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#just drifting in relief because he was in horrible pain and then it ceased
newwwwusername · 10 months
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Chicago (Stage Version) - Amos & Mary Sunshine - Tourette's Syndrome Awareness Month Prompt 2 : Motor Tics
Prompt : Write a fic about a character with motor tics Headcanon : Amos has motor tics, Autistic!Amos Author's note : Mary Sunshine's character was based on the real-life reporter who wrote the original play it was based on partially out of guilt for platforming people like Roxie, so I'm just running with the idea that Mary knew Roxie wasn't as innocent as she presented herself to be
Mary and Amos had met immediately after Roxie's trial, once the chaos from the outside murder had died down. Mary, now off the clock, saw the man sulking outside the courthouse and felt a bit of sympathy. Deep down, she knew that Roxie wasn't being 100% truthful in her trial. All of the signs were there.
Amos never seemed like the horrible slob Roxie had framed him as in the court. Of course, Mary also understood that people could be two-faced. It'd be hypocritical to question the legitimacy of Roxie's story but take Amos at face value. Maybe he was a really shitty person behind closed doors and Roxie was right to present him as such.
But he just didn't strike Mary as that good of an actor.
So, she approached him and asked if he wanted to go get dinner with her. Having nothing better to do now that he was alone, he agreed and they promptly made their way to the closest bar, ordered the cheapest appetizers they had, and got to talking.
It took Mary Sunshine a moment to turn off the journalist part of her brain and just listen to his ramblings but, once she did, she found herself fascinated by the way his brain worked, drifting regularly from the trial to his job as a mechanic to what he had for dinner the previous day to the trial again.
He seemed relieved to talk so openly, and that just made Mary more suspicious of the picture that Roxie had painted for the jury. If Amos was really so heartless and sloppy, why was he being so polite and why did it seem like he hadn't been able to talk so freely in years?
Eventually, Mary began to pick up on these little motions he was doing. She didn't notice it at first but sometimes he would blink rapidly and then his eyes would dart to the side or his neck would jerk or his hand would shoot up. She'd been so enraptured in hearing the man speak that she didn't even notice these at first.
When she did notice, though, she couldn't help but ask. "What's with all the little movements?"
"And then he... What?"
"Like the..." Mary trailed off awkwardly, unsure of how to word it. She poorly mimicked the motions and Amos went rigid. "It's not a bad thing, dearie" she backtracked. "I'm just curious"
"I'm sorry" Amos swallowed thickly, his gaze fixed on the table rather than on the woman across from him. The motions ceased, though the sudden tenseness in his jaw made it seem like ceasing them was uncomfortable, even painful, for him. Mary raised her hand off the table to reach for his and assure him that it was okay, but the flinch and the brief increase of the rate of breathing made her falter.
This was definitely not the douchebag that Roxie described.
"I'm not gonna hurt you" she assured him, and he cautiously opened an eye, expecting to get that same, disgusted look Roxie would always give him whenever he twitched too much, but he was met with only a kind smile and concerned eyes. "I didn't mean to freak you out like that... I'm sorry"
"Why are you being so nice?"
Mary smiled. "Because you're a nice person" she told him simply. "I'm simply returning the favor"
"Oh"
"You don't have to hide the movements, by the way" she told him, noticing him closing his eyes tensely for a moment as he seemed to suppress a twitch. "And you don't have to explain them if you don't want to. I was just curious"
"I can't really control them" he admitted, hesitantly letting out a neck jerk and sighing in relief when Mary's kind expression stayed the same. "I mean, I can suppress them for a bit but it hurts" he elaborated. "They just... Happen"
"Fascinating"
"I guess"
...
"Now, about this coworker you were telling me about" Mary said, clapping her hands definitively. Amos' eyes lit up and that light didn't leave even when his hand involuntarily shot up again.
"Right!" he said a bit loudly with a big smile. "So, anyways, you would not believe what he did next..."
Do not repost on other sites! If you want to participate in this month's challenge, there are 15 Tourette's-centered prompts that you can find here
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sunsetofdoom · 2 years
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I keep considering some scene of John finally processing his (deeply repressed, you can just see him pushing it down and away as Bev talks to him in that scene) guilt and grief over killing Joe, looking up with those big brown eyes as he says in a voice full of pain, “I baptized Joe Collie.”
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mortalfaerie · 3 years
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STRANDED IN TIME (M. F.) 2/?
Matthew Fairchild x Lost Herondale! Reader
Y/N Herondale gets her just deserts when snooping in Cirenworth's attic sends her back over 100 years.
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An indeterminate amount of time passed as you drifted in and out of consciousness. You recalled a silent brother standing over you, buts of hushed and worried conversation, and one occasion when you woke to Tessa sitting by your side, a cold cloth on your forehead and her mixing a tincture by your bedside.
You couldn't bring yourself to speak in your current state, but remembered vaguely that Tessa excelled in healing magic. You tried to reach out to her, but found you lost consciousness again before you could.
When you finally did wake without horrible pain, you found yourself in a narrow bed, in a cotton nightgown you'd never seen, but unmistakably in the London Institute's infirmary, the painted ceiling distinct.
What happened? Did Tessa and Jem take you here because you had been sick? Was Kit okay? Where was everyone? These questions pounded in your head as you stood from the bed, and cautiously padded to the double doors leading to the hallway. You opened the door to look out, but found Tessa and two people you didn't know - one being the man who had carried you - talking outside the door. They all looked to you, pausing, and then Tessa exclaimed, "Oh goodness, you're awake at last."
"I- what happened? Where's Kit? Why are we in London?" You asked, looking rapidly from person to person.
"You should have a seat, if you're able." said the other person - a petite woman of perhaps 40 or 50.
"What's going on?" you asked again, increasingly alarmed. "Is Kit okay? Where's my brother? I want to see him!"
"I'm sure we can help you find your brother as soon as we know who you are." The taller man assured you.
You looked again to Tessa, exasperated. "Tessa, what's going on? You know me, I- Kit and I live with you and Jem and Mina in Devonshire." Your voice started to wobble as panic set in.
"I- I'm sorry, I don't think that we've ever met before now." Tessa said, her face earnestly confused.
Tears spilled over your cheeks as you looked desperately to the other two adults.
"I'm Y/N Herondale." You choked out. "My little brother is Kit, you took us in after our dad was killed. We used to live in Los Angeles but we moved here after the Cohort - Tessa, please, you have to remember me."
At the name Herondale, all parties looked shocked and concerned. You cried earnestly now, shocked and panicked and feeling like you were living in a waking nightmare. You didn't pay much mind as they sheparded you into a chair in the infirmary, and the man called for tea from the kitchen. A blanket was draped around your shoulders, lest you go into shock, and when tea was pressed into your hands you finally ceased crying.
"Now," Tessa said softly, seated beside you and across from the others, "Why don't you tell us from the beginning what you remember, Y/N."
With a shuddering breath, you began. "My name is Y/N Herondale. My dad was Johnny Rook, and my mother was Rosemary Herondale. My mom died before I can remember, and only a bit after my brother Kit was born. We grew up with mundanes were always told we just had the true sight and to be quiet about it, until the day demons attacked my dad at our house, and Kit and I barely escaped with Jem Carstairs and -" you looked to Tessa, "You. We lived in the Los Angeles Institute for a bit, but eventually we decided to go to England with you and Jem when you offered - you said it was because we were the lost Herondale siblings, and that you owed a debt to the Herondales."
You looked to the man and woman across from you, silently imploring if you should continue. The man, who's black hair was flecked with gray and who's blue eyes mirrored your own, cleared his throat.
"Y/N, my name is William Herondale, and this is my wife, Tessa Herondale. And next to me is Charlotte Fairchild, the consul. We don't know how you happened to get here, but rest assured, you will not be turned away."
You could have cried again for relief, but you steeled yourself when the consul nodded to you. "Do you remember what happened before you were discovered outside?"
You nodded slowly. "I was at Cirenworth Hall. Tessa - my Tessa, I guess - gave me a book to read and it inspired me to look around in the attic, and I found something in a box. I - I can't remember what it was, but I remember feeling sick suddenly, and then I was lying in the grass with Jessamine over me."
"You could see Jessamine?" Charlotte asked, and you nodded.
"Yeah, my brother and I could both see ghosts after we got our voyance marks. Some that other people can't see, too." You said.
Tessa and Will exchanged a glance, and Will spoke. "That would give credence to your claim of being a Herondale. The issue is, however, that the only living Herondales are myself, my family here, and my sister, now Cecily Lightwood. Our father had a brother, but he and his wife both died before they had any children."
"But his name was Tobias, right?" You asked, gears beginning to turn in your head.
"Yes, actually." Will said, raising an eyebrow. "How would you know that?"
"Because Tobias Herondale was my ancestor. He had a son no one knew about, and that son married a faerie woman..." you trailed off. "And eventually, I happened."
"That raises another question, then." Charlotte said, her expression speculative. "If you are a Herondale, and you bear marks, how is the clave unaware of you?"
"I think," you began, bracing yourself to be called crazy. "That maybe I'm not from this time, or this dimension. I think something I did in the attic sent me here, wherever here is."
"London." Tessa supplied, "July, 1903."
You stood up in shock. "1903? You can't be serious! I - how? I wasn't even born until 1997 - oh my god, Kit, I can't -"
"Y/N!" Tessa exclaimed, placing her hands on your shoulders to push you back in your seat. "Please, calm down, I'm afraid you'll make yourself sick."
You let her push you back into your seat, but stared blankly at the floor as your jaw worked.
"Is such a thing possible?" Will asked quietly to Charlotte.
"To have travelled through time? Not as I know it, but perhaps it could be a cruel faerie trick? It's known that time moves differently in the faerie realms." She replied, still cautious in her tone.
You brought your arms around yourself and hugged your sides as the gravity of your situation set in. Kit - oh god, was he looking for you? Would they know to look in the attic? What would happen to your little makeshift family? You heaved a sob, and the attention of the adults turned back to you.
Tessa - motherly Tessa - let propriety slip and pulled you to her side, and you clung to her for dear life. The consul came closer and passed a comforting hand over your hair.
"No matter how you came to be here," she said softly, "You are a nephilim, and you are displaced and distressed, and so you will always be supported at this Institute. We will do all we can to discern this situation, but you will be in good hands with Tessa and Will."
You hiccuped and met her eyes, seeing genuine compassion in them. She offered you a hesitant smile, and turned to Tessa.
"She will remain here until we are able to reverse this. I will confer with the Silent Brothers on this matter, and see if they know of any case like this. Until then, perhaps she will be treated as a ward of the Institute?"
Tessa nodded, her hold on you still firm. "Of course. We'll see to it."
Will went to see the consul out, and Tessa stayed behind, with you still holding onto her. "Y/N?" she asked, all gentleness and care in her voice. You wanted to believe this was your Tessa, the one who had become like a mother to you, but this Tessa knew nothing of you at all.
"Yes?" you said, your voice hoarse from crying.
"I don't know how you've come here, but I want you to know - I trust what you say. I have seen many impossible things, but still I am met with surprises. I also know that since I am a warlock - I am fated to live many, many years. If you truly were not born until 90 years from now, it's possible you know me in your time. I am sorry that I don't know you, but know that you are safe here."
You squeezed her, and managed to say, "Thank you. You've always been so kind to me. I - I'm glad I crash landed somewhere with you here."
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bnhayyy · 3 years
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Burning In Carolina
Wordcount: 3.9k
Ao3 Link: Click 
Notes: I wrote this fic for @bnhatraumazine ! Leftover sales are currently open, so go check them out! And if you enjoyed the fic, maybe consider buying me a Ko-Fi? I do all my best writing when properly caffinated!
Summary: Despite the success of the initial interrogation, further attempts to pry information or recognition out of the villain known as Kurogiri prove fruitless. Aizawa keeps trying anyway.
It was possible to miss someone to the point of physical pain. This was a truth that Aizawa had learned long ago.
The pain never left him—not completely. It threatened to consume him. But he did not curl up and cease to function, no matter how tempting it was at first. Instead, he forced himself forward, even as that pain followed his every step, echoing in his actions, his appearance, his demeanor. It molded who he was. And, eventually, it became a part of him. Eventually, he reached a point where he could sometimes forget that the ache in his chest, the bleakness that coated the world, the empty space in the fabric of his life was something born of loss and not just the way things were. He didn't remember it unless he was actively thinking about it. For the most part, he tried not to think about it.
Then everything changed. There was a call from Tartarus, a horrible revelation, and suddenly he had no choice but to think about the things that made him who he was. The person who made him who he was. The one who would have been ten times the hero he could ever be.
It was one thing to be haunted by the past. It was another entirely to try and bring it back to life.
Aizawa slid into the cold metal chair. He was familiar with the ache it sent up his spine by now. In a different situation, he would slump forward to provide it with some relief, but his muscles were too tense for him to slouch even if he wanted to. In contrast, the figure on the other side of the glass didn't show any tension at all. He seemed to rest easily in his restraints, eerie yellow eyes staring unwaveringly at Aizawa.
His mouth felt dry. Only seconds in the room and he already felt as if a lump had formed in his throat. Yet when he pushed himself to speak, he took care to ensure that his voice would be calm and steady. Ideally, he would be able to keep it that way this time.
"Kurogiri," he said. The name was a lie. Even so, he did not let himself say the one that he wanted to—not yet.
"Eraserhead," the prisoner returned. There was a slight shift in the black mist around his head. With it came a hitch in Aizawa's heart, but no, it must have just been an indication of movement. Unsurprising. The miasma of darkness that composed Kurogiri had not once parted since that first fateful meeting.
There was a moment in which neither of them spoke. Then, before Aizawa could muster himself to continue the conversation, Kurogiri asked, "Do you have any news regarding Shigaraki Tomura?"
This question again. It was always one of the first things he asked. Distantly, he supposed he could understand, but that didn't erase the wrongness of it. He never should have even known Shigaraki, let alone been programmed to care for him. Maybe even come to genuinely care about him. But he did. And that meant Aizawa had to answer the question, over and over again. He could say something that might stop him from asking again. He could tell him the truth: there hasn't been any news on him in months.
He wouldn't say that. Partially because he wasn't supposed to. Partially because...
He wouldn't say that.
The villain patiently waited for his response. Aizawa sighed. "No," he said.
There was another minute shift in his mist. Another moment that gave Aizawa pause even though he shouldn't. A soft 'hm' reached his ears, only just managing to penetrate the glass even with the speakers installed on either side of the interrogation room.
"Why are you here, then?" the villain asked. "You must know by now that I won't give you any information."
Aizawa's hand twitched, a small, unintentional spasm that came in time with the phantom compression of his chest. You already did, he didn't say. We're investigating the hospital. Similarly, he didn't give in to the burning behind his eyes that urged him to point out, I came anyway. You would have. Instead, his lips thinned as he tried to find the right words. Again, the captive waited patiently. So silent in his patience, so unlike the energetic chatter that once filled the air, ready to offer a push when it was needed and content to just be there when it wasn't.
"What do you think?" Aizawa slowly asked.
The man behind the glass gave a tired sigh. "Aren't my insights trivial in this situation? The most the musings of a prisoner can offer is more ammo for their captors, and we have established that you will not be getting that." He said one thing, but after a few heartbeats with no response, he sighed and added, "Perhaps it is some misguided sense of heroic perseverance."
There was no pain like losing someone you held dear. Except, perhaps, mourning them when they were right across from you.
Aizawa felt something sinking in his chest, like blood from an internal injury. Except blood was never so cold. "Oboro..." he murmured.
"I do not know who that is," the prisoner responded. "I am Kurogiri, the caretaker of—"
"Shigaraki Tomura," Aizawa muttered in time with the other speaker. He knew this song and dance. But he also knew, he knew, that there were more steps than this. He dropped his gaze down to his hands for a moment. When he raised it back up, something was burning behind his eyes. Maybe passion, maybe desperation, he didn't know. Whatever it was, it gave him the power to force out words that, while true (always true), threatened to get lodged in his throat. "I'm here because I am your friend."
They had all been friends once, him and Oboro and Hizashi and Kayama. And now… 
Black mist writhed and twisted, agitated, but didn't dissipate. "I am a villain."
"No," Aizawa asserted, "you aren't." You are a victim.
"You appear confused. I am Kurogiri of the League of Villains. I—"
And so it continued. Perhaps he should have been more forceful, broken down like he had the first time. However, even if he got through to him for a moment, it was impossible to have a conversation when the other party was unconscious. And if it caused any permanent damage... no. There was merit in trying a gradual approach.
When he made his departure after ten more minutes of fruitless attempts at conversation, his thoughts drifted back toward what the prisoner had said. Heroic perseverance, huh? In different circumstances, he might have chuckled at the irony of it. If he had any heroic sense of perseverance, it was only because he had learned it from Oboro.
And look at how that had worked out for him.
*
The fruitless visit echoed in his dreams for the next several nights.
*
Aizawa followed Hizashi toward the interrogation room at a slower pace than the Voice Hero. He was meant to be moving slowly because he was calm and steady. However, the way Hizashi's eyes flickered toward him as they came upon the interrogation room told him that he had noticed the extra drag to his feet, as if metal chains had been wrapped around his ankles to make every step that much harder.
With the door to the interrogation room only a few steps away, Hizashi came to a sudden halt and swung around to face him. Aizawa withheld a sigh. It wasn't hard to tell what was going through his mind and he had hoped to avoid something like this. No such luck.
"Hey, man," Hizashi began, "you don't have to do this if you don't want to."
Aizawa pursed his lips in an attempt to stop a more active frown. "I know," he said.
Hizashi shook his head. "No, really." His voice was low, by his standards, but it grew a little higher with every syllable that left his lips. "This might not go well, and—"
"Hizashi," Aizawa cut in. "I'm fine." It was a blatant lie. As much as he might want to think that this situation hadn't emotionally compromised him, they both remembered their last visit. He'd had more time to process it, but that didn't mean that a fresh reminder wouldn't hurt. Hell, Hizashi probably didn't even need it as a frame of reference. He knew how close Oboro and Shouta had been. He knew how much he meant to him. There was no way he could see him without it feeling like a knife being driven into a wound that hadn't had the chance to heal. It simply wasn't possible.
At the end of the day, it didn't matter that it hurt to see what was left of Oboro. He wasn't going to abandon him again.
When Hizashi began to open his mouth, Aizawa shot a glance at the guard standing uneasily a few feet behind them. Hizashi followed his gaze and tightened his jaw. His gaze bounced between the two for a moment before settling back on Aizawa. He took advantage of the temporary silence to remind him, "I saw him alone last time and was fine."
Hizashi snorted, sharp and abrupt, before lowering his voice to a much lower tone. "You shouldn't have done that in the first place."
"I can make my own decisions." Even as he spoke, he was aware of the almost defensive edge that had entered his tone and he hated it. There was no reason for him to be defending his choices. It wasn't something that needed to be defended, nor would his words do anything to put his overly worried friend at ease.
"I know," Hizashi said. "Believe me, Shouta, I know. But..." His fist clenched as he floundered for words, a mix of desperation and dismay etched upon his face. "You shouldn't need to go through that alone!" he exploded. It sounded like trying to keep his voice from escalating into a shout was causing him physical pain. His voice fell lowered further and the pained air grew even worse, although Aizawa got the distinct impression that it wasn't from trying to control his volume this time. "You don't need to go through it alone."
Once again, Aizawa simply said, "I know." Oboro's presumed death had not affected him alone. Hizashi and Kayama had been Oboro's friends as well; he was not alone in this. Yet taking the time to visit Tartarus on his own was... something he had to do. 
Just because Hizashi had done a better job of holding himself together didn't mean that Aizawa couldn't tell just how much the situation was hurting him. The thought made him examine his friend a little closer. He took in the frayed edges of the spikes of his hair, how unnaturally tight his jaw was even when held loosely, the bluish-black marks of bags forming under his eyes and the strain around their edges.
A pang of guilt echoed in his chest. He wouldn't cut off the arms of his friends just so he could hold their hands whenever it was time to confront the brutal truth. Voice low enough that it hardly carried at all, he said, "You don't have to do this either." He knew just how useless the offer would be, but he had to say it anyway. Aizawa hadn't spent the last fifteen years making his friends carry his weight. He wasn't about to start now.
Hizashi laughed, the sound utterly humorless for all that it was bright. "Don't act like you're okay and then start fretting over me," he chided. He managed to infuse a degree of lightness back into his voice despite the weight of the strain that could be heard lurking just below the surface. He really was an incredible actor.
They fell back into their previous actions as if time had merely stalled for a bit. The guard hurried forward to unlock the door as Hizashi closed the distance between himself and it, his eagerness to escape that moment the only real sign that their conversation had even happened.
"Hey, bud," Hizashi called as he swung the door open. He entered the room with all of his usual swagger and dramatic flare, Aizawa slinking in behind him.
The villain behind the glass wall didn't so much as blink. "We are not friends," he pointed out, his voice as impassive as usual. "Nonetheless, I must ask: do you bring news of Shigaraki Tomura?"
And so, the tone of their meeting was set.
Despite how much it must have worn at him, Hizashi spent the entire time trying to remain bright and energetic. It made Aizawa wonder if he was acting that way in an attempt to remind him of old times, of the hyperactive teenager Oboro used to be friends with. If he was, he wasn't having any success. The overt reminders he tried to sprinkle in didn't have any effect either. No wavering, no hesitance, no sign of Oboro —only confusion and dismissal.
With every passing second, the barely visible weight pressing down on Hizashi grew worse.
With every instant where something could have happened and nothing did, Aizawa felt his heart sink lower and lower.
And he found himself wondering if they were only moving backwards.
*
The next week saw Aizawa visit with Kayama. They spent an hour in that interrogation room, spoke new words, but ultimately found themselves repeating the steps to the same painful dance. Even when Kayama pulled out a reminder that she'd hoped would be a trump card - the cat that had helped solidify their friendship - they found themselves unable to change the routine.
Aizawa had made a point of maintaining his composure during the fruitless meeting. He liked to think that he was getting better at it. However, upon stepping outside the room, he couldn't keep his shoulders from drooping. A soft thud made him glance to the side, where Kayama leaned heavily against the wall. She cradled Sushi's cat carrier close to her chest, causing its occupant to let out a surprised mew. He noticed the way her fingers slotted through the mesh in the front. It was a small detail, but one that made the motion resemble a hug more than an attempt to use the feline as a shield.
If he were a better friend, perhaps Aizawa would have hugged her himself. As it was, he just watched with an uncomfortable lump in his throat. His concern was marred by the cruel gratitude that he wasn't the only one who couldn't completely hide his fractures.
Haunting silence floated between them for well over a moment. Some errant thought eventually drove Kayama to hunch her shoulders in on herself. It made her look so much smaller than she was, so unlike herself. (Like she had on that day.)
Aizawa cleared his throat.
Kayama looked up, a smile as delicate and deceiving as spider-silk weaving across her lips. She stayed slumped against the wall as she said, "It's... a lot."
"I know," Aizawa said. Even if he wished he didn't.
Kayama let out a gusty sigh. "Do you think he'll...?"
Aizawa's gaze dropped to the floor. Something in his chest clenched, froze, and began to crumble, flecks of stone breaking away from an already-tarnished whole. The flecks morphed into a tingling numbness that ran down his arms and legs, settling into his fingers and toes.
If she had asked him after that first meeting, he would have said 'yes', that they would make him remember, cling to those lingering shards of Oboro and put him back together. Now...
"I don't know," he croaked.
He missed his best friend. He missed his best friend and had gotten used to it. But the discovery of the warp gate's identity had made him see echoes in the care he showed for Shigaraki. He was seemingly indifferent to everything else, and the contrast brought the old hurt back into searing definition. The echoes, that glimpse he had actually managed to catch of Oboro, it had ignited a damning spark of hope, and maybe that hope was still rattling around in the back of his mind. But...
The quiet that had begun to envelop them once more was broken by Kayama saying, "We need to keep trying."
Aizawa thought about the continued questions as to Shigaraki's well-being. Of the subtle wisps of annoyance that sometimes leaked into Kurogiri's voice at his questions. His confusion over his continued visits.
"Yeah," Aizawa murmured.
Truly, the worst thing about hope was feeling yourself start to lose it.
*
The end of the school day had brought with it another solo visit to Tartarus.
Another pointless visit.
Aizawa held back a heavy sigh as he stepped into his apartment. The television could be heard faintly echoing down the hall. He allowed himself to close his eyes for half a second before strapping his usual neutral expression into place and striding into the living area, where he could see a head of blonde hair peeking up over the top of the couch. Hearing his approach, Mirio turned to look at him. There was the gentle rustling of blankets and squeaking of couch springs, then Eri's head peeked up beside him, her hands braced on the back of the couch as she leaned against it.
"You're back!" she cried.
"I am," Aizawa confirmed. To Mirio, he asked, "Did everything go well?"
"Of course!" Mirio said. He stood up and made his way to Aizawa, only to, as always, decline the offer of payment.
"You don't need to pay me to babysit, sir! Spending time with Eri is hardly a chore."
Aizawa tried not to let himself think of who Mirio reminded him of. (After all, Aizawa had seen Kurogiri only moments ago and he hadn't reminded him of the boy he once knew much at all.)
"If you're certain," Aizawa relented.
From there, it was a simple matter of Mirio saying goodbye to Eri and heading home. He was a kind boy who had sacrificed and suffered much, one whose presence Eri enjoyed. Nonetheless, he found the tenseness of his shoulders lessening once the boy closed the door. He allowed himself to sigh, too softly to be heard, and turned around.
He was greeted by the sight of Eri standing in front of the doorway, eyes wide and face creased in concern. His heart dropped into his stomach at the sight. However, before he could say anything, the little girl blurted out, "What's wrong?"
Aizawa felt his brows furrow. "I'm not sure what you mean," he said, slowly crouching down to her level as he spoke.
"You keep coming home sad," Eri said. She took a few cautious steps forward, paused for a second, then walked the rest of the way. Aizawa remained still as she reached out to place a gentle hand on his cheek. "It's not every day, but sometimes you come home really tired and sad. You don't say anything, but... I notice it. It's like..." Eri glanced down and nibbled on her lower lip. "It's like you forget how to smile," she finished, the words barely more than a whisper.
Somehow, Aizawa's heart managed to sink further. It was accompanied by cold tendrils of guilt squeezing at his chest. He had thought he was doing a decent job of hiding his emotional distress from Eri. A foolish assumption to make. Children, for all of their naivety, were not stupid, and Eri in particular was a very empathetic girl—especially when it came to loss. He should have known that he would have to try a lot harder if he truly wished to hide the situation from a child so familiar with things such as this.
"I'm sorry," Aizawa said. "I didn't mean to worry you." He lifted his arms up and, after a moment of hesitation, Eri dove in for a hug.
"Where have you been going?" she mumbled into his chest.
Aizawa shuttered his eyes for a second. There would be no escaping this conversation, it seemed. "Let's talk in the living room."
*
"I've been visiting... a friend."
Once again, Aizawa walked into the interrogation room alone. He sat down in the uncomfortable chair and looked directly into the luminescent yellow eyes on the other side of the glass.
"And it made you sad?"
“Eraserhead,” Kurogiri greeted. “I don’t suppose you bring news of Shigaraki Tomura this time ?”
"Yeah. You see, he was a hero. But a mission went wrong and he was... hurt. Really badly."
“I don’t,” Aizawa confirmed. “And I’m not looking for information, either.”
"Like Mirio?"
The captive made a noise that came surprisingly close to a scoff. “In that case, you have a peculiar way of spending your time.”
"...Sort of. But in a different way. And... he doesn't seem like he's been getting better. We don't know if he will."
A corner of Aizawa’s lips twitched up into the faintest of smiles. “Perhaps,” he acquiesced. “How have you been?”
"Oh. ...Mr. Aizawa, have... have I been getting better?"
Aizawa would not claim to be an expert at reading his friend’s altered features, but he could have sworn he caught a hint of surprise at the question. “I am a captive,” Kurogiri said.
"Eri. It is truly incredible how much you've healed since I met you, and I could not be more proud of you."
“I know, but you must do something to pass the time,” Aizawa pressed.
"But it's taking so long."
In some ways, the visit played out the same way as the others. In other ways, it didn’t. Kurogiri didn’t spontaneously profess to remember his life as Shirakumo Oboro or give new information about the League of Villains. At the same time, Aizawa didn’t press him to. They simply… talked. And once an hour had passed, Aizawa sighed, “It’s time for me to go.”
"You can't force recovery, Eri. You went through a lot and need to get better at a pace that's right for you."
Kurogiri nodded placidly. “Of course.” He hesitated for a moment, or at least, the way his mist momentarily stilled made it seem as if he were hesitating. “I suppose I will be seeing you again soon?” he eventually asked. The first time he had said anything of the sort.
"But what if it takes too long?"
Something in Aizawa’s chest flickered and then flared. Hope, its flame reignited by a passing breeze. “You will,” he confirmed, swallowing down every other word threatening to fight its way past his lips. There would be time.
“It won’t.”
Maybe it was foolish to hope. Maybe it wasn’t. What mattered was that Aizawa was willing to take that risk, just like Oboro would have for him.
“How do you know?”
Kurogiri nodded again, probably in dismissal. Aizawa stood up to leave. However, before approaching the door, he looked the warp gate in the eyes once more. And, just for a second, he could have sworn he caught a flicker of blue. “I’m not giving up on you, Oboro.”
"Because no matter how long it takes, I'll wait for you."
Kurogiri watched the pro hero depart with a placid gaze. Yet, spurred on by an undefined haze pulsating through his heart and head, as ShoutaEraserhead walked through the door, he whispered, “I know.”
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tsukaramachi · 4 years
Text
Lovesick Valentine (Amir x Reader)
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(The lovesick valentine for this year is Amir requested by an anon)
Gentle waves brush up against your ankles as the water climbs up onto the shore. With your hands behind you back, you admire the view of the open ocean. The clear blue skies up above you with the vast ocean beckoning you with its tranquil surface. The sand is soft underneath you and the sun’s rays caress your skin like a thin blanket. 
You always loved the ocean since you were little. Many find it enticing with the many mysteries and wonders kept down below and others fear it for how it can change any moment. But for you, it’s just always on your mind like nothing else. 
It’s charming and beautiful, yet alluring and vicious. Which is why you love it so much.
You feel arms slowly snake around your neck as you’re pulled into someone’s embrace. Looking up, blue gentle eyes look back lovingly at you. Amir’s fingers tenderly brush against your cheek.
“I see that the ocean is taking your attention away from me once again, my dear.”
“Ah sorry Amir...” you look back towards the sparking blue water, “It’s just that I’m always drawn back to it.”
While you stare at the water with your mind up in the clouds wondering what could lie in the ocean. You fail to notice the forced smile Amir kept on as he looked at the sea with you.
After spending some more time watching the water drift. Amir proposed for the two of you to go to into town. While the thought of leaving the beach pained you. The opportunity to go and see the various shops along the docks is a rare occasion for you. 
You didn’t like going into town. The busy crowds and, the exuberant shopkeepers, and the overwhelming amount of people in a big area made you feel sick. Before, you didn’t have anyone to go shopping with. You had no one to wait for. No one to browse with and no one to keep you company. But that was before you learned more about the ocean.
Now that you’re older, it’s been quite a long time since you went into town. You never needed to before for how your family would have others run errands in town and so you mostly stayed in your room or be escorted to the beach by Amir. But maybe, you’ll have fun like the others now that you have him by your side.
As you walk along the docks, you cling close to Amir. The various voices filling the air is a bit too much for you. It makes your stomach churn more when the voices of others reach your ears. You’re not used to crowds and loud sounds, so it makes you feel dizzy. You close your eyes and hide your face into Amir’s white sleeve.
You can hear him chuckle, but it’s quickly muffled. Opening your eyes again, the voices aren’t as overwhelming and they’ve become more manageable. A small smile graces your lips as you continue to walk forward with Amir as his hands stay cupped over your ears. It’s much better this way. 
As you continue to look around, out of the corner of your peripheral vision. Dazzling blue, green, and white catches your attention. On the planks of white wood, you can see the colors projected on its surface. Looking up, you can see differing sizes of bottles hung up with rope along the opening of a small shop. 
Inside, you can see that there’s various treasures within. The wooden carvings of dolphins; turtles; whales along with crates full of assorted colors of seashells draws you in. You head towards the shop and Amir follows you closely behind. 
As you take a step in, you feel the pressure on your ears release. The sounds around you becoming more clear, you feel relief wash over you as the sounds from outside are subdued. 
“It seems that no one fancies this place.” Amir steps next to your side, a pleasant smile up on his lips.
You nod, “But I do.” taking a look around the shop, you explore the items littered across the shelves up on the wall. A ship in a bottle, a painting of a might kraken emerging from a sea of storms, and dried up chunks of coral. Inspecting each one, the smile on your face spreads as you can’t help but feel like your back at the beach. But as you continue to explore the store’s goods, a cheery voice breaks through to you.
“Find anything interesting?”
A young man greets you. Black hair, tan skin, and ocean blue eyes catch you off guard as his face is centimeters away from yours. Startled, you take a step back. 
“I uhm...” it’s a struggle to figure out what to say. You start to feel nauseous in the pit of your stomach as your palms begin to sweat. But the fear holding you ceases as the young man calls your attention to a clam shaped box in his hand.
“Ah I’m sorry miss... here, please take a look at this!” he winds up a golden knob in the back of it. With care, he opens it up to reveal a small sun and moon. The two gracefully twirl around another in the center to the sweet tune that emits from the box. Behind them, a picture of the ocean’s wonders. Black silhouettes of fish flow around colorful coral as white jellyfish are scattered about. It’s painted so delicately and the details are distinct despite being so small. 
“This music box is one of my favorite items from the shop. I’ve never seen anyone so immersed in the shop before so I thought you might like it!” the man says cheerfully as he hands you the music box. The music still playing, you feel yourself drawn to the box.
But before you can touch it, the top is shut making the music abruptly stop. You snap out of the trance you were in and see that Amir has his hand on the top. 
The young man looks confused “Excuse me sir but-” 
With closed eyes and a small smile, Amir cuts him off.
“I’m sorry but it looks like it’s time for us to leave. My lady has had quite enough troubles to deal with today.”
You feel yourself be pulled back by Amir’s arm and his hand rests firmly on your shoulder. He bids the man a good day and ushers you out to the front door. When you look back, you can’t take your eyes off of the music box in the man’s hands.
---------------------------------
It’s been a couple days since your trip into town. After leaving, Amir has had you kept in your room. But you don’t mind for the big window facing towards your beloved ocean is always open. 
A few knocks come from your door and Amir walks in. With a hand behind his back, he walks over to you and sits next to you on the soft sheets. As your occupied staring out the window, he pulls you into an embrace. 
“You know my dear, it’s Valentine’s day and I’ve gotten a surprise for you.” he pulls back and hands you a sky blue box encased by a white ribbon topped with a white bow, “To show my love to you.” 
You take the silk ribbons off and open the top of the box. Your eyes shine as you take out the clam shaped music box you saw from the man before. Brushing your hand over it, the smooth texture soothes you. Turning it around, you wind up the knob in the back and face the music box towards you. 
The top opens and the same small sun and moon begin to twirl, but a horrible twisted tune creeps out from the box. Your brows furrow as the music grows louder. It sounds ominous and the lullaby like tune is replaced by a rotting melody. The sun and moon begin to slow down and stop in place, but the haunting music continues to play. 
You feel uncomfortable by the music box. The sick feeling from before arouses in you and you cover your ears. It feels hard to breathe and your head feels dizzy. But before it can utter out another sickly note. Amir closes the box and tosses it onto the floor. With a swift graceful stomp, he brakes the box and the music stops.
The sick feeling is still present within you. It’s hard to think and you don’t like the strange feeling in your chest. 
As you continue to hold your hands over your ears. Amir briskly walks over to the window and closes the curtains. Your once bright room is now dimmed from the lack of sunlight. With a small shut of the window, Amir goes over to you and wraps his arms around you. Gently rocking you back and forth, he continues it for the next ten minutes as he hums a small lullaby of his own to you.
It’s the same tune he always hums to you when you feel ill and it never fails to calm you. After you feel better, you free your ears and listen to what he has to say.
“Oh I’m so sorry my dear. I knew that small shop we visited enchanted you. So I went back and bought you that music box from the young man. Ah, but it seems like it’s gone bad hasn’t it? How silly of me to buy such a wretched thing.” Amir says as he pets your hair softly.
“Forgive me my dear. If I had known that it would croak out such an ugly tune, I would’ve gotten you a better present...”
A frown hangs on Amir’s lips as he lays his head on top of yours. No longer feeling sick, you now feel troubled by his sad expression. You don’t wish for your dear playmate to feel sad because of something so small. Nuzzling your face into his chest, you hug him back and hum him the tune he had sung to you earlier. Rocking back and forth like the oceans waves, you try to comfort him the only way you know how. 
---------------------------------
“How adorable you are my dear...” brushing his fingers against your cheek, Amir cradles you in his arms. You had fallen asleep while you comforted him and seeing you rest peacefully in his arms is the most beautiful thing in the world. 
“I wonder what you’re dreaming about my love...” he looks up at the white canopy with a smirk across his face, “I do hope it’s me. The thought of something else invading your mind is quite annoying, but I’ll keep those thoughts at bay for you.” 
Looking down at you, he smiles as he thinks about how you’re his alone.
“Oh my dear sweet love. I’m sorry I have to expose you once again to those unpleasant bottom feeders.” He chuckles out a low sickly laugh, but it doesn’t wake you.
“Ah I love you so much (Y/N). You know, I’ve always been jealous of your adoration for the ocean. You find anything about it fascinating just as much as how I find you intoxicating. I can never get enough of your pleasant scent. I’m drawn to your form where ever you go... but I hate how you look at the ocean as if you’re in love.”
He grits his teeth.
“You always gaze at it so longingly...yet I’m right here. Don’t you know I was made for you? I exist only for you but the ocean seems to always clog your thoughts.” 
Holding you tight, his form begins to tremble.
“Why must something so endless cloud your mind? I’m unable to get rid of it like I did with the others. But maybe that’s the charm I see in you. As you fall more in love with the ocean’s mystique. It makes me want to make you mine even more. My body, mind, and soul are all for you yet you choose not to explore them.”
He sighs as he stares down at you.
“I try so hard to make sure that you only enjoy the things I know that are suitable for you. I can’t have you being drawn to others and it helps that you’re slowly getting used to it. Ahaha~ you can’t help but rely on me when those ugly feelings begin to creep in, but I love it so much. I just can’t get enough of you and knowing that you need me more just makes my patchwork heart overflow.”
Leaning down, he inhales you scent.
“One day, one day (Y/N)...I’ll make you sink down into something more wonderful than the ocean���s depths. I want you to drown in this love that I harbor for you. So that you can never escape and no matter what happens, you won’t reach the surface. It excites me to think that one day this will happen and when it does...”
He leans down and plants a kiss on your forehead.
“We’ll be trapped together and forever. Soon my love, you’ll be bound by the red strings that draw me back to you~”
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sondepoch · 4 years
Text
XVII: Saeyoung's Route (Saeyoung)
Where Futures Begin
Life used to be simple for you. Peaceful. But the Savior had other plans for you, and in moments, she ruined what you thought was your one shot at happiness. Blinded by anger, you escaped the Mint Eye, but that triggered a series of events that would bring you further into the world of brothers Saeran and Saeyoung. And further into the twisted world of your love for them.
Neutral Route: 01 | 02 | 03 | 04 | 05 | 06 | 07 | 08 | 09 | 10 | 11 | 12 | 13 | 14 | 15 | 16 | ✔
Saeyoung’s Route: 17 | 18 | 19 | 20 | 21 | 22 | ✔
Saeran’s Route: 17 | 18 | 19 | 20 | 21 | 22 | 23 | ✔
MASTERLIST
(Y/N) hadn't moved.
Arguably, she had been moving the whole time, her entire body shaking with a ferocity Luciel had never seen in a human before, but her position hadn't changed even once.
"Feel like shit, yet? Or need me to beat it into you?" Vanderwood called from behind Luciel. The brunette male hadn't said a word to him since they found Saeran and (Y/N). He was too pissed with the redhead. Luciel had consciously refrained from telling Vanderwood that their 'reconnaissance trip' was really a hostage exchange because he knew how the older man would feel about it.
Then again, older men, in general, were usually right. Lived a couple more years. Smarter. Wiser. 
Luciel now wished he had spoken to Vanderwood before following through his plans, regretting his every decision.
"You can beat it into me," Luciel offered. He did feel like shit, worse than shit, actually, but he thought he deserved pain after what he realized he was putting (Y/N) through.
Vanderwood was quiet for a moment, watching as Luciel stared at (Y/N) while she trembled on the bed. The room was dark, and for once, Luciel wasn't fiddling away on his laptop.
Luciel heard Vanderwood sigh. "You can talk to me, you know? You don't need to pretend."
Luciel ignored Vanderwood's words, staring forward as (Y/N) kept trembling. "Fine," Luciel heard Vanderwood say before walking forward. "See if you can get her to drink this water. It might help."
Without waiting for a response, Vanderwood left the room, leaving Luciel awkwardly holding the glass of water. "Uh, (Y/N)?" He murmured, awkwardly trying to get the girl's attention. He knew she was conscious; her eyes were scrunched tight, and she had groaned something incomprehensible on the way back to the cabin every time someone touched into her. But conscious doesn't mean aware, Luciel remembered dully, unsure of what to do.
He shifted himself half onto the bed and tried to pull (Y/N) into a sitting position, and the girl's eyes fluttered open for a brief second. "Drink," Luciel whispered, putting the glass to her lips. He wasn't even sure if the girl had processed what he said, but he saw her sip from the glass ever-so-slightly and sighed in relief.
"Shit, (Y/N)," He began, "I'm so sorry. Fuck. I don't know what I was thinking and-"
Luciel saw (Y/N)'s eyes open, her irises dilated to give them a glossy look. "S...Sae...." Luciel's ears perked up. (Y/N) could speak? Was she going to say his name? Does she even know that my real name is Saeyoung? Luciel thought to himself, staring intently as (Y/N) struggled to speak.
"Saeran?" She finally said, opening her eyes.
Luciel felt himself shrink inside, realizing that while the girl before him was conscious, she wasn't herself. She thinks I'm my brother, Luciel thought, trying not to let himself feel saddened by the realization.
Too temporarily stunned to speak, Luciel gazed into (Y/N)'s eyes and saw the glossy look in her pupils. She was seeing, yes, but not seeing. Aware, but not aware. (Y/N), but not (Y/N).
"Y-yeah," The redhead stuttered out, willing to play along with (Y/N)'s hallucination if it would make her feel even a little better. "It's me, (Y/N). Saeran."
(Y/N) chuckled a little, coughing as the light breaths left her throat. "I've missed you...so much."
"Yeah, I know," Luciel whispered, stroking the girl's hair tenderly. "I've...missed you, too."
"Really?" The snowy-haired girl's eyes filled with tears. "Oh, Saeran, these past few days have been horrible. I...I think I swallowed the Elixir again somehow. I don't remember anything. But everything hurts."
Luciel tore his gaze away from (Y/N).
I'm sorry, he wanted to say, but didn't. If he apologized now, while (Y/N) was in such a delusional state, it would only be for his personal sanity. It would be a selfish act, done out of self-preservation. The girl was too confused to do anything other than forgive him, and Luciel wasn't sure he deserved forgiveness.
"The pain will go away," Luciel whispered, but he couldn't be sure.
When Vanderwood's car had finally caught up to Saeran, the boy had struggled endlessly before he allowed the group to take (Y/N). Even then, he had insisted on coming along and refused to say a word to Luciel, ignoring the redhead completely as he rode back to the cabin on the top of Vanderwood's car, whereupon he set up camp outside the cabin so that he could be close to (Y/N) at all times but wouldn't have to tolerate the sight of Luciel.
When asked if (Y/N) would be okay, Saeran had only turned his head away, unable to answer.
"Will it, really?" (Y/N) said to Luciel, gazing at him with eyes full of hope. She didn't wait for an answer. "Thank you, Saeran. You're always here for me."
She reached a shaky hand out from her spot on the bed to rest a palm on top of Luciel's. "Lay with me on the bed," She whispered to Luciel, and he was too weak to refuse.
As he brought an arm around her, though, she had already fallen asleep in his arms, murmuring a soft, 'thank you, Saeran,' before she had drifted off completely, the quaking of her body ceased.
Luciel groaned, his stomach twisting.
He had fucked everything up.
(Y/N) was in pain. Saeran wouldn't speak to him. Vanderwood was pissed. Even V, who had a million secrets of his own, felt that Luciel had made the wrong decision in going through with the hostage exchange.
"If I could do it all over..." Luciel mused out loud, wondering.
If he could change his actions, what better course was there to take? Luciel at least had Saeran now, that was a huge step. His eyes flicked downward to (Y/N), where a light perspiration had broken out on her forehead. Was it worth it? He wondered.
"Luciel!" He heard Vanderwood shout.
The redhead darted out of bed, not wanting the elderly man to misread the situation. "What?" Luciel asked.
"It's...your brother."
Luciel's eyes widened, and then he was out of the room, heading straight for Saeran.
***
"Stay ba-" Saeran tried to shout, holding a hand up to stop Luciel from coming any closer, but couldn't complete his sentence as he began vomiting into a bush. "S-stay back!" He repeated weakly, his entire body shivering.
"Please," Luciel pled, "You need help, Saera-"
"Don't call me that!" Saeran shouted, further edged on before he continued retching on the ground. Luciel stared in shock. His brother wasn't throwing up any solids, it was all liquid - a sick, neon blue-green liquid that smelled of at least eight different chemicals.
Shit! The Elixir! Luciel thought to himself. That's what's Rika's been forcing Saeran to take? That's what (Y/N) has in her bloodstream?
The situation wasn't good. Vanderwood pressed a hand to Luciel's shoulder, holding the boy back before he could run to his brother like he wanted. "Don't, Luciel."
Luciel wanted to respond, convince Vanderwood that if he just had some time alone with his brother, he could explain—but Saeran started speaking before he could open his mouth. "Luciel?" His tone was mocking. "You didn't just abandon me, you abandoned everything. Your name. Your past. You were even going to abandon (Y/N)!" Saeran's voice rose, and he stood up, steadying himself against a birch tree. "Don't you know what they do to people in the Mint Eye?!"
Luciel didn't respond. He couldn't.
"Well?!" Saeran's angry tone would have been enough to make anyone flinch, but Luciel stood unmoving as his brother lashed out at him.
"You don't know anything! You're dumb! Useless! A jerk! You're such a fucking asshole! It's been years, years, and you can barely even talk to me! What the fuck were you thinking when you left?! How did you think I'd be happy?! Or was that a lie? Was it all just so that you'd be free of me, happy to do whatever you wanted without your little brother to weigh you down?"
"No!" Luciel shouted in response, horrified by the idea. "I-I didn't do it for me," He said, desperately hoping for Saeran to believe the words.
"You expect me to believe that you did it for me?!" Saeran shouted, furious at the prospect. Luciel saw his brother's jaw clench, his entire face contorted in unmasked anger.
"Yes," Luciel whispered. "I...You...I couldn't let you stay! You wouldn't have been happy!"
"You didn't have to leave!" Saeran shouted, and for a moment, Luciel thought he saw tears in his brother's eyes. "How the fuck did you expect me to be happy without you?!"
Vanderwood had gone back inside the cabin, giving the two Choi twins their privacy as they sorted out years of misunderstandings, resentment, and anger. Luciel took a step toward his brother, and then another when he realized that Saeran wasn't backing away.
"I..." Luciel didn't know what to say. "I saw pictures...Rika sent me pictures. Of you. Smiling. Happy."
"You saw two pictures where I wasn't frowning and concluded that I was living a life of rainbows and sunshine?! A life of happiness?! You couldn't even send me a message?!" Saeran's words were growing in volume, the younger brother growing angrier with every word. "You abandoned me. For no reason! The Savior...Rika...she...she couldn't replace you! No one could! Not her, not MC, not even (Y/N)!"
Luciel's eyes widened. "Saeran..." He murmured, now standing only a foot from his brother as he saw that his twin was crying. "I'm sorry."
Saeran looked away, unable to meet Luciel's eyes. "You think one apology changes anything?" The younger's tone was hostile, but it was no longer shouting, the previous anger every word was dipped in no longer present.
"No...but I won't ever leave again. I promise. I swear," Luciel fumbled around his neck, searching for the chain he had never taken off. The chain Saeran had given him for his seventh birthday. "I swear to God, Saeran, I won't ever leave you again. I swear to God, to you, to me, to everything."
Luciel noticed how Saeran's eyes settled on the silver cross around his neck. There was no doubt, they both remembered the day they had purchased it.
"Saeran, don't cry! Here, look, it's candy!" Seven-year-old Luciel exclaimed, trying to cheer his brother up as he wept on the sidewalk. The boy waved a lollipop in front of his brother's face, hoping to distract Saeran from the predicament they were in.
"B-b-b-b-but m-mommy said..." Saeran trailed off, barely able to form the first half of his sentence before breaking off into wails of distress.
"Mommy didn't mean it, Saeran," Luciel murmured, sitting next to his brother.
Their mother, abusive as ever, had shouted at the two of them to leave the house and to never come back, that they were the reason things were so tense between her and daddy and that everyone was better off without the two redhead twins.
"How do you know?" Saeran murmured, burrowing his head into his knees, horrified at the prospect of not having a home.
Luciel pondered for a moment, before jumping up. "Wait here, Saeran!" He called, already dashing off.
Saeran blinked, confused, but didn't cry. He had utter faith in his elder brother; Luciel would never leave him, he knew. They were twins. Two halves that were only complete when together. When all else failed, he knew his big brother would always be there by his side.
And he was right to trust in his brother! Luciel had returned, holding something shiny in his small hands. "Here!" He exclaimed, flashing Saeran a blinding grin. "This is how I know that everything will be okay!"
Saeran stared at the pendant. "A...plus sign?"
"No!" Luciel laughed. "A cross!"
"Oh," Saeran said, remembering the giant cross that decorated the church they sat in every Sunday, right next to V and Rika.
"God is watching over us, Saeran," Luciel said with a smile, trying to put the necklace around Saeran's neck, but the boy refused.
"You wear it," Saeran insisted stubbornly. Luciel arched an eyebrow, and the younger was quick to respond. "You'll watch over me, so I'm all taken care of. So you need someone to take care of you! So you should wear the necklace so God can watch over you!"
Saeran laughed, and in the moment, everything was okay. Mommy's words were forgotten, and daddy's abusive habits were bygones, because Saeran was being protected - by none other than his guardian angel big brother, who, in turn, was being shielded by God.
"Who...who's been protecting you all these years, with Rika so mental?" Luciel asked, regretting that the answer wasn't him.
"I've protected myself," Saeran whispered. "And you? Do mom and dad still beat you, or did you leave?"
"I..." Luciel swallowed. He doesn't know? He thought to himself, before recalling how controlling Rika had become. The woman wouldn't leak any information to Saeran that he didn't need.
"What?" Saeran's voice was sharp, sensing the hesitance in Luciel's tone. "What did you do, Saeyoung?"
Luciel bit his lip. It had been so long since anyone had called him 'Saeyoung.'
"I..."
Luciel couldn't force the words past his lips. They were simple. Three words that he'd already confessed once to Vanderwood before.
"Saeyoung." Saeran's tone grew serious. "What did you do."
Luciel swallowed, trying to keep the growing pit of anxiety in his stomach from rising. "Mom and dad...they...it's...it's why I gave you to Rika...I..."
Saeran said nothing as Luciel stammered out fragmented phrases, waiting for Luciel to say the words that would mean something. The white-haired boy was staring straight into Luciel's eyes, mint greens meeting gold in a confusing exchange of emotion.
"I killed them," Luciel whispered, his voice soft enough to have been carried away by the breeze.
Saeran held his silence, saying nothing.
Luciel tried to read the expression of the boy he once knew so well, hating that the mint green was like a mask that kept any true expression from showing. The redhead wanted to say something more, break the silence, but he knew that task was up to his brother.
"Do you...regret it?" Saeran asked.
Luciel was thrown off by the question.
"Do you think you made the wrong choice?" Saeran explained.
"No," Luciel said. "I did the right thing. The only thing I regret is...not keeping you with me afterward."
Saeran sighed, looking up at the sky. Only then did Luciel notice that it had darkened considerably. "Have you forgiven yourself for killing them?" Saeran murmured, not meeting Luciel's eyes.
The redhead looked down at the ground, noticing a trail of ants each carrying small pieces of leaves on top of their bodies. They were such small creatures, holding such a large burden over their heads as they worked together. He noticed the ants amalgamate into a small cube formation, protecting them as the sky let loose its first few drops of precipitation before the rest came tumbling down, turning into a full rainstorm within seconds, but the ants had united. They were protected, shielded from the rain.
"Yeah," Luciel said, not caring that he was getting wet. "I have."
"Good," Saeran said, meeting the redhead's eyes. "Why didn't you want to tell me?"
The way he asked the question, so innocently as if Luciel were keeping something trivial as a crush from Saeran, broke Luciel's heart. "It's...not something you want to admit, you know? It's like saying it out loud makes it more true. It's been so long since I've seen you, talked to you...I didn't want you to know what kind of person I'd become."
Saeran stared at the ground, not saying anything for such a long time that Luciel almost thought he had forgotten that they were in the middle of a conversation.
"I've killed people, too," Saeran whispered above the tumult of the rain.
"Fuck," Luciel said out of instinct, not noticing tears streaming down his own face as droplets of water mixed with them. "I was trying to protect you from that kind of life when I gave you to Rika."
Saeran chuckled, a sound Luciel hadn't heard in years. His golden irises widened as he gazed at the boy in front of him. "No surprise there, eh?" Saeran said with an amused smile. "We're two halves to the same whole. If you're a killer, so am I. When you're miserable, so am I. When you're happy, so am I. Funny how life has worked out."
Luciel ran a hand through his hair, swiping back red strands that clung to his forehead. "Does that mean you're happy right now, Saeran?" He asked, desperately hoping that the answer was a yes. "Cause I know it's fucked up, but the fact that you're even here....makes me happier than I've been in a long time."
Saeran's response wasn't immediate, but he eventually did open his mouth. "Yeah, Saeyoung. I am...happy." He flashed a lazy grin at his brother, a smile that Luciel had missed in their time apart. "Should I call you Luciel from now on? That'll take some getting used to, bu-"
"No," He said firmly. "I...I'm not Luciel. Luciel didn't have a brother. He didn't kill his parents. Luciel was a good kid."
"Then Luciel sounds like a boring fuck," Saeran said, chuckling.
"He was," The redhead said, smiling. "I'm ready to be Saeyoung again."
Saeran smiled. "Good." He offered his hand out for Saeyoung to shake.
"A handshake?" Saeyoung scoffed. "We haven't seen each other in half a decade, and you want a handshake? Fuck that." Saeyoung said, pulling his brother in for a tight hug.
"I didn't consent to this," Saeran grumbled before grudgingly wrapping his arms around his brother in return, sighing as the rain beat down around them, weighing down every spot in the world except the ground where they stood: two halves united as one for the first time in years. In their tight embrace, they didn't notice time passing, the rain stopping, the ants on the ground moving onward.
To the Choi twins, the world had finally stopped for them and given them a break. A chance to breathe. A chance to be with each other. Nothing would ever be able to convince them otherwise.
MASTERLIST
Neutral Route: 01 | 02 | 03 | 04 | 05 | 06 | 07 | 08 | 09 | 10 | 11 | 12 | 13 | 14 | 15 | 16 | ✔
Saeyoung’s Route: 17 | 18 | 19 | 20 | 21 | 22 | ✔
Saeran’s Route: 17 | 18 | 19 | 20 | 21 | 22 | 23 | ✔
Word count: 3.1k
Notes: Soo we actually ended up tying with 2 votes for Saeran and 2 for Saeyoung, that's why this chapter was so late. I kept thinking that someone would come along and break the tie...but it's not fair to those who are reading, so I flipped a coin and ended up going with the Saeyoung route. Hope you guys enjoyed this chapter, and I'll see you in the next update!
Comment & Like
Next Update: 03/05/20
I do not own the rights to Mystic Messenger or any of the characters within it.
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shes-soparticular · 5 years
Text
Take Me Back to the Start
Nobody said it was easy, no one ever said it’d be this hard.
A/N: Angsty. Part 1 of 2.
Words: 1813
       Six Days. Six whole days since she’d left. Six days since he’d watched as she’d packed her suitcase, the signature fire in her eyes extinguished by exhaustion. At the time, he’d focused on the fact that it was only a carry on. This was just another game of relationship chicken, testing one another to see who would cave first. If she was really leaving, if she really wasn’t planning on coming back, wouldn’t she have packed more than the essentials? Wouldn’t there have been some final conversation about what would happen with the rest of her things? But there hadn’t been. Only her small suitcase and her sad eyes, disappearing through the front door in heavy silence. In hindsight, it was easy for him to question why he’d failed to say anything to make her stay. Frankly, he hadn’t believed her. It was as simple as that. After a year together, an entire fucking year, he couldn’t imagine that this one fight could possibly be enough to push her away. In fact, it only fueled his anger as he watched her silhouette from across the room. If a stupid misunderstanding was enough to make her throw in the towel, then what were they doing together anyways? So rather than trying to reason with her, rather than apologizing in earnest, he let her go. It wasn’t until he caught that very last glance over her shoulder and saw how truly broken she looked that he fully understood. This wasn’t a game. She wasn’t coming back.
     He'd always said, foolishly of course, that he looked forward to his first real heartbreak. He’d wanted that can’t eat, can’t sleep, heart ripped out of his chest inspiration that every artist yearned for. He wanted that all consuming pain that would lead him to create something deeply personal and timeless. Only now did he realize how naïve he’d been. Only now did he realize that the pain was in fact so consuming that nothing else seemed to matter. The last thing in the world he wanted to do was pick up a guitar or put pen to paper. Honestly, anything that meant venturing far from his couch felt impossible. So with the shades drawn and The Scientist stuck on repeat, he refreshed each of her social media accounts and checked over and over to ensure he hadn’t missed her call. At this point he’d settle for any sign of life from her. Proof that she still existed, that it hadn’t all been one elaborate fever dream. To go from speaking to someone every day about every last aspect of his life, every thought and every feeling, to having no idea if he’d ever hear her voice again? To call it jarring was an understatement. It felt silly to admit, but for the first time after hundreds of performances he finally identified with Mercy. So much so that he almost wondered if that song had been some kind of premonition of this visceral pain. A foreshadowing of what losing this girl could really do to him.
      The condo felt as cold and empty as he did. Yet there were reminders of her everywhere, taunting him around every corner. Whether it was one of her hair ties peeking out from between the couch cushions, the latest novel she’d been reading waiting for her on the nightstand, or her shampoo still leaving the barely there scent of coconut hanging in the bathroom. By far the hardest thing he’d come into contact with was a neon green post-it note covered in her handwriting accompanied by the print of her kiss. Out picking up coffee, be back soon. Don’t write a song about it xxx. She’d stuck it to his sleeping chest one morning, months ago when he’d been home between tour legs. When he’d found it this afternoon, partially crumpled under his pillow, it had sucked the breath right out of him. How could they have gone from being so blissfully happy to complete ruin this fast?
              But the longer he laid on that couch, trapped in his own head, he realized there had been plenty of signs all along. She had always put up this wall to the outside world, this façade of unshakable strength that rarely backed down from a fight. She wore her heart on her sleeve, but it was the warmer emotions that she put on display. Her passion, her temper, her spontaneity, her attitude. But there were cracks forming in those final months, cracks he should have noticed from a mile away. In retrospect, he could see that with everyday they’d spent apart, she’d been retreating further into herself. Every night that he’d only had a few minutes to devote to her, on the nights that he’d needed to ignore her calls completely, she was always a good sport. She always said she understood how hectic tour could be and that she could wait to talk until he had more time. Slowly, her stories about her stressful workload tapered off. She stopped bringing up the guilt she’d been feeling as she drifted apart from old friends. Even the feelings of homesickness she’d always confided in him ceased being a topic of conversation. At some point, her voice at the other end of the line had started to follow a script about everything being fine. Always fine. Those calls had become somewhat one-sided, him going on about the most recent performance, regaling her with stories of whatever city he was currently in. But he’d told himself it was all okay because she sounded genuinely happy for him and her voice always perked up when they talked about plans for his homecoming. They would reconnect when he returned home and ease right back into the place where they’d left off.
              Maybe that’s exactly what would have happened if he’d just said no. If he had said no to the rest of the crew about having one last hurrah rather than going home to his girl like he’d planned. If he had said no to the second and third and fourth drink. If he had said no to the pretty girl that had insisted on dancing with him. If he had had just said no and gone home at any point during the early hours of that evening, he wouldn’t have ended up with some strange girl’s lips on his. Yes, he’d pushed her away. Yes, he’d left immediately after that. But news traveled fast and by the time he unlocked the door to their condo, she already knew. A mutual friend that had never had the best of intentions had been quick to text her about it. The narrative had been started long before he could get home to her and explain himself, before he could hold her hands in his and swear to her it had been an honest mistake. When he’d found her in the apartment, she’d been standing quietly on the balcony, eyes trained on the Toronto skyline. He hadn’t realized it then, but she’d known she was taking in that sight for the last time.
              The fight itself had lasted into the wee hours of the morning. It hadn’t helped that he had been intoxicated and defensive or that she was already in the fragile state of feeling neglected. It had all culminated in an exchange he’d give anything to take back. As soon as she’d threatened to leave, claiming that she needed time and space to center herself, he’d felt a surge of indignation that bubbled up and over before he could rein it in. “After everything we’ve been through, if this is all it takes to make you run away? Then maybe you should go.” That was the very last thing he said to her. The rest of the night was bathed in tense silence until the front door finally shut behind her leaving him alone with his regret.
              By the time he’d awoken the following afternoon, lost in his hangover, it had dawned on him how horribly he had handled the situation. Not just the fight, not just the kiss, but the entirety of their relationship over the past few months. He had taken her strength for granted. Hell, he’d taken her for granted. He let her slip away slowly in the name of his career, all the while putting off her well being until it was more convenient for him to address. The kiss was just the catalyst for her breakdown. Further proof for her gnawing insecurities that maybe she wasn’t one of his priorities anymore. Thinking about it now in the light of day as the tequila fog wore off, he suddenly felt sick to his stomach. Not due to the hangover, but because he’d not only let the love of his life walk out the door, he’d practically pushed her out. At any point, he could have wrapped her into his arms and begged her to stay. He could have told her how deeply he loved her, how profoundly he needed her, if there were even words in existence that could do those feelings justice. It couldn’t be too late, could it? He’d dialed her phone immediately, a total of a dozen times before he gave up on the hope that she would answer. The texts he’d sent her remained unread all six days, though he couldn’t be sure if she’d simply turned off her read receipts. It wasn’t until her best friend Erica replied to him that he was even able to pin down that she’d gone home to Chicago. She’s at my place. She’s okay. That’s all I’m going to say. If and when she wants to talk to you, she’ll reach out. If and when? How could that even be an “if”? He couldn’t live with himself if the last words she’d heard from him were telling her to leave. Of course, in his newfound panic, he’d texted and called Erica numerous times, asking for any help she was willing to give. He was met with radio silence.
              Now, six days had passed and the ache of her absence was only growing stronger. Sharper. Every time he closed his eyes, all he saw was that broken look on her face as she walked out the door. The sound of the quaking in her voice, the soft rasp that revealed she’d been crying for quite some time, played on a constant loop in his mind. These thoughts worked themselves into such a fever pitch that suddenly, he needed any relief he could find. Grabbing his car keys, he figured a drive to Pickering might ease his nerves, bring him some much needed perspective. But as he pulled out of the parking garage and onto the streets of Toronto, he found himself heading southwest. Before he knew it, he was approaching the American flags signifying border control.
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abutterflyscribbles · 5 years
Text
Tiny People in Jars AU: Part 11
*shows up to class a year late with new antidepressants* Thank you for your patience. If you like this story plz reblog and comment!
Part One/Two/Three/Four/Five/Six/Seven/Eight/Nine/Ten/Ao3
Marianne was known in her family for giving in to impulse. 'Known' as in 'infamous' and 'notorious'. Her brothers had build up an extensive vocabulary about it over the years. Her mother usually just said something along the lines of: “Please next time think twice about punching a goat for nipping your brother's hand.”
In her own defense Marianne usually spotted the flaw in her plans about halfway through enacting them. Unfortunately momentum would have built up too strongly to stop at that point, but it was the split-second rethinking that counted. Another point of defense was that the outcome of her heedless actions were sometimes not bad at all. For instance, she gave a lot more compliments and hugs than she would have if she gave herself time to think.
But sometimes . . . sometimes there was really no defense for her idiocy.
She had run through the standard list of justifications at least twice that day already. It had been a long day. She was hungover. She had been zapped with a shrink ray. It had really been the absolute worst day of her life up to date and she very much hoped that no day after would come close to beating the record that had been set. Marianne had been having so many feelings and all of them were bad. When a good feeling flitted by she grabbed at it with both hands.
It was a mistake.
A horrible mistake.
Even considering her impulsive nature Marianne couldn't understand why she had done it. How she could have even brought herself to consider it. The warmth buoying up her heavy heart turned to a chill and her skin crawled with it. Her lips had brushed rough, dirty knuckles . . . too close to deadly black claws that could rip valleys into her skin . . . Her head was bent underneath that face . . . that face . . .
Marianne was afraid.
She was disgusted.
She'd kissed his hand.
That she was even touching . . . a goblin! A thing! Some sort of insect that scuttled around in the dark, in the dirt. The king of this whole, horrible kingdom tucked in a mucky little corner of her backyard like the beginning of rot. Everything it touched would decay with it . . . she was touching it . . . she had chosen to come close, wanted to. She couldn't think why.
Marianne's hand was the one shaking now. Shaking too hard to let go of his hand. Its hand. It wasn't a human hand. It wasn't a person's hand. She'd put herself at the mercy of this thing that could lash out at her like a frightened animal. The wings seized up under the wrinkle, urging her to fly away before it struck.
The hand twitched underneath Marianne's.
The tiny movement broke the tight wire of tension holding her still.
Marianne screamed.
She shoved Bog away and he smacked his head on the back of his throne.
The horror and disgust disappeared like the dark when someone snaps on a lamp. Bog ceased to be an inhuman terror and instead looked almost comically bewildered.
“You . . . you charmed me!” Marianne said. She was shaking all over. Her skin was crawling, like it had when Bog dolled himself up as a cicada to demonstrate how glamor worked, but a hundred thousand times worse.
Bog cradled his hand to his chest and looked aghast.
“If you didn't want me to--” Marianne stopped before her voice could crack. More feelings. She was just wallowing in feelings today, she'd like to take a break. Of course Bog wouldn't want her within ten yards of him. She was just a doctor's signature away from being officially certifiable. Being locked up would have been a relief. She couldn't do anything stupid in a nice comfy padded room.
“There are easier ways to let a girl down.” She said with forced cheerfulness, starting to pace up and down the dais. “My bad. Got my signals crossed. Is there a penalty for getting too familiar with the king of the goblins? All offenders tossed in the bog--?”
Bog's face remained a shocked blank. He didn't seem to be hearing a word Marianne was saying. She wished he would just flip a table or kick over a chair, anything but having him keep staring at her in the weird way. Regret and embarrassment circled back into anger.
“I mean . . . what the heck, Bog? I've had enough of people messing around in my head lately I don't need you going all creepy-crawly cicada on me, you dumb stump. Use your words. Say 'no'. Tell me I'm a crazy human that you can't wait to see the back of, just . . . say something!”
“I had no one to teach me glamor.”
Marianne stopped pacing. The hushed, tentative non sequitur paired with Bog's pale, blank face . . . it almost added up to a sort of air of . . . fear. “I'm . . . sorry?” She prompted, squinting at him uncertainly.
Bog made a valiant effort to look smaller. He was so low in his seat Marianne thought he might slip right off it. “I—the rules, the workings, I had to puzzle it out with no instruction. There was no one who had particular skill, just the instinctive use . . . My control is not always . . . perfect . . .”
“Not catching your drift, your creepy-crawly-ness.”
“You . . . startled me.”
“I startled you?”
Bog mustered up a scowl. He looked a little sulky. “You overstep, with your teasing.”
“Teasing?!”
“It was instinct! I wasn't charming you--”
“You can say that again!”
“Truly, I am sorry, but why would you do that?”
Bog had stood up and circled Marianne to descend a step or two so he didn't have to stoop so far to not look her in the eye. She barely kept herself from pinching his stupid, spiky chin and making him look at her. Hot and cold waves of embarrassment flushed her face and made her toes curl up inside her boots. Bog had been the one nice thing in the whole miserable day and she had gone and ruined it.
“Why shouldn't I?” Marianne folded her arms.
Bog fluttered his hand toward his face in a helpless little gesture. “Because . . . because look at me!”
“You've got pretty eyes.” Marianne muttered, knowing she sounded very sulky. She wondered if it was too soon to hiding a corner and cry again. She'd sworn off love, romance, the whole shebang, only to fall for the first set of sympathetic eyes to get stuck in the fly paper. Was this rebounding? She'd never broken off a relationship as dramatically as she had with Roland. Was she flirting now just to prove she didn't care?
Bog went very pink and confused in the face. “Stop—stop playing with me!”
“Look, just say you're not interested, thanks for asking, have a nice day.”
“I--” Bog dragged his hand down his face. He mumbled something that might have been a plea for the sweet release of death.
Bog and Marianne fidgeted in awkward silence for awhile.
“You could have just said you weren't interested.” Marianne muttered again.
“I don't understand you. Not the slightest bit.”
“It's your fault for being stupidly nice and having illegally attractive eyes and profile. I . . . I have no filter left. This day has worn me right down to a nub of manic, uninhibited chaos.”
“Very apt.”
“So lemme just go ahead and say that you have been an absolute rock for me in this insane, world-changing, life-altering day, and how could a girl not fall for that, a little bit?”
Bog hunched his shoulders and twiddled his fingers. He didn't seem to have an immediate response.
Marianne went on, figuring she might as well be hung for a sheep as a lamb. “I like you. As a person. The rest—I don't know. Maybe I'm having so many emotions I'm getting them confused. And we're right in the middle of all this political drama and nobody needs my issues flung over everything any more than they already are. Besides, I got the message: you aren't interested. Understandable. Sorry to have troubled you. End of subject, shake hands and part as friends.”
Bog continued to fidget and looked like he was so awkward he was in pain. Marianne could relate to that. She'd run out of things to say that weren't lamer, less coherent repeats of everything she had said before. It didn't look like Bog would be chipping in any time soon either. It would have been a great time for something to burst in and break the tension with some urgent new subject of conversation. But fate wasn't smiling on either of them right then and the painful awkward gap in the conversation stretched on.
It had come to the point that Marianne was carefully considering the option of laying down on the floor and passing out for the rest of the night to avoid any further inconvenient feelings when, finally, a gaggle of goblins burst into the throne room. They were hooting and squawking in alarm. Bog and Marianne turned to them with great relief.
“The fairy army is at the bridge!” one of them said while the rest shouted variations on the same theme.
“Not the whole army.” Dawn flitted over the goblins, “it doesn't look bigger than a scouting force and most of them are elves.”
“Is Sunny back?” Marianne asked.
“No, I didn't see him.” Dawn landed, drooping. “No one has seen him.”
“So much for diplomacy,” Bog sighed, kicking away the broken practice stick and going to fetch his staff.
“Hold on, hold on!” Dawn flitted around in front of him, “No jumping to conclusions! It's small enough to just be an escort. That's not hostile, that's just royal.”
“Who's leading it?” Bog asked, curving out of the way of Dawn's earnest face.
Dawn twisted her fingers together. “. . . Roland.”
Bog growled.
“Where's a sword?” Marianne asked, “I need one that's not wooden and broken. Stout clubs are also acceptable.”
Dawn persisted. “Daddy doesn't know Roland is a two-timing toadstool! Not many people would want to go into the Dark Forest at night so if Roland volunteered there's really no reason why dad wouldn't let him. Diplomacy first, decapitation later, okay?”
“Fine.” Bog and Marianne said in unison.
“But if I see one pink sparkle--” Marianne said.
“If he's got the love potion--” Bog said.
“Then unless he immediately makes it clear he's returning it to you, Boggy, he's breaking your laws and you're justified to do whatever you see fit.” Dawn reassured him.
“How's the antidote coming?” Marianne asked when Griselda pattered by from a corner of the throne room that Marianne was fairly sure didn't have a door. She had a sudden fear that Griselda had been spying on them from the duel onward.
“Pah! Plum is still stalling! I'll wring it out of her, though, don't you worry. I hope my boy hasn't been being too rude to you this evening. He's shy.”
Marianne was then absolutely certain Griselda had been spying on them. It was the raspy whispered aside that confirmed it. It was just short of a nudge and a wink. Marianne bared her teeth in a strained smile. There really wasn't anything she could say without screaming.
Everything got busy at once and the walls were alive with goblins swarming through passages up above that Marianne hadn't been able to see earlier. She leaned on the throne and watched, feeling nervous. She still didn't know if the love potion was in play.
“Hey.”
Marianne started, surprised to find Bog at her elbow. She was sure he had just been across the room shouting at someone. But she hadn't been paying particular attention. She was too caught up in her worries and remains of embarrassment. “Yeah?”
Bog was looking less awkward. Probably because half his mind was on the kingly art of war and couldn't be devoted to being annoyed at manic fairy antics. “If he has the potion he won't get a chance to use it. Okay?”
It was a relief to see that she hadn't annoyed Bog past caring about her. “You're a rock star, Bog. I mean, thanks. I still want a sword, though.”
“I can accommodate that request. As well, I . . .”
“Yeah?”
“I . . . I never said I wasn't interested.”
Bog did a graceful little hop into the air and whizzed off to shout at the goblins some more, leaving Marianne behind to try and pick her jaw up off the floor while she blushed red right to the new tips of her ears.
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Text
End Game (Bucky Barnes x You)
Tumblr media
Characters: Bucky Barnes x You
Summary: Bucky saw everyone turning into dust and immediately went straight to you.
Warnings: HAPPINESS. SMILES. LAUGHTERS. RAINBOWS. :) LOL.
Words: 1,963
A/N: This made my heart hurt. I’ve written this back before End Game happened and posted this first in my Wattpad account. If ya’ read this on Wattpad then hello! I am Tatatthepotato! Heehee!
• • •
"Is the war over, Buck?" Y/N ran and ran till where Bucky was standing in the middle of a field. He dropped his gun with a thud, tightly engulfing her in a hug once she jumped to hug his neck.
Bucky's heartbeat quickened its pace. His emotions were all around, he was exhausted, bemused, and totally had no idea what was happening when one by one their team members were turning to dust. They were suddenly gone in just one snap of Thanos's fingers. What was happening?
When he saw each and every loved ones of every Avenger were turning to ashes, he quickly ran back to his hut, even if it was on the other side of Wakanda, he ran as fast as he could. Even had to see the reality how the kids who kept playing and helping him when he was brought in Wakanda was turned into dust. Their last words was his name before all of them slowly came with the wind..except from one kid.
Ikemba.
Bucky was puzzled, Ikemba, the kid who had a special place inside his heart. Ikemba was scared when he saw his friends swaying away with the wind, leaving him all alone as each Wakandan people were flying with the wind. Bucky could only hug the boy and reassure him that everything's going to be all right, even without his mother by his side because she was turned into dust with the others too.
It was extremely mind wrecking.
He gave a melancholic smile, and Y/N sensed there was something wrong. She tried to smile but it seemed forced, and even the next word that came out of Bucky's mouth was also forced indeed.
"Yes,"
It had definitely been the end game for them.
"Y/N?" Bucky spoke sweetly, caressing your arm as he laid beside you with Ikemba sleeping on the other side of the bed. You were both sandwiching him on his kinda tiny bed but he didn't gave a care about it. It was already night time in Wakanda, the other team who was left alive were in their own humble abode, after an excruciating and heartbreaking day. They still needed to rest, that is..if they could still sleep after the horrible reality that has happened.
Bucky's heart was still knocking against his chest with nervousness. Steve was alive, he was alive but Sam was taken. He hoped nobody will soon be taken away anymore, Bucky hoped that scary phase was done.
You turned over, furrowing your brows and blinking till you could clearly see your sweet Avenger. "Hmm?"
Bucky took his time to process you in, memorizing every inch of your perfections in his eyes even though he had already memorized it. You felt the pad of his metal finger, trailing down your glabella, and towards the tip of your nose. He sadly smiled to himself, and he was sure something was wrong. Something isn't right. "I love you, I know this is the first time I said this, Doll." Bucky paused, breathing out the breath he had been holding in for long than he could notice.
Love. He loves you. Bucky finally said the words.
He looked deep within your eyes, finding anything but adoration and love. Bucky's heart pounded so fast against his chest, it was a long time since he felt that way. How it felt to be loved back. "I love you too, Buck. You know I already said that I'm in love with you and--" You suddenly pause, feeling your heart pump one beat, a burning sensation spreading inside that made you grasp your chest.
Bucky was quick to see what was happening with you. He knew you were in pain, but why? "Y/N?" He sat up in the same time, grabbing either side of your arms as he gently shook your body to get your attention. No. The tiny voice uttered loud in the back of his head. It wasn't happening. Not her. Please, no more.
The burning sensation stopped in one beat, although it was ceased, your feet began to turn cold. A wash of coldness began to start from your toes, you felt it. You felt everything, even Bucky's warm lips that frantically kissed your forehead to prove himself that you were still there with him. "B-Buck? I-I don't feel so good, it's too cold here," You breathed deeply, your chest beginning to tighten.
"A-Am I having a heart attack? I don't w-want to go yet," A nervous laugh came out of you, the cold force already on your stomach, it was like pulling your soul out of your body. You were on the verge of crying, you could feel the hot tears brimming your eyes, the pain inside your heart beginning to go back. "I don't wanna die, Bucky. N-Not yet, we're still going to make a family, right? With Ikemba? here in Wakanda?"
He heard your voice crack, and his heart began to race. Bucky began to panic as he stood and jumped out of the bed. Hastily pushing a button to dial for help, and with one push of a button on the middle of the table, a white blurry hologram came out in front of him. If it were a normal day, Bucky would be surprised. However, Bucky's currently in distress and he was close to having a mental break down. "T'Challa?! T'Challa!"
He screamed at the hologram glitching, yet only a woman's robotic response was given as an answer. "Sorry, King T'challa is at rest. You may leave a message--"
"Steve! Please call Steve Rogers right now! Quickly!"
"Dialing Steve Rogers,"
Bucky's breath was labored, eyes completely wide while he grabbed at his long locks, tightly tugging at his roots. "No, no, not Y/N!" He took a glimpse at you, and you were already sitting on the bed, just staring at him with a sad smile. Your warm tears falling like fountain on either side of your eye, slowly dropping down your face.
"It's okay, sweetheart. You know it was inevitable," Your fingers trembled while you reached out to grab Bucky's flesh hand that was clammy and cold. You faked a smile, you weren't ready. Your heart wasn't ready to go. "W-Who am I to be an exception? Your other superhero friends were taken, even the people of Wakanda happen to be taken too, Buck. It's impossible for me not to,"
"You're the love of my life! He can't take you away from me, Doll! Not you!" He begged on his knees, his tears starting to fall from his gorgeous, Steele blue eyes. His soul was breaking inside once again, grabbing both of your hands tightly, he begged for more and seeing him crying, desperately begging for you not to go was making your heart break into tiny little painful pieces. "Please, not you too! Please, Doll. Please!"
"Buck?" Steve's holographic face suddenly popped up on the bed side table, he seemed to be awake because his eyes were all tired, dark circles hiding beneath them. "What's happening?"
You grabbed Bucky's face with both of your hands, he was crying. Your Bucky was crying too much, his tears never threatening to stop. If you were going to die today, then you wanted nothing more than to remember his beautiful face that has been filled with joy rather than sorrow and agony. "Bucky, I love you very much, remember that."
Your feet were slowly beginning to drift away, your ashes swaying with the winds. "No, no!" He yelled when he saw the traumatic dust slowly starting to swallow you in. Bucky grabbed your damp cheeks, both of your faces were full of hopelessness, pain and tears. Nobody was ready, nobody knew what was happening. Not even him. "I love you, Y/N! I love you, I love you, I love you, I love you," He repeated in distress, over and over again..
Bucky immediately leaned in, colliding his lips with yours. Both of your tears mixing with what you've shared with him. It was salty, bittersweet even. He felt your lips turning colder and colder until he could finally feel none but air.
"I'll forever love you, Bucky."
He opened his bloodshot eyes, and saw only Ikemba and himself. Your ashes flying away and he tried to catch it in despair. "No, nooooo! Noooo! Y/N, nooooo! Doll, nooo," His raspy voice cracked and weakly whimpered as he fell on the floor with a loud thud. Bucky's tears continued to fall, he couldn't think of anything now besides the image of you in pain and slowly vanishing into thin air.
Ikemba shifted and turned all over the soft mattress of Bucky's bed. The child blinked a couple of times, regaining his vision before seeing him blankly looking at the floor.
Bucky was broken. Again.
Just as the people knew he was slowly going stable and fixed, he went back to being broken because Y/N was gone.
You're gone.
Bucky couldn't accept the fact that you were gone, no matter how many times he thinks about it, he won't accept the painful reality that you were gone.
"Brother?" Ikemba was confused, the poor child didn't know what was happening, he was worried why his brother Bucky was crying on the floor, looking lost and broken. "Where's Y/N, brother?"
Y/N. The voices inside his head whispered, and something much heavier clutched his heart.
"Buck? I-Is everything alright?" Steve huffed to himself as he barged into Bucky's hut, looking around for any signs of intruders but saw none. He sighed a breath of relief, his protruding chest moving up and down as he tried catching his breath from running too fast. The Captain was dressed in a plain black shirt and sweatpants, appearing to hop in bed for some sleep before Bucky called.
"Buck, where's Y/N?"
Y/N. His Y/N. His doll.
Bucky tightened his fists together as he sat on the floor like the world came crushing down on him. The most important person that could keep him in check besides Steve was now gone. "He took her too," His eyebrows furrowed in grief and anger. "He took her," Bucky's low voice cracked in the end as it turned weaker, smaller and Steve knew his best pal was in an excruciating pain because Y/N was the only person who could make him feel like the jolly person he was back in the 1950's.
Y/N was the only person he loved the most that made him cry his heart out, screaming his anger and curling in a ball on the corner of his bed.
"She's gone, Steve. She's gone,"
So was his heart.
• • •
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fireladybuckley · 6 years
Text
A Nose for Trouble
Fandom:  Star Trek (AOS/TOS) Pairing: Bones/Reader Prompt/Request: Inspired by a prompt on a list of "Meet ugly" prompts  - “You punched me in the face while gesticulating wildly to a friend” AU Word Count: 6552 Warnings: Blood, injury, fluff Author’s note: Thanks to @imamotherfuckingstar-lord for advice and @outside-the-government for beta’ing, as usual (because she’s awesome) <3.
              It was an absolutely beautiful summer afternoon, and you smiled as you stepped out into the sunlit quad after your last lecture for the day.  You’d just gotten your midterm results back and were quite pleased with them, so there was a spring in your step as you began to stroll across the busy area, arms wrapped around your books and a small, satisfied smile on your face.  You were daydreaming as you walked, not noticing you were following one of your classmates and his friend.  Eventually their conversation drifted back to you and you started to listen in once you’d recognized that the guy walking directly in front of you sat behind you in one of your classes.
           “Bones, it’s one question,” your classmate’s friend reasoned, walking sideways so he could look directly at his friend.  “Does it really matter?  You got a 98.”
           “It’s the principle of it,” your classmate, Leonard, grumbled.  “He wanted us to explain the oxygen cascade, so I did.”
           “You wrote two pages, Bones,” Leonard’s friend said with amusement.  “Didn’t you say the question was worth like three marks?”
           “Again, that’s not the point, Jim,” Leonard retorted, and you held back a small giggle at the annoyed look on his face, still walking unnoticed behind them.  You’d gotten three out of three on that question and had only written a couple of lines; it made you wonder how in depth Leonard must have gone to have written so much.  “He got all the information he wanted; just much more in-depth and detailed.  How could I have known he wanted something so simplistic?”   Jim snatched the test Leonard was whipping around while he spoke and rifled through the pages until he found the question, forcing you to match their pace behind them as they slowed down.
           “It says “give a simple explanation of the oxygen cascade”,” Jim read, then grinned at Leonard.  “I’m guessing going into exact measurements and paragraph-long explanations of each step isn’t quite what he was asking for.”
           “I shouldn’t even have to take this class,” Leonard said grumpily, ignoring Jim’s amusement.  “I learned all of this years ago, I’m a doc—”
           “Yeah, yeah, we know; you’re a doctor,” Jim said cheerfully, clapping Leonard on the shoulder.
           You lost thread of their conversation as a group of chattering students pushed between you, forcing you to stop for a moment.  One of the girls in the group waved at you and called a greeting so you answered her, quickly forgetting about Leonard and Jim ahead of you.  You paused to check the time on your communicator after your friend had wandered off, slipped the device back into your pocket and continued on in the direction you’d been going, breathing in the warm air and sighing contentedly.  You noticed that Jim and Leonard had stopped just ahead and angled yourself to move around them, aiming to skirt Leonard at the edge of the sidewalk where the pavement met the grass.
           Leonard, meanwhile, was mostly unaware of his surroundings as he stewed in his bad mood.  It wasn’t that he was upset about getting a near-perfect score rather than a perfect one, it was just the principle of the matter.  He articulated this once again to Jim, who was clearly amused rather than sympathetic and began to tease him about being a perfectionist.
           “It’s not being a perfectionist to expect the marks for a correct answer,” Leonard protested, shaking his head as Jim laughed.  “Even if I wrote him a damn—” Leonard cut himself off in surprise as the back of his wildly gesticulating hand suddenly hit something solid.   His brain catching up with his senses, he realized that whatever he’d hit had felt warm, and a yelp filled his ears as he whirled around, his eyes wide.   He watched in horror as you toppled, faster than he could catch you, though he did lurch forward and try.
           You slipped on the grass and though you tried, you couldn’t keep your footing.  With another yelp, you fell over and hit the ground hard on your rear end and back, your books and PADD flying in different directions upon impact.  Letting out a groan of pain, you clamped a hand over your nose and struggled to sit up, and Leonard could already see blood starting to slip past your fingers.
           “Oh shit,” Leonard gasped, his hand over his mouth in horror, hurrying forward after a moment to see if you were okay.  He dropped to his knees beside you and reached instinctively for your face, but you flinched away from him, gasping as blood began to drip through your fingers and onto your chest, staining your red cadet jacket a darker scarlet.
           “I am so sorry,” Leonard said emphatically, feeling horrible as Jim scrambled around behind you, collecting your books and PADD.
           “You punched me!” you gasped, still shocked by the unexpected blow and the pain pounding through your face.   The blood pouring out of your nose was making you feel panicky and a bit faint, and you groaned as you fruitlessly tried to stop the flow with your hands.
           “I didn’t mean to!” Leonard hovered, wanting to take over the situation but clearly unwilling to touch you when you were leaning away from him.  “Jim, go get a med pack, now!”
           You heard, rather than saw Jim sprint off back towards the building you’d all just left a few minutes earlier and moaned softly, your nose throbbing painfully.
           “Please, lean forward,” Leonard told you anxiously, and you could tell from his tone of voice that he felt extremely bad for what he’d done.  “The fastest way to get the blood to stop is to lean forward and pinch the bridge of your nose.”  
           You whimpered but decided to listen to him, the pain and nasty feeling of the gushing blood overriding your indignation of him hitting you for now.  You shuffled so you were sitting properly with your legs open in a V-shape in front of you, knees partway up and leaning forward as best as you could.  You reach up with a bloody hand and pinch the bridge of your nose as instructed, gasping in pain as you do so.
           “I know it hurts, you’re doing really well though,” Leonard said reassuringly.  He reached out hesitantly and put his hand on your shoulder, trying to comfort you, and when you didn’t protest, he rubbed your upper back gently, hoping to soothe.   “I am so sorry,” he said again, and you could hear the guilt in his voice, clear as day.  You shrugged, unwilling to forgive him immediately, but also not wanting him to feel so badly; you were sure it had been an accident.
           “You’re in my physiology class. You sit in front of me, right?” Leonard asked after a minute, still with a reassuring hand on your upper back.  You gave a small nod, ceasing the motion almost immediately as it made your nose sear with pain, making you whimper again.
           There was a pounding of feet nearby as you watched Jim’s shoes come back into view and you could hear him huffing and puffing as he wordlessly handed Leonard the med pack he was holding, clutching a stitch in his side once Leonard had taken it.  Leonard quickly dug around in the pack and came up with a couple of handfuls of gauze, which he held out to you.  
           You clumsily took the gauze from him in your free hand and pressed it gingerly to the underside of your nose, soaking up the blood that was still flowing but had slowed considerably.  You spat out the blood that had made its way into your mouth into the gauze and tried to mop up the lower part of your face.  Unfortunately, there was far too much blood to clean without a sink, and all you managed to do was smear it around, the feeling of which made you shudder.
           “Can I take that gauze?” Leonard asked you after a moment, and you glanced up at him miserably.  “I have some fresh ones ready here.”   You carefully peeled the gauze away from your face, some of it already sticking in the drying blood, and shakily held it out to him.  He took the blood-soaked gauze in a gloved hand and put it into a plastic baggie, then handed you the bundle of fresh gauze.  The blood had finally slowed to a trickle and you dabbed at it delicately, wincing at the twinges of pain that shot through your face at every touch.  
           Leonard was shuffling around, digging through the med pack again, and a moment later he approached you with an ice pack.
           “May I?” he asked, leaning in closer, clearly intent on applying the ice pack himself.  You flinched away before you could help it, not wanting his hands near your face again so soon, and saw a flicker of hurt in his eyes as he realized you didn’t trust him.  Attempting to avoid an awkward moment, you carefully unpinched your nose, reached out and took the ice pack from him.
           “Thanks, I’ve got it,” you say, carefully bringing it up to the bridge of your nose and placing it down.  You let out a small whine as the initial contact brings pain, but quite quickly the chill sinks down into your nose and begins to soothe some of the agony, and you sigh in relief.  As the pain began to fade, you glanced up at Leonard, who was kneeling immediately beside you, watching you intently, and Jim, who was hovering nearby, holding your things.   You sigh and drop your gaze back down, trying to focus on how the chill of the ice was numbing your face, which, while uncomfortable in its own right, was still preferable to the pain.
           “I think the bleeding stopped,” you said after a few minutes, your voice sounding like you had a bad head cold.
           “Oh, good,” Leonard said, leaning a little closer.  “Can I see?”   You reluctantly pulled the ice pack off of your face and raised your head a bit so that he could briefly examine you.  “I think you’re right, it looks like it’s stopped.”
           “Good.  I want to get out of here,” you said, positioning yourself so you could stand.  You were well aware that people were staring at you and clearly wondering what had happened, and you knew you must’ve looked horrifying with blood all down your face and neck, a pile of red-stained gauze beside you.  Jim was trying to get people to move along when they slowed down to either gawk or offer help, but you could still feel many pairs of eyes on you and were feeling extremely keen to get away from everyone.
           Leonard stood and held out a hand to you, but you were already scrambling to your feet and don’t take his offer.   You got upright fairly quickly and easily, but once you were standing you felt  a wave of dizziness wash over you and you wavered on the spot, feeling like the world was spinning a little faster than normal.  Clearly seeing this, Leonard reached out and gently grabbed your upper arm, holding you steady so you wouldn’t fall over again.   After a moment the dizziness mostly passed and you nodded at him to indicate that you were alright.
           “Are you sure?” he asked, reluctant to let go just yet.  “You look very pale.” You pulled on your coat to settle it properly and glanced down, noticing the large puddle of blood on your chest and feeling another wave of dizziness wash over you, this time more to do with your queasiness around blood than anything.
           “I’m guessing that has something to do with the paleness,” you said, gesturing vaguely at and quickly averting your eyes from the stain, feeling your stomach lurch.  Leonard made a sympathetic face as you took a few deep breaths, then pulled away from him as soon as you felt strong enough to stand on your own.
           “If you’re feeling well enough to walk, I’d like to take you to the med centre and get your nose scanned,” Leonard said, gesturing towards the building to your right.  “I want to make sure there isn’t a fracture.”
           “I’d really rather go back to my room right now,” you said flatly, the thought of going to the med centre covered in blood and having to be examined an extremely unwelcome thought at the moment.
           “Oh, but—” Leonard began, and you held up a hand to silence him.
           “I don’t want to go to the medical centre,” you repeated firmly, shaking your head just a little to avoid jarring your injury.  You put the ice pack back on your nose and sigh, then continued.  “I just want to take a couple of ibuprofen and get cleaned up right now.”  Your voice was firm though still congested, and he sighed, clearly not pleased with your decision but wisely deciding not to argue.
           “Alright, but at least let me walk you back to your dorm room,” he said.  “I would feel even worse if you fainted or something else happened and I hadn’t made sure you were safe after what I did.”
           You fought back the urge to tell him to go away and gave a small nod, then turned and began to slowly walk towards the dorms.  You quickly realized that you couldn’t really hold the ice on your face and walk at the same time without causing more pain, so you trudged along without it, trying to hold in your complaints as the pain began to return as your face warmed up again in the sun.
           “Are you sure I can’t convince you to go into the med centre?” Leonard asked as the three of you came level with said building, about to pass it.
           “He’s a doctor, after all,” Jim chimed in unhelpfully, and you shot him an annoyed look before declining Leonard’s repeated question.   You ruminated on the thought of Leonard being a doctor for a while, the pain in your face increasing as your mood steadily decreased.
           “I thought doctors were supposed to do no harm,” you muttered as your face gave a particularly painful twinge.  You realized too late that you said it a little louder than you’d meant to and Leonard had surely heard you, but you were feeling a little too surly to be sorry just yet, despite knowing that your remark wasn’t fair.   You knew full well what had happened was an accident, but it was hard to feel forgiving when your face was on fire. Leonard didn’t say anything, and the three of you continued on in silence, thankfully moving away from all the prying eyes on the quad.  It took far longer than it should have to get back to the dorm building;  your nose started to bleed again at one point, prompting Leonard to dig through the kit for more gauze.  You leaned back against the building in the scant shade available, holding the ice to your nose until the blood slowed again and then trudged on.
           Finally, the three of you arrived at the building and took a turbolift to the fourth floor, the guys insisting on escorting you all the way to your room despite your protests.  You clumsily swiped your ID card to open your door, and stepped into the room.  Leonard and Jim hovered at the door; you sighed slightly and gave a small jerk of the head, inviting them in, regretting the jerking motion as your nose seared again.
           “Do you have another ice pack?” Leonard asked as he stepped into the room.
           “Yeah, I have a whole first aid kit,” you confirmed, gesturing vaguely towards the bathroom.
           “If the pain gets any worse or it doesn’t get any better after a couple of hours, please go to the med centre,” Leonard pleaded, looking worried.
           “I will, I will,” you agreed, tossing your ice pack onto your table and standing there facing them, feeling decidedly awkward.  “I’ll take some ibuprofen, I’m sure it’ll be fine.”
           “Actually, acetaminophen would be better,” Leonard said automatically, unable to get out of doctor mode.  “Ibuprofen has a slight but not completely insignificant chance of thinning the blood, which could make you bleed more.”   You sighed, then gave a small nod to show you understood.
           “I’m sure I have some of that somewhere too,” you said, watching as Leonard hovered, unsure, near the doorway, clearly wanting to do more to help but not overstep his boundaries.  “Look, thank you for helping me,” you said, your voice softening slightly.
           “I’m just so sorry that this happened in the first place,” Leonard said, a morose tone to his voice.  “I’m an idiot, I should have been paying attention.”
           “Accidents happen,” you said, a bit grimly.  “I just want to lie down now though, okay?  I promise I’ll go to the med centre if it feels any worse.”
           “Or doesn’t get better.”
           “—Or doesn’t get better, yeah.”
           Leonard looked like he wanted to insist on taking you there himself, but he seemed to talk himself out of it and gestured to the door so Jim would start heading out.  Jim put your books and PADD down on the table next to your ice pack and gave you a fleeting smile, then left the room.  Leonard stepped halfway out, and then turned to look back at you one more time.
           “Sorry again.  See you tomorrow.”
           You sighed heavily as Leonard stepped fully out of the room and the door snapped closed behind him.  You ordered your room’s computer to lock the door and hobbled into your bed area, cringing and taking a deep breath to steady yourself.  Standing in front of your mirror, you winced as you took a look;  blood covered the centre of the lower half of your face and all down your neck and on your chest.  Even though your cadet uniform was bright red, the blood was pretty obvious.  You unzipped the jacket and shrugged out of it, tossing it aside for now; it would obviously have to be deep cleaned.  You hurried into the bathroom and filled the sink with warm water, grabbed a washcloth and some soap and began to clean the blood from your skin, scrubbing hard in the places where it had already dried.  You were careful to go very slowly and gingerly around your nose and nostrils, and with some effort, your skin was finally clean.  The water in the sink was stained pinkish red and you drained it, shuddering at the lasting memory of how all that blood had felt on your skin.  The lower part of your face and your neck was bright pink from all the scrubbing, and your nose was hurting more than it did before from the aggravation of cleaning it.
           You quickly popped a couple of acetaminophen like he’d told you to, grabbed a second ice pack from the first aid kit and went to lie down on the couch.  You activated the ice pack and settled it over the bridge of your nose with a sigh, lying there and hoping against hope that the pain would fade soon and that the pills would work, lamenting the loss of your excellent mood prior to the incident.
           You woke up a few hours later, feeling a bit dazed, and the first thing you noticed was the pain in your face.  The ice pack had slipped off once you’d dozed off and was lying uselessly on the ground beside you.  Your nose and head in general was throbbing and you groaned as you struggled to sit up in the semi-darkness.
           “Lights, seventy percent,” you said, then winced and gasped as even that brightness seared your eyes.  “Ow, never mind, lights – forty percent!”  You breathed a sigh as the lights dimmed to a manageable level and you sat there for a moment, collecting your bearings.  According to your comm, it was a good three hours since you’d gotten back to your dorm, and the pain hadn’t receded any.  If anything, it had gotten a bit worse.  Sighing heavily, you decided to take Leonard’s advice and head down to the med centre.
           Donning a pair of sunglasses so the bright lights in the hallways didn’t make your headache infinitely worse, you pulled on a clean cadet jacket over your tank top and left your room, heading towards the medical building.  The hallways were fairly empty – everyone was probably off having supper – and you were grateful not to run into anyone as you made your way out of the dorm building.  It was still light outside but the sun was much lower in the sky, and you were able to see through your glasses without much pain.  In no time you were in the medical building and heading down the hallway that lead to the non-emergency clinic, where you sincerely hoped Leonard himself was not working.  It wasn’t that you didn’t think he was a capable doctor; you were just feeling incredibly awkward and also guilty for your comment earlier and didn’t fancy seeing him again so soon.
           The waiting room was empty save for one person with their attention devoted to whatever was on their PADD’s screen, and you approached the desk just as a nurse came around the corner.
“Oh! Hey you!” Christine Chapel, your across-the-hall dorm neighbour, smiled as she recognized you and came over to the desk.
“Hi Chris,” you said, trying to sound nonchalant and like your face wasn’t on fire.
“What brings you in today?” she asked, looking at you curiously.  Her eyes had found the bridge of your nose, and her brows knit together.  “What happened to your nose? Why are you wearing sunglasses?”  You sighed and slowly pulled the sunglasses from your face, and your eyes widened slightly as she gasped.
“I got hit in the face earlier and I think my nose is broken,” you muttered, slipping the sunglass into a pocket.
“What?! Who hit you? Did they get caught?” Chris was instantly indignant and looked angry, and though you appreciated her immediate leap to defend you, it was not necessary.
“It was an accident, L- er, someone was gesturing a little wildly on the quad when I was walking by and essentially punched me in the nose,” you explained, deciding to leave Leonard’s name out of it for now.  You’re aware that Christine and Leonard knew and worked with each other here at this very clinic, and you weren’t sure if she would think it was funny or be angry that it had been him.
“Well, come in,” Chris said, reaching out a hand to usher you into the clinic.  “I’ll get you settled in a room.”  She grasped the back of your upper arm gently and lead you into one of the nearby rooms, dimming the lights to a comfortable level when she noticed you were squinting.
“So, do you know who it was that hit you?” Christine asked as she ran a tricorder over you, getting your vitals.  “Did they stop to help?”
“Well, yeah,” you said awkwardly, watching the tricorder to avoid eye contact.  “He felt really bad and brought me back to my room.”
“He should have brought you straight here,” Christine said disapprovingly, and you could hear a definite annoyed note in her tone.  “Judging by these bruises and the shape of that nose, you were bleeding a lot.”
           “Bruises?” you asked anxiously, realizing you hadn’t taken a look at yourself in the mirror before you’d left.   Christine seemed to understand, and she slipped her comm out of her pocket and turned on the inward facing camera.  Your face appeared on the screen and you gasped in horror at the huge dark splotch across the middle of your face.  It started on either side of the bridge of your nose and spread out in either direction under both of your eyes, and you had a suspicion that it was only the beginning.  You were already dreading waking up in the morning because you were sure you would have two complete black eyes.
           “It’s not as bad as it looks,” Christine offered, clearly trying to make you feel better.  You groan and gingerly put your head in your hands, letting out a sigh.
           “I knew I should’ve come here right away.  I just wanted to get away from everyone staring at me, but Leonard said I should come here, and—”
           “Leonard?” Christine interrupted, her interest piqued.  “Leonard McCoy?  Did he come and help you?”
           “I…” you hesitate, then can’t stop a small smile from twitching at the corners of your lips.
           “Was he the one that did this?!” Christine asks, aghast, and you can’t help but laugh at the combined horror and amusement on her face.  You nod, and she laughs too, then shakes her head.  “Was he at least apologetic?”
           “Oh, yeah,” you confirmed, “he apologized at least four times and sounded incredibly guilty.  He was trying to insist on bringing me here but I refused.”
           “Leonard’s a good guy,” Christine nodded, putting away the tricorder and tapping something into her PADD.   She paused, then grinned at you.  “But he’s never going to live this one down.”  You let out a little giggle and she patted you on the leg as she stood up.  “I’ll go get the doctor now sweetie, you just sit tight.”
           “It’s… it’s not Leonard is it?” you ask, torn between laughing and crying at the thought.  Christine chuckles and shakes her head, and you sigh with relief as she leaves.  A few minutes later, a cheerful-looking middle aged woman in a lab coat entered the room, looking concerned but amused.
           “Hello dear, I’m Dr. Medina,” she told you as she set down her PADD and picked up a light.  “I’m just going to check your pupil response first.”   You flinched as she shone a bright light into each of your eyes, but she was quick and it was over before you knew it.  You took a deep breath and held it as her hands approached your face; she very gently palpated the areas below your eyes, heading back towards your nose.   She finished up and gave you an approving look as you slowly let out your breath and steadied yourself, before she grabbed a larger style of tricorder and ran it over your face.  She let out a small tutting noise and you cringed as you feared the worst, but she smiled at you as she set the tricorder down.
           “You just have a very small fracture, Mija,” Dr. Medina said, putting a reassuring hand on your forearm.  “I can fix that with the osteo-regenerator in just a few minutes.”  You let out a sigh of relief at this pronouncement, grateful that it would be an easy fix.
           “Will the pain go away once it’s mended?” You asked, watching her as she opened a drawer and retrieved the instrument.
           “Not immediately, but it should start to fade pretty quickly after that,” she told you, adjusting the settings on the regenerator.  “And I’ll give you some pain medication to help.”   You smiled thankfully and lay down when she gestured to do so, centering the small pillow under your head.  You closed your eyes as she began to run the instrument over your nose and cheekbones, wincing slightly at the uncomfortably warm feeling it produced.
           “So, I heard that our Leonard did this,” the doctor commented after a moment of silence, and you could hear the amusement in her voice.  You held back a combined laugh and sigh; clearly Christine was already telling everyone.
           “Yeah,” you said as she withdrew the device, finished with the mending process.  She urged you to stay lying down as you made to sit up, so you lay still.  “It was Leonard.  It was an accident though, he was being a little too animated with his hands and not paying attention and I got in the way.”
           The doctor made another little tutting noise and looked down at you with a twinkle in her eyes as she spoke again.
“Would you like me to have a sit-down with him?  We could have a nice long chat about not harming others.”  You were pretty sure she was joking, but just in case, you shook your head, eyes widening slightly.
“No, no, he already feels really bad, that’s okay,” you said hastily, and the doctor smiled at you again.
“Alright, Mija, I’ll let him off this time.  But you just let me know if you see him behaving badly again,” Dr. Medina said in a conspiratorial voice with a wink, and you laughed, nodding.
           “I promise,” you agreed, smiling.
           “I sent a pain killer prescription to your PADD, go get it filled and go back to your room to rest for the rest of the night.  You should be okay to return to classes tomorrow, but if you’re feeling like you can’t handle it, please come back and I will absolutely give you a note.”  The doctor smiled warmly at you and you nodded again, very appreciative of her offer, though hoping you wouldn’t have to use it.
           “Thank you so much,” you said as you slipped off the table and gently felt your nose.  It was still extremely tender, but it didn’t sear with pain the moment you touched it anymore, either.
           “Get some rest, dear,” she said, patting you on the arm again before leaving the room.
           You headed out of the room, intent on talking to Chris again for a minute, but you could see she was with a patient.  You toyed with the idea of waiting, but you really just wanted to crawl into bed, so you hurry off to the small pharmacy next to the clinic, get your prescription and head back to your room, replacing the sunglasses on your face to avoid questions (though some people still looked at you funny).
           You popped two of the pills as instructed and collapsed on your couch, flipping open your comm and noticing that you’d missed quite a few messages from friends, some of whom had already found out about the incident.  You dashed off messages to most of them and then sat there, feeling a little floaty as the meds kicked in, the pain fading almost entirely and leaving your face feeling mostly normal for the first time in hours.  You had almost fallen asleep when your comm buzzed and you glanced down at it to see that Leonard was messaging you.
How are you doing?  Did you end up going to the med centre?  If there’s anything I can do to help you out, please let me know.  I’m really sorry, again.
           You smiled at the message, feeling a far warmer towards Leonard now than you had in the shock and pain of the moment.  You thought about what you wanted to say for a moment, then replied:
           I’m okay.  Yeah, I went to the med centre.  They gave me pain meds.  I had a small fracture but the doctor fixed it really easily.  I feel way better now that I took the meds.  Don’t be sorry, I know it was an accident.  Thank you for taking care of me after it happened.
           You considered warning him that he might get an earful and some teasing next time he had a shift, but you decided to let him find that you for himself, chuckling at the thought.  You were starting to feel really sleepy so you grudgingly hauled yourself off the couch and got ready for bed, looking at your comm again once you were lying down, snug in your blankets.
           I’m glad you got it fixed.  Don’t thank me, it was the least I could do after I caused the damn injury in the first place.  I hope you feel better tomorrow.  See you in class?
           You tried to text him back, but you had become so drowsy that the comm slipped out of your hand as you drifted into sleep.
           The next morning, you woke up just before your alarm would have gone off, which was lucky, because in the unusual events of the previous day, you’d forgotten to set it.  You groaned at the dull pounding ache in your head and pulled yourself out of bed, stopping only to pop two more of the pain pills before dragging yourself to the bathroom.  You stopped short and stared in horror at your reflection as you approached the mirror, closing your eyes for a moment and then looking again.  It was as you’d feared;  you had two big shiners, a mottled dark purple and blue, around both of your eyes.  Groaning, you leaned closer to the mirror and touched the bruising gently, wondering if you’d be able to cover them with makeup, but you weren’t keen on slathering that much foundation right around your eyes.  Sighing, you resigned yourself to a day full of stares and questions about what had happened, and got yourself ready to go.
           Twenty minutes or so before your first lecture was due to start, there was a knock on your door.  Your head popped out from the tank top you were pulling over your head and you frowned, wondering who it was.
           “Just a minute!” you called, tucking in your tank and pulling on your jacket.  Since you were ready to go anyway, you grabbed your backpack, shouldered it and decided to head out instead of letting whoever it was in.   You opened the door to see Leonard standing there, holding a small paper bag and looking a bit worried.  His eyes widened when his gaze settled on your face, and you could see a strong flash of guilt in his eyes.
           “It’s fine, it looks worse than it is,” you said hurriedly, trying to cut him off before he could start apologizing again.  “It doesn’t hurt nearly as much as before, I just look like a raccoon,” you said ruefully, letting out a small laugh.
           “I’m so—” he began, but you shook your head, cutting him off.
           “Leonard you’ve apologized plenty, I know it was an accident.” You paused, remembering how you’d muttered at him on the way back to the dorms.  “I’m sorry about what I said.  About not doing harm.  That was uncalled for.”   Leonard shrugged, and you could see that he still looked guilty, but he refrained from apologizing again.   There was a bit of awkward silence as you stepped out of your room and the door closed behind you.  After a moment, he held up the paper bag he was carrying, then held it out to you.
           “I brought you breakfast.  I didn’t know what you liked, so I got a chocolate chip muffin and a carrot muffin.”
           You took the bag from him and peered inside, feeling your stomach rumble as the wonderful scent of the two muffins filled your nose.
           “Mmm, they smell so good.  Thank you,” you said, smiling at him.  He seemed relieved that you hadn’t rejected his offering, and you felt a bit of the tension in the air ease.
           “Shall we head to class?” he asked, gesturing in the direction of the exit to the dorm building.  You nod and walk with him, sighing inwardly as, before you could even get down the entire hallway, someone had already spotted you and asked what happened.  You explained as quickly as you could, with Leonard shifting guiltily beside you, and then you moved on.  It happened again at the entrance to the dorm building, just as you were leaving.
           Thrice, outside, people stopped you and asked in horror what had happened.  You were starting to get tired of explaining and eager to get to class, so you and Leonard picked up the pace a little, trying to avoid more inquiries.
           “Oh my god, what happened?” Another voice rang out as you stepped through the entrance to your lecture’s building and you sighed, closing your eyes slightly as you wonder if this was going to happen every few minutes literally all day long.
           “He punched me,” you said jokingly this time, gesturing at Leonard, much to your friend’s shock and Leonard’s dismay.  You hastily explained that you were joking and tell her what really happened, then move on.
           “We’re gonna be late for class at this rate,” Leonard said, and you could hear a note of grumpiness in his voice.  You agreed, though; there was only five minutes until your lecture and you still had a still had a flight of stairs and hallway to get down.   You hurry up the stairs with Leonard immediately behind you and power-walk down the hallway, trying to avoid people’s eyes and keenly aware that nearly everyone passing you in the opposite direction was staring.
           “What happened?!”
           You groan as, just feet from your classroom door, another friend catches sight of you.
           “He did it,” you said, pointing at Leonard before grinning and hurrying the last few steps into the class.   Leonard didn’t come into the classroom until you had already sat down and taken out your PADD, and he looked grumpier than ever as he sat down heavily in his seat.
           “Can you please not imply that I did it on purpose?” Leonard grumbled at you, and you turned around to grin at him.
           “Oh come on, can’t I have a little bit of fun?”  You asked innocently, and he shot you a dark look.  “You asked if there was anything you could do to help; allowing me to laugh about it helps.”
           “How about instead of destroying my reputation, I make it up to you some other way?”  You put on a thoughtful expression, then gesture at him to go on.   “How about dinner on Friday night?  We could try that new place that just opened up nearby.”
           You stare at him for a moment, surprised by the sudden change of events.  You hadn’t expected him to ask you out, but it certainly wasn’t an unappealing offer.  You smiled after a moment, and nodded a little.
           “I think I’d like that,” you said softly, dropping the gently mocking tone you’d used before.  “Agreed.”
           Leonard was about to say something else, a small smile coming over his face, when the professor began to speak, calling the class to order.  You swivelled around in your chair to face the front, glancing down at your PADD as a message window popped up a moment later.
           Does 7pm on Friday work for you?
           You smiled and typed an affirmative message, then you just couldn’t resist adding one more thing, as you thought about why all this had happened in the first place.
Sounds good.  And by the way, Leonard – I got a perfect score on that midterm;  I could help you study, if you’d like. ;)
           A moment later you heard a little grunt of what sounded like both annoyance and laughter from behind you and you grinned as you began taking notes for the class, thinking about how it was nice that even though your nose had been broken and your face had felt like it was on fire, something good had definitely come out of it all.
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two-halves-of-reylo · 6 years
Text
A night of reflection
Submission by: @til-lyanae
His hands rested against the smooth and cold metal that surrounded him like a cage. His arms, stretched to the extreme, were shaking slightly by dint of pushing against a wall that would not move. His head remained stubbornly downward, for he knew that raising his eyes would mean seeing his shadow. A shadow trapped between his own fingers. A mind torn by his choices. He wasn’t ready yet. He didn’t want to face the inevitable now. So, he kept his eyelids closed and rounded up even more the shoulders and back.
Five minutes more. Just five short minutes to pretend that nothing had importance or consequence. Five unfortunate minutes of respite to forget the pain and horror of what he had done and continued to do. Forget everything except the almost boiling water that flowed abundantly along his body, without being able to relax his muscles, or wash his mistakes.
There, without anybody to judge him, he could pretend that what was flowing on his cheeks was not tears. That he was just taking a shower after an intensive training. That he didn’t care to be more alone than ever. That he didn’t lose everything by thinking to take it all. That the sweet face with wild eyes that obsessed him didn’t matter. That his mother wasn’t dead. That he had not killed his father.
Elsewhere, somewhere in the unfathomable abyss that was become his heart, there had no war. Snoke had never existed. His family wasn’t torn apart. The girl from nowhere had not rejected him. And he was still a little anxious man, sometimes too serious, but very sweet, smiling, and terribly desperate to be understood and loved, without feeling any shame.
Nobody was afraid of his powers. Nobody was trying to manipulate him. Nobody had chosen to abandon him. He was trusted. There was still hope…
He opened his eyes sharply, shocked that his thoughts had drifted so far away. He had not let his imagination to express itself since that famous night at the Temple. When his life was become a hell of which he had naively thought he could accommodate himself.
Jaw tight on the sob that he repressed, he left the shower with a cloud of steam, took a towel barely long enough to go around his waist. While he wiped his face and the rest of his body, his footsteps mechanically guided him to what he now feared as much as his nightmares.
The mirror.
It was just, however, a banal polished surface made to reflect light and objects, not an open door to the Darkness, their sibylline voices and unsatisfactory answers. It was not what the Scavenger had faced without fear. 
No.
However, he feared more than anything he would see. What he saw for many years but never fully realized before the disappearance of his Master.
At this moment, in the mirror, naked, without artifice or protection, he saw himself. Him. Only him. Not Kylo Ren. Not Ben Solo. No Darkness. No Light. Just him. A massive body made for fight.
A weapon. An empty shell with old eyes.
A broken thing that had neither the desire nor the strength to rebuild itself. Not anymore.
Lost. He felt completely lost. For the first time in his entire life, he was free to think for himself. There was no more perfidious voice to push him to act. To comfort him in his actions. He was the only master of his choices and should face every consequence. Alone. He should have been relieved now that he was accountable only to himself. He thought he was relieved.
But the mirror, cruel and without clemency, sent him back all he was and everything he would never be. And that destroyed him.
He clenched his fists, so strong that it was painful.
Before, he would have already reduced to rubble his reflection. Tonight, he was unable to do that. Again. The silence in his head had become deafening. He was no more than doubt, confusion and apprehension. The only thing he was certain to know, is that he was a monster.
A monster without real purpose, relieved of its substance. Even the force and his constant solicitations was quiet. His double in the mirror would send back a pathetic picture. He was paler than usual and his features were pulled by anxiety. Lately, he felt constantly falling into the gaping hole that Snoke had left in his mind. A hole he nearly could see when he was a student his face in the glass.
Since he became Supreme Leader he was doing everything by automatism. Eating had become secondary. Sleep was a horrible temptation he avoided at all costs. He had become a wreck and a part of him knew that he deserved it. Because he had blood on his hands. His own blood.
The mirror was saying that he would never have peace. He knew it.
He closed his eyes. Took a deep breath. One. Two. Three seconds. Then, with a thrill of resolution, he again crossed her reflection in the mirror. This time though he concentrated on the one thing that made him forget his sufferings. A paradoxical fact, that he would keep all his life. The thing that prevented him to destroy the mirror.
The scar.
He raised his hand, slowly followed the path traced on his skin by the Lightsaber of his grandfather. Unlike the empty shell that he had become, this, this was real. Palpable. Too gentle punishment for his many crimes, and a constant reminder that there was someone in the vastness of the universe that was like him. His equal in strength. In all.
Rey.
She had put her mark on his body and his mind. In many ways she had taken possession of him. Somehow, this face was now a little of her. But not like the thousands of brands that were digging the walls of his AT-AT. No. Count the days had quickly ceased to be its main goal. Mark the wall had become a habit, a ritual, perhaps for proved she was still there and would not abandon. He had walked in her memories and thought he knew exactly what she was thinking in these moments there. But what of this scar ? He knew that she saw the monster in first, when she watched him. Before the Bond… And now ? He was unable to interpret the last look she gave to him and couldn’t read her mind without indulging himself in her judgment.
He had the impression to see her clearly, while remaining blind to what she really was. He wanted to understand her… because he had the impression that understanding her would help him to understand himself.
He had not seen her since Crait. Almost a week. Just felt echoes of her mood through the Bond. Anger. Determination. Joy. Sadness. And something more. Something he couldn’t not to completely grasp, understand. An intense, strange, almost pure emotion. Also strong as the desire to wait for the return of parents who did not think about her anymore for a long time. Also bitter as all the nights she had spent alone in not being able to sleep. Also burning and ruthless as Jakku desert. Also delicious as the simple pleasure of discovering the vegetation of Takodana. Also fresh as the contact of the rain on her skin. Also new and mysterious than to see the ocean for the first time without knowing what lies beneath the surface.
He felt troubled by this strange swirl of sensations and memories. When she was overwhelmed by this sense of fragile balance, her presence in the Force and his head was so strong that he could think of nothing else than their hands together outside of space and time, their perfect union against the Praetorian Guard. And confidence, the exhilarating realization that they would never have to be alone again…
A deep sigh escaped him while he let fall his hand along his body. She had chosen. She was gone. What she felt was not his problem. This complex and indescribable thing that lit up her side of the Bond didn’t even have a name for her. So, it didn’t have a name for him either. He would seek no answer to fill the void.
And because he had forgotten what it was to love, or because it was too painful to remember what it was, he refused to dwell on his own feelings. He constantly resisted her discreet calls, that he considered involuntary. He was struggling against the furious desire to see her, even for a second, appear before him by a whim of the Force.
Resolutely, he prepared himself for the night and left the bathroom. He did not really understand why his scars please him. Why Rey had become the center of his universe, even while he should hate her to having left him for dead.
He lay down in his vast bed, the face turned to the vastness of space. He didn’t want to sleep. He was running away from the sleep since Crait. He was afraid to see his father’s face, and the rest. This fear of dreaming about ghosts gnawed at him from inside. So, generally, he was content to observe the stars an hour or two, without ever doze off, before returning to practice training.
But not tonight.
Tonight, he felt the pleasant presence of Rey at the other end of the Bond. She was exhausted but serene. He could not resist the urge to soak up her soft Light, and before he could realize it, he was asleep.
*
When Ben appeared beside her on the bed, Rey was so surprised that she nearly hit him with the book she had just closed. She stopped herself in time, shared between the relief to see him finally and anger of not being able to pour all her bitterness on him.
He had disappointed her terribly, and the fact that she felt his torment through the Bond, in the rare moments where she had time for her, arranged nothing. With a resigned sigh, she put the book into the drawer of her bedside table. Jedi texts not brought her anything she didn’t already know, but she was beginning to understand the choice of Luke. Even if killing this knowledge was not the best solution, she recognized willingly that apply the Code without any reflection would be a mistake. The Galaxy needed something new. But what ? That was the question.
She focused on Ben, mechanically rubbed the wound inflicted by the Praetorian. The brand, two snakes trying to bite, or two hands extended towards each other, was gently pulsing on her arm. Even healed, the pain remained sharp. In his head. In his heart. She had other scars of course, most impressive and bleached by time, but this one had a special meaning. And it would stay red. As the throne room before the fire. As the armors of Praetorians. As the blood of Ben on the snow. As his lightsaber.
She felt a wave of sadness invade her and quickly drove back the tears. She was not the one who had betrayed him. Not really…
She looked at his face, strangely calm. She knew that he wasn’t sleeping much. Not at all even. She felt him constantly fussing from his side of the Bond, despite his efforts to don’t give her access to his moods. But the fact was that he couldn’t hide much thing to her. They could lie to themselves, but not to each other. Which, in the current context was a certain disability.
Rey thought that not seeing him was enough to give him some protection. However, it was quite the opposite. Feel Ben’s emotions as if they were hers, guessing that it was mutual, had something of very destabilizing. Especially when they had not yet had the opportunity to talk about the events of Crait. Whether it was possible to discuss it.
For now, she allowed herself to be captivated by the presence, in his bed, one of human beings the most feared of the Galaxy. She was not afraid of him. Not since their first fight. Part of her didn’t wants to worry about what he might become. But she couldn’t help herself. Just like Ben couldn’t help but be interested in her.
Without a sound, she changed her position to be able to look him better. As she was sitting to his right, she had plenty of time to study his most impressive scar. Her brand. She wouldn’t apologize for it, never. Regret such a thing would be insulted all those for who she had fought him on Starkiller, in the snow and cold. Ben himself would not ask her to do such a thing, nor would blame her for his injury. They were warriors. No matter the link which bound them together now, traded shots would not be resumed.
This didn’t prevent Rey to have compassion for him, as well as some curiosity. Ben was complex, at least as introverted as she. He was massive, strong, capable of anything. And, something she never imagined to thinking about him, he was handsome man, more courteous than herself in a moment of anger, and is eyes were more mesmerizing than anything she had ever known. In many ways, Ben Solo was the most fascinating being that either she had met.
See him so deeply asleep was added to the list of reasons why she regretted so bitterly that a war separates them. She wanted to share moments as peaceful as this one without feeling guilty. She was hungry for the feeling of fullness that only Ben brought to her.
She cast a quick glance in the direction of the door, hit the lock with the Force. Nobody would bother her. She had the Bond open just for her. Nothing could stop her to enjoy this moment.
When her attention went back to Ben, he had moved. His face was turned towards her and his hair fell over his brow, hiding his eyes a little. His shirtless, discovered to the navel, heaved to the rhythm of a quiet breath. He was breathtaking. And he didn’t know that she was there. Also, like when she was discovering a flower still alive in the desert, she was seized by an irresistible desire to touch him.
She didn’t know where exactly this intense desire came from. She didn’t understand why it had to be Ben and nobody else. She knew only one thing. She desperately wanted to touch him. Why she always wanted to touch him ? Her dreams were only made with moments during which, for some reason that was, she plunged a hand into his ebony hair, while the other relished the contact of his skin. A skin marked by hardship of a fight, but whose touch was neither rough nor unpleasant, just sweet.
Would it be the same as the first time, on Ahch-To, or as in her fantasies ?
She needed this contact to find out. Her fingers were already close to redraw the contours of the scar of Ben, her body leaning toward his, anticipating the encounter from their skins.
Rey knew she should not push her luck. It was not right to take advantage of the sleep of Ben. Neither for him. Neither for her. Because he would have never let her to do that if he had been awake, and she would not have dared even think to try. Besides, she had a little afraid to receive another vision of the Force, or that a shock as powerful as that felt on Ahch-To does wake Ben if she put a hand on him. He could attack.
But Rey of Jakku had not survived this long time without taking risks. She was acting and responding only by instinct. Ben had said that he be able to take what he wants from her, but never did it. Partly. She never had that kind of consideration. In the desert. Not when she was so thirsty that her throat seemed burned. Not now, when her body begged her to reach the man for who the Resistance could considered her like a traitor.
She trembled with excitement, preparing for the worst and the best. Attracted by Ben like a plant need water, she bent again, held her breath, and finally laid fingers on his cheek, his scar.
No vision. No abrupt and violent awakening. Nothing for disturbed the silence. The Force had simply hummed between them. Calmly. And if there was no big shock, Rey felt a heat wave rise up along her arm, and take possession of her body. It was good. Nice. Ben was here with her, and her loneliness had vanished. She does not smile, in case he would finally open his eyes, but her heart danced with joy in her chest.
Confident, she followed the drawing of the scar until the torso sturdy and firm of Ben. And it was better than anything her mind could imagine. Her hand was back and forth between his face and his abdomen. It was almost like cuddling a Porg. A strange thought, that made her almost laugh. She couldn’t believe what she was doing, it was like a dream. A very dangerous dream.
At a such late hour, while she felt sleepy, she no longer saw Kylo Ren nor Ben Solo lying near her, just a man exhausted, plagued by anxiety, who, in his sleep, no longer seemed inhabited by the conflict. Under her gaze, this man was a quiet strength, a torrent that rumbled slowly. The calm before the storm. He seemed ready to wake at the slightest noise. She knew that he would be able to melt on her in less than a second if necessary. Like a predator on his prey. However, despite all the threat that Ben could represent, that night, he seemed incredibly vulnerable. Soft. Almost in demand of caresses. Of care.
And no one, other than she, had seen him like that for a long time. Since Luke.
If only she had known him earlier. Things might have been different.
Rey frowned, it was useless to rehashing the Past. Not when the Future was so close to take a radical turn. Not when the Present showed Ben to her as she had never seen him before. With him by her side, it was so easy to forget everything. She was so thankful to have him for her tonight. So eager to embrace this scar which meant that he was alive, that he could still change.
Her hand met Ben’s hair. Gently, she disengaged his eyes, his forehead. He seemed so young, as young as she. Was it the sleep effect ? A consequence to the absence of negative emotions ? Both?
Before she could find a satisfactory answer, Ben awoke, seized her wrist to keep her hand away from his face. He didn’t hurt her, but she felt he would bite her if she tried to escape.
A full minute passed without that nothing happens. Then, finally, Ben let her go and she brought her hand close to her stomach.
“ You haunt me at night now, Scavenger ? ”
His stentor voice was more deep and sensual that she remembered. His eyes was still veiled by the haze of sleep. Rey was not optimistic enough to think one second that he thought dream. But she implored the Force for this to be the case. So, she shrugged off falsely flippant manner, to pretend that the situation was normal. And, despite the common sense, she allowed herself to settle more comfortably near him, hip against hip, while she crossed legs. In response, Ben growled by massaging his face.
“ You shouldn’t be here. ”
Where ? In his dream ? In his room ? The border between the two seemed so thin.
“ I know Ben, but I can’t do anything about it, you neither. ”
He sighed in frustration. The conflict was back. She could feel him relieved to see her again, a little angry, and he didn’t know what attitude to adopt.
“ You have chosen… I have chosen… we can’t go back… ”
Rey cashed his words like a slap. This was painful, really painful, to hear a beginning of sobbing in his voice, to saw only despair and defeat in his eyes, to have compassion for a man who no longer seemed to care, to realize that he was right and that she wanted to give him wrong. Before Ahch-To, before the Bond, he could say anything, that would not have hurt her. But now, with her soul screaming every night because she feels empty and alone without him, Ben’s words were a blow in the heart.
And thus, the sadness that she had turned away earlier returned. With one tear. A single tear on her right cheek, in reflection of the scar of Ben.
She believed hear him thinking that he wanted to delete this. Gently. Because her tear was a plea, answering a question that none of them had dared posed.
Why not being able to be with you is so painful ?
She saw Ben’s hand get close to her face. All also unconsciously that did hers when she had not resisted the temptation to touch his skin. He was so close to the touch her when she slightly opened lips. For take a deep breath. A breath that she would only release once his gesture is complete. She was waiting for he touches her, wanted it more than anything. But she was a little afraid that her dreams become real. Too real.
Ben seemed to understand, so he turned his attention back to the wound that was marking her shoulder. And that would probably stay red.
“ Does it hurt ? ”
He brushed her gently, and to gesture tender, in addition to surprise her, made her shiver of well-being.
“ Not anymore… ”
He nodded and intensified his caress. She let him do so, aware that moment of delusion may never happen again. The attention he gave to her, gave her some hope. However, she didn’t want to rush things, suffer. She needed him as much as he needed her. Obvious that none of them could accept it. Not when everything remained to be done. Not at the expense of a war. She was not ready. Ben either. But she wanted to believe that he would be able to change before it’s too late.
He had to catch her feeling, because his face contracted in a resigned expression. Again.
“ I’m a monster … the mirror shows it, you think it … and you’re right. ”
“ Well we distort the reality. You are a monster yes, for those who are satisfied with only one truth. You’ve always been more than that, you’ve become more than that, Ben, for me, you are… ”
What is he for me ? What are we?
“ Nothing. Don’t say something you’ll regret. Don’t try to save me. My actions speak for me, I know what I’m… ”
“ What you are is not who you are Ben. Why don’t you want to see it ? ”
He stopped touching her, put his hand on his chest. She thought she saw the shadow of a smile blossom on his beautiful face, while she moaned at the loss of his contact. But it didn’t last.
“ Rey, that’s the problem… I can see it now. ”
He looked at her scar in pronouncing his words, just as she contemplated his. Silence fell between them, each enjoying each other’s company without being able to admit. Here and now, by a miracle of the Force, they were nobody. No one for the Galaxy, but all one for the other. They were again on Ahch-To, into the stone hut, near the fire, where only the Present could exist. Comforted by this memory, Rey gave way to the desire to lie down with Ben. They barely touched each other, but it was like the Force melted them into each other. They were calm. In peace. No Darkness. No Light. Just the balance.
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til-lyanae · 6 years
Text
A night of reflection - "Scars" Challenge
His hands rested against the smooth and cold metal that surrounded him like a cage. His arms, stretched to the extreme, were shaking slightly by dint of pushing against a wall that would not move. His head remained stubbornly downward, for he knew that raising his eyes would mean seeing his shadow. A shadow trapped between his own fingers. A mind torn by his choices. He wasn't ready yet. He didn't want to face the inevitable now. So, he kept his eyelids closed and rounded up even more the shoulders and back.
Five minutes more. Just five short minutes to pretend that nothing had importance or consequence. Five unfortunate minutes of respite to forget the pain and horror of what he had done and continued to do. Forget everything except the almost boiling water that flowed abundantly along his body, without being able to relax his muscles, or wash his mistakes.
There, without anybody to judge him, he could pretend that what was flowing on his cheeks was not tears. That he was just taking a shower after an intensive training. That he didn't care to be more alone than ever. That he didn't lose everything by thinking to take it all. That the sweet face with wild eyes that obsessed him didn't matter. That his mother wasn't dead. That he had not killed his father. 
Elsewhere, somewhere in the unfathomable abyss that was become his heart, there had no war. Snoke had never existed. His family wasn't torn apart. The girl from nowhere had not rejected him. And he was still a little anxious man, sometimes too serious, but very sweet, smiling, and terribly desperate to be understood and loved, without feeling any shame.
Nobody was afraid of his powers. Nobody was trying to manipulate him. Nobody had chosen to abandon him. He was trusted. There was still hope...
He opened his eyes sharply, shocked that his thoughts had drifted so far away. He had not let his imagination to express itself since that famous night at the Temple. When his life was become a hell of which he had naively thought he could accommodate himself.
Jaw tight on the sob that he repressed, he left the shower with a cloud of steam, took a towel barely long enough to go around his waist. While he wiped his face and the rest of his body, his footsteps mechanically guided him to what he now feared as much as his nightmares.
The mirror.
It was just, however, a banal polished surface made to reflect light and objects, not an open door to the Darkness, their sibylline voices and unsatisfactory answers. It was not what the Scavenger had faced without fear.
No.
However, he feared more than anything he would see. What he saw for many years but never fully realized before the disappearance of his Master.
At this moment, in the mirror, naked, without artifice or protection, he saw himself. Him. Only him. Not Kylo Ren. Not Ben Solo. No Darkness. No Light. Just him. A massive body made for fight.
A weapon. An empty shell with old eyes.
A broken thing that had neither the desire nor the strength to rebuild itself. Not anymore.
Lost. He felt completely lost. For the first time in his entire life, he was free to think for himself. There was no more perfidious voice to push him to act. To comfort him in his actions. He was the only master of his choices and should face every consequence. Alone. He should have been relieved now that he was accountable only to himself. He thought he was relieved.
But the mirror, cruel and without clemency, sent him back all he was and everything he would never be. And that destroyed him.
He clenched his fists, so strong that it was painful.
Before, he would have already reduced to rubble his reflection. Tonight, he was unable to do that. Again. The silence in his head had become deafening. He was no more than doubt, confusion and apprehension. The only thing he was certain to know, is that he was a monster.
A monster without real purpose, relieved of its substance. Even the force and his constant solicitations was quiet. His double in the mirror would send back a pathetic picture. He was paler than usual and his features were pulled by anxiety. Lately, he felt constantly falling into the gaping hole that Snoke had left in his mind. A hole he nearly could see when he was a student his face in the glass.
Since he became Supreme Leader he was doing everything by automatism. Eating had become secondary. Sleep was a horrible temptation he avoided at all costs. He had become a wreck and a part of him knew that he deserved it. Because he had blood on his hands. His own blood.
The mirror was saying that he would never have peace. He knew it.
He closed his eyes. Took a deep breath. One. Two. Three seconds. Then, with a thrill of resolution, he again crossed her reflection in the mirror. This time though he concentrated on the one thing that made him forget his sufferings. A paradoxical fact, that he would keep all his life. The thing that prevented him to destroy the mirror.
The scar.
He raised his hand, slowly followed the path traced on his skin by the Lightsaber of his grandfather. Unlike the empty shell that he had become, this, this was real. Palpable. Too gentle punishment for his many crimes, and a constant reminder that there was someone in the vastness of the universe that was like him. His equal in strength. In all.
Rey.
She had put her mark on his body and his mind. In many ways she had taken possession of him. Somehow, this face was now a little of her. But not like the thousands of brands that were digging the walls of his AT-AT. No. Count the days had quickly ceased to be its main goal. Mark the wall had become a habit, a ritual, perhaps for proved she was still there and would not abandon. He had walked in her memories and thought he knew exactly what she was thinking in these moments there. But what of this scar ? He knew that she saw the monster in first, when she watched him. Before the Bond... And now ? He was unable to interpret the last look she gave to him and couldn't read her mind without indulging himself in her judgment.
He had the impression to see her clearly, while remaining blind to what she really was. He wanted to understand her... because he had the impression that understanding her would help him to understand himself.
He had not seen her since Crait. Almost a week. Just felt echoes of her mood through the Bond. Anger. Determination. Joy. Sadness. And something more. Something he couldn't not to completely grasp, understand. An intense, strange, almost pure emotion. Also strong as the desire to wait for the return of parents who did not think about her anymore for a long time. Also bitter as all the nights she had spent alone in not being able to sleep. Also burning and ruthless as Jakku desert. Also delicious as the simple pleasure of discovering the vegetation of Takodana. Also fresh as the contact of the rain on her skin. Also new and mysterious than to see the ocean for the first time without knowing what lies beneath the surface.
He felt troubled by this strange swirl of sensations and memories. When she was overwhelmed by this sense of fragile balance, her presence in the Force and his head was so strong that he could think of nothing else than their hands together outside of space and time, their perfect union against the Praetorian Guard. And confidence, the exhilarating realization that they would never have to be alone again...
A deep sigh escaped him while he let fall his hand along his body. She had chosen. She was gone. What she felt was not his problem. This complex and indescribable thing that lit up her side of the Bond didn't even have a name for her. So, it didn't have a name for him either. He would seek no answer to fill the void.
And because he had forgotten what it was to love, or because it was too painful to remember what it was, he refused to dwell on his own feelings. He constantly resisted her discreet calls, that he considered involuntary. He was struggling against the furious desire to see her, even for a second, appear before him by a whim of the Force.
Resolutely, he prepared himself for the night and left the bathroom. He did not really understand why his scars please him. Why Rey had become the center of his universe, even while he should hate her to having left him for dead.
He lay down in his vast bed, the face turned to the vastness of space. He didn't want to sleep. He was running away from the sleep since Crait. He was afraid to see his father's face, and the rest. This fear of dreaming about ghosts gnawed at him from inside. So, generally, he was content to observe the stars an hour or two, without ever doze off, before returning to practice training.
But not tonight.
Tonight, he felt the pleasant presence of Rey at the other end of the Bond. She was exhausted but serene. He could not resist the urge to soak up her soft Light, and before he could realize it, he was asleep.
*
When Ben appeared beside her on the bed, Rey was so surprised that she nearly hit him with the book she had just closed. She stopped herself in time, shared between the relief to see him finally and anger of not being able to pour all her bitterness on him.
He had disappointed her terribly, and the fact that she felt his torment through the Bond, in the rare moments where she had time for her, arranged nothing. With a resigned sigh, she put the book into the drawer of her bedside table. Jedi texts not brought her anything she didn't already know, but she was beginning to understand the choice of Luke. Even if killing this knowledge was not the best solution, she recognized willingly that apply the Code without any reflection would be a mistake. The Galaxy needed something new. But what ? That was the question.
She focused on Ben, mechanically rubbed the wound inflicted by the Praetorian. The brand, two snakes trying to bite, or two hands extended towards each other, was gently pulsing on her arm. Even healed, the pain remained sharp. In his head. In his heart. She had other scars of course, most impressive and bleached by time, but this one had a special meaning. And it would stay red. As the throne room before the fire. As the armors of Praetorians. As the blood of Ben on the snow. As his lightsaber.
She felt a wave of sadness invade her and quickly drove back the tears. She was not the one who had betrayed him. Not really…
She looked at his face, strangely calm. She knew that he wasn't sleeping much. Not at all even. She felt him constantly fussing from his side of the Bond, despite his efforts to don't give her access to his moods. But the fact was that he couldn't hide much thing to her. They could lie to themselves, but not to each other. Which, in the current context was a certain disability.
Rey thought that not seeing him was enough to give him some protection. However, it was quite the opposite. Feel Ben's emotions as if they were hers, guessing that it was mutual, had something of very destabilizing. Especially when they had not yet had the opportunity to talk about the events of Crait. Whether it was possible to discuss it.
For now, she allowed herself to be captivated by the presence, in his bed, one of human beings the most feared of the Galaxy. She was not afraid of him. Not since their first fight. Part of her didn’t wants to worry about what he might become. But she couldn't help herself. Just like Ben couldn't help but be interested in her.
Without a sound, she changed her position to be able to look him better. As she was sitting to his right, she had plenty of time to study his most impressive scar. Her brand. She wouldn't apologize for it, never. Regret such a thing would be insulted all those for who she had fought him on Starkiller, in the snow and cold. Ben himself would not ask her to do such a thing, nor would blame her for his injury. They were warriors. No matter the link which bound them together now, traded shots would not be resumed.
This didn't prevent Rey to have compassion for him, as well as some curiosity. Ben was complex, at least as introverted as she. He was massive, strong, capable of anything. And, something she never imagined to thinking about him, he was handsome man, more courteous than herself in a moment of anger, and is eyes were more mesmerizing than anything she had ever known. In many ways, Ben Solo was the most fascinating being that either she had met.
See him so deeply asleep was added to the list of reasons why she regretted so bitterly that a war separates them. She wanted to share moments as peaceful as this one without feeling guilty. She was hungry for the feeling of fullness that only Ben brought to her.
She cast a quick glance in the direction of the door, hit the lock with the Force. Nobody would bother her. She had the Bond open just for her. Nothing could stop her to enjoy this moment.
When her attention went back to Ben, he had moved. His face was turned towards her and his hair fell over his brow, hiding his eyes a little. His shirtless, discovered to the navel, heaved to the rhythm of a quiet breath. He was breathtaking. And he didn’t know that she was there. Also, like when she was discovering a flower still alive in the desert, she was seized by an irresistible desire to touch him.
She didn't know where exactly this intense desire came from. She didn't understand why it had to be Ben and nobody else. She knew only one thing. She desperately wanted to touch him. Why she always wanted to touch him ? Her dreams were only made with moments during which, for some reason that was, she plunged a hand into his ebony hair, while the other relished the contact of his skin. A skin marked by hardship of a fight, but whose touch was neither rough nor unpleasant, just sweet.
Would it be the same as the first time, on Ahch-To, or as in her fantasies ?
She needed this contact to find out. Her fingers were already close to redraw the contours of the scar of Ben, her body leaning toward his, anticipating the encounter from their skins.
Rey knew she should not push her luck. It was not right to take advantage of the sleep of Ben. Neither for him. Neither for her. Because he would have never let her to do that if he had been awake, and she would not have dared even think to try. Besides, she had a little afraid to receive another vision of the Force, or that a shock as powerful as that felt on Ahch-To does wake Ben if she put a hand on him. He could attack.
But Rey of Jakku had not survived this long time without taking risks. She was acting and responding only by instinct. Ben had said that he be able to take what he wants from her, but never did it. Partly. She never had that kind of consideration. In the desert. Not when she was so thirsty that her throat seemed burned. Not now, when her body begged her to reach the man for who the Resistance could considered her like a traitor.
She trembled with excitement, preparing for the worst and the best. Attracted by Ben like a plant need water, she bent again, held her breath, and finally laid fingers on his cheek, his scar.
No vision. No abrupt and violent awakening. Nothing for disturbed the silence. The Force had simply hummed between them. Calmly. And if there was no big shock, Rey felt a heat wave rise up along her arm, and take possession of her body. It was good. Nice. Ben was here with her, and her loneliness had vanished. She does not smile, in case he would finally open his eyes, but her heart danced with joy in her chest.
Confident, she followed the drawing of the scar until the torso sturdy and firm of Ben. And it was better than anything her mind could imagine. Her hand was back and forth between his face and his abdomen. It was almost like cuddling a Porg. A strange thought, that made her almost laugh. She couldn't believe what she was doing, it was like a dream. A very dangerous dream.
At a such late hour, while she felt sleepy, she no longer saw Kylo Ren nor Ben Solo lying near her, just a man exhausted, plagued by anxiety, who, in his sleep, no longer seemed inhabited by the conflict. Under her gaze, this man was a quiet strength, a torrent that rumbled slowly. The calm before the storm. He seemed ready to wake at the slightest noise. She knew that he would be able to melt on her in less than a second if necessary. Like a predator on his prey. However, despite all the threat that Ben could represent, that night, he seemed incredibly vulnerable. Soft. Almost in demand of caresses. Of care.
And no one, other than she, had seen him like that for a long time. Since Luke.
If only she had known him earlier. Things might have been different.
Rey frowned, it was useless to rehashing the Past. Not when the Future was so close to take a radical turn. Not when the Present showed Ben to her as she had never seen him before. With him by her side, it was so easy to forget everything. She was so thankful to have him for her tonight. So eager to embrace this scar which meant that he was alive, that he could still change.
Her hand met Ben's hair. Gently, she disengaged his eyes, his forehead. He seemed so young, as young as she. Was it the sleep effect ? A consequence to the absence of negative emotions ? Both?
Before she could find a satisfactory answer, Ben awoke, seized her wrist to keep her hand away from his face. He didn't hurt her, but she felt he would bite her if she tried to escape.
A full minute passed without that nothing happens. Then, finally, Ben let her go and she brought her hand close to her stomach.
" You haunt me at night now, Scavenger ? "
His stentor voice was more deep and sensual that she remembered. His eyes was still veiled by the haze of sleep. Rey was not optimistic enough to think one second that he thought dream. But she implored the Force for this to be the case. So, she shrugged off falsely flippant manner, to pretend that the situation was normal. And, despite the common sense, she allowed herself to settle more comfortably near him, hip against hip, while she crossed legs. In response, Ben growled by massaging his face.
" You shouldn't be here. "
Where ? In his dream ? In his room ? The border between the two seemed so thin.
" I know Ben, but I can’t do anything about it, you neither. "
He sighed in frustration. The conflict was back. She could feel him relieved to see her again, a little angry, and he didn’t know what attitude to adopt.
" You have chosen... I have chosen... we can't go back... "
Rey cashed his words like a slap. This was painful, really painful, to hear a beginning of sobbing in his voice, to saw only despair and defeat in his eyes, to have compassion for a man who no longer seemed to care, to realize that he was right and that she wanted to give him wrong. Before Ahch-To, before the Bond, he could say anything, that would not have hurt her. But now, with her soul screaming every night because she feels empty and alone without him, Ben's words were a blow in the heart.
And thus, the sadness that she had turned away earlier returned. With one tear. A single tear on her right cheek, in reflection of the scar of Ben.
She believed hear him thinking that he wanted to delete this. Gently. Because her tear was a plea, answering a question that none of them had dared posed.
Why not being able to be with you is so painful ?
She saw Ben's hand get close to her face. All also unconsciously that did hers when she had not resisted the temptation to touch his skin. He was so close to the touch her when she slightly opened lips. For take a deep breath. A breath that she would only release once his gesture is complete. She was waiting for he touches her, wanted it more than anything. But she was a little afraid that her dreams become real. Too real.
Ben seemed to understand, so he turned his attention back to the wound that was marking her shoulder. And that would probably stay red.
" Does it hurt ? "
He brushed her gently, and to gesture tender, in addition to surprise her, made her shiver of well-being.
" Not anymore… "
He nodded and intensified his caress. She let him do so, aware that moment of delusion may never happen again. The attention he gave to her, gave her some hope. However, she didn't want to rush things, suffer. She needed him as much as he needed her. Obvious that none of them could accept it. Not when everything remained to be done. Not at the expense of a war. She was not ready. Ben either. But she wanted to believe that he would be able to change before it's too late.
He had to catch her feeling, because his face contracted in a resigned expression. Again.
" I'm a monster ... the mirror shows it, you think it ... and you're right. "
" Well we distort the reality. You are a monster yes, for those who are satisfied with only one truth. You've always been more than that, you've become more than that, Ben, for me, you are... "
What is he for me ? What are we?
" Nothing. Don't say something you'll regret. Don't try to save me. My actions speak for me, I know what I'm... "
" What you are is not who you are Ben. Why don't you want to see it ? "
He stopped touching her, put his hand on his chest. She thought she saw the shadow of a smile blossom on his beautiful face, while she moaned at the loss of his contact. But it didn't last.
" Rey, that's the problem... I can see it now. "
He looked at her scar in pronouncing his words, just as she contemplated his. Silence fell between them, each enjoying each other's company without being able to admit. Here and now, by a miracle of the Force, they were nobody. No one for the Galaxy, but all one for the other. They were again on Ahch-To, into the stone hut, near the fire, where only the Present could exist. Comforted by this memory, Rey gave way to the desire to lie down with Ben. They barely touched each other, but it was like the Force melted them into each other. They were calm. In peace. No Darkness. No Light. Just the balance.
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theracingengine · 4 years
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The Undeniable Importance of Complete and Utter Self-Dissection, Self-Destruction, Recreation, Re-connection, Jo-jo Potatoes, Whiskey, and Wait, What Were We Talking About?
Hi, how are you? That’s nice. I think it’s nice, I’m making it up because I’m just trying to put some words on the screen to get this thing started. First lines are always the hardest for me, and I’m the most critical of them. I tell them they are either too fluffy, or too pretentious, and they pretty much never talk back. Unless I’m in a really bad place, then everything talks back.
I’m not in a bad place.
I’m emotionally down to the bone though, so that’s nice.
That doesn’t mean I’m in a bad place, mostly it means I’m growing. Growing sucks, right? It’s mostly not some soft and easy pleasant experience so far. It’s being eviscerated, examined, then put back together, at which time you need to figure out how to walk again. Yeah, let’s go with the medical thing, that’s a nice frame for this. This is going to go off the rails a bit. Perfect.
 Patient: Alexander Ian Fuchs or Fox (Unclear. Patient only clarified with “it depends on if it will end up in the newspaper).
 Full Examination of Patient, Beginning With Feet:
 Patient claims feet are restless, causing an inability to sit down for more than a few seconds. Upon closer inspection, feet seem to move on their own, drifting away from all emotions that may be trying to creep up on patient. Very prevalent at work, where he is incredibly unsatisfied, underpaid, slightly (more than slightly) shameful, and is mostly a place that is “safe” in theory but likely causing massive mental harm. Feet are trying constantly to leave this work environment, but patient has instead stood for hours and wandered aimlessly in a lonely basement, battling the feet for eight years, causing massive need-to-get-the-fuck-out swelling in the legs, culminating in a recent bought with torn pants. Patients “junk” was visible for a moment.
We will be administering a strict regime of “Work on your resume,” “apply for jobs,” and “your partner will help, this is what she does for work.” We expect a full recovery, with the possibility of pride, and a sense of purpose beyond survival.
 Examination of the Arms:
 Patient has been working out a lot. Good job patient. A mix of needing a place to pour excess energy, a desire to feel strong, the awe of how the body can be shaped, some insecurity, but also personal enjoyment of “feeling sexy” in a way men are rarely allowed to feel, has kept patient in the gym. When questioned about “feeling sexy,” patient turned red out of complete embarrassment, and began stuttering out a response, something along the lines of “hey, well, it’s, listen. Guys can, we can, it’s okay, we can, I can feel that too, or something.” Patient may be speaking to the idea that men may be able to feel ties to sexuality beyond what is usually considered some primal need to fuck everyone and everything.
When asked about the concept of insecurity, patient laughed, examiner laughed, someone down the hall also laughed, because no shit.
When asked about strength, patient was fairly clear. Old injuries had been causing him pain, this aided in their relief. Somewhat recent verbal altercations had also left patient with a desire to have some strength and “feel strong.”
Just before examiner moved on, patient also quietly explained that if he were to put his arms around his long term partner, or anyone else who may want/need it, he wanted to make sure they knew “he would hold them as tight and close as they needed.” Patient seemed to wait a moment for examiners reaction to that, possibly expecting to be derided. Examiner didn’t have much to say about it really.
 Examination of the Torso:
 Patient had complained of feeling that just below his sternum was collapsing in on itself, causing his entire body to constrict, like a tiny black hole had opened up, sucking in everything, or trying to anyway. Patient indeed did look shorter, his back arched slightly, his pounding heartbeat clearly visible, working against whatever was inside chest cavity.
Patient reported that drugs, alcohol, video games, screaming into car dashboard, books, extra exercising, and weird dances, all had little to no effect. But were fun.
Upon closer inspection, examiner found that what patient to believe was a void, was in fact a storage container for every emotional built up and unexpressed over the course of three decades, as well as normal emotional growth for a healthy person, which is incredibly hard to go through, because life and love and emotions and desires are painful at times and a lot to go through but we all have to.
Patient asked examiner asked if chest storage container could be lanced, and examiner informed patient that “no, you kinda have to go through this shit, or fall apart and destroy everything around you.” Patient understood, already knowing that would be the answer. Examiner did notice that for a moment patient was going to subconsciously attempt to place all emotional baggage and troubles on other objects and people, all in unhealthy and destructive ways, expecting those people especially, to fulfill those needs that can’t actually be fixed by anyone else. This moment passed and patient thought better of it. We believe a previous therapy session was to thank for this.
In attempting an on the spot cure, patients long term partner was brought into examination room. Unprompted, she began to explain the concept of sadness to patient. Patient had previously expressed being “bummed,” or “disappointed,” or feeling “rage, anger, fury, or guilt.” Patient had a good handle on downside emotions that men are allowed to feel openly, yet sadness itself was elusive, as needed to function in an early 90s society of which patient was raised. Patient’s partner then held patient, and left emotional room for patient to express said sadness, which erupted from patient’s chest storage container in heaving sobs. Patient was then measured for height, having gained a full foot as chest storage container ceased it’s constriction.
 Examination of Genitals:
 Patient insisted, examiner repeated it was unnecessary.    
 Examination of Head:
 Patient was moved to a local warehouse facility in order to leave room for the opening of the patients skull. A full medical team, as well as three containment crews were placed outside as a safeguard. Lockdown protocols were explained, and re-explained. All this, as it turned out, was completely necessary.
Having worked hard for two years, the interior of the patients skull were in fact completely normal. A proper mix of joy, and sadness, and rage, and lust, and loss, and confusion, and grief and strength were all present. Examiner was able to document:
 Gratitude and anger at all the changes and good things.
Grief: for this father, who is alive, but most likely will pass unhappy. Grief: for a lot of things really, patient never got to grieve at things that are still around.
Sadness. The effects of learning to be sad, still prevalent. Patient reported how good it felt to be cleanly sad. How amazing feelings were all around. How scary they were, and then how scary they weren’t. How he could see everything as so much more beautiful when he realized how momentary, fleeting, and perfect it all was.
The need to be needed and desired. This area seemed to be in flux, like a bar about to go out of business. Patient seemed to act in ways that would force others to need patient, but completely remove the ability for others to grow. Patient seems to have begun abandoning this idea. Wanting to be desire still there, as this is a basic human function.
Humor. Something funny happened here, but examiner didn’t want to force the joke.
Lust and sexuality. Both can exist, neither need to be shameful, no matter what every 90s sitcom tried to tell us. You can have needs, desires, wants, the libido of a teenager and not be some deviant for saying it.
Awe, that today, patient openly and easily cried in front of therapist. She explained to patient he was just ready, and patient was, ever after two years. Patient also expressed to therapist that he wanted to be more “honest,” meaning with emotions, and those he loved, and just in the world. Therapist explained that he wasn’t dishonest, the he “just wasn’t ready.” She explained that he was a good man. Patient can believe it now.
Love.
Fear. Patient is afraid of the things he needs to do. Excited to do some of them, dreading doing others. Work, art, connection, exploration, openness, feelings, all falling into fear. Though these also all fall into love.
Examiners found a very messy deposit of expectation. It would seem patient isn’t sure of what expectations he has of life and others. Signs that this area used to be home of “demands” exists. Examiner believes this has given way to some healthy boundaries and expectations of the world around patient. Some delusions still persist.
The ability for patient to trust gut. This seems to exist in some quantum state, flitting in and out of existence. As patient trusts gut, he is able to see all the things he should be to protect himself, and to love others, while staving off projection. Patient seems to be able to tell when he’s being manipulated, even if it isn’t malicious, and in a way loving. Patient can also tell when he’s being secretly or openly loved. Sometimes this function is completely non-existent and blind anxiety takes over, leading to patient nodding head and feeling horrible.
A desire to actually show the cracks. Not to everyone, because not everyone needs to give a damn, but to those who have earned or need it.
Gratitude. It would seem there are two chambers for this.
  Examiners were able to find more, and expect to right follow up reports and post them on a blog or social media in massive tangents, because it brings patient some sort of catharsis, a hope of being seen, and a hope that someone else feels seen too.
 All in all patient is healthy. Patient isn’t always happy, isn’t always sad. Patient is full of strength, and masculine, and full of a roar, but patient is also soft, and quiet, which are strong too. Patient is learning. Patient continues, and will continue. Patient will be a better man for himself, and his partner. He will understand himself even more, which will make it easier to love others. To connect with others, truly. Patient will make a lot of mistakes, and fail beautifully. Patient will live.
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