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under-and-over-the-moon · 2 years

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Hunger VIII | Hyunjin

* Please read Part I, Part II, Part III, Part IV, Part V, Part VI, and Part VII before reading the below *

Minors DNI/DNF/Do not read

word count: 10.5k

pairing: Hyunjin x Reader

genre: historical!au, fantasy!au, strangers-to-lovers, angst, fluff, smut (but not in this chapter)

warnings: Cyrus is a nightmare, really yikes parenting, harsh language, discussion of abortion, suggestions of forced abortion, insecurity, doubt, pregnancy, Reader is not doing great mentally or physically, pregnancy, mention of erections, brief language

Note that all characters are adults.

A/N: Sorry this chapter took a minute to get out, I have been exhausted from life 😅 Also, this chapter is kind of intense, so let me know if you want me to add a summary to the bottom for those who want to know what happens for future chapters but want to dodge triggers

Comments, questions, and theories are always appreciated! 😊

~~~

The figure remained still and silent for a few moments, but his eyes narrowed in the harsh glare of the sun.

“My beautiful son,” he growled, his last word just dipping into mockery.

You felt Hyunjin flinch beside you, and you reached your hand to his lower back, tracing a single circle to remind him that you were still there.

Cyrus’s words were simple, and could have been kind words of welcome, but the delivery was clearly meant to slash through Hyunjin, to cut him into the smallest of pieces. To make him feel jumbled, small. A warning that the utility of his beauty always came before, and was tied to, his status as his son.

“Please tell me why the fuck you are back here,” Cyrus continued, the disdain now fully staining each word. You could almost hear it drip to the floor as the words echoed against the stone walls.

Hyunjin shifted next to you, desperately trying to rebuild himself in the span of a few seconds, to stack up and stitch back together all the pieces of him into the semblance of a whole person. The edges would still ache at the stitching. They would inevitably scar again, across the same lines where they had been forced to heal a thousand times before. But he needed to collect himself.

As you looked over to him, standing uncomfortably under Cyrus’ gaze, struggling to find his footing, you ached to step in, to launch yourself back into who you always had been in your work in these kind of situations. This was, after all, a negotiation. But you held yourself back – this was his father, these were his gods, and you owed it to him to let him speak for himself. So you just stood by his side, rubbing another slow circle into his back, trying to give him the strength he needed to do this on his own.

“The gods had a different plan for me,” he said finally, his eyes trained still to the floor, “The legends…they’re real. She is the one I am meant for. She was able to do the reading, to read my chest, all of it. So I have taken her as my wife.”

Only now did Cyrus rise up, his expression fully obscured by the shadows as that single band of sunlight moved downward across the broad expanse of his chest. But you could see the stripe of light begin to vibrate as he began to cackle, the sound painfully loud in the silent room.

“I get a letter from the king a few weeks ago, saying how thrilled he is with the marriage, and I thought to myself, for the first time in my life, hm, maybe Hyunjin had actually been useful. Perhaps he has finally done something right, hasn’t been a total waste of space and time. And now you come back with this? Spinning some tale of love meant for children? Are you that much of a fool Hyunjin? How dare you try to blame your idiocy on our gods.”

Cyrus began to descend the stairs, each step punctuated by the echo of his foot against stone, and a single word.

Blasphemous.

Stupid.

Child.

As his face came into view, his whole body now in dull light, you saw the wash of disdain across his face, the smirk pulling dangerously at his lips. And the fury, unmistakable, still burning in his eyes.

You had seen Cyrus before, but you hadn’t bothered to really focus on how he looked. But now, you were caught off guard by how you could find nothing of Hyunjin in his father. Not in his face, not in his body – where Hyunjin was long, lean, elegant, skin aglow, Cyrus was surprisingly short, stocky, his face marked with criss-crossing scars. His body was a perfect representation of the principles on which Hyunjin’s clan has been built – he was rugged, rough, scarred by the harsh elements and his service to the clan. Much like the city itself. As you watched the two of them, like the full moon over ragged rocks, you realized that when Cyrus had called Hyunjin “beautiful,” it wasn’t just as a warning. It was an insult.

And so, there was the extra layer to Hyunjin’s entrapment. Cyrus relied on Hyunjin’s beauty for what it could uniquely provide him, yet it disgusted him. His beauty was an embarrassment. In it, Cyrus only saw what was frivolous, weak, dainty. Everything that the son of a clan leader shouldn’t be.

But still, as much as he hated it, Cyrus needed what that beauty could uniquely provide him. And, in protecting that beauty, that investment, he had kept Hyunjin, too, from building up any of the traits that would allow him to gain his father’s respect. He had kept your Hyunjin like a flower in a glass jar his whole life, yet hated him for never growing past its confines. It was an impossible, twisted maze for Hyunjin to navigate, with no exit.

As you watched Hyunjin shrink in Cyrus’ presence, despite his greater height, your hatred for Cyrus spread from a bitter pit in your stomach, where you had lodged it for weeks, to every part of your body, curling like vines through your veins. You wondered then if this is how Hyunjin felt when he shook your father’s hand before your departure, teetering at the very edge of an outburst.

Cyrus then shook his head, a snigger spreading his lips even wider as he strode terrifying slowly towards you, like a panther ready to pounce, to dig its claws, again, into Hyunjin. You couldn’t imagine how sweetness of Hyunjin could ever come from a tree that bore such poisonous fruit.

“Gods Hyunjin,” he started, an appalled laugh bubbling behind his words, “Were you that desperate to fuck? I know that your preparation for your marriage maybe made you a little too used to it, but this? I never thought even you would stoop this low. Couldn’t even wait until you got to the city to fuck some whore? Just has to fuck her?”

You felt Hyunjin step forward, your hand disconnecting from him. You looked right to see a fury in his eyes you had never seen before, the spark of that confidence you so rarely saw now fully ignited, his eyes all flames.

“Say what you want about me,” Hyunjin growled back, “But don’t you dare say anything about her.”

Cyrus clapped his hands together in mock delight, saying, “Oh are we a big boy now? Trying to fight with daddy? With what? What can you bring to the table now Hyunjin? Stupid, impotent…”

And at Cyrus’ last word you saw Hyunjin smirk for just a second, eyes still burning, his control slipping as his anger eclipsed his fear.

But Cyrus caught it.

“She’s pregnant?” he snarled, eyebrows high, the rage now etched across all of his features, “I told you I would kill you and still you decided to fill her up.”

Hyunjin took a protective step in front of you, his hand reaching back to clasp in yours.

“This child came from a marriage set by the gods,” Hyunjin explained, the fear just started to edge its way into the anger, “They are a great gift.”

Cyrus remained silent for a few seconds, staring straight at Hyunjin, eyes hard. The silence was heavy, full of one-thousand terrible futures.

“Get rid of it,” he finally spat with a momentary glance at your bump. Your breathing stopped at the suggestion, the command horrifyingly painful against your eardrums.

“I’ll make the arrangements. That bastard has no place in this alliance,” he continued, “And you – “

“They’re no bastard!” spat back Hyunjin, stepping forward, now allowing himself to tower over his father. “They’re my baby, with my wife! My gods-given wife, your gods. You say that all you do is to glorify our gods and yet you ignore what is right in front of you!”

“I’m sending you back to the capital,” retorted Cyrus, ignoring Hyunjin, “To do your duty, to give your true wife a child. To have use. I won’t have this nonsense of a fantasy, whatever monstrosity of an infatuation you have going on ruin this. Guards!”

As a group of six guards rushed towards Hyunjin, you saw the fear totally take over Hyunjin’s expression. But there was still, below the dread, a glint of disappointment. He had been prepared for this, had been warned by Cyrus’ own words…but now there was no soft hope to hide in. His father would even do this.

“Take Hyunjin and hold him,” Cyrus instructed as the guards grabbed Hyunjin by the wrists, forcing his hand from yours, “Tomorrow we’ll send him to the capital, to be where he should be.”

And then, as Cyrus turned to you, Hyunjin’s eyes widened with panic as he breathed quiet, terrified, “No…”

“And her…” continued Cyrus, “Take her to holding too. I’ll figure out what to do with her, and that, later.”

You felt the world collapse around you in a fog, the set of hands around your arms to only thing tethering you to reality.

But from outside the mists, you heard, like the distant clanging of a bell on a cold night.

“Please, please, let her go, let her go. I’ll do anything.”

~~~

You came back to consciousness sometime in the evening, your face pressed against hard dirt. Your body ached from being in the same position for so long, hastily dumped on the cold floor. The room was completely dark except for a tiny stream of moonlight that entered through a slit in the very top of the wall, casting your cell in a frigid deep blue.

Hyunjin. Your baby. Hyunjin. Your baby.

Those two thoughts swirled together into your mind until they were just a jumble of letters, a buzz of smashed sounds.

Would you ever be able to hold either of them?

And then the buzz turned again to a fog, to nothingness, and you felt yourself fall again.

~~~

You awoke what you assumed to be the next morning, but you couldn’t be sure – with only the tiniest source of light, you were only really able to distinguish between moonlight and sunlight. It could have been evening, too, for how faint the glow was.

You were now fully awake, but you still felt like you hadn’t fully returned to yourself. There was an emptiness in you, similar to what you had felt on the grasslands, but…

It wasn’t heavy this time. It somehow didn’t feel painful, didn’t claw at your insides.

It was just silent, ancient, like a cave carved into rock.

You didn’t have the energy to sit up or even pick up your limbs, so you simply rolled over onto your back, staring at whatever your eyes fell on.

A crack in the clay ceiling. It dripped sometimes, onto the earth next to you. You watched the water fall, the only marker of time in the faint light.

Drip. Drip. Drip.

There was a creak and then a scratch next to your head, the vibrations of the floor buzzing through your skull.

You turned your head. It was food. A small cup of water.

You didn’t want it. You turned back to the ceiling.

In the corner was a web, sparkling with condensation. There was a spider in the middle, always waiting. It made no noise.

Drip. Drip. Drip.

Drip. Drip. Drip. Hyunjin. My Baby.

For just a moment, pain intruded into your emptiness, before quickly receding. But it was still a reminder.

You couldn’t feel the need in you, but you knew – your baby needed food, water. So you rolled over, using all your energy to drag the cup towards you, sipping from it until it was empty. You took a deep breath, preparing yourself. And then you reached to grab a small piece of bread, shoving it down your throat. It tasted like a future turned to ash.

You could only take a mouthful.

You looked back at the ceiling.

Drip. Drip. Drip.

A fly flew in through the window, swirling around your head.

Normally, you would have been annoyed to be trapped in a room with a bug like that, unable to escape the hum of its wings. But there was something soothing in it this time, its buzz echoing the one in your brain, making everything fuzzy.

The room got darker. It must be evening.

And then the fog swallowed you, and to you, it was night.

~~~

You opened your eyes sometime later, perhaps on a later day. Perhaps in a later month, a later year. You didn’t know time anymore. All you knew was that the buzzing of wings was gone.

The web in the corner caught your eye. The fly was now stuck there, wriggling desperately to move as the spider approached it. But it no matter how it struggled, it was stuck. You watched as the spider descended on it, devouring it. So again there was silence, only punctuated by drips.

Drip. Drip. Drip.

Suddenly, there was a creak. It felt distant from you, like a sound from a dream that after many years you began to remember as reality. But then there was a sudden, intense brightness, the shine of heaven mixed with the pain of hell. So, perhaps, this was purgatory.

“Lady Hwang,” a voice said, echoing in the emptiness, “I am to escort you from this place.”

And then there were arms on you, carrying you out, a long stone corridor coming into view as you returned to the world.

~~~

[An hour earlier]

It was only afternoon, but the priest was already sleepy.

The exhaustion descended on him quickly as he sat in his darkened tent, the only light coming from the fire lit below him, tendrils of smoke swirling around his hands like currents in a stream. He had spent the greater part of the afternoon performing a smoke rite, trying to read the gods’ intentions from the blue curls. But today, no matter what he did, the tendrils of smoke remained only what they were – there was no further poetry to read from them. But he swore, every now and then, he would see them flash red. As soon as it happened, though, it was gone, more memory than it ever was reality.

The priest usually was the most energetic at this time of day, fueled by the slanting rays, but the weariness was unmistakable today. It clawed at his eyelids, pulling down his shoulders just as time had. Another indignity of aging, he thought to himself. He certainly wasn’t young anymore Perhaps he needed the rest to keep this creaky body going.

And so he moved himself to the adjoining room, navigating among his own simple possessions and the smattering of luxuries that Cyrus had brought him over the years. Sumptuous furs, golden bowls, jewels – gifts from Cyrus to his highly favored high priest. The priest tucked himself into his simple bed, pulling the covers to his chin. He would have a small nap, a concession to weight of his years. And so, content, he drifted off to sleep, to the comforts of the void.

Hyunjin…

The voice came to him like a whisper, like a gust of wind, like the sound of a fire being extinguished. He bolted awake, the name still clanging in his head, and he felt, for a second, relief. He was almost sure now that his exhaustion wasn’t from his age, wasn’t another thing to which he would have to accustom himself.

But that relief was quickly and completely smothered by fear. He didn’t know what the voice was trying to say, and that was far worse than any truth that could be hiding behind it. He had to find out what it meant.

And so he quickly threw back the burlap of his blankets, tossed on a black robe, and headed towards the center of the city as fast as his weary legs could take him, the smoke curling lazily behind him as the cold wind blew into his sacred space.

And the tendrils turned again, just for a moment, a dark crimson. They twisted like fingers, grasping at a single second, before they dissipated entirely into the frigid air.

The priest arrived a few minutes later outside a pair of heavy wooden doors, illuminated by the soft golden glow of the lanterns that flanked them. The guards set at either side stepped in front of the doors, following protocol despite the trepidation in their eyes.

“Your holiness,” one of them began, with a slight bow of his head, “I’m so sorry, but the clan head is in an important meeting trying to figure out what to do with a…charge.”

The priest’s eyes flickered to the latticework on the door, through which he could see the fragmented image of Cyrus pacing back and forth, agitated, illuminated by a flaming cauldron in the center of the room. The light bounced against the stone of the floor, the thick columns ringing around Cyrus, the taught faces of Cyrus’ advisors. And the priest heard, from his spot outside, the venom in Cyrus’s voice as he said:

“I don’t care if both Chan and Changbin are sick! So what if they’re delirious? Strap them to a horse and they’ll pull themselves together. They were fine two days ago! They will escort Hyunjin to the capital,” he yelled, staring down a row of advisors, their faces a mix of fear and frustration.

So Hyunjin was back. The priest locked eyes with one of the guards, now even more resolute.

“I too, am here to talk about said charge. I must enter,” he stated. His tone was neutral, words quiet, but he was direct. He would not accept “no”.

“I’m sorry, if you return later I’m sure…” the guard continued. The priest didn’t have time for this.

“Cyrus!” he bellowed, banging his fist against door, which rattled in its hinges.

Immediately, the room quieted, and Cyrus stopped in his tracks, his eyes turned towards the door. The priest knew that Cyrus could only see his eyes through the latticework, but the urgency in them was clearly enough to cause him to step back. Cyrus feared nothing, save the wrath of the gods.

Cyrus turned back to advisors, stating quickly, “You may all take your leave,” before he briefly clasped his hands together, rubbing his thumbs. A rare show of nerves.

The advisors, frustrated, confused, but happy for the respite, rushed towards the door, parting in two streams around the priest as he entered the room. The priest strode in, directly towards Cyrus.

As soon as they all had left, Cyrus said, with an air of fake nonchalance, “Your holiness, to what – “

But the priest had no patience for niceties, to play along as if he fit into Cyrus’s neat political puzzle. And so he cut him off, simply stating:

“Hyunjin is back.”

Cyrus nodded, with just a half-moment’s hesitation.

“Where is he?” the priest continued.

“We have detained him. He went against clan interests and returned, so we must send him back to the capital,” responded Cyrus, face neutral.

“Did he say why he was back?” asked the priest. So far, he was hearing only words, no answers.

“He…came back with another woman, claiming that she was his wife,” said Cyrus, and then he quickly rushed to say, “And he was blaming the gods for it, your holiness, so of course I couldn’t stand for that heresy, to allow him to blame the gods for his lust and poor choices.”

“And how exactly did he blame them?”

“He pulled up that old legend, that child’s tale – he said that that woman was able to read his chest—”

The priest’s heart felt as if it had frozen in his chest. It couldn’t be…

But if it was…

“Are they separated?” he asked quickly, almost desperately

“Of course,” he replied, nonchalantly. But there was just a hint of apprehension in his eyes at the priest’s tone.

“Hyunjin is to be sent back to this capital,” Cyrus continued, “To his legal wife…as for that woman…the break won’t be quite as clean as I had hoped. It appears that Hyunjin left some of himself in her…”

“She’s with child?” the priest asked, just an edge of panic rising in his voice.

“Currently,” sneered Cyrus, “But of course a child conceived outside of marriage, particularly outside of this marriage with the princess…I cannot stand for that. They have both been made aware.”

“You told her that?” retorted the priest, harshly, shock deepening the many wrinkles that lined his face.

Cyrus opened his mouth to speak, but the priest just shook his head eyes wide in disbelief, the anger in him now high, like a sudden flood, all the waters rushing at Cyrus.

“Get them here now!” the priest bellowed, “Now, Cyrus!”

Cyrus jumped backwards, his face for just a moment painted with shock before he pulled it back to neutrality. In all his years as ruler, the priest had never used that tone with him, never yelled.

“You can’t possibly think…”

“We don’t know, Cyrus, but this is not something to take lightly, to throw aside just because it’s inconvenient. If it is as he claims…the potential cost…how could you…How could you react so rashly if this concerns the gods?”

“But, it’s just – “ protested Cyrus before caving to the priest’s continued harsh gaze. And so he stated, exasperated, “Fine, I’ll get Hyunjin, you can speak to him yourself, see that this is indeed just heresy your holiness“

“And his wife,” insisted the priest, “Bring her here too. Immediately.”

“You mean his concubine,” said Cyrus, bravely, ignorantly.

“No, his wife,” the priest repeated, “Bring her here.”

Just the slightest bit folded in on himself, Cyrus did as he was told. And as the guards took off running, the priest seated himself in one of the wooden seats at the periphery, rubbing at his temples.

He could still hear the voice echoing in his head, and it was making it ache.

Hyunjin …

~~~

Hyunjin arrived first, and the priest was temporarily blinded by his beauty. He had forgotten its intensity, the obvious blessing and curse in it.

As soon as his brain adjusted, though, he noticed, beneath all his splendor, Hyunjin himself. He locked eyes with the priest, eyebrows rising in recognition, before the smallest bead of hope dripped into his eyes.

“My wife, your holiness, she’s – please, please bring her back to me, “ he shouted, clearly desperate, on the edge of tears, tearing himself from the guard’s arms.

“Already on her way, Hyunjin,” the priest said, in his most soothing tone, and Hyunjin’s whole body sagged with relief, threatening to give way before he caught himself.

“Please, sit,” said the priest, gesturing to the seat in front of him, “You must be exhausted.”

Hyunjin strode over, the guards who had accompanied him relinquishing their grip under the priest’s glare. He seated himself, refusing to even look at his father, who was seated to the priest’s right, staring out the window as if Hyunjin had never entered. Hyunjin’s foot nervously tapped against the ground, and he threw a glance back at the door every few seconds.

The priest said nothing. There was no need to try to make conversation when Hyunjin was so consumed with the voices in his own mind, when the heaviness of their circumstances would weigh down the empty words of any pleasantries.

And then there was creak as the door opened, and a woman was ushered in by two guards. She appeared to be walking, but her legs looked weak, her eyes distant. And then he saw, clearly, the way her belly curved.

The priest could guess, already, how this would go.

He hoped that he was wrong.

~~~

The first thing you saw when you entered the room was Hyunjin’s face, and then the blur of him as he rushed towards you.

You felt his arms around you as he pulled you to him, whispering into your neck, between the most private, tender kisses he could give you in this public space, “I love you, baby, I love you so much, thank the gods.”

The tightness of his embrace and the soft touch of his lips where your skin remembered him so well sent a warmth through your whole body, and you felt, for the first time in days, almost like yourself.

“Oh Hyunjin,” you breathed, “I was so afraid…” You choked on the words at the end of the sentence, your body knowing it couldn’t digest the weight of the full phrase, but Hyunjin knew what you meant.

“I’m right here, baby, it’s okay, it’s okay, shh,” he whispered, “I got you.”

He broke away from you for a moment, eyes terrified, and asked, “Our baby?”

“They’re okay,” you said, before slumping back against him, and you could feel the relief in the way his muscles relaxed just slightly. But, as your legs buckled under you, his muscles tensed again as he caught you, pulling you up against his chest.

“You must be so tired,” he said, placing another lingering kiss on your shoulder, “Let me take you somewhere you can rest.”

He then picked you up, careful to hold your head against his chest, and carried you to a set of seats on the left side of the room, whispering to you the whole time, “Don’t worry, I got you, I’m right here. It’ll be okay.”

He sat you both down in the chair, draping you across his lap and placing your head gently against his chest. You smiled at him as his fingers carded through your hair, tracing comforting paths along your scalp. And, for a moment, it was just you and your husband.

But then, out of the corner of your eye, you saw movement, and you turned to see two men. One was Cyrus, staring at your closeness, your affection, as if it was rancid. You wondered if Cyrus himself had every given affection to his own wives, or if this, too, was viewed as a defect in Hyunjin, a sign of his softness. Regardless, you didn’t care anymore - and judging by the way Hyunjin had begun to kiss you even more shamelessly along your temple, now drawing slow circles on your belly, he didn’t either.

The other man you had never seen before. He was elderly, his hair all white, his face with a line for every year that he had lived. He stooped in his chair, shoulders tired from the weight of time, wrapped in a simple black robe. But his expression was bright, his eyes gleaming.

As you locked eyes, he leaned just slightly forward, smiling kindly. He was, apparently, eager to put you at ease.

“Hello, Lady Hwang, I’m the high priest of this city,” he said, gently, “I’m glad to see that you and your husband have been reunited.”

Cyrus’ head snapped to the priest at his use of the word “husband”, but the priest ignored it.

“It seems you are glad too,” he continued, smiling playfully as Hyunjin continued to kiss down your cheek.

Hyunjin stopped kissing you for just a moment, and looked up at the priest.

“Thank you,” he said, seriously, sincerely, “I’m assuming this was…your doing?”

The priest nodded, casting a quick glance at Cyrus before turning back to the two of you.

“I…heard your name,” he said, looking to Hyunjin, “When I was sleeping. It could have meant nothing, but still…I came here to ask Cyrus about you. Last I knew, you were miles away at the capital, married to the princess. But once I got here, I found that you had taken a new wife, that you had said it was ordained by the gods…”

Cyrus couldn’t help himself, offering a mocking, “Yes apparently a blessed one walks among us…”

But the priest, not even looking at him, held a single finger up, silencing him. Cyrus gulped back his words, sitting back in his chair, his gaze equal parts venomous and petulant.

“I was talking to Hyunjin, Cyrus, not you,” the priest warned. And then he turned to you.

“Lady Hwang, I hear you are with child? How many months?”

You attempted to open your mouth to speak, but suddenly you felt as if your mind had gone blank, the page wiped clean. Hyunjin noted how you were struggling, like a fish pulled from the sea, gasping to find the words somewhere in the air, and he so pushed pack a strand of hair that had fallen over your forehead, and just gently said:

“It’s okay, baby, I can explain. You can just rest. You must be so tired.”

You nodded, sinking even further into him, relieved to be able to just listen.

He turned to the priest, and said, “She is, your holiness. About three months now.”

The priest nodded, as he tried to piece together the timeline, and asked, “And was this…after your marriage to the princess?”

“No,” said Hyunjin, “It was the night before I was set to be married. She conceived…the night she performed the reading.”

The priests eyes widened as Hyunjin confirmed what Cyrus had previously implied to him.

“The reading…” said the priest, “But…how did you know to even suggest that to her? How did it…happen?”

And so Hyunjin began to explain, the words pouring out of him now that someone was finally willing to listen.

“As soon as we started our journey together to the capital, I started feeling…strange. I thought it was just the nerves of the engagement, but then one day her hand accidentally brushed against my tattoo here…”

His arm was pinned below you, but he managed to lift it up enough to gesture to his wrist.

“And everything starting spinning, my heart was racing, and I think even then I knew.. Before it was even confirmed, I knew. But I thought to myself – this is just a child’s tale. A legend. A fable. How could it be true? But then one day she was just curious, asking about how far our tattoos go and…I thought it might be my only opportunity to confirm. So I…”

He paused for a moment, throwing his first, quick glance towards Cyrus.

“I…took off my shirt for her. And I let her…touch me. Everywhere on my chest. And at first she didn’t react so I thought perhaps I was mistaken. But then she touched…right here…” he said, gesturing to the skin below his navel.

Cyrus’s eyebrows knit together as his eyes followed the path of Hyunjin’s hand.

“Ah,” he spat, interrupting Hyunjin, “So you were a whore then. You know our tattoos are sacred, only meant for the eyes those we marry after we marry then. Yet you had this girl touch you, even there – “

Again, the priest held up his hand, silencing Cyrus.

“Hyunjin, please continue,” he stated.

Hyunjin nodded, and then resumed his story.

“And when she touched there, “ he said, “I saw her jump and then I knew. I knew she was reacting to what she saw, the…intimacy of that image. I knew that she saw the position in which we would first be connected, our bond first set. I knew then that she was my true wife, and at first I tried to stick to my duty, to let her live her life as she wanted to, undisturbed by me, but then…”

And then Hyunjin went on to tell in detail, of every day you had spent together after his realization as you approached the capital. The dreams of an unfulfilled future that kept him awake, the burn that spread across his, your “yes” in the mists, the way it hurt him to be near you as much as it hurt him to stay away from you. Your eventual questioning of him, his revelation of the truth, your shared decision to fulfill the bond, to commit to the future the gods had set before you. Your consummation. The spreading of the gold.

“Gold?” questioned the priest, eyes wide.

“Yes,” replied Hyunjin, “It spreads each time we live one of the events as written by the gods. It’s done so three times now.” The priest nodded, clearly surprised. This was new information, even for him.

And then, with pain in his voice, Hyunjin told of all the time that you had spent apart.

He told of being forced into the marriage with Lia, his refusal to consummate it, finding out that you had conceived his child your first time being intimate together. Your decision to leave. How the king had, inexplicably let him go.

“The king let you go?” interrupted Cyrus, “Did he…annul the marriage?”

“Yes…and no,” responded Hyunjin, still focused on the priest, refusing to meet his father’s gaze, “He told me to go, but made no move to dissolve the marriage or alliance.”

The priest stared intently at Hyunjin for a few moments, before sitting back in his chair, sighing. A shadow passed over his eyes, a spark of recognition. But he didn’t comment, filing it away, simply stating, “Please continue, Hyunjin.” He was hungry to know the full truth.

Hyunjin then described how he had rushed across the grasslands to find you, catching up to you only when you were a few days away from your home. The meeting with your father. His discovery that your future was written in your scar as well, that he could, through it, see you.

You saw the priests eyes widen.

“So you are saying that can see exactly what she does, but in reverse, through her scar?” he asked, breathlessly, earnestly.

Hyunjin nodded.

“Every single scene,” he confirmed.

At his spot near the window, you just saw Cyrus roll his eyes. But, fortunately, the priest didn’t catch it.

“And then?” the priest encouraged.

“And then,” said Hyunjin, “We came here and…”

He shot one worried look down at you, biting the inside of his lip to hold back his emotion. When he looked back up, there was the faintest shine to his eye, the corners of his lips just twitching downwards. He looked towards the floor again, giving himself time to collect himself.

The priest leaned forward, expression gentle, and whispered, “Oh, my son, you have had quite the journey.”

Hyunjin nodded at the floor before slowly lifting his gaze up. There was a new apprehension there now as Hyunjin awaited the priest’s verdict, if he would believe Hyunjin or deem him, as his father had, blasphemous.

But before the priest could say anything, Cyrus cut in.

“I’m sorry,” he sneered, “But doesn’t this just sound like a tale that one would spin to cover their tracks? Weave a little tale based on legend, add a few extra details for flair? How convenient that it isn’t truly verifiable…”

“I can show you the tattoos,” offered Hyunjin, “The gold ones, so you can see…”

Cyrus laughed, totally devoid of mirth, the sound edged.

“Oh yes because the boy who would let this stranger touch his tattoo, especially in that way, is to be trusted…who is to say you haven’t just gotten additional tattoos elsewhere? Gotten it painted? Who knows who else you’d let touch you…shameless…”

“It’s not unverifiable, Cyrus,” stated the priest, “Remember that I was the one who translated those images onto him. If Lady Hwang is able to tell correctly tell me what is written on him – we know that this is the truth. There is no other way she could know. Hyunjin himself wouldn’t even have known, as you well know from your own tattoos.”

“So,” he continued, “It is very much verifiable. Unless you don’t believe me…”

“No of course I do, your holiness,” said Cyrus, quickly.

“Then Cyrus, could you please face away from us for a moment? To protect Hyunjin’s modesty?”

“But she? –“

“Cyrus,” repeated the priest, his voice a warning and a punishment wrapped together, and Cyrus shrunk back, before turning towards the window.

The priest then turned back to you and Hyunjin, a new gentleness washing away the sharp edges that had been there moments before, like waves pulling away fragmented shells from the shore.

“Hyunjin,” he said, “Could you undo the ties of your shirt for me so that I can see your chest?”

“Of course,” said Hyunjin, nodding, before turning to you, eyes soft, “Baby, do you think you can sit up for me for a second while I take this off?”

You nodded, and Hyunjin rushed to support your waist as you placed your hands on the wooden arm rest, pushing yourself up. The room spun for a minute, a swirl of stone and wood and orange flames, all lines and edges blurring.

Hyunjin caught the way you swayed, and he grasped you a little tighter to steady you.

“You okay?” he asked. His gentle voice seemed to slow the spinning until you just felt a little wobbly. You were at least able to keep yourself upright.

“Yes, I’m good,” you responded.

He slowly let go, eyes still on you as his hands descended down the opening of his shirt, swiftly undoing the ties before pushing it open, until all of it was in view. Even though you had seen Hyunjin’s tattoos numerous time, had felt them multiple times, the beauty and intimacy of them still caught you off-guard. In the dim light of evening, the light from the cauldron swirled across the intricate webs of color, drawing and redrawing shadows along the ridges. And, at the bottom of his chest, the light danced in the gold, casting it into every color of a sunrise.

You saw, then, that the priest’s eyes had also caught on the lower part of Hyunjin’s chest. The priest stared for a few moments, transfixed, as if he were looking directly at the faces of the gods.

“The gold…” he said breathlessly, eyes full of wonder, “It is true.”

“I wouldn’t lie to a man of the robe,” replied Hyunjin, face serious, “It was as much a surprise to me as it is to you.”

The priest gazed at is for a few more moments, and then, perhaps just as one cannot stare at the sun for too long, he turned away to look at you.

“Lady Hwang,” said the priest, meeting your eyes again, his expression still kind, understanding.

“I know you aren’t…feeling well, but could you just do one thing for me?”

You nodded, your head heavy, threatening to throw you off-balance. Hyunjin immediately placed one hand on the small of your back, steadying you.

The priest pointed to a place on the upper-left of Hyunjin’s chest, where two ridges crossed, covered in swirls of red and blue ink and scrawled runes.

“Could you put your fingers here and tell me what you see?”

You reached out your hand, placing a single fingertip gently on the skin.

An image of Hyunjin, with your baby. They were sitting on the grasses, below a blue sky, and your baby was sitting on his lap, playing with a flower growing from the ground. Hyunjin tenderly stroked their hair, smiling.

“I see Hyunjin, sitting on the grasses, with our baby in his lap.”

The priest remained calm, but you could see how his eyes widened, his breathe caught.

Hearing your description, Cyrus cut in, stating petulantly, “That could easily just be a lucky guess. She’s pregnant, we live on the grasslands – seems like a scene that would be common to many men in our clan.”

The priest nodded, but he clearly did not share Cyrus’ doubts.

“Perhaps…” he responded, “But if I ask her to identify a more specific one, I would guess that the result will be the same.”

His eyes scanned Hyunjin’s chest before stopping at a point in the center where six ridges met, cast in orange, like the rays of the sun.

“And here, Lady Hwang?” he asked, “Please, include as much detail as possible, just so we can be sure.”

You reached your hand out, and you saw how, even in the tension of the moment, Hyunjin was smiling at you as you tenderly dragged your fingertips across his skin.

You saw Hyunjin, sitting in a tent, and in front of him, forming a ring are five small children, two girls and three boys. He is quite a bit older than he is now, streaks of gray in his hair, but still just as beautiful as he was now. There are wrinkles crinkling at the corners of his eyes and the edges of his lips, drawn by decades of smiles. And he is reading to them from a red book.

“I see Hyunjin, quite a bit older than he is now. He is reading to a group of five small children, two girls and three boys, inside a tent.”

“What color is the book?” the priest enquired.

“Red,” you answered, “It’s thick. Made of leather.”

“And the ribbons in the girls’ hair?”

You hadn’t noticed them before, but you focused again on the image.

“The girl who is older...her ribbon is pink. And the younger one...it’s blue,” you said.

“So it is true…” whispered the priest breathlessly, so quiet that you could barely hear, his eyes fixed on your fingers as Hyunjin pulled you back to his chest, letting your head rest against his bare skin.

Perhaps taken aback by the intimacy of it, the priest averted his gaze for a moment, saying, “Hyunjin, could you please re-tie your shirt?”

“Of course,” responded Hyunjin, the faintest blush spreading across his cheeks. He shifted you for a moment so that he could pull the two sides of fabric together, his hands quickly putting the ties back in place.

Once he was done, the priest turned towards the windows, and said to Cyrus, voice stern, “It is real, Cyrus.”

Cyrus’ head snapped back, eyes swirling like storm clouds. The disbelief and frustration was still present but there was now, too, a glint of wonder. And the occasional flash of fear.

“But…are you completely sure? No room for doubt?”

“I am certain, Cyrus. And to question it any further…you would be questioning the gods.”

He gulped, sitting back. For the first time, he seemed a little unsteady, his authority shaken.

“I have to say…” said the priest, looking back to you and Hyunjin, “When Cyrus first mentioned this…I had my doubts. I, like you, Hyunjin, thought this was more parable than truth. It is human nature to draw stories on top of that which we cannot understand, and I thought this was just another one of those cases. I may pull the images from the smoke and etch them onto skin, but I assumed that the truth of this was something else, something more complex than what the feeble human mind can understand. To translate was simply a part of my role, something I would never fully grasp the meaning of.”

He slumped slightly in his seat, head shaking in disbelief, his eyebrows raised.

“Everything that I know about this, that we as a clan know about this, has been passed down through stories. You likely learned from your mother, as I first did. And then, when I entered the priesthood, the wider story was passed down to me by the previous high priest, before they left. But as there are no definitive texts…it’s hard to know what is truth and what is just embellishment added over the years. And even of everything I know, both truth and pure story…so much is missing. The gold? I never knew…”

And then his eyes fell on your scar.

“And…your scar…I never knew that the gods could work in this way. I thought tattoos were the only way they could write on skin, and only through an intermediary, through priests like me…”

The priest fell quiet again, his eyes still on Hyunjin’s chest, contemplating the gravity of the day’s discovery.

And, as was so common with him, Cyrus read the silence as an invitation to speak. There was still a hint of trepidation in his tone, but the cockiness was pushing its was back in.

“But…did they really have to choose to complete the bond? By the logic of this, all of the men in our clan are going against the gods’ plan by not being with those they are meant to be bonded to. None of us are living out our most holy lives…and yet the world goes on. I understand that there is gravity in this, but the alliance is important too. So if no one else gets to live out their ‘greatest destiny’…”

And then his eyes, fell, venomous, on Hyunjin.

“…why does he get to?”

The priest shook his head, taking one deep, exhausted breath.

“The ways of the gods are mysterious, chaotic…they interfere with our world as they see fit. We cannot, as mere mortals, know why they do or do not touch certain people. We just know that Hyunjin’s destiny, for whatever reason, is important to them.”

Cyrus eyes turned an even darker gray, the electricity in them teetering on the edge of a strike. He was clearly furious that Hyunjin, so weak, so inadequate, could be chosen over him. Especially when it interfered with his plans.

“And…” the priest continued, “There is a difference between not following the gods’ plan because you can’t see the path, and clearly knowing the path but ignoring it. The consequences of the latter are far greater. Hyunjin had a choice to ignore his calling, to let the tattoos burn off but…there are stories. Of those who ignored their bond and survived, but only just. They remained alive but…it’s hard to say that what was left was truly living. To know that you keep living, even though the path you should have taken has been burned away – it is a heavy thing for the soul to carry. Perhaps heavier than what a human being can handle. It is said that the burning leaves behind an emptiness that nothing can ever fill.”

The priest allowed a long, reflective moment to pass through the room.

“So had Hyunjin refused to complete it…” he finally continued, “I shudder to think what would have happened, if he even could have been…”

The priest paused, eyes pointed as he looked at Cyrus.

“…useful to you. And I have to wonder…are you only pious when convenient, Cyrus? It is clear this is what the gods wanted for Hyunjin, and yet you still think of your alliance. Perhaps, you, not Hyunjin, are the blasphemous one.”

“No, no, your holiness, I…” said Cyrus quickly, “I follow the word of the gods.”

The was still an air of frustration to him, of poorly concealed anger bubbling dangerously, but it seemed that the fire below had been toned down. The rage was now simmering, not boiling.

“But…” Cyrus finally said, “If Hyunjin cannot be sent back to the capital, we will need to come up with an alternative plan immediately. I will call for my advisors, and for my sons, so that they can join us here for an emergency summit tonight -“

The priest, with a quick glance towards how you were slumped against Hyunjin, quickly snapped back, “No, Cyrus. Hyunjin and his wife have had a terrible couple of days at your hand. They – she – needs rest. They will go right now to one of the guest tents, where they can recover. We can meet tomorrow, after they have been able to get some sleep.”

“But –“ protested Cyrus.

“Tomorrow, Cyrus,” the priest insisted.

“Fine,” acquiesced Cyrus, rising in a huff.

“Hyunjin knows where the guest tents are,” continued Cyrus, as if Hyunjin was not seated a few feet from him, “He can bring himself there.” And then turning to the priest, “I will take my leave, your holiness, for I need to alert my advisors and sons of our meeting tomorrow.”

And with that Cyrus strode out of the room, his feet slapping hard against the stone, the latticed doors closing with a thud as he shut them forcefully behind him.

The priest tore his gaze from the doors, his eyes falling softly again on the two of you, how you still lay nestled in Hyunjin’s arms.

“Will you be able to manage taking her back?” asked the priest.

“Yes, not to worry your holiness, I know where to take here. And…” said Hyunjin, eyes sincere, “Thank you. Truly. I don’t know how I could ever repay you for bringing us back together.”

“No need to thank me, I am just doing my duty as high priest, just…”

And then, thinking to earlier, when he had first seen you enter the room, the priest’s heart dropped.

“…Be a little extra attentive to her, stay close. I can’t imagine I need to remind you, based on what I’ve seen but…she might need…”

Hyunjin nodded vigorously, simply saying, as he gazed down at you, “I will.”

“Then I too will take my leave,” said the priest, “I wish you both a good, restful night.”

~~~

As the priest hobbled away, Hyunjin turned his full attention to you. He readjusted you in his arms, leaning down to give you the first proper kiss since you had been separated. His lips were soft on yours, but there was an urgency to his movements, the way his tongue met yours. But as you began to melt further into him, he pulled away, pushing your hair off your face.

“Let’s get you into a nice warm bed, okay? The guest tent should be close by, let me just…”

And then he shifted your weight slightly, preparing himself to carry you.

“It’s okay, Hyunjin I…I should be okay to walk.”

He raised his eyebrow, clearly unsure.

“I want to walk,” you said, “I just haven’t really been feeling…like myself…I just want to walk, feel a little more normal.”

You still felt dizzy, a little bit blurry, like you were on a ship lost in the fog, your direction unclear. But, at least now your legs felt a bit more solid beneath you, as if the waves had calmed. You had been on a dirt floor for days…perhaps your body just needed to move, to be reminded of how to stay upright. To remind yourself that you were no longer even afloat at sea - you had finally come to shore, and were, suddenly and shockingly, on solid ground.

“Okay,” he said, eyes still worried, “Okay, but you tell me if you need any help, or get too tired along the way? I would be happy to carry you.”

You nodded, his hands still hovering around your waist, spotting you as you pulled yourself to standing. The wobbliness was still there, but you were fairly sure you could handle a short walk.

“Okay?” he asked.

You nodded, grasping his hand in yours.

“Let’s go, baby,” you said.

~~~

With his hand on your back as always, Hyunjin led you through his city, now cast in darkness.

Perhaps it was the weight that had suddenly lifted from you, but it seemed as if the city had transformed itself since you first entered Cyrus’ throne room. The setting sun almost seemed to have taken with it the city’s rougher edges, leaving a much more welcoming place behind.

The harsh lines and ghostly emptiness that you had greeted you were now replaced by a gentle warmth, the tinkling of laughter. The hundreds of lanterns that had previously hung lifeless on each gray building now glowed orange and radiant against the blue of night and the black expanse of mountains in the distance. People lined the streets, huddled at squat wooden tables, drinking tea and spirits out of sturdy mugs. They yelled spiritedly at each other as playing cards fanned out in front of them. There was sound here, life here, just as there was in your home.

“Hyunjin,” you asked as you rounded another corner, only to be greeted by another lively gaggle of bundled people, “Where were all these people earlier? It seemed so…deserted.”

“The winds are the harshest during the day,” he explained, “And the sun adds to it, so people usually stay inside. But when things get a bit more hospitable at night…people like to come out, to drink, to talk, to play games. The other clans may think us fearsome, but we still like to have our fun too.”

You continued to weave between row after row of cream tents, now a deep periwinkle in the night light, the shadows of flames and silhouettes dancing across them. After a few more minutes of walking Hyunjin suddenly slowed, his shoulders sagging, and you turned to him as he reached out his right hand, gripping the wooden support of the nearest tent, his head dropping.

You immediately placed a hand on his shoulder, and asked him gently, “You okay, Hyunjin?”

“Yeah, I just need…” he said, eyes now shut tightly, “…A second. I think the relief just hit me, that we’re back together, I was just terrified every day that we were apart. That you were hurt…or our baby was hurt. To have things suddenly get better…I think my body hadn’t quite caught up to my brain. It’s still adjusting.”

You rubbed his shoulder, trying to comfort him. You did know what he meant – this fog you were in, this unease – you hadn’t been able to fully shake it. Your body must be recovering from it all, just as his was.

He opened his eyes and turned towards you, and as his eyes met yours, they went wide.

“It’s a match…” he said, breathlessly, “This moment, it…”

At your confused expression, he quickly glanced to your left and right before rushing to undo the ties of his shirt, hastily pushing the fabric aside to reveal a new splotch of gold right next to the one that had been painted while he was on horseback.

But then the wonder in his eyes was quickly eclipsed by worry when he saw the confusion lingering in your face. You always were able to predict these before, but now…the images in your mind were hazy. You couldn’t quite map the moment to what you had read.

“You…saw it too right?” he said, the concern now weighing heavily on the corners of his brows.

“I…” you stammered, “I can’t quite…I’m not sure…” And then you hiccupped as tears started filling your eyes. Why couldn’t you remember?

Seeing your face crinkle up, he immediately pulled you into his arms, running one of his hands up and down your back, the other cradling your head.

“Shh, it’s okay, you’re so tired, I’m sure that’s messing with your head, and…”

He broke away from you, a new question spreading across his face, before tipping into fear.

“Have you…eaten anything over the past couple of days? Did they give you food?”

“They gave me some bread, some water…and I drank the water. But the bread, I didn’t…I couldn’t really eat much of it. I’m so sorry, I know our baby needs food, but I just…”

“Oh no, no,” whispered Hyunjin, pulling you back to him, “It’s okay baby, don’t worry, I’ll get you some food when we get to the tent, okay? That should help you get your strength back. That might also be why you’re not feeling so clear right now.”

You nodded, letting him lead you forward.

~~~

The guest tent was as plain as a lodging could be. There were no decorations – only a bed, a small wooden table with chairs, a stack of coarse woolen blankets, and a space for a fire. All in matted tones of white, gray, and brown.

But still, as you sat on one of the chairs, bundled under a generous pile of blankets that Hyunjin had nestled around you, watching as he coaxed the flames in front of you into being, the space seemed warmer. Cozy. Almost like a home.

He placed two black pots on the fire, gently stirring each for a few minutes, before walking over to you and placing two bowls on the wood in front of you.

“Rice,” he explained, “And some plain broth. Not very exciting, but it’s probably better to start slow. If this is okay, I can make you some better stuff tomorrow.”

You smiled up at him, before bringing the broth to your lips, slowly draining the bowl. As you drank, you saw relief creep into the corner of his eyes. And then, another question.

“Where did they keep you?” he asked gently, eyes crinkling with concern, “When they separated us. Was it…comfortable?”

“Honestly,” you said, “I don’t remember most of it…I was kind of…out of it. But I spent most of the time on the floor. There wasn’t much else in the room.”

You saw the corners of his mouth pull into a straight line, and a spark of fury flicker in his eyes. But he beat it back, keeping it from fully igniting. He would wait until later, when you were already resting, to let it burn.

“I’m so sorry, baby,” he said, “I’ll make sure you get some good rest tonight. Sleeping like that, with no bed…you must be absolutely exhausted. I’m…so so sorry.”

His voice cracked, the guilt entering his eyes again like a drop of ink into water. You immediately raised up your hand, cupping his face.

“It’s not your fault, baby,” you whispered, “At all. I think this is just the road we have to walk, in order to live everything out. With the gold spreading as it has…we’re on the right path. It may be hard, but it’s right. And how I was kept…that’s on your father, not you. Never you.”

“Thank you,” he responded, “You are…too kind with me, I think. But still, thank you.”

His eyes then fell on the rice, which remained untouched.

“Could you try to eat a little of this? It’s okay if it’s too much for today, but it might make you feel a little stronger,” he said.

You nodded, and placed a few grains in your mouth, but they felt like glue in your throat. But still, you knew you needed the nutrition, so you placed a few more in your mouth and forced a swallow. Hyunjin looked at you with such pride, as if you had conquered the whole of the grasslands in his name.

And then, a tremor wracked your body, down your spine and along all your limbs. Immediately, Hyunjin jumped forward, placing a hand on your temple.

“Just checking for a fever,” he said, letting his hand rest there for a few moments.

And, despite how you were feeling, you started to giggle.

“What is it?” asked Hyunjin, puzzled by your reaction.

“It’s just…this reminds me of…do you remember on the rock? When I tried to take your temperature and you wouldn’t let me? I thought you were repulsed by me…”

The corner of his mouth turned upwards, painting his face in mischief, a chuckle rolling over his lips.

“Repulsed? Repulsed?” he asked, incredulous as he doubled over laughing.

“More like aroused. As soon as you sat on that rock next to me, I got harder than I’ve ever been in my life. I swear to the gods, I was sure that if you touched me, I was just going to explode. I would never have been able to live that down, especially at that point. You would have thought your companion was the world’s biggest pervert.”

“To be fair, I probably would have,” you laughed back, “But only because I had no idea what was going on in your head. I thought it was just…pre-wedding jitters or something. Gods…I wish I had known then.”

“I wish I had told you,” he said, tone still light, but there was just a hint of regret beneath it, “But I guess now I know how to handle the next time the gods drop a life-changing piece of information in my lap? I’m sure that will come in handy.”

You giggled, placing your hand over his on your forehead.

“So will I make it?” you asked.

“I would say yes,” he replied, “But - “

And then again you shook, as if a cold breeze had flowed through you.

“- I think perhaps we should get to bed?” he continued softly, “Have a night not on the floor?”

You nodded, reaching out your arms, and he immediately jumped up, knowing what you wanted. He leaned over, gathering you up along with all of your blankets, and carried you to bed.

~~~

He laid you down so gently, adjusting the blankets around you before crawling into the bed in front of you, pulling the blanket over you both. He then tenderly pulled your head to his chest, wrapping his arms around you as he tucked your head beneath his.

And as you settled into him you felt, from somewhere deep at the bottom of your chest, the aching pressure of a sob, before it crested, shaking your whole body. But it was strange – even as you felt your lungs heave, you didn’t feel sad. Your cheeks remained dry.

Still, Hyunjin pulled you even closer, whispering, “It’s okay, I got you, I’m right here,” as he rubbed his hand up and down your back.

“I don’t know why…” you said, “I think I feel okay? I’m not sure why my body is reacting like this.”

“It’s been a lot,” he whispered into your hair, placing a single kiss on your crown, “I bet you’ll feel better after some rest. I’ll be right here, you can relax, it’s okay…”

He then moved his hands to the ties of his shirt, undoing them before pulling your left hand to his skin. He silently guided it across its expanse, wanting you to feel the love of all of his selves, not just the version of him with you now. And then finally, he pressed it to the upper left corner of his torso, the image of an elderly him cupping your cheek in bed flashing through your mind.

“I love you so much,” he whispered, “I always will.”

Eventually, the sobs grew muffled and you drifted off, calmed by his gentle hands, the images of him, the cycle of his breathing.

But even with you safely asleep, dread, and a question, still lingered in his mind.

~~~

Lia sat on her balcony, frustration clawing at her bones, insistent.

She had told her father a thousand times what she wanted, and it wasn’t that.

But to the king, her wants were written by a vision in his head, not anything that she had said. Her desires were just the last thread in a tapestry he had already woven, in a color of his choosing.

She slumped further into her chair, sighing, as she gazed at the line of pink on the horizon, separating moon and sea.

~~~

* Part IX Now Available Here :) *

~~~

taglist: @hwangful, @currently-xuxi, @maedesculpaeusoubi, @thebelljug

~~~

Photo by Prince David on Unsplash

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tommysparker · 3 years

Text

Never Forget You [Chapter 4]

A/N: hey y’all. just wanna say sorry for the posting schedule change. life is about to get hella hectic with school and the move sooo yeah. every second Saturday I will be posting! it’ll defiantly give me a chance to write more as well so im not rushing out chapters. anyways ive rambled long enough, enjoy :)

Warnings: angst. theres fluff too but its fluffy angst?? im not sorry hehe. long italic paragraphs = flashbacks.

From an outside perspective, one would assume the four of them were deep in thought, perhaps even communicating telepathically via the Force. They would only be half correct, as all of the Jedi were indeed thinking, but none of their trains of thought overlapped.

Anakin and Ahoska were in the pilot seats, glancing at each other every other minute or so. They could feel the tension build thicker with every passing planet. The only sound filling the room was the faint running of the engine that kept the ship moving.

You and Obi-Wan sat across from each other, neither one daring to make eye contact. Apparently, he was quite serious about the “not speaking from now on” agreement. It’s for the best, you kept telling yourself. However, the awkward silence that filled the ship made it harder to believe that.

Out of all the things that could happen to you at the moment, this was by far the worst.

On Gyfil, you had grown quite used to the sound of silence. In fact, over time you began to prefer it as opposed to the buzz of the towns. However, this was a different type of silence, one that had you bouncing your knee in anticipation for Anakin to announce you finally landed.

Master Yoda had called you all for a mission briefing. There was a supposed Separatist group meeting on Ostor, given the intel you received from a client on your previous mission. The four of you were sent to listen in on it.

“Young Skywalker and Padawan Tano, back up you will be. Great risks on Ostor, there are. Careful, you must be.” He turned to Obi-Wan and You. “Master Y/l/n, guide them you must do. In charge of the mission, I am putting you.”

A sense of pride filled your body but you quickly humbled yourself. “Thank you Master.”

Master Yoda smiled and turned to Obi-Wan. “Infiltrate the meeting, you and Master Y/l/n will. Stay together, you must.”

Obi-Wan would have laughed at the irony. Mentally he still is. Stay together, you must. After the last conversation between the two of you, he had doubts about how that plan would go. However, for the sake of the mission he was willing to lift the deal made.

You stood quietly, not being able to handle the loud silence any longer. “I’ll be in my quarters until we land,” you announced, making a point not to look at Obi-Wan and keep all attention to Anakin and Ahsoka.

You left without sparing a glance back.

He waited until you were out of view to let out a long sigh, running a hand over his beard and hunching forward.

Anakin was the first to speak. “That was the worst thing I’ve ever had to endure.” His shoulders shook as he made a disgusted sound. “Glad it’s finally over.”

“Just focus on getting us there in one piece, Anakin,” Obi-Wan snapped, immediately followed by, “apologizes, I didn’t mean to sound so...aggressive.”

“So much for being able to hide stress, huh?”

He smiled but it didn’t reach his eyes. “Some things are harder to deal with than others.”

“Is Master Y/l/n ‘some things’?” Ahoska asked innocently.

Obi-Wan pondered for a minute, deciding the best way to answer. “Master Y/l/n is...many things.”

“Like what?”

Gorgeous. Strong. Kind. Perfect in every way. “They are highly skilled, almost as well as I am, if not better. A fine Jedi and a valuable member to the Order.” He stopped there before he’d say something he’d come to regret. Best to keep professional thoughts.

“I still don’t understand why the Council sent them away like that. Surely there were other Jedi that could have completed the mission,” Anakin commented. He knew his former Master wasn’t satisfied with the answer they were all given but would never admit it. He had to push him to find the truth.

“Whatever reasons Master Yoda and Master Windu had for picking Y/n are between them. You must stop questioning the Council’s intentions, Anakin. It will land you in very big trouble one day.” Obi-Wan says as if he hasn’t second guessed the Order as a whole before. Ignorance is bliss, as they say. The less you question things, the easier life is.

“That’s why I keep you around, old man,” Anakin said in a teasing manner. Hearing Obi-Wan let out a light chuckle made him feel a bit better as they settled into silence once more, this time more comfortable and light-hearted.

A bit more time had passed before Ahsoka spoke up. “Why don’t you ask Master Y/l/n what really happened?”

Obi-Wan sighed. He should have known better than to believe she would drop the topic. Like Master, like Padawan. “It’s none of my business. Frankly, it’s none of ours so I suggest we leave the subject alone.”

His answer, apparently, wasn’t good enough. “I’m gonna go ask them.” Ahsoka stands up to leave but is stopped mid-movement by Obi-Wan’s protests.

“No!” He looked at Ahsoka’s slightly stunned face, and chose to ignore Anakin’s smug look. “Fine, I’ll ask them. But only once, and if they don’t want to indulge me then that is the end of it. Do I make myself clear?”

“Crystal.”

Meanwhile, you sat alone on the bed in your chosen quarters. It made you feel relaxed, in a way. Before leaving, you were extremely extraverted, always going out of your way to make acquaintances with everyone around you. The life forces around you at night kept you alive, it gave a sense of warmth and comfort to lull you to slumber. On Gyfil, there was none of that. You had to rely on your own warmth to comfort yourself to sleep. No lush trees or animals to provide even the smallest bit of connection. It was just You and the Force. Sleeping for the first time in the Jedi Temple after returning felt like a sensory overload. Everything was loud, and rough. You could feel it coursing through your veins at the speed of light. No matter what you did, it was too much.

You didn’t sleep the first few days. Eventually you got used to the noise, but not enough to get a decent amount of rest at night. There was one sound that sometimes made it impossible to sleep, one Force signature that kept trying to break through the walls you put up to protect yourself when you’re most vulnerable. What scared you the most was the fact your own signature subconsciously fought back against the walls you put. You refused to acknowledge it, choosing to fall into a deep meditative slumber and stay alert as opposed to any actual sleep. Whoever it was would not get into your head so easily.

Knock knock. Obi-Wan stepped into the room once his presence was made known, gently shutting the door behind him. “Y/n…”

You looked up and squinted at him. “I thought we agreed to not speak?”

“Yes, well, that proves to be a bit tricky now doesn’t it?” He smiled tightly and crossed his arms over his chest.

You huffed out air in a sorry attempt at a sarcastic laugh, shaking your head a little. “What do you want, Obi-Wan?”

It was neither hostile nor endearing. It was simply his first name. To him you sounded tired, and judging by the way you sat on the cot, leaning back against the cold metal wall with your eyes half opened, he presumed his assumption was correct. He spoke gently, “Anakin estimates we should be coming out of hyperspace and landing soon.”

“I figured.” It wasn’t your intention to be stoic but that's how you’ve been training yourself to speak to the man in front of you. The faster the conversation ends, the faster he leaves.

Obi-Wan, however, was not having it. “How are you feeling? I know it hasn’t been that long since you returned from your previous assignment.”

You shrugged, staring up at the ceiling. “I’m fine.”

“No one who says that is ever truly ‘fine’ Y/n/n,” he says, taking a step closer to the bed. “I know you. What’s on your mind, darling?”

You slowly met his gaze, debating whether to open up or keep yourself closed off. On one hand, the idea of exposing your anxieties to someone didn’t feel right to you, letting someone know about your weaknesses and insecurities. However, you knew in order for the mission to succeed you would have to be willing to work with Obi-Wan and to do that a sense of trust had to be built. Rebuilt, technically.

“If you wish not to speak, I understand.” He hesitated turning his back to you, “excuse me.” He was about to make his leave before you interrupted.

“Obi-Wan, wait,” You sighed, shifting so there was room for him to sit on the bed. “Sit.”

He did as he was told, eyeing you carefully. “Honestly, I don’t mean to pry.”

“It’s fine.” You knew his intentions and as pure as they were you cannot bring yourself to tell him the truth. “I admit that I...am slightly concerned about the mission.”

It wasn’t the answer Obi-Wan was hoping for, but he was willing to hear anything he could get out of you. “You have nothing to be worried about Y/n/n. You’re an extremely capable Jedi and I have no doubt in my mind you will lead us through it.”

You smiled, only slightly but a smile nonetheless. “Thank you.”

“You’re welcome.” He smiled back.

Your eyes locked tight with each other, and everything around you became emptiness. A void surrounded you both and the presence of the other was all that could be felt.

“Staring competitions are pointless.” You rolled your eyes, sitting up straight and attempting to return your meditative state.

“No they aren’t!: Obi-Wan argued from his spot across from you.

“All you do is stare at each other until someone blinks. Waste of time.”

“Nuh uh. Master Qui-Gon told me that--” Obi-Wan stood up, “--‘The eyes are a window to the soul’--” you laughed at the bad attempt he made to mimic his Master;s voice, “--therefore staring competitions can be a very good battle tactic.”

“Jedi don’t do battles, remember? We’re peacekeepers.” You looked up at your friend. “Besides, you just want an excuse to get lost in my eyes.”

Obi-Wan grinned. “You know me so well.”

So much has changed about the man in front of you, you could hardly recognize him. You never allowed yourself the pleasure to examine what you missed out on. One moment he was a young man who looked like he could take on the universe, and now all you could see was one tired man doing his best. Oh, how the mighty have fallen, is what the old You would have teased. But post-living-ten-years-by-yourself You was different. In a way, you understood. Although you didn’t fight any life-threatening battles and put yourself in the line of fire every week, you have worked tirelessly towards the same goal.

Peace.

Like this moment.

For once, it was quiet. You felt yourself relax slowly, focusing on the one noise that soothed your anxious mind. It felt warm and...close. Something you haven’t felt in a long, long time.

Obi-Wan leaned closer, his heart reacting faster than his brain. He felt a warmth he had been longing for over a decade. When he reached out, he no longer felt desolate. He wanted to hold on to the feeling and never let go.

But alas in time of war, small moments of peace only last for so long.

“Hey! We’re here.”

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ncssian · 3 years

Text

A Favor: Part Twelve

Nessian Modern AU

Masterlist

a/n: this took so long bc ive been reading chain of iron and in general agonizing over things i cant control instead of being productive 🥴 that being said, absolutely none of the events in this chapter were planned in my outline, but here we are with something new!

***

December brings more snow and bone chilling weather, to the point where Cassian has to drag Nesta out of bed, either physically or by phone call, to get her to therapy appointments on time.

She’s in the waiting room one freezing morning when, in her utter boredom, she musters up the nerve to turn to the girl sitting next to her. “What are you in here for?”

The girl blinks her large blue eyes, taking notice of Nesta for the first time. Nesta uses the opportunity to take in her freckle-painted face, a little wan but beautiful. Reddish brown hair hangs around her face and shoulders, creating a thick curtain from the rest of the world, and Nesta’s curiosity piques like she’s just found a shiny new toy.

It probably isn’t right to compare people to toys, but then the girl says, “This isn’t prison, you know.” Her voice is deep, almost sultry— completely at odds from her huddled-in posture and sickened expression. “I didn’t commit a crime to have to be here.”

Is she insulted by Nesta’s question, or is she poking a joke? Nesta decides to play it safe by murmuring, “Sorry, never mind.”

She starts to turn away when the girl says, “We’re trying a new type of trauma therapy today. I had to get here half an hour early because I couldn’t swallow my nerves.”

Nesta might lack many social skills, but she isn’t stupid enough to ask what kind of trauma the girl is being treated for. Instead, she nods casually as if she understands the struggle. “I’ve been coming here for weeks now and I’ve barely discussed shit. That’s mostly on me, but you know…” She actually doesn’t know where she’s going with her train of thought. “It sounds brave to do whatever you're doing,” she states finally. “I don’t think I’ll be able to open up that much about myself, ever.”

The girl gives Nesta a weird look that she immediately recognizes. Nesta uses it every time she doesn’t know how to respond to someone who takes her by surprise.

The door to Lana’s office clicks open, and the woman herself pokes her head out with a plain smile. “Ready, Nesta?”

Nesta bites down on her frown. She has a feeling today won’t be as easy as her past sessions.

She’s about to leave without another glance at the girl beside her when that low voice speaks up. “I’m Gwyn.”

Nesta looks back at her as she gets up from her chair, and says the first reply that comes to mind: “Good to know.”

***

Nesta is contemplative hours after she gets back from her therapy session, bundled up in her bed with a coloring book. The repetitive motion of filling in the mandala drawing lets her mind wander, picking up and dropping different thoughts like she’s inspecting stones.

She keeps her wrist light as she colors in with red. She finally said Tomas’s name in therapy today, though the action left a slimy feeling in Nesta’s stomach that lingers even now. She also spoke about her sisters, which somehow ended up leading to a discussion of her uterus.

“How have you been dealing with the endometriosis news?”

Nesta shrugged. “I’m getting treated, and my last period was more bearable than usual—”

“I mean mentally, how are you doing? With how your condition could affect your future?”

Nesta narrowed her eyes. “Affect me how?”

“Have you never considered the impact it could have on your ability to bear children?”

“Not everything in life is about bearing children, you know.”

“We’re humans. It’s definitely something to consider.”

“Not for me. I’ve never wanted kids.” A mistruth at best. “I don’t care what endo does or doesn’t do to me on those grounds.”

In a way, Nesta told herself, the health risks were actually for the best. If she ever did, by some stupid loss of sanity, try to have children, then her body would act as a safety net from her decisions.

Lana only said, “You’ll never know how much you care or don’t care until you talk out your feelings.”

“Then I guess we’ll never know.”

Nesta lets the memory of that conversation drop like a stone on a shore. That’s not something she has to face for a good long while. No, right now she has to face her past.

Her sisters, and her ex, and even her father—

I wonder if I came off too strong with Gwyn today.

Her hand stops drawing, and she switches out her red marker for an orange one. This thought she doesn’t mind inspecting for a little longer: she and Gwyn ended up leaving their sessions at the same time, which meant they were forced into stilted conversation on the way down to the parking lot.

Not forced, Nesta self-corrects. She willingly initiated a conversation, and it didn’t go terribly. She wonders if making friends in therapy waiting rooms is a real thing.

Her phone vibrates beside her, breaking her hours-long mental bubble. Blinking dazedly, she answers the phone call.

“How are you?” is the first thing Cassian says to her. He makes sure to ask her that at least twice a day, like a gauging of her temperature. It makes Nesta wonder what she’s ever done in her life to call for such… attention to her well-being.

“I’m good,” she answers honestly. “My head’s a little loud right now, but I don’t mind it.”

“Wanna talk about it?”

“No, I’d rather hear you talk.” She slumps back against her pillows, coloring book forgotten. “What’s up?”

“Ah...” Cassian sounds hesitant for the first time since their relationship started. “It’s just that I haven’t gotten my Christmas decorations up yet, and I was going to ask if you wanted to help.”

Nesta takes a moment to absorb his words. “It’s December fifth,” she says.

“Yeah?”

“You just seem like somebody who does their decorations the day after Thanksgiving.”

“Well, this year is a little different, with you moving out and being busy with school…” He pauses. “I was waiting to do it with you.”

When she doesn’t reply, Cassian adds, “I don’t even know if you care about Christmas. I know you and your family sort of ignored holidays. It’s fine if you don’t want to—”

“I’ll be over right now,” Nesta blurts.

Half an hour later, Cassian swings open his door with a smug grin on his face; a vast difference from the stammering hesitance he displayed over the phone earlier. Nesta’s own lips want to pull up into a smile just at the sight of him, but she holds back and narrows her eyes instead. “What’s got you so worked up?” she questions as she steps into the warmth of the cabin and out of the freezing cold.

“The way you ran over here as soon as I asked.” He looks her up and down, still amused. “You didn’t even bother to change, did you?”

It’s true: she’s in the same sweatpants and long sleeved tee she wore around home, and her socked feet are shoved into slippers.

“Get that smirk off your face.” Nesta flicks his nose before tossing her coat off. “If this is a competition about who’s got a bigger puppy-crush for whom, you already won when you delayed putting up your Christmas decorations for me.”

“Fair enough,” he grins. The words send an unexpected pang through Nesta, because it’s partly true, isn’t it? He cares more openly for her than she does for him.

She looks away in guilt, not knowing how to fix the imbalance. Her eyes land on the living room coffee table, where their half-finished jigsaw puzzle sits. It’s been stored under the couch for the past few weeks, forgotten by Nesta and Cassian alike as they moved on with their lives, but now it’s sitting out again.

“Have you been working on the puzzle without me?” She raises an inquisitive brow, about to feel— hurt.

“Never,” Cassian promises, saving her from that irrational hurt. “I just brought it out because I figured we should get to finishing it one day.”

She pads over to the table, picking up a puzzle piece and turning it over in her hand. “I don’t know if you remember, but we had a terrible time working on this,” she scoffs lightly.

“Oh, I remember,” he says, coming up behind her and stealing the piece from her grasp. “I think it’s safe to say those evenings were the worst fights we’ll ever have together.”

Nesta leans back against Cassian’s chest and hums. “It made us a stronger couple, don’t you think?” She turns her head up and back to meet Cassian’s eyes, finding that he’s already looking down at her.

Hypnotized, she leans into his warmth. She only manages to land the smallest kiss against his lips when his hand squeezes her ass cheek. “You’re here for a job, remember?” He taps her butt before pulling away, gesturing to the Christmas tree in the corner of the living area with his chin. It stands bare. “You do tinsel, I’ll do lights.”

Tinsel is harder to work with than Nesta remembers. She only manages to get half the tree done before plopping onto the Persian rug, exhausted and covered in silvery material. She doesn’t mind laying there while Cassian continues working; it’s her revenge for when he napped on her bed while she moved in.

“You know the stair railings still need to be wreathed, Archeron.”

Nesta declines to respond, tilting her head on the carpet for a better view of her boyfriend’s ass instead. “All this decorating,” she starts. “Is it just for you?”

Cassian turns to her, surprised. “Well…”

She pushes up onto her elbows, catching her mistake. “Are we doing Christmas together? Or are your friends coming over?” She hasn’t bothered to celebrate Christmas in years now, and she doesn’t care much what Cassian’s plans are either way.

“I was hoping for both?” He sounds hesitant. “Christmas Eve is all the way over in Velaris, but I was thinking we could go together, open some presents, and come back and spend Christmas here.”

Nesta purses her lips. She doesn’t actually hate that plan. Both Feyre and Elain have been pestering her with the annual texts asking her to visit for Christmas, and for once, she feels like responding to them. The invitation is more of a formality than an actual request at this point; she doubts her sisters want her there after years of rejections, but… what’s the harm?

“Is that a yes?” Cassian asks at her unreadable face.

“Yes,” she states unflinchingly. She refuses to overthink the possible consequences of this choice and chooses to focus on the broad grin overtaking Cassian’s face. “Really?” he says.

“But there has to be rules.” Nesta sits up fully now. “No one can know we’re together, no matter how much you trust or love them.”

“We already agreed to that, baby.”

Yes, but Nesta knows the secret weighs on him heavier than he shows— even if he agrees with her that it's for the best. “It’ll be different when we’re together in the same room as everyone else,” she says. Cassian wears his beating heart on his sleeve, and she doesn’t think he’s ever had to hide it before.

“You’ll also be different,” she adds. “It’s a huge change of pace.”

Cassian drops the remaining strand of lights and smiles confusedly down at her. “What do you mean, I’ll be different?” He sits across from her, before the blazing fire.

“You know how you get around your friends.” Nesta shrugs without a thought. “Like your personality readjusts to mirror the people around you. I used to find it a mix of sad and adorable, like a neglected puppy desperate for love, but now I— okay, I still feel the same way.” She waves a hand in a dismissive gesture.

By the look on Cassian’s face, he does not find her words so easily dismissed.

Coldness curdles in the pit of Nesta’s stomach, the realization that she’s said something wrong. She can’t fix it until she knows where she fucked up, though.

“Is that what you think of me?” Cassian finally says lowly. His usually expressive mouth is drawn tight and narrow.

“Um… What would you rather I think of you?”

His eyes widen in disbelief. “Seriously, Nesta?”

Nesta’s back stiffens, refusing to cower. “I only described what I’ve observed in the past.”

“And what you observed was a desperate puppy?” His voice is cold in a way she’s never heard before.

Okay, she’s starting to see how that might be offensive. She forges onward, “Tell me what you think about yourself in the presence of your family, then.” It’s a private victory that she says family instead of clown circus. But she’s not trying to turn this into a fight.

Cassian is silent, but his stare continues to rage at her.

“Tell me,” Nesta repeats.

His hands curl into fists on the rug. “I think I’m empathetic, easy to talk to, and easier to be around. Is it a problem if I’m likable?” Unlike you are the unsaid words.

Nesta inspects the space between them like it’s a chessboard. “And what part of yourself are you giving up to be so likable, Cassian?” she says quietly.

“Nothing.”

Nesta disagrees, if only because she’s been watching him out of the corner of her eye for years. “I think you base your personality off of those you love, and you lose a little bit of your true self every time you put others’ needs before your own.”

She shuts her mouth, not having expected such honesty to come out of it. Cassian is taken aback, too, she can tell.

“And I guess it’s natural that you’d see all of that as a bad thing, considering your history of being closed off and self-serving to a fault,” he fires back with the flatness Nesta utilizes so often.

One for one. Fair enough. “We’re both right then,” Nesta says. “You work for your best friend because you have no ambition beyond serving your family, and I have no such family because I can’t bring myself to care about those things. Are we even now?”

Cassian furrows his brows, those defensive walls melting away as he realizes she’s completely serious. “What? No, Nes—” He shakes his head. “Okay, so maybe you’re right about me. Maybe I agree with you a little bit, but… If we see flaws in each other, then we should be working to overcome them instead of weaponizing them.”

Now Nesta’s the one shaking her head, quickly lifting a hand to stop him. “Relax there, sweetheart. I have no expectations from you or myself to go on some self-improvement journey now that we’re together. Talking about my feelings with a professional every week is hard enough.” Yes, agreeing to go to Feyre’s Christmas party is improvement. Slow, barely there improvement, but enough to wear her out for the rest of the month. For Nesta to fully let people into her life, to treat them as lovingly as she treats Cassian— that’s a long way away. She can’t envision it, doesn’t even know if she wants it.

Cassian must understand some of what she’s thinking, because he nods and backs off. He gets back up and returns to stringing lights, tossing a handful of tinsel at Nesta as if to say Get back to work.

She stands and obeys, thinking their not-argument is officially over when Cassian says, “You’re wrong about one thing.”

She looks up from where she threads tinsel through fir leaves. He doesn’t take his eyes off his work as he says, “You do have a family. And deep, deep down, you care about them as much as I care about mine.”

***

Nesta catches Emerie’s eye as the dark-haired beauty walks into the pub. Raising a hand and waving, she gestures Emerie over to the booth she’s sitting in.

“Look what I found,” Nesta says with a hint of pride, pointing to the redhead sitting beside her. “A third girl for girl’s night!”

“I was kidnapped,” Gwyn speaks up. “Jumped on the way to my car.” She’s out of her usual hoodie and in a tight-fitting blouse, looking stunning even while seeming out of place in the dim bar.

“She came here consensually,” Nesta retorts. “Emerie, this is Gwyn. We met at therapy.”

Gwyn offers Emerie an awkward smile.

Emerie slides into the booth across from them with raised brows. She looks between Nesta and the new girl and back again. “You invited her here? All by yourself?” she asks.

Nesta nods firmly.

Emerie breaks into a wide grin and reaches over the table to grab Nesta’s hand. “I’m so proud of you!” If Emerie were anyone else, she’d be squealing in excitement, but Emerie does not squeal.

Nesta waves off her friend’s praise, though a part of her wants to beam at it, too.

Gwyn glances between the two of them with slight amusement. “I mean, it’s not that impressive,” she says. “She came on a bit too strong, probably a five out of ten on the asking-someone-out scale.”

“‘A bit too strong’ is all you’re gonna get with Nesta,” Emerie says, lifting her hand to order drinks. “She’s all-or-nothing, and most people would pray she doesn’t give them her nothing.”

Nesta doesn’t know if that’s a compliment, but she supposes there are worse things that could be said about her.

“So, Gwyn, what do you do?” Emerie leans forward. “All our friends are law students and it’s starting to get boring.”

Gwyn goes off about her librarian job as Nesta orders their drinks, and Emerie rests her chin in her hand and listens eagerly. Christmas music plays softly in the background and snow flurries gently outside. Nesta thinks she can’t be doing that bad in life, if she’s managed to carve out this little slice of happiness for herself.

***

a/n: i promise shit actually happens next chapter! we're getting christmas with nessian and the ic in the same room for the first time

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#nessian #nesta archeron #cassian #ncssianwrites #a favor #nessian fic

191 notes · View notes

sondepoch · 4 years

Text

Do You Regret It? (Lucifer x Reader)

Lucifer’s pact mark is a reflection of his pride: subtle, yet demanding all the attention. Small, yet impossible to miss. Delicate, yet overpowering everything else. One day, he catches you staring at it. And he asks you a question.

~Oneshot

MASTERLIST

"Do you regret it?"

You spin around to the source of the voice, flashing the intruder a disapproving stare once your eyes settle over the familiar figure.

"You need to start knocking," You mutter, crossing your arms. It's not the first time you've made the request; Lucifer has heard it from your lips a thousand times before. But never have you meant it so wholeheartedly. After all, it's at times like these when you need Lucifer to knock the most, times when you're vulnerable and concerned and completely lost to the world around you.

Lucifer simply laughs, a low chuckle rumbling from his chest as he walks forward.

He's quick to trap you in an embrace, one that's slightly reluctant on your end. And yet, you can't help but relax when he gently presses your back to his chest, turning you around so that you're facing the mirror once more. His fingers trail from your cheek to your jaw, angling your chin upward just the slightest so that he has better access to your face, and though you can tell he's staring straight at your face through the mirror, you know it's not your eyes he's looking at.

"Do you regret it?" He repeats, and this time, his voice is even softer. His gaze shifts just the slightest, and now you know he really is looking you straight in the eye.

You stare at him for a second, trying to figure out what's going through his mind. What does he want you to say? That you like having your face branded with his mark, that you enjoy the stares it's already earned you from the other demons?

Your gaze drops, and you stare at your reflection. Trying your hardest to ignore the delicate diamond positioned on your forehead.

Silence.

And then the sound of your reluctant sigh.

"I don't know," You finally confess, sheepishly raising your gaze to Lucifer. "It's just…"

"Strange?" He asks, chuckling.

You nod. "It's like I can feel it on me. Even when I'm not looking at it. And the moment I forget, others stare at it, and I remember all over again…"

Lucifer sighs softly, pulling you away from the mirror and onto your bed. The structure itself is quite giant, but Lucifer insists on keeping you close as he effortlessly lifts your body onto it, settling you down on his lap.

It's the first time he's held you close in any place other than his own study or bedroom, but you don't mention it as he presses your back against his chest, gently stroking your hair. It's oddly intimate, you think. More intimate and more loving than anything you've ever done with the Avatar of Pride.

"Do you know why demonic pacts manifest in the form of markings on the human body?" He asks abruptly.

"To show that we belong to you?" It's your best guess. "So that we don't forget?"

"Close," Lucifer murmurs. "But not quite. Just as you give us a piece of your freedom when you bind yourself to us, the exchange is completed only once we've bound part of our essence to you."

Lucifer's hand trails from your hair to your stomach, his palm flattening against the surface of your abdomen. He's seen you naked enough times to know exactly how large the pact mark there is, and a shudder runs down your spine the second his fingers make contact with the skin there, a rush of magic swelling through your body.

"Beel," He whispers into your ear. "He passed a piece of his gluttony to you when the pact formed. Your hunger is no longer yours, but mixed with his own."

"Levi." He taps at the spot above your heart. "You see the world through his lens, now. You may not realize it, but his envy has seeped into your life, and you will never be free from it."

"Mammon," Lucifer murmurs, his hand sliding to behind your back. "His greed is easy to forget, but it always lurks in the depths of your heart. At the back, where you may never notice it, but always present and eternally fueling your desire for more."

"Asmo." Lucifer slips a hand under your shirt and taps your side, running his fingers along the pact mark that wraps around the thinnest part of your waist. He doesn't need to explain this one, doesn't need to explain how the fifth-born has bound you with a belt that forever holds you close to his lust. "Belphie," He gestures, glancing toward the pact mark that snakes up your left leg, just as sloth itself has you caught in a silent pull that always compels you to its side for just five more minutes of whatever indolence you allow yourself to indulge in. "Satan," He finishes, tapping the back of your neck, just underneath your brain, where your blood pounds loudest on the rare occasion when you give in to the temptation wrath.

"You have each of us inside you, and you can never free yourself of our sins."

Lucifer offers you a soft smile, withdrawing his hands from your body in favor of cupping your cheek.

"And now…" He murmurs, gazing up.

You watch as his gaze traces the pact mark on your forehead, studying it intently as if he could stare at it for centuries.

Pride, you see in his gaze. There's no denying it—no denying the proud look in his eyes as he stares upon your face, now marked with the very same symbol of his own, true form.

Lucifer licks his lips.

His pact mark is by far the smallest when compared to the rest of his brothers, and yet it stands out the most. Much like the Morningstar itself, his pride binds you quietly, impossibly small but louder than all else. He doesn't need a giant pact mark like Beel, or one that wraps around your entire waist like Asmo, to assert his charge over you.

All it takes is a small diamond.

Something runs down your body as you watch him continue to study you, and for the first time, you register it as pride that possesses you, pulsating quietly but distinctly from the small etching on your forehead.

"You're perfect," Lucifer whispers, and now he's not staring at the mark but is staring at your eyes, and you know that you've never looked as enticing to him before as you must look now, your own face a testimony to the fact that you belong to each other. "All of you."

And with this sudden confidence possessing you, there's no hesitation as you close the gap between your lips in a single, fluid movement, locking your lips against Lucifer's with such certainty that there's no room for doubt before the two of you are moving against each other, shifting and gasping and moaning.

You close your eyes and lose yourself in the sensation as Lucifer takes control, pushing you down on the bed.

How many times have you been through this before? A quiet cry spills from your lips when the demon nips at your neck, and your arms fly around his chest to pull him even closer.

You open your eyes when you feel a shift above you, a sudden wave of power washing through your bodies, and you blink when the sight before you registers.

Horns.

You gasp lightly.

And wings.

Your eyes trail to Lucifer's face, trained on the black mark that looks oh-so-natural against the demon's porcelain skin as he hovers above you in his true form.

"This is what it means to be mine," He says, his words ringing richly through your ears. Your mouth hangs open just the slightest, staring in awe as Lucifer's hard gaze washes over you. His eyes have never looked as serious as they look now, staring at you so intently that you can't even break his gaze to look up at the beautiful mark that now seems to complete his face. "Do you regret taking my pride, taking my burden?"

My pride.

You stare deep into Lucifer's eyes, past the brilliant crimson, and into the abyss of emotion that lies underneath.

My burden.

Your eyes raise to the mark on his forehead, a mark so distinctive that it brands him even now—an emblem that tells Lucifer's entire tale, from his grace to his fall, in a single marking.

And you understand.

Lucifer's pact is one that you cannot bear unless you have the pride to go with it. It is a natural fuel for the confidence that already exists within your heart, not just a piece of Lucifer's pride but a design meant to propel your own to match his, binding you two together by something more intimate than even the closeness you already share.

"Do you regret it?!"

Lucifer's grip on your wrists tighten, and you see the beginnings of anger begin to swirl in those beautiful eyes of his as you keep him waiting. His tone, meant to come across as demanding and formidable, sounds nothing but painfully genuine as his question falls upon your ears, and you feel blissfully calm as you gaze up at him.

"No," You whisper, silently removing your wrists from Lucifer's hold. You raise your hands to cup his cheeks, not missing the way his eyes widen as you do so.

Before, you would never have dared to try something so bold with the firstborn demon, always leaving it up to him to take control of the situation and tell you with his actions what would and wouldn't be permitted. But now, the pride Lucifer has kindled in your heart burns a brilliant blaze, one that acts as a fiery shield that protects you from anything or anyone that might try to hurt you.

You move one of your hands from Lucifer's cheek to the back of his head, threading your fingers through the raven locks and gently pushing his head down until your foreheads are touching.

You close your eyes.

The sensation of power and pride washes over you, the diamond on your forehead seeming to pulsate in response to the one on Lucifer's own. You feel nothing but peace as you bask in the sensation.

"I don't."

MASTERLIST

Word count: 1.7k

Notes: i keep telling myself that im not a lucifer stan, but ive written over 60k words of JUST him so maybe im lying to myself idk anymore man

Comment & Like

Thank you for reading <3

I do not own the rights to Obey Me! or any of the characters within it.

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phantomrose96 · 4 years

Text

Twisting Fate

(A what-if idea I had. adjusted the canon timeline a little)

...

From Recovery Girl’s perspective, Sir Nighteye was a horizon.

Lying stiff in his hospital bed, with the setting sun creeping lower at his right, Nighteye’s whole body became ridges of shadows. His face was gaunter, paler at the precipice of death. Caverns hid his eyes, and every sharp angle of his frame threw swaths of shadow, magnified larger, over the left wall of his room. Machines like snakes clawed into his midsection, all cold metallic tubes replacing the functions of organs that had been shredded through. Recovery Girl sat on a stool to his left, shaded in this darkness, smelling on the heat of the radiator the familiar smell of death.

“I have… a theory…” Nighteye’s words were hardly even whispers. They were stow-away nuances on the raspy rattle of his breath. “…and it will bother me if I die without ever having resolved it.”

“What’s your theory?” Recovery Girl asked. She was too used to this, being the receptacle for the last thoughts, wonders, worries, and dreams of dying heroes.

“Izuku Midoriya… He may--…it is possible—he may have a quirk.”

“A quirk, as in one beside One For All, I assume.”

“Not One For All. Beyond that. His own quirk. I have a theory…”

“Izuku Midoriya was diagnosed quirkless. Does this affect your theory?”

Silence rattled around them. Nighteye’s chest rose and fell faintly. “As in… the vestigial joint in the smallest toe, and no observable quirk of his own?”

“Yes, he matches those criteria,” Recovery Girl confirmed.

Sir Nighteye said nothing in immediate response. He laid in silence to catch his breath, and let the room fall back under the sedation of his blipping heart monitor.

“The correlation… of the additional toe joint to quirklessness is about 99%. It is possible for Midoriya to still have a quirk.”

“That is true.” The lamp in the corner clicked on, softly yellow, blanketing the room as the creeping darkness of nighttime set in. “We don’t know how many cases of quirklessness are false positives. What is it that makes you think Midoriya has a quirk?”

Nighteye let out a rattling breath. “By my own nature, and the nature of my quirk… I take pride in having evidence for my claims. I’d like to investigate this before I tell you. …The doctors estimate they can keep me alive like this for three days, at most. Do you think that’s accurate?”

“Three and a half, now that I’ve healed you some,” Recovery Girl answered.

“That’s enough. There’s someone I’d like you to fetch for me.”

“All Might.”

“No,” Nighteye answered with the faintest shake of his head. “Shota Aizawa. He should be in this same hospital. Please bring him to me.”

…

Aizawa and Nighteye spoke only briefly, with an agreement to help, and a message to pass along. Two messages, more precisely.

Aizawa got himself released from the hospital by 6am the next morning, having not slept, and having pulled some strings with the night nurses who knew him well to expedite the process. By 7am, he was back at the U.A. dorms, the very atmosphere asleep this early on a Saturday morning.

Only two students were awake: Momo Yaoyorozu, reading comfortably on the common area couch with a blanket swaddled around her, and Tenya Iida, preparing enough toast in the kitchen to cover breakfast for the entire class.

It was Iida who Aizawa flagged, and pulled aside, and passed the message along to: There was a dying pro hero whom Iida had never met asking for his presence. Aizawa had no further details on what the man wanted, or why, and he knew Nighteye well enough to assume that neither he nor Iida would ever be informed.

The lack of information agitated Iida. His arms jittered, and he pressed for information on why, and what had happened, and what his presence would mean to Nighteye. Aizawa could only shrug and ask if the withholding of that information affected Iida’s answer. Iida paused to consider this only briefly. And then he agreed, of course, because any self-respecting hero-in-training would do everything in his power to satisfy the dying wish of a citizen.

…

When Sunday set in, Aizawa did not go prowling through the dorm areas until the early afternoon, because the other message he had to pass along was for Katsuki Bakugou, and Bakugou’s whole morning was booked solid with provisional license training.

When Aizawa found Bakugou, the boy was freshly showered and sporting a litany of new scrapes and bandages, thumbs jamming aggressively into one of the dorm’s three console controllers for the shared GameStation. From the neighboring couch, Kirishima yelled at Bakugou to not mess us the toggles, to which Bakugou fired off several choice, colorful words back.

Aizawa didn’t bother scolding him. He only pulled Bakugou aside, and gave him the same message as Iida: Pro Hero Nighteye wanted to see him.

Bakugou sneered at this. He knew the name as Deku’s work-study boss, and knew it more potently now that the recent news story broke, and Nighteye’s name made it to the local stations as a hero in critical condition after a daring rescue.

Bakugou asserted this had nothing to do with him. That none of this was his problem. That he owed nothing to a man he’d never met and shouldn’t be expected to bow to his whim. Aizawa said nothing in response. He let the silence linger, and let Bakugou fester in the echo of his own words. Bakugou cracked the silence with a growl of frustration, and a crackle of his palms, and a spat declaration of “fine”.

Aizawa thanked him for his cooperation, and asked if now would be a bad time to follow him to Nighteye’s hospital.

…

By the third day of his hospice stay, Nighteye had become more machine than man. He fostered little presence. His only motion came from the respirator breathing for him. His harsh angles and stark shadows had decayed, softened, sank with him into his very-little-at-all-ness into the bed.

Recovery Girl sat beside him once more. In theory she had come to change bandages and administer healing, but at the sight of the man, she knew even that much was not worthwhile. It was only Nighteye’s comfort that mattered now. She set up an IV drip to ease his breathing and pain, but it would not heal him. At best, it would offer him just a wisp of his voice back.

“Have you resolved your theory about Izuku Midoriya’s quirk?” she asked simply. It was another skill she’d fostered in her professional life – to ask the leading questions of dying people, who in death seemed so strangely prone to avoiding any direct answers.

To her surprise, Nighteye smiled.

“Yes, I think so.”

“Would you like to tell me?”

“Yes. You are the only person right now I trust with this information. I need to pass it along, and I have no one else in mind.”

“And once you’ve told me, should I tell Midoriya too?”

“I don’t know. I trust you to figure that out, if it’s right or not.”

“What’s Midoriya’s quirk?”

Nighteye said nothing at first. He stared at the ceiling, as it seemed he possessed little of the necessary strength to look elsewhere.

“During the fight against Overhaul… I saw Midoriya die. I saw it with my Foresight,” he said, not answering the direct question, which did little to surprise Recovery Girl. “My Foresight has never been wrong. Sometimes, purely in denial, I’ve convinced myself it could, theoretically, be wrong, if only to not feel so hopeless about the futures I’ve seen. But 35 years without a single incorrect prediction is… a devastatingly consistent precedent to contend with.”

“I know this about you. Midoriya was the first to change that future?”

“It was… Chisaki’s future… that I was looking at. I saw him kill Midoriya. I saw him escape. So it was Chisaki’s future that changed. And I suspected, the more I thought about it, that Midoriya may have done it.”

“What do you think his quirk is?”

“I… have more context… I want to explain myself. I asked Shota Aizawa to bring me two U.A. students.”

“Iida and Bakugou. Shota told me.”

“Iida, because, if my hunch was correct, he would be affected too. And he was. My hunch was correct.”

“What was your hunch?”

“When I used my Foresight on him, I saw something I’ve never seen before… All futures I’ve seen are linear. A movie to play out. Singular, immutable, and certain. What I saw in Iida was more like… tree branches twisting around a trunk. One which was strong, and bold, and most clear ahead of him. Like what I usually see. It was a bright and happy future. A future he’s earned. One to be proud of.”

“I’m glad. Tenya Iida is a kind boy.”

“But the small futures… I’ve never seen them before. All gnarled and withered, twisting in and out…. Most of those were empty. I see this when someone is soon to die, but… these looked as though Iida had already died. Several times over. Other small twisted ones… he was still alive, but not a hero, not a U.A. graduate, too heavily incapacitated. No use of his arms. Limited use of his legs.”

“And what does this tell you?”

Nighteye offered just wheezes, catching his breath.

“With… with Bakugou. It was similar but... Bakugou had many more gnarled branches than Iida. Some empty… Others where, it seemed he had never even gotten into U.A. Others as the League of Villains’ hostage. Others in jail. They were not uniform. Some were faint, so I could hardly detect them. Some were so far removed from our reality, as if they’d forked over a decade ago. …Do not worry, his main future is bright.”

“I know All Might has a lot of hope for that boy.” Recovery Girl pushed off her stool. She went and cracked the hospital window open, so that the fresh air may do something for the sweat coalescing on Nighteye’s brow.

“Izuku Midoriya… I know many things about him. Gathering intel is a specialty of mine. And I know he has been lucky in unfathomable ways. Bakugou, that boy, he saved from the League of Villains. Iida, he saved from Stain, just barely, as I understand it. Midoriya’s own acceptance into U.A. was improbable at best. His rescue of a boy named Kota should have been his end, but it wasn’t. He was involved in a fight against the serial killer Moon Fish. He was Shigaraki’s hostage briefly. He played the main role in orchestrating Bakugou’s rescue from the League of Villains. And now, under me, he defeated Chisaki, in a fight which should, with certainty, have cost him his life.”

“There’s no need to remind me of all these. I was the one who healed that boy every time. I know he’s reckless.”

“This is beyond reckless. This is the resume of a boy who should have died many times over. …And I think, maybe, he has.”

To this, Recovery Girl gave no immediate response. Only a deep inhale, nasally, a held breath, an exhale.

“Midoriya may have died already. My Foresight wasn’t wrong, but it was posthumously corrected. It is in the strange nature of Izuku Midoriya that when the people around him should die… they don’t. Midoriya always saves them. And if my Foresight is to be believed, he does not always succeed on the first try. Those gnarled branches into Iida and Bakugou’s futures were fates in which Midoriya had not intervened. Or had failed to intervene successfully. They were fates he was able to twist off the main path, and correct under his own power of will. And that would be a quirk nigh undetectable. How would you document or observe it? The ability to undo the outcomes that ended in disaster. It’s powerful. Unfathomably powerful, if I’m correct about this. Stronger than One for All could ever be. I wonder, if I were to look at Midoriya’s future, how many twisted fates might I see?”

Recovery Girl let her eyes shift to the window, contemplating the skyline, contemplating all the near-lethal encounters Izuku Midoriya had fought through. She tried to process this possibility, and found herself failing to take it in all at once. “Do you intend to look?”

“No,” Nighteye said, and it was with finality. “I won’t make it to tomorrow. And there’s someone else whose future I need to see today.”

“If it’s All Might, I would be able to--.”

“No. It’s not All Might’s.”

To this, Recovery Girl startled. Her eyes shifted to Night Eye, who wore the smallest of smiles, his eyes squinted shut.

“After what you saw six years ago… you don’t want to see if that fate has changed?”

“All Might and I have parted ways. I am choosing to entrust his safety to Izuku Midoriya now. I am choosing to trust that that boy has saved him from that future that’s weighed me down for all these years. I am choosing… to pass the torch onto him. All Might has chosen Izuku Midoriya, and I am at peace with it… No, more than that, I accept that. I am content with that. I am happy with that.”

Recovery Girl nodded, but trepidation stiffened her movements. “…Then who is the last person you want to see?”

…

With the light fading around him, Nighteye wondered if this was the first time he’s seen Mirio cry.

The boy was endlessly bright, endlessly shining, a beacon and a pillar and someone who Nighteye was proud to call his pupil. He felt only the slightest knocking pangs of guilt in his chest for the fact that he’d only connected with Mirio as a vessel for One For All. But Mirio had proven himself well above and beyond all Nighteye’s paltry expectations. He didn’t need One For All to be strong.

The true guilt Nighteye felt was in the knowledge that it was his own fault that Mirio was crying now.

Thick opalescent tears swam in his eyes and cracked his voice. Red blotched along his cheeks and sweat clung to his brow. It was a sad sight to see, the raw and wet keens of Mirio’s voice. It was sad. Nighteye wanted nothing more than to see Mirio smile once more.

So he set a gentle palm to Mirio’s cheek, and he apologized, and he blinked his final activation of his quirk into existence.

Mirio’s future was a grand tree. Like Iida’s, like Bakugou’s, it was threaded with splintered branches. Some empty and shriveled and dead. Some dismal and bleak, twirling up like vines. Nighteye didn’t pay mind to those. He focused only on the trunk. That bright and shining pillar surging forward.

It was a future where Mirio was smiling.

A hero. In costume. Beloved and strong and willing. With a smile that alone could save a million people.

Nighteye trusted Midoriya to cultivate that fate for Mirio.

And that was enough.

So Nighteye told Mirio as much. He deserved to know this as Nighteye did. A fine hero. Finer than anyone else. He’d smile again, Nighteye was sure of it.

The light crept to dark edges around Nighteye’s vision, petering out, swimming to a coldness and a darkness and a nothingness. But it was one he could take comfort in. He focused only on the image of Mirio’s smile as the heart rate monitors ticked to nothing, and the breath vanished from his lungs, and the future set before him ran through its final swath of film.

#boku no hero academia #my hero academia #nighteye #sir nighteye #bnha #mha #bnha fanfiction

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octalove · 4 years

Text

IV: The Dinner

(Batgirl/Red Hood)

Brief note; per demand, this little trilogy will now be an ongoing series🥺thank u all for the support! i was not expecting it at all. ur comments make my day!! i hope u enjoy this chapter bearing in mind that i wasn’t intending on a full length fic, so i hope u can put up with any missteps in the plot or writing. i’m making it up as i go. kiss kiss

Description: Reader makes an ally, and attends a tense dinner. part one, two, and three.

A mild blue dawn was just beginning to flit through the blinds, and I sighed heavily, stretching a little, and running a hand across my face. My skin was cold to the touch. Rolling over stiffly, I glanced at the clock on my nightstand.

5:26a.m.

Nineteen minutes before my alarm. I was too cold to go back to sleep, I knew, as much as Alfred had requested I try and get more of it. Pulling myself up, the sheets slipped off my bare shoulders and folded onto themselves. Once in a blue moon, I would forego making it up again, usually accompanied by an excuse. Today, I didn’t have one. I put my feet on the floor, mind buzzing.

I was done tossing and turning, and decided to get up and shower. Afterward, I threw on my uniform, and got to work on my face. A little bronzy eyeshadow, some mascara and lip balm. I could’ve turned my face into a work of art, but I was tired from my sleepless night and doing much else seemed like a strain.

There was a knock on the door.

“Come in.” I was expecting Bruce or Alfred, but I caught Tim’s reflection in my vanity mirror.

“Hey.” He said.

“Good morning.” I replied tensely. He sat on my bed. Okay. Weird. Tim was a year younger than me- but always ordained himself something of an older brother. His brainpower made learned helplessness and easy state to slip into when he was around- always fixing my PS4, or recovering lost files from my laptop. When we first met, I used to use those things as a crutch to interact with him, as neither of us were particularly forthcoming. These days, we were as close as any pair of siblings.

“What’s up?” I asked, tucking away my mascara wand.

“Oh, I just thought I’d… check up on you. Before school started.”

I was the only one of the Waynes attending Gotham Academy at the moment. Damian was still at Gotham Prep, but by the time he would attend next year, I’d be graduated. I wondered if Tim ever missed it. He garnered his fair share of attention; mostly because of his attractive status and predisposition of agreeability. Before he dropped out, I used the be the subject of mediation for every eligible teenage girl that wanted to get to know my brother- no, the other one. With the soft hair. The chem tutor.

I laughed a little. “Do I seem like I need it?” Tim shrugged. I got up and plopped on the duvet beside him. My window was open a crack, filling the room with a chilly breeze and the scent of moisture and petrichor.

“Did Bruce make you get up for this?” I tried again, keeping my playful tone. He sighed and shook his head.

“Bruce isn’t the only one who’s noticed you lately.” He said, with contrasting seriousness that made my smile fall.

“What’s there to notice? Seriously.” I questioned.

He sighed again and twisted his lip. I knew what that meant. He was about to list everything different I’d been doing for the past three weeks, either alphabetically or by severity. “You look tired. You get home and go straight to your room. You keep fidgeting during briefings. You look distracted. You’re avoiding Damian- which, I get it- but like, more than usual. Dick said you haven’t texted him all week. You usually have something to say about your day at dinner, but-“

“Okay. I get it.”

A brief moment passed, where I watched him pull a looser string from the duvet.

“I know you went somewhere. On the 21st, when we were patrolling in Otisburg. You went somewhere for forty-two minutes.”

I blinked. “Oh.”

“I’m not accusing you of anything-“ He added quickly, looking at me. “Really, I have know idea why you left. I’m sure it was nothing, I just… you’ve been acting weird ever since. Where did you go?”

I swallowed, and my intestines felt like lead. Really, I was relieved. Here I was, in my room I’d decorated with Wayne money, with my brother who evidently cared enough about me to notice my typical word count at dinner, asking me what was wrong. And a lot was wrong.

So, I smoothed my plaid skirt and told him about the night of the 21st- and only that. From Red Hood, to Hoffman, to the warehouse. Every vivid detail I could remember. I decided to leave out my little truancy adventure, along with meeting him in the alley. Lifting up his mask. Having his exposed skin close enough to touch. His gunpowder smell. By the end, Tim was frowning. The following silence could’ve crushed a coke can.

“Shit.” He muttered.

“Yeah.” I echoed. “Shit.”

He didn’t asked why I didn’t tell Bruce. Or Anyone. He didn’t ask why it was so important to me to do this by myself. All he did was take in the information and start putting it together.

“Jesus- you could’ve died. But all that Hoffman stuff. Why you?”

“Exactly!” I breathed.

Another knock on the door, and Alfred’s voice carried through, telling me it was time to go. I got up. Tim nodded and followed suit, no doubt carrying my every last recounting in his piggy-bank memory.

“Please don’t tell Bruce.” I said, some amount of fear slipping into my voice. “I know it was a stupid thing to do and it was stupid not to tell anyone. But he’ll never trust me again.” Tim hesitated at the door.

“There’s nothing to tell.”

I climbed into the backseat of the car, and stared at the cityscape running past the windows. The anxiety had lifted. One of my growing number of secrets revealed. In its wake, the sudden absence left a sense of clarity. I remembered why I had kept it to begin with.

Dick was gifted. The first. The talented boy who could fly. Babs and Tim were brilliant; genius far beyond the confines of academia. Damian was skilled. Trained from birth, the blood son. It nestled here him neatly, right where he belonged. What was I? I wasn’t born with athletic ability beyond my years, or genius intellect. Without that information- without my secrets- I had nothing else to give.

Thursday night was dinner. The whole family. It was Bruce’s excuse to drag Dick out of his apartment in Blüdhaven, and for Alfred to exercise a new recipe, since everyone was on a strict lean-means and superfoods regimen every other waking day. Babs attended occasionally, when work didn’t keep her busy, and Tim was only allowed to pass if he promised to rest instead.

I met his eyes as everyone was rounded into the dining room by Alfred like a herd of sheep; he gave me some imperceptible knowing look that promised to keep my secret.

We sat down and sipped water from crystal glasses as the table was set with food, muttering amongst ourselves about our days. Dick was given a coffee with the wrong name (‘Nick’), Babs met up with her friend from high school (Olivia something or other), and Damian completed a group project with some incompetent classmates (they all were- even the professors). Vigilante talk wasn’t forbidden, but generally skirted around so as to offer a small reprieve of normalcy during the week.

There was an exception to this unspoken rule when there was a particularly exciting case on the table. Unfortunately for me and my anxiety, the case of the Red Hood was a very exciting one.

“Any new breaks with Red Hood?” Dick asked through miso soup. Bruce sighed.

“He made some movements in Robbinsville. Gone before we could get there. He’s got his men on a tight leash- we couldn’t get any of them to talk.”

“Course not. There’s rumors flying all over the department. One of the Ioveanu family branches payed out a huge security detail for their private mansion.”

“He hasn’t hunted anyone in their home, has he?” I asked. I pictured him standing in front of me- maskless, in my academy uniform.

“No, it’s not his MO.” Barbara answered.

“Not yet. It’s only been six months, and he’s progressing rapidly.” Bruce diagnosed grimly.

“Are you scared he’s gonna join us for dinner?” Dick joked, throwing a wink my way.

“Haha.” I muttered. Actually, I hadn’t slept because of the very idea.

“If you’re nervous, you could always stay home next patrol.” Damian suggested pointedly. To him, existing in the realm of crimefighting was a competition, and he was always looking for others to drop out of the race. I resisted the urge to fling a pea at him.

“I’m not nervous.” I said coolly.

“You’ve been practically trembling since we fought his pathetic lackeys.”

“Damian.” Bruce warned, from the head of the table. I flipped the smallest Wayne the middle finger. He resigned, but I swore I saw amusement on his lips.

“There’s nothing to be ashamed of. Red Hood is very skilled and very prolific. It’s a daunting case.” Bruce continued.

“Thanks, but I’m okay. Really.” I said, trying not to sound annoyed, and feeling like a spotlight was over my head, operated by the ghost of Hoffman. I almost laughed as I pictured it.

“That’s good to hear. We’ve been concerned.” Alfred added.

“Wow. I’m the star of the show around here.” I remarked dryly.

“We can’t help it, Miss Independent.” Dick said teasingly. “You’re just a good mystery.”

“Reminds me of Talia.” Tim said casually. The silverware stopped clanging.

It was a shameless subject change. Damian’s mother was an inflammatory topic for all parties. Bruce’s moral contempt didn’t reach the likes of Talia Al Ghul and Selena Kyle, immoral though they were. Beauty makes anything charming- and when paired with an impeccable taste in dress, even murder and thievery can be minimized into something of a quirk. Bruce thought so, anyway.

As for Damian, he had grappled with his dismissal from Talia’s side for what was now a majority of his life, and still possessed this deep-rooted, inextinguishable attachment to his mother. It was the hollow soreness any young boy would have in his position. Tim called him mama’s boy until he finally displayed a frightening amount of disdain for the title and actually begged him to stop. Tim agreed to, and I agreed to pretend I never heard a thing.

Dick disagreed with both of those sentiments and viewed Talia as someone who wasn’t worth the trouble. His dismissal embarrassed Bruce and offended Damian, so I knew the dinner table had been sufficiently turned into a powder keg. Tim and I shared a look as I expressed silent gratefulness, and he resigned to inspecting a dumpling, while I picked around my haka noodles.

The rest of dinner was quiet. Somehow, somewhere in the silence all had been decidedly forgiven. First by Babs who asked me to pass the pepper. Then by Dick who said the vegetables were good. Thank you, Alfred. Damian still looked pissed, and Bruce kept stealing glances at the clock.

I texted Tim under the table.

Thanks for taking one for the team.

The reply: You owe me one. I think Damian’s gonna poison my food.

We both glanced at the youngest, who was darkly mesmerized by what appeared to be Tim’s soup bowl.

He quickly added, Wait, actually tho? And we both fought laughter like two kids in the back of the class. It felt good to have an ally. Even if he still didn’t know the whole truth.

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anakinthetrashking · 4 years

Text

BnHA One-Shot Fic Recs (pt1)

Making some fic-rec posts has been on my to-do list for a while and I’m finally doing it, yay! Currently I have 6 word doc pages full of just BnHA recs. So I’m splitting them up by length and completion, so first up is (part one of) one-shots! Let’s go!!!

Lets start with some classic Izuku and DadMight!

Pictures, Posters and Tender Beauty by ProPinkist (tumblr: @dazais-guardian-angel ) Rating: G Category: Gen ~4,400 words Summary: Izuku has virtually every All Might-themed item out there, and prides himself on all of it, as Toshinori is well aware. However, somehow, the boy still decided that there was something vital missing. This is fluffy and very cute. No one truly appreciates All Might as much as Izuku does, but 1A comes close. All Might deserves all the love, and this fic truly provides!!!

Dear Mr. All Might by QuizzicalCrow (tumblr: @quizzicalcrow ) Rating: G Category: Gen ~5,000 words Summary: As the #1 hero for decades, All Might has collected a lot of fan mail over the years. Toshinori tracks down a series of letters that only now, years later, does he appreciate for their significance. I always love the thought of All Might looking through his fan mail, even if he can’t get to all of it. This was a wonderful glimpse into that AND it was made to be so, so personal and sweet. Go have some heart-healing fluff.

Growing Pains by LordofLies (tumblr: @theangelofchildren ) Rating: G Category: Gen ~5,900 words Summary: Izuku finds himself changed by his encounter with the Hero Killer, but changes of a more physical kind are in store for him as he begins to truly accept One for All as his own. Once, he would have been thrilled to look more like All Might, but now those connections are as much a source of anxiety as they are of pride.Or, Izuku wakes up one morning and sees the world through different eyes. Izuku having anxiety and Toshi being there to help him through it and calm him down? Sign me UP. Its also a pretty cool take on how One for All is able to change things about it’s holder. Could this happen in cannon? Who knows.... Regardless, it was a great read!

I’ll Carry You Home by Renesvetta Rating: G Category: Gen ~2,700 words Summary: While training with All Might, it wasn’t uncommon for Izuku to be so exhausted at the end of the day that he unwittingly fell asleep without regard for where he was. It consequently became part of All Might’s routine to help his young protégé home. During that time, Izuku may have let loose more than one sleepy confession towards his mentor. Yes, it is as adorable as it sounds. Its tagged with “self indulgent Dad Might fluff” which is both accurate and appreciated. In other words: Superb you funky little writer!

Simple Gifts by QuizzicalCrow Rating: G Category: Gen ~6,700 words Summary: One year ago, Izuku received the greatest gift he could ever imagine. Now he’s determined to return the favor for the one responsible for it all with a gift of his own. First off, I love the idea of Izuku and Toshi quietly celebrating the anniversary of passing on OfA from All Might to Izuku. Even just taking the day to hang out with each other. It’s a really precious idea. But there’s not just fluff! Izuku finds himself in a fight, again. (cool villain quirk, too!) I love all of the small details that are in this fic (and in Crow’s other works, too!) anyway its exciting AND very heartwarming, so go read it!!!

Affectionate by Sevi007 (tumblr: @sevi007 ) Rating: G Category: Gen ~2,600 words Summary: Toshinori starts to show affection very easily around his students. The reactions he gets for that are not quite the ones he had anticipated - well, not all of them, at least. Toshi is LOVED, APPRECIATED, and 1A feels like HOME. how many times can i say “cute” and “heartwarming” on this post?? bc these are some amazing writers, whom I adore, and their writing makes my heart WARM. AND. FUZZY. i mean, even just the first few paragraphs of this one just, really sets the scene of what i like to believe the 1A dorm is (on a good day, lol). its a really nice read, so go treat yo’ self by reading it.

paint me in trust by dinomight Rating: G Category: Gen ~6,400 words Summary: The first mark Izuku gets is a slight brush of green across his temple. It’s the soft touch of a mother holding her son for the first time. Inko has one to match, the same shade of green staining the tips of her fingers. Hers is more noticeable; Izuku’s tends to blend into his hairline. He loves it anyways. He has to. It’s the only soulmate mark he has. (Or: how Izuku goes from just green to a rainbow, UA-style.) Ok, so this fic sort of plays off the idea of soulmates, and does not fit in with soulmates in the usual form of the trope. First off its completely platonic. Its categorized as Gen and sticks to that. Also it doesn’t seem to be as obligatory and permanent as you would think it would be. It seems to be more of the universe telling you who has the possibility of being important in your life. I really really loved this, it was so adorable and gives you that sweet, sweet Izuku angst, before healing your heart with the power of friendship and found family!!!

The Die Has Been Cast by ChiwiTheKiwi (tumblr: @chiwithekiwi ) Rating: G Category: Gen ~5,400 words Summary: “There’s something about that kid you aren’t telling me, isn’t there?”When no answer meets him, Shouta tries again.“You know something about Midoriya’s quirk that you haven’t shared with me. Is that right?”(Or: A canon "What If" surrounding the latest manga events and focusing on Aizawa finally making a connection.) First off, this fic has spoilers for the manga, so dont read unless you’re past chp212! I loooooooove OfA reveal fics, especially when it’s Aizawa that finds out. He deserves to know!!! its kind of important!!!! This fic chooses a great moment to work off of, and does a great job with Aizawa’s character. I really enjoyed it and couldn’t keep myself from going back and reading it just now LOL

These last two are actually two-shots, but it makes it an even 10! also Izuku and dadmight, so we can continue the theme here...

Some Unspoken Thing by LittleKy Rating: G Category: Gen ~7,900 words (2chps) Green, Toshinori has always thought, is the color of life anew.(Or: It's time for Yagi Toshinori to finally accept that he has a son, now, in all but blood. It's time for Midoriya Hisashi to accept that as well.) YES ALL MIGHT! ADMIT THAT IZUKU IS YOUR SON! great portrayal of the characters and really hits the nail on the head for DadMight. and Izuku in this story is just the smallest green floof that you wish to give a hug. NEVER MIND ALL MIGHT, YOU TOOK TOO LONG SO IZUKU IS MY SON NOW AND IM NOT GIVING HIM BACK ( no but seriously i want to hug this fic its so cute TTuTT )

LAST BUT NOT LEAST! I See You by BirdAntlers (tumblr: @aarymk )

Rating: G Category: Gen ~15,400 words (2chps) Midoriya Izuku is a quirkless child, blind from birth. Yagi Toshinori is the most powerful man in the world, loved by millions. They could not be more different, and yet their loneliness is the same. (From a pair of AU posts on Tumblr that got way out of hand; I wanted to put it here because it turned into more of a fic than a "what-if." Basically a vessel for me to vomit as much Dadmight as I can.) Hey, you! Yeah! You! Do you want to cry? Do you want to start sobbing in a public space?? Do you just want to be destroyed with words and be left there kneeling at the feet of a writer who has torn out your heart and stomped on it before they gently wipe the tears from your face? Yeah?? y oU Wan NA D IE??? READ THIS AND GET REKT. you’ll thank me later

(under the cut is just me rambling, i kept all the important stuff up here, ur welcome)

Now that the actual recs are over I can rant here- look i really tried to slim my recs down, but i have almost 300 bnha fics bookmarked,some of them are “to read” or theyre in progress, etc but i managed to get this list sorta slimmed down? a little?(to only 58!!!) but as i was gathering this post together it felt like i dont have very many Dadmight recs on that list??? but i havent rechecked all the other fics i was just going through the oneshots. i... kinda read a lot more fics with AIzawa in it instead. it be that way. DadMight content is SO GOOD. but my fav is aizawa im sorryyyyy anyway i have another SEVENteeN oneshots to put in rec posts and that does NOT include the mulitchapter and friikin series and stuff... and like i said this is aaaaaaallllllllllllllll BnHA. batfam fic posts will come after, and then star wars, and then maybe star trek? we’ll see. i have a very specific taste in ST fics and that is Tarsus IV whump. which. i have not read in a while. when they say “that trope came from ST” for sooooooo many tropes, you WISH other fandoms had tarsus as a trope, holy crap it is TOP TIER angst fodder. if you love to write/read whump, angst, and h/c i would HIGHLY recommend that you take a bit of time and explore the content and stories there. heck maybe i will make a ficrec post for just tarsus angst. ok.

my INTENTION is to edit these posts later with little links to the other fic rec lists so that itll be easier to find. but., its me, so itll either happen in painful detail or not at all

asdjkdgh its 2:30am and i need to sleep and not be rambling incoherently again I WILL SAVE THIS AS A DRAFT.

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twoidiotwriters1 · 4 years

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Written In The Stars LXV (Harry Potter xF!Oc)

A/N: I’m soft and EXCITED cause we’re starting book four next week and you guys have no idea what’s coming -Danny

Words: 1,798

Warnings: None! Tooth rooting fluff

Series’ Masterlist

Previous Chapter // Book IV

Chapter Twenty-Four: Good Omens.

Dumbledore left when Harry walked out of Lupin's former office, he stopped when he noticed Mel was outside.

"Oh," He said, "I thought you'd be with Ron and Hermione."

"I was talking to Dumbledore," She replied simply. "Is everything alright?"

"Yes," He moved to where she was standing. "I talked to him too, when you left the office..."

"You did?"

"I was... I told him that I felt like our mission hadn't made a difference," He explained. "He told me I was wrong... sort of."

"Sort of?" She smiled.

Then Harry told her everything. Including the prophecy Trelawney had told him on their last day of exams. She had to admit, it sounded terrifying, but their teacher was known to be a bit dramatic. Still, the part about the dark lord rising... she didn't like that bit at all.

"What he said about the people that loves us never leaving..." Harry frowned, trying to put his thoughts in order. "They help us when we're in trouble, one way or another... I'm lucky to have you, Ron, and Hermione. Emily, and Sirius... they care and they'd help me if I needed them to... Not everyone is that lucky, though."

"I suppose so," Mel tilted her head, patiently waiting for the rest of whatever he was trying to say.

"Erick," It was the second time he'd mentioned the boy's name and it still sounded completely strange coming out of his mouth. "What you said about his family... he doesn't have many people helping him. I guess... I understand why'd he go out of his way to talk to you... You're brilliant and all..."

"Thanks?"

"What I mean," Harry pressed on, having a hard time expressing himself. "What I want to say is, I think you're a good friend and you're right– I shouldn't judge people without knowing their story first, that's what made me think Sirius was trying to kill me... I'm sorry I reacted that way, my interactions with the Slytherins haven't been nice, but I get that not everyone has to be the same. I trust you–"

Harry's speech was interrupted when Mel threw her arms around his neck and hugged him tightly (no kisses this time, though- She wasn't going to do the same mistake twice) and apologized profusely.

"I know... Mellow, I can't breathe!" He complained.

"Sorry!" She stepped back. "Sorry..."

"So... I'm your hero now, right?"

"What?" She frowned.

"You said that whoever made the dementors disappear the other night was your new hero, turns out it was me," He smirked.

"I was also there!" She exclaimed. "That was my Patronus too!"

"Well, you can't be your hero!"

"Says who?"

"It doesn't make sense!"

"I say it does. I'm my own hero," She teased. "For all I know, I saved your life this time."

"I've saved your life before," He pouted.

"Now you're just being pretentious..."

"I went to see Professor McGonagall this morning, just before breakfast. I've decided to drop Muggle Studies," Hermione commented once they were settled on the train's compartment.

"But you passed your exam with three hundred and twenty percent!"

"I know, but I can't stand another year like this one. That Time-Turner, it was driving me mad. I've handed it in. Without Muggle Studies and Divination, I'll be able to have a normal schedule again. Besides, I asked Erick and he told me he'd be happy to tell me all about what he studies in class."

"I still can't believe you're friends with him," Ron rolled his eyes. "And I still can't believe you didn't tell us about the time-turner. We're supposed to be your friends."

"I promised I wouldn't tell anyone," said Hermione. "And you know how important it is to keep secrets when you're not the only one involved..."

She looked at Mel, who was looking at Harry, who was looking out the window with a sad expression.

"Oh, cheer up!" said Hermione.

"I'm okay," Harry jumped lightly. "Just thinking about the holidays."

"Yeah, I've been thinking about them too– Mel, Harry, you've got to come and stay with us. I'll fix it up with Mum and Dad, then I'll call you. I know how to use a fellytone now —"

"A telephone, Ron," said Hermione. "Honestly, you should take Muggle Studies next year..."

"Or ask us more about muggle life, like Erick does," Mel teased.

Ron ignored them.

"It's the Quidditch World Cup this summer! How about it, Harry? Come and stay, and we'll go and see it! Dad can usually get tickets from work."

Harry did cheer up at that.

"Yeah, I bet the Dursleys'd be pleased to let me come... especially after what I did to Aunt Marge..."

"I'd love to see the World Cup!" Mel said excitedly. "I can picture it already, all the wizards from around the world..."

They wasted a whole hour playing and talking when Hermione pointed out to the landscape.

"Harry– What's that thing outside your window?"

It was the smallest owl Mel had ever seen. It dropped a letter onto Harry's seat and began zooming excitedly around the place. Hedwig clicked her beak while Grey and Crookshanks sat up, following the owl with their eyes. Ron caught the owl safely and threw a disapproving look their way.

"It's from Sirius!" Harry said happily.

"What? Read it aloud!"

'Dear Harry, I hope this finds you before you reach your aunt and uncle.

I don't know whether they're used to owl post. Buckbeak and I are in hiding. I won't tell you where, in case this owl falls into the wrong hands. I have some doubt about his reliability, but he is the best I could find, and he did seem eager for the job.

I believe the dementors are still searching for me, but they haven't a hope of finding me here. I am planning to allow some Muggles to glimpse me soon, a long way from Hogwarts, so that the security on the castle will be lifted.

There is something I never got around to telling you during our brief meeting. It was I who sent you the Firebolt —

"Ha! See! I told you it was from him!"

"Yes, but he hadn't jinxed it, had he?– Ouch!"

'Crookshanks took the order to the Owl Office for me. I used your name but told them to take the gold from my own Gringotts vault. Please consider it as thirteen birthdays' worth of presents from your godfather.

I would also like to apologize for the fright I think I gave you and Mel that night last year when you left your uncle's house. I had only hoped to get a glimpse of you before starting my journey north, but I think the sight of me alarmed you. I am enclosing something else for you, which I think will make your next year at Hogwarts more enjoyable. If ever you need me, send word. Your owl will find me.

I'll write again soon. Sirius

P.S. Mel, if Remus tells your mother what happened during the school year, will you please send her my regards? I miss her, I'm hoping I'll find a way to communicate with her soon.'

"I absolutely will," Mel smiled widely. "What else did he send, Glasses?"

Harry looked inside the envelope. She saw his eyes grow in surprise and then he was grinning, handing the small piece of parchment to her.

'I, Sirius Black, Harry Potter's godfather, hereby give him permission to visit Hogsmeade on weekends.'

"That'll be good enough for Dumbledore!" said Harry. "Hang on, there's a second P.S."

'I thought your friend Ron might like to keep this owl, as it's my fault he no longer has a rat.'

Ron's eyes widened.

"Keep him?" he repeated.

He looked closely at the owl for a moment; then, he held him out for Crookshanks to sniff.

"What do'you reckon?" Ron asked. "Definitely an owl?"

Crookshanks purred.

"That's good enough for me," said Ron. "He's mine."

"You know," Mel said to the boy once they arrived at the station. "I'm really sorry you can't live with Sirius, but there's a good side!"

"Which is?"

"I'll still be your neighbor!"

"I thought you'd be happy," He teased. "Finally getting rid of me, a well-deserved break."

"I was happy because Sirius cares about you and you would've had a good life... besides, I get to see you in school, which is almost the whole year."

"Well," Harry put an arm around her shoulders. "We'll still have to stand each other for the years to come."

"I think I can live with that," She chuckled.

"I'll call about the World Cup!" Ron yelled after they parted.

Mel saw her mother standing a few feet away from the Dursleys and ran to meet her.

"Hello!" She said cheerfully. "Do you think we can stop by that place we like to get lunch? I'm– You know everything, don't you?"

Emily was looking down at her with such a severity that Mel prepared herself for the impact.

"Time-turners, dementors and sneaking out of the castle after curfew," Emily whispered angrily. "Helping a convict escape, attacking a Professor–"

"Snape had it coming!"

"Are you trying to drive me insane?" Emily hissed. "I swear, every time I get a letter I feel like I'm about to hear you murdered a teacher!"

"You're exagerating–"

"Watch me overreact all the way to our house, young lady!" She retorted.

"Very well," Mel sighed. "Can I tell you two things first?"

"What things?"

"I spent a whole year having a normal period -dreadful and gross, not reccomended– but that means I can take the potion now! Second, Padfoot says hi."

Emily's mouth opened and closed, her eyes never leaving her daughter's face.

"How do you–"

"Didn't they tell you the whole story?" Mel asked. "I'll have to do it myself, then..."

"What's that?" They heard Mr. Dursley spat at Harry while they walked past. "If it's another form for me to sign, you've got another —"

"It's not," Harry smiled brightly. "It's a letter from my godfather."

"Godfather? You haven't got a godfather!"

"Yes, I have– He was my mum and dad's best friend. He's a convicted murderer, but he's broken out of wizard prison and he's on the run. He likes to keep in touch with me, though. Keep up with my news... check if I'm happy..."

Mel and Emily shared a look and left quickly, holding back their laughter until they were safe inside their car. There, both of them laughed until their stomachs hurt.

"You know," Her mother said breathlessly. "Prongs would've been so proud of his son..."

"I know," Mel smiled, looking out her window and watching Harry's gleeful face as he walked out of the station with a terrified uncle following close. "We all are..."

Next Part —>

Taglist.

@tiphareth2018 @vampiregirl1797 @siriuslysirius1107 @stardusthigh @mikariell95 @omiwashere @steve-thotgers @kylosleftbuttcheek @tomshollandz @thesuitelifeofafangirl @reverse-hxlland @bloodorangemoonlight

#twoidiots writing #hp fanfic #Harry Potter #harry potter fanfiction #harry potter xoc #hermione granger #ron weasley #WITT fic

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sdavinroy-blog · 6 years

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The Truth About Chronic Illnesses

Invisible illnesses are one of the toughest obstacles someone can be given in their life. You’re in this constant, gut-wrenching pain and no one EVER sees it. Everything that is wrong with your body—whether it be your gut, your joints, thyroid, etc.—-is internal. No one ever sees just how fucked up your body really is, and that’s probably the most difficult part about it.

I have Crohn’s disease, which affects my intestines. I can’t eat a meal without feeling even the smallest pinch of pain. I can’t name one time I ate a meal and felt absolutely no pain afterwards. But do I complain? No. I sit there, staring down at my meal, wondering why the hell am I not able to enjoy just one meal without feeling like there are knives in my stomach. No one would know if I were in pain because I’ve learned to master the Poker Face. If I’m in pain, and you see it on my face, it must be the worst pain I’ve experienced in a long time. Chronic patients keep quiet about their suffrage, because if we dare speak about it people question us. All because “We don’t look sick.”

We look perfectly healthy on the outside, but on the inside we are destroyed. Chronic illnesses don’t affect just one part of your body. Sure, my intestines are the headquarters of my problems, but it affects everything. Not only do I suffer from chronic stomach pains, but I experience intense joint pains, fatigue, bloatation, nausea, skin problems, and the list goes on. Chronic illnesses are more than just one area, it’s your entire body. And worst of all, it’s your entire life.

People often forget the mental toll chronic illnesses can take upon victims. Injecting yourself with medication, which burns my entire thigh for a significant amount of time within seconds of its injection, often leaving a welt, is something you don’t get used to. People can say “Oh, don’t worry! You’ll get used to it!” all they want, but the truth is you don’t. It doesn’t get easier. In fact, for me, it can become harder. I’ve had several people give me my injections, simply because I couldn’t bring myself to do so. It’s painstakingly difficult for me to hold the pen down on my leg and push the trigger, knowing I’m about to experience the worst pain of my week.

Chronic illness is more than physical pain. It’s the mentality of knowing you will never get better. You are stuck this way the rest of your life, and that is a big ass fucking pill to swallow. Every month, or for some, every week, it’s hospital gowns, IV’s, and blood work. For me, it’s constant pill popping, injections, MRE’s, colonoscopies, and blood tests. No one prepares you for seeing yourself in a hospital gown with needles shoved into your skin. Seeing that image as often as I do hits me like a fucking train. I recall having an MRE (third one within a year), and seeing the IV in my arms, the stickers all over my body, the wristlet labeled “Allergy,” the bruises from the blood withdrawn from my veins, and dropping to my knees as I bawled my eyes out. “Why can’t I just be normal?” I would yell.

If you have a friend who has a chronic illness, support them. Don’t make them feel bad if they cancel plans, have mood swings, or just feel like an overall piece of shit. We go through a lot of fucking shit. Every. Single. Day. Instead of drilling them with questions that only bring out their insecurities, educate yourself on their condition. Offer a helping hand. We need it so so badly. It’s the smallest of things that mean the most to us. I had a friend make me an omlette for breakfast, and before using butter on the pan he asked me, “Can you have butter? I know it’s a form of dairy so I just wanted to make sure.” I almost cried. Something as simple as fucking butter almost brought me to tears. Knowing someone cared enough to ask me if I could consume butter meant the world to me, because half the time people don’t even try to remember I have Crohn’s. It’s embarrassing to go to restaurants with friends, because they all eat whatever the hell they want, and I have to be the annoying one who asks the waitress if I can replace one of the condiments on the sandwich I’m eating because I can’t eat lettuce without folding over. For someone to acknowledge my illness meant everything. Please try and do the same for your friends or loved ones, because most of the time, people forget. And you know why?

Because it’s invisible.

#chronically ill #chronic inflammation #crohn's disease #hospital #heartbreak #writing #late night #thoughts #invisible #invisible illness #writers

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clevernewdimension · 6 years

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Polaris Part Three

Parts: Preview, Part One, Part Two, Part Three, Part Four (Coming soon!)

Genre: Action, drama, romance, sci-fi, etc.

Paring: Jongin x Character

Word count: 7.0K

A/N: Warning for sexual assault and mentions of sex with minors. I know. Just so y’all know, Tribil SUCKS. I obviously do not condone this. Just warning about character past stuff.

I groaned, opening my eyes and move, trying to sit up. I look over, seeing Kyungsoo, who was currently in pants and a sweater sitting as he played a game on his Reader. He glances up, quickly closing the game and moving over. “How are you,” He asks, looking at me with cautious eyes.

“Peachy,” I say, starting to lean up. I hiss in pain, as he stands, helping me. “Thank you. For you know, saving my life and all that.”

“You’re welcome for saving your life and all that,” He says with a smile. “You’re in your room. I just traded with Jongin for a little bit to watch you and make sure you don’t accidentally rip your stitches open.”

“I can picture his pout now,” I say, wincing, holding my side.

Kyungsoo shakes his head, “Actually, he agreed immediately. You probably wouldn’t be alive if he didn’t put his hand over your wound, though I’m not going to tell him that.”

I frown, “Thank you. He’d hold it over me forever.”

“He… Lyra, Jongin hates losing people. He hates people dying, especially if he thinks there’s even a microscopic change he could have done something about it,” Kyungsoo says, pointing at my shirt, “I need to change the dressing of your wound. Lift your shirt.”

“Yes Sir,” I say, pulling it up. I didn’t know how to react to what he just told me about Jongin. For the most part he just gives off this air of confidence and pigheadedness. A lot of people tell me he isn’t like that, and, I suppose, there could be another side to the man who makes my life difficult.

“You don’t have to call me Sir,” He says, “I hate it. Well, except Baekhyun and Chanyeol. They keep picking on me, so I try to intimidate them.”

I smile, watching as he quickly and with care removes the bandage and replaces it easily. I smile at him, as he moves out the room to throw away the used bangade. Sehun slips in the door after he leaves, as he moves, sitting on my bed next to me. His beautiful face marred with red eyes and a look of sadness. “Thank you,” He says, taking my hand in his. Sehun is a very touchy person, though not with everyone. He and I are friends, but he’s never been the type to hug me or touch me like he does with his other friends.

I just smile, “Well, we can’t deny the Milky Way a chance to see your beautiful face, now can we, pretty boy?”

He just smiles, looking up. “Seriously, Lyra, I would have been dead if it wasn’t for you. I don’t know how to ever repay you.”

I smile at him, patting his shoulder. The Etherion was older than me, but somehow more… I don’t know… scared. Sehun’s greatest fear is letting those around him down. Knowing him he probably thought he let us all down by getting hit while he was flying. Stupid. I smile, it was growing more into a smirk as I just give him a smug look. “How about you finally admit you have a crush on the Phoenix Captain and we call it even, hm,” I say with a small smile.

His eyes go wide, his face flushing as he just pouts. “Shut up, Lang. That’s an order.”

“Nah,” I say with a grin. It’s been so obvious for ages. Sehun would help him with whatever he needed. Need someone to spar against? Sehun would come back bruised and grinning from ear to ear. Yixing needs someone to run an errand? Sehun would do it even if someone of his rank shouldn’t. He did whatever he could to try and help the special forces member. It was cute. I just smile at his blush as Kyungsoo opens the door, only to have Minseok following him.

Minseok smiles, moving and sitting down on Jongin’s bed. I do a little salute, “Major General, sir.”

“Stop with that,” He says, scolding me. “Lyra, thank you. For saving Sehun. I can’t… He’s like a brother to me, that kid.”

“I mean I wasn’t going to let him die,” I say, earning a laugh from Kyungsoo. The doctor lifts my shirt with ease as I lie down, wincing a bit. He peels the leftover tape off as Minseok looks over.

He hisses, “Ouch.”

Kyungsoo just nods, “The stitches look great. Let me rebandage you and you’ll be ready for dinner.”

“Cool,” I say. It was quick, and with their help, I was able to stand. The pain in my side was sharp, but I pushed through it with a hiss and multiple curses.

As Kyungsoo left the room, he looks to the side, “Jongin still asleep?”

“Sehun went to wake him,” Junmyeon says, from his position in the pilot’s seat.

I move, sitting down in the easiest seat and the end of the bench, groaning in pain as I rest against the table. I sighed, looking up to see Kyungsoo set a glass of water and some pills down for me. I smile, seeing Sehun and Jongin come from the hallway. Jongin looks up, his eyes looking over me with worry. I look at him, taking in how he looks. In sweatpants and a tanktop, hair an unruly mess. He, even if he just woke up, looked exhausted. The type of tired that settles in your bones for a while until you can finally relax a little. I look at his arm, seeing the bandage. I vaguely remember digging my nails into him. The look of absolute brokenness as he watched, glancing down at me as he did what he could to help.

“Sorry,” I say, pointing to his arm. Sure, I didn’t like the man, but having him there really helped. Being able to just hold something in the moment was better than having nothing at all to distract myself from the pain. Even if the distraction was small.

He looks confused, looking down at his arm, “Oh… No, it’s ok. If it helped that’s all that matter.”

Yixing hops over the bench, sliding into the seat next to me, placing a tablet down. “I examined Sehun’s fighter for you. Looks like the thruster on the right is almost completely done for. Probably not worth trying to repair.”

I look it over, pushing a button on the screen that makes a 3D hologram above the tablet. I spin it, looking it over. I sigh, “I’m going to have to make a whole new thruster. Fuck.”

Sehun slides into the booth, pulling Jongin down with him, who lazily followed. “Sorry,” Sehun says, grimincing.

“It’s fine,” I say, “If you want I can take one off the spare so you can use your Fighter.”

“Not like that you can’t,” Kyungsoo says, looking over his shoulder as he put oven mitts on his hands. “It’ll be three days for you to heal completely because of the Evo-DNA.”

“In three days I’ll do it then,” I say, rolling my eyes, quickly picking up the water and pill. It had an awful after taste. “If you’d like, I’m sure Chanyeol could easily move the thruster to Sehun’s Fighter. Super easy to do. Well all had to learn that.”

Chanyeol nods, giving a thumbs up. His grin is huge, “Sure can! They’re the same as bombers, but, you know, a bit smaller.”

Sehun smiles, nodding. “That would be great!”

Kyungsoo sets a bowl in front of me, a soup with some bread to the side. “Eat. You need your strength.”

Junmyeon stands, “Going on Autopilot.” He stretches, looking at us. He moves, pushing Jongin to the table as I grab my spoon. “Eat, and then get back to sleep,” He says, voice stern, but somehow still very tender.

Jongin just nods, not even arguing. Sehun told me that Jongin loves to sleep. Even if he got nightmares, he loved to sleep. I start to eat my soup, watching as each of his three brothers look over him, making sure he was ok. Jongin pouted, whining, “Just because I’m the youngest doesn’t mean to all have to baby me!”

“That’s exactly what that means,” Jongdae says, looking over with worry. “Kid, you almost get killed every time to go out and fly.”

Minseok nods, making taken a seat and eating soup from a mug. It was more like he was drinking it, which was odd. “We can’t do anything when you’re out there. We can’t help you then. So you’re going to let us take care of you when we can.”

I finish my soup as I look, seeing Jongin roll his eyes.

Kyungsoo smiles, having eaten quickly already. Yixing was the fastest eater, practically devouring his bowl in less than a minute. Something about being trained to do that, to eat quickly so he could get back to work. He was sitting next to Baekhyun, playing against him in a game of chess. The reader lying flat made a hologram of a chess board and pieces. It looked solid, hiding the reader, but it had to move on voice commands.

Baekhyun was practically ripping his hair out. He was examining the board with a frustrated gaze as Yixing was leaning against his hand, looking more bored than if he weren’t playing. Chanyeol and Junmyeon both moving the thruster from the other fighter over. From what I hear, it’s going well. Jongin was drawing something on his tablet, Kyungsoo looking over once in a while as he was cleaning his laser pistol.

“Ummm… Oh! Knight to E5,” He says, grinning. The piece moves, flickering as the knight piece turns, using its hind legs to kick Yixing’s queen in the face. Baekhyun smiles, looking at Yixing with a look of huge satisfaction. “Good luck! Today I win!”

Yixing, looking unbothered, as he just muttered, “Rook to F7. Checkmate.”

Baekhyun’s mouth falls as he looks, watching as the castle piece goes to his king, ramming it into pieces. “I… what the fuck?”

“Your king was hidden by your knight. I’ve had that rook there waiting to take it when you finally moved it for five moves,” Yixing says, the smallest of smiles on his face.

Baekhyun just let out a loud yell of a curse. Kyungsoo glared at him, rolling his eyes. I laugh, watching as Yixing just pats Baekhyun’s shoulder.

“Oh,” Kyungsoo says, “You can go back to your room, Jongin. Lyra should be fine unless she decides to do yoga or something.”

Jongin nods, “Alright,” He says, before getting back to his drawing.

I sign, getting up, “I think I’m going to go to sleep, actually. I’m oddly exhausted.”

“Being in pain is very tiring,” Kyungsoo says. “The more rest you get the quicker you’ll feel.”

I look at everyone, “Make sure they don’t completely fuck up the thruster, yeah?”

Jongin gives me a thumbs up, “Trust me, Sehun won’t let that happen.”

I smile, moving and slowly shuffling back to my bed. Sitting down was hard, but the softness of the mattress was wonderful. It was like being on a cloud. I close my eyes, trying to calm down and rest. My memories won’t leave me be, seeing the Kryton again. I haven’t seen one that close ever. The closest they’ve gotten to me was over 10 feet. The worst part was the smell. I thought it was awful before, but, as it turns out, it was worse up close.

I hear the door open as I close my eyes, attempting to pretend to be sleeping. I open my eyes a little bit, to peek out. Jongin sits on his bed, setting his bag on the ground. He sighs, looking back at the picture he put on the wall. The frown grows for a moment, before he sets his reader on the bedside desk. From his bag he takes a pen like thing, clicking it on. He takes something else, a glove, pulling it on. It was the same color as the pen, a black, with chip like things on the fingertips.

He presses it to the wall, moving it and leaving a strand of light in its way. It looked like neon, as he uses the glove touching it. From a menu, he turns the brightness down as changes the color. I was mesmerized, watching him as his pen glides. He changes the colors, carefully placing every line. Soon, it was a face, as he starts to carve out the details. Making the nose the perfect shape, using a very light white for the hair. He spent a long time perfecting it. When he finally moves away for a second, I see the face, clear as day.

She had white hair, bright purple eyes. Her lips were in a smile, looking happy and full of joy. Her lips… they looked like Jongin’s. It clicked. The woman he drew was his mother. They looked so alike. She looked beautiful, as he used the glove to make it smaller, pinching it between two fingers and moving it along the wall, some place where he could see it.

They had the same eyes. The same lips. All of the Kim’s had the same eyes, but apparently the youngest was graced with more of their mother’s features. One thing I couldn’t help but to notice is how… carefree she looked. People as happy as her are usually not involved with the Syndicate at all.

Jongin lets out a loud yawn, before pulling his tank top over his head and tossing it over into his dirty clothes basket. He was under the covers quickly, turning the light off from the bed as he turns, having the wall.

It’s weird, seeing someone who’s such an obnoxious ass be… well, not like an obnoxious ass. He’s backed off, not asking me or taunting me for my mistake. It was confusing. I can’t help but wonder more about him. There’s more to him then just what’s on the surface. Wondering more about him and the woman he drew, my eyes fluttered closed.

The next two weeks went by in a blur after I was allowed to work again. The thruster was built in record time as I threw myself back into work. Then came fixing a few minor dings and such in the metal outer shell. Sehun took the job of painting it himself, as most Fighter pilots do. The weirdest thing was Jongin not really speaking with me. When he does, it’s one or two words. Granted this is what I wanted for ages, but for it to happen, it feels like something is wrong.

We are expected to get to Ysimir in a few moments, Baekhyun already telling them over comms of out impending arrival. The president, an Etherion by the name of Histor Yssa, told us that he welcomes us and will provide rooms for our stay. He also mentioned General Kim, and how delighted he was to help not only the Syndicate, but the sons of his friend. I could see each of the brothers tense at that, which I found odd but decided not to comment.

“Have you ever been to Ysimir,” Chanyeol asks, watching as we approach the planet. I know a little of the planet. It was mostly purple, as that was the color of the acidic seas there. They’ve managed to turn some of the lakes into fresh and salt water, man made and natural. It allows for some fish from other planets to be shipped over.

“No,” I say, shaking my head, “But I’ve heard some… unsavory things.”

Jongdae laughs, “I assume it’s the saying? Wystria is the planet of love, Ysimir the one of sin?” He says, wearing the same uniform as the other higher in command. The metals on his jacket, a few from fighting but most from fighting for justice in the courtroom. Draping from his shoulder to below the arm was a piece of purple ribbon, noting that he was of the Justice branch. Minseok’s was silver, since he was the commander of EXO Prime. Junmyeon’s was a light blue, same as Beakhyun. Yixing’s was black with single red line through the middle. His suit was covered in metals from his many battles. Kyungsoo’s was green for a medical officer. Jongin and Sehun’s were red, noting that they are Fighter pilots.

Since they are all higher ranks, they wear formal uniforms like that. Chanyeol and I do not have to. We wore our usual underclothes. Pants that are dark blue with a lot of pockets and a simple dark blue jacket of the same material. Under we both wore sleeveless shirts, as they get in the way when you’re working.

On all of our chests were name tags. They were screens, which said out name and would shimmer, changing the letter to say our ranks. It was made into the clothes. Some are even made in clothes for design to shimmer and with moving patterns. They’re costly, which explains my lack of any, but they are really awesome.

We land, letting the door open as we walkout. The air heavily scented with all the flowers that are around. The place we landed had the sea behind us, the purple acid lapping at the force wall that protected the rock. There were some things in the air sailing, people having fun and over by a pool which reaches just a few meters to the left. People from all over the galaxies come here, some are even rich enough to live here. The leaves on the trees are even floral scented. It was like a light, pleasant perfume. Nothing too strong, but just perfect. The music was hypnotic, the building closest to us the metal base. Small, about a hundred times smaller than the one on EXO Prime. To the left was a glittering massive building. It spiraled up in golden spears, like it was reaching for the sky.

“Wow,” I mutter, looking around with my eyes wide.

“You act like you’ve never seen a place like this,” Chanyeol says, smiling broadly.

I shake my head, looking over at him. I see a few people in out group looking over, probably more curious. Jongin does, keeping quiet with no biting remarks for once. “All I’ve ever seen besides space stations is EXO Prime and Tribil.”

Chanyeol nods, smile falling. He pats my back, “No wonder. This place is the exact opposite of Tribil from what I hear.”

He’s right. Tribil was a desolate wasteland where you’re more likely to starve than anything else. All the higher up government officials and rich gold and Quantinium miners are taking all the credits for themselves. The only ways to earn some money are few and far between. One way to make a living is to either run errands for a little that, if you save three days could feed you two meals. Not two days. Two meals. Mostly of bread and dehydrated meat. The other is work in the mines. They’ll feed you and shelter you, but you live in a small house with thirty other people and the food is rationed out. They keep you just fed enough to work but not enough to revolt.

The last way is to sell yourself. If you’re pretty, someone will find a use for you, so long as you stay pretty. Then they will throw you away and you’ll be left to die. Tribil’s laws are awful. Through some loophole they manage to not have to follow the standard Syndicate laws for planets under our protection. That’s not to say sex work is illegal, just safer and… well, usually doesn’t include minors. The Syndicate’s hands are tied, since they need the Quantinum in order to create our forcefields and walls. Since Tribil sells half of what they mine to the Syndicate at a forty percent discount, they don’t want to anger them either.

Yixing’s face get’s a hint of anger on it at the mention of our shared home. Something tells me it wasn’t a fond time for him, either.

That we have in common. Tribil killed the only family I had. I was an orphan, but, growing up, there was someone like a brother to me. He was four years older than me and, in order to survive, he went to the mines. He’d save up the few credits they would get and send it to me. Then, he was killed. Mining accident. Quantinum is very dangerous and explosions are very common.

After that, I was starving and hungry. I’d do odd jobs for people. Every now and then I’d find myself in a fancy hotel on my back, letting someone have their way with me. I didn’t like to think about it, since I was very young. They were rare times, and I was happy when I was accepted into the Syndicate so I could put those days behind me.

I was pulled out of my thoughts from an elbow to the side from Chanyeol. A man in a suit that shimmered like a night sky, his white hair pushed back as his one purple eye glitter. The other was replaced with a robotic one. This eyes are rimmed in black and his lips covered with a deep shade of red. He smiles, smoking a cigar holding a glass out in a cheers motion. The bubbling liquid was a light pink with some fruit pieces. He laughed, “Hello Major General Minseok! I’ve heard a lot about you!”

Minseok steps forward, nodding and shaking his hand. While Ysimir isn’t Syndicate controlled, they allow the Syndicate to have a base here in order to refuel and fix any minor damages. In return, the planets near keep the Krytons away from here and, if they are attacked, the Syndicate quickly responds.

“You look so much like your father,” Histor Yssa says, “Old fuck. One day I’ll convince him to take that stick out of his ass!”

Minseok smirks, nodding, “If you manage it, I will buy your drinks for life!”

Histor lets out a belly aching laugh, putting his arm over Minseok’s shoulder, “So, please, introduce me to this collective you’ve brought with you. Obviously I can tell your brothers, but, since we’ve never met…”

Minseok gestures, “Brigadier General Kim Junmyeon.”

Junmyeon nods, shaking his hand and bowing a little, “Pleasure to meet you, president.”

And it went down the line until he got to Sehun, who was standing next to me. Histor smiles, “One of my own! How much?”

“Half,” Sehun says, nodding. Etherions are always curious about how ‘pure’ the blood is. They, for the most part, are never ‘pure’ anymore. Their planet was taken over a hundred years back by their neighbors. They killed half and then enslaved the rest. Twenty years ago The Syndicate helped the Etherion people take it back. Now it is a melting pot of all different types of people. It’s still recovering from that time under the Victris rule. Half Etherion is the most people ever are, anymore, and they are rare to find. It makes him a little uncomfortable, and for obvious reasons, but that’s how his people are, anymore.

The president’s eyes are wide, “My, it’s rare to see someone so pure!” He says, placing a hand on Sehun’s shoulder, “I’m only a third myself, thankfully my mother was beautiful for a human!”

Sehun just nods, looking cool and calm as the president's eyes look to me.

“Master Sergeant Lyra Lang,” I say, shaking his hand. He smiles, looking me over

“Mrs. Lang, may I ask what it is you do,” He says, taking a sip from his drink after moving his cigar for a moment. His eyes went along my body, which was hard for me not to make a comment about. Etherions, for the most part, are obsessed with beauty and bloodlines.

“I’m the Fighter mechanic,” I say, nodding. Something about him makes me feel a bit weird, but it could be because I’ve never met someone so… ostentatious.

He grins, “Wonderful! I was wondering why you looked so strong!” Before I could say anything he polishes off his drink, handing it to one of the people behind him. “If you would follow Klause, he would show you all to your sweets! We’ve got you staying at the best hotel on the planet,” He says, before bowing, “I must get back to work, but rest assured I will meet you all for dinner!”

The ride to the building was quick. The rest of the city was in the valley below, looking just like jewels surrounded by lush foliage. A large waterfall of acid to the side, which goes through a machine about a fourth of the way down that turned it into water. I look back, seeing the huge hotel. So, we were there, Aurora. Hotel and casino. There are a few from where I come from, but only people who are filthy rich or those who are offering their services are allowed. I walk along, looking around. Tanks filled with sea creatures I’ve never seen before, bright lights and pieces of art that looked magnificent. The floor marble as we walked though. People lining up at betting stations, watching sporting events from all over with anticipation and excitement. I could hear people celebrating in the casino as we pass. People dressed just like the President. The suits and dresses all with moving patterns of every color. Soon, we’re led to an elevator.

“A whole floor was given to you for your use,” The voice says of the man who led us as the door opens. Klause was tall, his skin a pale orange. He was very human like, save for his eyes, which are reptilian and his tongue, which was thin and forked. He bows, “Choose whatever room you like. Room service is for free for you all. Dinner with President Yssa scheduled at 19 hundred hours, which is in ten hours. Until then you may spend your time however you wish.”

I nod, before moving and picking the closest room to my right. The walls were a lovely shade of light blue. The decor was very… royal, I suppose. Looking like it was fit for a queen. It was a large room. Living room and small kitchen. The bedroom was huge, the bed looking inviting.I open the door to the bathroom, peeking in. A smile, seeing the tub. It’ll be nice to have a relaxing bath. I nod to myself setting my bag down and sigh, falling into bed. I smile, letting out a little laugh as I move, setting my reader to 19 hundred hours Ysimir time. Quickly I take of my boots and throwing my coat onto the chair to the side.This place is known for their late night dinners and their twenty two hour days, I learned having read up on it a little before we got here.

A few moments later, I hear a knock at my door.

I move with a groan, getting up and moving. They knocked again, “I’m coming!”

I throw the door open, before being pushed inside and having the door closed. I didn’t even get a look at the person’s face before they were inside, looking down. Yixing stares at me, before grabbing my wrist and shining a green light down on my skin.

The Tribian triangle mark on my skin glowed. The old tattoo like thing I got when I was nine. There were small roses on either side of the tattoo, along with the Tribian letter which stood for the common letter A. For approved. I pull my wrist back, glaring. No one on any other planet has those lights but Tribians. Only we know about the ‘tattoos’. It’s not a thing we like to talk about. They use the lights to to check people, see if they are an approved sex worker. If you’re not approved, you’ll be rejected by everyone. It costs nothing, all you have to do is be checked to make sure you’re not carrying any diseases. Once a week you get checked if you perform services everyday, but I went about once a month.

The truth was, they are not tattoos. They’re small nano technology embedded into the skin designed to be hidden. It makes us do whatever someone commands of us if they have the Master one. The triangle with a crown and the Tribian letter for M. So long as someone has that mark, we are powerless. When you are hungry, you’ll do anything.

Yixing’s eyes were wide, his hands shaking. He looks up, his eyes holding anger. They started to swell with tears, “How old?”

I look down, before looking back at him with a glare, shoving him. “Why the fuck should I tell you?!”

He pushes his sleeve up, shining the light on his wrist. The same glowing design. “I was six,” He says, the tears of anger slipping down his face. “I remember seeing you… then man who… the one who liked me wanted a new one. A younger one. He cut it off with me and found someone else.” He says, his voice eerily calm. Yixing looked at me, “Sir Ulysl.”

I looked up, my eyes wide. “He… he was the first I ever… I was nine.”

Yixing sighs, taking a moment to wipe his eyes. He looks back to me. “I’m sorry. For doing this. For not asking. I know it’s a sensitive subject.”

“I had to,” I say, shrugging. “It’s wrong, but everything is wrong on Tribil. You know how it is. You do what you have to in order to live.”

I could see the anger held back in his posture. He was tense, glaring at the ground like it killed someone precious to him. It’s something that’s in all of us, the poor Tribians. An unrelenting anger when we think about the past. About how people are still being used like that. Yixing looks up, eyes meeting mine. “I saw Rhys in the casino,” He mutters, looking up. “He will probably be at our dinner tonight. How would the President not invite oldest member of the Tribian monarchy to dinner, after all?”

Those words take my breath away. I remember times, in the highest room of the largest building. Iscar Rhys, the then king of Tribil. My willingness to do whatever he wanted because the pain in my stomach was getting unbearable. Whatever he wanted, I did. At different times in my life. Starting when I was nine. I remember him saying he wanted to teach us how he liked it. My stomach feeling uneasy, thinking about how a man in his mid thirties acted like what he was doing to a nine year old was normal.

“What made you want to tell me that,” I ask, trying not to give away how awful that name made me felt.

“I was one of the highest requested, Lyra… and he only asked for me twice,” He says. “All of the professional ones, we talk. Mostly about how much we hated all the people we were fucking. We see every single one of the people who only did it sometimes, making bets if they were ever going to go full time,” He explains, leaning against the wall. “As long as we had one who was sweet on us they’d give us a place to stay and all the food we could eat. They have grand feasts and not even half would be eaten. So it would be given to us.” He looks up, “I saw you, a couple times. He would always come and get you when you were young.”

I glare at him, “If you say anything-”

“That’s why I told you,” He says, looking up, “No one knows. If I tell, you tell. Insurance, such is the Tribian way.”

I sigh, looking up at Yixing. The strong Phoenix special ops captain, so strong and deadly, looks as if his heart has been ripped out. Like, for a moment, he’s an empty shell of a person who barely exists. Such is the way of Tribil. Ripping people apart and leaving them to wither away.

Yixing pats me on the shoulder, looking up, “If he is at dinner, it’s you and me. We stick by one another to avoid him. Tribil’s ways are not well received. They’re not spoken about. He won’t say anything unless he gets one of us alone.”

I nod, putting my hand on his shoulder too.

As he left, I couldn’t help but feel gross. I move to the bathroom, filling the tub. I wanted to just melt away, forget about everything for a moment. I pour in some of the bubble bath. I undress, getting in and trying to let my mind rest from the bomb that was dropped on me. When I tried out for the Syndicate, I had to prove I could be useful. I was terrified I would fail and be left to rot on a desert city forever. Forgotten. Thankfully they saw the potential and the drive I had. I was petrified of failing. I couldn’t fail.

The Syndicate saved me from a life of screwing people for money and, when that ended, starving to death. When people say that the food is awful somewhere, I can’t help but think about how it’s better than the constant pain from hunger. After a while of soaking, a few hours if my prune like fingers and toes were any indication, I got out and dressed. A message on my phone told me that the ‘dress code was casual’ according to Sehun.

I put on my clothes, wearing my jeans and a sleeveless top. Put my hair up, looking at my reflection. I forgo the make up, no matter how minimal I wear it, I don’t want to draw attention to myself. I mentally try to prepare myself for what was about to come.

I was working on autopilot, practically. Everyone was around but I was just following them. I was looking, on guard, searching.

And then I saw him.

He’s in his late forties, looking more casual than he ever did before. I was use to seeing him in his fully regal attire. His flack hair was greying. His face still clean shaved. His skin still the same pale almost white. The Jurist blood in his veins making his eyes black with a blue iris. He looks over, in a fancy suit that would have on the legs and arms had flowers and vines growing and blooming. He looked over everyone and I could see his eyes widen slightly when he recognizes Yixing to my right. I feel Yixing’s hand on my arm, holding steady. His eyes move, looking and spotting me.

The small smile that grew made me want to punch him. I wanted to make him hurt physically the same way he made me feel emotionally. I wanted to take that glass and smash it across his face. He look over, speaking with Minseok as I was blinded by my rage. He looked down the line, before, like it was clear and there was no other sounds. He looks at me, smiling, showing off his perfect fucking teeth and his perfect smile.

“Who are you, my dear,” He asks, though I could see it. The devious look in his eyes as he patiently waits for me to act on what he wants.

“Lyra Lang,” Yixing says beside me, his voice curt and to the point.

“It’s nice to meet you,” He says.

We were ushered into the next room, and, as I passed by, there were two tiny words he muttered that made me feel uneasy and on edge all over again.

“Hello again, Little Lyra,” He mutters, the smirk on his face grew, his eyes kept on me as I walked to my seat.

I was furious. My blood might as well be boiling as I say down and looked, trying to avoid his gaze. I look around, finally taking the time to see the room we’re in. The walls covered in screens, projecting lush wildlife like the jungles in the valley. I was trying to calm myself as small talk was made.

I just glare at him now.

The dinner went by in a breeze. He’d make comments towards Yixing and myself, and we’d answer curtly. Surely all of our compatriots were noticing how we were acting.

The food was probably delicious, but I wasn’t paying attention. I would look around, noticing Yixing glaring. Sehun was looking at the both of us with a questioning look, and Jongin was curious, whispering to Yixing as he sat next to him. Everyone was catching onto the fact that Yixing and I were not comfortable at all here.

President Yssa smiles, “And now dessert!”

“I’m actually full,” I say, not thinking I can stomach it. I already said something to Yixing, and he was fine with my leaving early. He’d stick by someone he trusts so he won’t be cornered alone. I stand, bowing, “Thank you for the meal and your hospitality. I’m actually really tired, so I think I’m going to go to bed early.”

I turned, leaving the room before anyone could say something.

Truthfully, I was walking in the garden here instead. A huge glass house full of flowers from all over the galaxy. I see a Tribil black rose, the only thing that can withstand our desert conditions. I took a deep breath, letting out a shaky sigh.

“Little Lyra,” A voice says right behind me, hands on my hips. I turn, about to shove him away from me before he just mutters one word.

“Stop.”

My body freezes all on it’s own. I fought it, trying to move. He just smiles, shaking his head.

“You've become bitter, my little Lyra,” He says, “Calm down. Lower your arm.”

I do as he says, my eyes filling with tears of rage.

“I was so shocked to see you,” He says, smiling, “My beautiful little flower has flourished.” he smiles, placing his hand on my face, caressing my cheek. “I was so disappointed when you left for the Syndicate.”

“Get away from me,” I say, glaring at him.

He smiles, “Show me your wrists.”

I show them to him, even as I fight against it. The powerless feeling making me more and more scared. Before, I did it because I was starving. I was desperate. It didn’t matter what he wanted from me as long as I could eat.

He takes a small little thing from his pocket, shining the light down on my wrist. He smiles, “Just as beautiful. The best invention in Tribil history, wouldn’t you say so?”

“What is that on her wrist,” I hear a voice ask.

I look past Rhys, feeling elated to see Jongin standing there. He was dressed casually, walking up and seeing the symbol on my wrist.

I wanted to scream at him what it was, but for every Tribil who leaves, we’re told never to talk about it. That’s why no one knows what does on in Tribil. The Syndicate knows of whispers, but no actual proof.

Jongin looks me in the eyes, seeing the distress in them. He smiles, looking at Rhys. “I’m sorry, I hope she didn’t bother you. I was coming out here to check on her because I know long flights make her a little uneasy,” He says, moving close to me as Rhys turns off the light and puts it back into his pocket. Jongin places his arm around me, pulling me into a hug. “I was so worried about you, babe. Are you sure you’re ok?”

“J-just feeling a little sick,” I say.

Jongin nods, “I think I better help my girlfriend to her room. Thank you for coming and checking on her, though.”

Rhys nods, using his charm to hide his true feelings just as Jongin was doing. “I might not be king anymore but I still worry.”

Jongin pulls me with him, “Goodnight, your majesty!”

We walk, our shows making noise on the marble flooring. Once we get to the elevator, Jongin looks at me. “What is going on,” He asks, looking alarmed. “You left, and then he left. Yixing told me to go after the both of you because if he did he would have killed him.”

“I can’t tell you,” I say, leaning against the wall.

“Yes, Lyra, you can. Spit it out,” He says, rolling his eyes.

“Jongin, I really can’t! I want to but I can’t,” I says, shaking my head as tears fell from my eyes. “You’ve heard it. The saying. ‘Seekers of the Secret are met with thorns’.”

“What was that mark,” He asks, looking at my wrist. “I’ve never seen it. There’s nothing about a tattoo on your file.”

I want to open my mouth and scream, but I can’t.

Jongin sighs, running a hand through his hair. The glowing of the blue lights in the elevator making him look sadder, in a way. “I just want to help you.”

“I know,” I say, shaking my head. “All I can say is… think along the lines of our biggest export.”

“Quantum,” He says, nodding. “So… it’s a type of tech?”

I remain silent as I see him trying to search for clues. I take the time to look over him, seeing him in jeans and a tight black tee. His hair a little wet, slowly drying through dinner. His purple irises looking at me, trying to uncover the secret I wasn’t telling. I want to tell him everything but I can’t. He nods as the elevator opens.

“My room is the one to the right of yours,” He says, “When you decide you trust me, I’ll be waiting.” Jongin looks sad, his eyes which are normally full of joy now dull.

Watching him go and close the door behind him was excruciating. Knowing he thinks I’m not just saying it to him. This I would scream at everyone if I could.

But I can’t.

I just have to hope he asks around about the clue I gave him.

#exo fanfiction #exo scenarios #exo imagine #exo fanfic #kai fanfic #kai fanfiction #jongin fanfic #jongin fanfiction

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reallydecaffeinatedengineer · 2 years

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random ramblings #??

idk how long it's been since the last ramble but it feels like more than a week lol. anyway, how do people just get jobs and like, sustain themselves? i think i was pretty sheltered growing up so i'm not really street smart. ive taken up 2 jobs so far by myself, and 1 of them ended pretty badly. im kinda still affected by what happened then that im pretty scared of applying to any sort of job that has to deal with difficult people, and jobs that dont specify whether they'll provide training/orientation too. i guess the safest way would be to apply to fast food restaurants, and woo boy am i gonna sound so spoiled right now but long hours just ain't it man. now that ive written it out it seems really ridiculous not to apply to a job just because of the long hours hahaha i overthink things a lot of the time. im jealous of people who have a fuck it attitude to life yk like "hey whatever happens, happens, imma just do me" kinda feel. they prob have their own worries too but somehow some ppl just make it seem like most things are trivial matters and im so jealous of that rn. i tend to either be on extreme sides of the matter - like i'll worry about the smallest littlest thing, or i'll either be not caring abt things at all to the point of shortchanging myself because idk how to stop worrying. and when things dont go in my favour i tend to... there's a word for it... oh yeah "catastrophize" - i tend to think in that manner esp when things go bad. and when i get in that mode i just can't snap out of it and compartmentalize my thoughts. idk how people can be CEOs of massive corporations, presidents of countries, and the like. Like, yk most if not all the huge corporations in the world deal in blood money. how can people live with themselves when they're aware that so many people are suffering because of their decisions, or at the very least, when people organize riots and demonstrations and stuff in protest of what you decided to do? i guess a part of it is because they don't interact with the people that deal with the impact of their decisions and that they dont think about them as equals, but like they're human too right? so eventually somewhere in their mind they'd probably feel guilty?? oh man i realise how naive i sound right now. i know people like hitler exist. i know some humans lack empathy. but it's so weird to me to acknowledge this as fact yk. lol looks like this is finally a proper ramble look at how long this block of text is. haha bye

#random ramblings #idk man #jobs #stress

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fourteenaway · 3 years

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Didn’t Start the Fire | The Story of Cary / Part IV

tw: abuse, fire, death, stepcest, incest mention.

Cary and her thought it a wonderful idea to make an excursion to Richmond and do some Christmas shopping.

Cary had never seen Santa Claus that he could remember, and most fearfully he approached the red suited, white-bearded man who held out his arms to encourage him. Tentatively he perched on Santa's knee in the Department Store, and stared disbelievingly into twinkling blue eyes while Caren snapped pictures from every angle, even crawling to get what she wanted.

Next they visited a dress shop she'd heard about where she handed to them a sketch she'd drawn from memory. She selected the exact shade of dark green velvet, and then the lighter green chiffon for the skirt.

“And make the straps of the velvet bodice shoe strings of rhinestones-and remember, the floating panels must reach the hem.”

While Cary watched a Walt Disney movie. Caren had her hair cut and styled differently. Not just trimmed, as was her habit, but really cut shorter than she'd ever worn it. It was a style that flattered her, as it should, for it had flattered her mother when she wore her hair this way, fifteen years ago.

"Oh, Mommy!" cried Cary, distress in his voice. "You've lost your hair!" He began to cry. “Put your long hair back on, you don't look like my mommy now!"

No, that was the purpose. She didn't want to look like herself this Christmas, not this special Christmas when she had to duplicate exactly what her mother had been when first she saw her dancing with Harry. Now, at long last, her chance, in a gown the same as hers, with her hair style, her younger face. She would confront her mother in her own home, on her terms.

Woman to woman, and let the best one win! She'd be forty-eight, with a recent face lift, still Caren knew she was very beautiful. But she couldn't compete with her daughter who was twenty-one years younger.

Caren laughed when she looked in the mirror after slipping on the new green gown. Oh, yes, she'd made herself into what she was, the kind of woman men just couldn't resist. She had her power, her beauty, and ten times more brains, how could she win?

Three days before Christmas she called Daniel and asked if he'd like to go with her to Richmond. she'd forgotten a few necessary items the little local shops didn't have.

"Caren," he said sternly, his voice cold and hostile, "when you give up Harry Walters you will see me again, but until you do. I don't care to be near you!"

"All right!" Caren flared. "Stay where you are! I wanted you with me and to have your help, but I can see you’re not here for me. Goodbye Daniel, I hope all the bedbugs bite!"

She hung up!

Still a letter came shortly after from him.

Caren,

You write and say you have a new baby inside you made by the husband of your mother. I’m happy for you to have another child, if you have another as great as Cary. For if they are, it will be more than worth any pain, even if your mother's husband will stay married to her. I plead with you though to forgive your mother, even if once she did evil. Nobody is all bad, and a lot of the good in you and Cassidy, and Cody who I never met but have loved through you and Cassidy as if I’d known him myself, must have come from her. When you can forgive and forget the past, peace and love will come again to you, and this time it will stay. I miss you.

Yours truly,

Daniel

Caren didn't teach ballet class as often as she used to, but at recital times she was always there. Her little dancers delighted in dressing up, and showing off before their parents, grandparents and friends. They looked adorable in their costumes for The Nutcracker.

Even Cary had two minor roles to play, a snowflake and a sugarplum.

In her opinion there was no more magical way to spend at least one Christmas Eve than as a family attending a performance of The Nutcracker. And it was a thousand times more wonderful when one of those gifted, small, graceful children was your own small son, fifty-two days short of being four years old.

The sweet babyness of Cary dancing on stage with so much passion drew applause time and again from the audience who stood up to cheer his solo performance that she'd choreographed especially for him.

And best of all, she'd made Harry swear he'd force her mother to attend that recital, and they were there.

She checked by peeking through the curtains, front row center, Mr. and Mrs. Harry Walters. He looked happy; she looked grim.

So she did have some control over Harry.

It showed up in a huge bouquet of roses for the dance instructor, and a huge box for the solo performing snowflake.

"What can it be?" asked Cary, his face flushed, his happiness rebounding from the sky. “Can I open it now?"

"Sure, soon as we're home, and tomorrow morning Santa will leave a hundred gifts for you.”

"Why?"

"Because he loves you."

"Why?" asked Cary.

"Because he couldn't help but love you-that's why."

"Oh."

Before five in the morning Cary was up, playing with the electric train Harry had sent him. All over the living room floor were the splendid wrappings from hundreds of gifts from William, Madame Ephron, Daniel, Harry, and Santa Claus.

"Gee, Mommy," he cried, “I thought it would be lonely without Daniel or Cassidy, but I'm not lonely. I'm having fun.”

He wasn't lonely, but Caren was. She wanted Harry with her, not over there with her mother. She waited for him to make up some excuse to drive to the drug store and slip over to see her and Cary. But all she saw of Harry on Christmas morning was the two-inch wide diamond bracelet he enclosed in a box with two dozen red roses. His card read, “I love you, Ballerina."

If ever there was a woman who dressed more carefully than Caren did that night it must have been Marie Antoinette.

She did her face as if a camera was going to shoot her close up for a magazine cover. Caren styled her hair as mother had worn hers long ago, wavin git back softly from her face, and then catching it high at the crown with a cluster of curls, making sure that a few hung long enough to brush her shoulders."

When she finished, she gasped to see she was almost an exact duplicate of what her mother had been. Her high cheekbones were emphasized just as hers had been with this hair style. As in a dream she never truly expected to happen she stepped into the green gown with the velvet bodice and chiffon skirt. This was the type of gown that never went out of fashion.

Caren spun around before the mirror, getting the feel of being her mother with her power to control men, Cary stood back and flattered her with compliments.

Even her perfume was the same. Musky with a garden scent. Her slippers were straps of silver with four-inch heels. Her silver evening bag matched. All she needed now was the emerald and diamond jewelry she had worn. Soon sheI'd have that too. Surely fate wouldn't have her be wearing green tonight. At some point in her life fate had to be on her side. She figured it was due tonight.

Tonight she'd deliver the surprises and the slaps. She would feel the pain of losing!

Still she wished Daniel was by her side for support

She threw herself one more admiring glance, picked up the fur stole Harry had given her, and gathered up her faltering courage, took a last peek at Cary who was curled up on his side and looking angelic.

Caren leaned over to tenderly kiss his round, rosy cheek, "I love you, Cary," she whispered.

He partially awakened from a hazy dream and stared up at his mother as if she were part of that dream, "Oh, Mommy, you look so pretty!"

His dark blue eyes shone with childish wonder as he asked quite seriously, “Are you going to a party to get me a new daddy?"

Caren smiled and again kissed him and said yes, in a way she was.

“Thank you, darling, for thinking I look pretty. Now go back to sleep and dream of happy things, and tomorrow we'll build a snowman."

"Bring a daddy to help," Cary whispered.

The next hour had been choreographed to the smallest detail. As the big grandfather clock began to strike twelve, Caren positioned herself in the center of the second-floor balcony. She did nothing spectacular to pull all eyes her way, just stood there with her flesh warmed by the flashing jewels.

In her crimson dress of lamé, so high in front it reached her throat that was encircled with a lavish choker of diamonds, her mother slightly turned. She saw the backless gown made up for the severity in front, so a hint of her buttock cleavage showed. Her blond hair was styled shorter than Caren had ever seen it, and fluffed out around her face in a flattering way. From this distance she looked very young and lovely, and nowhere near her actual age.

The last stroke of twelve sounded.

Some sixth sense must have warned her, for she turned her head slowly to look Caren’s way.

Caren began her descent and her mother froze in shock. Her eyes grew wide and dark as her hand that held a cocktail glass trembled so much a bit of the liquid sloshed out and fell to the floor.

Because she stared, Harry followed the direction of her gaze. He gawked as if at an apparition.

Now that both host and hostess were mesmerized, each guest had to look where no doubt they expected to see Santa Claus, and it was only Caren. Only Caren as once her mother had been years ago, wearing the same gown, and before many, she was sure, of those very same people who were here that other Christmas when she was twelve. She even recognized a few, older, but she knew them!

Oh, the joy to have them here!

"Merry Christmas!" Caren called to one and all in a loud clear voice. It resounded like a heralding trumpet to attract others from different rooms, and they came in by the dozens, as if drawn more by the total silence but for her voice.

“Mr. Walters," Caren called invitingly, "come dance with me, just as you danced with my mother fifteen years ago, when I was twelve and hiding above, and she wore a gown just like the one I have on now."

Harry was visibly jolted. Stunned shock made his dark eyes blacken, but he refused to move from her mother's side.

He forced her to do what she did next. As everyone stood there and waited, held in breathless suspense, expecting more explosive revelations, Caren gave them what they wanted.

"I'd like to introduce myself.” Her voice was high-pitched so it would carry well. “I am Caren Elizabeth Osprey, the firstborn of Mrs. Harry Walters, whom most of you must remember was first married to my father, Camden Osprey. Remember too that he was my mother's half-uncle, the younger half-brother of Calvin Nicholas Osprey who disinherited his only daughter, his sole remaining heir, because she wed his half-brother. What is more, I also had a younger brother and sister, twins seven years younger than I, but Cody and Cassidy are dead now. At that Christmas party fifteen years ago,I was hiding in the chest on the balcony, while the twins slept in the end room of the northern wing. We became unwanted and unloved once money came into the picture. She abandoned us for the millions."

And Caren would have screamed it all out, every last detail, but Harry came striding over to her.

“Bravo, Caren!” he cried. “You play your part to perfection! Congratulations.” He put his arm about her shoulders, charmingly smiled at her, then turned to the guests who appeared not to know what to think, or whom to believe, much less how to react.

“Ladies, gentlemen," he said, “let me introduce to you Caren Laurent, whom many of you must have seen on stage when she danced with her husband, Leeland Laurent. And as you have just witnessed, she is also an actress of merit. Caren here is a distant relative of my wife, and if you can see any resemblance, that explains it. In fact, Mrs. Leeland Laurent is one of our neighbors now, you may know that. Since her resemblance to my wife is so remarkable, we cooked up this little farce between us, and did what we could to enliven and make this party different with our little joke."

He ruthlessly pinched her upper arm, before he caught her hand, put his arm about her waist and asked her to dance.

“Come now, Caren, certainly you want to show off your dancing ability after that fine dramatic performance."

As the music began to play, he forcefully made her dance! He turned his head to see her mother sagging against a friend, her face so pale her makeup stood out like livid blotches. Even so, she couldn't take her eyes from Caren in the arms of her husband.

"You brazen little bitch!” Harry hissed at her. “How dare you come in here and pull such a stunt? I thought I loved you. I despise catty women with long claws. I won't have you ruining my wife! You little idiot, whatever made you tell so many lies?"

“You are the idiot, Harry," Caren said calmly, though she was panicked inside, what if he refused to believe?

“Look at me. How would I know she wore a gown like this, if I hadn't seen her with it on? How would I know you went with her to see her bedroom with the swan bed, if I hadn't hidden and heard and seen everything the two of you did up on the second-floor rotunda."

He met her eyes, and he looked so strange, so distant and strange.

"Yes, Harry darling, I am your wife's daughter, and I know if your law firm finds out your wife had children born from the union of her first marriage, then you and she lose everything. All that money. All your investments. Everything you have bought will be taken back. Oh, the pity of that makes me want to cry."

They danced on, his cheek inches from hers. A smile was fixed to his lips. “That gown you're wearing, how the hell did you find out she had one exactly like that the first time I came to this house to a party?"

Caren laughed with fake merriment. “Dear Harry, you are so stupid. How do you think I know? I saw her in this gown. She came to our room and showed us how pretty she looked, and I was so envious of all her curves. She wore her hair as I am wearing mine now. These jewels were taken from her safe in the dressing room table drawer.”

“You're lying," he said, but doubt was in his voice now.

"I know the combination," Caren went on softly, “She used her birthday numbers. She told me that when I was twelve. She is my mother. She did abandon us once her father died and she inherited those millions. And you know why she had to keep us a big, dark secret. You wrote the will, didn't you? Think back to a certain night when you fell asleep in her grand suite of rooms, and you dreamed of a young girl wearing a short blue nightie who stole in and kissed you. You weren't dreaming, Harry. That kiss was from me. I was fifteen then, and had snuck into your room to steal money-remember how you used to miss cash? You and she thought the servants were stealing, but it was me.”

"Nooo," he said with a sigh. "No! She wouldn't do that to her own children!"

"Wouldn't she? She did. That big chest up there near the balcony balustrade has a backing of wire mesh screening. I could see just fine. We saw the caterers fixing crepes and waiters in red and black and a fountain spraying champagne, and there were two huge silver punch bowls. I could smell everything so delicious and we drooled to have a taste of what was down there. Our meals were so boring, and always cold or lukewarm. The twins hardly ate anything. Were you there at the Thanksgiving Day dinner when she got up and down so much? Do you want to know why? She was preparing a tray of food to take up to us whenever the butler was out of his pantry."

He shook his head, his eyes dazed.

"Yes, Harry, the woman you married had three children she hid and then abandoned. Do you know the trauma we suffered knowing she cared more for the money than she did for us, her own children?”

"Caren, please! If you are lying, stop! Don't make me hate her!"

"Why not hate her? She deserves it," Caren went on as her mother went to lean against a wall, and looked sick enough to throw up.

"Once I lay on the swan bed, with the little swan bed across the foot. You had a book in your nightstand drawer about sex, disguised under a dustjacket that read How to Create and Design Your Own Needlepoint or something like that."

"How to Create Your Own Needlepoint Designs," he corrected, looking sick and as pale as her mother, though he kept on smiling, hatefully smiling.

"You are making all of this up," he said in an odd tone that showed no sincerity. "You hate her because you want me, and connive to deceive me and destroy her."

Caren smiled and lightly brushed his cheek with her lips.

“In the beginning, we believed in her, every word she said, for we loved her, trusted her, she was our only hope, and our salvation. And we wanted her to inherit all that money from her father. But we grew thin, half-sick, malnourished, and suffered through two weeks of starvation while you and our mother traveled throughout Europe on your honeymoon. And then you went to Vermont to visit your sister, where our mother bought a two-pound box of maple-sugar candy. But by then we'd already been eating, doughnuts with arsenic laced in the powdered sugar."

He gave Caren a hard, fierce look of terrible anger, “Yes. she did buy a box of that kind of candy in Vermont. But Caren! whatever else you may say, I can never believe my wife would deliberately set out to poison her own children!"

His scornful eyes raked over her, then back to her face. “Yes, you do look like her! You could be her daughter. I admit that! But to say Coraline would kill her own children. I can't believe that!"

Caren had more to spill out. But her mother shrilled out in a loud voice, “Stop!" She stumbled forward; her arms outstretched as if she were blind. “You lie!” she screamed, "I've never seen you before! Get out of my house! Get out this instant before I call the police and have you thrown out! Now you get out, and you stay out!"

Everyone was staring at her now, not Caren. She, the ultra-poised and arrogant had lost control, was trembling, her face livid, wanting to scratch the eyes from Caren’s face!

Caren didn't think a soul there believed her then, not when they could see she was her very image, and she knew too many truths.

Harry left Caren’s side and went to his wife to whisper something in her ear. He put his arms consolingly around her, and kissed her cheek. She clung to him helplessly, with pale, shaky hands of desperation, beseeching his help with great teary eyes of cerulean blue, like Caren’s, like the twins' blue eyes.

"Thank you again, Caren, for a fine performance. Come into the library with me and I'll pay you your fee."

He scanned over the guests clustered around and quietly he said, “I'm sorry, but my wife has been ill, and this little joke was ill-timed on my part. I should have known better than to plan such a show. So, if you will please forgive us, do go on with the party; enjoy yourselves; eat, drink and be merry; and stay as long as you like, Miss Caren Laurent may have some more surprises in store for you.”

How Caren hated him then!

As the guests milled about and whispered and looked from her to him, he picked up her mother and carried her toward the library. She was heavier than she used to be, but in his arms she seemed a feather.

Harry glanced over his shoulder at Caren, gestured with his head that she was to follow, which she did.

She still wanted Daniel here with her, to give her courage now when she felt so strangely alone and defensive as if in the end Harry would believe her mother and not her, no matter what she said, no matter what proof she gave him. And she had plenty of proof.

Harry reached the library and carefully put her mother into one of the leather chairs. He snapped an order Caren’s way.

"Caren, will you please close the door behind you."

Harry seemed on the verge of exploding as he stalked the room, and what wrath he felt now seemed directed not only at Caren, but also at his wife.

“All right," he said, "let's have done with it, all of it. Coraline, I've always suspected you had a secret, a big secret. It occurred to me many times you didn't truly love me, but it never once crossed my mind you might have three children you hid away and then abandoned. Why? Why couldn't you have come to me and told me the truth?" He roared this, all control gone. “How could you be so selfishly heartless, so brutally cruel as to abandon your children and then try and kill them with arsenic?"

Sagging limply in a brown leather chair, her mother closed her eyes. She seemed bloodless as she asked in a dull voice. "So, you are going to believe her and not me. You know I could never poison anyone, no matter what I had to gain. And you know that I don't have any children!"

Caren was stunned to know Harry believed her and not her mother, and then she guessed he didn't truly believe her, but was using a lawyer's trick, attacking and hoping to take her off guard, and maybe get to the truth. But that would never work, not with her. She'd trained herself over too many years for anyone to take her by surprise.

Caren strode forward to glare down at her, and in the harshest of voices she spoke. “Why don't you tell Harry about Cody, Mom? Go on, tell him how you came in the night and wrapped him in a green blanket and told us you were taking him to a hospital. Tell him how you came back the next day and told us he died from pneumonia. Lies! All lies! I sneaked downstairs and overheard that butler, telling a maid of how you too arsenic to our room to poison the mice with sugared doughnuts. And I proved those doughnuts were poisoned. Remember Cody's little pet mouse that you used to ignore? He was fed only a bit of sugared doughnut and he died! Now sit there and cry, and deny who I am, and who Cody and Cassidy used to be!"

"I have never seen you before in my life," she said strongly, bolting upright and staring Caren straight in the eyes, "except when I went to the ballet in New York."

Harry narrowed his eyes, weighing her, then Caren. Then he looked at his wife again and his eyes grew even more slotlike and cunning.

"Caren," he said, still looking at her, "you are making very serious allegations against my wife. You accuse her of murder, premeditated murder. If you are proven right, she will face a jury trial for murder, is that what you want?"

"I want justice, that is all. No, I don't want to see her in prison or put in an electric chair if they still do that in this state."

"She is lying," whispered her mother, "lying, lying,lying."

Caren had come prepared for accusations like this and calmly she pulled from her tiny purse duplicates of three birth certificates.

Caren handed them to Harry who took them over to a lamp and bent to study them. Cruelly and with great satisfaction Caren smiled at her mother.

“Dear mother, you were very foolish to sew those birth certificates in the lining of our old suitcases. Without them I wouldn't have had any proof at all to show your husband and, no doubt, he would go on believing you, for I am an actress and accustomed to putting on a good show. It's a pity he doesn't know you are an even better actress. Cringe away, Mom, but I have the proof!"

Caren laughed wildly, near tears as she saw them begin to glisten in her eyes, for once she had loved her so well, and under all the hatred and animosity Caren felt for her, a little light of innate love still waxed and waned, and it hurt, oh, it did hurt to make her cry. Yet she deserved it, she did, Caren kept telling herself.

“Caren! Sit down and let me handle this!" ordered Harry, "My wife has just undergone surgery and I'll not have you threaten her health. Now sit before I push you down!"

Caren sat.

He glanced at Caren’s mother, "Coraline, if you have ever cared for me, loved me even a little, is any of what this woman says true? Is she your daughter?"

Very weakly her mother answered, "... Yes."

Caren sighed, she thought she heard the whole house sigh, and Harry along with it.

“Yes," her mother continued flatly, her dull eyes fixed on Harry, "I couldn't tell you, Harry. I wanted to tell you, but I was afraid you wouldn't want me if I came with three children and no money, and I loved and wanted you so much. I racked my brains trying to figure out a solution so I could keep you, my children and the money too.”

She sat up and made a ramrod of her spine as her head lifted regally high, “And I did figure out a solution! I did! It took me weeks and weeks of scheming, but I did figure a way!"

"Coraline," said Harry with ice in his voice as he towered above her, “murder is never a solution to anything! All you had to do was tell me, and I would have thought of a way to save your children and your inheritance."

Before Caren’s very eyes her delicate and lovely restored face took on an aged look. She seemed to shrivel and grow haggard with the countless years she had yet to live with her regrets. Her gaze took wild flight, seeking some safe refuge in which to forever hide, not only from Caren, but from the fury she saw in her husband's eyes.

“Caren," pleaded her mother, “I know you hate me, but…”

“Yes, Mother. I do hate you."

"You wouldn't if you understood.”

Caren laughed, hard and bitterly. “Dearest Mother, there is not one thing you could tell me to make me understand."

"Coraline," said Harry, his tone sterile, as if his heart had been removed. “Your daughter is right. You can sit there and cry, and talk about your father forcing you to poison your children-but how can I believe when I can't remember him even giving you a hard glance? He looked at you with love and pride. You did come and go as you chose. Your father lavished money on you, so you could buy new clothes and everything else you wanted. Now you come up with some ridiculous tale of how you were tortured by him, and forced by him to kill your children. God, you sicken me!"

Her eyes took on a glassy stare; her pale and elegant hands trembled as they unfolded and fluttered up from her lap to her throat, and there they fingered over and over again the diamond choker that must be keeping her gown from falling off.

“Harry, please, I'm not lying....I admit I've lied to you in the past, and deceived you about my children, but I'm not lying now. Why can't you believe me?"

Harry stood with his feet spread apart, as a sailor would to brace himself on a rocky sea. His hands were behind his back and clenched into fists.

“What kind of man do you think I am or was?" he asked bitterly. "You could have told me anything then, and I would have understood. I loved you, Coraline. I would have done anything legally possible to thwart your father and help you gain his fortune, and at the same time keep your children alive, free to live normal lives. I'm not a monster, Coraline, and I didn't marry you for your money. I would have married you if you were penniless!"

"You couldn't outwit my father!" she cried, jumping up and beginning to pace the floor.

In that shiny crimson dress her mother appeared a bright lick of flame, a color that made her eyes dark purple as they darted from one to the other of them. Then, finally, when she couldn't stand to watch her as she was, broken, wild, with all her queenly poise gone, her eyes

"All right, Caren. I knew sooner or later I would have to face up to you. I knew it would be you who would force the truth from me. It has always been your way to look through me, and guess I wasn't always what I wanted you to believe I was. The twins loved me, trusted me. But you never would. Yet in the beginning, at the time your father was killed, I was trying to do the best I could by you. I told you what I believed to be the truth, when I asked you to come and live here.”

Caren sat frozen, staring at her. Her eyes pleaded mutely, ‘Have mercy, Caren, believe me! I speak the truth.’

She turned from Caren, and in great distress she appealed to Harry and spoke of their first meeting in a friend's home.

"I didn't want to love you, Harry, and involve you in the mess I was in. I wanted to tell you about my children and the threat my father posed to them, but just when I would he'd worsen and appear ready to die, so I'd put it off and keep quiet. I prayed that when eventually I did tell you, you'd understand. It was stupid of me, for a secret kept too long becomes impossible to explain. You wanted to marry me. My father kept saying no. My children pleaded every day to be let out. Even though I knew they had every right to complain, I began to resent them, the way they kept harassing me, making me feel guilty and ashamed when I was trying to do the best I could for them. And it was Caren, always it was Caren, no matter how many gifts I gave her, who kept at it the most."

She threw Caren another of her long, tormented looks, as if she'd tortured her beyond endurance.

“Caren," she whispered then, her watery, drowning look of anguish brightening a little, as once more she turned to her, “Can't you see what I tried to do, make all of you just a little sick, so I could rush you one by one to the hospital, then report back to my mother you died. I used a minute bit of arsenic, but not enough to kill you! All I wanted to do was make you a little bit sick, just enough to get you out!"

Caren was appalled by her stupidity to scheme in such a dangerous way. Then Caren guessed it was all a lie, just an excuse to satisfy Harry who was staring at her in the oddest way.

Caren smiled at her then, while inside she was hurting so badly she could cry, “Momma," Caren said softly, interrupting her pleas, "have you forgotten your father was dead before the sugared doughnuts started coming? You didn't have to trick him in his grave."

"Yes!" cried her mother, “I knew that! But for that codicil I would never have needed the arsenic! But my father let our butler, in on our secret, and he was alive to see that I followed through.”

Caren glanced at Harry who stood before the fire, his dark eyes gazing at his wife as if he'd never seen her before, and what he was seeing now appalled him.

Suddenly the library door opened and Caren whirled in a fury before falling still and wide eyes.

Her mother turned as in a nightmare to see why Caren kept staring, as Daniel pulled up short and gazed at her. She jumped then, as if terribly startled, then put up both her hands in a gesture that seemed to ward him off.

“Camden?” She asked.

Was she seeing a ghost of Caren’s father? Caren supposed Daniel did looked quite like her father had when he died.

“Camden, I didn't mean to do it, really I didn't! Don't look at me like that, Camden! I loved them! I didn't want to give them the arsenic, but my father made me! He told me they should never have been born!”

Tears streamed down her cheeks as she went on, though Daniel seeming to know she had broken down and was seeing a ghost and started to shake his head.

“I loved my children! Our children! But what could I do? I only meant to make them a little sick, just enough to save them, that's all, that's all. Camden, don't look at me like that! You know I wouldn't ever kill our children!"

His eyes turned icy blue as he stared at her, "Then you did deliberately feed them arsenic?" he asked. “I never fully believed it once Caren told me it, but you did do it!"

She screamed then, in all Caren’s life she'd never heard such a scream as that one that rose and fell hysterically. Screams that sounded like the howls of the insane! On her heel she whirled about, still screaming, as she raced for a door Caren hadn't even known was there, and through it she ran and disappeared.

“Caren," said Daniel, tearing his eyes from the door and scanning the library to take note of Harry, “I've come to fetch you. I've had bad news. We have to go back to South Carolina immediately!"

Before she could answer Harry spoke up, “Are you Caren's adoptive brother, Daniel?”

Daniel wrinkled his nose at the description, just as Caren did for while she used brother to describe him to others and called him Cary’s uncle, brother had never quite felt what they were like. He glanced Harry over and gritted his teeth before muttering, “Yeah sure, I came for Caren. She's needed someplace else."

He stretched out his hand as Caren drifted toward him.

"Wait a minute," said Harry. "I need to ask you a few questions. I've got to know the full truth. Was that woman in the red dress Caren’s mother?"

First Daniel looked at Caren and she nodded to tell him Harry knew, and only then did Daniel meet Harry's eyes with some hostility.

"Yes, she is Caren's mother, and once the mother of twins named Cody and Cassidy.”

“And she abandoned the three of them?” asked Harry, as if he still didn’t believe.

"Yes, Caren and Cassidy came to my brother deathly ill. They had the birth certificates to prove it. My brother requested your wife's presence at the adoption hearing and she never showed, so my brother took in Caren’s sister Cassidy. And if you want more details, you will have to wait, for there are others we have to think about now. Come, Caren," he said, reaching for her hand again. “We've got to hurry! Caren, where is your coat? I have Cary, out in my car."

"Why?" Caren asked and sudden panic filled her. What was the matter?

"No!" objected Harry. "Caren can't leave! She's expecting my child and I want her here with me!"

Harry came to take her in his arms and tenderly he gazed with love at her face.

"You have lifted the blinders from my eyes, Caren. You were right. Certainly I was meant for better things than this. Perhaps I can still redeem my existence by doing something useful for a change."

Caren avoided looking directly at Daniel, and with Harry's arm about her shoulders they left the library and strode through all the other rooms until they reached the grand foyer.

Bedlam had broken loose! Everyone was screaming,running, searching to find a wife or a husband.

Smoke! Caren smelled smoke.

"My God, the house is on fire!" Harry cried. He shoved Caren towards Daniel, "Take her outside and keep her safe! I've got to find my wife!" He looked wildly about, calling, "Coraline, Coraline, where are you?"

The milling throng were all headed for the same exit. From the stairs above black smoke billowed down.

Women fell and people stepped over them. The merry guests of the party were hell-bent now on getting out, and woe to those who didn't have the strength to fight their way to the door.

Frantically Caren tried to follow Harry with her eyes. She saw him pick up a telephone, no doubt to call the fire department, and then he was racing up the right side of the dual staircase and into the very heart of the fire!

"No!" Caren screamed. “Harry, don't go up there! You'll be killed! Harry, don't! Come back!"

He must have heard her, for he hesitated midway up and smiled back at her as she was frantically waving. He mouthed the words, ‘I love you and then pointed toward the east. Caren didn't understand what he meant. But Daniel took it that he was telling them of another way out.

Coughing and choking, Daniel and Caren sped through another parlor, and finally Caren had the chance to see the grand dining room-but it was full of smoke too!

“Look," cried Daniel, pulling Caren on, “there are French doors, the fools, there must be a dozen or more exits on the first floor, and everyone rushes for the front door!"

Daniel and her made it outside and finally over to the car she recognized as Daniel, and there Cary sat trembling as he stared up at the great house that was burning.

Daniel reached inside and pulled out a car robe to throw over Caren’s shoulders, and then reached out to pull Cary in his arms too as he cried, trying to comfort him. He pulled Caren in too and held onto her as she leaned against him and sobbed for Harry. Where was he? Why didn't he come out?

Caren heard the wail of fire engines winding around the hills, screaming in the night that was already wild with the wind and the snow. The snow that fell above the house on fire was speckled red dots that sizzled as they met the flames.

Cary put out his arms, wanting his mother, and she held him close as Daniel adjusted holding them both.

“Don't worry, Caren," he tried to comfort, “Harry must know all the ways to get out."

Then Caren saw her mother in her red flame dress, being restrained by two men. She screamed on and on, crying out her husband's name.

The wind blew relentlessly and whipped the flames higher, higher until they lit up the night and fired the heavens. How easily old wood burned along with the antique furnishings, the priceless heirlooms that could never be replaced. If anything survived, despite what those heroic firemen did who raced about like crazy, connecting up hoses that squirted forth foam, it would be a miracle!

Caren screamed, “People are trapped inside!"

The firemen worked with superhuman speed and agility to get them out while Caren cried wild and frantic.

“Harry! I didn't want to kill you! I only wanted you to love me, that's all. Harry, don't die, please don't die!"

Caren’s mother heard and she came running to where Daniel was holding her tight in his arms.

"You!" she screamed, her distraught expression that of the insane, "You think Harry loved you? That he would marry you? You are a fool! You betrayed me! As you've always betrayed me, and now Harry will die because of you!"

"No," said Daniel who tightened his arms abou Caren, and his tone was that of ice, “it wasn't Caren who your husband ran inside to find. It was you. It was you too who set the fire right? Perhaps because you would rather see your husband dead than married to your daughter."

She stared at him. Her hands worked nervously. Her cerulean blue eyes were darkly shadowed by the pools of black mascara. And as Caren watched and Daniel watched something in her eyes broke, some minute thing that had lent clarity and intelligence to the eyes dissolved and she seemed to shrink.

“Camden, my love, I'm your wife. Don't you love me anymore, Camden? Why?”

Over and over she said this and Caren could have screamed. Instead she put her hands over her ears and pressed her face against Daniel's broad chest.

He made some signal to one of the ambulance drivers, for she had got out of life what she put in.

Caren turned to Daniel and cried again in his arms, for who would live long enough to let her keep the love she had to have? Who?

Warily they approached her mother who saw them, shrieked and then tried to run. Caren saw her stumble and fall, her heel caught in the long hem of her flaming red, glittering gown, and on the snow she fell flat, kicking, screaming and pounding her fists.

They took her away in a straightjacket, still screaming of how Caren had betrayed her, while Daniel and Caren clung to one another and watched with wide eyes. She thought that they both must have felt like children again, helpless with the fresh grief and shame they bore.

Caren followed him about with Cary in her arms, while he did what he could for those who had been burned.

She only got in his way, but she couldn't let him out of her sight.

The body of Harry Walters was found on the floor of the library, suffocated by the smoke and not the flames.

Caren stumbled over to fold down the green blanket and stared into his face to convince herself death had come again into her life.

Again and again it kept coming!

Caren kissed him, cried on his unyielding chest, she raised her head and he was looking straight at her and through her, gone on to where she could never reach him and confess that she had loved him from the start-fifteen years ago.

"Caren, please," said Daniel, tugging her away.

Caren sobbed when Harry's hand slipped from her grasp, "We have to go! There's no reason for us to stay on now that it is all over."

All over, all over-it was all over.

Caren’s eyes followed the ambulance with Harry's body inside.

Hours and hours passed while Daniel pleaded with her to leave this place that had brought her nothing but unhappiness and sorrow.

Why hadn't she remembered that?

It was dawn before the fire was brought under control.

Daniel was eager to depart, but Caren had to sit and watch until the last wisp of smoke was blown away and became part of the wind called nevermore. It was her salute, the final one to Harry Walters whom she’d first seen at the age of twelve. At first sight she'd given her heart to him.

So much so that she had to have William grow a mustache so he'd look more like Harry. And she'd married Leeland because his eyes were dark, dark like Harry's.

Oh, God, how could she live with the knowledge she had killed the one man she’d loved best?

"Please, please Caren. I'm sorry, about Harry. It must have been your mother who started the fire,” Daniel said.

His voice came to her from a far distance, for she was locked up in a shell of her own making. She shook her head and tried to clear it. Who was she? Who was that man next to her, who was the little boy in his arms fast asleep?

“What's the matter with you, Caren?" Daniel said impatiently. “Listen, William suffered a heart attack tonight! He needs us! Are you going to sit here all day too and grieve for a man you should have left alone, and let the one man who has done the most for us die?"

Everything was her fault! All her fault! If she'd never come, if she'd never come, on and on she kept saying this to herself as she cried bitter tears for the loss of Harry.

#cary: musing #cary: story #danield: musing #caren: musing #harry: musing

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jojuarez26 · 7 years

Text

We found love in a hopeless place

It's been such an incredibly long day. I just want to go home and soak in the jet tub with my bottle of whiskey and a pack of smokes.

I had to spend five hours in Erudite today. I fucking hate Erudite, I left for a reason. Unfortunately being former Erudite and having the superior intellectual intelligence out us five Dauntless leader's, I tend to get stuck attending all the seminars.

When I get back Max has left a fuckton of paperwork on my desk and two disciplinary action. Not to mention the extra two hours spent working on a personal investigation.

Chip, a fence guard I completed initiation with, came to me two months ago with something he had heard out on a recent two month tour. If any of it was true it would be fucking life altering for me.

As I stalk towards the Chasm heading home I see a blur of black with long burnette hair drop over the railing.

Fuck! I burst forward looking over the edge. I expected to be looking for a body. What I saw surprised me.

She was hanging on by her finger tips looking down. The internal struggle clearly displayed in her emerald eyes. Quietly and careful not to startle her I crouch down to get closer.

"Hey there. Give me your hand," I say quiet and calm reaching out for her

Those polished emerald eyes lock with mine and go wide. She struggles to move away without falling.

"Go away!! Leave me alone! I can't do it anymore!" She yells panicking.

"Ok, ok relax. Whatever it is we can figure it out. Let me pull you up," I coax calm but stern.

"There is nothing to figure out. It hurts to much. Leave me be," tears are now streaming down her face. Despair and hopelessness on full display on her face.

Think Eric, think.

"This is a pretty permanent solution you can't take back. Let me help you up. Let's talk about it." I desperately want to get her from dangling over the edge.

"I can't. I don't know how. I don't want to do this alone anymore," she is clearly hurting inside.

A unusual emotions of empathy and sorrow wash over me. I suddenly have the desire to hold her and tell her it will all be alright.

"Sweetheart, please let me help you. Whatever you're going threw I won't leave you alone in it. I promise," the words slip out before I can even register what I just said.

She hesitates a moment longer before giving in and reaching for my hand. Quickly before she has a chance to change her mind, I grab her and haul her over the railing. She crumples into a sobbing heap in my arms.

"I'm Eric if you didn't already know. What's your name sweetheart," I ask trying to calm her down while texting the infirmary.

I'm sitting on the floor holding her in my lap stroking her hair while she continues to sob uncontrollably.

"S-Sam. Samantha is my name," she works on blurting out

"Well Samantha, we're going to get you to the infirmary and get you checked out ok."

Her heart is racing, whole body trembling and her pupils are diolated. Her glazed over, feral look leads me to believe she is on a drug of some sort.

"Don't leave me alone Eric. You promised." She whispers as she begins to calm down a little bit.

Shit. Me and my damn mouth. I am, if nothing else, a man of my word. A fucking asshole prick, but a noble one.

"Yes Samantha. I am going with you."

I finally see the infirmary team heading towards us. Two females crouch down coaxing Samantha out of my arms to check her over. As I stand, Samantha thrashes wildly grabbing for my pant leg.

"Don't leave me! You promised!" She shrieks wildly.

"Hey, hey. Shhh. I'm not leaving you Sam. I did promise. But I need you to do something for me. Let these two nice ladies look you over while I talk to Dr.Marx a minute ok. Can you do that for me Sam."

I took her face in my hands talking to her softly. She looks into my eyes intently. I almost feel naked for a second. Like she is stripping away my layers and staring into my soul. After a moment with no loss of eye contact and final content she believes me she sits down. I run a hand gently threw her hair and use the other to stroke her cheek.

"Thank you. I will be right here. I promised."

I turn to see the doctor and two nurses staring at me wide eyed and curious. Quickly I school my feature and narrow my eyes with clear disdain. Quickly the snap out of it and get to work on Samantha.

When I turn to Dr. Marx I give him a death glare. He just smiles, an amused look on his face.

"So the evil, ruthless,asshole leader does have a soul after all," he says quietly, merriment in his voice.

"Tell anyone and you'll be hanging over the Chasm next," I grumble giving the doctor a pointed look.

"Your secret is safe witb me. Besides, nobody would ever believe me anyways," he chuckled.

"So how do you know our Sammy girl here and how did you find her?" The doctor inquiries.

"I don't. I was on my way home and I seen jump over the rail. When I got to her she turned histarical and spouted off about how she couldn't take it anymore."

She must have a history if the doctor knows her. Great. What did I just get myself into. I'm starting to regret my promise.

Dr. Marx gets a sympathetic look in his eyes. He flicks his gaze to the girl with compassion and sadness in his eyes.

"Sam has been a frequent flier in the psychward since she joined us three years ago from Candor. She has had a rough life that nobody deserves," the sadness with a hint of anger laces his voice heavily.

"However I'm impressed. I honestly can't believe she let you touch het let alone threw herself in your arms."

I narrow my eyes at him. I have a feeling I am not going to like what I hear. I nod at him to go on.

"Samantha has been violently and repeatedly abused physically, mentally and sexually by those she should have been able to trust the most. General she doesn't let men, especially essential strangers, get near her. She a strict female staff contact order in her Dauntless file."

I feel the blood begin to boil in my veins. I have a sudden memory of training her. I remember an instances when Four went to correct her stances. She freaked the fuck out and had to be sedated. Max pulled her from training for three days. She returned with strict orders that she was only to face female opponents in training and to get Lauren if anything one on one was required of her. An explanation was never given. I'm snapped back into the present by Dr.Marx calling my name. I shake my head and return my focus back to him

"I'm sorry what was it you just said?" Annoyance clear in my voice.

The doctor just smirked and repeated himself.

"She has a history of drug and alcohol abuse. A strike on her records from secondary school for several minor assault charges. We're ready to take her now. Are you coming?"

I give the good doctor a glare that usually sends even the strongest and bravest of Dauntless running in fear. Not the doctor, he just rolls his eyes

"Did you not hear the part where I promised to go with her. Besides, I would like to sit down and see what action plan we can get in place for her for permanent ungoing therapy."

Dr. Marx expression was one of surprise and being caught off guard for a split second. But then just as quickly he schooled his features to a neutral look before speaking

"That is very kind of you Eric. I don't think anyone has ever kept that type of promise to the poor girl. She could use any bit of support she can get."

I felt a tightening in my chest. I usually never let anyone get close to me or I to them. Ever. I did that once and my trust was betrayed. I prefer to be alone with minimal non-proffesional interactions. I only do casual sex and I am an asshole.

However something about Samantha has me drawn to her. Plus still a noble asshole. Some Erudite traits where just impossible to break even after five years in Dauntless.

I nod my head for the doctor to go. I turn back to Sam who's eyes are still locked on me. They have her on a stretcher. I walk over to walk beside her as we head to the infirmary. I was caught off guard when she grabbed my hand in a death grip.

I turned surprised eyes to hers and my breathing faulted for the briefest of seconds. Never in my life had anyone looked at me with so much trust, gratitude and some other emotion I couldn't quite pinpoint. Ever.

Most people looked at me with fear or contempt. Occasionally respect and way too many times pure lust.

Something inside me I couldn't identify with stirred my emotions. I reached my other hand out and gently stroked her cheek. Her eyes slipped shut as she leaned into my touch. The tiniest of a tingle shot threw my hand.

"We're going to get you better Samantha. You will never have to deal with it alone again."

Tears of relief filled her eyes. She has such beautiful eyes when they weren't filled with so much pain.

"Thank you," she whispered giving my hand the smallest of squeezes before those beautiful emerald eyes slipped shut.

Two hours later I sat nodding out off and on in the recliner I pulled next to Sam's bed. They had drawn blood, hooked her up to an IV and various other machines to check her vitals. I stepped out of the room while a nurse helped her change into a gown.

I had also went and got coffe while Dr.Marx and Sam disgust what she would allow for disclosure to me and how much power I would be granted in her decision making. She had no family here in Dauntless.

Her mother passed away when she was five. A younger deceased sister. Both her father and her older brother where incarcerated indefinitely in Candor for crimes that where sealed to the public because they where committed against minors.

Sam had been placed to live with in Aunt in Erudite for the last six months before her choosing ceremony.

"Eric. Eric wake up. The notary is here. Let's get this paperwork signed and you can be on your way."

I rubbed the sleep from my eyes and glanced over at Sam. She was sedated and being given meds to detox off of some drug or another she had been taking. She looked peaceful, looks can be deceiving. I was being given partial patient history disclosure and full power of attorney whenever a doctor deemed her fit for decision making.

"Why on earth give a complete stranger this much power and leverage over yourself?" I had asked.

"Because in all her twenty-one years that stranger is the only person who showed initiative to give a damn abour her. Plus it doesn't hurt your a leader and all."

I had scoffed and reminded him what a dick I am and that people usually loath me.

"That's because people never get to see the side of Eric we did tonight. I think you hide behind your authority to hide your own demons."

I glared at the doctor for a moment before looking away.

"Carful doctor, don't forget who the patient is," I sneered.

He had just sighed shaking his head. I had known Dr.Marx since I was a child. He had been a friend and colleague of my father before he passed away.

"Alright Eric. Everything is in order for now. Go home and get some sleep. Should I tell Samantha if and when you will be back?"

"I'll be back to have dinner with her. Call me if I am needed before then."

I stretched and turned to leave. I paused looking at the broken girl lieing on the bed. What the fuck had I just gotten myself into? I bent over and placed a kiss on her forehead and turned to go.

"Eric," I stopped and turned to look at Dr. Marx.

"You are a good man you know. Your father would be proud. Also call your mother once in awhile you little shit."

My lips turned up slightly at the last comment. Of course my mother would use Elvin as her messenger.

"I will. When I have something to say."

With that I left to head home for some sleep. As I walked uncertainty started to slowly creep into my thoughts.

I just completely let a stranger in just to save her life. From what I had gathered she had a fucked up childhood and just couldn't seen to cope as an adult. Besides my leadership duties I just made the biggest and second commitment of my life. Did I just change my life for the better or make the biggest, foolish mistake of my life?

@pathybo @tigpooh67 @iammarylastar @kenzieam @lunaschild2016 @emmysrandomthoughts @clublulu333 @beautifulramblingbrains @frecklefaceb @sparklemichele @mom2reesie @ericdauntless @dani5102 @readsalot73 @kiiiimberlyriiiicker1995 @bookwarm85 @glamlover87 @badassbaker @captstefanbrandt @jaihardy @ariwolff14

Divergent fanfiction: Eric/OC

I do not own any part of Divergent

Strong language and mature content

#jai courtney #eric divergent fanfiction #eric insurgent #divergent eric #eric coulter

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