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stories-you-wont-hear · 5 years

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– due process. pt 10

this was a long time coming! i got really stuck while writing and then i was traveling and then moving apartments TT my apologies for the delay but we are certainly nearing the end! i decided to split my ideas for the end of this story into a few parts as not to overload you guys and also to make sure the components of the story, the case and y/n’s relationship with matt didn’t get lost in the shuffle. this part focuses mostly on the case, which is coming to a thrilling conclusion soon! pls enjoy and as always, leave me some love, i live for your feedback!

tag: @abcreid @mattiemurdocksvoicemakesmesplosh @krazy-katt-lady @digicharr

“I feel like a sheep in a bar full of wolves,” you said, taking in the rest of the room. Sure, no one was about to jump you in this bar filled with prosecutors, but you certainly noticed the handful of dirty looks you got. “On the contrary,” the woman sitting beside you said, “You’re like a wolf among peaceful sheep.” “Oh,” you said, eyebrow raised, “So prosecutors are all sheep?” Your companion laughed, shaking her head, “Leave it to a slimy defense attorney to twist my words.” You returned her jab with a smile, looking down at the drink you were nursing. The prosecutor on your case, on Ben’s case, had been surprised when you had simply stated a time and this bar, but sure enough, she had taken the seat beside you at the bar when she came in. Her name was Natalie Ross and she had been a thorn in your side since your case taking on the defense of a filthy rich client that had been sued for something they probably had done, but Ms. Ross had lost her criminal case against the client and was helping the opposite side in their civil case. It was a case you had lost, one that cemented the ADA as someone who was not just a good lawyer, but the kind of person Matt would probably bow to. She seemed to have such a clear sense of right and wrong, you were almost jealous.

“Second degree,” she said after a minute. You shook your head, laughing as you sipped at your cocktail. “You can’t prove intent is not the compromise you need to be making here,” you started, turning to face her, finding her offer quite laughable, “You can’t even prove he did it.” She rolled her eyes back at you, moving to face you as you did her, “I can’t prove whether he went there intending to kill her, but the jury sure as hell isn’t completely sure your boy is innocent.” You scoffed, the liquid courage you had consumed pushing you to laugh at one of the most respected ADA’s in the district, “All I need is one juror to believe that he’s innocent and that’s a hung jury. That’s a mistrial.” She smiled at you in return, sipping at her martini as the feeling of dread began simmering in your stomach.

“Y/N,” she said, her white teeth shining as she smiled, “You don’t think that I’d retry it if it ended up a mistrial?” You sighed, turned back to take a gulp of your drink. “You would,” you agreed under your breath. “Damn right,” Natalie said, “I’m that bitch.” “That bitch indeed,” you said, giving her a little smile. “How do you do it?” you asked, looking at her perfectly sleek ponytail to her well styled but still oh so professional looking outfit, “You’re like Wonder Woman.” “I am,” she agreed, batting her eyelashes in mock bashfulness, which had you laughing. As you settled, she turned to you, sighing. You sat up, wondering what it could possibly be that had the put together woman beside you looking nervous. “I can’t believe I’m telling you this,” she started, her voice low despite there being no one apparently listening into your conversation, “Like seriously, you, of all peo-” “I get it,” you cut in with a roll of your eyes, “Defense attorneys suck.” “Yes,” she agreed, to which you groaned. She sighed, giving you a Look before rolling her shoulders back as if letting tension roll off of her. “I’m leaving,” she said, looking at you with anticipation. “Leaving what?” you asked, bringing your glass up to your mouth to finish off your drink before gesturing to the bartender for another one. He gave you a look like you had kicked a puppy as if you had defense attorney written across your forehead, but gave you another round regardless. “The DA’s office,” Natalie continued, her voice even more hushed than before. “Where are you going to go?” you asked, surprised at what her news had been. You weren’t kidding when you equated Natalie Ross to Wonder Woman, she was the closest thing to the superhero. “I am joining the dark side,” she said and all you could do for a minute was stare at her face, dumbfounded.

“You’re going to a firm?” you asked, and apparently it was a bit too loud for Ms. Ross because if looks could kill, you’d already be in a body bag. “Keep it down,” she shushed, glancing around the two of you to make sure no one had heard before turning back to you. “Malcolm Randall is starting his own firm,” she said, much to your surprise. “What?” you cried, your brow creasing in confusion. Natalie’s expression went from serious to a look of realization as she looked at you, “That’s right, you used to work for him.” You nodded furiously, your hand moving to turn off the vibration of your phone in your pocket, eager to know more. She nodded gravely, fingers circling around the rim of her almost empty glass, “He’s… not happy with the way that partner of his, Weston?” “Wesley,” you supplied. “Right, Wesley, Randall isn’t happy with him and he came to me, real hush about it, and I decided that I’ll do it, I’ll take the leap,” she said, her eyes looking across your face for a hint of how you felt. You nodded, realizing she must have felt how you did when you left your firm.

To take a leap like that, to stare into the chasm before you, not knowing what you’d face at the other side, it was a thrill but it was also a dread like no other. Staring at the woman before you, knowing that you did it and you still managed to land on your feet, you had no doubt that she’d be able to do the same. “You’ll be happy working with him,” you assured, to which Natalie nodded in affirmation. “However, you won’t be happy with the outcome of this case,” you added, finishing off your drink. Natalie chuckled, shaking her head at your cheeky comment.

“Don’t count your chickens before they’ve hatched, kid,” she replied, raising her brow at you. She gave you a vague sort of smile and waved the bartender over, paying for both your drinks. “You can buy once you lose the case,” she said when you protested. You laughed as both of you walked out of the bar and into the cool air of the night. “Guess you’ll have to wait a while for that drink,” you said as you turned to part ways, Natalie flagging down a cab. “We’ll see,” she called out to you with another cryptic smile as the cab drove off.

It was a day that seemed like any other in the morning as you went through your ritual, but by mid-morning, you were standing in court, facing Andrew Bennett, the young man you had been defending not too long ago. You hadn’t missed that smug smile, that expensive suit, and those designer glasses that you knew he put on just to make himself more likable to a jury of people he would ordinarily treat like trash but now he had to pander his image to them. Yet, he sat in the witness box, looking like he was just one of you. You knew better, you knew that he thought he was better. But you also knew that he wasn’t actually so, he just happened to come from a family whose pockets ran deep. But not deep enough, you decided.

“Mr. Bennett,” you began, hoping that the jury wouldn’t see past the farce that Andrew had set up for the sake of your case, and for Ben’s sake, “you’re a good friend of the defendant, Ben Harris, aren’t you?” Andrew nodded without cracking a smile, which unnerved you a bit. “We go to school together, yes,” he replied coolly, to which you narrowed your eyes a bit. “Just a few months ago, the two of you were fighting against allegations of sexual assault, but you just go to school together?” you pressed. Andrew shifted in his seat a little, looking visibly uncomfortable with your tone, to which you internally began feeling anxious. He never had a problem lying to save his own skin, but here he couldn’t even admit to being pals with the guy when it was the truth?

“Like I said, we go to school together, and we happened to be at the same party, and we happened to get caught up in the same mess,” he said, somehow genuinely looking the slightest bit distraught and you came to a realization. A Bennett will shed their skin like a snake when it comes to saving themselves. The aftermath of the Amanda Taylor case was an era of supposed reformation for party boy Andrew Bennett, and this was the first act, separating himself from any trace of the only part of the triangle left of the thing he was calling a “mess,” and that was Ben. You couldn’t believe him. “And you happened to be at the same bodega, in line, in front of my client the night Amanda Taylor was murdered?” you said, folding your arms across your chest as you shot back a response to Andrew’s denial. He narrowed his eyes back at you, just for a second before catching himself. “So?” Andrew said flatly. You shook your head, knowing the jury couldn’t possibly believe the bullshit he was pulling. “Mr. Bennett, we have an eyewitness, the man at the bodega counter, who says he saw you...” you started, but suddenly you felt yourself struggling to force the line of thought you had laid out for questioning Andrew. You felt like you had him there when you heard the prosecutor’s voice behind you, “Objection Your Honor, the defense is floundering whilst questioning her own witness.” You turned to glare at Ross, sure she fought hard, but she wasn’t the type to cut into your line of questioning just because you needed a second to get your footing right. “Not cause for an objection, Ms. Ross,” the judge replied before turning to you to cast a look of warning, “But she has a point, get to the point, any point, Ms. Y/L/N.” You nodded, turning back to Andrew as the wheels in your head spun at lightning speed.

“Your Honor, could we have the testimony of the bodega owner read back, back from his identification of Mr. Bennett,” you asked, pleading with your eyes for a bit of space to push your argument. He nodded, gesturing towards the typist, who cleared her throat before reading aloud.

Mr. Khan: He paid with a $50 bill. I was so surprised because no one in that neighborhood comes in with money like that, especially not a bill as clean as that.

Ms. Y/L/N: How did you know it was Andrew Bennett specifically?

Mr. Khan: I wanted to make sure the guy wasn’t handing me a fake bill, you know? And he was real agitated about it, like he wanted to get out of there quick. I mean, his face was all over the news. I knew it was that rich kid so I figured the bill was real. All he bought was a bottle of the fancy water no one else buys, and he was really particular about his change, he passed back a bill that was kind of bent in one corner and said he wanted a clean one. Rich people, right?

Ms. Y/L/N: What about the young man behind him, Ben Harris as you’ve identified? Mr. Khan: He was a lot nicer, apologized for his friend being mean. Well, I’m not sure how friendly they were since the rich kid kind of shoulder checked the other one when walking back, but kids these days ar-

Ms. Y/L/N: Mr. Khan, are you sure the two seemed to know each other?

Mr. Khan: Yes, the rich kid spoke to him, and trust me, in that neighborhood, if words are exchanged, it usually isn’t friendly, but they didn’t fight or anything. He just kind of mumbled something when he passed him. The only reason I remember is because I was excited about that crisp 50 and kept it on the bottom of the cash drawer.

You turned back to Andrew with a pointed look, mentally taking a step back before approaching your line of questioning, “Now Andrew, what did you say to Ben when you left the bodega?” Andrew shrugged before mumbling something. “Speak up, Mr. Bennett,” the judge said. “I said to get home safe,” Andrew said, and you figured he had to have been holding himself back from rolling his eyes. “And is that where you went after leaving the bodega?” “Yes,” Andrew answered, a little too quickly, “And I have a house full of staff and cameras that all saw me.” You took a breath in, taking a second to step back to look back at the galley. Your old boss, Richard Wesley, was there, probably as counsel for Bennett if needed, as was Ben’s mom, and then there was Matt. He sat with his back straight up against the bench, a sober expression on his face until you laid eyes on him. You knew he couldn’t see you, but seeing him there made you feel a little less hopeless. Before you turned back to face Andrew, your eye caught the prosecutor. She looked different now, more serious than she had looked when you two were sharing drinks and words, but that piercing gaze was trying to send you a message. She nodded the slightest bit, and even then you weren’t sure she was doing anything but something was telling you that this witness wasn’t going anywhere. You should have known that the lack of resistance in getting Andrew to the stand would just mean resistance from Andrew himself on the stand, but Natalie didn’t seem worried. Then again, she wasn’t defending a young man for alleged murder.

Yet, the words slipped out of your mouth. “No further questions, Your Honor,” you said as you went back to sit down. “He’s gonna hang me out to dry,” Ben whispered, and when you turned your head to say something reassuring, the look of terror in his eyes almost made you cry. “You’ll be okay,” you replied, turned back knowing that if you looked at Ben longer, you would make a fool out of yourself in the courtroom. “Mr. Bennett,” Natalie said, suddenly full of energy as she stood to question your witness, “As part of the investigation on Ms. Taylor’s murder, we confirmed with your… staff that you indeed came home that night, but I have to ask you, just to make sure, you know?” Andrew nodded, but all eyes were on the prosecutor at this point. She was good, she knew it, and they knew it. “Did you kill Amanda Taylor?” she asked, and the shock value of her direct question got what she wanted from the jury, eyes on Andrew in anticipation of his reply. “No,” he replied. You knew Richard Wesley was a good lawyer, and he probably told Andrew that one-word replies were best with a prosecutor like Ross. You can’t get caught in a web of your lies if you only say one word per sentence. “Right, of course. But what were you doing in that neighborhood at that time, it’s a little far from home for you, isn’t it?” she continued, her tone innocent enough. Andrew thought for a minute, glancing over at someone behind you, presumably Richard Wesley, before replying, “I went to see Ben, he called me about something before.” “And that would be…?” Ross pushed further, little by little. “Something about school,” Andrew replied, his voice lowering to a mumble.

“Of course,” Ross agreed, “you two boys had a lot to catch up with school wise, considering being caught up in the sexual assault case and everything, I’m sure.” “Objection, is there a question there?” you spoke up, to which Natalie chuckled a bit, knowing your objection was valid. The judge agreed, pushing her to get on track. “I’m sorry, Mr. Bennett, I know how valuable the court’s and your time is,” she said, her eyes scanning over Andrew, who seemed to feel more at ease with her than you would’ve recommended him to feel, knowing her. Then again, it wasn’t like Andrew was your client.

“So, let me get this straight, you met up with Benjamin Harris, Amanda Taylor’s alleged killer, in her own neighborhood, after the both of you allegedly sexually assaulted her?” she said, and while the connotation of her words hurt the image of your client as well, the magical “alleged” in front of those words cut any chance of you being able to object. “I didn’t do anything to her,” Andrew replied. “You mean you didn’t kill her?” Ross replied, having inched closer to him as she had been speaking. “No,” Andrew said, sighing out of exasperation. You felt his exhaustion from here, he was used to being able to act however he wanted and then being able to throw money at the consequences that followed, but here he had to maintain the facade. “God,” he mumbled visible beads of sweat on his forehead. “Your Honor, please advise the witness to speak up,” the prosecutor requested, to which the judge responded with a sigh, “When you are in my court, you will speak up, Mr. Bennett.” Andrew looked back up and you could sense the mask cracking, and you were sure from where Natalie was standing it looked pretty ugly.

“Again, Mr. Bennett, by “I didn’t do anything to her” you mean that you didn’t kill Amanda Taylor?” Ross spoke, her eyes scanning the jury, and even you could sense that Andrew had lost the bit of gain he had with them. A moment passed and then another and Andrew hadn’t replied, and the judge turned again to Andrew. “Answer the question, son,” he said, and while he had addressed Andrew with a term of endearment, there was nothing endearing about his tone and Andrew meanwhile looked like he was about to explode right there.

“Should I repeat the question?” Ross asked. With no response from Andrew, Ross took it upon herself to step a bit away from him, speaking as she walked backward, her voice slowly increasing in speed and volume as she spoke, “While you were in Amanda Taylor’s neighborhood, whom you were accused to assaulting at one time, at a bodega close to her home, seen on tape with the man sitting there, who was also accused of assaulting her and is now on trial for her murder, did you kill her?” The jury looked between Ross and Andrew, not sure where to keep their attention and at the time, you knew you should have objected her as this was far past badgering the witness but before you could, Andrew had practically shouted back at her, “I didn’t fucking kill her.” You stood up, telling yourself that while Andrew wasn’t a client and not someone you particularly cared for, the kid was not alright.

Yet, again, before you could, Ross pounced, her words direct and as sharp as a knife, “Did you rape her?” “Yes,” Andrew cried out, his hands grasping the wood in front of him so hard that his knuckles almost turned white, “But I didn’t fucking kill her.” The jury looked at each other and there was a moment of deafening silence before the galley burst into exclamations of shock, the judge banging his gavel and ordering to have the jury sent out.

Ben was beside himself, saying things to you, but all you could do was look at the prosecutor who stood amidst the commotion in the courtroom, and at that moment the conversation you had with her last night came to mind and the realization hit you; Natalie Ross was neither a wolf nor a sheep, she was a far mightier beast.

woo there it is! hope you liked it, hope you’re enjoying these twists and turns because they are for sure not done yet! xoxo mira

#stories-you-wont-hear #stories you wont hear #Matt Murdock #Matthew Murdock #matt murdock fic #matt murdock imagine #reader x matt murdock #marvel daredevil #marvel daredevil fic #marvel fic

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moczothe1st · 5 years

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Let’s Play Fire Emblem IV: Genealogy of the Holy War, Part 26: The Julius Formerly Known as Prince

Part 25

Welcome back to Fire Emblem IV! Last week we had started our invasion of Grannvale, coming up to it through the southern Miletos district, and in so doing got to smack the crap out of Tinni’s crazy aunt, who unfortunately managed to get away. These things happen. This week, we have to start off by opening the gates that will allow us to proceed north to Miletos itself.

I’m just gonna say, if you guys wanna stop now, I’m down for that. How about we just move in to Hilda’s old torture castle and set up there? Do we really need to beat the Empire?

Yes?

Shit.

Ah, well.

Well, to start, we need to take Rados castle, which is thankfully unoccupied after we killed all its inhabitants last week. It’s cool, they were gross people. Though first, I have Ced grab the village right north of it…

Behind the Times: Not so long ago, from what I hear, Emperor Arvis himself forbade ‘em. What the devil could’ve changed his mind? Please, I’m begging you, you’ve gotta save our children! Here, this magic ring oughta help you out.

Niiiiiiiiiiice. This pushes Ced’s magic above the 30-point cap, leaving him even more of a killing machine that he already is. Dude doesn’t even have a holy weapon, he’s just raw badass. Cairpre also continues his path to minor godhood.

This kid was level one on the last map, and he’s going to be promoted and breaking skulls right along with the rest of the kids next map. I’m so proud of him.

Seliph, take the castle and set the story going, my man!

(Yeah, but he had to be a man named Morrigan, so who really suffered the most?)

Seliph: How could they… how could anyone be so savage…?

Lewyn: And that’s why we’ve got to fight this war to the end, Seliph. This is something you’ve got to understand.

(OKAY WE GET IT JEEZ STOP PESTERING ME DAD)

Lewyn: This is the way of the Loptyr Empire. There’s no place at all for the good-hearted… Now, it shouldn’t be too long before the gate to Miletos opens for us.

(…. Why…?)

Lewyn: What’s your next move, Seliph?

Seliph: Needless to say, we must march on Miletos. We can’t afford to rest while those children are still at risk. Or Julia, for that matter.

Lewyn: Good. And after that, Grannvale awaits!

(OH FUCK IT’S ISHTAR)

(Oh, and also Arvis. Man, you have not aged well, buddy. I’d feel bad for you, but you know… the rape and murder and stuff.)

Arvis: Listen, Ishtar. Release the captive children. I know you care no more for these foul deeds than I do.

Ishtar: My apologies, sir, but I’m on Prince Julius’s-

Arvis: Pay Julius no mind. I’ll be having a word with him soon.

(Funny story, bro, he said the same thing about you last week, and I’m a bit more scared of him at this point.)

Ishtar: But…

Arvis: This is an order from your emperor, Ishtar! Has Julius bent you such that you will no longer listen to the word of your liege?!

Ishtar: N-no. Never, your majesty…

(Speak of the [Literal?] Devil.)

Arvis: Julius! How dare you-

Julius: Why, Father, it almost sounds as if you still don’t know any better! Old age must be dulling that once-brilliant mind of yours. Why not retire before it grows still feebler? Unless… ohohohoho! Don’t tell me you still seriously believe that you can banish me?

Arvis: … No. I know better than to try something so futile again. I… have no further objection.

Julius: That’s better. Now, then. Begone! Return to your post and haunt my sight no more. Defending Chalphy is crucial, so don’t fail me for once in your sorry life, Father.

(Daaaaaaaaaaaamn, son, you just got burned. Or should that be Julienned?)

Arvis: Y-yes, Julius. At once…

(God, it’s like every creeper left in the game is all gathering in this one castle to see who can be most sleazy. If Hilda shows up, I’m going to need to stop to take a shower.)

Manfroy: Never would you think this wretch, now clinging only to the ghost of a crown, was once the most powerful man in Jugdral.

Julius: Ah, Manfroy. Where’s Julia? Have you restored her memory yet?

Manfroy: Your dear little sister is in Chalphy, burdened once more by her old memories. Never have I seen such horror as when she recalled how you, her own brother, almost killed her! Or how her dearly departed mother spirited her clear of the castle and your clutches…

Julius: Indeed… near everyone puts up some defiance to death by my hand, yet Deirdre never so much as flinched in the end. She accepted her own demise, all to save Julia with what little strength she still had. But Julia possesses the foul powers of that ghoul, Naga, just as Deirdre once did. Nothing is more crucial than killing her now, Manfroy, lest we lose the chance.

(………. Then… why did you need to restore her memories…?)

Manfroy: You overestimate her threat, milord. After all, the Book of Naga remains under the strictest lock and key in Belhalla. Without it, Naga’s soul could never come to dwell within that girl…

Julius: How many times must I explain, Manfroy?! Every last one of the avatars of Naga, the heirs of Heim, must be purged!

Manfroy: Understood, milord. I’ll have my men see to it that Julia is dead by sundown.

Julius: Do not fail me, Manfroy. Now, then, I suppose I’m needed in the capital.

Manfroy: I shall ensure that holding the Miletos territory is the Order’s highest priority. Before the week is done, Your Majesty, the corpse of Seliph shall lie before you.

Julius: Seliph? … Ah, of course. The one the peasants call ‘the scion of light’. Just as they call me the ‘scion of darkness’. The alleged eldest son of Deirdre and the alleged true heir to my throne. A fairy tale, told to inspire hope amongst fools.

Manfroy: He is still a threat, milord. The sooner we dispose of him, the better.

Julius: Surely he doesn’t truly bear the power of the Crusader Baldur. He couldn’t possibly. I don’t care about him, Manfroy, but you’re welcome to do with him as you will.

Manfroy: Very good, milord.

Julius: … Actually, I have a better idea. I want to play a game.

Julius: Rumor has it that a small army of fresh sacrifices are headed our way. Let’s see who can claim the life of a rebel first.

Ishtar: Yes, Lord Julius. I’d love to!

(Sympathetic anti-villain~)

And then the newly arrived enemies start screwing with me, thus ruining the drama of the moment. Anyhow. The army arrayed against us is arguably the worst in the entire game thus far, given they are almost all dark mages. Dark magic still has no disadvantages to anything in the weapon triangle, and a lot of them have status effect staves to fuck our advance over hard. And of course, standing near the castle…

At first glance, Ishtar actually looks worse than Obvious Final Boss Julius. She’s bulked up considerably since we last met her; her Magic has gone up by six points, speed by one, and resistance by a whopping twelve with the addition of a Barrier Ring to her inventory. He, in contrast, has generally good stats at everything (and is a damn stone wall with 25 defense and 35 resistance) but he’s slower than her and his Loptyr tome is heavier than her Mjolnir. Beyond being a stone wall, he appears to be less dangerous than her.

This is a filthy lie.

You see, Ishtar is stronger than her last fight with us, but we’ve leveled up far more than she has since then. She’s certainly still very dangerous thanks to her combo of Mjolnir and the Vantage ability meaning if you don’t kill her in one shot she’ll wreck your ass on all further battles, but that’s nothing new. It just means we’re playing the same damn game of Nuclear Rocket Tag that we were last time, and Arthur is carrying a much bigger nuke than before. Maybe he still only has like a 60% chance of pulling it off, but I honestly can’t believe I did it at all last time.

And as for that heavy Loptyr tome? It has a little extra trick to it that you’ll quickly come to despise.

See that little note, ‘cuts foe’s atk’ down in the bottom left corner? See, more specifically, it cuts the attack of anyone who gets into battle with Julius by a whopping 50%. So before hitting Julius’s again, stone-wall defenses, anyone who takes a swing at him will first have their attack cut in half, at which point he will swing right back with a Holy Weapon that has no weapon triangle disadvantage to anything and is backed up by his maxed out magic stat. And in his ability list, he has Pursuit and Accost for maximum possible double-attacking potential to go with his very high natural speed, and Wrath to cause his critical hit rate to skyrocket if you do eventually get his HP down below half.

His 80 HP.

So yeah, this is the game’s subtle way of telling you ‘DON’T FIGHT JULIUS’. Indeed, the easiest thing to do here would be to let him or Ishtar kill one of our soldiers and then have Cairpre revive them with the Valkyria staff, because they will both leave if one of them manages to win their ‘game.’ Which, I mean, if I get really desperate, maybe, but for the sake of my pride I’d prefer to beat one of them, causing both to retreat. And by ‘one of them,’ I mean Ishtar. And by ‘beat’ I mean, ‘Arthur, it’s time to play another round of Holy Weapon Nuclear Death Tag with your cousin, please try to survive.’

Oh, and just for fun:

That’s Julius’s Holy Blood screen. Just in case you didn’t have enough unhappiness in your life.

Now then. First thing we need to do is clear out at least some of the enemies in play here. There’s a whole mess of Dark Mages with some melee fighters scattered among them, and they’re operating with a variety of tools, but the worst, as poor Altena found out, are the ones with Sleep staves. Status effect staves in this game are the worst; they have perfect accuracy as long as the one using them has higher Magic than the target has Resistance. In our hands, they’re balanced by only having 2-3 charges before they break. In the enemy’s hands, they have infinite charges because Fuck You, that’s why. Sleep + Hel + Any Hit of Anything is a very bad situation. So first step is to work out where they are:

There, we have a basic cross-reference of where only high-resistance units should go. The dark mages have 16 Magic each, which isn’t much for the purposes of combat but for the purposes of Sleep Staves it might as well be a trillion. Maybe a quarter of our army can go into that crossfire zone without being zapped, and one of them is Cairpre, who can’t fight. On the other hand, he’s also the only person who can wake people up, so his staying awake forever is useful, in its own way.

Back to full power! And now, we clear out the vanguard and move the team up, making sure to keep most people firmly to the east.

There we go. First wave down; the only people in the current batch who can lure out enemies without getting a forced nap are Ares, Fee, Ced, Tinni and Cairpre; Seliph will be able to when he actually reaches the army, but he, Nanna, and Ulster are a bit further back. He had to take the castle and they needed to do some weapon repairs.

End turn!

Ah, yes, some of them have siege tomes too. Because, again, fuck you, that’s why.

Cairpre, you’re just getting silly. But in any event, we’ve now gotten a situation where the only people in the Sleep range are people who cannot be Sleeped, and they should also be drawing in some of the enemies from the west so we can clear out at least one or two of the staff wielders and give us some more movement range. There’s two to the west, and two to the north; the western ones should start moving on this turn now that we’ve cleared out the enemies closer to us. With luck, I can kill them both right away. End turn…

Okay, not bad. With the positioning of the enemies, I thiiiiiiiiink three of the sleep staffs can be taken out this turn without much issue. Let’s see…

That’s one!

And that’s two, and also all we’re going to get. But the remaining two are going to put some people to sleep, but they won’t be able to get anyone killed. That’s worth Ares getting a shit level, I guess. What remains is to clear out the final village-burning bandit of the map…

And killing off this sniper so he can’t kill Fee and ruin everything.

Good times. All right, dark mages! Please don’t kill anyone. End turn.

Lame, but tolerable. We will be able to kill one more staff guy this turn; but the second one is being… troublesome.

He’s one of those charming robed figures firmly in Julius’s combat range. That is not a fight I want to pick. Instead, we’ll take this other dude with the physic staff…

And pull back, trying to lure them out further. Cairpre wakes up Lester to let him do the same, and gets his like seventieth level.

To the south, we need to clear a path without letting Patty get put to sleep preferably. So I have Tinni try to clear a path, which will let Ced get through to the third Sleep user.

….

She misses. On a 90% chance. Dammit. Seliph, please?

That’s why we’re putting you on the throne later, buddy. And now Ced can get through and remove one more stumbling block.

Beautiful. Only one staff jackass left, and the only people in his range are Tinni and Seliph. He’ll have to move, and with any luck at all he’ll do so out of Julius’s combat range where someone can take a swing at his dumb face. End turn!

Heeeeeeeeeey buuuuuuuddy.

Niiiiice. With that, there’s only seven enemies left total; one guy with a normal tome, three siege tomes, the boss in the castle, and the two far more dangerous bosses waiting for us to get all up in their business. This will be… tricky. But for the moment, we’re safe, so I have Seliph drop in to have a conversation with Tinni.

(In all this mess, you may have forgotten Lewyn is her dad. He certainly hasn’t been very fatherly.)

Seliph: If you need anything from me, I’ll be waiting over there.

(You see what I mean about her having a character arc, now? Imagine the Tinni we first recruited saying that. She was so broken down she was going to fight us just because she was too afraid not to. And look at her now, electrocuting her aunt! I’m so proud.)

Lewyn: She didn’t treat you well, did she?

(“HAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHHAAHA…. Oh, you’re serious…? Wow. No. No.”)

Tinni: Day after day, again and again, she would beat and abuse us. She kept on accusing Mother of being a traitor…

Lewyn: Your mother… Taillte…

Tinni: Yes… after the Battle of Belhalla, she and my brother, Arthur, fled to Silesse. I was born there soon after. I never knew my father. I think he must have died long ago…

Lewyn: I see. Then you went to Alster, right?

Tinni: King Blume and his minions came to Silesse, one night. They dragged us away to Alster… Mother never left there alive…

Lewyn: I… you’ve had such a hard life…

Tinni: Mm… Hilda hated Mother so much. I’ve never seen anything like it. Mother coped with so much, trying to protect me from Hilda. She was always in tears, right till the end…

Lewyn: She… she did…?

Tinni: Lord Lewyn? Is… is everything okay, sir?

Lewyn: … Yeah. Why do you ask?

Tinni: It’s your eyes, sir. Are those… tears?

Lewyn: I… no, it’s nothing. This is just a bit of sweat. I’m fine… I… I’m okay…

I like this conversation for a few reasons. First, it gives Tinni a ridiculous +5 magic, which is wonderful for these conversation bonuses and pushes her to her magic cap of 27. But on a story front, you’ve probably noticed that Lewyn has become kind of a douche in the years since the first generation. This is one of the very few moments where that attitude breaks and he really shows you just how much he’s hurting beneath it all. He manages to hold up the Jerk Attitude for most of his other daughter conversations (he can have one with Fee, Lene, or Tinni if he’s their dad) but this is the only one he breaks down on. Learning your wife was essentially tortured to death will do that, and it probably only hurts more because Tinni isn’t trying to guilt him over it. Just innocently sharing how awful her life has been.

It’s a good, solid, quiet little character moment. I really like those when they’re done well, and I think this one was.

End turn.

Way to kill the emotion, jerk.

After murdering that buzzkill, I have to consider the situation. Ishtar is by far the weaker of the two enemies, but she’s not weak by any means. And unfortunately, anywhere that she can go, Julius can go too, thanks to the Leg Ring in his inventory. Getting them separate is hard. So what I’m going to do is have Ares, with the Mystletainn in hand, stand on a forest tile in Julius’s range. I will also put Nanna, Seliph, and Dermott near him; with boosts from two Charisma skills, Seliph’s leadership stars, and a forest, he gets something like a 45% boost to his dodging, which even Julius should have some trouble with. And even if he takes one hit, his Resistance is high enough that he should be able to survive. And from there, I have all of them run past him with Arthur, giving him a similar bonus to his offense and offsetting Julius’s own five leadership stars when he fights Ishtar. With luck, which I seem to be having lately with these big annoying bosses, Arthur will nuke the crap out of his cousin once again.

This might work. Maybe! Or I might die. End turn!

Gotta admit, the man makes an impression! Ares takes the hit, but survives with 21 HP left, and Ishtar runs up behind Julius, but can’t reach anyone to blast. But we can reach her. Deep breath. Moment of truth. Everyone, get her! NUCLEAR ROCKET TAG GOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOO!

I’m hoping you don’t notice how many of my problems I have been solving with Forseti. Like… all of them. Seriously, of the three hardest bosses in the game so far, Ishtar, Arion, and Ishtar again, Arthur has killed all three of them on his first move, doing the exact same thing. I have dealt with every serious challenge the game has to offer by nuking it with a wind god.

If this is wrong, I don’t wanna be right.

Oh, and hey, why not.

This kid is going places.

Now then, not much left on the map to deal with. I have Lene dance Cairpre, so he can grab one of the two remaining villages.

Captain… Nay, GENERAL Obvious: Just a single glance into those eyes of his and you’re gone. You lose yourself. So many of my friends and people my age have all left for Belhalla to serve him… I’ve heard nothing from any of ‘em since.

Oh-ho. So, does this mean Julius can literally warp the minds of others? It can’t be limitless, mind you, since otherwise he could just mind-rape our army into joining him, but some ability to sway the weak-minded to his side would fit with how so few Imperial citizens are actually protesting the whole… you know. Hunting of children.

On the enemy phase, there isn’t a whole lot left. We have only three enemies left outside the boss, and they’re all carrying siege tomes.

And hahaha, they’re not super great at picking targets. That was fun. Now, let’s destroy them!

Not bad at all! One guy remaining, we can get him on the next turn before Seliph takes that castle. Altena grabs the last village, as well.

Extremely Morbid Info Master: Hate t’say it, but sometimes, yeh need t’make sacrifices if yeh wanna keep going…

See, kids, this is why you don’t fuck with Info Master. He is willing to make those sacrifices. End turn!

Dick.

… They can’t all be great, Cairpre. You’ve still grown far beyond anything I ever expected. Now, nothing left to do but send the team up north, preparing to go where the story will dictate after we take the next castle. Seliph, care to set things up?

Lewyn: I hate to admit it, but I doubt we could’ve gotten here soon enough either way. Now, then. It sounds like they’re just finishing up repairs on the Miletos Strait bridge. Ready to move in on Chalphy?

Seliph: Chalphy…. My father’s homeland….

Lewyn: So it is. I’m betting the citizens there will be even happier to see you than usual. Let’s not make them wait any longer!

Seliph: Indeed! Everyone, move out! Onward, to Chalphy!

(“We’re not forgetting anything, right? Eh, I’m sure Julia would remind us if we were.”)

Well. There isn’t a whole lot of this chapter left, but it can take quite a bit of time to successfully pull off, so I do think I’ll stop here. See y’all next week when we head back home to Chalphy! The very first castle we ever had in the game, and now we get to go take it back from another blast to the past, good old Arvis! I sure did miss him.

But my aim is improving.

See y’all next week!

#let's play #let's play fire emblem #let's play fire emblem IV #Fire Emblem: Genealogy of the Holy War #fire emblem 4 #lp #my writing #long post #Julius is a jerk

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velvetchen · 7 years

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Acatalepsy | oneshot

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Scenario: Soulmate AU Pairing: Kai/Reader Word Count: 10131 Rating: T (warning for angst. i’m not kidding, this is 10k words of pure heartbreak)

Summary: In a world where soulmates are banned and their soulmarks genetically destroyed, one shows up on your wrist on your thirteenth birthday.

The morning of your thirteenth birthday - a Saturday - you’d padded into the bathroom to wash up. Gone through the motions, like any other day. It was when you’d lifted your hands to splash water on your face that you’d seen it in the mirror - like a dark eye staring back at you.

A mark on your wrist. Not just any mark. A soulmark. A triangle with a vortex inscribed within - clean, dark lines that didn’t leave your skin, no matter how much you scrubbed at it with soap like it was plain ink. It remained, stubborn and strong, branded into your wrist in a cluster of melanin that stood in bright contrast to the rest of your hand.

Even back then, you knew what it was, why you shouldn’t have one. You knew your dads had often jokingly described themselves as ‘soulmates’ - but they didn’t have marks on their wrists. Your sister, who was head over heels with her boyfriend, who claimed that they were ‘meant to be’, didn’t have a mark on her wrist that tied them together.

So why did you have one?

Before you went down for breakfast, you covered it with the thick strap of a watch, and nobody asked any questions.

“I can get you an authorization code,” said Zane flatly, crossing his arms as he scrutinized you, eyes squinted nearly shut. “But you have to be willing to do what I want to get it.”

“I’ll do it,” you said. All you wanted was access to the archives, and you were so lost in the tumult of your new discovery that you just wanted to know. “Tell me what I have to do.”

He narrowed his eyes even more, hesitating, and for a minute you expected that he’d burst out laughing at you, at how scrawny you looked, at how you wouldn’t be able to do anything. But he nodded. “Okay. Meet me here tomorrow, same place, same time. Wear an oversized hoodie or something equally as thick.”

You waited there, the next day, a few minutes earlier than necessary. Zane showed up, dressed in his usual black, hood up, unsmiling. He got right down to business. “You see that store across the street?” He pointed, brow raised. You followed his hand and stared at the front of the electronics store. “You’re going to walk in...and walk out with this.” He handed you a pamphlet with a picture of a black box on it. “Model RFD-445. Nothing else. Don’t worry, you can fit it in your hoodie. I want you to slip it in your pocket, go to the bathroom, and take out the little white security tab on the inside of the box.” He gripped your shoulder tightly, shaking you once. “Got it?”

You nodded, still mostly confident.

“Good. It’ll be embedded in the cardboard so you need to take it out with something. You got fingernails?” You held up your hand. “Perfect. I’ll worry about the cameras. You have five minutes from the second you step inside. Understand?”

The second you stepped inside the store was the moment your certainty wavered. How am I going to go through with this? You followed Zane’s instruction. Third aisle from the far right, almost near the end, in a shelf that was nearly empty. You checked the pamphlet in your hands, your heart beating hard and fast in your chest. RFD-445. The box was right there. Hoping against hope that Zane had kept his promise and messed with the cameras - you took a deep breath, looked to make sure no one was watching, then put the hand-sized box in your hoodie pocket.

You scurried to the bathroom, locked yourself in a stall, and hunched over the box as you pried it open, felt around for the security tab. Your fingers glossed over something smooth and plastic and immediately, you dug your nails into the cardboard. Hands shaking, knees trembling. God, I’m just thirteen, I can’t go to jail. The plastic bit into the quick of your nails as you pulled it out, stinging and leaving little wells of blood on your fingertips.

Without another thought, you threw the tab in the toilet, flushed it down, and shoved the box under your shirt, into your waistband. Hands fisted inside your pockets, you walked through the store, at any minute expecting a yell of, ‘hey, kid’, or ‘thief’, or worst of all, ‘you there with the soulmate mark’. Your mark was still safely tucked beneath the watch, but you were aware of it every second.

You burst out of the store, then sprinted across the street back to the alley. He was waiting. You pulled the box out from under your hoodie and pressed it into his hands.

“Not bad. Only four minutes.” He dropped a tiny serrated pin in your palm in return. “Here’s your authorization key, kid.”

When you got home, you locked yourself in your room, booted up your computer. Logged in with the fake account you’d created the previous week. Then visited the archive website.

Plugged in the pin.

Crossed your fingers.

It blinked green, and you breathed a sigh of relief you’d been holding ever since you discovered your mark. Now you had access to the private archives, the ones where the banned literature and music and media went. All the information about soulmates was here, spread out in front of you like a new world.

You read legend after legend. Looked at fiction about lovers connected across dimensions, across eons, by the soulbond. Heard folk songs from centuries ago, singing about the wonders of love the soulmark gave them. Stories of an incredibly powerful connection that stretched between two people, transcending time and space. A feeling that was more than love and utter peace combined.

There was poetry; there were love letters from soulmates in an era long lost. Big ancient tomes about the science of the soulbond and why it was beyond comprehension, a facet of the universe that had imprinted itself upon humanity.

It was glorious. You looked down at the smudge on your wrist. It almost seemed to glow as it looked back at you, like a real eye.

You had been chosen as part of that forbidden world, and you had no idea why.

It was a few months later when you saw the story on the news. You’d been reading, content with doing your work, your dads talking quietly between themselves as the TV droned on.

“...found with a soulmate mark…”

Your attention had jolted up to the tv then, to the newscaster who had said the words you'd been trying to erase from your mind. Soulmark. It rang in your skull; you listened, rapt.

“...authorities have seized all questionable possessions. The man, James Carter Jr. and his alleged ‘soulmate’-” said with air quotes and all “-have been taken into custody by Soulmate Affairs for questioning.”

There was a clip, next. Blurry, but you could still make out what was happening. A man struggling against the hold of two enforcers in navy suits, both of them with blank faces, pushing him down as he tried again and again to reach the woman at the other end of the room. She wasn’t struggling at all, actually, and for a minute you thought she didn’t care, that she wasn’t actually his soulmate. But then the camera zoomed in, and though it got blurrier, you saw the absolute, desperate heartbreak on her face, the tears spilling off her chin in torrents and dripping onto her cuffed hands - and the mark on one, a blurry dark spot that you knew was what must have incriminated them.

The clip cut back to the newscaster, who quickly moved on to the next topic. You’d heard horror stories of what happened to the remaining soulpairs from your older friends at school, from your sister, from people online. Stories of soulmates being electrocuted to within an inch of their lives to sever the bond, leaving them empty shells of people with no memories of their partner - then lasering off the mark so they’d never know they’d had a soulmate in the first place.

You’d also seen the Soulmate Affairs pamphlet at hospitals and doctor clinics, the one that offered soulbond removal in utero so that people could live a ‘happy, fulfilling life, on their own terms’. If the removal somehow didn’t work - like in your case - if you turned yourself in to authorities, they would gladly remove it again.

Except, you’d read, without the soulbond, living wasn’t worth it.

You were fourteen when you saw it happen in real life. The girl in front of you in the hallway, walking to class normally as ever. She raised her arm to tuck her hair behind her ear, and her sleeve rode up to show the world the tattoo on her wrist - a simple circle with criscrossing lines inside.

Except you knew it wasn’t a tattoo. And so did the teacher who was also walking down the hallway, and when the girl was caught and dragged away crying in handcuffs, when she fell to her knees to pray, you did nothing. You said nothing. You knew there was no easy escape from this fate; that there might not be an escape at all.

Instead you turned away. Pushed through the crowd, feeling wetness on your cheeks. The minute there was space you started to run, and you didn’t stop until you were outside, away from the murmur and press of people. You looked down at your own wrist, the mark covered with concealer. Anyone who looked twice would see the shape of it.

Maybe you were just lucky. As lucky as an unlucky person could get.

That night you tried burning off the mark. You numbed the skin with too much numbing cream, then held a spoon to a flame until the bottom glowed red. Then, with a deep inhale, you pressed the metal to your skin -

-and screamed as an excruciating pain shot through your chest, like you were being ripped apart from the inside. You dropped the spoon, but the pain didn’t stop. It rent you like paper.

And then there was the strangest feeling. The pain was still there, but for a moment you felt like you weren’t the only one in your head. Or rather, that you were both yourself and someone else all at once. Two minds fused by this blinding white-hot burst of pain.

Then, abruptly, it stopped.

You collapsed on the ground, breathing heavily, and lifted your wrist to look at. What if you had managed to succeed? You hadn’t actually thought about what would happen.

There was nothing to fear, though. Under the reddish, raw, skin, the mark was as present as ever. If anything, it seemed to have gotten darker.

You dreamed of him, first, a few weeks later.

You were in an empty space, everything fuzzy and white and incorporeal except for yourself. And him, of course. You could make out the outline of his body, limned in white light, but his shape was blurred, like someone had smeared wet paint. Despite that you saw his fear, apprehension. You looked just as strange to him.

That knowledge relaxed you. “It’s okay,” you said, but there was no sound, only the shape your voice made, carrying through the air like a breeze. He heard you. Turned around. You saw him opening his mouth, saw the abstract of his face rearrange.

“Who are you?”

You were going to say your name, but of what use was your name to him? You looked down at your body, solid enough to you, but surely a mess of lines and colors to him. Who were you? “I don’t know,” you said, and this time your voice was there, and it echoed.

The shape of him changed again, becoming even more intangible. “Why did you hurt me?”

Again you felt his emotions like they were your own. The distrust, the fear - intensifying. From your feet a dark stain started to spread into the white. It crept out like ink in water, moving up around you until it obscured him from view. All the while his voice echoed, “Why did you hurt me?”

You woke up in your bed, sitting upright.

“There,” someone said, “she’s awake. The fever must have broken.”

“I told you a cold compress was the way to go. It’s okay, love,” a hand crept into your clammy one, “lie down again.”

You obliged, but you were still seeing white turning to black, black turning to white, a muddled mess of a boy pulled apart into strings.

The dreams continued well into your fifteenth year. They occurred in different places, sometimes random, sometimes not. There was the great oak of your childhood, but everything was warmer and the colors kept floating away. There was a room with two chairs, lush and opulent in its decoration. Throughout the dreams he still asked you that same question - why’d you hurt me?

In the second dream, you’d figured it out. The next time he’d asked you who you were, you answered, “I’m your soulmate.”

That hadn’t helped things. The dream had colored bitter yellow and swirled away at your feet like water draining away, and you didn’t see him again for nearly a month.

When he came back he’d been less afraid, less volatile. His emotions wrapped around you: a blanket of blue caution, the muddy stickiness of red acceptance.

A few months later, you reached out for his hand, only to have him disappear on you again.

The next time you tried it was a long while later, but the smears of your hands met and solidified into skin and bones. You held on tight, like he might disintegrate at any moment. His hand was soft, a warm honey color, his nails perfect half-moons against your skin.

You were the one who let go first.

The first time you saw his face you were nearly seventeen. Touching made you become real, you quickly realized, and soon you wanted to do anything to feel real. The world had gone paler and paler after the lurid wash of each dream, and by then you were seeing in black and white. You didn’t feel things. You tasted nothing. Music was like static in your ears.

But at nights, you felt alive.

He figured it out, too. And so every night you held each other and murmured things you weren’t even sure the other could understand. You looked down at yourselves and saw two real people entwined, not a smudge of color like it had been at first.

When you pressed your forehead to his, you saw what he looked like. Strong features, soft smile. Eyes that stared at you with all the awe you had been feeling. You wished every night that you would sleep forever and never wake up again, just so that you could stay with him.

I’m getting married,” your sister said, staring at her reflection in the full length mirror.

You couldn’t stop the exhilaration that rushed through you at the sight of her in her wedding dress. “Gosh, Fee. I’m so happy for you!”

“I know, I can’t believe this day is finally here.” There were tears misting in her eyes, and in yours too. You wiped them on the back on your hand. “Zip me up?”

You nodded and moved to adjust the fabric in the back, making sure everything was all okay before your hand reached for the zip. Then you saw it, on her hip - a rosette of bruises, soft blue black and fading into the rest of her skin. Worried, your gaze flicked up to her shoulder. There were more. Bruises between her shoulderblades, an old one ringing around her neck. “Fee, what’s this,” you whispered. “Who did this to you?”

Her eyes went huge. “Nothing,” she hissed at you. “It’s nothing. You know I’m clumsy.”

“Fee, was it Mark-”

“Mark had nothing to do with this,” she said, and her voice was dark. “Please, just - just do it. I have to go out there in two minutes.” A tear slipped out of her eye, and she quickly wiped it away.

Helpless, you zipped up the dress, hiding the marks for good.

It was your twenty-first birthday, and you were late to lunch.

You all but ran across the central square to the restaurant on the far end, bumping into people as you went. It was made harder by the fact that all you could see was a sea of monotonous black, grey, white. “Sorry!” you exclaimed. “Excuse me. Pardon me.” You almost couldn’t feel if your shoulders were hitting another’s, couldn’t feel the thud of your steps on the concrete underneath.

Clutching your bag tightly, you dashed forward again.

This time, when you bumped into someone, you felt it. You felt it like a push on your soul. Instantly, your world bloomed into color, everything so vivid and bright you felt like you were going blind. Shielding your eyes, you looked up.

There was no one there.

You spun around, looking everywhere, checking everyone. No one had stopped. The color was fading back to monochrome.

And then - you saw something - a figure, still saturated despite the lack of color, arms pulled tightly around himself. You were rooted to the spot. You reached out weakly with one arm, but the figure vanished, and so did everything else.

“Are you okay?” your friend asked as you pulled out the chair to sit down. “You look like you’ve just seen a ghost.”

Might as well be. You shook your head, indicating you were all right. Everyone was already there - you were late to your own birthday luncheon.

You accepted everyone’s wishes with a plastered-on smile and rehearsed thanks. It was all empty. Your heart pointed in the direction of the past, your one devastating moment of feeling.

Now that you had tasted color again for the first time in forever, everything was duller than before. Blander than before. Bleached, somehow, like the stranger had siphoned away whatever you had left. You ate just for the sake of eating. Talked for the sake of talking, yet all the while you were watching out the window of the restaurant, hoping he would walk by again.

Three weeks later. You were alone as always, curled up in the shade of a tree as you looked out over the field beyond. A notepad lay open in your lap, a pencil held loosely in your fist.

You had taken to drawing him lately. You got the shapes right from what hazy memories you had, but no line was good enough, sharp enough. The drawings swam and rearranged into a mess in front of your eyes.

You shut the notebook and laid two fingers on your soulmark. It was hot to the touch, throbbing with two pulses. Yours and his. Forever joined.

Without moving your fingers away, you stood up, your things dropping to the ground, forgotten. The other pulse was racing, as if he felt you listening and was saying: can you hear me? Can you hear me?

It thumped faster and faster, and you followed it, down winding paths and in between throngs of people. You didn’t even need to touch the skin anymore. The beat thrummed in your blood, bringing every part of you to life.

He was here. He was here.

I’m here.

You all but collided with him, your hands on his shoulders steadying yourself, his hands grasping at your arms. When his skin brushed yours there were bursts of warmth; when you looked up at him the colors swirled bright and rich, seeping away at the edges of him into the blank greyness of the rest of the world.

You disentangled yourself from each other, standing still as stone in the flow of the crowd. “It’s you,” you breathed. “You’re real.”

“Of course I’m real,” he said, and he almost looked hurt. You remembered all the times he left you because he was scared of you in your dreams, and your reached out to take his hand on impulse. You weren’t letting him go, not now that you had found him. Hearing his voice, his real voice, not the disembodied echo you’d known - brought warmth to your insides. Suddenly, you could hear. You could see the world in all its bright vibrancy.

“Come with me,” you pleaded, tugging on his arm. Everything else forgotten. You wanted to stay with him every second now, like two magnets once separated by the vastness of space that had finally joined. He was weak to you, too, you could see it. He followed you as you led him away from the busy street and near a quieter part of town, where you found a place to sit, shielded from the world by a tree not unlike the one in your dreams.

You didn’t let go of him even for a second. “Tell me your name,” you asked earnestly.

“My name is Jongin,” he said, shyly, sweetly. The name resonated in your heart, a sound you already knew inside. You told him your name. You saw the revelation fall in his eyes, too, a brightening inside him.

On your wrist, your soulmark burned like a small sun. A good burn. A feeling that told you: you had found your purpose for living, your space in the universe, the only place that would ever welcome you home.

You happened to be soulmates, but you still barely knew anything about each other. He was as new to you as any stranger, the essence of your relationship like a spring bud in bloom. You had seen each other in dreams for years, yet he still ducked away, blushing, when you shot him a smile or placed your hand in his.

So you did what any two strangers did when they happened to like each other.

The first date was your idea, a trip to your favorite bookstore-slash-cafe. Jongin had told you he enjoyed reading, but your tastes were more varied than anything. You picked up thrillers, he liked literature. You learnt that he was shy and studious, learnt little endearing things about him like how he wore glasses to read and when he was lost in thought they slipped down his nose awkwardly.

“I have an idea,” you said. “You pick a book you’d want to read. I pick a book I’d want to read. Then we switch.”

He liked that. “I’ll meet you back here in ten minutes.”

The book you chose for him was one you’d been meaning to read for a while now, a murder-mystery about a woman and the people of her small town, people who came together, were tied together forever because of a series of inexplicable events. It had that thread of fate that you had always been drawn to in stories, with people who were meant to find each other for the sake of something better. It was a trend you noticed in most of the things you enjoyed.

You weren’t sure if Jongin would like it. He hadn’t been opposed to the idea of soulmates, but you knew he didn’t find it as intriguing as you did.

The one he picked for you, you could see, was one that he’d obviously thought hard about. A story about a young girl raised away from civilisation and then whose freedom was taken away. ‘The Meaning of Everything’, it was called. You loved it the minute you set eyes on it.

As the day went on you settled yourselves in a secluded end of the cafe, behind a line of decorative plants and underneath a window rimmed with gauzy curtains. You started to read, but found yourself pausing often to peek up at him above the top of your book, watching the way his head tilted to the side, the way he drew his bottom lip between his teeth as he grew captivated. When he raised his head to look at you - much the same way you were watching him - you ducked your head back down, pretending you had been reading the whole time. You could feel his eyes on you for a minute before you blushed and met his gaze, shielding your cheeks with the book. “What?” you squeaked.

“Nothing,” he said, grinning, He nodded his head at the empty table in front of you. “Want to get something to drink?”

It wasn’t a place you’d normally go to yourself, so going with Jongin made it all the more special. The bird sanctuary was huge, acres and acres of forest laced with trails that visitors could traverse on rented bikes.

“I don’t know how to ride a bike,” Jongin had confessed. “My mom never had the time to teach me.”

You laughed, but not mockingly. “I’ll teach you,” you promised, and once you managed to make him complacent enough to sit and not fall out of apprehension, you took his hands to put them on the bars. “There,” you said. “Hold tight, but not too light.” His knuckles loosened a little. “Okay. Now, your right foot on the pedal.”

Your hands stayed on his, calming him. “I’ve got you.”

He shot a smile at you. “I know.”

You let go, slowly. “Okay, now, push.” Shaking slightly, he brought his foot down, the bike wobbling as his left foot looked for purchase. “You got it! Don’t let-”

“Ouch,” he said, spilling onto the ground. Then he started laughing.

Pouting, you hurried over to help him up. “Jongin,” you drew out his name in a whine, “come on, you didn’t even try.”

He just kept laughing. “You’re cute. Make that face again, the pouty one.”

Unobliged, you huffed, picking up the bike and rolling it over to the stand. “That’s it, we’re walking.” Then you started off down the trail, looking back only after you had gone a few steps ahead. He was still sprawled on the ground, propped up on his arms, staring at you like you’d plucked the sun out of the sky for him.

Blushing, you called out, “You coming or not?”

He stood, dusting off his pants, lightly jogging over to where you stood. He took your hand in his. “Let’s go.”

The trail you had chosen was devoid of other people, a fact you were thankful for. Even though you had nothing against being out in public with him, you wanted this day to belong to the two of you, alone in a place that felt like you were the last ones on earth.

“Tell me about your mother,” you said, glancing up at him. “What is she like?”

Jongin’s face clouded over, but his expression didn’t fall. “She was...she was an extraordinary woman.”

“Was? Oh,” you murmured. “I’m sorry.”

He swallowed thickly. “Yeah. I - She - I never got to spend a lot of time with her. I mean, she was there, but she was always so busy. My father left us when I was a baby, and it turned out he was in debt, so when he disappeared everything fell on my mother.” He looked up, up at the canopy of trees, as if he was searching for something. “She was always so hardworking. When I was in primary school she worked three jobs, she ran the house, she took care of me. She paid back the debts by the time I was twelve, but we weren’t well off, all we had was a one-room house that had power only half the day.

“On my thirteenth birthday, I...woke up with the soulmark. The first thing I did was tell her.”

You made a surprised noise. “Oh?”

He smiled, fondly. “She took it really well,” he said. “She was happy for me, and at the same time she warned me of the dangers of being who I was. I couldn’t let anyone see, or they’d take me away from her. I was always protected. Until,” he paused. “I was sixteen, and she died from breast cancer.”

You squeezed his hand, a wave of his emotion passing through you.

“They found my dad then. Without the debt, he’d actually done well for himself, so he had a pretty house in the suburbs, a new girlfriend, plenty of savings. He didn’t want me around to spoil the life he built for himself. He...used to hit us. Me, and his girlfriend. She left, and then it was just me and him, and he started to drink.

“So pretty soon all the savings were gone. He died two years later and left me the house. I haven’t been back, since.” He stopped walking, squeezed his eyes shut and inhaled once, deeply. Instinctively, your arms wound around him, holding tight - a promise. You felt the press of his face in your shoulder. The cloth wet with tears.

“Sorry,” he said, backing away. He wiped at his eyes with his hands. “I might have ruined your shirt.”

You scoffed. “Like my shirt is more important.” You took his arm, the corners of your mouth lifting. “You’re okay now,” you said, reaching up to kiss his wet cheek.

“I am,” he said. “I’m more than okay. I’m happy.”

A bird fluttered overhead, and you broke away, watching its iridescent plumage as it disappeared into the trees. “Wait,” you said, drawing away from him and digging excitedly in your bag for the little guidebook you’d picked up at the beginning. You browsed the pages, searching for the picture that must be there. “Anna’s Hummingbird.”

“Did you know,” Jongin mused, his fingers caressing your cheek. “Hummingbirds symbolize the miracle that is love?”

“Are you saying what I think you’re saying, Kim Jongin?”

“I am,” he said, leaning in so his next exhale brushed your ear. “I love you. My soul loves yours.”

And if there was a harmony in the universe, you thought, if anything was truly meant to be, it was that moment.

The six of you sat around the table, your meal finished. You, Jongin, your dads, your sister and her husband, and Jongin’s friend, Taemin. Your hand was clutched tightly in Jongin’s beneath the table, fingers squeezing yours in comfort.

You drew in a breath to make your announcement. “I asked Jongin to marry me,” you said, and looked up at your family - they were all your family in some way or the other - to await their reaction. Jongin squeezed your hand again.

There was a moment of silence. All of them stared at you. “Well?” your Dad said, raising his brows expectantly.

“If I remember correctly, we both asked each other at the same time,” Jongin said, shy. “So, yes. Yes.”

The silence erupted into a mess of congratulations and effervescence. “This calls for drinks!” Baba flagged down a waiter. “I want the fanciest champagne you have.”

Jongin’s arm wrapped around you, holding you tight to his side. Embarrassed, you tucked your face into his chest to hide it. Everything felt surreal in a way - the haze of the lights, your faces lit up from the inside. You drowned yourselves in the elation, and next, the champagne, the night passing on in a flurry of conversation and laughter. You were content to keep your spot in Jongin’s embrace, and he was content to hold you, his hands tracing patterns down your arm.

Weddings were for other people, anyway.

The only other one who was quiet was your sister, though. She laughed along with the others when she needed to, but you saw it didn’t reach her eyes. Something was wrong, and Mark hadn’t noticed either. You didn’t want her to feel left out. It was one of the best days in your life, anyway. “Hey, Fee.”

She looked up, and when her eyes met yours, she gave you a genuine smile.

Satisfied, you smiled back, relaxing into Jongin again.

The night sky spread out before you, vast and encompassing. Out here the city lights were far off and you could follow the wash of the Milky Way as it wandered across the universe.

Your hand lay complacently in his, his thumb stroking lightly over your skin. The heat of his touch like a warm breeze, his presence beside you like a fire.

“That one looks a bit like a bird,” he said, pointing up at a constellation halfway to the horizon. You leaned your face close to his so you could see it from where he was, your cheeks almost touching, your breath mingling in the cold night.

“You're right,” you said. “I think it is a bird.” Even after you looked, you didn't move away from him. The sound of his breathing matched with yours. “I’ve read stories, you know,” you told him. “There were people who used the stars to predict their lives and find their soulmates. People who believed the constellations were once beings on Earth, and experienced a form of love so pure that they ascended to the heavens.” Even though there wasn't anyone around for miles, you still spoke quietly, in almost a whisper.

“Tell me one of the stories,” Jongin said, squeezing your hand once, twice, gently.

You let out a half sigh and moved even closer to him. “Which one do you want to hear - the twin brothers who live forever together? The archer and her lady? The tale of two lovers, separated for eternity by time?”

“The third one.” He turned over onto his side so he could watch you, his eyes in the dark just as deep and endless in the sky.

You swallowed. “It was an ancient folktale,” you began, “of two star-gods in love, their relationship forbidden by their positions in the sky.” You paused as Jongin reached up to stroke your hair. “The empress of heaven cursed the man to a lonely mortal life on earth. Somehow the woman found him and they started a life together, away from the eyes of the gods.

“When the empress found out, she banished them to positions on opposite ends of the sky and created the Milky Way in between, as a line they would never be able to cross.”

“Then?”

“Then when she saw them so upset at being torn apart the empress relented, and made it so that they could see each other once a year.”

“That’s sad,” Jongin said. “If I only saw you once a year, I would have no other reason to exist than to wait.”

“Me neither,” you agreed. “But I thought a lot about it when I first read the story. They were soulmates, so their love would never die. They were immortal, so a year went past in the blink of an eye.”

“But they were apart from each other. How could they agree to separate again every time?” He looked more troubled than he sounded.

“Well, they knew they would meet again for sure.” You sighed. “It’s different for us. We have a short time. We burn out quickly.” Propping yourself up on your elbow, you looked down at him. Saw the warmth in his eyes, the complete trust. “If two souls are joined, I don’t think they realize that they are apart.”

Jongin pulled you to him, holding you tight as the wind carried overhead. “I’m lucky, then,” he said. “I’m lucky that you’ll always be with me.”

“Come in,” you smiled, opening the door to reveal your sister. “It’s been so long since I’ve seen you, how have you been?’

“I’ve been all right,” she replied, nonchalantly - something you knew was a lie. You could see it in her face. The dark circles, the sallow, almost jaundiced skin. The flesh on her arms thin and loose, like they were filled with water. She was heavier than when you’d last seen her, at your unofficial engagement to Jongin, her torso odd and round in comparison to her bony limbs. An addiction was never kind to the body.

She sat uncomfortably on the couch, watching you as you locked the door behind yourself and headed to the small kitchen. “Tea? I have peppermint and rose,” you said.

“I’ll take peppermint,” she said lightly.

You hummed absently as you worked, placing water on the boil and taking the tea out from the shelf. “It’s really good to see you again, Fee.” You used your childhood nickname for her, the one she always hated but grew to love, when she moved away and you talked on the phone. “I’ve been missing something, I think you brought it back.”

She didn’t say anything. Just smiled, a little emptily. It felt odd, but she’d been strange since she had the miscarriage, so you passed it off as a nervous tic of sorts.

“How’s Mark?” you asked lightly, hoping it was safe to tread. Mark, her childhood sweetheart. They’d been together since high school. He had gone a little awry since then, though. You’d known he hit her ever since you discovered those bruises on her wedding day, and you knew she wasn’t happy when every time you saw her she seemed to grow even more distant.

But then her face lit up - the way yours did when you saw Jongin. And you wondered - no, it couldn’t be. You had seen her wrists. You had seen Mark’s wrist. There was nothing out of the ordinary.

Besides, soulmates didn’t break each other.

“He’s well,” she said. “We’re both improving. He’s just like he was, now, all romantic and everything. I feel like I have him almost back.” Then her face fell. “Almost,” she said sadly. “He still...drinks. He still spends too much on it. I’ve...I’ve seen him with other women, too. He treats them better than he does me.”

Then she was crying. Face ugly red and splotchy, tears running down her face and into her mouth. She reached her hand out to you and you took it, squeezing for comfort as she fell apart. “I feel so sorry for myself,” she choked into your shoulder. “I did this. Not him.”

She looked down, eyes unable to meet yours. You brushed her hair out of her face and gave her a kiss on the forehead. “I want what you have,” she whispered. “What you and Jongin have. It’s pure, like how Baba and Daddy love each other. Meant to be. I thought, once, we - Mark and I - were like that. When he started treating me bad I cried into my pillow and told myself that was love.”

You didn’t say anything, just continued petting her hair as she talked. “I want something real, so bad. It hurts.”

And then you thought, maybe the soulbond never truly was removed. Maybe the whole world was just searching for that tiny piece of their soul. Sometimes they filled the hole with another person: a lover, a friend, a sibling. Sometimes they filled it with work. Sometimes they washed the pain away with drink. Humanity had tried to destroy the thing that bound them to fate, and so people were left reaching out, always, for something to get rid of the emptiness. Maybe that was why people did bad things.

“I understand,” you murmured into her hair. She smelled like sweat and something sickly sweet, like medicine.

“Do you really, though?” The bitterness in her voice startled you. She blinked her eyes open.

You felt her freeze in your arms. Then slowly, very slowly, she inhaled. “I have to go.” She pulled away from you like she had touched something hot. Gathered her purse. “I have to go.”

She fumbled with the lock on the door, pulled it open. “Fee-”

“I’m sorry,” she said stiffly as she walked off. “I have to. I’ll see you soon.”

You watched the car as it pulled away, taking a piece of you with it.

It was dark when you heard the banging on the door. You roused yourself from where you lay, curled up against Jongin on the sofa as you watched the late-night programs on the TV.

“Who could it be?” you asked him, panicked, as you pulled your robe tighter around yourself.

“Go check, sweetheart,” he said reassuringly, but you saw and felt his unease too.

The banging continued. All you felt was sour, like something was about to go very wrong. Like every step you took towards the door was a mistake.

You reached for the door. Time froze. You saw Jongin get up and take a step toward you in your peripheral vision. Suddenly everything was sharp and in acute focus. The soft noise of the TV. The hum of crickets outside. The sound of Jongin’s footsteps as he came closer. “Babe?”

The door opened. Four men stood on your doorstep, dressed in navy jackets with a circle embossed on the breast pocket.

No.

“Take a step back, please, ma’am,” said the one in front. Then he reached for you, wrapping his arms painfully around your waist and holding you against the doorframe. The rest of them spilled forward to tackle Jongin. It happened so fast your head spun. “No!” you screamed, thrashing. “No!” The sound of your voice was shrill in the night. Across the street, a light flicked on.

He slammed your head into the doorframe. Your vision went black. “We would appreciate if you cooperated, ma’am.” You felt the tightness of bonds being wrapped around your arms behind your back. Somewhere far away, Jongin was crying your name. “Please!” You heard him yell, over and over. “Leave her alone! Leave her the fuck alone!”

“Stop,” you screamed. “Jongin-”

Your head slammed into the doorframe again. Stars burst across your vision. This time it stayed dark. You were shoved out the door harshly, the man holding your elbow in a way that made your shoulder scream in protest. You still couldn’t resist the urge to twist around and look at Jongin - the sheer pain in his eyes matched yours. He wasn’t tied yet, he was fighting, maybe he could do this, maybe you could both break free -

One of the men pulled out a Taser and shoved it into Jongin’s side. He fell to the ground, writhing. “No!” Your shout devolved into a mangled noise that came from deep inside of you. “No, Jongin-”

Then you felt the Taser against your skin, too. You jolted once, and fell.

You woke with a start in a hospital bed, the steady beeping of monitors surrounding you. A needle disappeared into the crook of your elbow, blood flowing into the tube and into a bag, already half full. You saw it and felt woozy.

For a minute you thought it was all a dream. That you had, perhaps, gotten into an accident of sorts and dreamed up the entire encounter.

Your free hand reached up to your head, and your fingers glossed over a lump of raw skin. The image of your head slamming into solid wood echoed in your mind. It had happened, after all.

The door swung open. A nurse - or someone who looked like a nurse - entered, her eyes betraying nothing. You tried to open your mouth, to shove out a question, but your throat was dry and raw. You gaped silently as she checked your monitor and then, without warning, pulled the needle from your arm. You winced, looking away as blood began to well up.

“Follow me,” she said curtly, and turned towards the door without waiting for you first. Unsteadily, you sat up. Swung your legs down to touch the floor, and, when you felt solid enough, stood up. Every part of you shook with the effort, but you made it to the door and out into the cold, austere hallway. You followed the nurse into an elevator, then down another hallway that turned too quickly for you to follow and remember.

She pushed open a door to reveal a dark room. As your eyes adjusted to the low light, you began to make out shapes: a low chair surrounded by machinery. The nurse prodded you forward and you sat down, feeling the cold metal flat against your legs and back. Burning. In front of you was a panel of dark glass.

“Close your eyes.” You did so, too weak, too terrified to struggle. There was the icy sensation of something being rubbed on the bare skin of your arms, then your forehead and neck. You felt the press of something sticky after that. Two things on either side of your soulmark, another on your forearm, three along your collarbone, a couple plastered on the back of your neck. Then a line of them, crossing your brow, and one on each temple. You peeked one eye open to see wires stemming from your arms.

It was every worst fear coming alive. They would tear the soulbond from your chest.

You heard the sounds of the nurse exiting the room and shutting the door, leaving you in pitch blackness. A low hum reached your ears, and the glass in front of you lightened enough that you could make out what was on the other side. The same chair, the same machine. The same body crawling with wires. A reflection. Except it was Jongin, not you.

You felt your heart cry out. You wanted to reach out to touch him, to break through the glass to his side and hold him. Something held you down, though, and you didn’t know whether it was a real force or not. A single tear cut down your face.

He still had his eyes closed. You weren’t sure whether he was drugged or asleep. His eyes didn’t open, not even when a dull voice spoke through hidden speakers. “Start.”

It was a buzz at first. An odd tingling that ran up and down your body like a wave of insects, that intensified to a seething, nearly-painful hum. You didn’t take your eyes off Jongin. You would get through this together. Your gaze stayed true, even as the hum escalated to a pulse that sent shocks shooting through all your nerves, hundreds of tiny stabbing pains that felt like you were being cut open from the inside out. Hands curling, muscles cramping painfully, eyes spasming. Still your stare didn’t wander. You watched him bucking in the chair like he was being thrown, and bit your lip so hard that you tasted blood.

You recognized the pain that came next, your mind flashing back to that one night of utter self-loathing that had made you try to burn off your soul mark. The feeling that was like a thousand knives pulling you open, holding you open, exposing everything you were for everything to see. And like before, you felt that mind-meld, the one that fused you and Jongin together until you were one being, one fury, one scream.

This time, you felt it shatter.

This time, you saw the connection break.

This time, you were lost to him forever.

“I’m going to say a name,” said the man, and looked over his clasped hands at you. “You are not going to react to it.”

You stared blankly ahead.

“Kim Jongin.”

Empty. Empty. Empty.

“Kim Jongin.”

Despite yourself, memories came to life in your head, your body filling with warmth. You flinched, trying to keep your expression from betraying you..

The shock in your wrist responded, and you choked out a scream, gasping for breath.

“Kim Jongin.”

You started to shake your head. Desperation gripped you, mingled with your absolute heartbreak, the fact that you loved him but could never be together again. The shock came back, stronger this time.

“Kim Jongin.”

Flinch. Zap.

“Kim Jongin.”

You couldn’t help your body from curling inward. Zap. Your eyeballs rolled back into your head. As everything faded to black, you heard him get up and stand over you.

“We’ll try this again some other time.”

You stared at the bandage on your wrist. Every time you pressed it, pain shot through your arm, even though when you had looked underneath the bandage all that faced you was smooth, spotless skin. It was almost time for you to go home. The nurse had said so when she’d brought in your meal, smiling cheerfully. You had smiled back, relieved. You’d been here for nearly a week now, and all you really wanted was to be back home, safe in your own place with your family.

You’d had an accident, they’d told you. You’d been mugged in an alley, the hit on your head resulting in a concussion that damaged your brain ever so slightly. “You’ll experience forgetfulness, dissociation, and you won’t have a very accurate perception of time,” your doctor had said. “You could also experience panic attacks and a revulsion towards certain things that you may have liked previously. I know it sounds serious, but you should be fine as long as you take it easy for a while.”

Then he’d put you on prescription medication, “something to help you focus a little better.” All you had to do was sign some papers, and you could be on your way.

When you made it down to the lobby, both your dads where there, worry evident on their faces, and relief, too. Your sister was nowhere to be found. Something in you twinged at the memory of your sister, of her last visit, shrouded in the haze that now accompanied most of your recent memories. Her, sick, pushing you away. You shook it off.

“My baby’s all right,” Baba said, pulling you to him tightly. You recognized the homecooked-food-and-old-cologne smell of him, and relaxed into his embrace. “I missed you,” he said, and then you were being pulled into a bear hug by your Dad. “My little girl. I’m so sorry.”

On the ride home they made small talk to keep you from drifting away.

“I’ll make hummus when we get home,” Baba said, “your favorite, with extra garlic. We’ll have a nice family reunion, the three of us. Movies and everything.”

“Sounds great, Baba,” you agreed, your gaze fixed out the window. You felt like you were missing something - though you were happy to see your dads again there was something gone. Was it the time apart, filled with worry, that was making them tread so carefully around you? Or something else - something you didn’t know?

You felt a headache coming on, so you popped open the bottle of pills, tipping one into your palm and swallowing it dry, and within a few minutes you felt the calm start to take over, bringing you back to that pleasant state of nothingness where you didn’t worry about anything or anyone at all.

You stood outside Books & Brimstone, staring up at the sign and the tall glass front like it would swallow you up at any moment. Your dads had suggested you stop wallowing around at home and visit this place again - apparently you had really enjoyed it before, but now you just felt a strange sense of apprehension that you couldn’t shake no matter how much you tried to bring back your happy - albeit blurry - memories of the place.

The aisles were more confusing than ever. You knew that you enjoyed thrillers and romance. But it was like knowing that things burnt if you heat them. Just a fact. Confused, you drifted listlessly, moving from one shelf to another, dragging your fingers along the spines of books, seeing if any of them jumped out at you. None did. The more you searched the more frustrated you became - what were you doing here? You didn’t remember why this place was so special to you, why your heart reached out to it even though your mind had set off warning bells in your head, telling you to leave. Tears rose in your eyes, unbidden, clouding your vision. You stumbled, catching yourself on something.

“Are you okay?” a voice asked, gently. You wiped your eyes and looked up. That face. With the sight came warmth and familiarity, feelings that were quashed with fear. Something was wrong, something was off about him.

You flinched away from him. “I’m okay. Sorry for bumping into you.”

“Hey, do I...do I know you from somewhere?” He closed the distance between you, reaching out but his hands never meeting with your skin. Confusion painted his features. “I’m Kim Jongin, if that helps.”

You did know him. But from where? From when? Why was your body resisting the memory, repressing it so much that you felt nauseous? “I - I don’t think so.” You crossed your arms tight over your chest, tilting your body away from him. “I have to go. Sorry.”

You turned and ran tail out of the bookstore, tears spilling down your cheeks again.

The last time you had seen your friends was before the accident, so long ago that you barely remembered the meeting. Your twenty-first birthday. After that you had drifted apart, moved to different corners of the city. Didn’t keep in touch. You were having another reunion, and at the same time you were nervous and excited. The first feelings you’d truly felt in a while.

You surveyed your appearance in the glass storefront before you pushed the door open. A new dress your sister and you had bought together. Simple jewelry, your best shoes. Makeup making you look like someone else. The skin on your forehead had healed into a flat scar. You looked fine - not at all like you’d been discharged from the hospital a few weeks prior.

That vacant look in your eyes couldn’t be helped, though. You had been taking your medication more and more frequently, the constant feelings of panic and uncertainty becoming too much to bear. Especially now that his face was imprinted in your mind. Him, through a haze of tears, looking just as confused as you felt. You knew that face, knew that voice, and yet couldn’t place it. So you doubled your dosage and spent your time in a daze where you couldn’t be bothered to think at all.

Entering the restaurant, you looked around and spied the large group gathered in the corner. “Hey, right on time,” your friend said as you pulled out your chair and sat down, smiling shyly around the table and ducking your gaze. “We heard about your accident, but your dads said you needed rest, so we couldn’t come to visit you. Are you all right now?”

“I’m fine,” you said quietly. “I’m recovered now.” You tried to smile wider, tried to convince them that you were back to normal.

Then your gaze flicked up and landed on him.

“Have you met Jongin?” said another of your friends. “He’s my co-worker. He knows a few of us already, so I invited him. Jongin, this is the friend I was telling you about. She had an accident around the same time you did.”

Your mind started reeling, but you put on a pleasant smile as you introduced yourself. You didn’t speak to him the whole time, pointedly ignoring his attempts to talk to you and only nodding politely when you and he happened to be included in the conversation. But here and there, you felt his eyes on you. Watching like he was trying to unravel you. It made you feel both wary and intrigued.

There was something about him.

He stopped you at the door as your group left. “You know, I was wondering if I might, uh, spend some more time with you?”

You tucked a loose piece of hair behind your ear, watching worriedly as your friends got further away. “I’m not so sure,” you muttered.

“Give me a chance,” he pleaded. “I feel drawn to you, I don’t know why. I just want to figure it out.” When you didn’t reply, he pressed forward. “Just one date, please.”

As much as you felt apprehensive, you had to admit you wanted to figure out this mess, too. “Okay, one date. I’ll meet you at Riverside tomorrow night, eight o’clock, and we can talk.”

His face brightened, eyes crinkling as he smiled wide. “Thanks. I’ll be there.”

You made sure you were there first, waiting at a table that had a good view of the front of the restaurant. Riverside was a slightly posh diner, a preferred location for dates, impersonal yet still comfortingly classic.

He showed up a few minutes past 8, not looking in the least bothered. The second he walked in he spotted you, eyes lighting up, and wound through the tables to where you sat.

“Hi,” he said.

“Hi,” you replied, looking down at the table. He laughed, then, a short sound that still managed to stir a fluttering in your stomach.

You ordered dinner, something generic, not really thinking it over. He watched you carefully, a curious glint in his eyes, like he felt you might just get up and run away at any moment.

“Can I tell you something?” he asked when your plates arrived. You nodded, and he opened his mouth, pausing to think. “I think...something’s different about you. You’re like a magnet for me. I can’t stop thinking about you, about your face, about what it must be like to love you…” His face shifted and suddenly he was sad. “But...every time I think about you, my body rebels. It tells me you’re not good for me, that I should stay away. I don’t understand it at all.”

You kept your gaze on his hands where they rested on the tablecloth. “Please tell me you feel the same way. Please tell me I’m not alone, that I’m not going crazy.”

“You’re not,” you said quietly, finally meeting his eyes. “You’re not.”

“Do you feel like this too? Like nothing you know can possibly be right?”

Tears stung, threatening to spill down your cheeks. “I do,” you choked out. “It feels so wrong, yet so right at the same time. You’re a stranger to me, Jongin. I don’t know you. I’m scared of you.” You looked away, almost ashamed. “I’m scared of you, but my heart still wants you.”

He let out a long sigh. Then his fingers inched across the table so they met yours. “Maybe we can try,” he breathed. “Maybe we can love. Overcome whatever this is.”

Your heartbeat picked up, thumping until you could feel it in every inch of your veins. “Together,” you said.

“Together,” he agreed.

The explanation came, a few weeks later, in the letter from your sister. You had wondered why she hadn’t just told you in person, but as you read, and things fell into crystal clear focus, you realized that you had been torn from her long ago.

My dear sister,

I hope when you read this that you don’t hate me. Anything but that. I hope you can forgive me, because what I did was irredeemable, but I know you. I know you are good inside. I hope you can find it in you to forgive and forget me, even if I can never see you again.

It was selfish. You know how broken I was from the years of abuse and grief, from the sickness and the addiction. I wasn’t in my right mind. I saw what you had and I wanted it so bad that I couldn’t think straight. I was consumed with jealousy and it ate me up and turned me into someone I never thought I would become. Then I saw your soulmark, and I figured it out. I thought that if I couldn’t have that love, you didn’t deserve it either. So I took it away and I ruined you.

It was the vilest thing I could ever do and I am so so sorry. You don’t deserve to have someone as wretched as me in your life. You’re a good soul, one of the best I’ve known. You deserve every wonderful thing in the world. Including him. Especially him. I can’t believe I was so desperate that I would forget my love for you and take your life away, when all I have ever wanted was to protect you and make you happy.

So I hope you find love again. I hope when you make peace with things and that the universe rights itself again and you find him. I hope you live long and happy. Even if you can’t forgive me, I want you to enjoy your existence and never suffer again. I want you at peace.

Love, always and forever, your sister

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tophatal · 7 years

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Dead On Arrival (DOA), An Autopsy Worth Waiting For Or Was It ? …

Was there really anyone expecting the NBA Finals to be truly competitive ? The first three games of the series were simply a precursor of what the fans were to expect over the course of the series. Kevin Durant led the Golden State Warriors to their second NBA title in the past three seasons . Durant was one of the primary factors behind the his team’s victory , but what should not be overlooked , were the defensive capabilities shown by the Warriors who completely outplayed during this series. Opposing head coaches , Steve Kerr of Golden State and Tyronn Lue of the Cavaliers matched wits, but it became clear , Lue was not the equal of his Warriors’ counterpart.

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The fallout now begins, as fans and analysts begin to question how and why LeBron James was not able to lead Cleveland passed their Western Conference foes. One thing became abundantly clear, the Golden State Warriors were not going to allow the officials to dictate this series , as they were able to do last season during the NBA Finals , when the ejection of Draymond Green turned the tables and ” gifted ” the title to the Cleveland Cavaliers. For LeBron James , a career littered with firsts , he added another to his career by become the first player in NBA history to be on the losing side in five NBA Finals’ series . Questions will be asked as to what went wrong and why . The first of which , who is to blame and is this Cavaliers’ team in its current guise as good as advertised ? Clearly not, after this staggering series’ loss , where the four games lost by the Cleveland Cavaliers were by double-digits and where on one of those games , James accounted for almost half of the team’s turnovers.

Personally, I feel Cleveland’s front office led by GM David Griffin acquiesced to far too many of James’ needs as to how the roster was built to complement LeBron James’ skill-set for this regular season and Playoffs. Seasoned veterans such as Kyrie Irving , Deron Williams , Kevin Love and Kyle Korver were basic no-shows during the series. However , it should be noted when you play in a mediocre conference where you’re barely tested over the regular team schedule , you simply know that the team is likely to be exposed once they get to the NBA Finals , as was the case here against the Golden State Warriors.

It will be interesting to see what decisions could very well be made during the off-season and if David Griffin will allow LeBron James will have a major say, as to which players he would ultimately see signed by the franchise as free agents. Cleveland finds itself in a non too enviable position and will likely to shed one or two of their high-priced players on the roster to make way for a big-money signing .

Kevin Durant having won his first NBA title as well as being named Finals’ MVP has to feel vindicated in his decision to leave the Oklahoma City Thunder to join the Golden State Warriors. It was a shrewd decision by front office executives Jerry West and GM Bob Myers to lure Durant, while players Steph Curry , Klay Thompson and Draymond Green were all able to play a role in Durant’s acquisition. During this off-season , I believe Golden State will be looking to bolster the roster and I certainly believe they will remain the team to beat within the West as they have been over the last three seasons. Team co-owners Joe Lacob and Peter Guber , successful businessmen in their own right have been able to defer all business matter and personnel decisions to a front office staff which is truly exceptional in its own right , with their biggest asset being their Hall of Famer Jerry West.

While people continue to talk about dynasties and rivalries within the NBA, I believe these are now things of the past , as free agency has simply impaired that entire premise. The last great rivalry seen in this league came at the height of prosperity seen with the Boston Celtics’ and Los Angeles Lakers’ days , which are now long-gone . The only way is now up for the Golden State Warriors and for their fans they are now relishing being on top of the world . A second NBA title in three years and every possibility they are likely to go unchallenged over the next few years. Kevin Durant , Steph Curry and Klay Thompson complement each other well enough for me to believe this team in its current guise is far better than the Miami Heat team which had the triumvirate of LeBron James , Chris Bosh and Dwyane Wade . The trio would begin to go their separate ways after James’ relationship with Heat President Pat Riley was soured , because of their respective egos and losing sight of their alleged ambitions.

LeBron James being the superstar that he is , puts his own ambitions above all else in his zest to win and be accepted, but unfortunately , it is to the detriment of others , in particular the organization , namely the Cleveland Cavaliers. And while I agree there is blame to be passed around , I can’t help but feel , the front office of the franchise is now at a loss as to what else they can and need to do .

If the future looks somewhat dim for the Cleveland Cavaliers, then imagine the situation now unfolding with the New York Knicks under the leadership of their erstwhile executive Phil Jackson . The time has now come , where we have to stop reveling in what Jackson has been able to achieve on the court as a basketball head coach and look at his ever-growing failures as an NBA Executive . It has become abundantly clear , that he could not spot talent , were he aided in his quest with a box of Crayola and blotting paper . Other than Kristaps Porzingis , his draft choices and player acquisitions for the Knicks have been an absolute ‘ bust’ . This wasn’t a team built to win , but merely to stay afloat , as has been the way with the organization over the past six seasons under the helm of owner James Dolan , who actually continues to put profits above the team’s competitiveness.

There continues to be discontent and dissension within the New York Knicks’ organization and it has become increasingly clear that among the playing staff , all is not well. I believe Jeff Hornacek and his entire coaching staff are completely out of their depth and that’s Phil Jackson’s zeal for the continued archaic ‘ Triangle Offense’ is another one of the reasons why the Knicks failed so miserably last season. The team’s record was a true reflection of what they have become, unimportant and absolutely redundant .

The NBA needs a competitive league and most certainly a competitive Eastern Conference and most definitely a conference that stand on its own against its Western counterpart. I cannot see this happening anytime soon , because the players are simply not that good !

If NBA Commissioner Adam Silver is hoping fans will be entertained in the coming years , then he had better hope the quality of the players being drafted from among the College Ranks will be as good as advertised . There appears to be a great deal of hype over Lonzo Ball and the possibility of his being taken as the number one overall pick in the upcoming NBA Draft . I certainly don’ t believe Danny Ainge and the Boston Celtics’ front office will be going that route when the decision is made. From my own perspective , the risks far outweigh the alleged advantages which Ball is said to have. La Var Ball , father of the young UCLA basketball prodigy has courted continued controversy , with outlandish demands and statements concerning his son. It remains to be seen where the player is taken in this Draft, but if the rumors are to be believed , then Ball could very well end up remaining instate and playing for the Los Angeles Lakers. Team executives Magic Johnson and Lakers’ GM Rob Pelinka have been heaping a great deal of praise on Lonzo Ball, but given the Lakers’ continued misfires with their draft picks over the last six years , I am not expecting the young phenom to set the NBA alight.

Los Angeles Lakers’ fans are certainly hoping for the franchise to return to former glories of the past , but I feel under Luke Walton and the roster in its current guise , they will remain at least three years away from being competitive enough to challenge the best the Western Conference has to offer as well as the rest of the NBA. Luke Walton can only hope that there will be a marked improvement from the team . Hopes of acquiring a big-time marquee free agent appears to be a long shot , especially when you consider the makeup of the roster isn’t that great.

Tiger Woods and Phil Mickelson will be missing from the list of competitors competing at the US Open being held at Erin Hills (GC) , Erin Hills , Wisconsin, beginning on the June 15th, 2017. Woods’ withdrawal was to be expected , with the former world number one , having not competed in an officially sanctioned PGA Tour Event in 2017. Mickelson’s absence was announced in advance , when he informed the PGA and USGA of his intent, citing his wish to be at his daughter’s graduation. With two of golf’s most recognizable faces missing from the second Grand Slam Major of the season , it will be interesting to see which player from the field will rise to the occasion .

There can be no denying Tiger Woods has been his own worst enemy for the better part of two years , having not won a tournament of a top-ten finish of any kind anywhere in the world. Woods’ off the course issues have been well-chronicled alongside his current addiction to prescriptive medication. From my own perspective , I do not believe he has the ability to win another Grand Slam Tournament and he is unlikely to surpass the eighteen career Grand Slam victories recorded by Jack Nicklaus .

While I believe Phil Mickelson enjoys being on a golf course and competing , I believe the player no longer relishes tournament play as much he would like us to believe. He has come through some emotional trauma of his own , his wife’s cancer scare, as well his own medical issues , which are ongoing and having taken a physical toll on his body. Mickelson has amassed a sizable fortune while still being among the highest paid golfers in the world.

It should prove interesting , seeing whether or not a top-ten player from the rankings will be crowned the 2017 US Open Champion at the tournament’s climax on Sunday evening . First-round leader Rickie Fowler has a great deal to prove and would undoubtedly like to show many of his contemporaries that he should be considered among the best of the players currently on the PGA Tour.

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What to your mind has or was the biggest disappointment during the regular season and NBA Playoffs ? Also, do you believe that the US Open will provide a great deal of excitement as the tournament continues ?

Tophatal ……….. 06/13/2017

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