#lies my parents told me gives me rage not even dead man’s party or normal again could inspire
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Day 5 - Believe in Yourself
Throne – Watching the sunrise – “I’m not saying I told you so…”
Unable to sleep, Alden wanders the halls of the Imperial Palace lost in thought. He finds himself in the Grand Hall, confronted with the reality of his imminent position as Emperor. It all feels too much for him, but a surprise visit with his brother cheers him up a bit.
~2500 words
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The quiet, comfortable solitude of night always invigorated him. No teachers, parents, siblings, or peoples to interact with as they all slumbered lifted a burden from his shoulders he never recognized until the weightless feeling after it left. With the world sleeping, he finally had freedom. Freedom to just be rather than be something.
In an effort to avoid waking his wife – wife! – he roamed the halls of the palace, lost in thought. The moon shone brightly through the various openings in the palace’s walls, the windows open for the cool night air to circulate. Idania had insisted on it to reduce stuffy and stagnant air. Servants would be up with the sun to close them all again, the stained glass painting the inner walls in the sunlight. He had no preference either way, something that frustrated her to no end. But with the mental and physical exhaustion of his new role as heir to the Scorpio Crown, he rarely had the energy left for such menial decisions.
A few overnight servants, the ones that swept the floors and straightened carpets and dusted and all the other things that Idania organized for the beautification of the palace. They all started upon seeing him, but he apologized for bothering them and continued wandering. Most attempted to ask if they could help, but he thanked them and proceeded through the grounds. In truth, he had no real destination in mind, just let his feet take him where they would, his mind lost in the weeds of anxiety.
The older members of the council had little faith in him, having hoped to overthrow his mother with news of his status as a bastard and the actions of his brother. They had no care for the circumstances or truth behind either, only desired to seize power. But they also had not put in the time or effort to turn the people to their side, resulting only in ineffectual posturing as the people chanted for the Kil’Jades. Karlina spent time as the grieving mother, spent time rallying the people, spent time garnering sympathy for her children. When Alden returned to them after years missing, thought dead, they people rejoiced. The announcement of Sylvain’s survival met the same raucous applause. The people loved the Empress and her family. The other council members had no chance, so caught up in their petty squabbles, that all they ever managed to do made things worse for the peasantry.
He would have to fight them, fix the problems they crafted to make him look bad, to squelch their powergrabs before they came to light. He remembered the many times he had stumbled into bettering life for the people in Lotuserna with Sylvain’s help. The ripple effect of his small appetite that turned into food banks all over the Lotus Capital had been a startling lesson in economics and goodwill for him. Could he replicate that on his own?
He could always consult with Sophie. She trained in governance from a young age and had the blood of the Queen Mother in her veins. She managed to repair the damages brought by Preminger and his poor advice to her brother Andre in a few months as Queen Regent. Even the rumor of her relationship with a Libra had not sullied her reputation and popularity with her subjects. The Djinn had no head for governing among them, not a single one, though Tristan knew a small village Mayor-in-Training that might be able to give him a good word with the Taurus leadership. He had made an impression on the Grand High Judge in the Libra while Idania made friends with the Clipped down below.
Footsteps echoed around him, jerking him unceremoniously from his thoughts. The Grand Hall stretched out around him, a stage-like dais stretched across the back of the room. The carpet, a rich tapestry of reds, greys, and browns for each of the tribes, fringed with white tassels for the Hibernation Guard. Along the edges sat the tables and stacks of chairs for Council meetings, large dinners, and small parties. A servant clutched his cleaning supplies to his chest, having not expected the Emperor-in-training to have shown up in the middle of the night.
Before he could jump into attempting to serve and impress his master, Alden waved a hand to calm him. “It’s all right. I just couldn’t sleep. Please proceed.”
The man’s eyes practically bulged from his head, his tail quivering behind his head. The next Emperor apologized to him! “I-I was actually just finishing up in here, Your Highness.” He balked, his stinger twitching.
Alden offered the poor man a smile. “Well, don’t let me keep you.”
The man spread his arms in the typical Scorpio show of respect and hurried away, grabbing his bucket on the way.
Once the servant disappeared down the hall, Alden wandered through the hall, his bare feet thumping quietly over the scratchy rug, slapping softly on the polished stone, his tail clicking absently behind. He traced fingers over the long tables, not a speck of dust in sight. How many men and women sat at these tables to fight over how best to frustrate and lead their people? How many would he cycle through over the course of his reign? How many would he have to prove himself to, would he have to remind of his position, would he actually respect?
He reached the steps to the dais. He hesitated and looked up to the thrones that waited there. The large, ostentatious throne in the center, the same design but slightly shorter for the spouse of the Imperial Majesty, then the other smaller three for the clan heads. His right arm ached slightly, a flash of purple in the magical veins, and he curled his hand into a fist.
Soon that throne would belong to him and the one beside it to Idania. His pulled in, his expression dark. He hated the idea that many would slight her for her origins, mock her for starting in an orphanage, and yet faun over her for being the Djinn of Water. He hated the idea that he would have to fight for her, protect her from their lies and politics, that no matter what she did, she would never be right for them. For him, it was normal, but he hated to see the love of his life mistreated in that way.
But with the power of the crown, of the throne behind him, they might learn to keep their mouths shut. He stepped gently over the stone and moved to the largest chair. It loomed over him, not quiet as large as when his father were alive, or the Emperor, or even a few years ago when his mother occupied the chair. He had grown, he surmised, over the years, over his journey. He looked up to the Scorpio crest at the top center of the chair, the three symbols of the clans encircled in the snowflake for the Hibernation Guard. A reminder of unity and over whom all the Emperor ruled and was ruled by.
A lot of power and a lot of responsibility rested in that simple piece of furniture. His fingers graced over the arm, also impeccably dust-free. The servants took their work very seriously. If he ever found it in disarray, if he ever found it to be dusty or streaked from cleaning, would he ever get enraged? Would he take that rage out on the staff?
“Daunting, isn’t it?”
Alden yelped, his tail raised to defend himself. At the back of the dais lie two doors that led to private hallways for the imperial family. Sylvain, his hair an ashen blonde, body hunched and leaned onto an elegant and functional cane, stood in the doorframe to the right. Alden heaved a breath to calm him heart. Sylvain chuckled and limped awkwardly and with great effort toward the chairs. Alden hurried around the chairs and offered to assist his brother. Despite his assumptions, Sylvain gratefully took Alden’s hand and led them to the chair. He gestured and Alden helped lower him into the spousal throne. With a gesture, Sylvain encouraged him to sit in the largest.
“It’s just a chair, you know.” His newly green eyes shimmered playfully in the torchlight.
Alden sighed and shook his head. “But it’s not, is it? I mean, functionally, yes, of course it’s just a chair. But…” He pointed to the Scorpio crest. “It represents so much more.”
Sylvain nodded and placed his hands on the top of his cane. “Do you remember what we were taught about the crest?”
A small chuckle shook the Red Prince. “I do.”
When he did not elaborate further, Sylvain smirked. “You do not.”
Alden rubbed the back of his neck. “Maybe I don’t.”
A raspy chuckle drifted from the older Scorpio. “Then why worry so much? It’s just a piece of art on an overly elaborate piece of furniture.”
The younger brother huffed slightly. “There are those that worship this crest. Those that place trust in what it represents. That fight and die for it. That… will end up being my responsibility. All those people, Scorpio and the Hibernation Guard, will be relying on me to keep the peace in this room, to work toward their dreams and steer the empire true.” Red eyes met green. “I don’t know if I can do it, brother. It’s… it’s a lot. Perhaps too much. I’m sure to fuck it up, somehow.”
Sylvain nodded solemnly with recognition. He knew! He fell to one knee before his brother. “How did you do it? How did you live with the knowledge that it would all fall to you someday? That you would be responsible?”
Ashen eyebrows lifted over tired green eyes. “You think I lived with it?” He sighed slowly and shook his head. “I barely survived. But I had to put on a brave front for those around me. They expected a lot from me and I did what I had to.”
Alden’s shoulders sagged. Memories of their time in the Academy, of all the days Sylvain toiled in the library, or with some private tutor or another, flashed by in an instant. He never gave it much thought then, enjoying his time spent with Valash and Alexander, the days he spent roaming the city with Idania, the days he got caught stealing. No one expected anything of him. He took advantage of that then. Perhaps he should’ve paid more attention, focused more on studies, tried to be a better Prince.
“Doesn’t matter now, anyway.” Sylvain tapped his cane against the polished stone. “Mother has named you the next Emperor. And by the looks of things, you’ll do very well.”
Platitudes and apologies died on his tongue, sputtered out as nonsense. “You think I’ll do well?”
Sylvain gestured to the chair again. “Sit down. You’re making me nervous kneeling like that.” Alden moved without much though and sat in the main throne, focused solely on his brother. Sylvain smiled. “Typically, those that crave power are not very responsible with it. And since you don’t want the power and responsibility, you are more likely to wield it with temperance and kindness.”
The younger brother scoffed. “Please. Spare me. There are plenty that don’t want the throne that would be beyond terrible at it.”
The older man shrugged and slumped back into the chair. “Well, mother won’t stop singing your praises, that’s for sure.” Another scoff. “She seems to think you’re a hero. Won’t stop regaling me with the highly fictionalized versions of your journey after-“ He hesitated briefly. “Phiphi destroyed Lotuserna.”
He rubbed a hand over his face. “Ugh, I’m sorry. I’m sure that’s not very fun for you.”
Sylvain bobbed his head back and forth. “Well, it’s fun to hear all the different versions, at least. How evil some stories make me sound, how heroic others make you sound. It’s also interesting to hear her opinions of Idania change from day to day.”
Alden shook his head and slumped back in the chair. “I wonder if they’ll ever get along.”
Sylvain looked to his brother and grinned with half his face. “There. That’s it.” Alden lifted his brow. “Seeking a diplomatic solution to every situation is paramount.”
“Just because I wish for my wife and my mother to like each other doesn’t mean I have the makings of Emperor.”
“It’s the little things. Little things inform larger things.” Sylvain reached a hand to slap his brother’s arm. “Remember when you couldn’t finish your dinner and the Ambassador ended up opening up food banks all over Lotuserna?”
Warmth spread from the small contact. “I was actually thinking about that earlier! But that was all you and Idania. All I did was have a tiny stomach. But it did make me think. Could I rely on you to be an advisor? And Idania did manage to help all those refugees. And I have connections in other Constellations as well-“
Sylvain smirked. “Look at you being all Imperial.”
Alden shook his head. “You would know, I suppose.”
“I’m not saying I told you so…”
Laughter burbled between the two men, raspy and affectionate, and descended into coughs. After they calmed, Alden reached over to place a hand on his brother’s. “I appreciate it, Sylv. I know I shouldn’t ask this of you, but I can count on you for advice, can’t I?”
The first light of morning peaked through over the horizon and flooded the Grand Hall. Both men started at the sudden brightness, Sylvain closing his eyes. Ophiuchus’s darkness lingered and made his brother sensitive. “Here, we should get you back to your room.”
Sylvain waved a hand. “Shying away from it won���t make me any better. I haven’t seen a proper sunrise in Spirits know how long. I’ve missed it.” Those tired green eyes lifted to Alden’s. “And of course you can rely on my counsel. You’ll need at least one person to tell you when you’re being incredibly stupid.”
-
“Kelara?” The left door behind the dais creaked. Alden lifted his eyes to his wife, her hair a mess, eyes narrowed. “What are you doing in here?”
Warmth filled him again, a different one this kind, as his arm glowed a faint purple. “Kelara! I’m here with Sylvain, actually. Apparently neither of us could sleep.”
She padded across the floor and leaned over to smile at Sylvain. Sylvain attempted a full smile in response, but only half his face seemed to work. “Good morning, Master Sylvain. How are the other healers-”
He held up a hand. “Don’t get me started. For now, I’d just like to enjoy the sunrise.”
She straightened up a bit and looked to the windows. She nodded, understanding, and placed a hand on his shoulder. Her other hand stretched for Alden. He furrowed his brow, but he watched her hand glow on Sylvain’s shoulder. He felt more sure of his love every moment.
He shifted his weight and Sylvain winced, ready for the pain of the brightness again. When the pain did not come, he blinked and relaxed. Alden moved to his wife’s side and slipped his arms over her shoulders. She turned to beg a kiss, to which he obliged. Sylvain lifted a hand to hers on his shoulder. Both brothers muttered a quiet “thank you”.
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Today
Summary: Ten years. Ten birthdays.
Notes: To anybody who followed me for Symphogear stuff, I must apologize but I am returning to the regularly-scheduled Bushiverse posting with a fic in honor of (second? I’m never sure) best girl’s birthday. Because Kaoru deserves good things.
Today, he is eight years old.
He’s seated at the head of the table, an elaborately decorated layer cake studded with candles placed in front of him. It’s like all of the previous birthdays he remembers. But unlike the ones in the past, where the guests were mostly family members he didn’t know he even knew, or worse, his parents’ work associates, the people in front of him are friendly, familiar. They smile expectantly at him, the light from the candles reflecting in the soft lavender eyes they all seem to share. The eyes of the girl sitting right next to him are the ones that seem to be shining the brightest, though.
“Kao-chan,” She says, leaning forward, “aren’t you going to make a wish?”
He turns to look at her, and he can’t help as a smile nearly splits his face in half.
“Y-yeah, of course,” He says as tears start to prick at his eyes. “I’ve just...I’ve never had a birthday with a friend before.” He rubs his eyes as the tears roll down his cheeks.
“Silly Kao-chan,” She laughs. “Why are you crying?”
“I’m just,” he sniffles, “I’m just so happy!” There are practically waterfalls flowing from both his eyes now. “Thank you so much Chii-chan! This is the best birthday I’ve ever had!”
He blows out the candles. He wishes that he can spend every birthday, if not with her, with friends like her who he loves.
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Today, he is nine years old.
At his insistence, today he is not seated at the head of the table. He is not seated at a table at all. Instead he is in a red velvet theater seat. She is sitting next to him, but at the moment he isn’t registering it. He is transfixed by the action on the stage.
The actors, adorned in elaborate and vibrant costumes straight out of a painting, are passionately retelling a timeless story of love and tragedy. Through staged swordfights, through song, through impassioned dances that were lit in such a way to make it seem like the two leads are the only people in the world. The male lead is so princely and handsome, but apparently he, as well as all the other characters, is played by a woman. He never knew that a woman could look like that. He never knew a woman could be a prince.
It’s the final act. The couple lies side by side, fingers interlaced, dead. Driven to their doom by a love that could never be. He has been crying for much of the runtime, but now he is almost bawling.
The curtain soon falls. There is a roar as the audience gives an ovation, and meanwhile he continues to cry. She begins tugging at his hand as they prepare to leave the theatre.
“What’s wrong, Kao-chan?” She asks as soon as her mother escorts them into the lobby. “Didn’t you like the play?”
“I did,” He says through choked sobs, “but it was so sad! Why couldn’t they be together?” He buries his face in his hands as he cries. She rubs his back reassuringly as they leave.
On the way home all he can think is that this is the best birthday he’s ever had so far.
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Today, he is ten years old.
Since she couldn’t find time to see another play this year, there is a party at his house like there normally is. Apparently her career is starting to really take off. She can’t seem to find the time for things like that any more. He doesn’t mind. He’s happy for her. As long as he gets to be by her side.
The party is going smoothly when he feels a tap on his shoulder. He turns around to see her, looking oddly serious.
“Chii-chan? What’s wrong?”
There’s a hint of sadness in her eyes. “I need to talk with you,” She says, grabbing his hand. “Alone.” She pulls him along through the crowd of people, and he is too confused to resist.
At last they are in a more isolated and quiet corner of the house. Somewhere upstairs, where nobody is likely to bother them. She gazes nervously down at her feet. This is so unlike her, he thinks. Normally she’s so confident. What does she have to say to him?
“Kao-chan,” She says, finally. “I’m sorry, but I don’t think we can hang out anymore.”
His eyes go wide as the shock of what she’s telling him hits in full force. “What? Why?”
Her eyes meet his, and they’re full of regret. “You know how I’ve been getting more roles lately, right?” He nods. “Well, soon I’m going to be doing that full time.” She looks down at her feet again. “Kao-chan, I’m sorry.”
“Chii-chan…” He steps forward and wraps her into a hug. “This is great, Chii-chan. I’m so happy for you!”
He is happy. He’s glad that she’s finally finding success doing what she loves. But at the same time she’s leaving him. He’s going to be alone again.
He tries his hardest not to cry onto her shoulder.
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Today, he is eleven years old.
For the first time in three years, she’s not with him on his birthday. Instead it’s back to the way it was before. He is seated at the head of the table, cake with candles in front of him. He is surrounded by adults he doesn’t even know. He scans the crowd.
He thinks he sees a flash of blonde hair. He blinks, and it’s gone.
He looks down at the candles and blows them out. He wishes he could see her again.
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Today, he is twelve years old.
He has not seen her in person in two years. But he has seen her on TV. Plenty of times. He watches her shows regularly, and he takes notes. He’s decided he wants to follow her down that path, to become an actor like her. Maybe that way he can see her again.
It’s the same as last year. Head of the table, cake with candles. But this year he has been trying to at least talk to some of the adults. They work with his father, after all. They know where the work is for an actor. If he gets to know them maybe he can move up.
Unfortunately, he doesn’t like the feeling he gets from a lot of them. They seem cold and unfeeling. Not friendly at all. They intimidate him.
He blows out the candles. He makes the same wish as he did last year, but this time he adds that he would like it to be on stage.
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Today, he is thirteen years old.
All day he has been told that he is going to be a man soon. Especially by his father, who seemed excited by the prospect, in his own muted and stoic way. All this talk unsettles him. He’s not sure why, it just does.
He’s doing what he did last year, talking amicably to the party guests despite their intimidating demeanor. He’s gotten better at it. He’s learned how to adopt a sort of persona, a character he can put on in day-to-day life. Apparently it’s called method acting. The character he’s chosen is that of a prince, charming and charismatic, someone who could win anyone over with a few well-spoken words. The character is a bit rough at the moment, but he’s working on it.
He is at the head of the table. The cake with candles is in front of him. Before he can blow them out his father calls everyone’s attention. Apparently he’s proposing a toast.
“To my son Kaoru,” He says, raising his glass, “who soon will be entering manhood.” All of the other guests raise their glasses and cheer. But for some reason he feels sick. His stomach is twisting itself into knots and he’s starting to wonder if he might throw up if he tries to blow the candles out. Without thinking he gets up from his seat and pushes through the crowd of people, and makes a blind dash as soon as he has the room.
He locks himself in the bathroom, breathing heavily. He slowly approaches the sink and leans over it, waiting for his breathing to steady. After a moment he looks up and catches his reflection in the mirror. Something is off about it. He leans closer.
There is a series of odd dark spots on his chin. Tiny ones, only noticeable if one were to look closely. He runs a finger over them, noting the slightly scratchy texture.
It unsettles him. He’s not sure why, it just does.
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Today, she is fourteen years old.
She has been shaving diligently ever since she figured out how. Her face is her most important asset, and any hair on it is unsightly. Her father has praised her for being so dedicated to being clean-shaven and respectable, but his praise comes from a place of misunderstanding. She isn’t shaving to be what he calls “respectable.”
The party this year had gone much the same as the last, with additional talk of how tall she had been getting. That part of puberty, at least, does not bother her. It isn’t unusual for princes to be tall, after all.
The guests have cleared out. The house is mostly empty once again. Which means that it’s a perfect opportunity to tell her parents that she had done a lot of thinking in the past year. She knows who she is now, and they should know too.
“Father, Mother,” She calls to them as they sit in the den, unwinding after the party with glasses of scotch. “I need to tell you something.”
“Do you know what high school you want to go to?” Her father says, only half looking up at her. Of course he immediately assumes it’s about her career. He can never seem to think about her in any other terms.
“Yes, but it’s not about that.” She has his attention now. He looks up at her fully. Both of her parents’ eyes are on her. “It’s a personal thing.”
“What is it Kaoru?” Her mother says. Her voice is gentle and reassuring.
She takes a deep breath and straightens her stance. She closes her eyes before opening them again.
“I don’t want to be your son anymore,” She says. Her father nearly drops the decanter.
“What?” He says as he stands up. His tone is tranquil and calm, but there is an undercurrent of rage in it that sends a shiver down her spine. “What brought this on? Why are you casting aside your family name like this?”
“N-no, that’s not what I meant.” His terrifying aura is crushing any attempts at appearing strong. Her father did not get angry often, but when he did it was nothing short of a nightmare. “I mean I want to be your daughter instead.”
“Kaoru.” His voice is so cold. “You are my son. That’s who you are.”
“I’m not!” She raises her voice in a feeble attempt to match his intensity. “I’m not a boy! I’m a girl who was born with a boy’s body!”
“Enough.” He hasn’t raised his voice at all, yet it’s booming, deafening. “You are at a certain age where you will play make-believe. I understand this.”
“But I--”
“Kaoru.” He stares her dead in the eyes. “You must understand that you are not actually a girl.”
Her legs are trembling. Her voice won’t come out no matter how hard she tries to force it. She’s been defeated. Her head hangs as she turns and leaves the room. She slinks off to her bedroom, and cries into her pillow until the small hours of the morning.
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Today, she is fifteen years old.
The cheap kotatsu she bought broke last week. She can’t afford to get it repaired, or replaced. That money goes towards rent. For now she sits at the broken kotatsu, now functionally little more than an end table, wrapped in blankets in hopes of fending off the cold. A cupcake with a single lit candle is in front of her. In a hoarse, cracking voice, she sings. She’s slightly disappointed in herself. She’s been training her singing voice so diligently lately, she should be at performance quality. But maybe it’s hard to reach that quality when one is choking back tears.
She finishes singing and blows out the candle, and wishes that she wasn’t so alone in the world. She wishes she had friends to celebrate with. She wishes she could see that girl again for real, not just on TV.
She eats the cupcake in silence. It’s the first thing she’s eaten today. She wonders what will kill her first, cold or starvation.
She wonders if anyone would even miss her.
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Today, she is sixteen years old.
One of her classmates was acting strange today. Which is saying something, since she always acts a little strange. Normally she’s almost aggressively friendly toward everyone, but today she had been uncharacteristically quiet and secretive. She spoke to others in hushed whispers, as if afraid of being overheard. But only to others. Her classmate has been conspicuously avoiding her.
She wonders if she’s done something wrong. She’s been making good progress at this school, having nearly made it through most of the school year. She doesn’t want to have to start over. Her heart sinks a little.
At least there’s the drama club. No matter what, she feels like she has a place there. She opens the clubroom door, her usual dramatic greeting on the tip of her tongue.
“SURPRISE!”
Her words freeze in her throat as she is bombarded with confetti. She can only stand in the doorway, stunned, taking in the sight of her smiling clubmates surrounded by balloons and streamers.
“Um, forgive me, but…” She struggles to find her words, still recovering from the initial shock. “What is the occasion?”
“What? You mean you forgot your own birthday?” Her eyes widen as the crowd parts to reveal her classmate. She’s grinning broadly, the usual sparkle in her bright green eyes back in full force.
“Hina?” Hina walks up to her almost expectantly. “But...how did you know?”
“Well, I’ve been learning everyone’s birthdays in 2-A so I can surprise them, but like, secretly, because it can’t be a surprise if they know, right? And that’s not boppin’ at all, right?” She jabs a thumb in the direction of the mousy-looking bespectacled girl in the corner of the room. “You hang out with Maya-chan all the time so I just asked her because I knew she’d know!”
Maya blushes. “Sorry Kaoru-san,” She says, scratching the back of her head. “She was really persuasive.”
She winces internally. Maya is a sensitive type, and Hina a forceful one. She feels a tug on her arm, as if to remind her of that fact.
“Hey, come on!” Hina drags her further into the room, toward a table with a snack spread surrounding a rich-looking chocolate cake. The cake has a series of lit candles arranged around its edges in a circle. “Blow ‘em out! Make a wish, Kaoru-kun!”
She’s been good about not crying in public lately. A few tender stage tears, something to enhance the drama of any given moment, was all she’d usually let out. But now there are real tears welling up, and it’s getting harder to hold them back.
“Ah, but before I do…” She says, internally proud of herself for being able to keep her voice steady in this moment. “Thank you, my dear little kittens, for this wonderful surprise. I shall treasure it for as long as I live!”
She would be right to treasure it, she thinks as she blows out the candles. For the first time in her life she truly feels like the party is for her.
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Today, she is seventeen years old.
The drama club’s party was once again lovely this year. She’s already eaten, but since it’s her birthday she’s decided she wants to treat herself. Perhaps that ramen place in the shopping district, with the kitsune udon she only wishes she could eat every day. She steps out past the school gate, her mind hazy with the thought of warm broth in her belly.
She is pulled from her thoughts as a limousine pulls up in front of her. The door opens, and out steps a woman in a suit and dark sunglasses.
“Seta-san,” She says cooly, “please step into the vehicle. Your presence is requested.” She gestures towards the open door.
Her heart races a little. She knows this suit, yes. She, and others, work for the leader of the band she plays for. But usually when they’re around said band leader is also present. It’s possible that she’s waiting in the car, but if she was she would probably have made her presence known by now. Regardless, it’s clear she’s being summoned somewhere, and is in no position to refuse.
“Very well,” She says, tossing her hair before stepping into the car. Despite her nerves she at least needs to appear confident. It’s what she does as an actor. Upon seating herself inside she finds two other suited women waiting for her. “Ah, where is Kokoro? I must assume she sent you.”
“Tsurumaki-san’s whereabouts are unimportant right now,” One of them says. She reaches into one of her pockets and pulls out a strip of red fabric. “Put this on,” She says as she holds it out.
“Ah,” She says as she takes the fabric into her hands. The material is soft and smooth. Velvet. “How thoughtful to get me a tie for my birthday.”
“It’s a blindfold,” The suit says. “Put it on.”
A thin layer of sweat is forming on her forehead. What is going on? She knows she can trust Kokoro, even when her whims are outrageous, as they often are, but being in the dark like this is making her stomach tie itself in knots. Regardless, she ties the blindfold around her head and feels the limousine begin to move.
The ride feels longer than it probably is. The silence of the cabin and her lack of vision means that all she can focus on is the rapid pounding of her heart. There is sweat forming on her palms. She keeps her breathing steady, having trained herself not to buckle under stage fright, but the anxiety inside her only burns hotter with each passing minute. Finally she feels the vehicle pull to a stop. There is the sound of the door opening.
“Please step out, Seta-san. We have arrived.”
She gingerly exits the vehicle, inhibited by her blindness. Upon finding the ground she places her feet flatly on it and stands. She feels a calloused hand take her own.
“Please follow me. Do not let go.”
She follows in silence. Normally she would have some kind of in-character comment prepared for any given situation, but she’s just so lost. She’s too nervous. She feels like her nerves are finally getting the better of her. Her stomach feels heavy. The suit leading her comes to a stop and lets go of her hand. A moment later the blindfold is untied and falls away.
“HAPPY BIRTHDAY!”
Before she even has a chance to take in her surroundings she’s nearly tackled by two smaller bodies. She barely manages to keep her footing as she looks down to see two girls hugging her waist, staring up at her with huge, bright smiles.
“A-ah, Kokoro, Hagumi! My dearest little kittens!” She reaches down to pat them on their heads. “What...what a pleasant surprise to see you this evening!” The shock is making it a little hard for her to get back into character.
“Sorry about the whole blindfold thing,” Another girl says as she approaches them. Despite her tired appearance, there was a glimmer of genuine joy in her pale gray eyes. “Kokoro was really into the whole surprise thing and wanted it to be perfect.”
“Ah, it’s no trouble at all Misaki,” She says as she manages to free herself. At least not more trouble than it was worth, certainly.
“Kaoru-san!” A soft, airy voice calls from over by a long table that she has only just noticed. It’s covered in all manner of expensive looking food, and at the center is a large chocolate cake that looks oddly similar to the one the drama club got her. She wonders what the deal with that is. “We got you sachertorte, since it’s your favorite!”
“Why thank you, Kanon,” She says as she draws closer to the cake. So wait...is this what sachertorte is? Has she been eating it for her birthday this whole time? She hadn’t been expecting to learn something new today, but here she is. “And thank you, everyone.” She turns around to look at her bandmates. Tears are again welling up in her eyes, but she feels okay letting them out now.
“Kaoru?” Kokoro bounds over to her. “Kaoru what’s wrong? Why are you crying?” She looks so deeply concerned. “Aren’t you happy?”
She sniffs. “Kokoro...my dearest little kitten...I am overjoyed.” She wipes at her eyes as the tears stream down her face. “So much so that my joy cannot be contained.” Again she feels herself being embraced by several pairs of arms. “Thank you so much. All of you. This is the best birthday I have ever experienced.”
She’s not always honest about everything. The Prince is a character, after all, and not the real her. But in this moment, as she’s surrounded by her friends, she’s baring everything to them.
-----------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------
Today, she is eighteen years old.
She has attended two parties today. The first held by the drama club (which was slightly somber, as this was the last time they would be celebrating her birthday) and the second by Hello, Happy World. The day has been long, and she is tired. She is home, resting. But she is not alone.
“Chisato?” She asks the smaller girl curled up at her side. “Are you asleep?”
Chisato wraps her arms tighter around her torso. “No,” She mumbles into her shoulder.
She chuckles as she gently strokes her long blonde hair. It’s just as beautiful as it was ten years ago. Perhaps moreso, as the person it’s attached to has grown into a beautiful young woman. She leans in to gently kiss the top of her head.
Time passes in silence. It’s cold outside, and a little chilly in the apartment, but the warmth of her beloved is all she needs. She wraps herself tighter around Chisato.
“Chii-chan,” She whispers. No answer. She must be asleep. She smiles softly and kisses her head again.
“Thank you for spending another birthday with me.”
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taste of you
title: taste of you
pairing: mark lee/reader
genre: arranged date!au/rich kids!au/racer!au
summary: for her to go out on a date with goody-two-shoes mark lee was her family’s dream, much more if the date led to a possible relationship. her irresponsibility makes her finally accept going to this date, but mark is a lightweight and too much of a blushing mess.
type: fluff.
note: you can listen to these songs while reading [1], [2], [3], [4]
The hood of her car, specifically a Lykan Hypersport, was lifted up for the mechanic to look at the mess that she had made. The sound of the roaring engine had led her to step on the pedal with as much force as she could, her fingers holding the steering wheel with precision and ease, racing with some of her friends whom also didn’t care about the importance and expensiveness of such convertibles and cars. It was far from her train of thought back then to ever think that she could burn the entire engine, causing her car to come to a halt and for her to get out of it as soon as possible.
It comes with her, the adrenaline and the need to feel powerful inside a big car. She has always enjoyed cars, even going as far as driving one when she was twelve and decided to sneak out of the house in her family’s old Bugatti, but with each passing year, the possibility of her family standing her bad behavior grew thinner and thinner, reminding her that she could be as reckless as she wanted as long as no one realized. There were worst things to do, she convinces herself, she doesn’t spend her money on drugs or alcohol, just in a few cars and their reparations. It’s only her second damaged car of the year and her red Ferrari is still going after the little encounter that happened on January of said year.
Being rich comes with a lot of facilities, she won’t lie, she has plenty of things that she does not even care about and she has friends that only talk to her because of her wealth, but that is far from the case.
The only words she has ever heard from the moment she was able to understand what was told to her was to find a man. A man that could drive her around in a limousine, a man that could turn her into a billionaire instead of staying as a flimsy millionaire, a man whose businesses were big enough to turn her into a woman of more power than she could ever imagine. It was never a matter of coming up with her own idea, it was more of a dress-to-impress situation, with arranged dates and a lot of meetings.
Part of herself thought that her insistence on participating on races, whether they were for fun or legit, was because she wanted to prove to herself that she is able of doing things on her own. Not a lot of people were able to drive like she did, neither did a lot of a men—and that made her feel more powerful. She loves the fact that she has raced and won, but there were certain situations in which she ends up at the sight of her family, almost with a light pointed at her to get her to confess.
And there is always the reminder that she needs to find a man at times like those, where she proves people right for once out of a hundred situations. Her family suddenly thinks that her dream of investing on car-producing companies and racers was non-existent and non-profitable, making her look like just a teenager with raging hormones and dreams too big for her own womanly body.
Really, it’s the twenty first century. It surprises her that her family still thinks that way.
The mechanic did not help her, the old man with the long beard licking his lips before saying. “Good thing she got out of the car in time. She could have burned herself alive if only she did not turn it off and got away.”
She crosses her arms over her chest, her Louis Vuitton sweater covering her upper body with its light creamy color and she matched it with a pair of leather pants, highlighting her legs greatly with the pair of heeled boots she had worn. There is slight pride in her voice when she says. “I told you I know what I’m doing. I know more about cars than most people—”
Her aunt, the one in charge of the house and the business as her parents went out on a business trip, clicks her tongue as she looks at the black car. “This is not something a decent woman does. How many cars have you destroyed in the past few years, huh?”
Seven since she was fourteen. “Only three.”
Her aunt, however, does not believe her in the slightest and while searching for her phone in her purse, she speaks to her niece. “I am having a talk with your parents about this. If you keep going like this, you’re going to end up dead.”
“Am not. I know what I’m doing—”
“Think about what you’re doing for a second!” She knows that talking about said situations in front of the mechanic was not the perfect occasion, but it was normal in her family. Out of the three hundred and sixty-five days a year normally had, she only got to see her family a handful of days. It was always a matter of parties, meetings, arrangements, connections, social media, degrees that are falsely acquired and much more. For one moment, all she wants to do is do something on her own, without having an itinerary written by her assistant or having her family pick what she has to do. “In my opinion, they should stray you from ever picking up a car. Screw that, the keys to a car.”
“That’s not—”
“You’re irresponsible and your actions should be taking account of.”
Irresponsible for doing something that was not made for ‘girls’, for trying to get the attention of a family that never even looks at her, for wanting to give a real title to being a woman—not the poor concept that her family has of what a woman has to be. She looks around the parking lot, around twelve cars that she has all driven around the streets of Seoul—normally, she prefers to go around Gangnam, but she knows that if she doesn’t make a deal with her tight minded family, she won’t even get to drive a Honda to university. That’s not something she wants or even thinks of.
Before her aunt can put her phone against her ear, she grabs her by the wrists and in a rushed, hushed whisper, she says: “Wait, I want to make a deal.”
There are a lot of things her family hasn’t been able to stop her from doing. Racing is one, for example. Her eating habits have been a constant point of arguments with her numerous family, but most importantly, dating was the biggest of their worries. She is not one to date around a lot, but her latest boyfriend was a nightmare to her family. With bleached blonde hair and a dangly earring, his bottom lip pierced and little to no knowledge about rich families whatsoever, coming from a small city himself. The relationship only lasted two years, quite a long time in today’s expectations, and ever since then she hasn’t gone past flirting. She was young, a teenager, when she had fallen in love with him and she wants to enjoy her life away from relationships.
That is one of her biggest problems, because she truthfully doesn’t even want to go out on dates on her own, let alone those who were arranged to create a potential rich couple to benefit two families. In this case, her mind goes back to the only guy that has ever been presented to her as a possible partner—Mark Lee. Canadian, really good with languages, exceptionally excellent in tasks like music and studying, is probably in some music major as well as working on a book of sorts, she thinks he was published by a major publishing house at the young age of eighteen but she barely keeps up with him. Mark Lee has never been her taste.
He is not an explosion of flavors, neither is he cherry or papaya, much less is he something like a passion fruit. His personality is as bland as an apple could be, he simply does not stand out to her. The moment she met him he was only fifteen and the only thing he could think about was fidgeting with his hands and speak in a rushed manner to her. Surely, he could be a good friend, but Mark does everything his family tells him—and she is the complete contrary.
If only he showed an ounce of personality, she would be delighted by him, but Mark Lee is a mess of shaking eyes and smiles that showcase his high-cheekbones.
In his music, however, she does see a bit more of contrast and shadows. He is more powerful, as if he was confident, he explodes and radiates confidence. Sometimes, she thinks that is the most interesting part of him, when he finally breaks through the barrier that was created for him.
“What deal?” Her Aunt asks in between gritted teeth and with a small chuckle, she pulls away and rubs the back of her neck.
It shouldn’t be that bad, right? “I’ll finally accept going out on a date with Mark.”
The confirmation makes her Aunt perk up. “As in Mark Lee?”
“Yes.” She wants to scream at the top of her lungs, frustration growing like flowers around her chest when she is reminded of who she is, just another controlled rich kid that will end up doing what her publicist and her family tell her. Suddenly, she realizes that she needs to go through this, a little bit of lies just to get to her main dream. Once she shows her investments are matters of success, then she won’t have to take Mark out on a date anymore.
Seriously, were they going to go out on one of those expensive dinner dates with awkward silences lingering everywhere?
Terrible sounding, honestly.
Her Aunt seems delighted, clasping her hands together and squealing in happiness. “Let me tell your parents about this—”
All because of her cars. She repeats to herself. The nightmare could be lived through if only she thought about that.
It doesn’t down her just how long it had actually been since she had gone out on a date until she is actually inside her car, driving towards Mark’s mansion to go pick him up. Luckily for her, he had no objections on being the one picked up—as long as he could pick the restaurant they went to—but now she is starting to think it was a bad decision. Awkward silences were to be expected, maybe some awful joke from Mark…or some type of pre-relationship promise that most desperate guys make. She doesn’t know why, but he seems like the type to say ‘I love you’ on the first date.
Still, she is as nervous as it can get. As nervous as she was for her first race, almost. Mark is not necessarily bad looking, and he is a gentleman at its finest, he is intelligent and the key for her to keep her car, so she wants this date to go the best it could be. His wide eyes and nice smile were imprinted in her brain from the last moment she saw him years ago, but all she knew about him was a phone number and the text messages they exchanged. She had seen pictures of him, he looked manlier, but there was still a boyish aura to him.
Never trust the innocent-looking ones, her best friend once said and with that in mind, she decided to go pick him up in her most loved car—a Lamborghini Veneno. Something good about being rich, or unfair for those who were not, was that she got a lot of discounts in those special-editions of cars and she got at least forty percent off the real prize of the car just for a little of advertisement. She remembers the moment she first stepped into it, the red leather seats, the fresh smell of a new car, the pedal that called out her name for it to ride the streets of Seoul like a bird flying through the skies. She feels confident with her body clad in a pretty white dress with a bit of a tasteful neckline, the lace at the hem of the sleeves and the skirt making it look more put together and even when she has high-heels on, she still feels fully capable of driving that car to the end of times.
The equilibrium and balance of life is put off, yet, by the mere existence of her car in front of Mark’s family mansion, or his, she doesn’t quite know. She has fought her hardest not to go out on a date with the boy and now she was there, biting at her nails, wondering why she even dressed up that prettily when she prefers oversized tops and nice fitted jeans. She knows Mark has prepared this date for years—because he is probably stuck to the idea that they were going to end up together and she can see it in his eyes whenever he sees her that there is curiousness that is caused by her, but there is not a single brain cell that understands the start of said paradigm.
Mark Lee is the heir of an entertainment company. Rich. Talented. Definitely a sweet boy…and all he ever wants is her: the dangerous, definitely not as exotic and eccentric, racer that just uses her money to her own benefit.
Like anyone who is rich, really.
She leans back on her seat, tapping her nails against the underside of the steering wheel. Now, she thinks, what could go wrong? Mark’s mindset is not as complex as she is making it out to be. Mark thinks of women as difficult beings, with blushed cheeks and shaky hands and a lot of time in his hands to drool over pretty ladies on Instagram. She definitely shouldn’t feel overpowered because he is, technically, richer than she is or because he is not that bad looking.
She is there for a mission—getting out of that date as soon as possible.
A knock on the surface of the passenger’s window makes her jump from her seat the slightest bit, turning to the side to see that Mark is standing there. Without a second thought, she pushes the buttons to open her door automatically, the young man giving a few steps back to look at the door in awe. In her books, Mark seems like the type that drives around with his chauffeur to fulfill the necessities of his career, studies and hobbies, but other than that she would be surprised if he ever passed his driving test.
“Oh shit,” Mark curses under his breath, looking to the door that was lifted up and then back at the car, pondering on what to do next. He has his hands interlocked in front of him, moving his weight from one foot to the other before finally stepping in. He sits down on the passenger seat, thankfully, and there she can finally see how Mark has dressed up for their date. A blue suit covered his slender body magnificently, the sleeves showcasing golden buttons that united in perfect neatness, the collar of his white shirt perfectly aligned with the collar of his jacket to create parallel lines of faultlessness. The taut muscles of his thighs are hugged by the fabric of his trousers, but her gaze doesn’t linger on the body of the young man for long, aiming to look brazen instead of bothered, but she does take a good look at his face. Fine eyebrows welcomed the sight of his brown eyes, not particularly the biggest but clearly innocent, with high cheekbones and a nice set of small yet lustrous lips. “What kind of car is this? It’s so cool!”
She closes the door with the same button, a smile tugging at her face because she realizes she has the power once again. Once she leans back on her seat, Mark’s eyes settle on her face and for a moment, she notices the awe on his features. “Guess.”
“Ferrari…?” Mark asks, raising one eyebrow only to look down at her lips soon after, coated in red lipstick and momentarily, his tongue peaks out to lick his lips.
“Lamborghini.”
“Oh,” He announces for himself as she starts the car, driving it smoothly and safely contrary to what she is used to do. “I don’t know about convertibles much. It’s not my style.”
She can tell, quite clearly, although Mark is definitely a soft gush of breath to her. She can’t say that she is particularly fond of the men she meets in her races or in her meetings with investors, there was no in between: they were either sweaty males with adrenaline pumping from their veins and the sudden need to feel powerful behind a steering wheel with the stupid mindset of irrational competition or investors with high ambitions to create the closest thing that could come to perfection in the form of a car, though it is clearly quite unaffordable for those who did not have any money. She likes her men with more than money exuding from their personalities, for there are things a few bills can’t afford. “I figured.”
The black haired boy fiddles for a moment and then, he clears his throat. “Can I put the address in your GPS?”
“Go ahead.”
While Mark concentrates on that, she tries to find out what was the splendid smell that surrounded her car. It reminds her of the sweet white chocolates she gets every Valentine’s Day and it definitely must be Mark’s cologne—dulcet, just like him. His fingers move against the screen softly, his breath barely audible, the silence thick until he finally decides to break it. “Y-You look gorgeous. Like an angel.”
Her heart shouldn’t have stopped; she shouldn’t have stolen a glance at the bashful expression on his face but how could she not? It’s not always that someone compares the Devil to an Angel. She chuckles, however, shaking her head the slightest bit. “You know; I was going to say the same thing about you.”
The hopefulness is felt in his every word when he replies with wide eyes. “Really? Is that what you think?”
And surely, she might not be there because she actually wanted to, but there is no doubt that Mark Lee is a striking person. “Should I think otherwise?”
“No, no!” He adds, almost as if he does not want her to change her mind. “I’m glad, actually.”
“Why are you glad?” She asks, taunting him, playing with fire and adrenaline is what she loves doing the most—but Mark is the dull water, he would never hurt her, he seeps through her fingers and falls down onto the same spot.
“Ah…I don’t know.” Mark finds himself a loss of words and then, he breathes out softly. His mind must have been attacked by the thought of an awkward silence, she watches from her peripheral vision as he settles his hands on his knees, looks around the place and finally, when he gets to speak up his voice breaks the slightest. “So, what do you normally like to do?”
It is when they arrive to Mark’s restaurant pick that she realizes he really likes her.
The long chandeliers, tall ceilings, perfectly put table cloths, the delicious food in small sizes and big flutes filled with champagne that later on were changed for the richest red wine, all those things were choices of Mark Lee, as simplistic as he could be when talking to her but exquisite in his own mindset. He plays with his hand and even when she tuts him by fluttering her eyelashes softly or leaning over the table just so he could get a glimpse of her cleavage, he still manages to be the perfect gentleman. He rambles, speaks and then listens, he is simply made to give her that awkward laughter of his when he throws a joke her way and she would be lying if she said that she does not enjoy the peach color that spreads through his neck and cheeks when she compliments him on something (“You’re so talented”, for example, or “Please, don’t be afraid to laugh, you look fine!”).
To her, she thinks going out on a date with Mark is just a momentary way to get her cars back—no, her freedom back, but with every compliment of hers and the passing of the dinner, Mark takes sips of his red wine and while she asked him earlier on the date if it was too sweet for him, he said it was fine. Sooner than later, his eyes start getting glossy, his hands more fidgety, he starts slurring his words and he reacts too pointedly when her high-heeled foot does so much as grazing his calf. It is not nervousness anymore; it is something else.
After Mark takes his last big bite of Crème-Brûlée, she decides to speak up on the issue. “Mark, is this your first time drinking red wine?”
He widens his eyes, as if he had been told the biggest insult he has ever heard on his life and with a shake of his head, he takes another big swing of the drink. She leans over the table and takes the glass away from him, the man trying his hardest to swallow all the red liquid that passed by his lips, which were tinted in a pretty shade of red. “N-No!” He comments easily. “You think I’m this innocent, little boy but…Am not! I have drunk that before.”
“What did you drink, Mark?” She asks, knowing that if he answers incorrectly he is definitely drunk.
“That thing that looks like blood.”
“And what’s its name?”
“…Please, tell me it’s not blood.”
She takes that as the cue to take Mark out of the restaurant. She calls the waitress over, giving her, her credit card so the dinner could be paid for and while the waitress is dealing with that, she stands up from her seat to take care of Mark. The young man lets his weight fall on top of her when she pulls him up his feet, his forearms barely grazing across her chest when she whispers to him. “God, Mark, you shouldn’t have drunk that much if you don’t know your tolerance to alcohol. Now I have to take you home like this—” He mumbles something along the lines of ‘sorry’ and one look at his apologetic face was enough for her to release a sigh. Since when did she like the fact that he was so innately cute? “Is your mom in the mansion?” A nod confirms her suspicious. “Okay, we’re fucked.”
“We—what?!” Mark asks in a hushed mumble with a frown on his face and his nose scrunched up.
“We are fucked, I said. As in, in trouble.” She explains while wrapping one of her arms around his waist and picking up her purse with the other. Mark’s weight is not as hard to lift as he walks by her side, a little dumbly but enough to not crush her, and with her free hand she catches her card when the waitress gives it to her with the excuse of wanting to see them again sometime. She takes a bit of money out of her purse to give it to the waitress in a rush before stepping out of the door. “Do you think your mom would be really mad if she saw you drunk?”
Mark juts out his lip in response. “Not drunk.” He replies and she sighs, throwing his body gently against the car, his hands expanding over her window as she searches for the keys to her car.
“In case you were drunk,” She starts, only to stay in Mark’s drunken good side. “Would she be mad?”
“I guess…” Mark trails his voice, resting his cheek against the roof of her car and she presses the button to open the door, tugging Mark’s arm before he could get hit by an electric door. His back collides with his chest and then, he squints his eyes as he looks around the place. “I think a ghost is here. I felt a t-tug…”
“That was me.”
“Oh, cool.” Mark laughs and she shakes her head, trying to bite back a smile as she places him on the passenger seat. Her fingers play with the seatbelt before securing it around him, patting his thigh before mumbling a small ‘I’ll be right back’.
Once she is in the driver’s seat, she realizes that she needs to come up with a plan, one that she explains to Mark briefly while he plays with his tie. She imagines that pretending that Mark has a stomachache is better than telling his mother that he is drunk, so she tells him that he needs to cover his abdomen and pretend he is in pain, something that his drunken mind seems to understand. She doesn’t know what is so adorable about the man nodding his head to the sound of her voice, but there is something stirring inside her chest that tells her that she thinks the mood around them has casted a new light on Mark.
Surely, Mark was not exactly her type—she believes, but now she could consider him as a remote male in society. Nonetheless, she cannot help but feel a bit bothered when he holds her waist lazily as she walks towards Mark’s mansion after the guards opened the gates for her. She is trying to keep her balance, but Mark’s chest is pressed to her back and his legs are too close to hers, his breath falling upon her neck. A shiver runs down her spine but she tries to fight it back, opening the entrance door to be welcomed by the typical and extremely over-decorated mansion of a rich family.
“Where’s your room?” She mumbles the question to Mark, whose forehead was pressed to her shoulder vaguely. He lifts up his gaze and from the corner of her eye she can see a bit of confusion on his face before he responds.
“Up the stairs. Third room on the second hallway.” Two hallways could be seen upstairs, but there were two places to go to: left and right.
“Is the second hallway to the left or to the right?” She moves up the stairs as she says so and Mark finally takes one good look to his own mansion before humming.
“I think left.”
“You think?!”
Left it shall be, she guesses as she walks with Mark trailing behind her, the eyes of the maidens and the workers there lingering even from far away. She curses under her breath when she hears the sound of a door opening and she is welcomed by the sight of Mark’s mother, who decides to call her name in a charismatic manner. To her, all that she can think about is nudging Mark’s side to take him away from her and the drunken young man seems to take the hint, because he clutches his stomach (caused by her elbowing, really) and a soft grunt leaves his lips. “Oh no, what are you doing here so early? Is Mark alright?”
Innocence is not a trait that she has worked with but she tries her best to twirl one strand of hair in between her fingers before resting her hand on Mark’s shoulder. “The Crème-Brûlée was not that good and I think he has a bellyache.”
His mother immediately goes towards him and she silently prays that Mark doesn’t dare to speak close to his own mother because the smell of alcohol easily leached through his breath. “My baby, is that true?” Mark nebulously nods his head, making her smile to herself. He listened to her. “You’re so sweet for bringing him here. He has a sensible tummy, have you ever heard about that?”
Mark blushes at the sound of those words and she chuckles, crossing her arms over her chest. “Not really, but he does look really sensitive.” He sends daggers to her through his gaze when he squints his eyes, resting his head on his mother’s shoulder and she smirks mischievously, pointing towards the stairs. “I can leave now, I guess.”
A female voice interrupts her, however. “Don’t you want to stay for a bit?”
She shakes her head. “I can’t, sorry. I have to get up tomorrow for class.” She flutters her eyelashes prettily and Mark’s mother gasps at the sound of her voice.
“Such a studious girl!”
“Thank you.” She swats her hand as if it was nothing and then, she clears her throat. One glance at Mark has her heart fluttering—at least she got to know that Mark has some edges to his personality, something hidden within him, even if it was the fact that he was a lightweight. “Mark, text me in the morning to see how you’re doing okay?” He nods once again and she repeats the action, going down the stairs while she concentrates on stopping herself from smiling.
The next day, she wakes up to the sound of her phone vibrating with a bunch of apologies and thankfulness from the hungover young man.
When her mind is filled with worries from studying, travelling or overall socialite problems, she always finds solace in her cars and a little bit of racing. There are events to showcase the cars and professional racers take up on showing a company’s newest product, though she always manages to sneak in and be behind the wheel every once in a while. Unluckily for her, people were gushing over this new racer with taut muscles and a dimpled smile, so she had not been able to place her hands inside the Mazda the male is driving, she finds herself having a good time speaking to her two friends—Jieun and her girlfriend, Mina.
Mina is, indeed, a professional racer with a career based on that, fairly as rich as she was, but Jieun is just as enthusiast of cars that she ended up meeting in one of the many gatherings that she had attended to in the past. The trio hear the sound of cars passing in front of them at inhumane speeds, feel their hairs being blown by the wind, clutch closer to their coats—or in the case of the couple, they just hug the coldness out—and her mouth runs when she thinks back of the night two weeks ago, the constant texts from the guy whose cheeks resembled two peaches, the way she smiles when she remembers just how interested he is in her.
It is quite a good thing to think about, that someone like him would like her to the point of being a fumbling mess around her. She is much too used to the typical types of guys that enter her life, the ones that give a smirk and call it a day, those who don’t try hard, whose mouths are used to compliments that smell like roses and cigarettes. She thinks of Mark as a pure-hearted guy, not particularly relaxed or extremely deep, but that’s the complexity of him—so simple she is interested.
It is a feeling that takes up her head whenever she hears a notification from him, that leads her to answering as soon as she can, that makes her think that flirting with Mark through text is fun, enough to take a few minutes out of her day, if not a little bit more.
“Come on,” Jieun calls out as she plays with her girlfriend’s nails, her eyes settle on the woman in front of her and her funky, short hair moves with the wind as she speaks. “That guy sounds really sweet, like, too sweet. And this is weird for me to say, since most men ain’t shit—but Mark sounds nice, nicer than anything you’ve ever liked.” There is some truth in what she says, definitely comes from a place of wisdom and understanding, but she still feels like she does not want to fully give into Mark. She wants him to try, to see the cards that he has under his sleeve, to watch his cheeks burn in embarrassment time and time again, and see if he can make her blush, too.
Mina continues with her girlfriend’s train of thought. “You know her, she’s always neglecting the thought of a relationship. You should stop doing that.” Now, Mina is talking to her and she perks up, playing with the edge of her bomber jacket quietly. “Besides, if you stopped responding to his texts I would consider believing you, but I haven’t seen you like this for the longest time.”
She scoffs, her lip-gloss coated lips catching a few of the hairs that fell to her face, but she takes care of pulling them away as she speaks. “What do you mean ‘like this’? I am like I always am.”
“No, you’re not.” Mina responds, placing her hands on top of Jieun’s shoulders. “Well, yes, you’re still the same grumpy ass as always—but listen, you’re smiling and that’s…whoa, that’s a huge step.”
“You say it as if I don’t smile, ever.”
“…Uh…” Jieun’s girlish chuckle is heard from her spot. “Alright, yeah, let’s ignore that. You don’t, simple as that, you never…smile.”
She brings a smile to her face, showing all her teeth with a big beam. “There. A smile.” She replies through gritted teeth and Mina laughs at what she did.
“Gorgeous.” The sarcastic comment makes her roll her eyes before dropping her smile, resting her cold hands inside her pockets. It would not hurt to have someone holding her hand, warm and candid, touch made by heaven of two little fingers interlocking before the other set of fingers follow closely. “But really, dude, how long has it been since you’ve actually gone out on dates and crushed on someone and just had fun? Pretty long.”
“I don’t need all that.” She replies, more-so to herself because she has always had a set mindset: ‘Never follow anyone’s rules, but yours’ and her rules were success, adrenaline and fun. She releases a breath she did not know she was holding, promises herself that life does not start or end in a man—life is all about herself, about what she wants to do with her dreams and goals and how she turns them into a reality. The stupid part is that she really wants to make out with someone, no, not only that but her mind is considering the thought of cuddling with a person, a mess of tangled limbs and the sound of joyful laughter coming from a nice set of pink lips. In her imagination, she can feel a person’s collarbone resting against her cheek as she lays on their chest, with warm arms wrapped around her and little whispers in the shapes of ‘you’re my entire world’ go through her ears, to the other and then they never come back. It is only luck (or unluckiness, really) that Mark comes in handy as the man in said scenario. “I don’t need a man, point, dot, end of the story. Drop the curtain, cue the applause—”
Jieun pries, as always. “We know you don’t need a man!”
“Look at us, we also don’t need a man!” Mina compliments what her girlfriend is saying and the shorter woman throws a smile over her shoulder towards her partner. “But needing romance every once in a while is not bad. Not even romance, a fling—or a cuddle, or a hug, or a kiss. It’s natural to most people, you shouldn’t feel bad about it.”
She watches as the dimpled racer gets out of the car and she stands up quickly, dusting off her hands in her jeans before speaking over her shoulder. “We’ll have this talk later.”
Hopefully later means never.
The perfect person can be described a million times by different people, for some are pickier than others, superficial or not there is always a trait that is highlighted whenever a person meets a potential partner. It’s simple science, even though someone tells you they don’t have an ideal person in mind or a type—it’s a lie, though a white one or a huge one depends on the person. There’s always something, anything, personality-wise or not, that makes you feel like a person is just…irreplaceable.
Contrary to what one would believe, the adrenaline-seeking woman is not particularly fond of the bad boys and the clichés. It’s not always that she lives the moment outside of a car, but whenever she has free time she likes to do other things, like complaining to her friends about the failed project that was the movie for the book Invisible Monsters, or simply watching one, two or three TV shows, maybe one cartoon here and there. She likes someone who can bring so much excitement in her life but is willing to be calm somewhere along the way. She doesn’t want lobster and big cars, tight dresses and faint make-outs, she wants someone to take her breath away, to give her attention in the form of a smile and a touch that sets her ablaze, for she likes playing with fire but she doesn’t want to get burned, she just wants the thrill of having someone give her balance, knowledge and excitement all at someone.
Something that, quite impeccably, Mark doesn’t seem to understand and strangely enough, she is not against it. For, in his own brain, giving her all those things that she mentioned before was the way to her heart—hey, she doesn’t particularly blame him, dinner the other night was exquisite with him and the beach he has brought her to, are good ideas for dates. Clichés but good dates. However, what brings her back a second time to the presence of the heir Mark Lee is not his wallet or his pretty smile, it is the blush on his cheeks whenever she talks to him, the fidgeting of his hands because he oh-so-desperately wants to hold hers, the sound of his voice when he speaks about music and those shows that he likes to watch.
It’s in his will and passion to reach what he wants to aim for and she is his next target, though she is not sure if he is that talented.
He might be, just like he might not.
The clashing of waves towards one another is faint in the background, her sneakers keeping the sand away from her feet, her arms crossing over her chest as she walks alongside Mark in the private beach that he has rented for the two. There is a hotel nearby, one that she hasn’t gone to…or maybe she has, she believes Na Jaemin’s eighteenth birthday party was held there. It smells faintly like the beach, mixed with Mark’s cologne that is still too sweet for her liking but even the sight of him was teeth-rotting.
It’s not quiet when she is with Mark, thankfully, because he makes the most out of asking her questions and her answers have grown substantially in length ever since their first date thanks to all the exchanged texts in the past few weeks. His voice is pleasantly there, as if he would never fleet away and she thinks he looks like his own version of a prince as he walks by her side. Baby blue hoodie on, his hair combed through with his own fingers, his shorts hanging snugly around his hips and his smile as bright as the sun that is quietly disappearing into the sunset.
Sooner than later, she hears the sound of a bird passing by them, making her jump in slight fear at the noise, moving to the side to press to Mark’s side. It takes him a second to place his arm around her shoulder and the sound of his rich laughter interrupts her trance. She looks over to the side to see Mark laughing joyfully. “You got scared?” He asks in a mocking tone, feeling more masculine now that she had cuddled up to his side. “So much for being obsessed with adrenaline.”
“Huh,” She says, not pulling away from him but instead wrapping an arm around his waist to continue walking with him. “Get on a car with me and then speak, little boy.”
Mark shakes his head with laughter. “How do you even race if you get scared of a bird passing by?”
“I know the car will make noise because I’m stepping on the pedal. I did not know that bird was coming.” She points out with ease and Mark continues chuckling, making her roll her eyes before a smile spreads across her face. The perks of Mark Lee, the things he knows what to do—like making her laugh, even if it’s absentmindedly. “You know what? Let’s prove who’s real brave in between us.”
That seems like a challenge for him and he is far too entranced in holding her in his arms to even be paying attention that what that is supposed to mean, so he gives her a short nod before saying: “Sure, what’s in your mind?”
“Swimming.”
“Yeah…I don’t think so.” Mark replies with a bashful expression, pressing his lips together to show his high cheekbones. She knows that he is shy so with a tug of his shirt as she walks backwards, she drags him with her towards the water. “I-uh, I’m not like ripped, you know?” He gives a short chuckle that sounded highly awkward. She knows his insecurities are there, but she is there to make him feel better. “And…yeah, I know I brought you here to have fun at the beach but I’m shy.”
“Okay, yeah, I understand.” She tells him, bottom lip stuck in between her teeth and then, she stops right by the edge of the beach, wrapping both of her arms around his waist as she watches his face burn in embarrassment. “Then let’s swim with our clothes on.”
The black haired man nods his head delicately before she continues walking backwards, stealing a few glances over her shoulder to see where she is standing. Suddenly, after almost tripping for a few times but having Mark’s hands as leverage around her waist, she is inside the beach with the water reaching her waist hugging Mark, whose insecurities hopefully dissipate with the sight of her smile. “So are we just going to stand here?”
She shakes her head. “One question, though,” Mark nods for her to continue. “Do you know how to swim, like properly?”
“Yeah.” Mark replies absentmindedly and then, she clicks her tongue.
“I was going to push you into the water…but that’s mean.”
“What—?”
In the matter of seconds, her hands lift up to splash water towards his face, hearing as he chokes on the bits of water that enter his mouth. She laughs joyfully, enjoying the frown on his face as she continues splashing him, but sooner than later he retaliates, throwing water her way to fight back. In the matter of seconds, what was a little splash in the water turns into a mess of moving arms and short cuss words thrown towards one another mixed with laughter.
Without realizing, once she screams at the top of her lungs to call it a truce in between the two, they stop moving consequently and with one look into his eyes, she notices she is very close to Mark, with their chests flushed together and smiles on their faces that lull a bit with the pass of seconds, changing into a delicate beam. Mark’s hoodie is clinging to his abdomen, the strands of his hair glued to his forehead by the water and his cheeks are burning.
“You’re so pretty.” He says, looking all around her face and down to the material of her dress clinging to her body. He places his hands on her shoulders softly before whispering. “Uh…I think we need to go to the hotel. There’s a spa there and I’m sure they could dry our clothes while we get some massages done.” She doesn’t know what she expects, for Mark to close the gap between them, to taste his lips after dragging him closer by the fabric of his Balenciaga hoodie, or if she simply sees Mark in another light now. He had never been so pretty, so real, so like what she always wanted.
While a masseuse’s hands all up her back sounds like heaven, all she wants are his hands around her waist, his lips pressed to hers, just one little moment with Mark in complete and utter curiousness. “As long as you go with me.” She says, running her gaze up and down his body and Mark bites down on his bottom lip.
“Uh—Yeah, sure, of course, I wasn’t planning on le-leaving you alone.”
“I’m glad.” She whispers and then, she leans forward, pressing her lips to his cheek before wrapping her arms around his neck. “Take me there, prince boy.”
“Do you always have a nickname for me?” Mark asks as he walks out of the water while holding onto her, making her nod her head with a smile on her face.
“You react prettily.” She replies and after licking her lips, she continues. “Cute, honestly.”
It doesn’t surprise her when Mark falls to his knees as he gets out of the water, bringing her with him and spitting out apologies at the speed of light. Cute, that he definitely was.
“I can blow a big bubble of gum.”
“Oh, really?”
“Yep.”
“Isn’t it an excuse for me not to race while you’re in my car?”
“No…” Mark trails his voice prettily as he looks down at his hands, taking out a piece of gum and plopping it inside his mouth. He chews on it messily for a few seconds before unwrapping another piece. “Want one?” He asks and she nods her head, resting one of her hands on the steering wheel of her oldest car before opening her mouth, watching as Mark gently smiles before placing the piece of gum inside her mouth.
She tilts her head to the side, watching the empty road ahead of them and she wishes she could race in there, but then again, she doesn’t want Mark to be scared of her—and she loves the rush of a fast car, but she doesn’t want Mark to go through that, for she is worried about him. She would like to say the past few dates have not been of her enjoyment or that she doesn’t get excited when the guy by her side texts her, but she does. It’s stupid but Mark and his designer clothes and pretty words really do get to her, though he is humble underneath all he shows to the world. Inside her foreign car, she starts to wonder if Mark will ever make a move—or maybe she should do it, but then again, the teasing mannerisms and the waiting was quite exciting as well, but not enough to scratch the itch she feels within her mind. “So, show me the bubble.” She says, turning to look at him and letting go of the steering wheel as she chews on her minty gum. Mark raises his two index fingers up in the air.
“Peep this,” He tells her and then he makes an ‘o’ with his lips, his tongue pushing past the gum softly before blowing up the gum. At first, a small bubble appears and it grows bigger and bigger, sadly though it pops to the point the gum sticks to Mark’s cheeks. The man whines under his breath before muttering a small. “Shit, uh—”
She laughs loudly at that, leaning forward to brush her fingers against Mark’s cheeks to take the pieces of gum away from his face. “That—You’re so cute and funny, oh God.” She continues to chuckle as she rolls the small pieces of gum on her hands, throwing it in an empty cup of soda she had in between the two.
“That’s not how it usually goes.” And from the touch of her hands, she can feel Mark blushing and there is a big pout on his face. Always one to try to look cool in front of her, he is. “Now, I’m all sticky—”
“That’s okay.” She says and then, she looks into his eyes. Those eyes, brown and rounded that stare right into hers with an expression that she deems as embarrassment. Her fingers caress the side of his face softly, the gum he had been chewing thrown into the empty cup as well. When she takes one good look at Mark, she realizes that his feelings for her go from years to years, they start at hidden glances and smiles that never reached her. She thinks it is quite funny, how she had always thought of going out on a date with Mark as something that would make her weaker, but he supports her on her dreams and she supports him in his. Two young souls with dreams bigger than what they can reach finally join together in an expensive car, but even if they were in an alley with boxes under their feet, they’d still feel as strong as they feel when with the other. “Is there something on my face or…?”
“No, no.” Mark whispers and then, she takes the gum out of her mouth, throwing it inside the cup as well. His fingers reach for her wrist and he makes her turn towards him. “I’m really scared of racing.”
“I wasn’t planning on racing tonight.” She replies with a sweet smile and Mark sighs in relief.
“You should really stop racing, too. It’s dangerous.” Mark recommends and she shrugs her shoulders.
“…Don’t know.” Her voice is soft as she leans forward, their noses almost touching as Mark continues to hold her. “Why should I?”
“Because I care about you.”
She coos. “Only care?” Her fingers trace the outline of his shoulders before wrapping her arms around his neck, looking down to his rosy lips. Mark swallows thickly at that. “You know, Mark, I know you like me.”
“Y-Yes.” Mark answers nervously and then, she chuckles.
“Good thing I like you, too.”
“You do?”
“Um, yes.” Sooner than later, she kisses Mark. The taste of him is simplistic, like minty gum and the bundling feelings of a crush that had built for years. His hands rest at her waist and he breathes in softly before diving in, all energy and power as he kisses her with tenderness before summersaulting into neediness. She wants to chuckle against his lips, but his way of kissing reminds her of how he had gotten drunk on their first date—there’s never enough for him and he takes her lips in between small sips. She leans her head to the side when he gentle nibbles on her bottom lip and she mentally raises an eyebrow. It’s funny how goody-two-shoes Mark Lee can have her heart racing faster than when she’s racing just with a kiss.
#mark scenarios#mark lee#nct scenarios#nct#kpop scenarios#writing#nct fluff#mark fluff#nct au#mark au#rich kid!mark
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Huge focus this season on marriages, divorces, engagements, deaths.
Detective Singleton was married with two kids. Nik Korpal was engaged. The Capricorn Killer went dormant because he met his wife and had a child. Judge Sonia Fisher lied about having an affair on her husband with Howard Ray Bishop. On Dembe's smuggling truck, Budron talked about murdering a man's wife to save air. Mrs. Kilgannon's son killed her husband during an argument over their smuggling business. Garvey is married, When Aram and Liz caught sight of him with Lilly, Aram asked Liz if she thinks he's having an affair. Red reminded us that Scottie attacked Liz's wedding. Liz told Dr. Fulton she felt a presence at her first wedding. Pete lied about being married, claimed he was getting a divorce so he could marry Lena. Analia and Paolo were the married couple who owned the house Red took over for his party in Blaise’s episode. Red invited Basillo and his wife to the party. The son of Mr. and Mrs. Stansbury was shot and killed by a hired cop in Miss Rebecca Thrall's episode. It was mentioned four times that Liz is a widow. The Cook killed a husband and wife in a house fire. The Travel Agency victims - Mitchell David Dunning, murdered in front of his wife. Edward Knobbs was married. Pattie Sue Edward's cleared her husband's name. The woman talking to the Cook cheated on her fiancé. Agent Calhoun's white whale became her family. The Saram ring-proposal dialogues, including Liz's and Ressler's. In the woods, Billy asked Liz why she's still wearing her wedding ring. Billy stated that the witness in Liz's bed is married. Soundtrack: Leonard Cohen - Famous Blue Raincoat. Soundtrack: Janis Ian - At Seventeen
Garvey: You must be the wife. What’s your name, darling?
Ressler: You must be the wife.
Janet: Janet.
Ressler: Janet, right. Well, I’m sorry, Janet, but your husband’s been lying to you for a very long time.
The Napoleon Diamond Necklace, Greyson Blaise.
"Thank you, Phoebe. You are truly a patron of the arts. Speaking of patrons of the arts - Napoleon. His first wife was unable to bear him a child, so he dumped the Empress of France for the Archduchess of Austria. He got a child, and she got a magnificent gold and silver necklace consisting of 234 diamonds, and what is widely considered to be the most spectacular jewelry piece of the age. It’s here, and on loan from the Smithsonian. Ladies and gentlemen, it is with great pleasure that I give to you the Napoleon Diamond Necklace.”
Red's story about being there at Liz's first wedding.
"I was in the Andes when I heard you and Elizabeth were engaged. Agents in the Columbian government had solicited my help negotiating the release of soldiers being held by FARC rebels. At the time, I was a rare intermediary having brokered sales of arms and equipment to both sides of the conflict. I was unable to return until the day of your wedding. Seeing her that day - She was incandescent. I’d come out of the mountains, blinded by rage, flown 2300 miles, absolutely certain that you must die. And then - I saw Elizabeth. I’m a violent man. A terrible, powerful, violent man. But the way she looked at you, the way she loves you - I’m powerless against that."
Tom's story about his "wife."
“You don’t have to call me Mr. I’m sorry, man. My wife just, uh - just left me. Seven years we’ve been together, you know? And she’s sleeping with her boss? And now I’m the one who has to move out. And I found that apartment, you know? I remodeled it myself, and now I’m sleeping on my buddy’s couch. And she’s banging a guy named Phil! You know, the guy wears a bowling shirt, alright? The kind with his His nickname embroidered right on the front, and it’s - It’s 'Chesty,' alright? She picked a guy named Chesty over me.”
“Phil” came up in Sinclair’s episode.
Brian: Do you know who likes falafel?! Phil. Who was screwing my wife when we started this. When you promised to get me a double. And now he’s moved in with her. He’s living in my house with my kids. And I’m out here waving to falafel guys!
Calvin & Eleanor Dawson, The Travel Agency.
Liz: The wife - he lied to her. Led her to believe he worked at an actual travel agency, had a normal life. She had no idea. After the accident, somehow, somewhere, there was a slip-up, and she picked up on it. She stumbled onto his finances. A congressman from Utah murdered while he was in Salt Lake. A South African police general gunned down while he was in Cape Town. There’s no closure in confronting a man who doesn’t even know what day it is, so she just kept digging. Finally, she figured out his protocols. How the long-defunct Travel Agency communicated with their assets. And she used those same protocols to run her husband. Took advantage of his amnesia, making him believe it was still 1989, using him as her own contract killer to take out those in the Travel Agency. All the while, he had no idea.
Eleanor: You took our girls with you to kill a man. You left them in the car and walked inside the back of a restaurant to do a job which should’ve taken you - what, two minutes? But it didn’t take you two minutes, Calvin. Because the man you went to kill knew you were coming - got a jump on you, left you for dead, bleeding and beaten in the alley while our girls were locked in the car - too young to know any better. The medical examiner said electrolyte abnormalities kicked in and sparked cardiac arrhythmias - and something he called “skin slippage.” Everyone from Seawall is dead. Except Wright. The police got to him. But everyone else. It doesn’t bring the girls back or make me feel as good as I thought it would - but you did it.
Anna-Gracia & Samar's cousin.
Anna-Gracia killed 10 husbands.
Liz: Look at this thread. It includes Orthodox Jews, Mormons, Muslims, Christians. It’s like a child-bride support group. They’re talking about being forced to have sex, forced to be wives in middle and high school.
Aram: That is not all they talk about. They also talk about her - a guardian angel, sort of like a mythic white knight that appears to set them free.
Ressler: Set them free - murder their husbands.
Samar: They can’t do it through divorce. As minors, they need adult consent, but the adults in their lives want them to be married.
Aram: Nine of the girls in Reva’s group have husbands who have been killed or died in accidents.
Anna-Gracia: I wasn’t just married to him! He raped me! He lived near my family’s home. One day, he invited me in to see his apartment, and I reported it. Went to the police. When my parents found out, they were angry at me. For shaming them, for causing a scandal. To make it go away, they told a story. They said we were in love. They went to Robert and made a deal, like I was something to be traded!
Samar: I’m so sorry.
Anna-Gracia: I survived in his hell for almost three years. Until one afternoon when I freed myself. Salvation from a $10 kitchen knife. I knew then what I would do. That I would die, if necessary, trying to save others.
Samar: My parents were murdered when I was 9. My brother and I, we were sent to live with our father’s family. And then, slowly, I began to heal. This was thanks in large part to my cousin Yana. She was 15. She was like a second mother to me. Until one night at dinner, my uncle announced that she was going to be married to a man that none of us had ever met. That night, Yana and I, we sat and we cried. ‘Cause the next day, the man came, and she was gone. I didn’t have the chance to help her. Please give me the chance to help you, Anna-Gracia to tell your story. This isn’t where your story should end.
Dialogues for Tom, Liz, and Red.
Tom: You know what we need? We need to get married. We never got married.
Tom: If you answer your phone, we are getting a divorce.
Tom: No! No, you don’t! Just tell him you’re on your honeymoon. Tell him that your second husband insists you take one day off.
Liz: Um, technically - you are my first husband because our first marriage was annulled.
Liz: I’m better than okay. I’m great. We’re great - Tom and I. We got married. See? Now’s normally when people say “congratulations.”
Red: Sorry. Tom and I have had our differences, but I believe he wants what’s best for you. And Agnes. Congratulations, Elizabeth.
Liz: I’m only interested in the man who murdered Tom and finding out the secret that got him killed.
Red: I’m going to help with the former and prevent the latter. 50-50 split. Like a good divorce. Harold.
Tom: I’m not lying. I got a wife and a kid. I’m not dying here.
"Finding my husband's killer."
Samar: If I were her, I’d do whatever it takes to find my husband’s killer.
Ressler: What do you mean, “whatever it takes”?
Samar: I mean breaking the rules, ignoring the law - whatever it takes.
Aram: To find your husband’s killer? That’s actually sort of sweet.
Ressler: There’s nothing sweet about a cop who breaks the rules.
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I swear I'm confused tells me she loves me she's going stay with me every chance she gets she reminds me that she isn't here for me that I've ruined everything fashion life sucks that she has nothing that she has no friends she reminds me that I'm not her friend and haven't been her friend this whole time she reminds me that her marriage sucks and that I'm not a good husband to her she reminds me that I'm not doing anything for her or for a relationship I don't know what to do.
I want to be her knight in shining armor her best friend the person she wants to talk to you but it seems like every time I open my mouth to talk I'm not saying something right or I'm saying something she doesn't like and it ends up in a fight which ends in a long night.
She's everything I want and everything I feel like I need so why does she feel so distant why does everything feel so different she feels differently about me I know it she tells me especially when she's angry especially what she said especially when she can't take it anymore she tells me and I can hear it in the background of everything she says she doesn't want to be with me anymore I feel like she's too afraid of being alone to leave me or divorce me I don't think she wants to be with me I think she's afraid of being alone.
I don't want her to leave I don't want to be separate from her I don't want to go to sleep without knowing she's okay I don't want to wake up in the morning without seeing her face there's nothing more that I love than to see her smile it's nothing that I want more in this world then just have a wonderful year with her where every single day is just magical and everything she wants. It's going to take a lot of work though. I have to dig myself out of the hole I've been digging through the last 2 years she has no faith in me she has no trust in me so I have to build face and build trust but I keep failing at that because each day all the little things I do tip the scale out of my favor I can't seem to think in the way that she wants me to there's so many things that I don't know.
Honestly I just wish I was better equipped for this relationship.
I didn't know what I was getting into I thought that I was getting with a girl who had a normal about a problems who had you no self-esteem issue may be a little bit of body issues that was doing well for me little did I know that but only did she go through a shitload of stuff in her childhood she also was autistic and didn't know it and also developed borderline personality disorder she's going through so much in her day today that anything I do that isn't ideal tips the scale and f**** up her day and she can't take it she can't handle my constant mistakes she can't take my constant mess-ups she can't take my constant need of reassurance and correction it's too much for her I don't think she can handle me.
I realize more and more each day that I'm just a mess a ball of f***** up circumstances and situations I don't know if I'm good for her in my current state all I do is make her angry and make her upset nothing I do makes her happy and she's told me countless times that nothing I can do will ever make her happy so I should just stop trying.
A lot of the times it feels like all of the good times we have I just bulshit like anytime we're doing good it's just going to end up being a circumstance or situation where I do something that pisses her off and then it ruins our day week month.
Honestly I'm f***** up and I don't know if I'll ever get it right and I don't think she'll be able to wait for the day when I finally get my s*** together it's not like I want to be this way I don't want to be who I am I don't want to be this s*** that I am I don't want to Harbor this feelings and emotions and situations I've been through my whole life.
She doesn't think I'm a good person I know it.
I don't think there is such thing as a good person I think all the good things people do are based on selfish reasons.
I think everybody's selfish I feel like I used to be selfless but then everybody stole from me and took from me and kept stealing all of my good away.
Now I think it's just survival but I'm tired of surviving.
Last four years I've been homeless 3 times I've been married and one of my closest friends somebody I truly felt was a brother to me died was gunned down was shot multiple times and left dying in the street alone...
I feel like s*** I was supposed to be the one who is there for him we were supposed to have each other's backs we told each other that what did I do I hook them up with Tiana and forgot about him I focused on my attention in my relationship with jannera and shut everybody else out of my life and kept everybody at a distance.
Gabe is dead because of me I was supposed to have his back if I had stayed in his life he would have never been in that situation if I was there with him we would have made it out of there I would have had his back he wouldn't have died alone.
I knew that I was the level-headed one between the two of us he was the Hot Head he was ready for anything he was bigger than himself internally but I feel like I kept them under control yeah we will go out and be Reckless and get hella drunk get hella high so so what we sold whatever we could to get a couple of dollars but we kept our hands clean.
I didn't want that life for myself and I sure as hell didn't want that life for him I thought hooking him up with Tiana would keep him preoccupied, I thought you would keep a lot of trouble I just made him a man he had to provide for his family and he did whatever it took cuz that's the type of man he was.
Hardest part about everything's I don't know what the f*** is going on I don't know why I don't know why I don't know anything my brother's dead I can't even cry about it anymore and all I don't want to do is cry about it.
My brother died.
Being homeless is shity enough but being homeless with your family it rips your heart out having to go to work and chill at a friend's house every night with your dog or sleep in your car before work while your mom and sister sleeping in car.
It's one of the worst feelings in life terrible especially when it's your fault.
Then about your meeting the love of your life after you finally find some stability in your life she's the Sun she's the air you breathe she's the reason you wake up with the money she's the reason why you go to work and everybody sees how happy you are and tries to tear you two apart my family was a poison in my relationship my mom the scorpion with her flock of weak-minded daughters that bullied and tormented my life my aunt was a raging b**** they gave no fux that stole for me and the family yet my mom continue to bring her into our house and let her destroy our family unit in my life.
My mom had an uncanny ability of putting other people before her children or doing things for herself and not caring about the consequences or actions or how affect her children.
But then constantly manipulated and lied to us by telling us she would never put anybody before us and then take a plane ride to Chicago with her boyfriend leaving us at home for a whole week while she lives it up in a whole new city making all type of real estate money and blowing it all with her boyfriend like immature children like they didn't have kids of their own who deserve things to deserve a better life.
I spent my whole time having to be responsible of two adults and now that I'm in a relationship and need to be an adult I'm acting like my juvenile parents or my adult role models who are acting like children and when a 17 year old boy dictate their life's indecision and discipline them.
I don't know what to do with myself.
I just want to be okay my head I just want to be okay on my body I just want to live a healthy life and be happy with my wife.
But it seems like I can't even do that right feels like I keep walking around in a f****** Circle and just destroying everybody's life that I am apart of I don't think I'm a good person I don't think I'm a good human being I don't think I deserve anything I feel like a piece of s*** incarnate.
I just want to spoil jannera I just want to give everything she wants to need cuz she deserves it she spent her whole childhood dealing with people who screaming at her and didn't take the time to understand her or to see her beauty.
She parties I'm one of those people now and her head I'm like everybody else I'm like everybody else who ever hurt her.
Just another person that hurts her just like your parents I'm just like her ex I'm just like the guy who took advantage of her she reminds me of this often so I'll never forget.
I used to be too bright needs to be too much for her to handle two positive.
She used to stare at me like I was God.
Now she only looks at me with disgust.
There's only brief moments where I feel like I have purpose.
And it's when she looks at me with love when she smiles when she laughs and when she sees that she's beautiful.
Only then.
I feel this emptiness waiting to swallow me like a black abyss working in my subconscious waiting for the day I give....
My brain doesn't know what to do with my thoughts anymore everything that I think or feel feels like it's the wrong thing to do whether wrong thing to feel I feel so absurd.
How am I supposed to keep my promises of changing and becoming the husband that jannera deserves if I can't even get my head to make sense of my mind.
She deserves better than me I'm not anyting I don't have a future I don't have a career I don't have gifts to talents I'm only blessed with blessings.
For some reason they won't let me die I'm here either to be a tortured Soul going to save Souls and I'm not in the position to do much saving you can't even save myself.
At this point in time I am say I just ruin everything I touch.
I don't deserve your love I don't deserve to be loved I don't deserve my wife I don't deserve to live yet I have all these things.
I'm tired of destroying everybody's life around me I think it just be best if I disappeared.
Nothing I do is ever right.
How's anybody supposed to live with himself knowing that they're existence is meaningless.
I've never done anything good with my life.
I don't deserve to have a wife.
I don't deserve how much she loves me.
She doesn't deserve to be treated the way I treat her.
She deserve somebody who has something she deserve somebody who can give her everything she needs you deserve somebody better than me.
I'm not the right guy I'm not a good guy no I do is hurt and get hurt that's all I deserve.
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Wind of the Desert (Part 2)
The scenery has remained the same,
though nature has mercilessly left its mark on mortal belongings.
The flames of war left little behind.
In funeral attire, he pays respect to those who have left.
A light breeze blows, he is seen under the clear moon.
Who still remembers the carefree years of the past?
Years passes in an instant, yet he constantly wanders back into the past.
How many wrongful deaths did it takes to turn a man into a stone?
- Excerpt from “Chieftain and Lineage of Xaela Tribes” as collected from an old journal believed to be owned by Algun Bairon, Turuk Bairon’s Chief during Seventh Astral Era -
====================================
The ruin of Be'lahdian beckons from amidst the burning desert of Thanalan. Algun covers his eyes as he enters a ruined courtyard. Flocks of condors were feeding on the dried carcass of a long dead animal.
Algun withdraws his bow and arrow, he carefully skirts around the ruin. When they were young in Othard, their father once bought a colored book from an Aldenard merchant. That book is a shared treasure between him, Temujin, and Tuyaa. Algun is the one that dreams of becoming a greater explorer than his father. Even when he was young, his gaze is ever forward, to bring his people to a better land. Nhaama's name can be glorified anywhere and spread amongst the four winds. Perhaps by doing that, maybe Nhaama will also consent to turn her view over them?
The book told them about untold riches and wonders of ancient civilization, one of them is the Belah'dian city of the dead, a ruin far to the south of Thanalan, rarely visited due to the treacherous road and the long travel.
It is here that his brother calls for their final confrontation.
"Welcome, Akhduu (brother) "
Temujin voice echoes from within the ruin. Algun carefully tries to follow the source, however, the echoes surprised the flock of condors and they made surprised sounds as they fly away. "You have escaped me once, but this ends now, today" Temujin's voice echoes his own. Algun would remember how he loved and doted on his brother. Even though they are only separated by few seconds in birth, he always takes the role of the protector.
Once, Temujin accidentally breaks shademother Alani's holy water jar. Such capital punishment would earn at least twenty lashes, the Bairon views water as the source of life and the jar that contains it are believed to hold blessing from the dusk mother, moreover the jar belonging to one of the shademother.
Algun remembers that back then Temujin was recently healed from an illness and they were playing when Temujin accidentally breaks the jar. His brother will not be able to stand twenty lashes with his still weak body. Knowing this, Algun took the blame and receive forty lashes instead, due to his position as heir to the chief. The lashes made him faint due to the pain and the burning sun of Azim desert. The first thing he remembered was waking up and looking at Temujin's worried face, his mother angry, worried face, and his father's stony stare, yet his eyes say it all: relieve and proud, that his son is able to withstand the punishment that many adults do not survive.
Remembering this brings anger, and pain to Algun...for what is the greatest betrayal if not for own flesh and blood betrayal?
"Temujin, you coward. Go out and show yourself. Fight me!"
Algun scans his surrounding, gritting his teeth in rage yet in him burns a sort of quiet rage. He strains his hearing as he lighten his steps
"Oh, the hero of Turuk Bairon calls me a coward? that is like the kettle calling the pot black!" Temujin voice seethe with hatred as it echoes
"Before you ask why do I call you a coward, remember this: it is because you are a coward that you told the father to hasten your marriage to Tuyaa! you are afraid that Tuyaa will realize I am the better man!"
Algun shakes his head, his marriage was indeed a few years earlier than promised...but that is because Algun's mother was sick and on practically breathing her last. The creeping malaise has consumed her within for sometimes but she bid him not to tell Temujin. Temujin is the closest and held dearest by his mother and his mother worried that this might upset Temujin, to Temujin his mother was just tired from their harsh desert life and therefore was just having a normal illness.
Her last wish was to see Algun wed before she passes away. That summer Algun asked his father to hold the ceremony, to their surprise Tuyaa's parents and clan agrees to their request.
"Temujin, am I always so low in your eyes brother? did you ever think of anything else but me trying to take Tuyaa away from you ?"
Algun heaves a breath
"First of all, our mother was dying and her last wish was to see me wed. I have asked father to pick another bride from the Narima, however, you know that he will lose face if he does that."
"How can I, a whelp whose only through kindness and love of our parents dare to give them even the slightest burden ? to not fulfill my mother, no -our- mother last wishes ?"
"How can I smear father's face with dung by making him break his promise?"
He grits his teeth as Algun continues to look for Temujin.
"In the hereafter, Nhaama will avert her eyes away from me if I ever held any jealousy towards you, Temujin. However, it is you who cannot listen to reason"
A moment of silence before Temujin replies
"Why does it have to be you Algun? you are always our parent's favorite, always the better one, and to add to the insult you even take the only thing I treasure in this life"
A thunder flashes somewhere and from within the ruin whinnying sound of a horse can be heard. Suddenly as if springing to alive, the old rotten wood door to the inner keep blast open as Temujin rides astride a black midnight stallion. Spear in his hand and hatred in his eyes as he tries to run over Algun.
Algun however, was ready. He rolls around and evades the attack although the horse swipe makes him tumble to a nearby wall and knocks the air out of his lung. He turns back and his eyes turns wide as he recognize that horse
"Rukh!" Algun shouted in surprise, calling the Darkhad horse. Rukh’s sire is Ajim, a stallion that was gifted to Batugun from Bogatai Khan himself. Algun's eyes will not mistake the horse from anything else because he was the one who helped deliver Rukh into the world as a foal. The horse has a distinct color and birthmark on top of his right eye in form of a faded wing, it is said that horse such as this is blessed with speed and strength.
Algun had left Rukh that day when he goes hunting for the fire lizards, he did not know that Temujin ran away with Rukh after he and the conspirator party he worked with exterminated the clan.
Temujin twirls his spear, sneering
"Oh yes, brother, the last of your possession is already mine years ago. After I poisoned your whelps I tried to take Tuyaa with me, but she refuse to hear reason" Temujin limbal ring retracts as if a feverish man is talking
"I promised myself, I shall destroy you and all that you love. I had to do what need to be done, and still, Tuyaa did not blame you!" "This fire in me will not be quenched until I kill you Algun Bairon!"
Algun draws his bows, string taut and arrow aimed. As Temujin approach with a blinding speed, Algun shot his arrow. Temujin eyes widen as he tries to dodge the arrow meant to pierce his throat. His movement was a bit late though as the arrow pierce his right shoulder instead.
Algun lowers his bow and stares into the horse's eye. Rukh mouth is foaming as he travels at breakneck speed, Algun will be trampled if he does not dodge. Even animal, however, recognize their true master. Just as he was about to be trampled, Rukh rears up his front leg and whinnied loudly, throwing Temujin out of balance and out of his saddle.
"Cursed animal!" Temujin shouts as he falls down the horse, it does not take him long before he stands up and continues his assault towards Algun.
Algun would fire another arrow, Temujin snarls as the arrow hit his left shoulder. Driven by a fit of rage, he thrust his spear towards Algun, the wind made from the spear movement can be felt. A sign that the force behind the movement is very strong.
Temujin was strong, but he is hurt and so his aim was not good. In a split moment, Algun draws a dagger from his belt and parried the spear away before he shoulder tackle Temujin.
The fight afterward was a contest of strength, Temujin has grown surprisingly strong and even though Algun tries to be calm he knows that if he does not give in to his instinct he will not survive. The older Bairon therefore, let his fist and kicks answer Temujin's attack beat by beat. Temujin might be strong, but he forgot his brother is an accomplished wrestler.
So there it was, as a dust storm approach the ruin: Temujin Bairon lies on the floor with both arms twisted and broken. Algun face is bloody from the struggle and some of his old wound reopens again.
Algun wipes the blood and draws his dagger
"Temujin Bairon, a traitor to the blood and kin slayer. If you have any words that can stop Nhaama's justice from being done, say so now" he grabs the dagger with both hands,
"If you have been wronged by someone then tell the truth, fear not, your soul shall rest with your family. under the ever merciful gaze of Nhaama."
As the chief, judge, and arbitrator Algun holds by generations of custom and tradition to pass a fair judgment. His hand trembles as he stares at Temujin. The only thing he fears now is not Temujin but himself.
Algun raises the blade as he stares at Temujin's face. His twin looks at him before saying "I hope you rot in Nhaama's hell, Algun Bairon. You shall live with the knowledge that you were helpless when I kill your whelps and your wife" he snarls and attempts to spit at the chieftain.
Algun's hand is faster, however, as the blade reach Temujin's face and the enormous power behind it drive the dagger into the skull like a hot knife through butter. Temujin Bairon was dead before he knows it.
Algun hand moves again, the blade moves and cut through the throat as he sever the head from the body
"Your body is our parent’s gift, therefore I shall not subject you through seventy-seven corpse defilement, punishment from betraying your kin and your Chief. Your head and your body shall be separated so that you shall never find your way to the Dusk Mother's Gher. Ever lost as a ghost in the afterlife" Algun says this in a firm voice yet when he tries to wipe his face from the blood, flashes of memories run through his mind.
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Of Tuyaa "Rest well dear wife. This debt has been paid and settled."
Of his sons and daughters "Temur, Sokha, Batu, Hulagu, Ilya. Aav (father) ask you accompany your Ekh (mother) to Nhaama's Gher. Show her the way through the lonely path"
Of his clans, warriors old and young, weavers, water-bearers, scouts, shade mothers, sisters, brothers, and much more.
Dropping his blade and the severed head of Temujin, Algun looks to the ground.
Then the Chieftain weeps quietly...
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