↳ Choices we’re bound to make in life don’t always turn out well, and you would have to learn that the hard way, maybe should you have listened to your sister when she tried to dissuade you from marrying a man that you didn’t know, as charming as he might seem.
“You should smile a bit more, it’s supposed to be the best day of your life after all.” You spoke in a low voice, finally breaking the silence.
“Of our life,” corrected your interlocutor. “But you you’re not smiling either.”
“I’ve got a veil over my head, if you hadn’t noticed. Everyone doesn’t have your hawk eyes.”
You slowly turn towards him, scrutinising the outlines of his silhouette through the mesh of tissue separating you from the world. His eyes were riveted on the assembly in front of you, his opalescent irises visibly sensitive to the faintest visual stimulus. You couldn’t perceive all the details of his face, but you could see enough to discern the frustrated look he wore: frowned eyebrows, casting a gloomy darkness over his eyes. You could also guess, through the contrast of colors, the line formed by his pursed lips, a downcast concave arc, only affirming the moroseness decorating his sweet thing of a face.
A sigh escapes from your mouth. This wasn’t at all how you imagined the course of things. You even came to wonder whether or not he’d get rid of you as soon as possible, relieving himself of all the responsibilities that cumbered him because of you. You could already kiss goodbye your plans of all-inclusive family protection.
It was patent, at the end of every round from the clock’s arrows, that silence was getting heavier, weighting more and more on your shoulders. You tried to lure your mind by confusing on the surrounding banalities, ears stretched towards the laughter and joyous voices of good conduct and anecdotes. Through the cacophony, you made out the sound of clanking glasses with each other, probably coming from friends that had nothing to do with the traditionalism of his clan. Thinking about it, it might have been your mannerless sister who was pouring the sake, or champagne; there was no way of knowing.
You, as well as your parents, had greatly apprehended Yuki’s behaviour during this ceremony. It a wedding as traditional as could be, with its fervent conservatives that never missed their duty in badmouthing mores and old-fashioned customs. In your misery, you could at least agree with the fact that they didn’t try to hide things from you, from the outfit worn by your in-laws on the day you’d met them, to the indecent number of tailors, florists, and seniors that had come to help you prepare for this day; but that didn’t make the greatness of things any less grand.
“Can you see anything with that on your head?” Your spouse’s voice startles you out of your thoughts. You didn’t really expect him to engage in conversation with you, not after the cold reply that he’d served you earlier.
You slowly put your left hand on the floor, tilting towards him, getting a semblance of balance. You could feel that he didn’t want to raise his voice more than this or to attract more attention towards the both of you, but this silence probably bothered him too. In fact, he was known for being a joyful person, a happy-go-merry lad who always had the right word to ease the atmosphere. Even though, believing Utahime’s words, he sometimes gave in to arrogance and disdain, playing with his “victim’s” fears and weaknesses.
You had five long years to face your responsibilities, taking the first train and breaking the wall that you’d built between the two of you by refusing to meet him; but for several reasons, you never had the courage to do so. And what you refused to admit, whether to yourself or to those who incited you to take action, was that Gojo Satoru scared you. You’d never met two persons that said the same thing about him, sometimes he was a progressive, other times a bloodthirsty manipulator. One day he had a big heart, another day he showed himself to be devoid of any trace of humanity. And you dreaded which facet he’d wear with you, he too had been forced into this, what would hold him back from hating you?
“Not really,” you whisper to him. “Just shadows.”
He then mirrored your posture by landing his hand close to yours, reducing the sparse space between you even more. Seen from afar, one could almost think of you as accomplices; head against head, confiding in each other. You were now so close that you could feel his scent teasing your nostrils, deliciously masculine and intoxicating. You could easily get used to it, to this scent on your clothes as well as on your skin.
“So why are you wearing it?” He asked.
“For tradition, I suppose.”
A silence even more awkward than before fell soundlessly between you. You felt your veil’s tissue moving from the breath he’d just let out before hearing him clearing his throat, eyes lost once again into the crowd.
“So you’re like this…” He concludes.
“You know nothing about me.” You shot back.
“That’s funny, because if you hadn’t systematically refused to meet me, I could have known you,” He paused, probably thinking that you were nothing more than a capricious brat that said things, accepted circumstances without ever embracing the consequences.
You were both under the yoke of this inquisition, neither of you was happy about ending up bound to the other, but he had done things for you. When Yuki solicited him, he hadn’t hesitated for even a second to postpone the wedding even though he had nothing to gain from it, on the contrary. He had pulled, pulled and pulled more on the strings held in hands to arrange this little princess, frail and fragile, that he had to marry just for her to end up not even deigning to meet him.
A voice in your head screamed at you to open up to him, to trust him, but would he really understand? Could a man that had everything ever understand a woman that had lost everything? Once again, your fear paralysed you. You didn’t know whether he’d hear you out, listen to you, or simply take what comforted him in his image of you; an image that didn’t seem all that glorious in your eyes.
“I have my reasons.” A short but curt reply.”
“And you don’t think that five years were largely enough to share them with me? We’re going to live together and build a family. From today on, your name is Gojo,” He reminded you.
“Do you understand the scope of things at least?” Before he could even notice, he had raised his tone, making you slightly push away from him, straightening up into your initial position.
You cast your eyes to the ground, almost ashamed. It had been barely five minutes since you started talking and here you were already being nagged. He didn’t think that you could grasp the extent of your responsibilities, of all the sacrifices that you had to make for him. To be honest, he wasn’t wrong, at least not entirely. You didn’t resist the idea of your husband being a man feared by society, he was dangerous, and didn’t let himself be controlled by anyone. And deep down, you respected this side of him, having witnessed first handedly the drifting of society within which you lived. But what you couldn’t imagine for now, was to what lengths this same society, without mentioning heads nor names, was ready to go to break your husband. You could easily conceive the stratagems crafted in an attempt to maintain him out of harm’s way as well as their potential repercussions, but your mind couldn’t accept that one could sacrifice lives just to protect a so-called balance. Gojo knew it. He had paid the price, even, and he almost had pity in the fact that you were unconsciously putting yourself under the spotlights. It was as though you had launched yourself in a hunting party, loaded with weapons but having forgotten the munitions.
Your reaction had somehow caught him off guard since he didn’t want to intimidate you or instigate a relationship of dominant and dominated. He looked at your small hand, still poised close to his, before mumbling something then carelessly getting closer to you. He put the palm of his hand over the back of yours before delicately sliding the pad of his fingers over the length of your arm. Without understanding much as to why, your hairs stood on end, the touch of his skin still burning over yours. He seized your arm as gently as he could before pulling you towards him, recreating a semblance of intimacy.
“I’ll never hurt you. All I ask of you is to trust me, otherwise it would have all been in vain.” He said softly.
He was right, and even if it would be difficult, you had to trust him if you wanted to gain any advantage you sought. Your eyes focused on the sole thing that you could see, your small hand on the floor and the ring that now crowned your finger. A resplendent diamond that his mother had offered you during your first encounter, a mother that loved her son. A mother that wanted to protect her son at all cost, but who wasn’t ready to sacrifice a life in order to save another, no matter how much she wanted to.
“I’ll do everything in my power to make this marriage work, but I need time…”
“To?” He waited for you to respond.
“To…” While searching for your words, you slowly realised that you were formulating answers to questions you were never able to ask yourself, thus re-establishing some order into the maze within which had morphed your mind along the years.
Your eyes slowly started to water, tears clenching an invisible vice around your throat, thus holding back the words that you were ready to confess. It was no secret, you needed time to learn to do things right, to learn how to avoid being clumsy. You wanted to pull down your cocoon, to squander your shell and let him breathe some of your air; that’s what he seemed to expect from you, and the price was worth it. But a restrain, call it the blacksmith’s life, firmly held onto the leash that you were trying to let go of.
He seemed to understand that it wouldn’t be today that you’d play cards on the table, maybe it was because of the melancholy that he could read in your face when you turned your head towards him, or maybe the weak shrug of your shoulders as you moved; whatever it was, he clearly understood that it would be meaningless to push this conversation any further. You were already on the verge of tears, and even if it were customary for a woman to cry on her wedding day, he was ready to put money on the fact that it was for entirely different reasons. He now needed to find a way to clear the overly morose air and lift your lips upward.
“Did you know that they served whiskey during traditional weddings?” He asked out of the blue, wiping off your mournful expressing and replacing it with a gigantic question mark.
“Really? Since when?” You answer, totally confused.
“Since a few hours ago apparently, I hope for you that she knows how hold her liquor.”
Who the hell was he talking about? But to your horror, you didn’t know many people who had so little respect for traditions, one of them being less than 10 centimetres away from you.
“Please, tell me it’s not Yuki…” Your eyes widened.
“Alright, I won’t say it,” he taunted you by lifting a hand in the air.
Once again, you had the urge to take a shovel and dig what would soon become your grave, far from the prying eyes, probably heavy with judgment, and the shame that you felt. You and your parents had spent hours and hours trying to convince her to adopt, for even one day, the politically correct, given that it would end up with repercussions on your person. The most annoying part in all of this was that at the time, she seemed to show signs of comprehension and to accept to behave decently. Niet. Tsukumo Yuki would only ever do what she pleased, it was almost a fatality.
His shoulder made contact with yours in a light manner, eyes full of satire. You could finally see the childish side of Gojo Satoru, slowly uncovering right in front of your eyes. Utahime has probably gone through all different shades of suffering to call him an idiot -along with many other names. But in your case, it didn’t really bother you all that much, you even enjoyed this kind of teasing, as long as you could distinguish his intentions. And if, just like in this moment, it was devoid of any perverse motive, you could probably get used to it.
You decide to reciprocate the movement, colliding your shoulder to his forearm, unable to touch his shoulder due to the height difference. He could easily discern the slight frown of your brows when a little laugh escaped from his mouth: there he was mocking you! You didn’t wait before riposting, your little fingers were already fraying a path on his arm before pinching him, showcasing how if he didn’t want to end up as blue as smurf, he’d better avoid making any remarks about your small stature.
“If it’s any comfort, long drinks of water aren’t really my thing.”
“I’ll make sure to tell Yuki.”
“Could it be possible to buy your silence? Mochis? Maybe a pet?”
“You’re scared of my sister? Really?” Now, this was interesting.
“Me? Of course not, come on.” He denied immediately. “I’m just looking for a way to fill my role as a husband and offer you things, tinker bell told me that you had a hard time accepting gifts. I’ll gladly admit, though, that your sister isn’t the type of person one would want on their back.”
“They say the same about you.” You retorted.
“I’m the strongest, after all.” His voice held an aura of pride.
You softly blow from the nose, he was without a doubt the most powerful exorcist of your generation— since many years now. But hearing this affirmation, pronounced in such a laidback way, and with so much confidence; it was funny. He grimaced before clicking his tongue.
“Does my wife doubt me?” He continues.
Hearing him say that so offhandedly made the blood rush up to your cheeks, reminding you that your discussion wasn’t one that two friends would have around a meal. It was that of young married couple, that was supposed to create bonds stronger than sickness, misery and misfortune. He was your husband and you had to get used to it.
“Your wife finds you a bit too full of yourself.” You said teasingly.
“Until proven otherwise, you haven’t answered my question.” He replied without missing a beat.
You took a long inhale, you didn’t want to play hard to get and say that you didn’t believe him to be so strong, just because you didn’t believe it. But you also didn’t want to go with his flow, a little something in his voice hinted that he was enjoying this little play, and you were ready to entertain.
“I know the man I’m marrying.”
“At the risk of disappointing you, I don’t think you know me all that well. But I can’t really blame you, at least not for this, right?” He asked you while switching positions.
He was now half stretched out, his right arm behind your back. His head was at your shoulder’s level, and he didn’t hesitate long before lying on it, appreciating the softness of your kimono’s material.
The soft breeze of the afternoon was playing with the tissues and strands of hair, spinning them at Aeolus’ will. Usually, you’d enjoy the zephyr’s breath, dry and hot weathers weren’t really your cup of tea. However, you found it more annoying than anything else, at this very moment, and your partner seemed to be of the same opinion. Your veil threatened to fly away at any moment now, forcing you to hold it down between your little fingers. Gojo, for his part, had to puff it away each time a piece came free and obstructed his sight, which happened quite often given his posture.
“Your wife only asks to know you, then.” You said softly.
Your reply caught him off guard, he lifted his eyes towards you, tilting his neck even more. You suspected that he was trying to take advantage of the wind, waiting for the moment when your veil would lift to give him a direct view at your face. So you grab as much tissue as possible before pulling it towards yourself, obliterating the smallest of openings to his great disappointment. A chuckle escaped your lips as you heard the small groan of frustration he emitted, to be honest, you were even proud.
“Alright, alright. I’ve been uncovered.” He said begrudgingly.
“Patience is a virtue, Gojo.” You reminded him.
“Virtue that seems to be lacking, Tsukumo. Come on! Which wise head had the bright idea of putting a veil on a woman for her wedding day. Who knows what could be hidden under this-” He pointed to the veil, “-I mean, I wouldn’t dare imagine how many men found themselves stuck with plain Janes because of this stupid tradi- everything alright?”
He laid his worried gaze on your small trembling figure. In fact, your shoulders were shaking frantically, as though fed on a supercharged battery. It was unseemly to burst into laughter during overly crowded ceremonies, whatever the nature of the ceremony in question, and so this was why you were trying your utmost to refrain the fit of laughter that was ready to take over. One could even wonder if Gojo ever heard himself talk, or if he even realised how absurd he could sound.
He frowned, understanding the reason of your current physical state then he pushed you, pretending to be offended. “And here she’s mocking me!”
“You just called me a plain Jane!” You add while mimicking his gesture.
“Absolutely not, I’m just saying that some have eh…less luck than others. You don’t think that I’m right, not even a bit?” He cocked his head a little.
You had to admit that even in his stupidity, there was a certain foundation basis. You doubted that the problem to him wasn’t a piece of tissue but rather the instrumentality of a bond meant to be sacred. There shouldn’t be anything cumbering someone to bound themselves forever to someone they didn’t know. It was a liberticidal and medieval practice, that even if in certain circumstances would end into something beautiful, mostly caused more pains than gains. And you couldn’t help but think that in every case where an arranged marriage worked, the merit always went to the husband who was more obliging than he ought to be. Especially in your case, in a field where love seemed to have no importance.
“Of course-”
“See! I’m always right,” He cuts you off.
You rolled your eyes before pulling more material from your veil toward yourself, tightening your grip on the space between your neck and face.
“Even so, that’s not a reason for me to let you feast your eyes. Plus, isn’t your your six eyes supposed to let you see everything?” You asked.
“It’s more complicated than that, I’ll explain one day, promise. In the meantime, I believe it’s time. Do you have the rings?”
His question was only met with confusion. “Which rings? I have no…”
“You forgot our wedding rings? “ He asked incredulously.
“What?! But I wasn’t the one supposed to bring them! No one told me!”
Not quite sure of what to do, you started to wiggle left and right, to and fro, as though your body was trying to invoke the jewels. You were hoping that your sister would notice the agitation and fly to your rescue, like she always did, but how to know if you had the attention of anyone when you couldn’t even see to more than 10 centimetres? But you were quickly cut in your movement by a big hand tapping on your thigh several times, making you regain your calm.
“Now, now, I’m kidding! They’re with your sister,” he articulates between two laughs. If he wanted to embarrass you, then he clearly succeeded.
Your only response was to hit his palm with yours several times, without much force to inflict any pain but rather to showcase how lame you found his joke.
Gojo freed your thigh before finally getting up, the rustling of tissues indication movement. He smiled to several people before beckoning Yuki. This kind of ceremony could and should normally last way longer than this. But this pack of apparent hypocrisy and false courtesy annoyed him enough to cut it short.
“Hey lovebirds, I hope you’re not too bored over here.” She says, overjoyed, before throwing a small box toward your spouse, he thanks her with a wink.
“Yuki,” you say once you recognise her, your joy more than evident.
She grasped you by the shoulders before turning your around, your back now to the crowd, shielded from the indiscrete eyes of the guests- as well as Gojo’s. Yuki put a knee on the floor before bending the tip of the veil still on top of your head before pulling it over, sliding hers under. It was impossible to talk with all these people around, yet she had a solution to everything.
“Nice one-on-one, right?” She teased while sticking her forehead to yours.
“I can hear them berate from here, you shouldn’t do this.”
“That’s Gojo grumbling because he can’t be in my shoes.” She said with raised voice.
“So, how are things? Everything okay?” She asked. That was a good question, to which you had no real answer. To be completely honest, you’d learnt to detach yourself from reality, to be a spectator in your own life rather than the actress. If you couldn’t always decide, then you’d rather not suffer. So you played the role you were assigned, you sang your opera till the curtains fell, away from the indiscrete gazes and breakable hearts. But not wanting to worry your sister, you just lie, one more time.
“Oh yes, yes. Everything’s for the best, don’t worry. He, however, is starting to lose patience I think.” You replied finally.
“Gojo? He was born with an eye on the watch, it’s out of his control. Good luck bearing with him, sis,” she commiserates satirically.
“I can hear you,” he throws in, busy smoothing down his clothes, tired of sitting down.
Yuki waved her hand in a way that says to shut up, not caring about what he could hear or think. All that she cared about at this moment was to know that you weren’t regretting anything, and that if deep down you wished to cancel this wedding but didn’t dare to say it, ashamed or scared of disappointing. She locked her gaze abnormally serious into yours, she was trying to spot any hint of unease, after all, eyes were truly the mirror of the soul. But to her great disappointment, she couldn’t see anything; your usually sparkly irises, were wan, pale and empty, devoid of any emotion. She could see neither joy nor pain, neither regret nor apprehension; absolute void. She wasn’t really sure whether what she was looking for was more worrying than what she’d found.
However, Yuki knew that questioning you or trying to make your spill the beans would be in vain, a little sister even more closed off than herself. So she shut up, tucked her worries in before landing a soft kiss on your forehead, a kiss meant to be reassuring, slowly murmuring that whatever happened, she’d forever be by your side. She stepped away and put back the white lace over your face before throwing a small velvety box toward Gojo, a box that he effortlessly caught mid-fly. He thanked her with the back of his hand before she got up, decolonizing the nuptial space that was meant for you and your spouse and returned to your parents, leaving you along once again.
“The priest is here, let’s get up.” He lends you his hand so you can stand up.
You put your small fingers in his big palm, squeezing it while hoping that it’d be enough for you to straighten up. That said, your kimono was quite tight due to the enormous amount of clothes under it, and you couldn’t bend your knee correctly to get up, thus losing your balance. You almost kissed the floor if it weren’t for Gojo who’d leaned toward you in order to hold you up discretely.
His hand was on your hip, while you grabbed onto both of his forearms, unconsciously digging your nails into his flesh. You could feel his hot breath on your forehead, then his head tilted down, his lips were now closer to the lines of your ear.
“Everything good?” He whispered before letting you go, having made sure that you weren’t about to fall once more.
You nodded timidly, still under the effect of the close proximity, so new and so sudden. Being this small- smaller than you’d imagined, your head ended up on his collarbone, the part of his body that wasn’t covered by the outfit. If it weren’t for the veil, your lips would have been directly in contact with his skin, this thought alone created a sort of uneasiness inside of you. It reminded you of the day when your uniform had ripped off, showing off your belly as well as a part of your chest, under the stupefied gaze of a certain Zenin.
He then gets away from you, trying to get into a respectable distance from your body (he probably thought that you were uneasy because of the physical contact with a stranger) but close enough for his stretched arms to reach for you.
You didn’t understand what was going on until the deafening silence draped the crowd that uttered neither words nor agitation. So straightened up, straight as a stick while facing your spouse who snorted before putting his hand on the small of your back, hinting that you should turn around toward the priest instead of him. You pinned as good as you could, delicately moving your feet as little as possible, in order to be in the best position.
“Sit down,” the holy man indicates.
“We’re gonna stay up, that will make things faster.” Gojo said coolly.
The priest, knowing whom he was facing, didn’t insist more than that, fearing the consequences. Even though, deep down, you knew that Gojo would never go that far, these brief moments made you realise the scope of what the strongest could inspire in others. Disaster, desolation and misfortune must be all that he left behind; he had to feel quite lonely, in the end.
You could easily guess the movements of the man before you, he practiced the rites with great meticulousness, carrying out all these ancestral rituals of purification, or benediction, you never really understood all the flights of fancy. To be more precise, you never really tried to understand; to you, marriage was simply done to tell others that two persons were bound, surely not to get any sort of benediction. And you also didn’t think that a ceremony had any specific value within the couple: its solidarity, its longevity and its purity only depended on the commitment that the married couple was ready to pour in, not of some bowl of holy sake.
The psalms resonating in your ears were incredibly intoxicating. The procession of litanies was probably used to bring joy and benediction to your union before the gods. Even though you didn’t believe more than that, they managed to appease your soul and to put the flames consuming you to sleep. This spiritual atmosphere calmed you down more than you’d like to admit, “So that’s why there were so many believers in the world?”
Then the priest poured a bowl of sake that he extended to your spouse. If your memory weren’t failing you, it was the key moment of every shinto marriage. He lifted the little porcelain utensil to his lips, before taking three successive sips. The priest served his liquor one more time, this one for you.
You lifted your veil enough to reveal your lips before taking the bowl, not without struggle. Noticing your unease, Gojo, gentleman that he could be, relieved you of task so that you could lift the china with both hands, gripping the front of the veil, lifting it forward, enough for you to drink at ease, three sips too. You handed the bowl to the priest so that he can fill it once more, then Gojo drinks a second time, thus sealing your fates forever.
Then came the moment that you were looking forward to the most, and that made it so your spouse couldn’t stay put: the ring exchange. You could see his immaculate teeth through the mesh of your lace, telling you long and wide about the smile engraved on his face. What a brat.
Wearing the veil had nothing to do with tradition, if you must admit it; or at least not among Japanese ones. When it was time for preparations to start and the imperatives of your honeymoon, you’d clashed head first with the conservative customs of the Gojo clan. You wanted to wear a white dress, no matter what, discovering the stupor of your husband as he lifted your veil, throwing your bouquet and laughing without any restrain as ladies fought to catch it. Simply put, you wanted a laic occidental wedding while they tried at all cost to impose a shinto one in its purest form.
And to plead your cause, you could rely -to your great surprise- on your future mother-in-law who had never missed a chance to graciously underline to the clans’ elders that times had improved, and that the youth was detaching itself more and more from the customs of their generation, even going as far as to say that it was the will of her son to have a laic wedding -when the truth was that he didn’t give a damn. He had entrusted all of his responsibilities to his mother who had bent over backwards to meet your requests, having neither the time nor the desire to participate in such mundane things.
You could still remember the day when everyone had finally agreed, it had been the hundredth and endless reunion « opposing » from one side you and your mother-in-law to the elders of the Gojo clan, and none of them was determined to give up not even one decision to your free will. You were all sat on tatamis, the two sides separated by low pieces of furniture, probably sculpted from wood of exorbitant price. Next to each of you, were laid cups full and still steaming that no one had the time to savour. You had been welcome, like every other time, by sullen faces, animated with a parade of « no and synonyms » every time that you’d formulated the smallest request, and you weren’t in a position of power. You needed this marriage more than the clan, and more than Gojo himself; so you were in no position to throw ultimatums or threatening to pull away, given your temperament, they’d be the first to open the exit doors for you.
That was how it went, at least until…
You felt the warm and delicate hand of your mother-in-law land apologetically on yours, you could feel through the gesture that she wanted to be of more help but the situation was out of her hands, it was out of both of your pairs of hands. She closed her eyes before opening them again, hinting that it was time to give up negotiations, pushing them further would only harm your reputation. Because, even if Satoru was by far the strongest and the most feared, it was never good to have the reputation of a rebel within a family that did everything to keep him under leash. You were about to give your consent for the ceremony’s details when the sound of doors slamming against their frames tilted the centre of your attention toward the entrance where the lines of a silhouette, a bit too familiar to your taste, started to form.
“Yo! I knew that it was a mommy’s meeting, but this…you literally rival with Nefertiti!” Mocks the young woman as she leisurely strolls around the room, not even deigning to take off her shoes.
“Lord, may you help us…” you mumble under your breath while covering your eyes with your palm, not knowing what else to do. It was really really the last person you hoped to see at this moment.
It was outrageous, and the cronies around you didn’t bother hiding it, letting out little gasps while covering their mouths with their hands, some even dared to tell your sister to go. Big mistake…
“So,” your sister acquitted as she threw her hindquarters on the ground like an oaf, legs spread wide open before putting her bowl on the low table. “I heard that the negotiations were stalling so i came to play Belgium.”
“-It’s Switzerland”…you whispered discretely.
“Switzerland, pardon me” she corrects while coughing.
You didn’t dare to tear your eyes away from your hand, all you wanted was for the earth to open up and swallow you. Your mother-in-law, as embarrassed as you, put her hand on your back, rubbing you tenderly to reassure you. Like she told you every time, whatever happens her son would protect her, even when he seemed to be away today.
“Everything is totally fine, we were just about to wrap things up.” Starts one of the crackling voices
“Really? White dress white roses and white wine?” She asked hopefully.
You squeezed your eyes more tightly as you heard her mention alcohol, wishing that she’d just shut up for once. You somehow still found the strength to shake your head in negative, but before your sister could say even more, the same voice continued her explanation.
“It will be a shinto wedding, they will be united before men and gods following the tradition and like we do it since aeons ago, and no stranger has their word to say.”
“I can confirm that you’ve traveled aeons with your customs under your arms. I admit that strangers don’t have their word to say from the moment the main subject is reduced to suffering through your feudal services. You’ve noticed how Satoru stayed out of this whole thing, right? And you’re joyfully taking advantage of it because he’s not here threatening to light your heads on fire one by one.”
One of the women was about to say something, probably contradicting and pretending that he’d perfectly given his consent, not doubting for even a second that him and Yuki were long-time friends. The latter lifted her finger to prevent her from doing so, keeping up the flow of her words.
“Let me tell you that he’s not happy at all, and that if my sister doesn’t get what she wants today, and now, he’ll be the one to walk through these doors next time.
And I think you already know him well enough to know that it’s better not to upset him, at least not more than he already is.” She marks a pause, giving them time to soak in the information and weight their options. “So? Ask her immediately what she wants for her wedding.” She concludes by hitting her fist on the table, after having put enough pressure on the word « her », the choice legitimately going back to the spouse, and thus a fortiori only to you.
“What do you want my child?” A third voice asks you. That was the first time when you couldn’t discern an ounce of authority or inquisition.
You’re about to calming things down, waiting for the situation to cool down so that you wouldn’t attract their wrath once the time comes by announcing that you were perfectly alright with what they had suggested, and that they had convinced you. But, having probably anticipated your reaction, Yuki cuts you by gesturing for you to shut up.
“I’ll answer for her, she will wear our mother’s white dress, they’ll exchange their vows and offer their rings.”
“That won’t be possible for the dress, it will be a kimono that she’ll have the luxury to pick. It has to be white, that goes without saying.”
The signs of a categorical refusal were starting to appear on the -so far- relaxed traits of your sister’s face, and you absolutely didn’t want to see her getting angry. So you took the reigns, to hell with what anyone thought. You didn’t know whether the story about Gojo was even real or if it were just another betting game, but you were certain that he’d cover for you anyway. He’d promised after all.
“Wait. I accept the kimono, on the condition that we replace the…the thing that we put over the head with a veil that my mother wore.”
It seemed like a good compromise, you didn’t reject their traditions, but you seasoned them with your own sauce. It was a policy that you’d better start adopting in all of your interactions with them.
The women exchanged a silent conversation through their eyes before accepting, a sigh of relief escaping from your mouth. Your mother-in-law then added one last detail.
“My son will deal with the rings, but you could accompany him if you’d like.”
You smiled at her before discretely shaking your head negatively. You were, more or less, one year away from the wedding date, but you still hadn’t found the courage to meet him, not sure if you would find the words or on the contrary, saying too much and compromising all that had yet to be built.
Your sister then got up without asking for her due, gesturing you to call her once this whole masquerade was over. And so, you end up refining what had to be refined with much more power. You could never thank your sister enough.
The memory stretches your lips, now that you thought of it, it was quite funny. Planning everything just for a madwoman to burst in with her boots and soil years of diktat, it must have been a hard pill to swallow at this moment. You’d learnt later on that your spouse had indeed a role to play, that he himself didn’t see what could possibly hold him back from causing a massacre at the time.
But you could still hear that voice, deep inside, incessantly reminding you that you were nothing but a puppet, a marionette in the hands of more powerful people. You were the one from whom they stripped freedom but it was your sister who’d fly to your rescue, like we’d rescue a birdie from the maws of a feline. You were the one who had choices imposed on her but you couldn’t stand back up, being content with watching others battle in your stead, what dragged you down ever deeper within your lethargy was a vicious cycle from which you could never escape. All the responsibilities from which your sister had run away had fallen on your shoulders: you had to protect yourself, protect your sister, protect your mother and father from a danger that wouldn’t exist if Yuki had just done what she was told. But could you even blame her when you wanted to do exactly the same?
You weren’t even sure who you should blame, yourself for being so weak, you sister for having built a life at the expense of her family, your parents who’d let her while insidiously projecting their expectations on you, or this society that had used you. You needed a culprit if you wanted to stay sane, but you couldn’t seem to find one.
This is why you’d refused to meet with Gojo during all this time, getting to know him would force you to think about your due date, about the fact that you never managed to impose your opinion, and all that you couldn’t control. About all the questions that couldn’t seem to find an answer, about the questions that stirred a falling hate that you slammed shut inside your heart. And you surpassed, you forgot, you ignored as much as you could, you went with the flow of the waves so that they wouldn’t fall on you. But deep down, you knew it, you knew that this marriage would be your downfall. You could feel that, one way or another, Gojo Satoru would be your demise.
He, who now stood in front of you: his delicate and tender wife. He gets closer and lifts up your veil, discovering the face with which he’s meant to live, the first thing he’d see in the morning and the last before sleeping. He runs his eyes through your features, blushed by a smile that you struggled to keep, and even this scarf that was supposed to cover you wasn’t enough to conceal his change of attitude. You were no longer the same person he’d been conversing with, you were no longer the one he’d seen himself talking to about everything and nothing around a good coffee. it was as though someone else had substituted for you, as though someone had replaced a young bud with a shell that threatened to break at the slightest puff of wind. No, you were already broken, reduced to smithereens by the hard truth, too hard to carry.
But he wasn’t conscious of the hidden truth behind you melancholic face, he didn’t know that while he was getting closer to you, your subconscious was writing down all your hate, all your pain towards him. And he knew even less, when his lips landed against yours, that the only thoughts going through your eyes were those of one thousand and one ways of running away.
You had spent five years trying to love this marriage.
It took five minutes for these fragile constructions to crumble down and send you back to the starting line.
It was much easier to blame others for your own weakness, wasn’t it? If only you’d had the courage to affirm yourself, not to let your fear of deceiving all those who had born all their hopes on you overwhelm you. You were condemned to make choices when the choice itself constitutes the absence of freedom, and you couldn’t bear it anymore, you were on your knees, out of breath, at the edge of the chasm of dementia, condemned to be a spectator to the people around you, them making their own decisions and writing their own stories.
“Why can’t I do it? Why them and not me?” You’d ask yourself over and over again. It may seem absurd but you couldn’t understand someone like him, spoiled by nature, arrogant and cynical, always getting what he wanted and not you, you who’d spent nights patching your own wounds, having to look at your troubled reflection soaked in tears, having to challenge and convince your body to bear with it, to forget and to find the force not to crumble down because it was still not enough…
You had, at the same time, none and all the reasons in the world to hate him, and the balance of your mind tilted dangerously towards the irrational. And that, no one would ever know, and even he wouldn’t have noticed it if he weren’t born with a head start.
During all this time, his six eyes was scrutinising you, studying every osciliation of your pupils, peeling every morsel of your skin that stretched into a smile or on the contrary, that was breaking down. And he was not dupe, he could not afford to be dupe, not when so many people jostled each other to see him dead.
And he tells himself, as he seals a marriage destined to failure with a chilly kiss, that you would be, one way or another, his downfall.
Then came the calm after the storm, he accompanied you wordlessly to your family that you sought so hard to protect, he greeted them before pretexting some foolish excuse or another before slipping away, leaving you at the arms of a comfort he’d never be close to providing.
You wanted for this moment to last eternally, you didn’t want to stop hearing the voice of your father, nor to stop feeling the warm arms of your mother, and even less to think that you’d be separated from your role model: Yuki. So you took shelter in what would soon become a memory, animated images behind your eyelids. You could almost forget about the crowd around you, your new family and your husband.
But it’s not about the calm after the storm, it’s rather about the calm before the storm. And this same storm was getting closer to you, a wicked smile stained with jealousy plastered to the face.
“All my best wishes, and here I thought you’d be canceling the wedding.”
You didn’t think, given the heavy burden already orating your shoulders, that the situation could get any worse, in a drastic way; and yet, there was a detail you’d neglected. Maybe it was due to the lack of time, lack of courage or maybe just because you knew damn well that he’d put a spoke in your wheels, but you had never put Naoya in the know.
Ever since you’d announced the news to him, he’d added a weight to the scale of your miseries because, even if it seemed to come from purely good intentions, he’d never realise the scope of the repercussions if he’d ever managed to cancel the wedding -or at least try to cancel it. Stuck between your desire to keep everything secret and to keep a semblance of control, you’d chosen the easy way, the one of cowardice, and to tell him that the wedding was called off, rather than postponed. You’d told yourself that within five years, you’d find the time to explain things to him, that you’d find the power to tell him the truth and to convince him to calmly stay put; but time had gone by way too fast, laying it on thick.
And seeing him like this made the blood freeze in your veins, your face blanching out of all its festive colors. You could feel your heart thumping, not sure why, it was beating so fast in front of him. You stretched one of your hands towards him, clutching into his arm as if your life depended on it. “Don’t leave me, please.” Your soul cried to him while your face crumpled by the minute.
“Naoya,” you try to articulate. “Let me explain-” He dragged you out of the crowd, leaving your family bathing in utter confusion.
You were overwhelmed by all the eyes staring at you, how all this must have looked unseemly for a newlywed to throw her arms at the heir of an enemy clan. But nothing mattered to you at the moment, you needed a way to patch the broken pieces of this relationship after having shattered it with your own two hands. Once away from the indiscreet eyes, he violently shoved you away, eyes full of animosity that destroyed you.
“It’s not what you think!“ of course it is !
“And what do I think?”
“That I lied to you!” That’s exactly what you did !
His eyes were turning red, every little venule roaming his globes were breaking under the adrenaline, staining red the surrounding white.
He clenched his fists, repressing the urge to crush them into your pretty face. You deserved it, and if only hitting you could appease him, you were ready to take the punch.
But he was still a man of principles, and disfiguring the wife of the most powerful sorcerer wasn’t one of them, even if he was closer to her than her own husband could ever be. Naoya admitted ,not without trouble, that he wasn’t an example. But he wasn’t that crazy; so he poured his rage on one of the beams that held up the edifice under which he’d dragged you, the impact resonated heavily in your ears.
“You lied to me-” he continued, and you knew that he was about to throw words even sharper than daggers at you.
“You deliberately made me believe that you had called off the marriage, and I even had a hunch that you weren’t capable of it. But I believed you, because I couldn’t imagine that the person that had put her life in the palm of hands so many times, would lie to me. Not to me, Tsukumo, not to me.”
He couldn’t accept the idea that you’d judge his help as being useless, him, Naoya Zenin had graciously offered his help to a lousy stranger, a good-for-nothing girl, without name or particular power. The mere fact of offering even his small finger when your life didn’t even concern him, was an enormous sprain to his pride, and the fact that you’re a woman only added fuel to an already raging inferno.
“I didn’t want to, I swear! I was overwhelmed by all the events, Naoya, you have to believe me!” You pleaded. “I never meant to hide it from you, I never wanted this to happen, I don’t love him. Lord, I don’t even know him!” You almost begged him to believe you, your voice trembling and words spewing out of your mouth uncontrollably, and the more you heard yourself talk, the more pathetic you felt. In all honesty, if you were him, no apology would be granted ; he’d only tried to lighten your burden and yet only gained lies and betrayal in return. What kind of friend were you?
“You’re a ticking bomb, you know that? A fucking bomb that threatens to explode at every second. Tic, tac, tic, tac, tic, tac-” He clicked his tongue, “-and then boom, there’ll be nothing left, neither anything of you nor of what surrounds you.”
A ticking bomb, that was exactly what you’d become. You’d spent one too many years piling things up. Years of constantly hiding in the shadow of your peers, years of constantly being forced to kowtow to the desires of others. Your sister had tried more than once to pull you out of your puppet syndrome, but it was worse than a vicious cycle. The more she repeated that you could live your life the way you wanted to, the deeper the ditch between you sunk, and the more you felt worthless, But there was still something she couldn’t do, protecting your parents by marrying Gojo Satoru. But until when? Until when would your body stay the course before tragically changing tack? Because, even though you didn’t know when, you knew that your fatum would catch up to you sooner or later.
And like the straw that breaks the camel’s back, Naoya’s hard and venomous look chipped bit of your facade by the second, the proud and composed woman that you served to people was starting to crumble under the heavy weight of reality, like a cracked urn would give in to the pressure of the liquid within. The one that had shared her days during way too many years was now drowning in her remorse, to the point of forgetting how to cry for help.
“There’s no use in crying,” he murmurs, framing your face between his thumb and forefinger. “Wipe your tears or people will talk, it’s not good for you.”
You softly sniffed, trying to compose yourself again as best as you could. Your eyes were reddened by tears that he ended up wiping off with the back of his phalanx. Not sure why, your hand wrapped his wrist, or at least what it could hold of it before burying your cheek into his palm, holding onto him like a lifeline, like the last thing that bound you to this world. When did Naoya become so important to you? Even he didn’t know, but he sure as heck planned to enjoy every last bit of it.
“I don’t blame you,” he says. “But I gotta admit that it profoundly hurt me; to know that you didn’t trust me.”
He was deliberately lying to you, the little chuckle that he failed to hide should have been hint enough, but you were too adrift for this, too shaken by the idea of having betrayed him, and having betrayed his trust; haunted by the thought of losing one of your closest friends. So you gobbled up all his says, like a poor thirty pup, without ever asking questions nor shifting your attention.
“I’m sorry.” You apologised once again, at loss for better words.
“Don’t worry about it, but you have to promise to never hide anything from me again. Think you can do that?” He asked.
You were confident enough to say that you were born with a gift, since an early age, your instincts had rarely failed you when it came to gauging others’ intentions: just one simple look and all their motives unfolded before you like an open book. And at this very moment, your sixth sense was screaming at you to refuse, to lay a pitiful excuse, not to make yet another promise of total honesty. Something’s wrong, something’s wrong, something’s wrong! Chants a voice in your head. But you were well too eaten with guilt. So without thinking much of it, you frantically nod your head, not wanting to let the smallest doubt glide over the sincerity of your intentions. You never meant to open your heart to him, at least not entirely, after all you knew better than anyone how twisted this man could be. But now that a sword of Damocles was hanging over your head, you’d rather offer him all the necessary cards to destroy you than doing it yourself. At least, it wouldn’t be your fault.
“Good,” he compliments while caressing your cheek. “Now you need to get back to your dear husband, you don’t want him thinking that you’re plotting things behind his back, right? I’m sure he’s the type to keep an eye open, who knows, he might sleep elsewhere,” he says more to himself than you. But those were just empty words, interlaced with sarcasm and hypocrisy, and without the slightest foundation.Naoya was absolutely not close to Gojo, but once you sow the grain of discord, it’s difficult to back-pedal. Whatever the case, you knew well how Gojo Satoru dealt with his enemies; and you’re well on your way to being part of the lot.
Later, when you shyly slipped your arm around Gojo, carefully rolling it around the hollow offered by his folded elbow, and despite the cordial smile that you’d exchanged, you could only wonder : was he really wary of you? What kind of relationship could be built on a basis devoid of trust? What kind of marriage would he cherish if he came in every evening expecting his wife to stab him in the back? All these thoughts only helped submerging you a little bit deeper into your perdition. All you could do now was hope for him to talk it out with you, giving you the chance to clear up any doubts soaring above his head. Should this not be the case, you were too ashamed to ever bring up the subject.
With a tad bit of perceptiveness, you might have noticed that behind his deceiving smile, your husband’s clever eyes had missed nothing of your little gateway, nothing of the fact that another man could touch you so when you wouldn’t even let him see your face. You were far from being lovebirds, but even to him who spat and stepped on everything that was to his sense archaic, couldn’t conceive that a marriage would hold out if loyalty was amiss. Would he ever come to love you? Probably never, having been a witness to it as he dug deeper into the pit separating you; that said, he’d sworn to offer you all the respect that you deserved; as a wife, a woman -for all that you must have done to survive within this macho and patriarchal society, but also and mostly as a sister. Yuki was a role model to him, an avant-gardist that had shown him that one could build their own reality in a dystopian world, and it was unconceivable for him to harm her. But could he really do it if the you threw yourself in the arms of another man on his wedding day? And not any man! He couldn’t even think about what tomorrow would have in store.
Naoya had just set foot into your marriage, and he’d sworn not to get out before having turned everything upside down. Because, even though your wedding ceremony hadn’t hurt his feelings anymore than that, you were an adult and you had the right to marry whoever you wanted -at least he tried to convince himself of this. He couldn’t say the same for his ego though, which had been greatly undermined by your little secrets. And he was sure to make you pay for it.
Even if the choice was, by definition, the absence of freedom, it didn’t make things any less fatalistic. And it wasn’t a rare sight to see people howling at liberticide basking in the consequences of their choices. But you didn’t have the luxury of being of this, you had made a chain with every link being a little lie that you’d chosen to mouth, and without noticing, you had chained yourself with it. Prisoner of your making.
You lifted your eyes one last time towards your husband, who was looking back at you with a worried face; he’d surely noticed from the robotic responses you’d given him ever since coming back that you were pondering something. Gojo takes a deep inhale before swallowing back his ego and breaking the ice that had reformed way too quickly, despite his best effort.
“Do you want to tell me something?” He didn’t want it to sound like he were asking for a confession, but his subconscious seemed to have overruled his tongue.
« I’ll never hurt you, all that I ask of you is to trust me » his comforting words played back inside your head, and you wanted to do it, to tell him what bothered you so. He’d taken a step towards you, so why not do the same? It was too early to be entirely transparent, but he deserved a little confession.
Maybe you’d just taken the best decision for the first time in a while by whispering a weak consent, letting him glimpse the expanse of your distress.
↳ Choices we’re bound to make in life don’t always turn out well, and you would have to learn that the hard way, maybe should you have listened to your sister when she tried to dissuade you from marrying a man that you didn’t know, as charming as he might seem.
You were never much of a sleeper. In all honesty, you usually slept for about four to five hours per night at best. Your mother often teased you by saying it was because of you and all the lights you turned on on your way, that all the nightingales would start singing in the morning. Maybe it was because you always considered the unconscious state of sleep as a way to turn your back to reality, bypassing daily rationalism in favor of a utopian loophole. A world where all that was needed was to want something strongly enough for it to materialize, a world where we’d see our worst torments disappear, a world where fear, hate and disarray would be blown away by the sole strength of willpower. A world where we had control over our choices. Which, let’s be honest, wasn’t really your case.
So for the first time since ages, you gave yourself the right to sleep a little bit longer than usual, your body finally giving out under the weight of a night’s worth of tears and incessant questionings. Your body had probably understood that your subconscious was, now, the only place where your mind could rest, the only place where a modicum of safety was left.
You dreamt of all sorts of things, things that you’ll probably never get to taste again. Kyoto, its streets and its odors. You dreamt of long walks that you made sporadically with your father, whenever the weather would allow it. You dreamt of cherry trees which you admired every year, in front of which your inner child came out every time. You couldn’t help yourself from taking a picture beside them, your mother would always point out how the shades of the roses perfectly matched with your carnation. You also dreamt of numerous matcha desserts that you’d buy on your way home, and sometimes tried to hide away…You didn’t know it at the time, but your mother always noticed the little green powder around your lips, but only teased your father until he felt the unbearable desire to go and buy some, so to make the whole family enjoy it. You dreamt of your school as well, of certain good memories, you dreamt of the school exchange, those times when you went to Tokyo as part of the association. You replayed the trips, the long discussions with Naoya, as rare and precious as they were to your eyes. You learnt to put up with his nasty misogynistic and egocentric temper; you even reached the point where you wondered how you could even survive without being reminded that you belong in a beautiful and well furnished kitchen. And then, you saw your hangman again, gaze hidden by a pair of black lenses.
↳ Choices we’re bound to make in life don’t always turn out well, and you would have to learn that the hard way, maybe should you have listened to your sister when she tried to dissuade you from marrying a man that you didn’t know, as charming as he might seem.
You were never much of a sleeper. In all honesty, you usually slept for about four to five hours per night at best. Your mother often teased you by saying it was because of you and all the lights you turned on on your way, that all the nightingales would start singing in the morning. Maybe it was because you always considered the unconscious state of sleep as a way to turn your back to reality, bypassing daily rationalism in favor of a utopian loophole. A world where all that was needed was to want something strongly enough for it to materialize, a world where we’d see our worst torments disappear, a world where fear, hate and disarray would be blown away by the sole strength of willpower. A world where we had control over our choices. Which, let’s be honest, wasn’t really your case.
So for the first time since ages, you gave yourself the right to sleep a little bit longer than usual, your body finally giving out under the weight of a night’s worth of tears and incessant questionings. Your body had probably understood that your subconscious was, now, the only place where your mind could rest, the only place where a modicum of safety was left.
You dreamt of all sorts of things, things that you’ll probably never get to taste again. Kyoto, its streets and its odors. You dreamt of long walks that you made sporadically with your father, whenever the weather would allow it. You dreamt of cherry trees which you admired every year, in front of which your inner child came out every time. You couldn’t help yourself from taking a picture beside them, your mother would always point out how the shades of the roses perfectly matched with your carnation. You also dreamt of numerous matcha desserts that you’d buy on your way home, and sometimes tried to hide away…You didn’t know it at the time, but your mother always noticed the little green powder around your lips, but only teased your father until he felt the unbearable desire to go and buy some, so to make the whole family enjoy it. You dreamt of your school as well, of certain good memories, you dreamt of the school exchange, those times when you went to Tokyo as part of the association. You replayed the trips, the long discussions with Naoya, as rare and precious as they were to your eyes. You learnt to put up with his nasty misogynistic and egocentric temper; you even reached the point where you wondered how you could even survive without being reminded that you belong in a beautiful and well furnished kitchen. And then, you saw your hangman again, gaze hidden by a pair of black lenses.
Now that you thought of it, you were never able to see that famous six eyes. Even so, you’d have all your life to carve it in your memory, hoping that your soul would come out of it unscathed. You suddenly saw him get closer to you until his hand landed on your shoulder, a move that pulled you out of your inertia in one jump. You looked around you, the clock on the table showed an unholy afternoon hour. You sighed while loosening your shoulders, letting go of some stress that had accumulated within you. You softly ran your hands over your face, covering your eyes as best as you could from the sun rays that entered through your blinds. You had absolutely no desire of moving out of bed, but so many things awaited you, after all, life goes on.
You swept a brief look over your phone, a consequent number of phone calls from unknown numbers caught your attention, however you didn’t give it much thought since you never answered numbers you didn’t recognize. Also, if it were really that urgent, they’d just send you a message. Which wasn’t the case, so there was no need to rack your brain more than that. You put a leg, soon followed by its homologue, on the cold floor of your room. Your eyes, still half asleep, didn’t seem to perceive much of the surroundings anymore. The colors, until now warm, of your walls seemed a bit somber and cold, and the sky crumbs that peeked through the cracks of your shutters, were grey as though emptied of the life that always animated them. What did you look like? Nothing decent anymore, whispers a voice. And just a quick glance in the mirror was enough to confirm it. Your hair, usually disciplined and well combed, was all over the place, and your eyes bore a palette of reds that you couldn’t even imagine. You part your lips, slightly opening your eyes with a stupefied look in front of such a scene. You softly put two fingers on your cheek, doubtfully reducing the distance between your face and its reflection, as though to leave one last chance for it to change and tell you that this old rag that currently met your face wasn’t really you. But nothing happened. As hard as it was to believe, you looked like a pale old rag, and there was no way you’d show yourself like this to your parents that were probably thinking that the love of your life had just proposed to you. And your head was far from looking like that of someone who was in love, from near or from afar. You grasp your courage into hands and draw your way toward the bathroom as fast as possible, to minimize your chances of meeting anyone. You needed a good hot shower, or rather a cold one, just to settle your ideas back into place and wake your numb body. You snuck into the room, eyes fixed on the hallway to make sure that no one was hiding in any blind spot of the building. Once safe and no one in sight, you closed the door to smack your forehead three times against the varnished wood. You sighed, mumbling a weakly“what the hell am I gonna do… “
“Turning down the wedding sounds like a good option to me”
Your sister’s voice makes you jump and a small cry escapes from your lips against your will. You turn toward her before taking off the mule you were wearing on your feet and throwing it in her direction. She dodges with ease, the shoe landing against the wall in a muffled sound. You freeze once you see the contrast, a beautiful hole decorated with cracks was now throning at the impact’s spot; you were an exorcist, thus possessing considerable physical strength which you, sometimes, had a hard time controlling, resulting, sometimes, in such damages.
“We’ll turn a blind eye on the discretion, there’s the parents’ room behind the wall that you almost took down. And good luck explaining this…”
A vague sense of despair mixed with shame ran through your body, suddenly wanting to take a shovel and dig a hole where you’d bury yourself and never come out again. Your hand unconsciously and loudly ended up slapping your forehead before you let yourself ease up, leaning, or rather slumping against the door behind you. Your sister scrutinized your reaction with a worried look, wondering what demon took possession of the body of her younger sister, usually so composed. She gently moved toward you, avoiding any sudden movement, before putting both of her hands on your cheeks, locking her emerald irises within yours.
“You have the right to refuse, no one will judge you” she continued with a gentleness that you didn’t know.
“I know that…”
Some honesty wouldn’t hurt you. Your sister may be the person that knew the most about the story, but it wasn’t any less complicated for you to open up to her on what you were feeling. You always built some kind of construct, some type of fortress around yourself; filtering what you wanted to reveal to others from what you kept in your secret garden. You didn’t hide laughter, you didn’t hide tender memories and wisecracks; but you concealed your weaknesses and demons, everything that could wipe the beautiful smile from your face. But sometimes, it could feel good to confide in someone.
“You saw them yesterday,”you say. “They lookes so happy…It can’t be that terrible, I know many people who got married like this.”
“Lying is a sin, you know that, right ?”
“Yuki…you’re making this harder, really. I’m trying to see the good side of things, I’m trying to imagine everything that could go well. Maybe he isn’t so bad…”
“I’m hearing a “but”.”
“But all I’m able to feel is hatred and bitterness. How can they do this? How can this moron choose in my stead? But of course he’s the strongest! An exorcist from the special rank! How to refuse? They give him everything, even the woman that never asked for anything!”
With this confidence, you let yourself fall to the floor. Your legs came to your chest, you hid your face at the bottom of your arms, sheltering yourself as best as you could. You felt as though you were being quartered, on one side pulled the weight of your responsibilities toward your family, the weight imposed by your parents without them being aware of it. On the other side, your pride, your regrets, your desires, your hopes…simply you. How do you choose, how could a person as altruistic as you ever choose between the people you cherished the most and yourself?
Your sister didn’t immediately respond, submerged in her cogitatum. She threw one last little glance at the damage inflicted on the wall before crouching on your right, double blocking the door to anyone who’d want to enter.
“Listen, I don’t know if it’s very seemly to tell you this, but I don’t think that Gojo is to blame in this story.”
You dryly lift your head so that she can see your incredulous look, mixed with exasperation. You prepared yourself to retort and tell her that in any case and whatever were the circumstances, he had given his consent without consulting you, when he visibly knew your sister. Even if he weren’t the instigator, he was at least an accomplice, creating within you the incapacity to exonerate him from his part of responsibility in your misery. But your sister lifted a finger in the air, cutting your intentions short.
“Let me finish first. I think that he’s not even aware, this must be a strategy orchestrated by his family and the counsel. That’s what I think, the Gojo clan would assure a lineage, and the counsel would win one more way to keep him on leash. With a family under his wings, he’d think twice before turning his back on the world. Like I told you before, it’s not like him to get himself into relationships where he needs to commit. He’s a child, like you; he’s what? One year older than you? That’s nonsense. What I suggest to you, is to talk to him-”
“I already said no.”
The blonde lets out a loud exhale, clearly annoyed by your stubbornness and lack of cooperation. She had no difficulty in understanding how hurt you were, seeing your life slipping between your fingers like that, but she, unlike you, still thought with her head. And as much as you refuse to admit it, your feelings were taking over, and all your decisions, all the choices you were about to make at this moment could be tarnished if you didn’t take a step back. And she’d be here to make sure that you don’t make any mistakes, even if it means hurting your sensibility and shoving you when necessary. Yuki raised her hand just to knock it down on the back of your head, a sign that you’d better shut up till she lets you talk. She fumbled in her pocket before pulling out a phone then typed a few moments on it before placing it at your feet. A simple glance made you understand what she was doing; in fact, the screen showed a name that you came to hate: Gojo Satoru. A simple choice was offered to you: calling and confronting someone whose actions you didn’t know, and toward which you harbored a growing disdain. Or simply refuse, and accept your fate.
You stared at the board in front of your before stretching your arm toward the object, bringing it to yourself. You looked closer to the picture adjoined to the contact. it was undeniably true that he was a handsome man, almost making you soften before your eyes looked back up at your sister, slowly shaking your head in resignation, giving her back her phone.
“I’m sorry…I can’t do it.”
“Why?”She asked.
“Because.”
“That’s not an answer.”
-I don’t have an answer to give, Yuki. I can’t talk to him, I can’t even place a word with him! All I want is to spit on his face and tell him how much I hate him, how much he’s ruining my life. Is that what you want?
“You refuse to talk to him yet you accept marrying him?”
That sounded crazy, completely insane, said like that. If you weren’t able to even say hello, how were you going to live through the fact that you’d have to wake up every morning in front of the same face, and say good morning to him; cook, sleep with him and even more- The idea alone made your stomach churn. Alright, you didn’t imagine your self recreating the sexual intercourse of a nun, but you’d hoped to at least have control over who would be the first person to touch you. Before you could ever realize it, your body, of its own accord, led you toward the toilet seat, head tilted down, you felt your stomach’s content- liquids pouring from your mouth. Your sister rushed toward you to hold you up, one hand on your back the other pulling as much hair away from your face as she could; she murmured softly that everything would be alright, and that you had o trust her. You grasped her hand tightly before a second wave of nausea took over your body again, bending you even more over the bowl. She felt guilty, thinking that if she hadn’t had this discussion with you, maybe then you wouldn’t be arched and vomiting your guts out. A kiss came down over your left temple, then you were swallowed in a well deserved hug.
“Take a shower, but don’t hurt yourself, ok? I’ll see what I can do.”
“Don’t do anything, please…”
Your iris fixed on a random spot while you tried to forget the image that had brought such a violet reaction out of you. Yuki didn’t reply, and just caressed your forearms in a comforting manner, almost motherly. You thought again about what those old fossils had ostracized her, making you force out a laugh. You slowly squeezed her hand, signing to her that you felt better. Once up and about again, she went toward the door which she opened with the least possible noise possible. But before she left, she threw one last glance in your direction. A look which meant that she was watching you closely, and that if you lost control, she’d be there to catch you. Whatever the consequences of her actions, whatever your reaction.
After a good and abnormally long bath, you wrapped your small body in a big pink towel, a color that you’ve always appreciated. You decided to look one more time in the mirror, taking an inhale meant to fill you up with courage, as much air as your lungs could withstand.
“You can do it, you just have to smile.”
You monologue this way for a long minute to convince yourself that you could do it. You could overcome this. This marriage was your grave but the salvation of your family, a necessary evil, and evil you had to accept. An evil you’d learn to want. With your two indexes, you pull at your lips, sketching a smile that you’d now have to keep, today, tomorrow, and for the eternity that you’d spend with your future husband.
Once dressed and with a touch of make up on, you went to your parents, preferring to maximize the chances you had of hiding your unease. You were welcomed by an embrace that could severe one’s breath away, as though your mother hadn’t seen you in years. You return the gesture before greeting your father. They were all siting at the table for lunch, reminding you of how late you woke up.
“We were waiting for you,” whispers your mother with a sweet voice. “I made your favorite dish!”
You were just about to refuse when your sister pulled the chair on which you usually sat, and you didn’t want to know what would happen if you disobeyed.
The meal made you feel better, your stomach was growling since earlier. However, there lingered a certain melancholy within your eyes, telling you that this meal was probably the last one that you’d share with them; since Gojo lived in Tokyo, he’d certainly make you follow him there. As per usual, after each meal, you’d clean up the table with your sister before washing the dishes.
“A real little housekeeper,” your sister murmurs to you, kissing your cheek a few dozen times. “I’m going to take a walk, do you want me to bring you anything? Matcha mochis?”
Your eyes were round and the little cute face you were showing when you heard the name of your favorite dessert were enough of a response to her. She sunk one of her hands in her pockets before clasping her keys in the other one, she took this chance to make a sign of her hand to your parents before taking her leave. You were once again left alone with your own thoughts, you wondered what it would be like to live within one of the three big exorcist families. You’d have gladly asked your mother, adviser and confidante, but she and your dad were simple people, born by chance, with powers they’d rather not have. They even had jobs that had absolutely nothing to do with their world, you even suspected that they chose their career to stay away from their origins. However, there was one person that could give you information. What you were about to hear would certainly not please you, but it was better than rushing headlong into the unknown.
Once your hands were dried with a towel, you took out your phone, noticing that you had more missed calls from numbers you hadn’t saved, then dialed the one of your four years’ long partner.
“I hope that you have a good reason to bother me.” answers an ever so unpleasant voice.
“Hello Naoya, I’m good and you? Oh you know, nothing much, I’m getting married.”
-You’re what? You? Who’s the idiot that would want you?
“Listen, it’s not a conversation to have over the phone. I need your help, can I pass by?
“I’m waiting for you.”
With this, he hangs up without asking more. You were slowly massaging your temples whilst confronting such a temper, suddenly regretting putting him on the know. You say goodbye to your parents after telling them where you were going. You weren’t going to reveal the identity of the “moron” in question, nor sharing what was haunting you. Behind his eccentricity, Naoya remained a very simple individual to read. He, like anyone else, had figures that he admired. And this link of admiration, in his case, was directly ruled by a certain superiority. They simply had bigger powers than his’, and yours by the way. During a moment of weakness, he had confessed to you that Gojo was one of them, making you grasp the amplitude of the rumors about him. And if he were to find out that you had to marry him…You weren’t sure what he’d do, but you certainly didn’t want to witness it.
The ride toward the Zenin residence went without a hitch, if not for your brain spinning continuously, making a list of everything you shouldn’t spill at the risk of compromising the anonymity of your future husband. Some servants were kind enough to show you where your partner awaited for you, head sitting on his elbow with an expression from which dripped the weariness painted on his face.
“So? Is it true?”
“Uh…Yeah, Sad-”
“Sadly? On the contrary, I think it’s a good thing. A woman is made to found a home, and always obey her husband. I hope you won’t have a hard time regaining your pretty little waistline after your firstborn.”
So that was what probably awaited you. Becoming a housewife and answering to every whim of your husband, making him as many kids as he wanted. Just thinking about made you feel a vague nausea rising up again.
“And you think that everyone in the three clans has the same visions as you?”
“Let’s see…It’s either a Gojo, or a Kamo. He deduces with a mocking smile pulling at his lips. If it were a Zenin, I would have heard about it.”
“You haven’t answered my question.”
“My god…What a naughty impatience! Well then no, each one their own opinion of things. Even if you’d have less chances of stumbling across a “cool” guy if you went to the Kamos. Is it a Gojo?”
“Naoya,”you mark a short pause, clearly caught off guard by his deduction. “I’ll tell you when the time comes, for now, it’s…”You search for your words, fearing to let your emotions take control over you. “I still haven’t met him, that’s why I’m asking about how they are.”
He scrutinized you, his mouth thinning into a horizontal line, as though absorbed in his own thoughts. He pointed to a seat next to him with his chin, telling you to take place. Which you did once you took off your shoes. You sat as politely as possible, trying not to infringe the rules which you’ll probably be bound to follow by word. A maid brings in tea and sweets covered in matcha.
“I didn’t think you’d accept a…proposition like this. They put pressure on you, didn’t they?”
His question catches you unawares, it was true that every single time that he mentioned the subject of marriage and tradition, in the most satyric way possible, you’d reply that not everyone was meant for you, so it was easy to understand why such news would raise suspicions in him about the reason why you were forced to make this choice.
“Oh no…Not at all. It’s just that it’s better to be under the protection of someone this important, especially with a sister like mine…”
Speaking of the devil, you had just mentioned her that your phone buzzed, you received a simple “come back, we need you”. You let out a breath, locking your screen before throwing a guilty smile toward your interlocutor. However, with his index, Naoya pushes the plate of sweets toward you; another way to say that you weren’t going anywhere before gobbling up at least one candy. To be fairly honest, you were dying to do so! You reached out your little fingers toward the green squares, wrapped in tea powder. And before you could even quench your gustative desire, Naoya’s big hand closed around your wrist, monopolizing your whole attention. He draws his face close to yours, your bodies still separated by the table, before burying his gaze within yours, his eyes bearing an unusual solemnity.
“One word and I’ll have it cancelled.”
Your expression spontaneously tensed, eyebrows frowned and smile fading away. If there was anything you didn’t expect coming here, it was that Naoya, the traditionalist and fervent abolisher of women’s rights, would offer help in canceling a marriage. You couldn’t understand; and like each time when the why escaped you, you’d dig your heels in, imagining all the most perfidious motives. You tried to pull out of his grasp but in vain, he was a man after all. A man way too strong, who had the physical capacity to dominate you; what was the point of struggling?
“Thank you but I don’t need your help, I’m perfectly consenting. Now if you’d please let go, they’re waiting for me back home.”
The blondie tightened his grip on your wrist by way of warning; now that you had two people who were ready to ruin everything that you struggled to put in place. Part of you respected and admired these gestures. He and your sister were ready to intervene when they had nothing to gain -quite the opposite- only for your own good. But your choice was made. There was no going back, and you wished that they’d respect your decisions. It was hard enough already, you didn’t need someone trying to dissuade you at every turn.
You pulled one last time at your wrist which he finally released before pointing, one more time, to the plate. You yielded to temptation, before getting up under his wary gaze. He made you feel somewhat uneasy, like his eyes were piercing through your soul, reading you like an open book. His gaze drifted toward the gardens surrounding the building, before crossing his legs one over the other and linking the fingers of both hands. It was the « ultimatum » pose, and it bode nothing well.
“You have one week to tell me, or else I’ll provoke a scandal with the Gojo clan. We already don’t get along well, so I don’t think there’s anything to lose, at least not for me.”
These words alone were enough to instantly make you regret coming here, what the heck had gone into you? Since when did the oh so mighty Naoya Zenin ever become comprehensive? Never.
“It’s true, the only person that has anything to lose is me. Neither you nor him! I need this alliance, everyone isn’t born with a silver spoon in their mouth! The day when it will be decided that my sister is a-”
“If you needed protection, you could have told me directly” he cuts you off. “I don’t get why you’d rather beg for the help of a stranger. Well, I don’t really believe it.”
He lowers the palm of his hand on the table before getting up and walking in your direction, his imposing figure overshadowed yours while he look down on you, his gaze becoming heavier. Your feet moved by their own accord, backing away a bit.
You were about to try convincing him not to intervene; maybe even telling him the whole truth if coaxing him wouldn’t work; but your phone chose otherwise: another message from your sister ordering you to come back home. Your partner smiled at you while closing his eyes, before guiding you toward the exit, a hand on your back. You’d need a lot of courage and patience to clear up this situation. But for now, your sister’s insistence for your to return home was bothering you more than anything else, maybe something happened? Naoya could easily notice your worry and even though he didn’t say anything, he still ordered a driver to drop you at your door. Just when he was about to close the car’s door, he looked at you one more time in the eyes.
“One week.”
You sighed before nodding back, your surrender gave birth to little rictus on his face. He then signed to the driver that everything was good. You leaned your head against the windowpane at your right, staring at the moving landscape. What were you going to say and what were you going to not say? You had just discovered one facade that you’d never known of Naoya, and you weren’t sure where to stand. Maybe he was worried, if that was the case, you could be sure that he’d stir up the sky and earth to cancel the wedding, and that without you even being aware of it. Or maybe he just didn’t like the fact that the person whom he was closest to for the last four year could plan such important things without even consulting him beforehand. And he was twisted enough to be convinced that you must listen to him, drink and carry, to the letter, everything that he « strongly advised you » to do. You could only cross your fingers and hope that the second eventuality was false, otherwise the wheels were already in motion, and he’d do anything in his power to ruin this alliance, wether it was good or bad for you. All of a sudden, talking to him about it didn’t seem like a good idea at all; you already regretted it bitterly.
You thanked the adorable driver who had pulled you out of your hare-brained ideas by slipping historical anecdotes about some streets which you’d passed by, always keeping a wide smile over his face, which affected your mood and released your worries about what would happen to you. God, how you appreciated this type of people. You hurriedly inserted the keys in the door’s lock, almost tripping over yourself once inside. You called your mother then your father with a loud voice, almost screaming before rushing into the kitchen, still with your shoes on.
“My girl…What’s the matter? Did your friend do something to you?” Your mother asked with her sweet yet preoccupied voice.
She was behind the stove, a small squared apron tied around her waist. Everything seemed normal, why did Yuki urge you to come back? You still wore a confused face when your father walked in, breathless. He was probably sleeping when he heard the cries as you came back. You gently put your hand over your heart, before throwing yourself at your mother, tears in your eyes.
“Oh no, is it your boyfriend?”
You shook your head, but refused to pull away from her. Soon, you could feel a pair of arms around you followed by a crystalline laughter from your mother. A threesome hug, that was exactly what you needed. But the joy was short-lived, interrupted by the sharp ring of the bell, You asked your mother if she was expecting guests which she denied, adding that she didn’t even know who it could be; Yuki had already taken her keys.So you went and opened the door. Maybe you didn’t know who to expect but you also didn’t know who to not expect. You saw two people that you never met before. A woman and a man, most probably a couple, around the same age as your parents. They had white-grayish hair and light colored eyes. No word could come out of your mouth, captivated by the rare beauty and also captivated by the beauty of their clothes: kimonos, probably made of silk, that you’d never seen before in your life. You were dragged out of your thoughts by the woman who cleared her throat, before handing you a bouquet of white roses, a weak smile on her face.
“We…We are Gojo Satoru’s parents.”
Oh, so that was them. You stepped away and let them come in, showing them where the living room was. Which was useless since they had already visited the day before this, with a bouquet in hand; well, at least they changed the flowers. Lovely, you tell yourself, joining them while you were torn between to run away and kicking them out. And evidently, your parents were of the same opinion as you, given their expression. Your mother was no longer at ease, you even start wondering wether your mother-in-law’s smile didn’t hide bad news -or rather good-. You didn’t sit right away with them, instead offering a cup of tea which you got yourself ready to prepare before the cold authoritative stopped you.
“It won’t be necessary, my child. Please sit down.”
You did as you were told, the man’s tone having drained any desire to insist, even out of politeness. So you sit between your parents, an overjoyed expression glued over your face. You wondered how such a beautiful and sweet woman could spill so many lies during your absence.
“I don’t know from where to start…”She gently grabs onto the cloth covering her legs between her fists, clearly embarrassed. “My, I mean our son doesn’t emit any doubts toward the desire to make you his wife. However, we had a slight misunderstanding over the wedding date.”
“Misunderstanding?” All three of you asked at the same time.
“You see”…She continues.
In front of his wife’s inability to align three words next to each other, the husband decides to take the reins.
“Satoru decided to finish his studies before officially marrying you, I hope that it doesn’t inconvenience you.”
The four present heads watched you while waiting for a response. You couldn’t believe your ears, this was unreal! This didn’t fix the problem on a long term but you had just won five long years during which you’d have all the time in the world to get used to it. Maybe you could even make this marriage work; even crazier, maybe you could even talk to Gojo!
“What good news this is!”
The look on that your parents just gave you said a lot about the total confusion over the situation. To them, this morning only, you were delighted to marry this young man, and here you were right now, happy to see him postponing it by half a decade. Something was clearly wrong. The more minutes passed, the more you realized that both mother seemed t relax. Even though both worlds couldn’t grew any more apart, but they were both tied by something extremely strong. Both of them were ready to give anything for their children’s love. You stood there, like a spectator, listening to your future mother-in-law talking of her son’s achievements, talking about how smart, funny, cultivated and strong he was. And even if he was an independent person, she couldn’t help wanting the best for him. In a sense, it was kind of flattering. People that you knew nothing about, considered you as the most ultra dude in matters of marriage. Somewhat degrading, said like this, but still flattering. Then came the moment when they had to go, you walk them to the door, alone, as ordered by the madam. Just as you were about to close the door behind them, a delicate hand landed on your cheek. Its owner set her eyes on yours, a gaze filled with tenderness, love and…melancholy.
“I’m sorry to have inflicted such a thing on you… She draws closer to you before taking your arm, so that no one can hear. You have five years before you to refuse; in the opposite case, I offer you this.”
She puts a little box covered in blue velour in your hand, it was probably a jewel: a ring. You couldn’t understand at all, this woman was on your side? She seemed to know the pain of seeing her destiny forced, at least now you knew that there’d always be someone to support you there. On this, she walks away with her husband; a car awaited them next to your house. You give her one last sign of your hand, mouthing a little « thank you » before coming back inside.
“What a day…Where’s Yuki by the way?”
“I’m here to see Gojo, not you.”
“He’s not here, you can go. Answers dryly the director of the Kyoto establishment.”
Yuki rolled her eyes, exasperated. She almost forgot why she didn’t want anything to do with these people.
She had responsibilities toward her family, and as much as she could avoid them, there were moments where she could simply not stand by. She knew that Gojo liked her enough, they had something in common; that rebellious and reformative spirit , he too fought against the stupid traditions that a bunch of rotting mummies tried so hard to maintain in order to shut down a generation that was more and more conscious. So it was impossible that this decision came from him; and if it was the case, a good old fist would be enough to fix his thoughts back into place.
“Can you explain to me how he’s not here when I can clearly see his head over the window?”
She abruptly stands up from the couch on which she was sitting to land a bunch of hits on the glass, so that she can catch the attention of the concerned who chose to deliberately ignore her. Ok, that, she wouldn’t let it slide!
The blonde suddenly opens the windowpane before jumping out of it, good thing it was on the ground floor, before chasing after the exorcist.
“Hey there, easy now! You think you can hook up with my sister like that? Come back here, Gojo!”
He suddenly turns around toward her before pushing up his glasses, placing them over his head. She rarely saw his face this calm. He had dark circles under his eyes, it must have been a few nights since he last slept, and his smile, although emblematic, had disappeared.
“Excuse me,Ithink I can hook up with your sister? Are you sure it’s not the opposite? I was told that miss was more than overjoyed at the idea, so much so that it’s said you’re the one who came with it.”
“Sorry to break it to you like this but I had nothing to do with this, and she even less so. This whole thing is driving her crazy, they blackmailed her, you too I presume, given your face. How long has it been since you last slept? One? Two? Three days maybe?”
“Yuki…They’re forcing me to marry, me? I could never keep a girlfriend for one week, what do you want me to do with a…a wife! You can’t imagine my parents’ face, that’s all they’ve been waiting for, that reminds me, they’re on their way to spoil you with flowers and fine words.” He admits.
She was right from the beginning, Gojo, the son, wasn’t involved in this story at all. On the other hand, everyone would benefit in this story, except the two main actors. He was far from being reckless, and all that he did was in the interest of those he protected: his friends. With a wife, a woman that he’d see every day, every evening and with whom he’d probably have a kid; he’d almost be forced to develop feelings for her, be it love or simply a systematic need to protect his little family. Which would make him think twice before going against a decision coming from the top.
“I thought I’d noticed, they made a good impression at home. it’s said like you two make form the perfect couple.”
He lifted his eyes to the sky, clearly annoyed. However, it might have been just an impression, but these revelations that your sister made to him, seemed to calm him down a bit. He must have thought that Yuki betrayed him, while he fully trusted her.
“She doesn’t even answer my calls.”
“You don’t say! Listen, I’m going to be honest with you, she doesn’t want this either. Want to know why she accepted? She’s worried about our parents, I’m not the most appreciated person here, I think you know that already, and one of the reasons why I’m perpetually moving around is…I’m worried for them too. She didn’t say it clearly but-“
“They must have promised her that under the Gojo name, your family would be saved, right?”
“Bingo, young man. She could be your best ally, she thinks like me. Think wisely, this alliance is practically unavoidable; why not do things the right way?”
“Because I’m barely twenty!”
“And she’s barely nineteen, that’s not the prob-…Never mind, it is. Can you stall for time? That’s what both of you need.”
“And you want me to push this until when?” He asks, rather curious.
“Until you both find a solution in order not to kill each other from the first evening, ok? Listen, not that I don’t appreciate the company but I gotta go. I’m counting on you, just like you can count on me. I want to help you, don’t forget we’re talking about my sister here, and if something were to ever happen to her because of you…You know the rest!”
The blonde shakes her phone in his direction, telling him to call her in the evening for more details. She unlocks it then sends a simple text: « Come back, we need you. »
↳ Choices we’re bound to make in life don’t always turn out well, and you would have to learn that the hard way, maybe should you have listened to your sister when she tried to dissuade you from marrying a man that you didn’t know, as charming as he might seem.
“So you’re telling me that if, hypothetically, I accept marrying the infamous Gojo Satoru, my sister won’t have any more problems?”
It took you a moment to wrap your mind around what they just told you. From the top of your 19 years, you weren’t really conscious of the harsh truths surrounding you. You always thought that an exorcist’s holy grail was to be promoted to the special grade. What a surprise it was when you understood that it was but a means to keep in leash those considered too dangerous for the world.
Truth be told, from all that you’ve just been told, it was this one piece of news that hauled the biggest reaction out of you. Them, the upper class of crimes from the top of their seats, couldn’t see things from your point of view. Yuki was your big sister, your model, your family, your blood. How could they paint her into a person to be wary of, she who taught you everything, who made you the exorcist that you are today.
“Well…Tsukumo Yuki is a head to shoot down, you should be aware of that”says a voice that’s hard for you to identify. “It would be better for you and your family to be protected by the name of the most powerful exorcist, don’t you think?”
Thinking correctly was an arduous task for you, the placid flow that was your daily life would never be the same again starting today. Because even if the elders, like you liked calling them, feigned kindness, pretending that they only wanted the best for you; you could easily perceive a menacing aura hovering over your head.
You raised your head toward your interlocutors: the counsel. Their faces were hidden under some kind of curtain, cutting short any tentative to read their expressions and decipher their true intentions. Spinning from left to right, looking up and down at the white fabric, you try putting on a serene air before inhaling deeply.
“You’re telling me that my sister is a danger, but you want me to marry a man that’s even more dangerous than her? You want me to throw myself in the arms of a man that’s considered a weapon of mass destruction…I don’t believe a single word of”- you were cut short by an outcry of offended voices that you refuse to bend like a tree against the wind to their inquisitions.
“You would be perfect for him with this attitude of yours.”
“We were just discussing your eventual promotion to the special grade” continues another, hiding a threat.
If even an ounce of doubt was still lingering within you, then it has surely dissipated now. The choice offered to you was clear: accept and give up your freedom to the goodness of a perfect stranger. Or refuse and put into peril that which you cherished the most.
Youu are a smart girl, often solicited for your capacity to react swiftly, considering in no time everything that could and could not turn badly, making you a more than precious ally on the field. But in this moment right here, the cogs of your mind started to rust, unable to put one idea before another, plunging you in a frightening lethargy. You needed time to understand, and you could feel that you were short of it. You were being manipulated, for god knows what reason, and it seemed like you had nothing else to say back.
“Well then, you reply. I’ll inform you of my decision as soon as possible.”
“Tomorrow.”cuts off a crackling feminine voice, hinting at the age of its owner.
You shake your head slowly from left to right, hoping that it would, maybe, pull you out of this phantasmagory of which you’re the actress. You felt your fists tighten, canalizing your emotions in a way that would prevent you from spilling words that would cost you more than you could afford to lose. You slowly turn your heels, without answering, without a last glance and before you could even realize it, your legs were leading you far from this place, leaving behind a pack of hounds debating on wether you would accept or not. Your fate was sealed, the film of your nightmare starting to smoothly untangle in front of your eyes.
Once outside, you turn around toward the building that sheltered the counsel. From here, it looked like a little hut in the middle of a forest, protected -or rather camouflaged by a barrier set by master Tengen. You slowly lean against one of the surrounding trees, letting your head fall against the trunk and granting your eyes some rest. What were you going to do? Your parents weren’t young anymore, you were the only one left in the household. Everything always depended on you, on your missions, on your presence; your house was pulled out of the gloominess that was the daily life of exorcists, thanks to your jokes, your goofiness, your clumsiness, your anectodes. You didn’t come back home grumbling anymore -because a certain Zenin would forget too often that you weren’t his maid, you didn’t come back home from your outings with Utahime. Now that you thought about it, wasn’t it actually him that made her grumble?
A little smile pulled at the corner of your lips, you knew that Gojo had a reputation as an inveterate seducer, and for having seen him before, you could easily understand why. How many women would be ready to sell their souls to the devil to be in your place? You knew it, you knew damn well, and yet a little pinch at your heart prevented you from seeing even an infinitesimal gleam within what was just announced to you.
You were pulled out of your reflections by stepping noises in the grass, getting closer and closer to you. You slowly turn your head in the direction of the sound to see a slender silhouette, blond, a helmet under their arm.
“So, what kind of mission did they try to slap on you? Saving the world from an extraterrestrial creature? Bringing back a piece of the moon? Or maybe…put off a fire on Mars! More seriously, these people here can be total nuts sometimes!”
“I’m going to get married.”
Yuki froze for a few seconds, seconds that felt like hours to you, before going into a hysterical laughter, not imagining for one second that what you just said could contain even an ounce of truth. But her laugh soon let place to worry when she saw your expression flinching, crying at her that it was absolutely not a joke.
“Oh no…They wouldn’t dare. She said. And with who? The pope’s son?”
“Gojo Satoru.”
“Gojo Satoru?”
“Gojo Satoru.”
“I heard you the first time, you know. But…how? Why him? If he wanted to marry you he would simple have told me instead of going through a bunch of old decrepit. Also, last time I checked, he didn’t really like them. And since when do you two know each other?”
The look you just threw at your sister answered her questions quick enough. You didn’t personally know him, and you knew absolutely nothing of the circumstances that led to this decision. The only thing that you could be sure of was that one way or another, people, whoever they were, had something to gain from you being married, or that Gojo was. You never represented any danger to anyone, you were subordinate, you never disputed orders and you were useful in what you did, there was no apparent reason for you to make a U-turn. However, you couldn’t say as much for Gojo, something indirectly confirmed by your sister’s words. He was probably becoming uncontrollable, rebelling and challenging the word of people who always had, for very long years, their hands wrapped around the decisions of this world. But what’s a marriage, with a girl who didn’t even come from a notorious family, going to change? That was what you couldn’t get.
“In my opinion, he’s probably unaware of this. Gojo isn’t the type to…you know, commit. I don’t think it’s serious.”
“They didn’t look like they were joking.”
“You should talk to him-“
“No, absolutely not. If these people want to play marriage agencies then they might as well carry it to the end.” You replied, seeming way too indifferent about the situation. Yuki was even wondering if you were aware of what was expected of you.
You didn’t want to meet him, and even if you were to accept it, you would only see him once it was inevitable: your honeymoon. For now, it was just hot air, nothing serious. Or at least it won’t be unless you give your final answer. Meeting him would make things too official, and that scared you.
“Listen, we’ll talk about this at home. Or around a drink, look at that! My lil’ sis is now of drinking age.”
Yuki extends her hand toward you, caressing your forearm with the tip of her fingers. Maybe one day, you won’t get the privilege to any of this tenderness, this affection. Reality was catching up to you, and with it a river of tears comes surging, reddening your eyes. You weren’t ready for all of this, you weren’t even twenty and yet you were stripped of all that was yours. Your sister notices that, then pulls you against her, your head barely reaching the space between her throat and shoulder. Your cheek was plastered against her skin in such an intimate contact that you could easily feel her beating heart. Her carotid rhythmically pulsing the blood, beating against you, following a calm and regular rhythm whereas your heart slowly started to race. Maybe your body’s reaction was quicker than your mind, was that a sign? Was it mother nature yelling at you to run before it was too late ?
A warm and gentle hand pulls you out of your thoughts as it lodges in your hair, caressing it from the top to the tips in the same steady timing. Now that you think of it, Yuki has always been a very steady person in her actions. It made you think about the way that people imagined her, and how they could be so wrong. To them, she was a reckless woman, an adult child, a person in possession of great power over which she’d never take responsibility. But you, you knew that it wasn’t her. Yuki never left anything to chance, each calorie she spent was calculated, consumed in a specific goal. And even if she never had been clear on the reasons which led her to take off, claiming an untamable desire to discover the world, you knew, deep down, that there was something she was trying to hide from the world.
“It’d be best if we went back home, I need to announce all of this to mom and dad.”
“What are you planning to do?” She asked while leading you toward the bike.
“I don’t know, I have until tomorrow to give them an answer on what might be the most important decision in my whole life, these guys are insane!”
You abruptly lift your arm in the air, showcasing your frustration, which can only make the blondie laugh as she puts a helmet over your head, covering your eyes along the way, stretching along with it your lips into a little rictus whilst you climb behind her on the motorbike.
As per usual, whenever you ride together, you’d pinch her sides from time to time, and she’d answer with a grumble even if it didn’t bother her; a bunch of little habits that made up your intimacy and complicity with her.
Once home, Yuki turns off the motor but decides against coming down right away. Instead, she puts one foot on the ground to maintain her stance then bares her head, letting the wind play with her blonde mane. She stays there, frozen for a moment, before sighing, searching for the best words, which was totally unlike her.
“I have a little idea on what they’ll tell you, keep your chin up. If you don’t want to then you don’t want to.”
You simply nod your head before putting your hand on the door’s handle, taking a deep inhale. You were going to need some courage as to not spill everything you were told; your parents didn’t need to know what was being said about Yuki. They were proud of her, and never worried about her. As long as it lasts.
You had barely taken off your shoes that your mother already threw herself at you, hugging you to the verge of tears. Your eldest threw a confused look at you while your father came close with a bouquet in hands.
“You should have told us that you had a boyfriend! His family came straight from Tokyo to announce the news.”
You almost choked as you heard what they just said, you had no boyfriend. Your mind immediately imagined a bad joke orchestrated by Naoya in order to embarrass you, knowing all the discipline you showed in front of your family. Or to simply, or rather in the most perverted manner, remind you tha what was expected of a woman was to found a home and then toward the kitchen. But Naoya wasn’t from Tokyo, his family wasn’t either. Could it be that…
“Gojo! Your mother articulates between two sobs. The name would fit you so well! Your dad is right, you should have told us. You can imagine our surprise when we saw them at the door! They look incredibly kind.”
“And rich!”
“Dad! Come on…Yuki throws in.”
Him and your mother exchanged a little knowing smile, while you and your sister tried to stay cool before this revelation, this name resonating like a gong between your ears.
You let yourself get dragged to the living room while your mind wandered somewhere else, at the bottom of a trench in your head. You, who had always risked your life for this society, were nothing more than a marionette to his eyes. Alright, one shouldn’t generalize, nor put the blame on people you knew neither by identity nor by face. You knew perfectly well, but can you not hate the whole world when you were being manipulated without scruples. You threw a look full of reproach toward your sister who, just earlier, was trying to convince you that Satoru had nothing to do with this story. She simply shrugged her shoulders, not knowing what to say.
“So, what did you tell them exactly?” Your sister asked while she sitting on a chair, facing the backrest, legs spread open.
“Well, we told them that the final word was in the hands of the involved party. They can’t wait to meet you, your boyfriend must have told them a lot of good things about you for them to come all the way here.” Your mother throws in her supposition while sitting beside you on the sofa with you resting your head on her shoulder, almost unconsciously, gaze lost faraway.
“I don’t doubt it for even a second.” Sarcasm dripping from your words.
“The Gojo clan is a very traditional family, I’m surprised they accepted that their son, who is the little star of the circus, would welcome someone like her within his family: a commoner. They said nothing about this?” Yuki wonders aloud, she clearly had an idea cooking.
“Oh, right they mentioned this problem, at first they weren’t thrilled by the idea, and then the power of love convinced them. Isn’t that cute?. She replied.
This whole farce was breaking your heart. You never saw your mother so happy, her eyes gleaming, her facial muscles were probably paining her from all this smiling. She had lost the hope to one day see her first daughter have a stable life, a husband, children…all of this wasn’t for Yuki. She had then, maybe, unconsciously repressed all of her hopes of seeing a family growing on you. You wanted to tell her the truth, to tell her that all of this was a lie, that this man wasn’t what he seemed to be; spitting out all that the counsel had revealed to you. But you could simply not move your lips.You father waved the bouquet of flowers your way to catch your attention. His face was a tad bit red, he probably didn’t expect things to go this way, he must have been both embarrassed and honored that people from such a good family would come knock at their door. You even started wondering at what moment exactly did they manage to make you forget that your life wasn’t marrying a rich heir, or a renowned exorcist. Apparently, in your case, it was a perfect mix of the two.
“I suppose that you’re going to accept?”
« Do I really have a choice » was what you wanted to respond. You felt the heavy gaze of your sister weighing down on you, a gaze that yelled at you to say no and to make yourself, for once in your dam life, come first before others. But she knew you you well enough to know that if she meddled in, you’d probably never forgive her. So you did what you could do best, always reproducing the same pattern.
“Of course, why would I refuse?”You replied, trying to look as happy and content as you could.
Your choice was made, your fate forever tied to that of the most powerful exorcist in the world. You felt like you had, with your own hands, written the your name to the pantheon of cowards by giving the right to perfect strangers to decide of your life, to write the lines of a romance that you’ll probably never know.
You smiled, feigning some kind of distorted happiness while your heart was torn inside your chest. You were hurting yourself, destroying yourself with your own hands. Your father noticed your uneasiness through your facade then asked you what was wrong. You answered simply that your day had been extremely long and that the news of this marriage proposal had moved you. You kiss your mother’s forehead one last time before retiring to your room, letting your sister take care of keeping them company, and hearing them throw roses at the Gojo clan.
Once confined in your intimacy, you finally let yourself crumble down. You no longer held in the tears that are currently flowing down your cheeks. You unconsciously brought your hand to your heart, grasping tightly in your fist as much flesh as you could hold. You never felt such intense pain in your life. Your heart was in pieces, and every second that passed weighed on your conscience, your honor tarnished, yourself neglected, and your life spoiled, without even knowing why. One thing was sure, you’d never forgive Gojo Satoru for having ruined your life.
You made the choice of marrying him. But you also chose to make him regret, till your last breath, to have imposed himself in your life.
Warnings : unrequited love, arranged marriage, manipulation, minor character’s death, and more to add. Read with proper discretion < 3
↳ Choices we’re bound to make in life don’t always turn out well, and you would have to learn that the hard way, maybe should you have listened to your sister when she tried to dissuade you from marrying a man that you didn’t know, as charming as he might seem.
Sooooo, yeah. I’ve been rooting for gojo for a while now and this kinda happened. Your feedbacks really help me through the whole process so please feel free to empty your mind, I’m always receptive. Also, big thank you to @tawus who has been adamant on giving the greatest pieces of advice, ily girl <3
Overall thank you for reading, and I hope you’re enjoying reading as much as I’m enjoying writing the story !!
First written in French, translated by the amazing @deadpanap
↳ Choices we’re bound to make in life don’t always turn out well, and you would have to learn that the hard way, maybe should you have listened to your sister when she tried to dissuade you from marrying a man that you didn’t know, as charming as he might seem.
“You know damn well that you don’t have to do this, lil’ sis. The trips, running away from missions, all of that, I like it! You should stop listening to each and every word our parents say” says your eldest, leaning by the doorframe of the room that used to be yours for twenty long years.
“Yuki…I’m not worried about you, they’re in danger too. Every person that’s cross with you would know exactly where to hit, I’m sure that just the name alone -Gojo- would be enough to dissuade them. It’s just a wedding, an alliance, also he doesn’t seem all that terrible; we might hit it off.”
With this, you close your luggage. You hadn’t decided to bring much with you: some clothes, photos of your family and some of your friends. You never had any attachment, living your life as though you were its omniscient narrator: so present yet so far away. That was part of the reason why you couldn’t see this marriage as a drama anymore , you didn’t intend to make any emotional investment. You would promise faithfulness, obedience and descendants to your spouse, in exchange he would offer you protection and safety. It was as though life was offering you a chance to live a fairy tale.
However, the choices that we’re led to make in life don’t always turn out well, and you would have to learn that the hard way. Finally, maybe you should have listened to your sister when she tried to dissuade you from marrying a man that you didn’t know, as charming as he might seem. Maybe you shouldn’t have underestimated your marital responsibilities.
Because after all, the most beautiful tales are those with the most tragic endings.
Summary:Meeting Fiona was a whirl wind of emotions. Leaving her was something you regretted but didn’t have a choice in doing. When an injury sends you back home you are reluctant to see her again. Especially with Steve/Jimmy back in the picture. You cannot guarantee her happiness so why ruin it by coming back into her life? Loving from afar is all you can do…
Warning: Illusions to Suicide, Past Violence Resulting in Injury, A lot of angst
A/N:I am unsure if I want to continue this, or what to call it but I hope you enjoy!
Meeting Fiona Gallagher was something else. She was so bold and out there. Especially when it came to her family. She was protective and steadfast. She was everything you loved and leaving her was the hardest thing you ever could have done.
You met Fiona when you were in boot camp she was still with Steve/Jimmy. She was working at some bar in some short skirt and a skimpy top. Not that you didn’t hate the sight. You hated the men who looked at her as if she was a piece of ass that they can hit an quit the next day. Not to sound creepy, but you always visited on her shift, made sure to get seated in her section, and left a big tip. As much as you could afford at least. You weren’t that well off. She started talking to you after you got kicked out of the place. A group of guys were catcalling her and even though you wanted to step in you knew she could take care of herself. That was until they touched her. Slipped dollar bills into her pants and stroked her stomach and thighs. She was obviously uncomfortable but couldn’t do anything without losing her job. You ended up breaking that mans finger and another mans’ nose. After that all of you were tossed out but those guys didn’t walk away with out a fight. Despite being a woman you held your own against the four for a bit. What you didn’t take for account was the amount of rings one of the guys had on. They beat you to a pulp and left you by a dumpster.
When you come to your senses you saw her beautiful brown eyes and you smiled. “Hey… Hey!” You finally hear her. “Hey… Beautiful…” You say in a haze. “What you did was really stupid…. You okay?” She asks holding out her hand. You nod and grab it as she hoists you up. “As good as I’ll ever be-” You are cut off by bile rising to your throat and quickly turn away into a garbage bag and throw up. “Jesus!” She exclaims as you wipe your mouth with the back of your hand. “You are really fucking stupid you know that?!” She says grabbing your chin and looking into your eyes. “You got a hell of a concussion…” You just smile and gently move her hand away. “It was worth it…” She rolls her eyes. “You got a place?” She asks and you chuckle. “Trying to take me home?” You ask and she sighs as well. “I don’t swing that way.” She says and you nod lifting your hands in surrender. “Sorry I didn’t mean to over s-ste-” You turn around and barf into the trashcan again. “J-Jesus this was not how I wanted to meet you…” You say solemnly. “You wanted to meet me?” She asks shocked. You nod “Uh huh… I have been sitting in your section a-” “And giving me big tips. Yeah thanks for that. You tryin’ to butter me up?” She sounds angry and you sigh. “Look I’m sorry… I didn’t know how to talk to you. You’re a pretty girl an- Jesus No one knows I’m gay… But I wanted to shoot my shot…” She sighs and nods. “You have anyone waiting at home for you?” She asks and you shake your head. “Uh no… I live alone… Kind of…” You mumble and she looks at you confused. “Look it’s fine I will leave you alone… I didn’t mean to cause trouble… I just know how it is like to be objectified and I couldn’t stand by and let it happen to you.” You say and begin to stumble away when she catches your wrist. “Look… I can’t have it on my conscience that someone died defending my honor. Which you will never do again I might add!” She says in a scolding tone. She ended up taking you to her house that night. She stayed up to make sure you didn’t fall asleep again, held your hair when you were throwing up, and listened to your nervous rambling. From then on you had a friendship that blossomed into something more. When she found out that you were to be shipped off in a few months she was heart broken but she pushed through for a while. Sent care packages when she could, sent letters, sometimes nudes which you enjoyed sometimes, but you always told her that you loved her. In every letter, package, hell you would spell it out on your tits when you had the time to send a polaroid. Through her letters she said it would always make her laugh. That was until your third tour. You guys got into a big argument.
“Your fucking leaving?! You just got back a month ago!” Fiona exclaims. “Fiona you know how this works baby… I didn’t know until today and It took me a lot to get this much time with you already. Let’s ju-” “No! You can’t just come here and let us get use to you and take off again!” “Fiona she c-” “Zip it Ian!” You sigh. “Baby I know you are tired of this long distance thing but if you can just wait a little lon-” “No! I am done waiting! I am tired of waiting!” You walk up to her and cup her shoulders. “Fi please… Let’s not spend the last two nights together angry we can ju-” “No! I am not going to wait around for you to get yourself killed! You should-” “I didn’t have a choice Fiona!” You exclaim. “I didn’t have a choice! I was in a shitty situation and I needed an out!” Fiona lets out a sarcastic laugh. “Oh we all are in shitty situations and w-” “This was all I could get! If I knew I was going to meet you I wouldn’t have joined in the first place!” You say as tears start streaming down your face. “I love you so much Fiona Gallagher. Please… Just wait for me…” “No I am done waiting! The last time I waited for someone they never came back!” You cup her face and look at her in the eyes. “I am not Steve… It hurts that you think I am…” You lean into kiss her but she pushes you away. “Just leave…” She says quietly. “Fi…” “Just get out! I am done! I can’t take this bullshit any longer!” She says and walks into the kitchen. “Fi I can’t do that! I live here and I love the family we have!” You say following her into the kitchen. “I do-” “Just leave! We don’t want you here! We don’t need you….” Your heart feels like it stops. “If you want me to go I will but please Fiona… I love you…” Fiona turns around and stays silent. “Please just say it back… Say it back to me please…” You say with a sniffle but she stays silent. You know she is just angry and she will come to her senses soon but it doesn’t make it hurt less. You turn around and walk up the stairs. You hear a couple pairs of foot steps behind you as you exit Fiona’s room with your stuff. “Are you really leaving?” Debbie asks and you let out a quivering sigh and nod. “Yeah my loves I’m leaving… But I promise I will be back as soon as I can.” You say and Debbie runs into you with a hug followed by Carl who you can see now. You kiss the top of their heads and give them a tearful smile. You hear two more pairs and look up to see Ian and Lip. “I know you both are pissed at me… They cut my leave short… I didn’t expect it…” You say as you walk toward them and open your arms. Ian immediately hugs you “She is just angry she will snap out of it.” He says as he pulls away. Lip walks up and gives you a side hug and nods in agreement. You kissed all their foreheads including Liam’s before heading down stairs. “Baby?” You call out but it is left unanswered. “I love you Fi…” You say and wait a few seconds. When there is no response you sigh and walk out the door.
“(Y/N) What are you doing here? When did you get back?” Kevin asks shocked and almost excited. “And Je- What the fuck happened to you!” He says gesturing to your left arm or lack there of. You have tears in your eyes as you look at him. “Missed you Kev…” You say with a sniffle. Kevin knocks on the bar before saying “Alright dipshits! I’m closing early!” There was a sound of groans and they all left after about five minutes. Kevin locks the door from the inside and immediately comes to sit next to you. “What happened? When did you get back?” You hug him as tight as you can and let out a small sob. Kevin gently surrounds you in a brotherly embrace. “I missed you all s-so much!” You cry. “Have you called Fi-” “No.” “What why?” You pull away and sniff again. “She doesn’t want anything to do with me…” Kevin looks at you as if you shot his dog. “You know that isn’t true right?” He asks and you shake your head. “It is… You know about our argument before I left… I get letters from Debbie and she says Steve is back…” Kevin’s face drops. You know that he knows but you aren’t mad at him for it. “Does anyone know you are home?” He asks and you shake your head. “I came here first… You are the only person who knows and it is going to stay that way.” You say sternly. “(Y/-” “I need a favor.” Kevin stands up waving his hands. “Woah, woah, woah!” He says and paces for a second. “At least tell me what happened that caused that…” He says gesturing to your missing arm. You chuckle before removing your hat to show that you also have an ear missing. “Jesus fuck (Y/N)!” He exclaims. “I uh… I attempted to throw back an explosive…” Kevin’s face seems to grow even more shocked by the second. “Wh-” “My whole squad were in a fucked position… I had to do something and this was the aftermath…” Kevin takes a breath and sits next to you again. “It was always you who would play the hero…” Kevin says with a small laugh. “What is the favor?” He asks sadly. “And why does it seem like I am never going to see you again?” You sigh and wipe your eyes before setting down your duffle bag and rifling through it. You take out an envelope that hasn’t been sealed so he can look at it and set it on the bar. He pauses for a moment but then picks it up to look at it. “A check?” He asks.
You nod. “Yeah… My compensation… I placed you as the home address. I would have done Fi’s but I wasn’t sure if Frank was still around.” You say as you place your hand in your lap gripping your pants leg. “I did the math and both you and V are included. It’s not much but it can pay bills, Help the kids get better clothes, and may-” “You can’t give us this!” Kevin exclaims. “What about you? Where is your cut?” He asks and you shake your head. “I don’t need it.” “Like hell you don’t need it have you looked at yourself!” He says his voice rising. “I’ll be fine! I ca-” “What about medicine? O-Or clothes! Painkillers! You must be hurting!” He says shoving the check toward you but you shove it back. “I’m fine! Kevin Ple-” “No Yo-” “KEVIN LISTEN TO ME!” You scream and this shuts him up. “You are going to take this money, buy clothes, food, hell even Christmas presents for that household!” “We don’t ne-” “I know you don’t but I want to! Please just do this for me!” You plead. Kevin pauses. “Why? Why give this to us?” You sigh and look away. “I’m going to end up dead in a ditch anyway so why take the money with me?” You say before standing up and walking behind the bar. “Which is why we need to help you!” Kevin says. “I am not going to be some other burden for all of you to carry!” You shout. “You aren’t a burden… There are people who love you!” He says standing up and going behind the bar helping you open a beer. “I don’t want help.” You say blinking back tears. “I’m sure Fi-” “She has Steve and his money… I just want to do this last thing for her and that family…” A few tears slip down your cheeks as you take a swig. “I love her. I love Fiona and the kids! I love both you and Veronica!” You say turning toward him. “I just want to do one last thing and then I will be happy.” You say setting down the beer and wiping your eyes before picking it back up again and taking a sip. “Then at least come with me. You can give it to them yourself!” He says trying to convince you to stay. “I am not going to ruin their dynamic… They have Steve to take care of them… They don’t need me messing it all up…” You say. “She would drop Steve the minute she saw you…” Kevin says and you shake your head. “No… I wouldn’t want her to. She deserves better then me. Better then him… But he makes her happy and I am not going to stand in the way of that… I am not going to be a burden…” You say chugging the rest of your drink and tossing it in the trash behind the bar. You scoot by him and grab your hat. “Don’t tell anyone about it. Say you made extra cash at the bar or something.” You say as you put it on and lean down with a grunt to grab your duffle. “Are you really doing this?” Kevin asks defeated and you nod. “I love you all…” You say and quickly duck out of the establishment.
Debbie is in her room looking through the letters she recently received. They weren’t from you as they usually were they were from some military officer. It had a first class stamp on it and everything. It was well into the night but she needed to understand what this is. Everyone other then Fiona knew that they still got letters. Before you left on your third tour you and Fiona had a bad fight and for a while Fiona would just burn your letters before even opening them so Debbie and some of the others started checking the mail before she could and hide them. It became a routine. Debbie and everyone would send you letters back on occasion so you would know that they are still thinking about you but now this military jargon is messing with her head. Since letters like this have been coming for a week now. Debbie quietly slips out of her room and makes her way to the boys room. While doing this she can hear Fiona and some of her friends downstairs. When she gets there she goes up to Ian’s bed and shakes him while whispering. “psst Ian!” Ian is startled awake and looks at her. “What do you want Debs?” He asks rubbing his eyes. “It’s a letter! From (Y/N) it makes absolutely no sense!” She says and Ian sits up and turns on a lamp. He looks through the letter as his face turns from tired to serious. “Wake up Carl and Lip… We need to tell Fiona.” Debbie’s eyes widen. “What?! No! She will try and burn it before we can figure out what this means!” Debbie says her voice rising. This rouses Lip from his sleep. “What the fuck are you two doing up?” He asks and Debbie sighs. “There is a letter from some Military Officer and not from (Y/N)…” Lip hops down and walks over to look at it.
Meanwhile downstairs in the living room Fiona, Steve, and Veronica are sitting and laughing while drinking a few beers. “So where is Kevin? He should be here!” Fiona says and Veronica shrugs. “I don’t know he says he has been taking extra shifts at The Alibi.” Right as she says that Kevin walks through the door. “Delivery!” He says as he walks to Fiona and Veronica handing them their own envelope and Veronica squeals and takes it to count but Fiona is still reluctant. “You should save all this money for the baby…” “You say that every time Fi I told you it’s fine!” he says with a forced smile on his face. Fiona notices this and raises a brow. “Where do you get this money again?” She asks and Kevin Shrugs. “The Alibi! Don’t worry about it!” He says when Steve chimes in. “Who cares where it’s from! It’s money and that’s all that matters!” He says with a smirk and Fiona sighs rolling her shoulders out. That is when Debbie, Lip, Ian, and Carl comes down stairs somewhat in a rush. “What are you guys doing down here?” Veronica asks. “We have something for you Fiona…” Ian says slowly. “Can’t it wait till morning? It’s a school night.” But Debbie shakes her head, seemingly close to tears. “What is Debs?” She asks and Lip responds. “It’s about (Y/N)…” Fiona tenses up and Steve asks. “Who is (Y/N)?” “It doesn’t matter who she is she isn’t important.” She says flatly. “You know that’s not true!” Debbie exclaims. “She is important to all of us! We all love her and so do you!” Debbie says nearly screaming. “Debbie!” Fiona says shocked. “She’s back!” Debbie says and Kevin slowly makes his way out of the room which doesn’t go unnoticed by Veronica so she follows him. “Kev?” She asks and He tenses up. “Uh yeah V?” He says nervously. “What are you hiding?” She asks sternly. “Hiding? I’m not hiding!” He says and Veronica storms up to him where they are practically chest to chest. “I know when you are lying now tell me!” “Then I might as well tell everyone…” He says walking back into the living room where Debbie is bawling her eyes out, The boys trying to get through to Fiona and Fiona seems to be hyperventilating. “Guys…” Kevin says but they don’t seem to be listening. That is when Veronica speaks up. “GUYS!” They all pause their arguing and look at Kevin.
Kevin takes a deep breath before speaking. “I saw (Y/N)… She came to The Alibi a month ago…” They all in unison scream. “What?!” He nods his head. “She didn’t want to see everyone because of… What was the word… Dynamic I think. She said that since Steve is here she didn’t want to ruin it… She didn’t even want me to tell you.” He says sighing. “And the money… That’s from her. Sh-” “We aren’t a fucking charity case you find her and take this shit back!” Fiona says standing up and handing her envelope to him. “If you saw her you would think it was the other way around?” Kevin says and Fiona looks confused. “What does that mean?” She asks and that is when Lip speaks up. “She was medically discharged a few months ago… Came back to the states a month and a half ago…” Fiona looks over at Lip. “Medically discharge? Is she hurt what does it say?” She asks walking over and taking the letter from him. “It talks about her compensation and the address to find her but she listed Kevin and Veronicas address…” Ian says looking down at his hands. “How did you get this letter?” She asks. “Well…” Debbie speaks up. “I send her letters…” Fiona looks shocked. “What?” “You started burning (Y/N)’s letters so we all made sure to look through the mail before you got to it…” Carl says. “I… I thought she stopped sending them…” Fiona says as tears well up in her eyes. “Where is she now?” She asks Kevin and he shrugs. “I don’t know… She said that it was going to be the last time I saw her…” Veronica hits his shoulder. “So you just let her go!” “She was adamant! I wasn’t going to turn my back on her!” Kevin exclaimed. “When was the last time you saw her?” Debbie asks. “A month ago but I have guys keeping tabs on her. She is still in Chicago. That’s all I know…” He says quietly. “Okay, okay guys. Lip you and Carl go to all the homeless shelters in the Area. Ian you and Debbie check every hospital! V and Kev you guys ask around… I might know where she is…” Steve stands up from the couch. “What about me?” He asks and Fiona gets an unpleasant shiver. “Uh… You stay with Liam…” She says and then goes to get ready.
1. “You’d hurt yourself just to make them smile and then they want to see you bleed”
2. “One who holds the blade doesn’t claim his innocence”
3. “You killed them all in-front of me, and you expect me to blind it from my conscious ?”
4. “You won’t get what you’re looking for here, you’re nothing but a liar. I thought I knew you back then - but I guess I was wrong”
5. “Why spare me when I would kill you in an instant”
- “Because I know you, I may not trust you, but I know you”
6. “No amount of pain could ever amount to when you left me, no amount of tears that fall from your face will ever make up for the agony I’ve endured in your hand”
7. “No matter what you will never be a saint, you will always be a husk of who you were - if you ever were something to begin with”
8. “I loved you at some point, but the person I loved isn’t the person I see in-front of me”
- “Then fake it”
- “I don’t think I can fake it anymore”
9. “You’re more of a monster than any of your past has ever been”
- “Don’t act like you know what I’ve been through !”
10. “You’re a condescending, compulsive liar - who can’t be trusted as far as they can be thrown and even at that is a stretch”
11. “It’s all been a ruse, hasn’t it ?”
12. “You aren’t the hero you claim to be, I see that now”
13. “You’re cocky for someone whose been outed as a manipulative liar”
- “Because there’ll always be fools who’ll believe me”
14. “Why must you torment me with more promises that you’ll break as soon as you make them”
15. “I have a job to do, trust me or not I’m sure you understand”
- “Trust you ? You’re a fucking murderer ! You — you killed my friend ! And — and you were going to kill me - !”
- “I want to keep one person alive each time to tell my story”
16. “You’re quite cowardly than when we first met”
17. “I might’ve did all that horrible stuff but I’m still your spouse/friend/best friend !”
- “You’re not them, you never were - you’ve made that perfectly clear”
18. “The terrors only just beginning ? What the fuck does that mean you vague cynical bastard ?!”
19. “You fucking traitor ! You traitor I hate you I HATE YOU !”
20. “You bring dishonor to your family”
- “Not like there was any there to begin with”
21. “You were able to make these decisions, you were knowingly hurting people and I can’t stand by and do nothing anymore, not again”
22. “You..I trusted you - I treated your word as gospel !”
“There is no challenge in anything and no challenge worth the increasing void and eventually Light accepts that there just isn’t any point to looking further.”
- This mini-fiction is a work of fan literature. There is no connection to the Canon story line. There is also no MC in this fiction earlier. So please don’t comment about MC not being there.
- This fiction will bring up the concepts of Lack of Self-Care, Terminal/Critical Illnesses (Made up ones, but still) , Family Drama and Angst, and other smaller things that commonly may make people feel at least a little uncomfortable.
- I am not always the best at depicting a character’s personality. I get told that a lot. If you do not like how I have depitcted one of the brothers, feel free to let me know- but don’t be salty about it.
- Share your thoughts. I like seeing them. This is only a request, though.
“Tell yourself that you are okay, and yet the words are only carrying you on by a thread. You dance a line between life and death everyday- the silence is too loud and yet you endure it.”
“…”
“No one will see you- no one will hear you- and upon the last step- you will be consumed by my cold, welcoming hands. I promise you will be safe.. I will take care of you. Return to death- sweet child. I will always be waiting.”
-
Waking up in a cold sweat had not been something new to Mammon. He had often found himself shaking to awareness with droplets of melted ice on his brow- the discomfort of his twisting stomach, and clammy skin. It was a norm- and one he wish he had not come to be familiar to.
The white haired demon rought a shaking hand, glossing it over his saturated forehead. This only rallied a grunt of disapproval from the man upon the feeling of dampness.
Breathing, and sitting up was a struggle. He turned over to his side, attempting to balance his wavering stomach’s fight in defiance.
Tired eyes blinked away what little light peered in through his curtains. The darkness of the space he occupied was unfamiliar, for most of his time here in the Devildom, until the last couple of months. The shade was overwhelming at first- but it since then had become a blessing in disguise.
It was easy to contemplate the meaning of his own presence down in this hellscape. He had found himself running back and forth trying to establish a way of life. Trying to find a use, a purpose.
Tired eyes found themselves drooping as he remembered the many times he had tried and failed. Maybe even the times he had tried and failed- desperate and stubborn. His stubbornness was both a blessing, and a curse. Perhaps it was just mockery; he knew well that it was probably the only reason he had survived for so long.
A buzzing was starting to overtake his head- throbbing in both of his temples as odd colors rippled across the darkness that consumed his vision. It was nearly mesmerizing. Enchanting, even.
Many a day and night was spent hiding in his room, without the concern of his brothers, or the care of others he could have considered friends and family.
The only serenity he could find was his dreams. The feeling of floating in a comfortable abyss- and just forgetting about everything else. He enjoyed it sincerely, it helped him feel not as alone. It helped him feel free.
Conscious thought and constant gripes with himself. Pools and pools of self doubt and anger. Loathing and regret- it all blurred together and made a murky mess.
Mammon tried to remember why he was here all alone, in his pain, and confusion. Reminding himself that he was the one that shut his own siblings out in the first place. It wasn’t all that hard- really- all he needed to do was anger them enough and they did the other half of the work.
The Demon of Greed was sure that they were all at RAD, at the time being. He had been scraping himself by for so long, doing his work for RAD from his own computer. He may have been getting bad scores- but that was nothing that Lucifer would be concerned about.
Avoiding meetings, and getting away with not being present for important events was surprisingly easy. More than likely this was because they were simply glad that he was not stealing anything from them.
Resigned, and in pain, the demon of greed leans back, before feeling his head getting heavier. He thought back to the events that had transpired, the day everything went downhill.
As per usual, Mammon had been committing himself to his actions of scamming, and getting himself into problems he could not get out of. Though, at the time, he had gotten his brothers into the same mess- and that lead to an obvious explanation of annoyance or anger.
During these thoughts, another flood of pain started to pummel the Avatar of Greed, forcing him to curl his legs closer to his body as he clasped at his eyes in an futule attempt to get the upcoming headache to subside.
Due to all the physical stress, he didn’t have the energy to move more, to try and get medication, or go to the bathroom. He started to recall the long stent of time he had spent crawling himself from the foot of his bed to the trash-can or the bathroom. Too determined to keep it from his siblings that he would not dare ask for help.
It wasn’t worth it. He might as well let them have their peace, right? What was one more, or one lesss in a world such as this one? Mammon was a mere grain of sand. he didn’t have value on his own. He would always need help from others.
He felt his breath, and heart slowing down, calm. The ringing in his ears was getting lower and lower- and the humming of one of his favorite tunes started to play somewhere deep within his mind.
Closing hie eyes, the avatar of greed let himself try to feel at peace- he allowed himself to rest, and drop the weight of struggles and self doubt, even in a time such as this. Because- in the end- he would be his own judge, jury, and executioner.
He was the cause behind this illness, tearing him apart from the inside out. He allowed himself to remain this way, because of that fact.
This was going to be the way that he had died, wasn’t it?
Alone? Still in severe pain. Questioning his actions and settling with what he was given- because he couldn’t do anything else at this point.
Closing his eyes, the white haired demon felt his body temperature rising again, it burned, but he was too tired to respond to it. He simply took in a couple deep breathes, and exhaled-
A harsh heartbeat lurched forward in his chest. Slow, and purposeful. Powerful, if he really considered it.
He didn’t take in another breath. He tried, and felt like he had- but no air entered his burning lungs.
A second attempt, third and fourth- nothing changed. He couldn’t bring anymore air into his body, no matter how much he pitifully beckoned for the remembrance to draw air into hhis aching system. In sight of this, he was still calm. He wasn’t afraid- somehow.
His consciousness eventually faded, and his body fell limp, the need or want to struggle finishing abandoning his form. The silence grew even more eerie, and the light recessed back from the window- giving the comfort of obscurity to one of life’s many victims.
Nobody was there to see him. No one would have heard him, or been there to try and talk to him. It was all silence.
Perhaps it was better this way.
For everone.
He can finally rest, and and hopefully be at peace with himself- if he ignored his own neglegence. He can be free.
-
A burst of colors flooded his vision, and Mammon sat up with a start- surprised by his sudden strength. He looks around where he had woken up- barely processing what was in front of himself for a good minute.
After calming his nerves he reobserved the area, and took note of the flower-beds of soft, golden dahlia flowers under his form- as well as everywhere else within the general location. a firm tug at his abdomen from cloth made him look down-
It appeared that he was dressed in formal black and yellow attire- elegant and fit for someone of his personal taste.
The area around him was truly stunning. If sight was something that could generate treasure, this would be a trove. Serene- and isolated. Glimmering flowers crawl up marbled pillars as twinkling stars glimmer in an endless sea that was far beyong the reach of any sailor.
An ambiance of trickling water, and the sound of chiming bells was in the wake, birds let out soft calls from the trees and the glow of golden candles made everything feel so warm and welcoming. Almost like a hug.
It seemed his astonishment could only last so long. Glancing to his left, mammon spotted a figure in a suit, devoid of skin, and muscles- the form resembled a skeleton.
“May I have this dance?” the figure asked, extending out a white-gloved hand with confidence. The movement was slow, and questioning, though it seemed that it was not afraid of the answer.
The white haired avatar of greed nearly couldn’t help himself. He looked down at the hand- a feeling of comfort, and even happiness rung throughout his system- convinvincing his hand to move forward.
The Avatar of Greed didn’t need to say anything. He didn’t need to be afraid. He just existed. He simply felt at peace. he grabbed the hand of the fine-dressed skeleton, and was pulled to his feet gently. Spun into a gentle waltz, he danced with the charmingly macabre figure- without a care in the world.
“Come and dance with me. Accompany me in a Waltz among the Golden Dahlia Flowers.”
sorry, it’s been a hot second since I’ve posted. Lots of work and writers block do NOT go together. I’d like to thank my friend cybergeist for helping me finish this by giving me some ideas of what I can do with it.
I’m the strong one, I’m not nervous I’m as tough as the crust of the earth is
There were certain expectations put upon both Marinette and Damian Al Ghul, but especially Marinette. She was the first born twin and was unfortunately, the born the weakest of the two. Ra’s Al Ghul was not pleased when he had found out that Marinette had to be put on life support as soon as she was born. Ra’s had no care for the gender of the first born, afterall he did plan to pass down his legacy to Talia. No, what he cared about was that Marinette was small, sickly, weak, and most importantly, she was defective. But Talia had begged him to keep the girl alive, so he did, but the expectation of perfection was placed higher for her than it had ever been for Damian. She would have to prove that it was worth the energy to keep her alive. Show that she wasn’t a defect. Prove that she was worthy of the name. She had to be the strongest one for the both of them, she had to be the strongest or else she would be discarded for her failures, that is if she ever allowed herself to have any.
I move mountains, I move churches And I glow ‘cause I know what my worth is
Marinette knew what her worth was equal to. Her life was worth as much as she could give to the League that raised her. Mother taught her how to “glow” and lure her enemies with her looks. She could move around and push down the strongest and more muscular assassins with ease. Her physical body was worth nothing, what she used it for never mattered to anyone. The only thing that mattered was that the mission was completed. Her worth depended on the basis that she followed orders to a ‘T’. Her worth relied on if she lived through everything she was put up against.
I don’t ask how hard the work is
There was a silent rule that you never questioned the assignment you were given. It never mattered how hard the task was, how deadly it may be, you got it done without another word or you died trying. Marinette and Damian knew this rule well. Failure wasn’t even supposed to be a thought of, it wasn’t supposed to exist in their vocabulary, but they had seen Grandfather kill failures. They knew that not all assassins made it back from their missions, they knew that death was always one slip up away. So they never failed, they weren’t allowed to, they were perfect weapons. She knew that they would be severely punished if any dared to break the ideal of perfection and question the Demon Head.
Got a rough indestructible surface Diamonds and platinum, I find 'em, I flatten 'em I take what I’m handed, I break what’s demanded
Marinette was seen as an indestructible warrior. It didn’t matter what the task was, how hard it was, or how deadly it might have been; she finished her missions and returned back to the League every. Single. Time. And it was all to please her mother and grandfather (Grandfather never was). She vowed to herself that she would one day make them proud of her, even if it was only for a short amount of time.
Damian looked up to his older sister. Her smooth confidence, the way she handled all the expectations that were placed on her shoulders, the way she was able to hide her emotions, and how she treated him when they were alone. There were so many missions that she had taken that made him fear for her life, but she always returned. Many times she was so badly injured that he feared that she would not survive the night when he had seen her return, but she always recovered in the end. She would never become the heir to the Demon’s Head, but she was his sister and he knew that she would stand by his side when it was his turn to rule the assassins. She would be his guard and stay at his right hand at all times.
But Under the surface I feel berserk as a tightrope walker in a three-ring circus
But under Marinette’s cool indifference was this itch, no, a fireunder her skin that would never leave her. She knew that if she messed up even oncethat it would be the end for her. Every step she took hadto be calculated, every move was important if she wanted to survive and not fall into some trap or her own inevitable death. She was walking a very thin line, and she knew that if she tipped even a little bit, she would never be able to balance herself again. She would never have the opportunity as there would be no safety net to catch her.
Under the surface Was Hercules ever like “Yo, I don’t wanna fight Cerberus”?
Marinette loved mythology. It was one of the few classes that she looked forward to when she was back on base. Many times on missions she would think of Hercules and wondered what his thoughts were when he went through The Twelve Tasks. While Marinette could relate to the many tasks that they were both put through, all designed to make sure they died. They never did though, and they continued on to the next deadly task trying to prove that they were not defective and that they could be worthy.
Marinette often wondered if Hercules ever wanted to run away from the death that constantly surrounded him. Did he ever actually want to fight Cerberus or any of the beasts he was told to kill for forgiveness? Did he likekilling all of those creatures? Was he really that loyalto his family that he himself murdered that he would go through allof that to “repent”? Would shedo that for her own family? Damian, yes, but what about Grandfather and Mother? If she were being completely honest, she didn’t think she would. Did that make her a despicable person? Was she really the monster that she always heard people call her when they thought she wasn’t there or wasn’t listening?
She didn’t like taking the lives of her targets, especially when they were just little children. She hated what she was told to do, but she did it anyway because failure to finish the mission was never a thought when she was on the field. She was tiredof all the blood and death that always surrounded her, tiredof having to carry it all out. But she could never even thinkof leaving Damian alone with the League for longer than a month.
Hercules wasn’t her favorite God though. No, her favorite God was Hephaestus. He was known as the ugliest God and was cast out of Heaven for his defective form. He was a master blacksmith, and proved to the other God’s that even if he looked wrong, that didn’t mean he was worthless. Just because Marinette was born wrong and still had defects because of her birth such as her small frame and her mental defects of depression and anxiety, that didn’t mean that she was useless. She was strong, powerful, and a trickster when she needed or wanted to be, just like Hephaestus. She would make her own name for herself, and one day, people willrespect it if they ever want her help.
Under the surface I’m pretty sure I’m worthless if I can’t be of service
After years of living in the League and absolutely nothingin her life had changed even remotely. She would often just let her mind wander and let herself go through the motions of her constant never ending routine. She often wondered if she was worthless even with all the work she did. Was the only reason she was alive really because of her service or was there something else at play that she just couldn’t see? If she didn’t do what she was told, how quickly would they kill her? Would they just disown her and kick her out? No, they wouldn’t want evidence, they would have to kill her and get rid of her body. Would they kill her quickly, or would they draw it out and use the same torture methods she used on others? It would be almost poetic if that were the case, especially if they made Damian conduct it. She shivered at the mere thought of it though. She prayed that they wouldn’t make him do it, anyone besides him.
A flaw or a crack The straw in the stack That breaks the camel’s back What breaks the camel’s back it’s Pressure like a drip, drip, drip that’ll never stop, whoa
She couldn’t risk showing anyone that she had a flaw or crack her walls. She couldn’t let a single thing, no matter how small, break her. She chanted this to herself over and over again in her head. She could feel the blood drip off of her forehead from the ambush. Everything was starting to get blurry, but she had to keep fighting.
Father would be so disappointed if she failed, and Damian would tell her that she was acting like a failure, again. She panted as she looked around at the still conscious assassins and the ones that kept spawning out of the shadows and began to circle around her. There were so many voices in her head, Oracle was telling her to runon the comms. Unfortunately the voices in her head were muchlouder. All she could hear was her Father telling her she needed to work harderand be better, Damian telling her that she was letting him down and bringing dishonorto the family, Grandfather telling her that she was worthlessif she didn’t fulfill her duty.
Drip
Drip
Drip
The sound of her blood running down her face and into the puddle of blood below her filled the street. Was this where she failed, was this small thing what broke her? Normally she could take out all these assassins easily, her head would be clear and she would be able to pull herself together and focus.
Pressure that’ll tip, tip, tip 'till you just go pop, whoa
But it wasn’t one of those days, she was tired, her mind was clouded, and all she could hear were the voices screaming in her head that all reminded her of her failures. Her head was spinning a million miles a minute and she just could notkeep the voices in her head straight or silence them like she had been able to before. Her head felt like it was going to explode, it was so full and clouded, and it felt like she was going to collapse with all of the weight mounted on her shoulders. At this point she couldn’t even tell if the weight was invisible anymore, could others see it? Would anybody be able to see the load that was about to make her finally tip over the edge? Would they even care?
Give it to your sister, your sister’s older Give her all the heavy things we can’t shoulder Who am I if I can’t run with the ball?
Memory upon memory flooded her mind of all the responsibilities that she needed to carry and be fully aware of even now. She knew that many of the punishments for Damian’s “failures” were too much, far too harsh, for him, so she would plead with her grandfather to give them to her. He’d often give them to her with little convincing on her part. She had also tried to do this with Father, but he would never let her. He said that Damian needed to learn for himself what the consequences for his actions were.
Her mind flashed back to one of the many incidents that caused permanent reminders to liter her back.
“Please Grandfather. It was not Damian’s fault! Please, I will take the punishment, give me the burden. He will never repeat the offense again. I will make sure of it.”
She pleaded with her head bowed as she kneeled down at her grandfather’s throne. Last time she had made eye contact while she pleaded for her little brother he carried a look in his eyes that made her feel sick with fear. It was some kind of sick amusement, and she was scared she would actually vomit if she ever saw it again.
“Very well. His punishment was twenty lashes in front of the entire League, you will take them instead.”
Marinette swallowed slightly at the thought of more lashings on her still healing back. She knew that he was lying in the fact that Damian’s punishment would have been public. He just wanted to humiliate her, remind her of her place and worth in his eyes. She needed to do this though, Damian would one day lead the League and he needed to be in perfect condition for that to happen. Who was she if she couldn’t protect her brother, it was her duty to protect him.
She didn’t understand why Grandfather’s assassin’s were going after her. She knew Damian was currently with Father, so why come after someone as useless as her? It didn’t matter though, she would continue to carry on the duty of protector for her family. She would shoulder all of the responsibility that Damian doesn’t understand quite yet. She couldn’t fall yet, and even though her entire body wanted to collapse, she got back into her fighting stance and attacked.
If I fall to Pressure like a grip, grip, grip and it won’t let go, whoa
Marinette gripped at the restraints keeping her arms above her head as the whip lashed down against her back again, and again, and again. She stood tall through all of it because she knew that if she fell onto her knees the pain would be so. Much. Worse. She could feel Damian’s gaze on her, it burned even worse than the lashes that continued to rain against her back. It definitely felt like more than 20 (Damian said it was).
Pressure like a tick, tick, tick 'til it’s ready to blow, whoa Give it to your sister, your sister’s stronger See if she can hang on a little longer Who am I if I can’t carry it all?
The voices continued to grow louder and louder in her head and ear, so without thinking she took the comm out and threw it. She needed to focus, get away from all of the distractions right now because if she was going to live through this attack she needed to clear her head! She had to do this, they were after her, and who knew if they were also going after Damian.
She could do this, Father and the others should be on route, right? She just needed to hang on a little longer, she could do it! If she couldn’t do this simple task then who was she? Her back burned at the mere memory of what failure can cost.
If I falter Under the surface I hide my nerves and it worsens, I worry something is gonna hurt us
She needed to pull herself together, Marinette thought as she stabbed one of the assassins in a non-vital area in the leg.
Under the surface The ship doesn’t swerve as it heard how big the iceberg is
Marinette had a feeling that her family was close by. She couldn’t know for sure as she had thrown out her comm, but she’d like to believe that. It didn’t matter though, she had three assassins left. She could handle them, then she could go back home and sleep. The thought of sleep was enough of a distraction that for a brief second she lost her focus, and that was her biggest mistake. She jumped for one of the assassins and it felt like everything stopped before continuing in slow motion as another one came at her from her left side. She couldn’t stop her movement now that she had set her full momentum into play. She would need to find a way to get out of this with minimal harm done to herself quickly.
Under they surface I think about my purpose,
Instead of thinking logically to make a plan to get out of the situation, her brain just did notwant to function. They really had to pick today of all days where she just didn’t have her head screwed on right to go after her. Her mind instead wandered to one of her favorite moments with her little brother, even though he’s taller than her now.
It was a small recon mission, nothing grand or overly complex. They were in Hong Kong, China and it was the Chinese New Year. She remembered walking down the festive streets, the scent of all of the different foods, and all of the different styles of clothes the people wore. It was magical, and she could tell Damian was also fascinated with the scenes around them.
“Shaqiq, can we go watch the firework show? I hear they are a big and important tradition here.”
Damian was silent for a few moments before he gave a sharp nod.
“I believe that it would be a satisfactory reward for our work.”
And with that the twins ran around the city often stopping to watch small parades, dragon dances, and so many other festivities that occurred on the streets. Finally they made it to the firework show and watched the colorful explosions used only for show and the benefit of others rather than the death and destruction they were used to. They both laid side by side on the soft grass, almost cuddling together as they watched the lights and shapes made by the fireworks. It was a beautiful night, and one of the only times she could remember where both she and her brother were at peace, even for just a few moments.
It was hard to think of other times after that where she was able to help Damian. Soon it was hard to ever impress him, and she became a disappointment in his eyes as well. Had she done something wrong? Was she ever a good big sister? She tried to be, she tried everyday to be the best sibling, but it never seemed to be enough. Even after they left the League he always spent time with Grayson or Todd, was she no longer enough? She had to be a terrible sister if he never wanted to be around her anymore. And if he was always gone and she couldn’t protect him, did that mean she no longer had a purpose? Did that mean she really was worthless now?
can I somehow preserve this?
Marinette knew that she was doomed as soon as she felt the prick in her leg. She felt everything begin to tilt on its axis in a terrible and horrifying way. Could she find a way to get out of this before she passed out? Could she fight through the sedative and preserve her life? Did she even have a chanceof winning now?
Line up the dominoes A light wind blows You try to stop it tumbling But on and on it goes
Each step she took grew heavier and heavier. Her eyes seemed to droop more and more with each blink. Her breathing was becoming more laborious and staying awake seemed now and more pointless by the second. She couldn’t fall asleep though, not here, not now! Marinette fought through the sedative as hard as she could and even managed to knock out one of the three assassins.
Unfortunately she was getting sloppier as each step took more and more of an effort to make. Everything felt almost numb and it only took one step on a puddle of her own blood to make her slip up. It was poetic in a way, that her blood was what led to her downfall as the next thing she knew she was on the ground. Her brain just couldn’t process things fast enough and before she knew it her hands and feet were hogtied behind her back. She tried to struggle out of the ropes, but all of her energy seemed to be completely drained from her body and all she could do was lay there and let her eyes fall shut.
But wait If I could shake the crushing weight of expectations Would that free some room up for joy
Marinette remembered what it was like to stare at the manor that she would now live in with her father and apparently other brothers for the first time. Her chest seemed to lighten at the thought of not having the same expectations the League had put upon her. She wouldn’t have to train to kill as she had heard that her father forbade murder. She may not even have to fight or be a vigilante if she didn’t want to. That thought brought a warm feeling that bloomed in her chest. She nearly cried at the thought of finally living a peaceful life.
Or relaxation, or simple pleasure?
Maybe she could draw and not have to hide it from anyone. Maybe her family would even like her drawings! Or she could read books for fun rather than educational purposes. She had heard of all of these different types of books and genres from her missions, so maybe she could read and understand what they were talking about now! She closed her eyes and imagined drinking tea in the beautiful garden or just taking a nap in the sun when it was day. Being able to let her guard down and just…be. Nothing to drag her down, no one trying to kill her, a life of tranquility and maybe even love…
Instead we measure this growing pressure Keeps growing, keep going
Her dreams immediately crashed down around her when she saw Damian attack one of Father’s partners. Not just any partner, his right hand partner. Robin, A.K.A. Timothy Jackson Drake. She quickly jumped in and pulled Damian back, saving the boy from the random and unexpected attack.
“Damian! What are you doing? We can not attack Father’s partners.”
She scolded. Damian just glared at her and crossed his arms replying haughtily,
“He is not worthy of being Father’s partner. He is not blood, I am.”
And with that response Marinette knew that she would never be free of the pressure and expectations that immediately dropped back onto her shoulders tenfold. Damian was going to be the difficult twin, the obvious troublemaker. That meant that she had to be the good, perfect twin, just like before. She would have to keep Damian in line and stop him from causing problems so Father wouldn’t hate her them. Afterall, if they caused too many problems Father might kick them out and send them back to the League, and Marinette would do anythingtonever go back there. She refused to ever let that happen. She would kill herself before she was ever brought back to that wretched place.
So with a bright smile that was meant to send a warning to Damian and show she meant no harm to the others she calmly replied,
“That is no way to speak to your new brother Damian. He is important to Father so he must be important to us.”
Damian looked down and mumbled under his breath,
“Maybe to you, but not me.”
It was barely audible, but she heard it. Damian had been picking up more of Grandfather’s methods when he was around her. Of course they were never as horrible, but the verbal lashings had been more harsh and frequent than ever before.
Her shoulders felt so heavy, how much more if this could she really handle? The answer: More . One of the many voices in the back of her mind whispered. You can and must handle so muchmore. Marinette stood up and turned to the boy that Damian attacked and began to apologize for Damian’s actions as one of Father’s other partners began to talk to her brother and lead him away from Tim…and herself.
'Cause all we know is Pressure like a drip, drip, drip that’ll never stop, whoa
The tears wouldn’t stop falling onto the floor. The drip, drip, drip of salt water fell onto the smooth cement floor. The weight was both physical and mental as she was held down by Grandfather’s assassins. Father had been too late, if he had even come for her at all, and now she awaited her inevitable fate at the hands of the merciless Demon’s Head.
Each tear that had fallen held a memory of her past that had led to the current breakdown that was years in the making as she was being transported to who knew where. The League of Assassins had so many bases all over the world, many of which had a Lazarus Pit that it was impossible for her to truly know where she would end up till she was there. Her body shook with the effort to keep her sorrow silent, but she hadn’t made a sound yet, and she was going to keep it that way.
Pressure that’ll tip, tip, tip 'til you just go pop, whoa-oh-oh
She tried to hold back her tears, but everytime she did it felt like someone was pouring acid on her eyes. Everything was broken, her mind felt fractured and her facade of strength and confidence finally broke. They always said that the bottle always shatters during the worst of times. Her frame seemed to shake even though she refused to let out the sobs that burned her throat and needed to escape! The salt of her tears burnedagainst her skin, falling deep into the cracks of her soul and scorched it with every drop.
Give it to your sister, it doesn’t hurt
Damian’s disappointed face flashed before her eyes and his voice rang in her ears, “Don’t be weak sister, you need to be strong. Your tears are useless.” Marinette didn’t want to disappoint him again, she hated disappointing anyone she cared about.
And see if she can handle every family burden Watch as she buckles and bends but never breaks
She steeled back the tears, let the pressure burn behind her eyes. She hoped that Damian would neverknow of her moment of weakness. She prayed that she would stay strong and face this trial without more embarrassing things such as her stupid emotions getting in the way. She would stand strong, and she won’t let anything get to her again. She could feel the stone walls being built up again as she composed herself. She would never be weak again.
No mistakes just
Marinette was practically thrown to her knees as they entered the room that contained Grandfather’s once intimidating throne room that she had once feared as she knew that being there meant only terrible news and/or pain. Taking in a deep breath and knowing that she was now stronger than she was the last time she was in this predicament she lifted her head and stared directly into Ra’s deadly green eyes. She had never been happier than she was at this moment that she had inherited her father’s blue eyes rather than his. Ra’s glared at her, a silent warning to look away, but she refused. She would show him. She wasn’t a defect, her birth was only a setback, being a weak sickly child was and never would be her fate.
“What a pleasant greeting Grandfather, I don’t suppose I’m here for a family reunion.”
Marientte said sarcastically as she stared almost bored at the man standing above her. The glare he sent her would have once made her cower in fear, but not anymore. Never again.
Pressure like a grip, grip, grip and it won’t let go, woah
Ra’s was dragging her somewhere now, his grip firm and achingly tight around her wrist. She tried to fight against it, but she was too weak from the previous battle as none of the wounds had been tended to. It didn’t help that the world was practically spinning due to the concussion she had received, not to mention the amount of blood loss.
Pressure like a tick, tick, tick 'till it’s ready to blow, woah Give it to your sister and never wonder If the same pressure would’ve pulled you under
Damian paced the back of the Batplane front and back, front and back, front and back, until he yelled out his frustration and punched at the wall. Unfortunately it did nothing to take away the anxiety that tore and ate at him alive. The tension was thick as everyone did everything they could to find his sister, their sister, Bruce’s daughter. Damian knew how strong his sister was, how much she had grown from being trained under Father’s wing, but he also knew what she had gone through with their Grandfather. She was born sick, wrong, but she became such an amazing fighter and was extremely intellectual. She had taken on so many things for him, taken so many of his punishments to prove her strength, but it was always for not. He had to get his sister back!
Damian snapped his head to the side and watched as Drake hacked into different sections of the League and listened to what his moles knew about what was happening. Apparently they knew nothing. They reported that they didn’t even know the Demon Head was on a base as he had gone incognito over two months ago. Damian had never been religious, had too much blood on his hands and knowledge of the horrors that were on this Earth to believe that a God would ever let these things happen. But at this moment, he prayed to any and every God that seemed to exist that they would reach her in time. That she was fine, well as fine as she could be after the battle she endured, and most importantly. He prayedthat she was ALIVE.
Who am I if I don’t have what it takes?
Marinette gripped at the hand that was wrapped tightly around her neck as she was held right above the green bubbling pit that Ra’s loved so much. There was a sword exactly where her heart was, the sharp point teasing her. The bite gave her the smallest sample of what was to come.
“You were born weak and defective, an abomination of what an Al Ghul should be.”
Ra’s began in his deep stoic voice. Marinette was tempted to spit in his face, but she knew better than to further anger the man who could kill her in a second’s time.
“Though you have grown you are still defective, you have not reached the perfection you need to be a true fighter for our family. But I will make you perfect, I will reforge you in the Lazarus Pit so that you will be my perfect blade. The weapon you were always meant to be. Only then will you truly be ready to protect me and your brother, to protect your true family.”
No cracks, no breaks No mistakes, no pressure
Marinette looked Ra’s directly in the eyes and used the glare that her father had taught her. She had already lost hope that her family would get to her in time, she had always known that it was unlikely they would. She knew her grandfather well, she knew that this was planned far in advance. Everything calculated so that the plan would go through without interruption and that she would not be able to escape. But that didn’t mean that she was going to surrender.
“I am perfect the way I am. I am not and never have been defective. I will never be your weapon,”
She said disgusted and filled with a righteous anger that blazed to life inside her chest.
“I am Damian’s sword, I am his armor, and I am his shield. Nothing you do, no sword, no whip, no torture, and no Lazarus Pit will ever change that.”
Ra’s laughed at her, but Marinette only continued to glare at the man. Even as the grip around her neck grew tighter, she would never again cower away from him or anyone.
“You may have found some strength, but you forget. You are the property of The League of Assassins, and that means you will always be mine.”
He said, whispering “mine” in her ear before running the sword through her. A gasp tore through Marinette as her eyes widened as nothing but pure agonyburnedandruptured through her body. It didn’t stop there as she felt the sword be pulled out of her in small increments that caused anguished screams to rip their way out of her throat. But even through the torment, she never broke her gaze with the monster that was her grandfather. She didn’t break it when she was falling. She didn’t break it when she was submerged in the thin pool of green, bubbling, scathing waters. She didn’t break it when her body burned from the inside out and her thoughts were replaced with an angered voice that whispered for her to kill,kill,kill! Destroy the Ba* that caused your torment and anguish. Make him feel all of the pain you felt. Kill him, and you’ll be free of him and the burdens he places upon you. Kill him and you and brother will never have to fear him everagain. Marinette blinked once. All she see was green. And all she could feel was pure unadulterated rage.
i’m going to be completely honest here, make a disclaimer first and i will not sugarcoat it—johnny will die in this fic. it’s a one-chapter thing, haven’t been able to get it out of my head since forever, and now i’ve finally written it. posting it on tumblr as well as ao3 (archive of our own).
summary: johnny tries to risk his life to save jimmy crystal in a fire and ends up in peril on the verge of death.
this story contains major character death, rather graphic descriptions of wounds, the works (not too graphic since i’m bad at descriptions). have fun! (apologies in advance for doing this, uh…)
There were screams and that was all that they could hear.
They didn’t know much about how it had started—but their speculation was that the fire props from Johnny’s performance had gotten a bit out of hand, causing the stage to erupt into flames and sending huge crowds of people into a spiral of panic as they rushed for the doors.
The Crystal Theater was burning, burning, burning—tendrils of flame rose into the night as they challenged to swallow them whole and completely. Firefighter trucks and ambulances had already lined up in front of the building, flashing their red and blue lights and roaring their sirens.
“Is everyone all here?” Buster called out frantically as he skidded to a stop on his little feet in front of the burning building, looking around as he counted the members of his theater crew. “Johnny, Meena? Ash? Rosita?”
“We’re here, Mr. Moon!” Meena’s familiar voice broke out from amongst the panicking crowd and Buster turned to the side in relief to see Meena, Johnny, Ash, Rosita, and Gunter hurrying towards him, Johnny holding Ms. Crawly—not too far away at their heels were Johnny’s dad and uncles. Their new addition Porsha was also amongst them, and so was Johnny’s new friend Nooshy. Even Clay Calloway was with them. They all seemed out of breath, terrified, and some of them a tiny bit worse for wear, but they were fine. Unharmed.
Buster let out a sigh of relief. “You’re all safe.”
“We managed to make it out through the back door before everyone started trampling each other.” Ash blurted out, a smudge of char on her face.
“Rosita, your piglets?”
“Everyone’s here.” Rosita said, shaking but the small look of relief reflecting across her dilated pupils. “Norman and I counted them, I sent them back to a safer place.”
“So we’re all here, right?” Everyone nodded at Buster’s words, and he nodded back. “Good, good—we need to go, now, the fire department will take care of this and make sure the fire’s out—”
Johnny silently counted everyone in his head—everybody was there, alright. But there was someone missing. Someone that he hadn’t even considered adding to his count, but still there enough to acknowledge. Then it hit him.
Crystal. Jimmy Crystal.
“Mr. Crystal’s still in there!” Johnny’s words pierced through everyone like a knife, although barely heard amongst the screams and the cries and the earsplitting roaring of the flames.
“Daddy!” Porsha cried out in realization and Rosita grabbed onto her for support as she burst into sudden tears. “M-my daddy’s still in there!”
Johnny then turned to the lot of them. “You guys hurry on and get to the hotel, wherever it’s safe—I’ll be right back.” He then turned around and started towards the burning building.
Marcus grabbed his arm and held onto him with a vice grip. “What do you think you’re doin’?”
“Dad, I have to save him.” Johnny said, his voice growing more desperate by the minute. “I—”
“You listen here, I saw cracks starting to form in the main lobby on the way out just now.” Marcus growled. “That damned building is going to collapse any second soon, and I am not going to stand here acting stupid enough to let you go in there!”
“But dad—”
“He tried to kill Moon, you saw that. He tried to kill Moon and who knows what he might have been plannin’ to do with the other lot of you—to you.” Marcus’s heart thumped wildly inside his chest. “Don’t be an idiot, son.”
“Dad, I know he did the most terrible things—but me knowin’ that he’s still in there and not makin’ any attempts to try and save him would just be stoopin’ down to his level.” Johnny said, all in a rush of words but firm and clear enough to understand.
“Johnny.”
“I don’t think I’ll be able to live with tha’, dad.”
“Johnny—”
“I’ll be back in just a quick second, I promise.”
“Johnny, you’re crazy.” Ash spat out, almost angrily, as she made his way up to him. “This is Jimmy Crystal we’re talking about—if anything, he deserves this for everything he’s tried to do to us.”
“Nobody deserves to die, Ash.” Johnny replied, his tone soft but firm before looking back up at his dad. “Dad, I’ll be back as soon as I go, I promise you. Just give me a chance.”
Marcus didn’t reply, and the hold he kept on his son didn’t relax.
“Dad,please.”
“…”
“Dad, he’s goin’ to die!”
“… if you’re not back in five minutes, I’m goin’ in there to find you.” Marcus growled as he let go of his grip on Johnny’s shoulder pad of his costume. “Hurry. Be careful.”
A very brief smile—a very quick and small one but a smile nonetheless—broke across his face as he took several steps back to the building, towards the flames. “Thanks for believin’ in me, dad.” And with that, before Marcus could tell him that he changed his mind or say anything else, Johnny darted back towards the building, leaving his friends crying out with distress for him in his wake. Marcus didn’t miss Buster yelling, crying out for his son for him to come back, that it was dangerous.
Marcus then realized that this had been a grave mistake.
Johnny pushed past the broken glass sliding doors and ran straight to the fire while the other continued to run past him towards the direction that he had come from. The smoke from the fire hit him almost immediately, as soon as he took his first step into the theater. It was clouding in his vision, making it hard to see anything ahead of him. His eyes began to water as the smoke began to burn his lungs. Johnny couldn’t help but choke out a few coughs before ducking lower to try and avoid the smoke as much as possible. He hid his own nose and mouth in the corner of his elbow, blinking to get rid of the useless tears.
He stumbled his way over some bigger chunks of debris and wires, supposedly fallen from the ceiling, looking for the white wolf. He clasped his hand over his mouth because his elbow wasn’t doing anything at this point, and his lungs felt like they were on fire.
“Mr. Crystal!” He called out, his voice cracking under pressure. An acrid, almost toxic smell pierced his nose. “Mr. Crystal, where are you?”
He knew he was being stupid by not moving around at a lower height, but he had noticed in seconds that it would just completely hinder his speed and movement. It would be fine as long as he just didn’t breathe in too much spoke. Another life came first.
A loud groan that resonated within the building, echoes like a monster and bouncing off the walls made Johnny nearly freeze to the floor but he forced his rigid body to move. Bits of debris rained down on him like hail and he brought his arm up over his head as he stifled a coughing fit.
Just then, he heard loud cracks above his head and something fell right at his head, cutting against his eye as it dropped—he put both hands over his right eye with a cry as his back slammed back against one of the marble pillars from his stumbling feet. Johnny pulled his shaking hands back and noticed blood on his palm. Luckily, it was only his eyelid. With a pained grunt, he gathered his senses again and set back off deeper into the building to look for Jimmy Crystal.
Flames and fire tendrils licked at the ground underneath him—the building continued to groan loudly, bits of debris and dust raining down on him wherever he went. He really couldn’t see much ahead of him anymore, although it had just been mere minutes since he had entered the theater, his vision blurred and somewhat foggy. Everything was glowing a dangerous, deadly red. Paintings on walls were burning and falling apart, giving off a pungent, acrid odor. Breathing was getting more difficult every second,
Johnny then, out of the corner of his eye, noticed a familiar flash of white—he urged his feet to move and to his relief, found Jimmy Crystal near one of the theater entrances from the lobby, struggling under a piece of debris. Crystal lifted his head to spot Johnny and waved his hand over, coughs wracking his sentence. “Well, don’t just stand there—get me out of here!”
Johnny hurried over and dropped to his knees beside the wolf, apologizing profusely for no actual reason found as he grabbed the chunk of debris and began to lift it up, groaning with effort. The intense heat thundering around him was slowly starting to make him feel sick and nauseous, making his head pound and his stomach churn. His insides felt unnaturally hot as if someone had shoved a burning rock down his throat. The flames licked at his arms and burned his fur and his skin, and Johnny coughed and sputtered.
He finally threw the cement debris off with a cry as soon as Jimmy Crystal managed to crawl out from underneath it. “Help me up.” Jimmy demanded and Johnny did so, knowing that his attitude was the least of his problems. He helped Jimmy Crystal up to his feet and began back towards the exit—the loud cracking that thundered around the building was telling him that their time was almost up.
“The exit’s right ahead, c’mon!” Johnny called out over the earsplitting noises, helping Jimmy Crystal along with his limp, trying not to breathe in as much smoke as possible. He knew he had done the right thing, and he was happy that he did—and Johnny knew that once he reached those doors, he’d get to see his dad and his uncles and his friends again, and everything would be fine.
His breaths grew shorter and his coughs got worse with every step he took through the smoke, his lungs feeling as if they were choking him, something heavy lodged in his throat. Blood flowed from above his brow over his eye, and everything ahead of him just seemed like a complete blur.
The sounds of a loud crash just above his head gave him just about enough time to look up and notice big chunk of concrete falling towards them at breakneck speed from the ceiling—Johnny’s eyes widened in terror and he just managed to shove Crystal out of the way.
But it wasn’t enough time for him to get out of the way himself.
The concrete fell right onto Johnny, crushing him, and he heard the terrible sounds of bones snapping and a searing pain shot through his lower body like a fire as he let out a scream. It exploded in his head like a blinding whiteness. The pain was like needles that had been dipped into alcohol had been jammed through his skin, like his legs had been replaced with ice and electricity wired straight into his spine.
Through his blurring vision, he noticed Jimmy Crystal slowly getting back onto his feet, and grasped onto that tiny bit of hope. He tried to get his elbows underneath him but his chin crashed back onto the rubble in vain, and a tortured groan escaped through his throat.
“Mr. Crystal—” He gasped out, clawing helplessly towards the wolf’s feet, bits of rock and cement cutting into the skin of his palms. A whimper burst out from between his lips as he begged. “P-please, help—”
The wolf stood still in his ragged, burnt suit, did nothing; it was almost as if the smoke wasn’t hurting him at all.
“Please—”
And then, Jimmy Crystal burst into a laugh, a maniac one—and the last bit of hope Johnny had been holding onto for dear left just vanished on the spot.
“Oh, kid.” Crystal shook his head as he brought his shoe down onto his outstretched hand, beginning to twist the sole of his shoe and put a lot more pressure onto it than Johnny had expected—the bones of his fingers cracked under the weight and Johnny let out a pained cry, his arm jerking in fruitless attempts to move his hand out from under it. “I can’t do that.”
“Wh-wh—”
“It’s just something I have unfinished between me and your little boss, Moon. A complete, utter nobody, I’ll make him regret every scandal he attached to my name.” Jimmy stood up straight and wiped the back of his hand against his snout, dragging a smear of striking red blood across his white fur, matted with ash and soot. He brushed the dust off of his suit. “You wouldn’t understand—it’s just business. Don’t take it personally.”
He finally removed his foot from Johnny’s hand and it instantly moved to flex it and try and rid itself of the pain—instead, burning agony shot up his arm and he had to clench his teeth not to scream. His hand shook uncontrollably.
“Just know that this? This isn’t my doing.” He gave Johnny a casual, rather sickening smile. “Blame Moon—that loser is the one who ruined everything I had.”
“Mr. Moon—” He managed to gasp out, and felt the small move of his chest briefly heaving out for breath send the feeling of a thousand knives stabbing into his body like white, searing torture. “—is m-more of a hero… th-than you’ll ever be.” His shaking hand trembled as it slowly clenched into a weak fist.
“… let’s see if you still think that once you’re dead and gone.” Crystal then turned and leaving Johnny crushed underneath the wired concrete, ran off, limping and stumbling towards the still-open exit.
Johnny had never been more terrified in his life—he whimpered as he tried to move himself out from under the crushing weight to no avail, his nails burying themselves into the rubble and dirt underneath him as he struggled—his back hurt so bad, felt like a beast clawing and tearing at his insides, as if something sharp had impaled his body.
Coughs and wheezes tore through his torso and limbs, sending stabs of agony like a searing, hot knife. He couldn’t see, couldn’t breathe, couldn’t breathe, couldn’t breathe—
He was going to die.
…
For Marcus, it was the longest five minutes of his entire life.
He kept his eyes fixed on the entrance of the theater, surrounded completely by flames at this point, his heart almost beating out of his chest. Stan was the one barely holding him back from running inside and finding his son.
His son.
“It’s been a whole five minutes and he’s not back.” Marcus blurted out—he barely heard Meena sobbing in the background, some of them brokenly calling out for Johnny, others actually trying to fight to get in there.
“H-he should have been back by now.” Buster said, the panic rising his voice to the edge. “Why isn’t he back—”
“I need to get in there, goddammit—” Nooshy cried out as Ash held her back as much as she could. “He’s going to die in there if he’s not back soon!”
The theater building dangerously groaned and more glass and debris came raining down onto the pavement, sending everyone screaming once again. Everyone had managed to evacuate at this point, all except for Johnny and Jimmy Crystal, who were both nowhere to be found.
“There! There’s Jimmy Crystal!” Someone—a tiger, he presumed—shouted and pointed at someone emerging from the flames, limping along on his two legs. Paramedics rushed to him immediately.
“… where’s Johnny?” The words left Marcus as nothing above a whisper, feeling suddenly numb and dumbfounded. If Johnny had gone in to save Crystal, but Crystal had come back out on his own without him, then—
A deafening crash interrupted his thoughts and everyone looked up to see the bottom of the building crumbling into pieces, massive cracks cascading over the marble walls with lightning speed—the cracks gave in the walls began to break, bringing the entire theater down with them as the flames erupted from the doors and windows, thundering the grounds around them. The smoke rushed towards them like a sandstorm and everyone held onto each other, eyes screwing shut as they turned their heads away from the explosion that echoed terribly like a god’s cry of anguish, the heat beating at their faces.
There was a terrible ringing and for a short second, Marcus couldn’t hear anything—but then it started to clear, little by little, and he caught sounds of sirens, shouts, cries, screams, and sobs. Animals around them were huddled about, staring at the horrendous scene ahead of them. Marcus looked too… and his heart dropped.
What used to be Crystal Theater was now a massive pile of rubble and debris, dust clouding and flames engulfing the mess that stood instead in its place.
“… Johnny. Johnny!” He inhaled sharply and near burst into a coughing fit from the sudden mass of hot air that burned his throat, which he managed to stifle. ”Johnny!”
“Everybody, stand back!” An officer was saying, trying to hold everyone away from the fallen, burning wreckage—but Marcus couldn’t care. He didn’t care about his own safety, or others, for that matter, more than he cared about his only son’s.
His only son, who was buried somewhere in all those ruins—battered, burned, bruised, wounded, or maybe even…
“My son’s in there!” He blurted out, his voice cracking as he forced himself forward, pushing past the crowd. “Get outta the way, my son’s in there!” He could feel the chill in his blood, coldness bringing the synapses of his brain to a stand still. He was almost hurting from the consistent thundering of his heart in his chest and it was becoming almost unbearable—and he knew it wasn’t something that would subside unless he found Johnny.
Thanks for believin’ in me, dad.
Those words that Johnny had said to him with the tiniest smile before disappearing into the theater.
He really had meant it, hadn’t he?
He remembered back to the days when he wanted his own son to grow up to be just like him, just like his uncles—it had been late when he realized how much of a terrible person he actually was, and how even more terrible he must have been in Johnny’s life as a father.
Marcus had tried to do everything to force him to be something that Johnny didn’t want to do, kept him shadowed from what he had the potential to do this whole time…
Albeit, Johnny had fought his way out of that shadow on his own and without Marcus’ help, had come this far to become a shining star.
Marcus should have believed in him sooner.
He watched through a blur as the fire slowly died down from the spray of hoses onto the broken, dust-settled debris, the heat dying down as Marcus approached the rubble, pushing forcefully through the crowd of animals. He noticed the rest of the Moon theater cast following behind him, right on his tail, just as desperate as he was.
The police and paramedics failed to keep them back from the rubble any longer, and the search for Johnny finally began—they all began digging within the debris, piece by piece and wire by wire, huge fragments of walls lifted and disposed of. Marcus’ hands were cut, scraped, abraised, but he couldn’t care any less.
Hours and hours of searching went by, and yet the center of the city still glowed with red and blue flashing lights, and the screams of powerful sirens. The search crew had been looking for Johnny’s body, dead or alive, for too long for comfort. The group continued to search for them, hoarse voices calling for his name, broken and throats swollen.
“Oh god, oh god, I found him, h-he’s here—” Meena’s wail alerted everyone in less than a second—Marcus had never moved so quickly from one place to another.
“Where is he? Where’s Johnny?” He barked out as he pushed past a couple of Johnny’s friends and stopped beside Buster Moon; the sight in front of him tore him to pieces.
There Johnny was, completely motionless with his eyes glazed and glassy, sprawled underneath a huge chunk of concrete of what seemed to be what once was the lobby ceiling, a mess of blood absolutely everywhere. The show makeup and the paint he had had on his face was matted and erased here and there, lines of crimson across the skin and fur in their wake—burns and charred fur covered his cheeks and the arms outstretched at the sides of his head. One of his hands seemed clearly crushed and broken, half-folded fingers bruised and bloody.
He looked dead.
He looked dead and it was terrifying.
Marcus wasted no time in grabbing the huge piece of debris, hooking his fingers onto the bottom of it as he tried his utter best not to spiral into a panic. He grunted as he lifted it—the others soon joined in without a word, the shock of seeing their friend in such a state having struck them to the core.
Without too much effort, all of them together managed to lift the piece of the ceiling off of him and Marcus threw it completely aside with a loud groan. He then immediately dropped down to his knees beside his son onto the earth, soot, and dust underneath him, coloring his community service clothes a charcoal black. A burnt odor filled his nose as both his hands hovered helplessly over Johnny’s battered, motionless body, unknown of what to do.
There had been a jagged piece of steel wire that had completely impaled Johnny’s side near his back—and now was the white jagged end of a broken bone, presumably a rib, cutting through the skin and blood having run in thick scarlet rivers over his side. The wound was sliced in the flesh of his lower stomach, heavily having oozed out blood, some of it already having crusted in his clothes and the ground beneath him. One of his legs seemed twisted into an angle that just wasn’t supposed to be. His clothes were charred and burnt. The blood stained his cheek and his costume, his hands, trailed down from the corner of his lip—red, red, red.
An invisible hand clasped over Marcus’ mouth; an equally ghostly hypodermic of adrenaline pierced his heart, unloading in an instant. He felt his ribs heaving as if bound by ropes, straining to inflate his lungs. His head was a carousel of fears spinning out of control, each one pushing his mind into blackness. He wanted to run; he needed to freeze. Sounds that were near felt far away, like he was no longer in the body that sat almost paralyzed on the bloody earth.
“Johnny.”
His shaking hand finally moved to rest against, gently, on top of his son’s head, touching what was once soft, glistening fur now a matted, blood-tangled mess. He stroked his hair, thumb briefly brushing over his ear, which was also painted crimson.
“Johnny, get up. I know you’re still there somewhere.”
No response.
“Johnny…”
“… da…”
Marcus froze—Johnny’s eyes, which had been glazed over earlier, were wearily looking up towards him without any focus. Unshed tears were running down from his eyes across his cheek, which were now threatening to close with each jittered blink.
“Johnny, y-you’re alrigh’—you’re, you’re—” Marcus carefully cradled Johnny’s head in his hands, careful not to accidentally hurt him. “—thank god, I-I was startin’ to think you were—”
“Da, i-it hurts…”
“I know my boy, I know—help is comin’, the paramedics are on their way here right now, just hold on a lil’ longer—”
But it was almost as if Johnny couldn’t hear him; the little focus that had previously been there had started to fade away, the small light in his eyes starting to die.
He was fading away.
“…no, no, wait, Johnny, listen to me—” Marcus looked around at the others surrounding them for help. Nooshy, bursting into a broken, choked sob, hurried away to get to the paramedics who were busily trying to unfold a stretcher. Meena followed her suit. “Johnny, y-ya can’t do this to me, y—” He choked on his words and tears started to blur his vision as he turned his head. “Get here quicker, ya bloody fuckin’ paramedics, what the hell is takin’ you so long—”
“Marcus.” Buster’s gentle voice didn’t do anything to deter him. “Marcus—”
“Johnny, Johnny, don’t do this to me, don’t you—” Marcus swallowed the huge lump in his throat, begging, praying that whatever god was up there kept his son alive. Whatever it takes, whatever it takes. It could be him instead, just please…
Whatever it takes.
His son was dying and there was nothing he could do about it.
So without uttering another word, he gently cradled Johnny in his arms, watching as the life slowly drained out of him little by little. Watching him fade away from the world that had raised him to be the deserved star and hero he had grown up to be, and Marcus couldn’t help but hear that inner voice, screaming at him continuously, incessantly—
—that it should have been him.
“… da, I…”
“I’m here, Johnny boy.”
His chest painfully moved as he struggled to get the words out, straining with his breath every small inhale. Marcus waited, his heart being torn apart knowing the sound of what he knew to be Johnny’s last breaths more agonizing than any torture he’d ever been through.
“… ‘m sorry.”
And before Marcus could tell him that it was alright, that he forgave him, that there was nothing to be sorry for and that he had no fault and if there was anyone to blame it was his own self… the final exhale, the final breath left Johnny’s lips and his head slightly lolled to the side as his eyes completely glazed over, his body growing limp in Marcus’ arms.
A terrible chill ran up his spine and he felt numb, like someone had trapped him in a lake of ice. “… Johnny? Johnny.” Marcus slightly shook the boy in his arms.
“Marcus…” Buster’s voice said meekly from behind him, broken and sounding as if he were about to choke any second.
“Johnny, get up. Get up, Johnny.” He tried shaking his son one more time to no avail. “Johnny, Johnny—”
And then Marcus cradled his son’s dead body in his arms and sobbed, crying like he never had before, crying in a way he would have never dared to have done in front of Johnny for years, screams of bloody murder and anguish and grief and the rage and the sadness that was ripping his heart apart into shreds, tearing at his insides.
One last time, those brown eyes—his mother’s eyes—had opened. And one last time, Johnny spoke.
Here’s my masterlist for Whumptober 2021. I can’t believe it’s over already! This has been such a challenge, but so much fun. Thank you to everyone for your kind words along the way, and for all the support I’ve received.
If you want to chat about any of the below stories then my inbox is always open! If you would like me to update/change any of the warnings listed then please let me know.
Happy reading!
Day 1:bound - Obi-Wan finds himself prisoner to the Sith the Jedi have been looking for. Tumblr,AO3. (cw for force lightning and torture)
Day 2: choking - A land explosion buries Anakin alive. Tumblr,AO3. (cw for suffocating, being buried alive and puncture wound)
Day 3: taunting - Padawan Anakin Skywalker struggles through training and is taunted about it. Tumblr,AO3.
Day 4: pushed- Ahsoka refuses to jump without her Master. Tumblr,AO3.
Day 5: comfort (alternative prompt) - A morose Obi-Wan is comforted by Leia Organa. Tumblr,AO3.
Day 6: hunger - Prisoner to Dooku, Anakin is left to starve. Tumblr,AO3. (cw for starvation and dehydration)
Day 7: helplessness - Stranded on an uninhibited planet, Obi-Wan and Anakin are left to confront some truths. Tumblr,AO3.
Day 8: ‘Definitely just a cold.’ - Obi-Wan is sick and Anakin is fed up. Tumblr,AO3.
Day 9: tears- Anakin grieves the loss of his wife with the help of Obi-Wan. Tumblr,AO3. (cw for grief and depression)
Day 10:flare-up - Whilst escaping a Separatist facility, Obi-Wan’s migraines make a return. Tumblr,AO3.
Day 11: drowning - Young Anakin doesn’t know how to swim, a fact his Master didn’t know. Tumblr,AO3.
Day 12: torture, made to watch - Sidious has a surprise for Vader in the form of his former Master. Tumblr,AO3. (cw for torture, violence and force lightning)
Day 13: burns, cauterization - No revenge tastes sweeter to Vader than making Obi-Wan scream. Tumblr,AO3. (cw for burns, cauterization and torture)
Day 14: crush injuries - A battlefield injury that will change Ahsoka’s life forever. Tumblr,AO3. (cw for paralysis)
Day 15: delirium - Confronted with horrific hallucinations in a strange building, will Anakin tell Obi-Wan what he saw? Tumblr,AO3. (cw for hallucinations, emotional distress and brief reference to dismemberment)
Day 16: recovery, scars, aftermath - With the help of Ahsoka, Obi-Wan is surviving the aftermath of his torture. Tumblr,AO3. (cw for reference to torture, recovery from torture, reference to maiming, recovery from maiming, scarring, emotional distress and depression)
Day 17: dread - When Anakin finds Obi-Wan injured on the battlefield, the two have a tender moment. Tumblr,AO3.
Day 18: CPR- Stranded in a harsh climate, Anakin and Ahsoka try to survive. Tumblr,AO3. (cw for hypothermia and ambiguous/open ending)
Day 19: bleeding- Obi-Wan stumbles upon the injured body of Darth Vader, his former Padawan. Tumblr,AO3. (cw for reference to torture, graphic depictions of violence, grief and major character death)
Day 20: screaming (alternative prompt) - A displeased Sidious unleashes his power on his apprentice. Tumblr,AO3. (cw for force lightning and torture)
Day 21: blood-matted hair - A bounty hunter has captured Anakin, Ahsoka is left to help her Master. Tumblr,AO3.
Day 22: obsession - Darth Vader will not rest until Obi-Wan Kenobi is dead. Tumblr,AO3. (cw for decapitation, major character death and grief)
Day 23: auction - Knight Obi-Wan Kenobi is forced to land on Tatooine, there he meets a boy who is incandescent in the Force. Tumblr,AO3.
Day 24: self-induced injuries to escape - Obi-Wan thinks he can escape, but Dooku still has words that can hurt him more than any wound. Tumblr,AO3. (cw for reference to torture, graphic depictions of violence, major character death and mild gore)
Day 25: hiding - The Jedi Temple is filled with nothing but old memories, yet Vader finds its the only place he can go to to hide. Tumblr,AO3.
Day 26: fallen - Anakin has fallen, but he doesn’t remember doing so. Tumblr,AO3.
Day 27: vertigo, collapse - On just another day in the war, Anakin isn’t feeling well, but the last thing he wants is Obi-Wan’s help. Tumblr,AO3.
Day 28: nightmares - After dreaming about things to come, Anakin finds himself comforted by Ahsoka. Tumblr,AO3.
Day 29: overworked - Obi-Wan plots out a way to get Anakin to rest. Tumblr,AO3.
Day 30: major character death - Harsh truths push Obi-Wan over the edge. Anakin doesn’t know what to do. Tumblr,AO3. (cw for major character death and reference to torture)
Day 31: prisoner- Sidious has Anakin exactly where he wants him. Tumblr,AO3. (cw for torture, ambiguous/open ending and offscreen major character death)
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