creatures left and right, but they were endless; as one was struck down, another one rose from the mist to take its place. As Lucian tried to fend off the creatures, Senna was forced to fight off Viego himself as he appeared before her, attempting to strike at her with his sword. It was a strange image, the two and their oversized weapons locked in combat, each trying to overpower the other.

The fight was quickly going bad for your friends; Viego was holding back nothing, his creatures aiding him by swiping at Senna, backing her into a corner as Lucian tried desperately to fight his way closer to her as she continued to shoot the creatures that tried to grab at her.

“You shouldn’t have the strength–” Senna growled as she fired at Viego.

“Your feeble wards cannot harm me,” Viego jeered as he swung his sword towards her. “Nothing will keep me from my queen.”

Viego stabbed his sword forward, but Senna was able to swerve out of the way, causing his sword to imbed into the wall opposite from where you were hiding. Viego then was forced to pull the tip of his sword from the wall, and Senna used that time to send a wide blast of light Lucian’s way, destroying the creatures that had surrounded him. Shooting Senna a grateful smile, Lucian began to fire at more creatures around the room, but his efforts still didn’t seem to be making a dent in the influx of creatures that filled the room.

Senna and Lucian’s luck ran out as Viego’s impatience reached a boiling point. With an angered grunt, he swung his sword at Senna, missing her body but striking her gun. The impact set Senna’s balance off, sending her falling to the ground, her gun spinning out of her grasp and onto the ground a few feet away from her. She made a desperate grab for her weapon, but was again stopped by a warning strike from Viego’s sword narrowly missing her arm.

Senna’s moment of weakness was quickly capitalized on by the mist wraiths as she was immediately swarmed, her body held down by many ghoulish creatures while Viego stood over her.

“Senna!”

Lucian’s desperate shout pierced the air as he charged forward, but was unable to get to Senna, his way blocked by the mist creatures. He shot bolt after bolt, but the demons pressed onwards, only growing in number. Soon he too was overwhelmed, pushed against the wall by the wraiths, his twin guns knocked to the floor. You watched with horror as they both struggled under the grasp of the wraiths, but were unable to break themselves free. The hope in your heart that this fight would be the end of Viego was snuffed out entirely as you watched Viego stand over Senna.

“Your life matters little to me, but I will offer one final choice. Give her to me or die,” Viego threatened, his voice cold with fury.

Senna glared up at him, struggling against the wraiths’ hold even as Viego loomed over her. “You will destroy this world.”

“I will destroy you,” Viego corrected. “And all of those who stand in the way of my love. I hope your impudence was worth your life.”

Viego raised his sword to strike Senna down, and you knew that you would only have seconds to act.

Senna and Lucian were willing to give their lives to protect you, but you couldn’t let that happen. You were not worth the lives of two strong, kind people; people who had rescued you and treated you with more care than the owner ever had, despite only knowing you for a week. One thought rang out loud and clear in your head as you watched Viego prepare to take Senna’s life; I can’t let her die.

You would only have a moment to save her life, so you didn’t waste a second, noisily shoving the secret door open.

“Stop!”

The attention of the three people in the room was drawn to you as you stepped forward, dark mist swirling around up to your knees. Viego’s eyes widened upon seeing you, but behind him, Senna was shaking her head, her eyes begging you to run. But you couldn’t run, not if you wanted to save her and Lucian.

“Please stop,” you implored the ruined king, forcing your legs forward even if the thought of moving closer to him terrified you. You had to do this for Senna and Lucian. You couldn’t allow your fear of what would happen to you to still your steps.

Viego’s sword dissolved into mist as he turned to face you, but the wraiths did not loosen their grip on your friends.

“My love,” Viego called as he began to approach you. “I knew I felt your soul call to mine.”

Ignoring his flowery words, you stopped a few feet from him, scared you would lose your nerve if you got any closer. “I’ll go with you, just please… please let them live.”

You stared into his otherworldly green eyes, trying to stay firm despite a desperate cry of your name from Senna. This was the only way, you reassured yourself. This was the only way to save their lives, even if it meant losing your own. You thought of the time in the marketplace with Senna, of listening to Lucian’s bad jokes, allowing the memories to keep your soul warm against the onslaught of dread you were facing down.

“You’ll come back to me?” Viego’s voice was kinder, softer than you had ever heard it sound as he continued to approach you.

“If you let them live,” you repeated. You could not see your friends beyond Viego’s broad form, but your voice still cracked with a sob as you addressed them. “Senna, Lucian… I’m sorry. And thank you for helping me.”

Viego raised a hand to wipe your tears away, ignoring the protests of Senna and Lucian behind him. “I knew I would find you again, my love.”

You knew it was coming, but you still let out a whimper as he once again materialized the buzzing orb of memories from the dark triangle on his chest, but unlike last time, there was no escape for you now.

“Together at last…” Viego whispered as he pressed the orb to your chest.

The orb felt cold, and then warm, too warm, as it pressed into your skin, absorbing into your body. You collapsed into Viego’s arms with a silent gasp of pain, the last thing you heard before passing out being Senna screaming your name.

There was a beautiful girl, her fingers delicately working a threaded needle through soft fabric that lay in her lap. You had never met her, but you knew who she was; after all, you had seen her corpse in your dreams. It was undoubtedly Isolde… you, from your past life.

You were surprised to find that you were watching the scene as yourself, not through her eyes. The realization brought you some measure of relief; maybe you were not lost entirely to her memory, at least not yet.

The scene around Isolde was blurry, but her figure was clear as day as you watched her gently sew along the fabric, and then it all blurred again. When the scene reformed itself, you watched a man approach her, young and handsome, his brown hair falling in waves to his chin. He was easily recognizable, but a far cry from the figure of unlife that he had become. Viego.

You couldn’t hear their voices, or the scene around them, but you watched as Viego bent down on one knee before Isolde and felt the shock and happiness that Isolde felt, and then the world around you warped once more.

Now you were in a magnificent castle, Viego and Isolde dressed in beautiful wedding clothes, figures leaning towards each other as they kissed. You could not see the faces of the crowd that watched, nor hear the vows exchanged; all you could feel was Isolde’s joy, which left you feeling warm, as if it was you there on your wedding day. It made sense; since it was you, the past you.

You felt the next scene before you saw it; a slow sadness appearing in your chest that left you feeling confused. Then the figures appeared; it was Viego and Isolde in a huge room together, his arms around her. Viego looked happier than you had ever seen him in unlife, but your eyes were drawn to Isolde. On her face was a small smile, but you knew she was sad, you could feel the quiet sadness radiating from her. But what did she have to be sad about? You followed her gaze, looking out a window to see a garden outside, birds flying around and flowers swaying gently with the breeze, but before you could get a closer look, you were gone again.

Now you saw Isolde standing behind Viego, her smile dimmer than before. Viego was wordlessly shouting at a faceless girl in servant’s clothes, a messy assortment of wildflowers crushed under Viego’s feet. Isolde was clutching at her skirt, and you felt a sense of powerlessness from her, along with that same sadness that held tight to her chest.

And then the scenes began to go by faster. Viego, blocking the way to the garden, sending Isolde back to their shared room. Viego, refusing entrance to the castle to an older woman who had the same eyes as Isolde while she watched the scene from a window high above in the castle. Viego pulling Isolde back to him when she tried to leave the room.

As the scenes flashed by, you could feel Isolde’s sadness grow. Time went on, and Isolde stopped smiling; you were watching her soul wither away a little more each time Viego cut another person out of her life. She was not allowed to see anybody but him, not allowed to leave his side even for a second… she was not a person anymore, but a doll to be moved at Viego’s whim.

She felt powerless, trapped by the man she had once loved. Your chest hurt, feeling like you were slowly being suffocated by the loneliness she felt; she was caged, shackled by his love, knowing there would be no escape.

But Viego still looked the same, no matter how many scenes passed by you. It was like he didn’t notice her pain, or maybe he didn’t care; didn’t care for anything but himself. You wanted to make it all stop; Isolde’s deep pain had nearly brought you to your knees, tears rolling down your cheeks as you desperately wished Viego would see her pain, but he never did. He always smiled that contented smile, never noticing that Isolde’s own didn’t reach her eyes.

The days finally slowed down and you were left standing in a large chamber room. The scene was tense; men in black swarmed the chamber, purple-tipped daggers poised to take the life of the king. Viego’s soldiers fought back valiantly, but one enemy broke through their ranks, dagger aimed at Viego’s heart, but their aim was put off course by a clever swipe from a spear. The poisoned dagger missed its target, but sliced Isolde instead, cutting through the sleeve of her dress and into the flesh of her arm.

Isolde knew as soon as the poison pierced her flesh that she would die. But while you expected to feel fear, worry, panic… all you felt was calm. The poison would slowly take her life, but that was what Viego had been doing over years with his possessive grip. At least at the end of this, she would be free in death, free of the iron grip Viego had on her in life. But alas, even death would not free her from his grasp.

The scene shifted one final time, and you knew what was coming. Viego held Isolde’s body, cold and dead, in his arms. The scene should have been upsetting, but the feelings that rushed through you were anything but. Isolde was dead, but her spirit was free at last, no longer a prisoner to Viego’s will.

But Viego would not allow her to be apart from him, even in death. So she rose, her anger finally unable to be contained, and stabbed him with his own sword. You watched the scene with no pity for the mortally-wounded Viego; Isolde had killed him, but she had been dead for many years before she had been poisoned. His love for her was more poisonous than any toxic dagger; he had been killing her slowly from the moment they had met, and only in death did she find the courage to return the favor.

Isolde had wanted a loving husband, but had ended up with a loving monster. This was nothing like the tale of true love Viego had spun, but he was the only one delusional enough to not see his marriage as what it was.

The scene faded to black at last, leaving you hurting body and soul, Isolde’s pain and sadness making your body feel numb from the inside out. You felt her emotions as if they were your own, and you supposed that they had been yours, a very long time ago.

The memories faded, and were quickly replaced by a soreness all over, like you had fallen from a decent height. Opening your eyes with a pained moan, you realized that you had beaten the odds; you had confronted Isolde’s memories, but you had not lost yourself to them. You were still you.

But with that good news came a lot of bad. You woke up in a bed, in a room that you had never seen before. The room was ornate, but looked dilapidated due to time. The gold posts of the canopy bed you laid in were speckled with dust, the blanket you laid under severely wrinkled.

Sitting up, you were relieved to see that you were still in the blue dress you had been wearing back in that chamber when you had given yourself up to Viego to save Senna and Lucian. You had passed out before you could ensure Viego kept his word, the memories too much for you to handle. For now, you chose to believe that they were alive, because knowing that you had done everything you could and they had still perished would crush what was left of your spirit.

You doubted you were still in Demacia, and one look outside the half-scratched window was enough to confirm that fact. The outside of the castle was even more depressing than the inside; the outside walls were cracked, the stones covered in black vegetation that you would have thought was ivy if it weren’t the color of tar. Angel statues on raised platforms stood tall in the outside courtyard, looking extremely out of place amidst the sinister green mist that seemed to hover over the whole area.

The supernatural layer of mist confirmed it; you had been taken to the Shadow Isles. The realization made your chances of escape nearly nonexistent. The Shadow Isles were filled with undead creatures hungry for the souls of the living, if the stories you had heard about this place were to be believed. And looking over the land that seemed to radiate unlife, you were certainly inclined to believe them.

Footsteps from outside the room broke your focus away from the view outside. Looking quickly around the room, you did not see anywhere to hide. With no other option, you began to back up to the far wall, staring at the large ornamental door as terror burned in your chest.

The door creaked open slowly, revealing the figure of the man you least wanted to see right now. While your mood dimmed upon seeing him, a smile lit up his face when he caught sight of you.

Viego wasted no time striding over to you while you stayed still, back against the wall both physically and metaphorically. Strangely, as he approached you, your fear began to morph into disgust. This man would not let you go, no matter how many lives you lived or places you went. As he took you into his arms, one word repeated in your head like the beat of a drum. Selfish.

He had stolen Isolde’s happiness, locked her away like a bird in a cage, and now he was doing the same to you. Letting out an internal sigh, you wished that you could go back to your boring farm days, which felt like they had been years ago, not weeks. But Viego did not give up his possessions easily, and that’s what you were now. A doll for a selfish king to keep by his side forever.

You hadn’t realized you were crying again until Viego had pulled back, his fingers sweeping across your cheeks to catch the tears.

“You’re safe, my queen,” he whispered, his words doing nothing to comfort you. And besides, you were clearly not safe if the biggest threat to your safety was standing before you, oblivious to all he had done.

You didn’t know what to do now; he wasn’t going to let you go, but you would rather die than live the rest of your life trapped in this place, pretending you were still the dead king’s dead wife.

“I have waited so long for you to return to me again,” he said, his jade green eyes staring into yours, ignoring your plight, just as he always did with Isolde.

You were tired, you were sad, and you were angry. But Viego only saw his own reflection in your eyes. He only saw what he wanted to see; you wondered if he even saw your features when he looked at you, or just superimposed Isolde’s features over yours in his mind’s eye.

It was a strange feeling; you wanted to be anywhere but here, but at the same time, you wanted the man before you to at least see you as you were now, to know your name even if he addressed you by another. Your mind was a mess, your heart even more so, but you would find no comfort in Viego’s arms, nor in his words.

“Isolde–”

“Don’t call me that!” you shouted, ripping yourself from his arms as you could no longer calm your rising anger. “And don’t call me your wife either! You have never cared about me, not back then and not now. You have never cared about anyone but yourself, Viego! You should have let Isolde stay dead!”

Viego looked shocked and hurt by your words, his silver eyebrows raised high on his forehead. You were expecting him to yell back, to tell you to know your place, but he just stood there, and then like the mist, he vanished.

His form turned to mist, and as you watched him flee, you couldn’t help a desire to have the final word.

“My name is–”

He was gone before you could say your name, but you shouted it anyways. Even if he didn’t use your name, it felt good to say it, even just to remind yourself that you were not the person you had been in your past life. Whatever happened, you would not allow this place to steal your identity from you.

You waited in silence, but Viego did not return. After some time, you reluctantly sat back down on the bed, your feet tired of standing, but Viego still did not come back to the room.

You were unsure what to make of what had happened. The Viego you had seen flee the room contradicted everything you knew about him. Could your words really have reached him? It was the only conclusion you could come to, but it sounded so unbelievable; an all-powerful dead king fleeing a room after being called selfish by a small town farm girl.

The encounter had been short, but you found yourself already tired. With no sign of Viego returning, and not much else to do, you slipped back under the ruffled covers, laying your head on the same pillow you had woken up on.

Maybe it was owing to your trip through Isolde’s memories that you were so tired now. Closing your eyes, you were relieved that you were still you, though you were still having a hard time reconciling how to see yourself with your time as Isolde. You had been her a long time ago, but she still felt like a different person, like a character in a story. You looked different, and lived different lives, but you were still weighed down by the possessiveness of the same man.

You had been surprised to see Viego look so hurt, but you refused to feel bad about what you had said. It seemed like everyone around him, including Isolde, had been too afraid to confront the king on his faults, at least that was what you assumed. You didn’t know where you got the courage yourself; maybe it was Isolde’s sorrow and frustration finally boiling over from a lifetime of being controlled that emboldened your tongue.

Either way, what you had said could not be taken back, so there was no point in ruminating over the situation, not when you were already having a hard time focussing on anything with how exhausted you were. There would be time to lament your situation when you woke up, you decided, consciousness drifting off at last.

You were surprised to feel so well-rested, but your mood was brought back down when you opened your eyes to the same dusty room you had fallen asleep in. It was just as empty as it was before, save for your body under the covers.

With how dedicated he had been to capturing you, Viego’s sudden absence was surprising. You weren’t sure how much time had passed, but everything in the room looked the same as it had before you had gone to sleep, so you had to assume that he had not returned while you were sleeping. It was probably for the best; you wouldn’t know what to say to him even if he was here.

Upon waking up, you were confronted with a new problem; your empty stomach. Come to think of it, when was the last time that you had ate something? You still had no idea how long you had been unconscious after Viego forced Isolde’s memories into you, but you had a vague recollection of eating some steamed buns Lucian had brought back from the market a few hours before Viego had attacked. But clearly that had been a while ago, if the gnawing emptiness in your stomach was any indication.

You were reluctant to leave the room and risk running into Viego, fearful of his anger after what you had said to him, but your stomach was so empty it hurt. Maybe you would get lucky and find a fruit laying around and scramble back to your room before you were caught. With that hope in mind, you walked quietly over to the door, prepared to do what you had to in order to survive for the rest of the day.

Unfortunately for you, the rest of the castle was just as dusty and dilapidated as your room had been. It was clear that this place was very old; anyone who had lived here in life was long dead by now. Eventually, you located the closest thing to a kitchen you thought you would find in this place, but instead of food, you found dust, cobwebs and the occasional brittle rat skeleton, which crumbled to dust under your touch.

There was no food here, that much was obvious, which led you to a new dilemma. You couldn’t ask Viego for food; for one, he terrified you, and there was also the fact that you had no idea where he even was. The castle was too large for you to check every room for him with any great speed, and so far you had not heard or seen any evidence of anyone else in this place but yourself.

So what were you supposed to do now? The thought of walking out into the Shadow Isles terrified you to your core, but what alternative did you have? Stay here and starve to death, a prisoner to a man who seemed like he had no further use for you if you weren’t the same person you were when you were Isolde?

It seemed that Viego avoiding you was a blessing in more ways than one, because now he wasn’t here to stop you from leaving the castle. It was easy enough for you to find the front door, following the patchy red carpet until it led down a long staircase that took you to another ornate door. Whoever’s castle this had been must have either been royalty or obscenely wealthy to live in a place this grand. The entryway alone was almost the size of the entire farmhouse back in your hometown. As grand as it was, you hoped that you would never see this awful, lonely place again once you exited the door.

The door was a lot heavier than it looked, but you managed to pry it open, the chill of the outside air telling you immediately that you were about to do something very dangerous. But it was this or starve, you reminded yourself as you took the first step outside, and it was better that you tried to find your way off of this island before you were too weak from lack of food and water.

Sinister green mist clung to the land, thick enough to obscure the far away, but just thin enough for you to see twenty or so feet around yourself. You remembered hearing as a child that the mist of the Shadow Isles was made up of the souls of the damned that had once lived here, but seeing it now, you hoped that it wasn’t true.

The stone angel statues were even more unsettling up close, standing on either side of the pathway like guards, their stone eyes seemingly staring down at you as you passed. Every step you took, you were scared the cracked ground would give out under you, but it held fast. It was a miracle that this awful place didn’t just crumble and sink into the cursed waters that surrounded it.

You quickened your steps, eager to be rid of this place as soon as possible. That, and the faster you were out of here the better a chance you had of getting off this island before Viego noticed you were gone.

The angel-statue-lined pathway opened up to a network of crumbled stone walls of all different heights that looked way more worse for wear than the castle behind you. It looked like this might have been a city over a thousand years ago, before the isles had fallen into this eternal darkness. But now you were the only person here, likely the only living person on this whole cursed island, at least until you got yourself back to civilization.

You picked up your pace even more as you entered a forested area, though the forest itself consisted solely of long-dead trees, their branches black and thin. What you hoped was wind howled, shaking the spindly branches, leaving you to duck and weave through them, their thorns scraping against your clothes and skin. You kept moving onward, pressing on despite the pain from the new cuts on your body, unwilling to turn back now that you had come this far.

You pushed through a difficult thicket of branches, panting from the effort as you looked down at your dress. The once-beautiful blue fabric now bore many tears, stained by your blood where the branches had cut you. You couldn’t imagine your face and hair looked any better, but you could worry about that later.

Taking in your own sorry state, you failed to take in the threat that was quickly closing in on you. You looked up from your dress, expecting to see more branches in your way, but jolted back with a gasp when you noticed the large figure standing fifteen feet or so in front of you.

The figure before you was giant, easily the width of several men, its gray flesh packed with bulk and muscle. It was bald, and wore no shirt, wearing only spiked shoulder armor on its upper half, while its lower half was covered by a large loincloth and equally-spiky leg armor.

It must have been human at some point, but it was far from that now. Its eyes were the same spectral green as the mist that hung over the island, that same green dripping out of his mouth in a drool-like fog. Its skin was tough-looking, like it was halfway between skin and rock, two large chipped horns made from craggy stone jutting out from the sides of its head. It had a manacle on each wrist; broken chains hanging from both of them. That gave you one more terrifying insight; while it was alive, it had clearly been some kind of criminal. And now it was here in front of you, unchained, its focus solely on you.

You turned to run, but the creature was faster. Its gaping maw opened wide with a horrible roar, and you were forced to grab onto a branch to try and resist the sudden pressure you felt pulling you back towards it. Looking back, you saw even the spectral mist being sucked into its sharp-toothed mouth, but you knew that you were its target, not breaking its focus as it stared you down with empty, dead eyes.

You couldn’t escape, you couldn’t even move an inch farther away from the monster’s supernatural pull. You tried to reach for a farther away branch to pull yourself to, but were forced to bring your hand back to the branch you held onto as holding on with only one hand made it much harder to keep yourself from being dragged further back.

Your fingers were hurting, the pressure pulling on you becoming more and more intense, and evidently the creature was done waiting. Not letting up on its pull, it began to move closer, and the pull got even stronger. Shaking from the effort of keeping your hold on the branch, you had no way of escaping it.

Was starving to death really a worse option than this? You had been so stupid, thinking that you had any chance of escaping this island; now this creature would ensure that you would never leave.

With a pained cry, your grip gave out at last, the branch slipping from your fingers as you fell to the ground. You tried desperately to grab at the cracked earth, but your hands could not find purchase in the ground no matter what you did as you were pulled closer and closer to the creature’s open jaw.

The closer you got to it, the weaker you felt, as if the monster was draining your very soul from your body. As the thought came to you, you realized that it was very likely to be the truth; the Shadow Isles were a place of eternal torment, it would not be out of place for this island to be filed with soul-sucking monstrosities.

You were almost within the creature’s grasp now, no more than five feet away from its razor-sharp teeth and black clawed nails. You were feeling more and more drained as it pulled you closer, your vision getting fuzzy as you tried to focus on anything other than your impending death, but it just wasn’t happening. It wasn’t like you had been expecting to see your life flash by your eyes like you had heard happened to people when they were about to die, but right now you would welcome any sight other than the one you had right now of the creature pulling you in, his eyes aglow with sinister satisfaction.

Just as a clawed hand reached down to take hold of your leg, it was sliced clean off at the elbow, stone skin clattering to the ground next to you. The creature let out a pained howl, which turned out to be the last sound it would ever make as it was then cleaved in half by a sword longer than you were tall, one you had thought you had left behind in that castle along with its wielder.

Freed from the monster’s pull, you scrambled away from its dismembered parts, wanting to be as far away from the horrible creature as possible. Shaking from your ordeal, you stared at Viego’s back, then at his face as he turned your way, letting his sword turn into mist as he caught sight of your quivering form.

You went still, afraid of the king’s wrath at your escape from his castle, but were surprised when he rushed over to you, pulling you to your feet and wrapping his arms around you.

“I thought… I thought I would lose you again,” he spoke into your hair, his words full of sorrow and pain as he held you to him.

You weren’t sure what to make of his behavior; it almost sounded to you like he was crying as he spoke, but you were reluctant to pull back and check. Instead, you reached up with sore arms and wrapped them around his waist, closing your eyes and leaning your head against his chest. A day ago you could never have imagined embracing this man, but he had saved your life, and right now you just wanted to feel safe, even if that safety came in Viego’s arms.

“Why did you save me?” you sniffled, voice muffled by his jacket, but loud enough for him to hear in the now deathly quiet forest.

Viego pulled back from the embrace with a sad exhale, his red-rimmed eyes telling you that he had indeed been crying as you had thought. Resting his forehead against your own, he stared into your eyes, brushing some stray hairs away from your face.

“I saved you because I love you,” he answered, voice quiet and hoarse. “Now tell me… why did you leave?”

“I…” You pondered how to answer his question, but decided there would be no point in lying to him, not when he hadn’t made any moves to harm you despite having good reason to be upset with you. “I was scared… and hungry.”

“…hungry?” he echoed, looking perplexed for a short moment before his green eyes went wide.

“Please forgive me, my love,” he spoke, sounding genuinely panicked. “It has been so long, I had forgotten–”

You couldn’t help yourself. “…you forgot that people need to eat food?”

“I haven’t… not since I became…” He was lost in his own world for a moment, before something seemed to come to him. “You’re…”

Without another word, he raised an arm, summoning one of his mist ghouls, who took off ahead of you, passing harmlessly through the mess of thorned branches along the forest path. You weren’t sure where it was going, but if it wasn’t after you, you found yourself lacking the strength to care about the ghoul’s mission.

Feeling drained, you leaned more of your weight into Viego, having a hard time keeping yourself upright. Viego’s eyebrows furrowed in worry as he looked down at you, but your eyelids were already drooping. You felt strong arms lift your body up as your eyes closed, head resting against cold skin. You could only hope that the creature hadn’t drained the life entirely out of you, but for now you had no consciousness left to worry about anything as you drifted off again for the third time since Viego had taken you.

“I pushed her to this…”

Waking up, your stomach was no less empty, but your head felt clearer. You had never considered yourself a lucky person, but you weren’t sure how else you could still be alive after all you had been through recently.

Your eyes didn’t want to open, not yet, but you were immediately aware of a feeling on your head. It took you a few groggy seconds to realize that it was a hand, slowly petting your hair. You had never had anyone stroke your hair before, but found it comforting; maybe your parents had done this before the fire, but the owner had never coddled you like this, even as a child. Absently, you mused that it had been a long time since you had anyone in your life that cared for you, when you were used to an existence of being merely tolerated.

Opening your eyes, you finally remembered where you were as you looked up at the man whose lap your head rested in. Viego’s hand stilled when he noticed that you were awake, but resumed petting your hair when you leaned your head into his now-gloveless hand, seeking out his comforting touch. Neither of you spoke, and you closed your eyes again, deciding to accept the comfort this moment offered you.

“…I was scared,” Viego said at last, and you opened your eyes again to look at him. “I felt that you had gone, and then I felt your terror… I thought that I had lost you again.”

You weren’t sure what to say, but it worked in your favor as Viego was not finished. “I have done awful things, committed atrocities, all to return you to my side. But I never realized that I was only thinking of myself. Your pain… it is all my fault.”

You felt overcome with the need to deny his assertion as you stared at his sad eyes, but you couldn’t. It was true. He had done terrible things and caused you pain not only in this life, but in your life as Isolde.

“I do not deserve your forgiveness,” he said, sounding like the words were hard for him to say. “But I will do anything to earn it. I…”

His voice trailed off as he removed his hand from your hair. You looked away from him and towards the same door you had exited when you had thought you had been leaving this room behind for good, as you considered his words. With those words, the power dynamic was shifting between you for the first time; he was willing to do whatever you asked of him in order for you to forgive him. And while you weren’t sure what it would mean for you to forgive him, you couldn’t allow this chance to pass you by.

“I want you to call me by my name now, not Isolde,” you said, sitting up and staring into his eyes, trying to silently communicate to him how serious you were with your stare. “And I would like some food and water.”

“Your… name,” he spoke softly, looking down at the bed sheets.

You repeated your name, and he still didn’t look up, but you weren’t quite done. If he was offering anything, you were going to see how far you could push your luck.

“…and I want to go back to Demacia.” You saw the alarm in his face and quickly made to soften the blow. “I want to tell Senna and Lucian that I’m okay. You can come with me if you want.”

“…if that is what you want,” he said eventually.

You could tell that he likely felt rejected by the stiffness of his shoulders and his refusal to look at you, but you would not back down, not when you had gotten him to agree to take you back to Demacia. You weren’t sure how Senna and Lucian would react to seeing you show up with Viego at your heels, but you knew that it was likely the only reason you had gotten him to agree to your request.

Your eyes had been wandering the room again when a soft call of your name had you turning back to face Viego, surprised that he had actually called you by your name. He was looking at you at last, but looked uncomfortable, like a fish thrown onto land.

Reaching down beside the bed, he picked up a simple stone bowl, handing it over to you. Inside, you found some circular objects that looked like oranges that were well past their prime, the orange of their rind mixed with patches of gray.

“Are those… tangor?” you asked. Demacian tangor were a mix of orange and tangerine grown all over Demacia. They were a little sour for your liking, so you hadn’t had one since you were a child.

“I had my servants fetch them. They are the only thing that grows here that will not poison you,” Viego replied.

His voice had hitched at the word poison, but you didn’t mention it, not wanting to draw attention to it. That was how Isolde had died, from a poisoned dagger. Even though you were with him now, it wasn’t like your presence erased the wounds of his past. You were just grateful that he had stopped being so domineering, at least for the moment. You weren’t sure what this was, or what you wanted this to be, but you knew that you were stuck with him at least for the foreseeable future.

Viego left the room to prepare for your journey back to Demacia, leaving you to eat in peace. The tangor were even more sour than you remembered them being, but you happily ate them, relieved to have some food at last.

With Viego gone, you allowed yourself to relax, free of his stare and his unstated expectations. He didn’t have to say it for you to know that he still wanted you to be his wife, or lover, or however it was he saw you in his mind. You hated yourself for even considering being with him in any capacity after the things he had done, but at the same time, you found yourself reluctant to fully close the door on the idea.

He had shown to you that he could do good things, even if they had only been for your benefit. You didn’t have to agree to anything right now, you reminded yourself, at least not while he wasn’t pressing the topic. But as of right now, you wanted to see if you could help Viego, even if you weren’t sure exactly how.

You stared at the bowl of tangor rinds, wishing an answer to your problems would come to you, but you knew that it wouldn’t be that easy. At least you would get to see Senna and Lucian soon; you wanted to make sure they were both okay, and you knew they were probably worried about you.

Placing the bowl back on the floor, you decided to take a look into the large closet in the corner of the room. Your own outfit was a mess; barely hanging together in places after running through the thorned branches. As much as you loved this dress, it was not in any shape to be worn. Hopefully the closet would have something passable to wear in it.

There were quite a few old-fashioned dresses, but they were too gaudy and frilly for your tastes. Sifting through the clearly upper-class clothing, you eventually came upon a dark green hooded cloak that looked out of place with all of the fancy dresses. Pulling it out, you realized that it would probably make a good disguise for Viego; Senna would likely shoot him on sight before you could explain, and you didn’t want Viego to have any reason to try and harm your friends.

Setting the cloak on the bed, you leafed through the rest of the closet, finally settling on the simplest dress you could find, a non-corseted, non-frilly purple dress with long sleeves and a scoop neckline with a hem that went to your ankles. The dress was a bit long for your liking, but it wasn’t covered in frills up to your neck, so it would have to do.

You changed into the purple dress, laying your old one on the bed, and had been running your fingers over a tear in the skirt when Viego re-entered the room. Sighing, you turned away from the dress, mentally apologizing to Senna for ruining the beautiful dress.

You waved Viego over, and he approached immediately, face stony and uncertain. Picking up the cape, you just hoped he would agree to put it on.

“So you won’t stand out in Demacia,” you said, holding the cloak out to him.

“If this is what you desire,” he answered. Though he didn’t seem to understand your concerns, he dutifully wrapped the cloak around his shoulders.

Reaching up, you fastened the clasps at the front of the cloak, trying not to feel shy being so close to his intense stare that you was pointed right at your face. You couldn’t avoid his eyes as you pulled the hood over his silver hair, careful not to let the fabric get caught on the metal bands that tied off sections of his hair into low ponytails. With the cloak fully closed, the black triangle on his chest was also no longer visible, which would definitely invite suspicion if left uncovered.

“Promise me you won’t hurt my friends,” you said, needing to hear him say it.

His glare was deadly. “If they harm you…”

“They won’t,” you replied quickly. “Haven’t you had friends before?”

That was evidently the wrong question to ask, because Viego looked like you had hit him in another sore spot, like back when you had yelled at him. Come to think of it, you didn’t remember really seeing him with anybody else when you had watched Isolde’s memories. No wonder his world had collapsed when Isolde… when your past self had died; she was his world, as sad and lonely as that was.

“How are we getting to Demacia?” you asked, figuring you should be merciful and change the subject, feeling bad as you looked up at Viego’s awkward stare.

“The mist,” he answered, and you turned your eyes to his chest where you knew the triangle of black lay hidden under the cloak you had forced him into. “It will carry us over the waters.”

You weren’t thrilled with the prospect of being surrounded by the black mist again, but the unknown waters that surrounded the Shadow Isles were even more daunting; at least you were confident that the mist would not harm you now.

You followed Viego to the cracked window, standing behind him as he opened it, revealing a clearer view of the dark, desolate isle. You were too far inland to be able to see the ocean, your view out of the window largely consisting of millennium-old rubble and patches of dark forest that must have been where you had run into that creature. You stared outside the window, wondering why he had led you here, at least until you noticed the mist that had begun to seep through Viego’s cloak.

“We’re not going to… jump?” The thought horrified you. There was no way you would survive a fall from this high up, mist or no mist.

“I will carry you in my arms,” Viego corrected you. “And then we will travel in the mist.”

You shivered as you considered his plan. “…you won’t drop me?”

You were half-joking, but Viego didn’t seem to pick up on that, one hand cupping your cheek as he stared down at you, voice deathly serious. “I will not allow any harm to come to you. Not again.”

You were once again taken aback by the intensity in his green eyes, even under the shadow of his cloak’s hood. You were still getting used to his devotion to you; it was a weird feeling having someone care about you after so many years of being without anyone who even cared enough to ask you about how your day had gone.

You weren’t sure what the owner’s fate had been, but you were confident that if he had seen you with Viego that day at the farm, he would’ve turned tail and ran, unlike Senna and Lucian, who came to your aid even when you had been a stranger to them. Maybe you should stop thinking of the farm as your home; because if you really thought about it, the only thing that tied you to the farm in the first place was your own fear of not being able to make it if you left.

You allowed Viego to take you into his arms as the mist surrounded you, pressing your face into his shoulder in order to avoid seeing just how far below you the ground was. You felt Viego move, likely exiting the window, and braced yourself for the drop that didn’t end up coming.

You could feel that you were moving, like you were in the arms of someone who was walking on solid earth, even if you knew you were walking through the sky and not the ground. You weren’t sure if the mist blocked your view of the ground entirely or not, but you were too scared to look.

“You were never this afraid of heights back then,” came Viego’s teasing voice from above you.

You doubted that Isolde had ever seen heights like this from the sky, but you welcomed his attempt at conversation, desperately needing a distraction from your growing curiosity to look away from Viego’s shoulder.

“How are you not scared?” you mumbled into his shoulder.

Viego let out a soft, sad laugh. “After what I have seen, what I have lost… there are more horrifying things in this world than heights.”

That was true; he had over a thousand years of life experience on you. Even if you had lived back then, your only memories from that time were ones you had seen flash by you when you had been exposed to Isolde’s memories. You couldn’t pretend you had experienced the hardships that he had; you had died, and he had been left behind, stuck as an undying mist wraith.

“…I’m sorry I yelled at you,” you said quietly as you listened to the sound of the wind whipping by.

“They were words I should have heard long ago,” he replied. He was silent for a long time, so long that you thought he was done talking, but then he spoke up again. “I led your life to ruin back then, and I was about to do it again.”

You let out a soft exhale against the soft material of the cloak. You couldn’t deny his words, you knew you couldn’t, but you also didn’t want to give up on him entirely. Right now, here in his arms, it really felt like all you had in this world was each other. You knew that you also had Senna and Lucian, but you didn’t have the history with them that you had with Viego. That, and while you considered them your friends, they would always be each other’s most important person; you didn’t want to admit it out loud, but you really wanted what they had, to be the most important person in the world to someone.

You both seemed content to let the conversation drop as you adjusted your face against Viego’s shoulder, the ends of his silver hair brushing against your forehead. Opening your eyes at last, you stared at his hair as it swayed with the wind. If you hadn’t seen it yourself, you would have found it hard to believe that his hair used to be a rich brown, a far cry from the silver it was now. But he wasn’t the same person he was then, both physically and mentally.

You couldn’t deny that you found him attractive; his eyes were deep-set, his jawline sharp and lips soft-looking. You immediately regretted observing his face when he looked down at you just as you were staring at his lips. You hurriedly looked away, not wanting to be caught staring. Viego did not say anything, but you could feel his eyes on you, even after you closed your own eyes again, leaning your face fully back into his cloak.

The trip to Demacia felt very long, and you had been drifting in and out of sleep, with little else to do, when you felt Viego’s feet touch down onto the ground. Opening your eyes at long last, you watched as the mist that surrounded you faded away, returning to Viego’s chest and revealing the area around you.

You were standing on a cliff, the beautiful blue waters of Demacia at your back. Demacia City stood before you in all its pearly glory, looking exactly the same as it had the last time you had been here.

It looked to be mid-afternoon, the sun shining high in the sky. It was nice to see light again instead of the dreary permanent dark of the isles.

While this was not your first time here now, you still had a difficult time figuring out the way to Lucian and Senna’s place from your current location. You looked over the paths that led into town, trying to figure out if any of them seemed familiar, finally settling on a small stone path that led along the coast. You remembered that their house had been close to the coast, so you hoped that you would eventually find it if you kept on the path.

You turned back to Viego, making sure his hood was down over his head before you two set off on the path. The last thing you needed was for anyone to notice Viego before you got to your destination; you were just lucky he had let you put the cloak on him or else you’d be much more worried about your chances of going unnoticed.

Viego walked at your side, sticking fairly close to you, eyes casually but tactically scanning the area as if searching for threats. There were some people milling about the area, but not many, and none that looked like a threat to you, not unless Viego threatened them first.

“Your… friends,” Viego spoke up, sounding as if the word itself was foreign to him. “Are you certain they will not welcome me with weapons drawn?”

You frowned. “I hope not.”

“They would not be the first,” he sneered bitterly.

“Viego.” You grabbed onto his arm and he looked down at you, staring first at your hand on his arm and then up to your face. “I will make sure they won’t attack you, but you have to be nice as well. No mist, and no giant sword.”

You felt like you were lecturing a child, but hoped Viego wouldn’t feel like you were treating him like one. You swallowed nervously as you stared at him, pleading with your eyes for him to agree to play nice with Lucian and Senna.

His eyes seemed to soften as he stared at you. “I can deny you nothing.”

“Thank you,” you replied happily, letting out a small noise of recognition as you spotted the building that you were looking for in the distance.

Leading Viego over, you signalled for him to wait behind you. He half-obeyed, but stood much closer than you had meant. You let it go, knowing you weren’t likely going to be able to convince him to leave your side, instead knocking on the door.

The wards that you and Senna had set up still lay scattered around the outside of the building, the lack of glow about them telling you that they weren’t activated. You knocked again after no response, shifting your weight from one foot to the other as you waited. Just as you were about to knock a third time, you heard movement from inside at last, stepping back slightly as you waited for the door to open. You felt Viego tense up behind you, but had to focus on the door in front of you as it opened to reveal a frantic Lucian.

He called your name with relief in his voice until he noticed the figure behind you, his features turning grave instantly.

You raised your hands up in front of you, desperate to stop the incoming fight. “Lucian, wait! He’s not here to hurt anyone!”

Lucian looked very skeptical, but paused his hands reaching down to his guns. “Y’know, I can probably activate those wards from here.”

“It’s fine,” you replied, relieved by the joking tone in his voice. “Can we come in?”

Lucian sighed, stepping away from the door to allow you both to enter. “Senna’s not gonna be happy when she gets back.”

“She’s not here?” you clarified.

“Nah,” he answered. “She went out earlier to get some supplies for, uh, findin’ you…”

“…oh,” you replied guiltily.

Lucian led you down the hall and into the large chamber that you had been in when Viego had ultimately captured you. But now there was no mist filling the room, and no weapons drawn, at least not for now.

Lucian stood awkwardly in front of you, picking at invisible lint on his jacket while you looked between him and Viego, who had taken off his hood when you had entered the room.

Nobody was saying anything until Lucian finally broke the oppressive silence. “So how have you been?”

“Good,” you said, desperate to latch onto Lucian’s attempt at conversation.

“Dead,” Viego answered at the same time.

You and Lucian stared at each other for a short moment before you were interrupted by the sound of the door opening down the hallway. Lucian sprang into action immediately, quickly dashing into the hall, likely to warn Senna about what she was walking into.

Once Lucian’s figure was out of sight, you turned to Viego, knowing you had to keep him calm.

“Please don’t hurt her, Viego,” you pleased. “She doesn’t–”

You were cut off by a loud exclamation from the hallway.

“He’s where?! Lucian, get out of my way!” came Senna’s enraged voice from the hall.

You heard rapid footfalls coming your way, Viego stepping in front of you before you could think to stop him as Senna entered the room.

“You–”

You began to panic when you saw dark mist trickling from the front of Viego’s cloak as Senna stormed towards the two of you.

“I won’t let her harm you,” Viego hissed quietly.

“She won’t hurt me,” you insisted quickly, grabbing onto his arm.

You stepped in front of Viego as Senna came over to you and quickly had your wrist snatched by Senna, who pulled you behind her.

Viego stepped forward, but Senna wasn’t having it, pinning him with a fierce glare. “You can stay there, ruined king. You’re lucky you’re still breathing in my home after what you’ve done.”

Viego didn’t look happy at her words, but kept his eyes on yours as you desperately shook your head at him, pleading silently for him to back down. You stared into his green eyes, hoping he would listen to you, and slowly, he backed down, fists unclenching but face still tense. You let out a quiet exhale, relieved that he had listened to you, although a glance at Senna told you that she was no less angry.

Lucian slowly stepped forward with an overly friendly smile on his face. “How about we have a conversation while the ladies talk?”

Viego stared at Lucian, face blank, but Senna didn’t hesitate, pulling you with her to the other side of the chamber and out of earshot of the boys. Once she had felt you were far enough away from them, she stopped, letting go of your wrist and pulling you into a short hug.

“You had us so worried,” she scolded, pulling back from the hug.

“I’m sorry,” you said, guilt pooling in your stomach.

Senna sent you a hard look. “Why would you do something so dangerous?”

You bit your lip as you thought back to that moment. “It was the only thing I could think to do. I couldn’t let you and Lucian get hurt.”

Senna let out an amused breath, shaking her head. “I can’t say I didn’t appreciate what you did, but it was stupid.”

“I know,” you agreed. “I thought I was going to die.”

“But you didn’t,” Senna countered. “Though I can’t say I understand why. What did you do to tame him like this?”

“I, uh…” It felt weird to say out loud, but you had no other explanation that made any sense. “I called him selfish.”

Senna stared at you for a second, and just as you were starting to think that she didn’t believe you, she surprised you by bursting out in laughter. She took at least a minute to calm down, and you just stared at her in confusion, not sure what you had said that was funny.

“Well that’s been a long time coming,” she said at last, before noticing you staring at her in shock and shrugging. “Never thought I would see the day.”

“I may have been a bit mean,” you admitted, voice dropping to a whisper. “I told him he should have let Isolde stay dead.”

Senna’s eyebrows raised in surprise before she let out another small huff of laughter, glancing briefly over at Viego. “Can’t say he didn’t deserve it. Probably deserved worse.”

“It was just… after seeing how he treated Isolde for so long… I couldn’t stop myself,” you said.

Senna nodded. “I’ve thought the same things myself, but the difference is Viego actually seems to listen to you.”

“Yeah, it’s weird,” you replied, sneaking a quick glance at Viego, only to find him already looking your way. You looked back to Senna, feeling awkward locking eyes with Viego like this in front of Senna. “I was so mad at him, but now I’m just confused about what I want.”

Senna didn’t reply, merely raising an eyebrow as a prompt for you to explain. You swallowed nervously, resisting the urge to look back at Viego as you explained your thoughts. You told Senna about Viego fleeing the room, about escaping the castle and running into the soul-sucking monster, and then Viego coming to your rescue.

“At first, I just thought he was scary, but after that… I don’t know. After going most of my life without anybody who cared about me, I…”

“…you want to give him a chance?” Senna finished for you, her voice frustratingly neutral, not giving you any insights on how she was feeling, but it wasn’t as if she was off the mark. You didn’t want to lie to her, so you nodded, unable to help but feel like you were letting her down.

Senna sighed a slow sigh, but didn’t look angry. “So have you told him?”

“Told him?” you echoed.

Senna rolled her eyes at you. “Told him that you want to be with him?”

You averted your eyes, staring at the stone floor. “…no.”

“He won’t know unless you tell him. Men aren’t always great with that kind of stuff,” Senna joked. “I had to spell it out for Lucian, and he’s one of the smart ones.”

“Right,” you agreed. She was right; you couldn’t just hope that Viego would somehow understand what you were thinking, though the thought of opening yourself up to him like that made you nervous.

“We have a smaller place just outside the city for when we need to lay low,” Senna said, fishing a key out of her pocket and handing it to you. “It should have enough supplies to sustain you while you figure things out with him.”

“Thank you,” you replied, stunned by her generosity.

“Come back and see us when you’ve got things sorted,” she replied with a smile. “And make him earn your forgiveness. If he does anything, just let me know and I’ll make him regret it.”

“I will,” you promised with a smile. You really didn’t deserve a friend as good as Senna.

Senna seemed happy with your response. “Then let’s go and save Lucian. He never was great at making small talk.”

You both turned your attention back to the two men across the room and their conversation.

“…so the mist, does it come from inside you or something?”

“The mist flows from my black heart,” Viego answered in a monotone.

“Oh, uh–”

Lucian was saved by Senna’s approach. “Alright boys, we’re done.”

You stifled a laugh at Lucian’s obvious relief at being rescued from his attempted conversation with Viego. Viego, on the other hand, seemed to forget Lucian existed the moment you came close, which was both flattering and embarrassing.

“How about you come with me to return the armor I bought and we pick up some sugar rolls on the way back?” Senna proposed to Lucian.

“Huh? But–” Lucian looked tempted by the offer, but looked back at you with a concerned frown.

“They’re fine,” Senna insisted. “They have somewhere to be anyways. I’ll explain it to you on the way.”

Lucian finally relented, allowing Senna to drag him towards the front door. But before they got too far, Senna turned her head back to you.

“Keep down the road for about an hour. It’s the one with a sun on the front door.”

You nodded and Senna wished you luck before pulling a still-confused Lucian with her out the front door. You really owed her; you would have to try and make it up to her and Lucian after you sorted things out with Viego.

Once they had left, you turned your attention back to Viego, knowing you had to have this conversation with him whether you wanted to or not.

“I was talking to Senna about what I want… with you,” you said, cursing yourself internally for how shaky your voice sounded.

Viego looked like he had been forced to swallow a Shadow Isles tangor, his posture rigid. “Now that I see how happy you are here with those two… I know that you were never truly happy being at my side.”

You were shocked speechless, the words you wanted to say fleeing your mind, your lack of a reply prompting Viego to continue.

“The Shadow Isles is a place for monsters like me. I won’t make you return there with me,” he said, sending you a sad smile before his body began to turn to mist, starting with his legs.

“No!” you cried out, grabbing his arm. You hadn’t expected him to let you go, but you found yourself not wanting him to leave you, even though that was all you had wanted only a week ago.

The moment you touched him, he turned fully solid again, looking down at you with furrowed silver eyebrows, uncertainty plain on his face.

“Don’t leave,” your voice came out quiet and weak, but you kept your hold on his sleeve. “Please don’t leave.”

You were trying not to cry, and it must have been obvious, as Viego quickly brought you into an embrace. Being alone with him again, you finally felt like you could say what you wanted to say, even if you were partially fueled by desperation to make him stay.

“I want you to stay in Demacia with me,” you said, pulling back to look at him, placing a hand on his cheek like he had done to you so many times. Viego seemed mesmerized by the contact, leaning into your palm as he stared at you with hopeful eyes.

“I will go wherever you are,” he replied softly.

“But,” you said, steeling your nerve. “I want you to see me as me, not the me I was when I was Isolde.”

You felt relieved that you had finally gotten out what you wanted to say, but were nervous at how he would take it.

“You are much stronger now than you ever were a thousand years ago,” he replied. “No matter what form you take, you are still my only love.”

You couldn’t help yourself. “Even if I was reborn as a sheep?”

“I would become a sheep myself if I had to,” he responded, and you giggled at both the seriousness in his voice and the mental image of Viego as a sheep.

Staring up at Viego, who seemed puzzled by your laughter, you were struck by just how much your opinion of him had changed since you had watched Isolde’s thousand-year-old memories. It was hard to believe that you could feel like this about someone who had brought you such sadness in the past, but as you stared at Viego’s handsome face, all you could think about was how much you wanted to kiss him.

But Senna had given you the key for a reason, and you didn’t want to trouble them by still being here when they returned, so you decided to be brave like Senna, taking one of Viego’s hands in yours and pulling him towards the front door. Viego’s hand was cold in yours, but his fingers held tight to yours. You found yourself wondering what kind of look Viego had on his face, but you were too nervous to look back at him until you got outside, taking the walk down the hallway to gather up all of your courage before turning back to him.

“Senna gave me–”

You were cut off by a gentle tug on your hand by Viego, pulling you back to him. Faster than you could comprehend, his other arm wrapped around your back, pulling you against him as he leaned down to kiss you.

You were shocked, Viego’s arm behind you being the only thing keeping you upright as his lips pressed against your own. You closed your eyes, hoping your inexperience wasn’t too obvious as you tentatively tried to kiss back, wishing your face would stop burning so hot; there was no way he wouldn’t notice the heat in your face, not with how cold he always was. Just as you were getting worried that you were too stiff, Viego pulled away, touching his forehead to yours.

He looked too pleased with himself, his jade eyes glowing with the same mischievous aura as the smirk he now wore on his lips. “You were saying something, my love?”

You sputtered, face red, trying to catch your thoughts. You hadn’t been expecting the kiss, and had also never kissed anyone before, so your brain was struggling to work again as you stared at Viego’s sly grin.

Closing your eyes, you took a deep breath and forced yourself to focus. Right, the key.

“Senna gave me the key to a place of theirs we can stay in,” you explained. “It’s about an hour’s walk out of the city.”

Viego raised an eyebrow. “It would take much less time to travel there with the mist.”

“No!” you exclaimed hurriedly, noting the few people who were still out since it was only early evening. Your face only flushed more as you realized he had kissed you in front of other people, even if it was only a few. Noticing two women staring at you and Viego, you quickly pulled his hood back down over his head from where it had fallen askew, taking his hand again and pulling him with you in the direction Senna had indicated.

“People are already staring… if you use the mist, they might call the Demacian guard!” you explained as you pulled him with you down the road.

“They can try,” Viego scoffed. “No power in this world will take you from me again.”

You sped up your pace, desperately hoping the two women hadn’t heard Viego’s not-so-veiled threats against the Demacian guard as you pulled him along with you. While you didn’t doubt that Viego was likely strong enough to take on the whole of the Demacian military, it was a confrontation that you desperately wanted to avoid.

For his part, Viego didn’t seem bothered by your increased pace down the path; rather, he seemed to be in too much of a good mood for someone who had just threatened to take on a kingdom’s entire military force. Part of you wondered if he was just talking like that to keep you holding his hand to pull him along, but the notion was too embarrassing to possibly be true, so you dismissed it from your mind, choosing instead to focus on the scenery around you as you walked.

The path out of town was not too different from the roads you had walked back in your hometown. Once you were out of Demacia City, the path of finely-cobbled stone became a simple dirt path lined occasionally with simple houses on either side. The people who lived just outside the city didn’t seem to conform to the fanciful beauty standards of the city, instead dressing more like the people you had known back in the Demacian farmlands. Seeing the more ordinary people go about their lives brought you comfort; as nice as Demacia City was, you had a hard time feeling like you really belonged among its finery.

“I have never seen how the peasants live,” Viego commented from your side, the lightness in his voice making you feel like he didn’t quite get that most people took the word peasant as an insult. “They look happy.”

“I’m a peasant too,” you mused. “I lived on that farm most of my life.”

Rather than looking displeased, as you secretly feared he might, Viego let out a quiet hum. “I cannot help but wonder, if we were both peasants back in Camavor… could we have lived happier lives?”

“Viego…” You looked over at him to see him gazing sadly your way, and for a second you could have sworn you saw the Viego of his youth when you looked at him, tan skin and rich brown hair instead of the pale, silver-haired man you had come to know in this lifetime.

“I led us to ruin, and I almost lost your beautiful smile for good,” he added with downcast eyes. “I will not allow myself to be so foolish again.”

While you were trying to think of a response to his words, your eyes caught sight of a small house in the distance, a golden yellow sun painted on its front door. The house itself was fairly isolated; the last house you had passed had been a while back, and you couldn’t see any other houses in the distance ahead.

It was a relief; while you were still feeling awkward around Viego after that kiss, you knew it was better for everyone for Viego to not be around anyone but you for now. You pulled out the key Senna had given you, overly conscious of Viego at your back, fumbling a few times before getting the key slotted in correctly and unlocking the door.

Stepping inside, you were surprised to see how well-furnished the place was, despite it just being an out of town hideout for Senna and Lucian. The home consisted of a combined kitchen and entryway area with a simple bathroom down the short hallway. Opening the last door, you found a small bedroom containing no more than a bed and a small chest of drawers.

As you were looking over the room, you were surprised by Viego’s arms circling your waist, his chin resting against the side of your head.

“I have missed this dearly,” Viego’s low voice in your ear sent a noticeable shiver down your spine, which he definitely noticed. “It has been over a thousand years since I have felt your body against mine.”

His tone was sultry, and accompanied by a gentle nip at your ear, your cheeks were feeling incredibly warm. You had to assume that you had been with Viego like this, back a thousand years ago. But you hadn’t seen any of Isolde’s more suggestive memories, so you had no idea of what to expect from Viego. That, and you were as inexperienced as they came; it wasn’t like there were many boys around your age in your small town for you to do anything with. You were nervous, but glad it was Viego, and not someone like the owner’s brother who always hit on you whenever he visited the farm.

Viego withdrew from you, a metallic clang sounding out in the small room as he released the clasp on his cloak, allowing it to slide off his shoulders and hit the floor. Chancing a look back over your shoulder, you made eye contact with a once-again shirtless Viego, the black triangle on his chest bared once again.

Approaching you again, he took hold of your wrist, bringing your palm to lay against the spectral-green lined dark triangle in the center of his chest. You inhaled sharply, surprised when your hand was not swallowed by mist or sucked into the black void, but instead pressed against the triangle of black as if it were normal skin.

“The mark you gave me,” Viego said, voice surprisingly soft for someone talking about the wound that had ended their mortal life. “The mist is a part of me, so it will never harm you.”

“It feels warm,” you murmured. How could it feel so warm when the rest of his body was so cold?

“Only ever to you,” he replied, leaning down to kiss you again.

It was a short kiss, Viego giving you several short pecks as he slowly backed you up to the bed. He pulled away as the back of your knees hit the bed, and you opened your eyes as you caught your breath, only to see Viego with a wicked smirk on his face. Before you could question him, you were sent backwards onto the bed with a yelp as a rush of mist from Viego’s chest blew over you.

You found yourself on your back, the sheets a lot softer under you than you had expected. Realizing that the mist had left you feeling a lot colder than you had expected as well, you let out an embarrassed squeak when you discovered that the mist had somehow done away with your clothing, leaving you completely naked against the sheets.

The mist faded as quickly as it had appeared, revealing Viego at the foot of the bed in nothing but his tight black pants, which were noticeably tighter at the front. His gaze was smouldering as he took in your now-fully-revealed form, and while you were overtaken with the desire to shy away, but you were not given a chance as Viego quickly joined you on the bed.

He gently cupped your breasts in his hands, thumbs rubbing against your nipples, the cold of his fingers only heightening the jolt of pleasure that heated your face. Viego stared down at you, looking awestruck, strands of his silver hair falling over one of his eyes. He was so handsome that it was hard for you to believe this was real as you looked up at him, fighting the urge to run your hands through his hair as you let out a soft moan.

“You make it hard to focus when you sound like that,” Viego admitted as he leaned down. “It has been too long since I have heard your sweet voice moan.”

Crawling over you, Viego tilted your chin up with a hand on your cheek, allowing him to lock your lips together again. Unlike the previous kisses, this kiss was heated and intense, your tongue meeting his as his other hand laid next to your head, supporting his body closely above yours.

His body caging yours in should have felt cold with how frigid his skin was in unlife, but all you could feel was warmth as Viego kissed you like his life depended on it. Deciding to act on your earlier thoughts, you slid your hands into Viego’s soft hair, your nails running along his scalp. Viego groaned into your mouth, hips rutting into yours, letting you feel just how hard he was under his leather pants.

Viego’s hand strayed lower, your back bowing slightly off the bed when he began to move his thumb over your clit. He continued the passionate kiss as he kept up with the movements on your clit, the sensations making it hard for you to concentrate on the kiss. Finally, the pleasure got so intense that you jerked back against the pillow with a breathy moan, your face flushed with heat.

Viego pulled back from you entirely, spreading your legs and grasping your thighs, pulling your legs over his shoulders. Startled, you realized what he intended to do, staring at him with wide eyes.

“You don’t have to…” you trailed off, fingers grasping the sheets at your side as you stared at him.

Viego’s mouth turned up in a sly grin, looking up at you with his mouth inches away from your naked pussy. “There is nothing I want more in this world right now than to hear you cry out for me, my love.”

Before you could reply, Viego surged forward, tongue licking against your clit while his fingers pressed inside you. He seemed energized by the noises you made, fingers moving faster against you as you closed your eyes, moaning his name as his tongue brushed against you at a spot that had you seeing stars beyond your eyelids.

He was relentless, determined to get you to reach your peak, not slowing down until you cried out his name, nails raking against the sheets as you came.

Viego withdrew, looking very proud of himself as he stared down at your wrecked form. You laid flat against the bed, panting as you tried to catch your breath. As you took in Viego’s disheveled hair and satisfied smile, you let out a soft exhale, still not fully understanding how he was able to make you feel so comfortable with him after all that you had been through. Or maybe it had been because of everything you had been through together, the thousand years you had been apart and the short time you had been together again.

He didn’t make any moves to remove his pants, despite the fact that they looked painfully tight by this point. You stared at him from under your lashes, not knowing what to say as you slowly came down form the high of pleasure he had given you.

“Your form has never been more beautiful,” Viego said, leaning down to kiss you. “Now if only your lips were as honest as your eyes.”

“What?”

“Your eyes are telling me what you want me to do to you,” he murmured into your ear, voice low and sultry. “And I cannot find it in me to deny my queen what she desires.”

Viego sat up as mist flew from his chest, sweeping over his lower half and turning his pants to mist before dissipating entirely, leaving him just as naked as you. His cock was just as pale as the rest of his body, but clearly was still functioning just fine; in fact, you were slightly worried about the sheer size of him.

Viego took his place between your legs, his cock so close to where you wanted it. He took himself in hand, slowly lining himself up with you, looking down at you appraisingly before his cock was sinking into you.

You let out a soft sigh as you felt the stretch of his cock, surprised that it was nowhere near as painful as you had imagined. Once he was fully inside you, he leaned down, caging you in with his arms as he began to roll his hips into yours.

Sliding a hand into his hair, Viego happily allowed you to pull his lips back to yours, groaning into your mouth when you clenched around him after his cock hit a particularly sensitive spot inside you. While you had struggled to focus amidst the pleasure you were feeling, Viego had no such problem, easily able to kiss you breathless while maintaining a slow and gentle pace with his hips.

But as you continued to move against each other, slow and gentle began to be too little for you. You pulled back from Viego’s lips with a whine, looking at him with pleasure-hazed vision as he continued to move against you.

“Viego… faster, please,” you whined, watching him swallow as you spoke.

With a deep groan, Viego picked up his pace, each thrust of his cock hitting exactly where you needed it. Viego seemed to be as lost in the feeling as you were, eventually trading speed for increased intensity as you clung to his biceps.

Viego came first, slowing with a groan, but kissed you hard, rubbing at your clit until you joined him over the edge, feeling your energy drain from you as Viego pulled out of you before pulling your body to his, wrapping his arm around you.

“My heart, my body… they have only ever belonged to you,” Viego spoke, his words sending fondness blossoming in your chest.

Closing your eyes, you leaned against his chest, feeling happy but drained, at least until the reality of where you were came rushing back to you. You were in Senna’s house… in Senna’s bed. What had you been thinking?!

Noticing your panic, Viego lifted your chin, tilting your face up towards him with an eyebrow raised, quizzically speaking your name.

“Senna’s going to kill me,” you groaned in embarrassment.

“What?” Viego hissed, voice flat and dangerous, some mist tricking from his chest.

“No!” you exclaimed, placing your hands over his chest in a futile effort to keep the dark mist in. In your embarrassment, you had forgotten about Viego’s tendency to react against any threats directed towards you. “I just meant she would be upset with me for…. getting intimate… in her bed.”

Your words didn’t particularly seem to ease the severity of Viego’s misinterpretation of your words, but that would have to something to work on over time. With how harsh his life had been for so long, you shouldn’t have been surprised that hyperbole was largely lost on him. For now, all you could think of to do was distract him, quickly pulling his lips down to yours to hope you could make him forget about his current dangerous intentions, at least for the moment.

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