#anyways about the using embroidery to fix ripped clothes thing all i can say is WATCH HI MOM

[spoilers-ahead]

okay!! now that it’s not 2am for me, i’m going to post my selkie!jason todd hc’s straight up au apparently! 

(uh. this was supposed to just be a list of hc’s but i got slightly,,,, carried away)

his selkie skin looks like an oversized red hoodie in his human form, and is just warm enough to help him survive new england winters.

when the summer heat becomes unbearable, he slings the hoodie around his waist

alternatively, he just coasts it out underwater. perks of living in a coastal city!

willis todd was a selkie. he used to tell jason stories of what it was like to swim through the big, wide ocean. of how freeing it felt. how different it is, from the smoggy, heavy air of gotham --- different, but both theirs, in their own right.

but to be honest, jason doesn’t remember much about the stories he was told, or really, anything about willis --- he had been in and out of blackgate for most of jason’s life, working for two-face to try and make ends meet, before dying. 

what jason mostly remembers, are the warnings. don’t let anybody know you’re a selkie. don’t let anybody find your skin. they will find it, and they will use it to control you. even decades later, jason would still remember those warnings. 

catherine is the one who teaches him how to swim, who helps him trial-and-error his way into putting his skin on, and learn how to make the transition seamless. 

after she dies, jason spends three months as a seal, to just... exist. forget.   

although jason technically lives on the streets, whenever he can;t find food, whenever he can’t find somewhere warm to sleep, whenever just being human becomes too unbearable, he spends the night as a seal. he ends up spending more time in the ocean, than on land.

that’s not to say he’s very good at being a seal --- he barely knows how to swim, has to learn how to fish the hard way. 

when bruce finds jason stealing his car tires, he marvels over how nice jason’s hoodie is, soft and fluffy even after all of jason’s time on the streets, especially given the condition jason is in, ribs showing from malnutrition, and the worn and raggedy shape of the rest of his stuff.

jason is skittish when he goes to live in the manor, even after a few weeks. he always adopts an expression particularly similar to a cornered wild animal around alfred in particular, alfred, who keeps on trying to take his hoodie away, purportedly to wash it.

alfred eventually gives up on trying to force jason to wash it --- he figures that as jason becomes more comfortable living at the manor, he’ll wind up telling them why he’s so protective over that hoodie, and they can work something out then. 

whenever wayne manor overwhelms jason with how big and how decadently expensive all the decor is, jason runs away, run to the ocean. 

jason doesn’t actually end up telling alfred and bruce that he’s a selkie --- bruce just has a ridiculous amount of motion alarms, which are triggered every time jason ran off. he had followed jason the third night, and saw him transform. 

bruce doesn’t tell jason that he knows, assuming that jason kept this a secret because he didn’t fully trust either of them. he would later learn that he was right in this assumption (a rare win for bruce in terms of emotional awareness)

except jason doesn’t fully trust either of them, even after a few months. bruce impulsively decides to do a few things --- a) tell jason about batman and robin and his crime-fighting secret identity, and b) tell jason he already knows about him being a selkie. 

jason is absolutely bamboozled by the fact that bruce knows, and yet hasn’t tried to take his hoodie to control him, or to stop him from playing in the ocean for a few hours. 

in fact, (under alfred’s encouragement) bruce offers to take him to the ocean during the day, so he can get “a proper night’s rest that a growing young boy such as himself would need”

jason remembers what his father told him, to never trust anyone, never let his guard down. but bruce has known about jason being a selkie for so long, and he didn’t take his hoodie or try anything. of course he can trust bruce. 

and when he tries on the robin costume for the first time, it fits perfectly. just like his hoodie, his second skin. it fits just like magic. 

oh, it’s a little loose in some places, the legacy of dick fucking grayson a little heavy sometimes, but he’ll grow into it. he’ll make himself, if he has to. 

also, jason finds the fact that even though he’s a friggin’ selkie, his callsign is a bird (a robin, no less) incredibly ironic and funny 

being a selkie is actually so useful for vigilantehood. the amount of people who talk freely, openly, and loudly about their drug smuggling plans near the ports is quite frankly, ridiculous.

honestly, towards the end of his robin years, jason remains genuinely surprised nobody catches on to him or his tactics yet. bruce is very proud.  

even though jason is safe, has been safe for three years, and trusts bruce with his life, his skin, and everything, old habits are hard to break. so he has his hoodie on when he goes to find sheila. 

and anyways, he wants to see if sheila is a selkie too. he’s taking biology right now, and they’re learning about punnett squares. jason’s never met another selkie before, other than willis who he barely remembers. there’s a possibility that sheila knows something, anything, so he has to try. 

sheila gets a glint in her eyes when jason mentions that he’s a selkie, tells him that while she’s not one herself, she’s familiar with the myth. she has long suspected that willis was a selkie, she tells him, and she’s glad to have confirmation. 

jason positively vibrates with excitement, can’t wait to ask, to pester his mother (mother!) with questions upon questions until. 

until. 

sheila doesn’t do anything after she gives him to the joker. she just smokes and smokes. and she doesn’t tell the joker about his hoodie, despite how it would have been much easier for the joker to destroy him that way. much more painful too.  

small mercies, he supposes, in between hacking coughs that brings blood bubbling up his lips. 

after he dies, his hoodie is ripped and in tatters from the crowbar, with burns along the edges from the bomb. bruce has to carefully peel it off his body. 

when jason was alive, his magic kept the hoodie in perfect condition, always. even when the rest of him was covered head-to-toe in mud, or dripping sludge from the nasty gotham sewers. 

bruce stares at the same hoodie, blood-soaked and mangled, so incredibly dissonant from how he remembered it on jason, when he was bright, whole, and alive. 

he can’t stand it. the hoodie that was so precious to jason, that was jason, at the core of him, in this state. dirty and ripped and devoid of the magic jason had exuded. 

in a moment of desperation, late at night, bruce asks alfred to teach him how to sew. he doesn’t dare to practice on jason’s beloved hoodie --- instead, he starts with the suits in his closet, grabbing the first one he sees, regardless of price. rips a hole and sews it back together over and over until he perfects his technique. 

and then he washes the fabric gently, using baby fabric cleanser and scrubbing for hours upon hours until the last traces of the deep-set brown stain from jason’s blood washes down the drain.

he painstakingly sews the scraps of fabric back together with a red thread, carefully sourced to match the hoodie to try and make it flow seamlessly like it used to. 

it doesn’t work, not exactly. despite his best efforts, the creases bruce had carefully sewn together are prominent and thick like scars, littering the  soft fabric.

so he gives up. he hangs it over the grandfather clock entrance to the cave in his study. brings it with him every time he visits jason’s grave, because he doesn’t ever want to keep jason’s hoodie away from him, but he also can’t bear for it to get ruined. 

dick visits him. a rare occurrence, these days. 

dick yells at him, as he is wont to do. 

these days, it feels like they spend more time angry at each other than not. dick says that this isn’t right. isn’t fair to anybody, not to alfred, not to himself, definitely not to jason. he rants, jason deserves to be remembered as he was in life, not frozen in death. 

perhaps he is right. bruce is not unaware of the state of violent, cutting stasis he is in, this putrefaction of his life. and he is certainly not unaware of how it is affecting the people around him. dick. alfred. the neighbor’s kid, the one who wants to be robin.   

bruce tries. not for himself, but for tim. for alfred, for dick. even for stephanie brown, who sometimes, when she smirks just right, or says something with just the right twang, he swears he can see jason in her. 

he still can’t bear to put the hoodie away, because jason deserved better than to be forgotten, so he folds it gently and places it in his closet instead. 

he also can’t bear to look at it for very long, so he forces himself to every single day. 

it’s different from the glass case that houses robin’s tattered suit in the cave --- that, is a reminder of how he failed robin. this, this is salt in a constant, stabbing, festering would, reminding him of how he failed his son. 

it was stephanie, that eventually helped him figure out what to do with the hoodie. when she was young, young enough to cry at ripped pants and skinned knees, young enough that her mother hadn’t touched the drugs yet, her mother would dry up her tears, give her a hug and a kiss on the forehead, before patching her pants up. 

what not many people know, is that before crystal brown set her mind on becoming a nurse, she wanted to be an artist, first. and so she grabs her old set of embroidery needles, and stitched little designs. dogs and cats. stars and planets. tools and gadgets. 

bruce doesn’t react, doesn’t even move, even as stephanie finishes her story. she hangs there awkwardly for a second, stares up at jason’s suit, waiting for him to respond, before shuffling towards the exit of the cave. 

thank you, spoiler, bruce manages to croak out. 

ah, yeah, she says, shrugging lightly while slouching in on herself, any time, boss. she walks out, and bruce watches her go from the reflection on the darkened computer. 

that night, he takes out jason’s hoodie, smooths it out, grabs his threads, and stitches. 

he stitches on constellations, argo navis, for jason’s namesake in the greek myths he had loved so much. a tiny seal, playing with beach balls. little books, with quotes on the sides. a robin, big and bold. 

he tries to make it as true to jason as possible, not just in death and in bruce’s memories, but as he was in life.

jason wakes up abruptly.  

he wakes up in a coffin, cold, alone, and with a gaping hole in his chest. getting dipped in the lazarus pit only made it worse, only made him all the more aware of what he was missing, all the more conscious of it. 

he doesn’t bother trying to learn how to swim with two arms and two legs, instead of two fins and a tail. it doesn’t feel the same. it only reminds him of what he’s lost. 

sometimes, on sleepless nights that happen more often than not, he wonders what would have happened if he still had a hoodie, still could swim. 

if he still was robin. 

and he doesn’t have access to the cave anymore, or to the titan’s tower, or the watchtower, and his memory of the past is still patchy and shitty in some places. 

so in a burst of impulsivity fueled by the person he no longer is, he prints out photos of robin’s costume from the internet and recreates it on his own. 

if his skin is gone, then fine. fine! he’s perfectly perfunctorily aware that nothing about this resurrection of his is natural. if he doesn’t think too much about it, he’ll be alright. his hoodie, his skin, that was something he was born with, a birthright that died with him. 

but robin, robin was something that he helped shape. robin was something that he worked for, changed himself for. 

and the makeshift robin suit --- it doesn’t fit him, not anymore. no, it feels wrong, like a child playing with their parent’s suit. or --- he realizes, perhaps more accurately, like an adult realizing they no longer fit in their favorite clothes. 

and --- and --- what was the point of it all? what was the point, of trying to make bruce proud of him, of getting dick’s approval, of trying to futilely save people over and over again from the same gallery of supervillains who keep on escaping from prison?!

and what was the point of carving out a space for himself if the joker was just going to beat him out of it, and if tim drake was going to insert himself in the hole he left behind?

and then the next thing he knows he’s in titan’s tower hitting tim drake over and over again because who let him? who let him take jason’s role as a son, as a brother, as a hero? how dare he?

but when he’s slit tim’s throat and torn the ‘R’ off his chest, jason doesn’t feel any better. the robin suit still doesn’t fit. his hoodie’s still gone. 

he’s starting to think it never will, not again. 

sometimes, when he gets tired enough to let his mind wander, he wonders what happened to his suit. 

he’s pretty sure he died with it, so either the hoodie is with the joker, batman, or... gone entirely. (it’s not like they found willis’ skin after he died. maybe selkie skins just disappear in a cloud of sea foam once they die, or some little mermaid shit like that)

it’s a cold comfort, that nobody can manipulate him now. nobody can control him --- not even batman. 

(bruce had thought about it. when he first had his suspicious regarding who the red hood was, before he knew there was any trace of the son he once had left. he thought about using the hoodie, using jason’s selkie skin to coerce him, at least to stop murdering people, to stop hurting their family.) 

(he would never go that far, in retrospect, or at least, he doesn’t think he could ever. to do that to jason, betray his trust so thoroughly and completely... but it would be a lie to say that he didn’t consider it.)

bruce reflects on this as jason reveals himself, the joker tied up at his feet with a gun pressed to his head, and venom spitting from his son’s mouth.  

but when he lifts the batarang to hit jason’s gun, or wrist, or anything that’ll force him to drop the gun, he realizes that his hands are shaking. 

and when he throws the batarang, he knows a millisecond after he’s let go, that he’s miscalculated the ricochet. 

so when jason escapes that night, bruce knows he’s fucked up. 

jason goes off the maps, completely. bruce doesn’t know where he is, if he’s safe, if he even made it out of the explosion that night. 

it takes weeks. weeks for bruce to track jason down, from meticulously documenting the dropped threads of where the red hood was pulling strings in the gotham underworld behind the scenes, to tracking security cameras with facial recognition. 

once bruce manages find where he’s staying, make sure he’s safe, he knows what he wants to do. and, he knows what he needs to do. 

jason gets a package in the mail, five weeks after his disasterous meeting with batman and the joker. unmarked, unsigned, no return address. 

when jason opens the box gingerly and carefully, he holds on to his skin for the first time in years. and then, and then, and then --- something right slots into place. his fingers brushed gently over the tiny spotted seal he knows he used to look like, the books he remembered ranting to bruce about for hours on end. 

the robin, on the top left, over his heart, big enough to have changed him, yet small enough to not define him. 

it’s not perfect. it doesn’t even fix anything, not entirely. he still fights with bruce most times he sees him, tries to punch dick in the face, steadfastly ignores tim and steph the entire time. 

but it’s something. it’s something, and the next time nightwing, batman, spoiler, and robin fight a gang on the docks, the red hood gives them a helping hand before jumping back into the ocean and swimming away.

fin!

wow this got long

[kasagia]

Can't catch me now... pt. 2

Pairing: Aleksander Morozova/The Darkling xgrisha! reader Summary: The Hunger Games in Ravka. 12 districts. 12 tributes. 12 mentors. 11 young people die every year. 1 winner. Aleksander was a mentor to many. But only your face will haunt him for centuries. Inspired by: The Hunger Games. I changed the world of both of them a bit. Word Count: 4,4 k Taglist: @flostvs1508 @watersquirtpewpewboomm @aoi-targaryen @summersummoner-pat @il0vebeingdelulu @chelseyyouraverageluigi @msblacklupin Aleksander Morozova's Masterlist ~•♤♤♤•~ Main Masterlist PART 1 ~•♤♤♤•~

"You look like death. Have you even slept an hour?" You shrug at Genya's question. The woman sighs and works on your face to make you presentable. "The general was furious. He's a good man, despite everything they say about him. You have to understand that... he didn't expect this turn of events, and his stoic attitude was violated. I swear, this is the second time I've seen him lose his cool. And I've been here since I was a child."

"When was the first time?" You ask curiously, not believing her for a moment. You couldn't trust anyone here. You could only count on yourself and no one else. You missed Alina a lot.

"I will tell you this with a complete twist. Anyway, if someone asks, you didn't know it from me. 40 years ago, in the Hunger Games, the General was... asked to be a mentor. Her name was Luda. She was brave and beautiful, with a good heart and a pure soul. She was a healer in her village. She volunteered. In exchange for her younger sister."

"And what happened? He scared her with his shadows because she was a vegetarian and didn't want to eat meat to get stronger?" You mock, as she is making final amendments to your look.

"She died." An uncomfortable silence filled the room. Genya was blindly combing your hair, obviously thinking about her. You could see from the look in her eyes that she must have been especially close to this tribute. "She was... close to the general. He had been mourning her death for a very long time. And I don't want to spread rumours, but the tribute who killed her and won the Hunger Games was found hanging in the forest near his home village. His family was soon convicted of conspiring against the crown and hanged in a more… spectacular way."

"I feel like you're not telling me this just to satisfy my curiosity." You guess as she finally pulls away from you.

You don't know what's worse, when she fixes your face with her strange power or when she looks at you intently, looking for something else to improve your appearance. You weren't used to caring THAT much about yourself. Because who would want to look at an orphan?

"I just want to warn you that… our choices don't necessarily affect only us." You roll your eyes at her attempt at intimidation. Of course. He couldn't make you do anything himself, so he sent his minions to convince you. Quite pathetic, like for the terrible Darkling, who everyone feared.

"I am an orphan. There's nothing he can take from me. I... I have nothing left to lose or to care about..." You say it quietly, rubbing your wrist with your hand. You try hard not to think about Alina and Mal. Your only family... all you have left after those you lost.

"And your life?"

"We're all going to die someday, Genya." Your soft whisper seals the uncomfortable silence.

You think about your parents and siblings—everyone you lost—and the life you could have had that fate ripped from you before you learned how to fight for yourself. You lost everything as a child. There's nothing left for you. At least nothing good.

"Here. You look amazing. There is only one thing missing." She says this with a smile and takes out a long, black coat with black and white embroidery from the closet. It's a kefta. A fucking kefta.

"What the hell is that?" You ask angrily, standing up from your chair and looking at the piece of clothing in utter disgust.

"The general ordered it especially for you. You are a Grisha. You are one of us, and you should present yourself as such." She says this and puts the kefta on the chair.

You walk up to it and run your hand over the material. You expected something rough—just like the general's character—and uncomfortable to wear, since the keftas protected Grisha from every blade and bullet, but this... was nothing like armor. It was soft and cozy. Like velvet. Nothing you may have experienced in your district.

"Black? Isn't that his colour?" You ask, trying to reassure yourself of how terrible this damn thing is.

"Merzost is closely associated with the Darkling bloodline in our culture, since he used it to create the fold. Consider it a… coincidental coincidence." You snort when you hear her explanation. If anything, it was a sign of belonging. The general's new toy. Freak of nature. What a pity he'll lose you before he can use you for the good of his fucking Grisha.

"Other people won't see it like that. You know this, so stop lying to me." The redhead sighs, running a hand through her hair.

"Just put it on. People need to know that the king broke his word to Grisha to force you to participate in the Hunger Games, breaking part of the covenant between us."

"This isn't my war to fight, Genya. Besides, I'm going to die in games anyway, so what's the difference?" Your response only enraged her more.

She didn't raise her voice, and you wouldn't have recognized her emotions unless you saw her hands tremble slightly before she placed them behind her back. You wonder how many times she has had to hide her true feelings.

"You have Merzost in your veins, the most powerful force you can draw from. Do you really want to give it all up? Lose the opportunity you have in front of you? Do you know how many of us have been waiting for you?" She asks with resentment in her voice, but you really don't want to argue with her.

You know it doesn't make sense because they are all here believing in some stupid children's story, a fairy tale that made you a savior in their eyes, and now, since you have finally arrived, you are supposed to fly around and pretend to be a hero you know you are not. As if you could do anything you wanted.

"I was dead long before I was chosen for The Hunger Games. Year after year I was only prolongs the inevitable. I am sorry, but that's the truth. Don't get your hopes up."

"I see that my favourite suicide is in good shape today." Your discussion is interrupted by the appearance of the Darkling. You sigh, rolling your eyes at him. You seriously considered throwing yourself at the spear of one of those ancient armored knights that decorated the halls of the palace. At least you wouldn't have to endure his presence any longer. "Are you rested? Fed?"

"Don't you have something else to do instead of keeping an eye on me? Or send your minions to do it for you? This is getting tiring and irritating." Genya gives you an offended look. She huffs, leaving the chambers as she gets a nod from the Darkling.

"I am your mentor. It's my duty to take care of you." He says, clasping his hands behind him once you're left alone. He looks at you carefully and takes a step towards you. This time, you don't step back but stare at him defiantly.

"Then it is with great pleasure that I would like to relieve you of this obligation." Your words only make him chuckle. He straightens a piece of your hair, tucking it behind your ear. His fingertips brush against your cheek, making you shiver. However, you do nothing to let him know how much his proximity bothers you.

"Oh, you won't make it. Only a king can do this. Do you like your kefta?" He asks, changing the subject. You turn your head towards the offending fabric still hanging on the chair.

"It looks like a floor rag." You say, not hiding your disgust. He chuckles darkly again. He takes the kefta in his hands and unfolds it, pretending to look at it carefully as he walks over to you again.

"Then Karamzin must be richer than I thought, if this is what your floor rags look like. Especially the orphanage."

"Have you been rummaging through my files? What for?" You ask in shock, trying to mask your fear. If he finds out about Alina and Mal… you don't want to have any more deaths on your conscience.

"Better put it on if you don't want to find out very soon." You decide to follow your better judgement instead of your pride and turn your back on him, letting him put on the hideous kefta. Surprisingly, the material hugs you perfectly. You feel warm and soft—the complete opposite of what you know. You gasp in shock as he reaches for his belt and pulls you towards him. You bump into his chest as he tightens the belt around your waist. "Good girl. Now, put your hand in the crook of my arm and smile nicely, and everything will turn out great today. And if you keep behaving as a good girl, you'll get dessert tonight."

"I'd rather gouge out my eyes and sew my mouth shut than be an obedient little doll that you can dress however you want and show everyone."

"I'd reconsider it if I were you. The chefs baked a chocolate cake today. With chocolate-covered cherries on top. Have you ever had a chance to eat something like it?" He smiles, almost mischievously, as he stands next to you, still waiting for you to follow his instructions.

"Son of a bitch." You mutter under your breath and he laughs. He must have been drunk. He couldn't be in such a good mood. Not him.

"That's actually very ture, my little wellspring." He says and leads you to a slaughter worse than the Hunger Games... he leads you to a party for the Games. Among the nobility. You shudder just thinking about this nightmare (not because he puts his bigger hand on yours).

"You have a very beautiful dress!" You force a fake smile on your lips when a noblewoman compliments you.

"Thank you." You say, sipping your glass of wine. The only good thing that happened to you at the party was alcohol. And even then, the Darkling tried to limit you to this one pleasure, making sure that you didn't drink too much.

Your head hurt from all the nonsense conversations with all these people who were only famous for being born into rich families. Terrible. Out of the corner of your eye, you notice several tributes also struggling to maintain their composure. At least you weren't the only one.

However, after you turned out to be Grisha, the rest of the tributes tended to avoid you. You knew from the beginning that you wouldn't have any friends among them, but it would be nice to have one friendly soul in this terrible place.

"I didn't think the people of District 12 would fit into our community so well, but you, darling, look absolutely perfect." You barely stop yourself from throwing the glass you're holding at her. Instead, you tighten your grip on him and smile politely at her, gritting your teeth in anger.

"I'm glad I can surprise you."

Fortunately, you don't have to talk to her anymore. The general approaches you quickly, noticing your tenseness, and with his natural grace, he places his hand on your waist, starting a conversation with a woman who turns out to be a close friend of the queen. Oops. It's better that he came to you, because you wouldn't apologise if you accidentally allowed Merzost to break free and turn her into a volcra.

As you stand next to them, as larger crowds of women begin to gather around you, you realize a terrible truth. The Darkling was your only support here. Him and Genya.

You flinch as he suddenly tightens his grip on your waist and guides you away from the group of noblewomen, who giggle as you both walk away. You allow yourself to roll your eyes at them.

"What the hell was that?" He asks you angrily, setting your glass down on the table. You automatically reach for it again, but he grabs your hand before you can take it and keeps it away from the alcohol.

"I was just about to ask you the same fucking thing." You respond in a defiant tone, glaring daggers at him. Your stomach was starting to growl, and the bastard wouldn't let you touch anything to eat until you fulfilled your end of the bargain and behaved yourself. As you and he can see, you didn't do very well.

"Don't grimace around them as if they were pouring salt into your open wounds." He says it angrily and lets go of your hand. He reaches for something from the buffet. You freeze when he hands you a tiny plate with some fruit. You lick your lips, staring at your food for a moment before looking back at him. "It's for avoiding causing a drama. Partly. Try harder, and I'll let you eat whatever you want."

"But that's what they do! Do you have any idea what it's like to have to stand there smiling and nodding your head while these snobs from the capital talk about how your people and the city are octopus and beneath them?!" You hiss so only he can hear it, but you take the plate of food from him anyway. God knows when you'll get something again.

"I'm Grisha. I know exactly what you are going through." You would laugh at him mockingly if you didn't have a mouth full of food. He looks at you disgusted, and you quickly get the hint and eat smaller portions.

"Please. You've been doing fine since the Hunger Games. At least your people don't have to die every year to the delight of a bunch of sadistic idiots with stuffed bras and fake hair." Your comment makes him bite his lip, but he still can't help but smile a little. Few people could make him laugh and laugh at the same time. As you can see, Merzost wasn't the only special thing about you.

However, your hostile look reminds him that you are in the middle of an argument, and it is his turn to present his argument. God, how much work he had to do with you. You will kill him before he can get you safely through the Hunger Games.

"But years ago we were hunted by all of you, and somehow I don't spit on every Ravkan and kill them for it."

"Because you didn't experience it. If you were there, you would act differently." You sound confident. He shakes his head, wondering how you would react to the truth. Although now he seems to be more interested in food than in anything he has to say. He had to finally feed you. His Merzost Holder couldn't go hungry. It's enough that you experienced hunger and poverty in District 12.

"You think?" He asks, setting your empty plate on the table and offering his hand to you. You look at him for a moment, confused by the sudden… change in his attitude.

"General?"

"You can dance, can't you?" He asks, taking your hand, and without waiting for your response, he leads you to the dance floor. The rest of the mentors have no such idea, so you both are closely watched by all the participants in the ball.

"A little." You say shyly, something he's experiencing from you for the first time. He smiles fondly at you, which, of course, you don't see, too embarrassed to look at anything other than your shoes. But others see. The general's small smile does not go unnoticed by his closest soldiers.

"I guess I have to work with that." He says this and gently lifts your chin to look at him. He places a hand on your waist, and the other holds yours in an iron, steady grip. "Eyes on me. Put your hand on my shoulder and try not to fall. Keep up with me, and everything will be fine."

All you can do is trust him, which you do with surprising ease for him. Somehow, he can't take his eyes off you. You looked gorgeous in the black kefta, especially with his symbol embroidered on the back—a little thing you didn't need to know yet. And so, looking at you, Aleksander can't help but wonder what it would be like if he met you under different circumstances. Maybe if he were younger, less experienced... if his mother's words didn't ring so loudly in his head every time he started to feel something akin to tenderness towards you. Maybe if he hadn't lost so many...

Meanwhile, you try to fight the strange feeling he gives you every time his skin touches yours. You feel a strange pull, a calling, and you realise how your power, the same one you tried to ignore and forget for so many years, comes to life under his touch. You hated it. And him. For trying to break down the walls that you put up for so long and so hard. For trying to make you the Grisha you hated. For making it so easy for you to sink into the arms of the Black Heretic ancestor.

And at the same time… it was nice to feel important for a change… even if just for a moment.

So you dance with him, agreeing to this little moment of truce between you two. Deciding that you would look for answers later as to why you felt so attached to him. And why every time he touched you you felt so… powerful.

"That was awful." You groan as you finally return to your chambers, with the Darkling by your side, of course.

He hasn't left you since that dance. He was always somewhere next to you as you talked with the nobility. You have gained several sponsors and the favour of important people in Os Alta. The Darkling was pleased. And you're exhausted.

"And wonderful. You did great, much better than I expected. The servants should bring our dinner soon." He says, sitting next to you on the couch, watching as you take off your kefta and throw it in the corner of the room. He bites his lip, deciding not to comment. He already expected a lot from you today. The manners lesson could have been taught another time.

"Our?" You ask surprised, not expecting him to stay longer than necessary.

"Do you mind?"

"Yes." You answer honestly and straight away, to which he just laughs.

"I wish I cared." He replies with a mischievous smile. You roll your eyes as you take off your shoes and try to pick any pins out of your hair. Genya seemed to enjoy tormenting you. There were definitely too many of them. "So a healer? Really?" He asks, referring to your last conversation. Someone asked you what you wanted to do before you got into The Hunger Games. You decided to answer truthfully once. Of course, you were laughed off and called a sweet, naive soul willing to help. You wanted to vomit on their polished, gold-plated shoes.

"Why not?" You ask angrily. He raises his hands defensively with a smirk, seeing how fed up you are with everything that happened today.

"It's rather… a thankless profession among the common people. Healers usually come to them when they are dying. Relieve suffering. They are the harbinger of death, almost like a reaper. Usually, they are not coming to actually extend their lives."

"So you must have had similar experiences." You scoff, making him think about it. This wasn't what you expected. You were expecting a rather harsh answer. Not a pensive, almost sad look. For a moment, you think that maybe he, too, could just be human. You shake your head. No. He was just one of them. He couldn't have any... human feelings or know the real pain.

"Painful but true. They don't get excited when they see me either." His whisper should make you change the subject, but after the terrible day he put you through, all you want to do is stick a pin in him where it hurts the most.

"I wonder why..." You start, but he cuts you off before you can finish.

"Don't mock. You were behaving so nicely. I prefer you to smile than spit acid."

"I wish I cared." You repeat his words from a while ago, trying to imitate his tone of voice. He rolls his eyes at you, but somehow you both do nothing more than make snide comments to each other. Taking advantage of the relatively quiet moment between you, you decide to ask him honestly. "What do you want from me?"

"To win." He replies simply, playing with the ring on his finger. He rolls it over on his finger, resting his chin on his hand as he looks at you intently. A shiver runs through you as the dark depths of his eyes meet yours. Undeterred by his short, evasive answer, you continue, knowing that this is your only chance to get something from him.

"And then what? You won't let me go back to my district." You say, knowing perfectly well that this is not an option for you. IF you win.

"You are right. You will live here. With Grisha. The people you belong to." You frown, dissatisfied with his answer. You weren't Grisha. You will never be. No matter how much he pushes and forces you to become one of them.

"Unless I die, which is very probably since I am not going to kill anyone on the arena." You remind him. He doesn't seem to take your promise seriously. You don't convince him. He will see for himself in the arena how serious you are about your decision.

"You won't die." He says it firmly, as if it were an obvious fact.

"How can you..."

"YOU WON'T!" He yells at you, standing up. You sit stoically in the same position as before, watching as the shadows in the corner of the room gather around him. He sighs and waves them away. "I've been waiting a long time for you, Y/N. You are the one of your kind and even more precious than a Sun Summoner. I won't see your dead body. No matter how much you want it."

"Leave." You say, too tired to argue with him, to tell him that you have no intention of being an obedient tool in his hands, that you won't be a weapon that he can use.

"That's my palace." Furious at his words, you get up to face him. You look at each other with pure hatred.

You are too tired to notice that a dark mass is beginning to form around your arms. But Aleksander sees it. And he watches with fascination as you let your powers slip through. Out of curiosity, he summons his shadows behind you. Just a small black cloud. However, for some reason, under the influence of your powers, the room is plunged into complete darkness. He looks at you in shock, realising that you had unknowingly empowered him by providing him with energy from Merzost. Unbelievable.

"And my room for a while, so prove to me you can sometimes be the nobel man everyone told me you are and leave me alone." You whisper; all you can see in the dark surrounding you are its irises, analysing you with undisguised fascination and admiration.

If only you trained, if you learned to control what was inside you... Aleksander wouldn't have to take anyone into account; he could just declare himself tsar, threatening the Ravkans to expand the fold if they didn't recognise Grisha's greatness. All he needed was you.

"As you wish." He says, deciding to let you win this fight. He takes your hand and holds it tight as he calls his shadows back to him. They come back in a second. One blink, and the darkness in the room disappears. Impossible. Even his mother didn't have that much control in her glory days. He wondered if you would have this effect only on him or on other Grisha as well. But no. He won't share this secret with anyone. Not yet. For now, you were only his little wellspring of power. "Tomorrow is the first day of your training. 7 A.M. Don't be late, or I will drag you out of your bed by myself." He says, letting go of your hand and walking towards the exit, trying hard not to steal glances at you. He would have to look into his grandfather's journals and old books. You were a real mystery. And he was just waiting to see what more you could do besides complete him perfectly.

"Go to hell." You mutter under your breath, rubbing the hand that was in his iron grip a few moments ago. You felt that stupid electric thrill again. It definitely had to have something to do with your strange connection. Darkling and Merzost Holder. You had to find out more about it. Maybe you need to start being nice to Genya after all...

"Excuse me?" He asks, turning around in the doorway when he hears the insult from you.

"Sleep well." You reply with a sweet, cynical smile. He shakes his head in amusement and decides to ignore your behavior. He'll give you a hard time at training tomorrow. See how far your skills range. With a little training, who knows... maybe you'll be able to bring people back from the dead.

Involuntarily, his thoughts turn to Luda. If he had you by his side earlier… no. He couldn't think about her. He knows that history would have turned out the same way. Because even if you had revealed yourself to him earlier, he would have been too busy with you to see anyone else.

Aleksander promises himself that he will do everything to prevent you from becoming his second Luda. He had enough ghosts of his past tormenting him at night. And you can't become another one of them. If necessary, I will kill these tributes myself. He will find a way. He always did.

Unless someone dares to interfere with his plans... just like last time. That's why, immediately after leaving your chambers, he goes to the only person he knows who will be able to protect you from his greatest enemy.

"Ulla?! Sister?! I have an offer you can't refuse!" He calls from the shore of the lake in the gardens of Little Palace.

[bestiesenpai]

as someone that does hand embroidery and a lot of work hand tailoring my own clothes(as I do not own a sewing machine) I think it’s really romantic, the thought of mending someones clothes for them as they sit a little ways away, watching you fondly in a domestic setting, perhaps wanting to learn how to do it themselves but not truly getting the technique down.

like just imagine sewing up a torn shirt that Nanami’s brought home, the shoulder threads hanging on by mere sheer will. sit down with your needle and thread, it’ll be light work, but he watches with a passive look on his face, never straying from where your fingers work deftly to sew his clothes back together. maybe he’ll get you tea and promise to stop tearing his clothes so you don’t have to waste time fixing them. but then, what would you do with all the thread?

or imagine doing embroidery, something that takes skill but also no real focus when you get into it, and being watched over your shoulder by gojo. he wants to learn and he can become better than you, but that’s not what he wants. he wants the quiet gentle moments of you helping him thread a needle, of slicking it up with a quick pass between your lips to make the threads stick together. he can do it all himself and become the best, but he’ll give up quickly and say you’ll always do it better than him

or what about helping getou make his own clothes? I like to imagine that he does the altering to his own clothes, perhaps making them all himself, and not owning a sewing machine. enlisting your help to make a new garment, no matter how complicated or simple it is, sitting with you on the floor with his vintage sewing kit between you two, chattering away and also sitting in total silence as you sew together, maybe knicking yourself with the needle one too many times and him putting thimbles on every one of your fingers.

maybe itadori does a bit of this as well, embroidery or cross-stitch or needlepoint or crotchet- the possibilities with him are endless I think. he probably makes thick chunky scarves every winter for his friends or maybe to donate to people who need them, also making color blocked knitted sweaters that look high fashion and took him a couple sleepless nights because he refuses to leave a project alone for more than a few hours for rest.

sukuna would be an interesting one, he’d say it’s boring watching you work on something, say how useless it is to have you mend some of his clothes when they’ll only get damaged again soon. he says all that, but every time you start to work he’s suddenly there with a low grumble of where else would I rather be, idiot? and somehow, even though he says he’s going to throw out all the ripped clothes he has so you don’t waste time fixing them, you always end up with his ripped clothes in your hand and he’s already got your sewing kit and saying that it would be a waste to not use the things you already have.

anyways, this is just food for thought that I wanted to get out of my head. I surprisingly have a lot of domestic headcanons. I might delete this later, but for now I just want to bask in the warmth that is this idea.

[donnajons]

Leave Paris, Move to Gotham Chapter 2

So, this is over due, but it’s here and it’s alive! I couldn't  post all the tags, it was a fully mess. Please tell me what you think about. it

It was too late to change her last name.

 Her landlady registered her under that name, so the bills came under that name. Her boss, Miss Prince, wrote her checks under Marinette A. Wayne, and she got a fake ID under that name and her photo. 

But why the last name Wayne was such a bad thing? 

Well, turns out that the last name was well known in Gotham thanks to an eccentric playboy billionaire, whose company hold the 87 percent of the jobs in the Gothic city. At least twenty people asked her if she was related to Bruce Wayne last week. Even Miss Prince asked her if she was one of Bruce’s children. Apparently, the man had adopted a dozen children with black hair and blue eyes like her. 

Well, she couldn’t change her last name, but she had the option of change her appearance. That was one of the reasons why she changed her hair color to a pastel pink. She kept her bangs just to divided in two and hold them with pins, so she could show her forehead. The pink was a good choice. It made her look like a totally different person. The only thing that didn’t match were her black eyebrows, but she didn’t want to dye them too. 

After paying and say goodbye to Selena, Marinette still had more than a hundred dollars in her pocket, and it was still early, so after a whole internal debate and some encouragement from Tikki, Marinette went to a Hobby Lobby and bought a bag of embroidery thread and some needles. She felt guilty when she gave the money to the cashier and walked home with her knew embroidery set. A strong part of her wanted to go back to the store and return the threads, but Tikki was stronger than that part of her. 

“Remember, Marinette. You deserve to have pretty things and hobbies. You can buy embroidery thread and not feel guilty about it. Think of all the pretty pattern that you can sew in your clothes! Tell me one.”

Marinette smilled. What would she do without Tikki?

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 Marinette was nervous, and this time it wasn’t because of Char Noir, the miraculous, or money. 

The Pink haired girl was about to ask her boss if she could use the sewing machine in the back to fix some of her clothes in her free time. It wasn’t that her clothes were ragged. The thing about her clothes was that they were too plain. She bought them in the discount section of Walmart in the men’s and women's section. Some of them were way too big for her, and others were just… not her style. After she came back from the store and checked the miraculous box, Marinette started to decorate her clothes… well the ones that fit her. That’s why she wanted to ask Miss Prince if she could use the sewing machine, so she could fix her clothes. 

It was lunch time, and Marinette was as ready as she could be.

“M-miss Prince.” Her voice lacked confidence even though her boss was kind to her.

A tall woman with black long hair turned around to see her.

“Oh, Marinette. You change your hairstyle! Pink suits you well!”

The girl shyly moved a piece of hair from her face. “T-thank you, Miss Prince. Miss Prince I-I was wondering if you are okay with it, but of course if you don’t that’s fine. I would totally understand, and I don’t want to bother you…”

For someone that wasn’t a native English speaker, Marinette knew how to bladbling like a pro. 

Miss Prince put a hand on her shoulder and said “Hey, breathe. You can’t ask me what you want if you don’t breathe, breath, Marinette, breath.”

And she did. 

“Good. By the way, your English is getting better. You’re speaking more fluently.” Her boss smiled, “Now, tell me what you need.”

Marinette took a deep breath, “I-I was wondering if you could let me use the sewing machine on the back. I want to fix some clothes that I bought, b-but of course it would be in my lunch break and only if you let me.”

Quickly, Miss Prince smiled to her. “Of course, you can use the sewing machine but not at lunch time. You are a young woman still developing, so take your last hour to fix your clothes.”

Marinette opened her eyes in surprise. “B-but, Miss Prince, we have some clients at 3:00. You told me that you want me to take measurements and star the pattern for their suits. I could fix my clothes tomorrow if you let me.”

Her boss choked her head, “And you will, but you will only take measurements. I have seen your work. You are quick and precise when you take measurements. It would take at most ten minutes per customer. The pattern will take you less time. Now, don’t argue with me and eat something.”

As Marinette walked to the back store, she couldn’t help but be grateful for having a great boss like Miss Prince. She was always comprehensive and kind to her like the time she forgot her money lunch. Miss Prince bought her favorite sandwich and didn’t took it from her paycheck. Oh yes, Miss Diana Prince is an excellent boss by caring about her employees, well employee.

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Bruce Wayne was a patience man… most of the time. 

There were just a few things that could make him lose his cool. One of them was getting gala clothes for his oldest sons. Tim and Damian, his youngest, were easy to dress because they had a style. While Tim liked a more classic suit, Damian preferred a little bit more extravagant style and yet elegant. This was what made easy to dress them: they had a good taste in fashion. His oldests, for the other side, had not taste whatsoever. Dick was too extravagant for his own good (If it wasn’t for his father and Alfred intervention, he would be planning on buying a pink suit with falcon feathers. His next son wasn’t better. Jason’s concept of a suit is a clean letter jacket, jeans, and a bow tie. 

There was only one person who could help this fashion disasters, and that person… wasn’t, Bruce.

Diana Prince, AKA Wonder Woman, has a boutique with pretty high standards, and by God’s sake, the warrior was the only one that could tame his sons and at the same convince them to use a fucking tuxedo.

“On other news, there has been another victim from the mysterious serial killer, The Jewel Panther, this time on the city of Nice, France. The victim was a nineteen-year-old Japanese girl and was found on a local jewelry store in the same way the other victims of the Jewel Panther. We recommend all young ladies from the age of thirteen to twenty-two that have Asian heritage, fair skin, prominent freckles, black hair, and blue eyes to take precautions in France and neighboring countries…”

Bruce turned off the radio.

It was bad enough that the league didn’t want to take that case, but to hear it repeatedly was just tiring. The league didn’t consider this Jewel Panther to be a menace worthy of them. He was “too normal” for they, but what could be normal about a fucking serial killer that some how ripped off all the organs from the thoracic are of the victims without making an insertion of any kind just too leave their skin flawless.

That wasn’t fucking normal.

Bruce finally arrived at Diana’s boutique where his oldest sons were waiting for him.

“Finally, you are here. Two more minutes and I was going to leave.” Jason, his second oldest, reclaimed the three men got inside of the boutique. “For somebody that preach about responsibility, you’re late.”

“Knowing that you two aren’t a bit punctual, I told you two to be here by two thirty. You will probably arrive at two fifty. We have an appointment at three.”

“You know I would be offended if it wasn’t true.” Dick said as he sat down on one of the chairs. “So does Diana have the suits?”

“No, she is going to take your measurements to make them from scratch.”

“Do we have a saying on the style” Jason asked without hope because he knew that answer would be:

“No.” Unexpectedly, this answer came from Diana Prince, who got inside the room with a small, very small girl.

“As long as I am alive, you two will dress properly… at least just for the gala. For what you two are wearing, I cannot do miracles.” Diana said as she looked like them like if she was judging their appearances (Little note, she was.)

She got an offended hey from the brothers at what she only smiled.

“This is Marinette. She will take your measurements in the changing room. Marinette can you take them there?”

The small girl gave a shy nod “I-if you could follow me.” She said with a thick accent that neither of the brothers could identify came from. Dick and Jason followed the tiny girl.

Once his sons were gone, Bruce asked Diana “Since when do you hire help?”

“Since the business grow up” Diana knew that tone. It was the I-know-that-you-doing tone.

“Not likely, you like to do your clothes by all yourself. The only people that you have ever hired is a few Amazonians, and she has a French accent. Her physique is not anywhere near an Amazonian.” He gave her the look again. “So, what’s her story?”

Diana signed. He wasn’t the best detective just to don’t live it up.

“It’s good that you bring up the topic because I was going to tell you anyway.” She stood up closer to him “Three weeks ago, she came up looking up for work. You should have seen her. She looked so lost and even thinner than she is today. She told me she needed a Summer job, but by Artemins’ sake, she looked like she was starving for weeks. It was obvious that the money was for food and a place to sleep.” She bit her lip. “Her story had holes like how her parents haven’t move from France yet because they were busy or how she couldn’t give me her ID because she lost it in the airplane, but what gave it away was her last name.”

Bruce lift an eyebrow, “Her last name?”

“Her full name, or the name that she gave me, is Marinette A. Wayne.”

Marinette A. Wayne. What are the chances?

Bruce was about to ask when Diana interrupted him.

“I asked her if she is related to you. I mean at the time she had all the Wayne’s characteristics: black hair, and blue eyes. She seemed like one of your children, but she told me that she wasn’t related to you. She didn’t even know who you were until I told her that Bruce Wayne was a rich influence man that basically rules Gotham, which makes it even more weird.”

“There is a lot of people with the last name of Wayne, what would be weird?”

“Because, not offence, but anyone knows that the last name Wayne bring problems in Gotham. Nobody in their right set of minds would move to Gotham having that last name.”

She had a point. The Wayne family had a lot of money and prestige, but they also had an immense number of enemies. Having that last name was dangerous, and more for a teenager without supervision.

“What are your theories about her?” Bruce asked her.

“She is an immigrant, maybe illegal if she didn’t want me to see her ID. Probably from France, her accent gives her away even though she tries to sound Chinese. She is running away from somebody because her parents are not in the picture. She is always alert and ready to hide. I have seen how she shakes and jumps every time something makes a loud noise. She cries in the bathroom sometimes. She is trying to survive, but she can’t do it alone for more effort she tries to put in.”

Marinette had another characteristic of the Wayne family: Psychological trauma.

“You said you were going to tell me eventually, why?”

Diana stopped for a second.

“I’m leaving for France after the gala for two weeks. If the League doesn’t want to do something about the Panther, I will. Those girls didn’t deserve that end, and their sisters don’t deserve to live under all that fear,” For the look on his face, Diana could tell that he was with her on this. “and that’s why I need you to ask you a huge favor.”

She put her hand on his shoulder.

“I need you to keep an eye on her while I’m not here.”

“You want me to babysitter her?” Bruce asked her.

“Not babysitter her, I just make sure that she is fine without letting her know. I will leave Gotham with more peace knowing that you and your sons will keep tabs on her.”

“And what would be the excuse to come to your boutique for three weeks? Another suit?” The trillionaire asked her. He was on board to keep an eye on this girl because somehow this girl reminded him of her other daughters… I said somehow.

“The boutique will be closed, so I’ll give her three weeks in advance and the materials, so she can work from her apartment. I also will talk to her about a mandatory Summer fashion course in Gotham University that will began a week before I go. I understood that your son, Damian, is taking Summer classes there to get ahead. So that would be a good excuse to keep an eye on her. Don’t you think?”

Bruce smirked. Diana was a sneaky woman.

“You planned this pretty well, didn’t you?” 

“I like to be prepared. You better than no one should know it. So, can I count on you?”

Diana offered her hand to him, and Bruce willingly accepted.

“You can go without worrying about her.”

Diana gave him a small smile. “Just please, don’t adopt her before I come back. You have enough children.”

 Bruce was used to this constant running joke about his obsession, as Jason liked to call it, but never tease Bruce Wayne about adopting more children because it would end in him preparing the adoption papers.

“You are very funny.” Diana could swear that she saw a little smile on his face. “Lets go, before my kids start bothering your ward.”

The two of them started walking to the changing room. “I wouldn't be worried about her. Under that shy face, I can see a ferocious warrior. I kinda want to teach her how to fight when I come back.”

“Carefull, you may end up having a daughter” This time she could swear over Athermis that she saw a smile on his face.

Diana just smiled. “That wouldn’t be so bad.”

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Diana was right about her; Marinette was good at taking measurements.

It took her eight minutes to get Dick’s and another eleven to finish with Jason. It could have been eight, but the man was too ticklish and too tall. She had to stand up on two boxes just too get the measurements of the two men.

“Soo, do you like working with Diana?” Dick said trying to break the ice. Noone have something since they arrived to the changing room, well except a few reprimanding words from the little girl with pink hair. 

Marinette finished taking the last measurement from Dick’s waist. She tried not to look at them in their eyes. The less attention she got, the better.

“I-it’s good. Miss P-prince is a kind boss.” She said as she wrote down the measurement on Diana’s notebook

 “How long have you been working with her?”This time it was Jason who asked.

Was this an interrogatory?

“N-not long. Three weeks I think.” 

“That’s good. Does she gives you a discount in the store?” The man with a few white hairs asked again.

“I-I don’t think so. We have never talk about discounts, but she lets me use the sewing machines to fix some oversized clothes and finish the embroidery. She also buys me lunch most of the time and doesn’t take it out of my paycheck. So I guess that’s better than a discount.” She kept her look on the notebook even though she finished writing down on it. 

Dick and Jason shared a look. The way that she said the part about the lunch was, sad and full of gratefulness. Both men look at the girl more carefully. She was thin, at the point that they could see the bones or her hands. Maybe they should avoid that topic.

“You said you put embroidery on your clothes. Are those like the ones that you have on your blouse?” Dick asked pointing at her.

She looked down her clothes. She was wearing an orange blouse with pretty blue patrons on the collar. 

Marinette gave a shy nod.

“Did you used a sewing machine?”

She shocked her head.

“No? Well, I’m impressed. This is a pretty good job. Do you think you can put something like that on my suit for the gala?” 

Marinette’s blood cold down and her heart almost stopped. The idea of disobeyed Miss Diana terrorized her. 

“I-I don’t think that Miss Diana would let me. She already has your suits figured out.” She passed to them the photos of the suit. They looked really formal, elegant, and expensive… and boring for Marinette’s taste. 

“In your opinion, what would you change about the suit. In the hypothetical case that Diana ask you to make some adjustments for the suit.” Dick asked her. 

“I don’t know if I should. I-I may get in a problem.”

“You won’t. That’s the beauty of the first amendment. Tell us your thoughts, Stephanie. It’s not like Rovin Rotten it’s gonna appear.”

Marinette didn’t understood the reference, but somehow it gave her the it gave it the valor to tell what was on her mind.

“I-if was unto me, I wouldn’t change the design of the suits, but rather the materials. Like for example for you uhm…” Marinette pointed at the tallest.

“Jason”

“Yes, Jason, Sorry. I would change the material to a more shining, like the leather jacket that you are wearing, but it’s not actually leather. It’s lighter. And you…”

“Richard, but call me Dick.”

“Right… W-well Dick, I’m t-thinking that you would look good with some metallic blue embroidery pattern on the lapel, and...and the pockets…. But I-I guess the original design is more proper for that kind of gala.“ She could feel how her face redded at the look of the two men.

“You know…” Dick said as he gave her a polite smile… “your ideas are pretty good. Maybe if we tell Diana about it, she could put ‘em on the suit.”

No, what if she gets mad? What if Miss Prince gets so mad at her that she decides to fire her?! How could she keep the miraculous box safe if she didn’t have money to sustain herself?!

“N-no. I-I don’t want to disrespect her. S-she worked so hard in those designs.” 

“Never be afraid to speak your mind if you think that you can improve something” Marinette’s blood cooled again. She quickly stood up and bowed. It was forced habit that she did every time she apologized.

“Hey, Diana. We were just takin’ with your talented girl. She has great ideas.” Jason said.

Diana crossed her arms and gave her a sneaky smile. “Is that so?”

Marinette wanted apologize, but before she could even open her mouth, Dick spoke.

“Yeah, she is talented. Like the ideas she has for our suits. I bet that you heard them?”

The woman nodded. 

“I did, and I think they are really good ideas. You have a lot of future in the fashion field so much that I want to talk to you about a great opportunity to improve your career. We can talk about it after  our guss are gone, which remind me did you finish taking their measurements?”

Marinette couldn't believe this. It was too good to be true. Maybe it was true, and miss Prince wanted to talk to her about something good, but there was also the chance that she wanted to be alone with her, so she could fire her in private and not in front of her clients. 

“Marinette.” She turned at the Diana and the other. Their faces seemed concerned. “You okay?”

She spaced out. She should stop doing that.

“Y-yes, I just got lost in translation. I finished taking their measurements.”

“If we are no longer needed, my sons and I will leave.” Bruce stepped up avoiding to look at the girl to not make her uncomfortable.

“Of course, we will have your suits for the first fit in by Friday.” She and Bruce shaked hands.

Marinette saw his two sons stand up and cme closer to her. Maybe, this was the last time that she would see them again.

“It was a pleasure to meet you Pinkie Pie.” He put his hand up waiting for a high five. “Pss, this is the part you high five me back.”

The girl shakingly high fived him.

“Hey, I want a high five too.” Dick put up his hand, and Marinette awkwardly high fived him.

“Dick, Jason we got to go. Alfred is making dinner.”His sons left the room while saying goodbye to Diana. Then Bruce turned to Marinette to shake her hand. “Miss Marinette it was a pleasure to meet you. I hope we will meet again.”

“L-likewise, Mister…”

“Bruce Wayne, but call me Bruce, Miss Wayne.”

Marinette opened her eyes while open. Bruce Wayne as the Bruce Wayne, and he knew her last name. 

“P-please, c-call me Marinette.” 

The man just smiled and left the room letting Diana and Marinette alone.

So the worst things that could happen today may happened at the end. She may lose her job and get sued by the Bruce Wayne for taking his last name, and lets not forget that she is using a fake ID. Scratch that, she is an immigrant. Marinettes has seen enough news to now that that country is in thin line with immigrants She was in soo many problems.

“Marinette,” The older woman took her purse. “What do you think if we go out for dinner?”

Well… Marinette didn’t expect that.

--------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------

Marinette couldn't say no to miss Prince. She was just too nervous to reduce the offer.

The restaurant was fancy and expensive. Only the beverage was worth more than three months of rent. The people there were dressed in fancy outfits from Versace to Oscar de la Renta; it made Marinette feel underdressed with her orange T-shirt and cheap jeans. 

“So, Marinette, you told me you are interested in the fashion field.” Miss prince said as the took a sip from her glass of wine. 

“Y-yes miss Prince. I do ever s-since I was a little girl.”

“And what do you plant to accomplish them?”

Marinette froze. What were her plans?

Months ago, she had a prosperous future. She commissioned big pop and rock stars like Jagged and Clara. She won many design competitions from Gabriel Agreste. She was building a name, but now, all her work and effort was worthless. She had to start all over again, but the difference now is that she didn't have the same motivation. Before Gotham, she did it because she has her parents supporting her. Today, she did it to hold to the little sense of normality in her life of chaos.

“I-I don’t know ma’am. Maybe I could start by designing clothes and maybe sell them on Etsy. I h-hadn’t have the time to think through it. Moving here was too time consuming.” The girl said as tried not to shiver. If Miss Prince was going to fire her, Marinette hoped that she did it quickly, so she didn’t have to live with this fear any longer.

Miss Diana put her glass down. “Marinette I’m am gonna be sincere to you. You have talent and dedication. Those two qualities can get you somewhere good, but that can bring you to the glory, to your golden dream is passion. And by Arthemis’ sake, you have more passion than a hundred people together. I have seen how you enjoy creating new clothes and fixing them like if it was a way to get away from everything. That’s why I want you, if you allow me, to support you to become a fashion designer.

Okay… okay.... That took Marinette by surprise. She expected miss Prince to fire her for over speak, not to offer her support. 

“I-I.. Y-you want to help me?”

Diana smiled. “Of course, in fact, I have a proposition to you.” 

-------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------

Marinette locked the door of her apartment, put her key pack at her purse, and started happy dancing.

Diana (she insisted to be called by her first name) told her that after the Wayne’s gala she was going to close the boutique for three weeks. While this made Marinette sad because she would have to live from her saving can, what Diana told her next made her really happy. Diana offered her to work with her not for her. 

Here was the deal, for the next three week after the gala, Marinette would be working on her usual tasks but at her apartment while she attended a course about fashion design in Gotham University, fully paid by Diana. At the beginning, Marinette refused telling Diana that she felt that she would be abusing her kindness, but the older woman said that she saw this as an investment. Paying for her education was an investment so Diana and she would sell her clothes on her store under the girl’s name. They both would win. Marinette gets an education, and Diana a new brand for her boutique.

For Marinette this was like a dream come true. In fact, this was the best thing that has happened to her since… well since she defeated Hawkmoth. She will be studying in one of the most prestigious schools of fashion in the world, and if everything goes well, she will sell her clothes at Diana’s boutique, which is one of the most prestigious boutiques in the US.

“I still cannot believe it, Tikki!” Marinette said to the goddess, “this feels like a dream come true!”

The Kwami giggled, “I’m so proud of you Marinette! You deserve this!”

After putting her pajamas, Marinette let her body fell on her hard bed. She smiled like in a way that she hasn’t in the last month. “Tikki, please tell me that this is not a dream.”

The Kwami turned off the light and put a blanket over her body. “You aren’t dreaming, but you should do it soon. Diana wants to hear your ideas for the suits tomorrow morning.”

Marinette closed her eyes while she smiled. For the first time in a long time, she felt that she could just fall asleep and worry about nothing.

“Hey, Tikki?”

“Yes, Marinette?” The kwami said as she lay beside her hodder’s shoulder.

“Thank you for everything.” 

The kwami gave her a kiss on her cheek. “You don’t have to thank me for everything. You deserve the best.”

Eventhught her apartment was cold, sink in the kitchen dropped all night, and her neighbors screamed like if they wanted to kill each other, Marinette felt more at peace for the first time in ages… 

Sadly this wouldn’t last long.

@cyborgcandy 

@mikantsume @cyborgcandy @northernbluetongue @mystery-5-5@livpc @serina-leigh @tazanna-blythe @blue-peach14 @justarandomtumblerblog@fantasticfourintraining@indecisive-mess-named-me @xxmadamjinxx @ captainmac6 @luckysouleaglenerd@sidefrienda@mindfulmagics @komaedasnatched @adrienne7698@akira-daiyamondo-suta @raingirl0135@kittyotakunoir666 @a-cat-with-a-knife l@thebananathatwrites@howtoshuckatlife @dolph1nch1ca1@spicytacos @re-side-this @emocinamonroll@mystery-5-5 @spicybelladonna a @salladanne @mjisntme @lunar-wolf-warrior @tazanna-blythe @yin-390 @constancetruggle @celestiacq @laurakinneylance @roseinbloom02

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[everlasting-deluge]

When We Were Young | 01

↠pairing: park jimin ⇆ reader (female) ⇆ kim namjoon

↠genre: angst, romance, song fic, Ex-lover!Jimin, Ex-lovers!AU, Childhood Love!AU, (kinda) Sugar Daddy!Namjoon

↠warnings: mention of disturbing subjects (Ex. suicide attempt, depression, anxiety), profanity

↠words: 5k

↠A/N: I’ve got the inspiration for this work from the song When We Were Young by Adele. This is the first chapter of the serie. I focused on character’s inner world rather than the outside one. I’d love to hear your thoughts on this work too, so don’t be afraid to send me some feedbacks.

➸  Nothing could prepare you for this fateful and haphazard encounter with him. He was there, right in front of you, looking at you with the same yearning that had been in your eyes for years now. Were you ready to face him? Were you ready to know the cause of those sleepless nights and your wet pillows?

❈ | Moodboard | Masterlist |

One, two, three, four… Ten.

Ten seconds of eye contact was what you needed for recalling the owner of those eyes, those beautiful soft dark brown eyes. They once looked at you with love and care, promised you the world, made you feel safe and complete; now, however, you could only see panic bolting in them.

He was confused, his eyes had widened only for a split-second was clearly hinting that; but his stiffened posture caused by him trying to restrain his emotions made you think something else was in the equation, another factor that needed to be added.

It didn’t really take you long to find that missing element, just following where his eyes were drifting away to. It was simple but also crushing; like, the elephant in the room suddenly decided that it was fed up with only sitting there. So instead, it started to jump on your newly healed heart with its tons of weight. The haphazard stitches became undone, and the blood leaked out from the wounds.

If your heart was like how it used to be, then there should have been no problem with carrying the weight. It had carried all that love for years. That cursed burden called love which brought you nothing but, supposedly, “never-ending” storms that ended with a grave silence.

Jimin was sitting at the table on the rightmost row, which your table was a part of as well; like you, the night view of the city on their right was presented by the huge windows kissing the ceiling from all the way down to the floor.You two could see each other’s faces clearly—against your own liking.

The beautiful lady sitting across from him was the reason behind the hesitation buried in his actions— you were assumming her beauty from behind; she had this perfect posture and a milk-white skin exposed by her back-revealing dark red velvet dress. You could hardly detect her voice speaking to Jimin among muffled background noises of the restaurant. Her voice was like her dress: velvety.

She then giggled, probably expecting him to react the same way, but Jimin was too absorbed by your presence to notice her request. Your whole being was covering his senses like a delicate lace curtain. He could rip you off only with his bare hands and come back to the real world, getting out of your mesmerizing shade, but he didn’t want to; the tulle brushing his face was leaving a funny tingle on his skin. He enjoyed seeing the world brokenly behind the little gaps between embroidery patterns. And everything else looked white, innocent-like. In that whiteness, he forgot what he’d done to you, what he’d done to you two’s “we”. His mind wandered among odds. Could he use “we” with you ever again? He’d considered the possibility for thousands of times before, but he had never dared to want more than he deserved. He could not be greedy; he had no right to be so. But if he had had the courage, he would have searched you everywhere; and when he had found you, he would have never let you go ever again. He did once, and it had almost cost him his life. Almost…

You saw him flinch as he trailed his gaze down, piercing his eyes away from yours. His girlfriend must have held his hand on the table. He smiled softly to her but softness didn’t reach to his eyes; the panic was still evident in them. The lady didn’t notice though, or she pretended to not to. In anyway, you could see that she had this huge impact on him. It was strong enough to not let him show his emotions towards you. This didn’t bother you, however; not like how it did in the past at least.

“____, are you okay?”

You wondered how you looked like through the eyes of the person sitting on the chair right in front of you. Rude, uninterested? A kid who had a focus-span less than ten minutes? You tried to read his expression, but it gave you nothing more than plain concern.

You hated it.

“Yes, I’m okay Namjoon. It was a tough day at the office, ’s all. Thank you for your concern.”

You smiled at him and returned to cutting the delicious-looking steak on your plate—which, maybe, had costed a full shopping cart of food that could serve you for a month. You weren’t paying, so you kept your mouth shut and tried to enjoy what’s given to you. You appreciated it, really. If it weren’t for him, you would never come to this kind of luxurious place, or eat costly meals in tight and revealing dresses combined with a pair of killer high heels. It simply was not in you; you weren’t suitable for these kinds of things. They were too much for your lifestyle shaped by the incomes of you and your parents’—which won’t fill a nutshell compared to Namjoon’s current earnings.

You told Namjoon what you’d felt about how he preferred to live his life. You didn’t want him to quit it altogether, of course not; but you asked him to tone it down a little and respect your boundaries when he was with you. He said that he would do anything for you; he said only you mattered to him, but you knew him better than that. The reflection of you in his eyes was someone else. And she was a complete stranger to you.

She was someone who enjoyed parties, getting social and talkative; she was fond of getting dressed up and minding her manners. The present you in front of him was just an empty shell he can fill up with his desires and standards. You were just a potential to him and nothing more, only waiting for someone to actualize you. Whenever you showed your distress about the whole thing and refused to do as you were told he would say,

“You are beautiful ____, but your own eyes are helpless when it comes to seeing your true beauty under this… Well, neglected layer. You can be so much more, love; you have the potential to be so. We just have to find the real you hidden inside and when we do, I assure you, you’ll feel better. Let me help you, ____.”

Yesterday, you two had planned tonight’s dinner date. While you two had been planning, you’d emphasized that you wanted it to be simple and casual. You’d asked him to come over to your place and prepare dinner with you; you’d thought it would help deepen your bond, plus it would be cute to mess around a little in the kitchen. You just wanted to see him in his “casual” habitat. It’d been two months since you two start dating, but you knew nothing about him other than general personal informations, his family being an acquaintance of your family and him having enough money to spend like there’s no tomorrow. 

Namjoon had promised you a calm and sweet dinner, only you two in a romantic atmosphere.

While you were dreaming about how this date would have been like if he’d just stuck to the plan and had kept his promise, like a cuckoo clock warning you about the passing time, the waitress startled you when she asked if you needed anything else. This made you look up from your glass half filled with red wine and see the painful reality. You two were not alone, neither casual, and were far away from your definition of a sweet romantic dinner. And the privacy… You’d rather not think about that.

“No, thank you. We’re fine.”

The waitress smiled and with a small nod she left you two to your own miserable night.

You fixed your gaze on Namjoon after looking around and thinking how you ended up in there. He was wearing a black suit and his hair was styled nicely, granting him a sharp-look along with the glasses he wore. Everything on him was screaming money and power, everything on him was matched with his aura; he owned it all. Nothing looked out of place, unlike you. You were stiff, unnatural. People would immediately understand that you were not a part of this world; you were unsuited, not born for this. Yet, Namjoon has claimed that he saw something in you that no one ever did, including yourself. He believed that you belonged to where he was standing, the world of elites; he believed that you belonged to him. But you have never been his or someone else’s and you were never going to be. You belonged to you, and you were sick of pretending like someone else. You’ve never wanted to be better. You were enjoying the life plenty with this version of you.

You’ve missed wearing baggy and comfortable clothes when you went out; staying at home, settling on your little counter beside the window (which had an amazing view at this time of the year) and reading your favorite book on there while drinking your calming tea.

Ah, you’ve missed the autumn in Busan; you’ve missed riding your bike to the beach and watching the sun set bit by bit until it submerged into the sea completely, as lines and colors mixed all together and formed the starry sky along with the moon. You’ve missed the autumn in Busan with him. You’ve missed Park Jimin.

And now, he was right there, a few meters away. You’ve always dreamed; what if you saw him again, what if you had a chance to talk. What would you say?

I’ve missed you,

I still love you.

Come back to me…

Just the possibilities themselves were enough to make you nauseous. Whenever the thought corossed your mind, something warm would emanate your heart at the spot; welcoming and familiar… Then his face would appear in your head. Untouched and eternal… As if the cruel time made him an exception and let him pass without giving his youth as an exchange.

The Jimin in your head was young and full of love. He was smiling ear to ear. In contrast with his widening smile, his eyes were getting smaller. You’d loved to see him smile; you would feel instant relief when he showed his pearl-white teeth to the world and blessed the living.

You’ve always thought you would feel the same way when you meet him again, the emotions from the past would flourish and wind your heart with their arms like a poison ivy.

The first taste from the poison would always feel pleasant and heavenly; but when it found its way through your veins and swam in your every cell, it would kill you gradually. Even though feeling the slow-coming end, you would still try to cherish every little piece it’s given to you. Even after all that pain and darkness, you would still feel grateful for all those memories he made with you. But the worst part would always be the time when you realize that you still carved it. Because once you tasted it, it just felt… right. As if it should have been there from the start, as if it was your part you’ve been missing all this time.

The emotions were there still, along with the poison itself; but you weren’t.

The fog in your head was thicker now, concealing the last remaining pieces of who you used to be. The shared laughters, glances, words… Everything was now swallowed by The Fog of Remedy. You’ve done this to yourself, you needed to forget if you wanted to heal. And this was what you’d wanted from the start: to forget.

You’d never thought at some point of your life you would want to get rid of those meaningful memories… to get rid of him. You’d wished not to do so. You’d wished to keep them with you so that the Jimin in those scenes can stay young and hidden. A Jimin had never gotten the touch of Time; a Jimin never gave up on you and what you two once had… You’d felt like that was the only connection you had with him: The old rusty memories smelled like fresh daisies, just like the time when you two went to the forest for your second anniversary.

But people can change, just like how emotions do. Now, the pain in your heart wasn’t the result of those never ending nights you’d kept thinking about where you did the wrong, where you shot the last bullet. Now, it resulted from your overwhelmed state caused by none other than Park Jimin sitting a few meters away: You were glad for seeing him once again; you were angry at him still looking like how he stayed in your thoughts, young and ethereal; you were sad for thinking how you two ended up like this at the very end; two strangers once shared a single heart.

‘Jimin, you bast–’

You irked with the sudden coldness on your hand. Getting your head up from your gold engraved plate, you looked at the culprit of the goosebumps on your arms.

Namjoon was holdings your hand as if it was made of glass. The hold was gentle, and when you’d gotten used to its temperature, it felt warm. He had the same gentleness in his face, too. When you met with his eyes, however; his gaze intensified, making you feel vulnerable and small. He was a man who got the power of money always beside him, but he himself, too, possessed a great strength that made people feel weak under those sharp eyes.

You’d used to compare his eyes with Jimin’s. They differed greatly from one another but also somehow found a way to shine as if they belonged to the same person.

Namjoon’s eyes were a lot more defined than Jimin’s. They were heavy with the given responsibilities at such young age. Namjoon tasted success earlier than most did; but like any other thing in this world, it came with a price. Probably, he’d not had the chance to do most people did at around his age: like not thinking about the fact that actions he took constantly monitored by people who waited eagerly for his demise, or enjoying a single freaking normal dinner date with his girlfriend, etcetera, etcetera…

But even so, sometimes his eyes had this familiar shine in them. You had seen it when you two met for the first time and you had seen it before in Jimin’s eyes too. Namjoon had smiled at you when you two exchanged your names, and that was the moment you had decided to leave the past behind and try to move on. Maybe that familiarity in his pupils had urged you to take a step forward, or maybe you’d been fooled by it just to see that familiar shine was a delusion of your longing for Jimin.

You had let go of the strings and let the destiny do her job; no more playing the blind, playing “the victim”. This had led you to accept your parents invitation to meet with their close friends—who were wealthy and had a handsome and also successful son at your age, according to your parents. Now here you were, sitting across from him with a title always came before your birth-given name:

Namjoon’s girlfriend.

Namjoon’s hand was still on yours. You briefly smiled at him, which led him to do the same. After making sure you were okay again, he lifted his hand and returned to his meal. You were going to do the same– No; you had to do the same, but something was urging you to look at Jimin’s eyes. You wanted to look at them, The Present Jimin’s eyes to see if they were how you remembered, longed them to be. You wanted to be sure they shimmered the same way they did years ago. So you obeyed to the little voice and lifted your head up, but inside you were praying that he was minding his own business so you two didn’t lock eyes. You closed your eyes for a second; after exhaling, you lifted your head to look straight ahead.

Jimin saw your closed eyes and got worried a little. You were not okay, possibly his fault. He wasn’t expecting you to look at him directly; but you did, and he forgot how to breathe. You were still beautiful, as if the time had stopped just for you. Your eyes, lips, nose… Every inch of you drowned him in nostalgia. He remembered how he’d looked at you and you’d looked back at him like you two were the only beings in the universe. He remembered how he used to kiss you starting from your forehead to your chin. If the mood was right, he would slowly nibble at your little sensitive spot just under the right ear, and from there to your neck. Soon after, he would keep going down to ravish your whole body.

He tried to recall how your lips felt like on his skin. You would kiss him gently when you had to wake him up from his slumber, and he would groan to protest. He would smile into the kiss, make you giggle to. He loved your laugh and every sound you’d make whenever you opened your pretty little mouth. From your most heartfelt laughters to your sexiest moans, he remembered them all like yesterday. He missed them; he missed you.

And your eyes… Your eyes that held the galaxy in them. They had never left him, always looking with lust in his most private dreams. The eyes used to brighten his darkest nights… He focused on your eyes solely with a hope to see the beautiful Milky Way in them, but what he’d seen broke his heart. The galaxy was gone along with the warmth always melted him on the spot. The stars were now replaced by meteors wandering aimlessly in the void. Your eyes were looking lost; they were focused on his eyes but somehow it felt like they were trying to see something behind them, something placed way deeper. Jimin could see pieces of hope scattered in your eyes, barely shining but still there. Seeing this, he once again remembered the grave sin he’d committed. He should have never left you. He did this to you, and he never hated himself more than this very moment.

Jimin’s strong gaze made you uncomfortable, but you refused to look away. You needed validation, a proof that the man you were looking in the eye was your Jimin. You tried harder, looked deeper; but, the feeling never came. You couldn’t see him; he was not there anymore. He was someone else, like how you were. Life has been harsh for you both, forcing you to change. You’d done your best to hold on, you were sure he did the same, too. Because that’s how life is like, adapt or die.

Suddenly, Namjoon’s loud voice tore your thoughts, as keen as a fine knife.

“____, tell me what is wrong?! Just don’t avoid my questions anymore, please. I need to know why you’re crying.”

‘Crying…? What?’

You touched your cheeks; they were indeed wet. It was hilarious how you didn’t notice your own tears pouring down. They were visiting the corner of your lips and then reaching your chin. Out of curiosity, you licked the liquid. It was salty, of course; but you tasted something else, too. It tasted like disappointment. Then you realized that the liquid escaped from your eyes, was actually the poison itself; it was pouring out of you, not finding any more cell or joint to fill up. It was spilling out of your eyes. You used to wonder how it would look like in real life, an image of tar was always in your mind; but this transparent form of it had never once crossed your mind. It was looking exactly like tears, taking you aback.

You were sure, however; you knew that it was the poison. You were feeling the fullness inside of you, organs crushing in the fluid surrounding them. Especially your heart was finding it hard to work properly, your lungs were almost giving up. You were full and now it was spilling. One drop fell down to the red tablecloth—like any of the other thing in the restaurant, you guess it was an expensive piece. Looking at the wet spot on the soft fabric, you came back to your senses and without giving it a chance to spoil your makeup any further; you grabbed the nearest napkin and pressed it to your cheeks and eyes, careful not to ruin your mascara.

“I’m sorry Namjoon. I’m as surprised as you are. I don’t know what happened to me. It’s just… I think I got overwhelmed for a second there. I’m sorry. I’ll be okay once I go to the restroom, excuse me please.”

As you were making your leave, he grasped your wrist and didn’t let you stand up. You gasped. He sighed and spoke,

“You have nothing to apologize for, I should be the one to do so. I’m sorry for rising my voice; it was stupid of me. I was just- I was just worried. From the moment we came here, your mind has been somewhere else. You barely said anything and just got lost in your thoughts. You sure you okay? If you want to, we can leave now. Just say the word, I’m here.”

After finishing what he’d thought to say from the moment he had realized something was off, Namjoon closed the gap between you two over the table. He stretched his right arm towards the torn napkin piece stuck to your left cheek, wet from your tears. His fingers gently brushed your skin as he picked up the piece. You couldn’t help but notice the unnecessary contact he displayed. You were not uncomfortable because of his touch, no, but because of your heart speeding up despite the ivy surrounding it. And this was causing an intolerable pain deep in your chest. It wasn’t supposed to be like this, it wasn’t supposed to feel something.

You held your breath until he took his seat once again, thinking t it would help you calm down. It was your first time seeing him this compassionate. You muttered a thanks and then left your table, heading to where the restrooms were.

The restrooms were placed at inner left corner. Men and women both were using the same entrance and then separating their ways. You stopped at the common entrance for a second and looked back, seeing Namjoon checking his phone. Then you felt someone else’s gaze over you; sliding your eyes a little to left, you saw Jimin looking back at you. He, however, didn’t give you enough time to interpret his expression; facing the lady sitting in front of him and saying something. You saw his lips moving but couldn’t determine the words. Leaving him like that, you continued to walk further, finding the door for ladies and entering.

As expected, the restroom was also high quality. Looking at the crystal chandelier swinging from the ceiling, you once again found yourself doubting what the fuck were you doing there. This was simply going overboard. Deciding on finishing as quickly as you could manage, you stood in front of the big mirror placed above the sinks. It was embellished with gold leaves around the corners; the taps were also gold.

You swore under your breath and turned on the hot water. When the temperature was right, you placed your hands under it. That felt refreshing. At that moment you noticed your shaking hands. You squeezed them slightly to stop them. With the water, it looked like it worked; they were not shaking anymore. You wanted to splash some water to your face but the damn makeup was holding you back; since you had left the table in a hurry, you forgot to bring your purse with you.

A sign made its way throughout your mouth as you turned off the running water. Looking at the mirror, you thanked Namjoon for buying you a quality mascara, or else it would be ruined by now after all that crying. Actually, you thanked Namjoon for a lot of things: The dress you were in, this classy restaurant he brought you and paid for all those expensive chef’s specials… But most importantly, you thanked him for helping you gain your life energy back—though at some point he didn’t know where to stop. He was one of your coping mechanisms; you relayed on him to make you forget. He was the one who helped you create The Fog of Remedy; maybe he was the fog itself. You didn’t know for sure. However, denying his impact on your life would be something only a fool would do. You were not a fool, certainly not, and this simple fact was the cause of why you hated yourself.

He was a good person; generous, kind, thoughtful (sometimes way too much thoughtful). He knew what you’d been going through at the time when you two first met. He’d been aware that someone else had your heart with them. Even though he was far, far away, his clutches hadn’t been letting go off you. But he still had accepted to see you, be with you. You told him numerous times that you wouldn’t ever love him like you did for Jimin, that he would never be The One despite how much effort he put in it. And all he’d said was he knew all the consequences and was still accepting you no matter what. He was the one who has suggested to date; he was the one who had chosen you; but still you could shake off the feeling of you taking advantage of him. He was giving you so much, but all you were doing was crying over a man who left you five years ago. You were feeling bad for not returning his love back to Namjoon; it was getting swallowed by the black hole within you, that dark abyss of self-hatred.

Namjoon truly was a good man; he deserved more than this, more than you.

You were still looking at the mirror, lost in thoughts and the memories embedded in your eyes. The sudden opening of the door made you jump, testing your reflexes. They were still working, good.

The woman who had entered the room looked at you, as surprised as you are. She then closed the distance between you two in a second and whilst doing so she spoke, concern was leaking out of her mouth:

“Oh mine, did I scare you, honey? You look like you saw a ghost. I know I’m old but I don’t plan to die anytime soon.”

She laughed, her voice echoing among tiles on the walls. Seeing your panicking face, you not knowing how to answer back; she continued softly to save you from the burden.

“I’m so sorry, I couldn’t control my strength. It happens sometimes when you come to this age.”

As she kept coming closer, you found it easier to examine her features. She was an elderly woman, probably in her mid-fifties or even older than that—you’d learned to not to judge a book by its cover, especially in this world. Her gray tinted hair was made into a decent bun; her eyes were as clear as still water despite her age, emphasized with a subdued make up. Her untouched wrinkles were looking like holding so many memories, like they had so many stories to share.

You loved how she looked so naturally stunning. Her dioptase and diamond necklace and earrings were completing the pine green dress she wore. Everything was in place, everything was complimentary. She was doubtlessly from the world of elites; she owned it all as if she was born for this—just like Namjoon.

“I’m okay, really. I was just lost in thoughts, that’s why I reacted so absurdly. There’s nothing to apologize for.”

Her eyes directed at you were as if they were looking into your soul, but not hastily. They had this motherly tenderness in them, the kind that would make you want to cry on her shoulders for hours as she pats your back rhythmically. Her gaze felt more like she was checking you out if you were okay as you claimed to be. But then they narrowed, had she found something?

“You don’t look okay, young lady. And I’m sure that’s not just because of that little incident we had. Now tell me, are you okay?”

Tonight for once, you wanted to be honest. You wanted to be true to yourself, so you looked straight into eyes of the beautiful woman standing in front of you; smiling sadly,

“No… No, I- I’m not okay.”

You fought to stop the building tears, but it was a futile attempt. They ran, and you chased.

You always hated being a burden to people around you. Even when the time Jimin had left, you’d lived everything inside, suffering silently. The storms must not reach the others, just you. But now, you were crying… in front of a complete stranger. Not knowing her name, her age, her job… But this vagueness calmed your heart, freed your emotions. You were vulnerable, and that was okay, for the first time in your life.

You saw here blurry form hesitating over whether to hug you or to let you be, at the end she put her hand on your arm and rub it comfortingly. It did wonders, and you thanked her.

“I’m sorry. It might not look like it, but actually I’m not the type to burst into tears in front of people. The things happened today finally started kick in, I guess. I’m sorry again, and thankful as well.”

She smiled sympathetically, showing her adorable dimples. It warmed your heart.

“It looks like a personal matter, so I won’t meddle any further than this. But I do want to give you an advice, if you can accept this old lady’s habit came with age.”

You nodded slowly, giving her the cue she needed to continue.

“To me, it looks like you have too much weight. You might think you need them all, but believe me, you don’t. Once you sit down and think you’ll see it too-the unnecessary weight you’ve carried all this time. You need to throw them down to rise. You’ll soar like a bird.”

“Your sky might be still dark; but when you pass the clouds, the moon and the stars shall brighten up your darkest nights. So trust me, just let go. Because if you continue to carry the weight, it will drag you down further; and when you pass the line, the naked branches of trees sharpened like knives will be there, waiting for you.”

The lady was frowning now, exposing the deep wrinkles around her eyes and between her eyebrows. You looked at her with round eyes. You wanted to deny, to once again start play the blind; but she was right. She was right ‘till the fucking end. And you were frightened, confused. Noticing the face you were making, she grabbed your shoulders and gave them a fine squeeze. Her action made you return to reality. You had to make a choice, and you had to do it as soon as possible. The weights were not only dragging you down, but the people around you too. For their sake, for your own sake. You had to cut their ropes immediately, free yourself from that burden.

You thought about the first thing had appeared in your mind while listening to her. The seeds of the idea were already had been sown from the beginning, but not until now you realized their roots caging your heart in. It sounded wrong, stupid; but you’d decided. You were going to do it no matter what the consequences will be. It was your life, your call. And broken hearts were inevitable. You had collected the shreds before, you could do it once again; nothing was new.

You smiled, her glassy eyes shining under the soft yellow light of the crystal chandelier

“Thank you so much for your advice, ma’am. I’ll keep it in my heart.”

“In your heart…? Aren’t you a peculiar one.”

She chuckled softly.

“I think I have to return now, someone’s waiting for me. Thank you once again and have a nice evening.”

You smiled.

“You too, young lady.”

You left the restroom after that, saying goodbye to the woman and the chandelier. You were now at the common corridor, the mind full of thoughts. You were looking down while walking, not noticing the person standing on your way. You bumped into them, fortunately you were not hurrying to return your table—not really looking forward to it, either. Your head hit their chest; it hurt more than you would anticipate. You didn’t look up yet, but their muscles were something; they didn’t feel that buff, more like an athletic body.

The person you bumped held your upper arms with their two hands, forcing you to look up. And you did, but you regretted. You’d blinked a few times to adjust the blinding white light coming from the back, you were looking like an idiot, probably. Who could blame you, though? The fucking quality fluorescents were to blame, not your eyes fell victim.

He moved his head to left—The person was a man, you’d figured it out that much—blocking the light burning your eyes. The more your eyes focused, the more strongly you wished to vanish. Your brain was screaming at you to run as far as you can, leave the country, burn your phone, get a new ID, start a life away from all of this. However, it was too late, he had his claws on you now; there was no escape.

You saw his moving lips but his voice wasn’t reaching you. You tried to focus with all your might on what he’d been saying . You caught a few things, but your brain refused to put a meaning into them. Jimin was looking at you worriedly now, you felt his fingers going deeper on your flesh. The pain worked, you once again started to hear, the voices of people speaking, forks and knives grazing the porcelain… But you had to focus on him, so you faced him properly this time; only one word spilling out of your mouth:

“Park Jimin… “

His eyes widened for a split-second; then they melted with affection, softened and sparkly. He was dazzling.

His red plump lips opened slightly—the redness was caused by him chewing them out of stress, no doubt. He spoke, his silky voice caressing your ears and leaving red blossoms behind.

“Hello, ____”

↠A/N pt.2: Hellooooo!!!! I’M BACCK!!! I’m sorry, this took me ages to post but I’m satisfied with the outcome and I hope you are too. This is my longest post so far and it’s only the first chapter. I’m planinig to make this serie two chapters long. I’ve already started to write the second chap. My uni’s starting so I’m not really sure how long will it take me to post it, but I’ll try to finish it asap. Thank you so much for reading. Have a nice day!!! 💜

And if you like it please like or reblog so that I can see!!!