#but i do think she has a certain like....almost-awe of the maker? or what the maker could be?

[ghostwise]

Zevran is once again struck by the way people change when you leave them alone for a while.

Three times now, the Maker has seen fit to place them in each other's paths. This time, however, rather than feeling regret at all he has missed in his friend's life, he feels only awe at the ways she has grown and the ways she has stayed the same. Isabela listens with a patience he's seldom associated with her, and for that he is grateful.

Still, he's almost afraid to tell her all that has happened.

"It is a very long tale, my dear," he says when she asks. "And I'm afraid it does not portray me in a very positive light."

"Oh, please. Like you're the only one with a past," she teases. "Have you forgotten already how we met?"

"Never," he replies, and she's coaxed a smile out of him despite his worry. It's easy to remember why he loved her--loves her--and trusts her, too. So, having surpassed that slightest bit of resistance with her support, he lets it all pour out in a flood of words.

Everything from Rinnala's betrayal to his contract in Ferelden, to his time during the Blight and Taliesen's death. Everything from the fight against the Crows, to his year spent at Quinta de Talpa, and his travels throughout all of Antiva and beyond. He tells her everything, good and bad, without omission.

It must be some surprise to her; he’s become so honest and vulnerable. But it’s deliberate, and he barrels into it with a certain recklessness because it has been hard-won.

Most of all, he talks about the Warden, like a thread weaving through every single piece of his life. Making his story coherent. Stitching the broken bits whole.

"I must admit, I didn't think him your type then, and I certainly don't now," Isabela says when he's done.

They're lounging on the bed together, barely dressed. Her hair is fanned out across her pillow and she makes a face, features pulling into a delicate pout.

"Please tell me he's not as grim and somber as he seems. Frankly, I’m still surprised he was alright with you and I meeting. Unless..." She sits up, and peers at him, blouse falling over her shoulders. "Unless he doesn't know?"

"He knows," Zevran murmurs against her knee. “He knew who I was when he married me.”

“Good.” Content to hear it, Isabela leans back with a smile. "What a waste it’d be otherwise. I mean, for you as well. Don't change for anyone, Zevran. I mean it. There are far too many miserable marriages in the world. I should know."

For a moment both of them reflect on those words. But they speak to a life long past, and not worth revisiting. After a moment Zevran just sighs with the most lovestruck look she's ever seen him sport.

"Ah, I'd love for you to get to know him as I do..." He strokes her leg gently, hanging onto her, though it is clear his mind is drifting. "He would never ask me to change. He doesn't want to impede me in any way. He sees the depths of me, good and bad, and asks for nothing. I never imagined... Isabela, he makes it so easy, so simple and calm. So you see, because of that, I can give him everything. Because he-"

"Oh, enough!"

Yanking her legs back she tucks them beneath herself and tackles him with a hug, affectionate but very much exasperated.

"You talk about your husband too much, Zevran! No one will ever want to sleep with you!"

Zevran draws in a sharp breath, then he collapses into laughter.

As they laugh and cling to one another, he’s infinitely glad he saved her all those years ago. He’s glad she’s here now. He's glad for every note in his story, from the highest to the lowest.

"Seriously, Zev," Isabela says, as she extricates herself from his embrace and walks to her dresser--truly a vision, as beautiful as she'd been ten years ago. "I'm glad you've found someone to make you happy. You deserve no less. As for the rest, all that matters is that you've kept on living and doing your best. That's all any of us can do."

[elfcollector]

lost in dreams

rating: Teen

warnings: Death, killing, unreality

summary: The lie is too sweet to be true, but — Maker, do you wish it could be. Or: the worst dream Tabris has ever had.

You wake in your bed, head heavy and thick — as though it’s filled with cotton and sand.  Your eyes fall closed immediately to offset the nausea.  You shift, trying to sit up while a hand — your hand? — rises to press to your pounding forehead, but familiar palms on your shoulders press you gently back down.

“Rest, my girl,” a man says, voice quiet.  Your eyes slide open and you turn your head to face him, squinting blearily.

“Father...?”

“You’re running quite a fever, and you were tossing in your sleep.  You must have had quite the nightmare.”

A fever feels right.  Your head hurts, and everything is skewed just barely, like the world’s crooked.  “I guess so.  I don’t — remember all of it.  It was awful, though.  I was getting married, I think?”  That couldn’t have been all of it, but your memory feels too foggy to pick out the rest.

Your father laughs.  “That would be such a terrible nightmare for you.”  He pauses at the sound of your front door opening with a creak that’s so familiar it feels almost nostalgic, and gently keeps you down when you attempt to sit up to see who it is.  “If it’s any consolation, I’m sure that this will be better than your dreams.”

Something in you shifts, thoughts sticking at the word dream.  But the person who’d opened the door passes the corner, and abruptly the dream and the nightmare and your fear flee your mind.  She looks like you, because you look like her.  You borrowed your father’s green eyes, but it is her skin and her curling blonde hair and her skill in battle that you wear with such pride.  Your father tries to stop you once more, but you push past his arms and throw yourself at this too - familiar woman, crumpling in her arms when she embraces you.

“Mama!”

She smiles against your hair and the sensation is so familiar that you are sure your ribs will collapse with the weight of it.  Your chest already heaves and shakes with the sobbing and the crying that came so abruptly you’ve no choice but to allow it.

“Shhh.  Don’t cry, baby girl,” she says, voice the same, rough around the edges but loving, so loving.  Her fingers card gently through your hair.  You lift your head to see her face and map her freckles with your darting eyes, remembering each and every one.  “I’m here.  It’s safe.  We’re all safe now.”

“But how — ?”

“It doesn’t matter,” Cyrion says from behind you, his hand resting on your shoulder and the other wrapping around the waist of his wife.  “What matters is that we’re together now.  Forever.”

“Doesn’t that sound good, Alia?” Mour mother asks — your mother!  Your mother is alive!  “All three of us.  Soris and shianni, too.  Just like it was.  Like it always should have been.”

You nod, still crying, vision blurring with your tears.  You press your face against your mother’s collarbone, the relief in your chest so sharp and so unforgiving that you think you’ll collapse.  You thought she’d died!  Thought she’d died to protect you, like you would have died to protect them — to avenge Shianni.

——— Wait.  What happened to Shianni?

“You don’t even have to marry if you don’t want to,” Cyrion continues, the smile in his voice soft and affectionate.  “Your mother talked me out of that one, that’s for certain.”

“But Valendrian ---”

“Can be convinced,” your Mama insists, voice still hushed.  Fuck, you’d missed her voice!  Every time she speaks is like rebuilding a piece of yourself you’d forgotten you’d lost.  “You don’t have to fight any more.  We’ll protect you.”

You stiffen just barely.  Of course you have to fight.  Mama always wanted you to fight.  You have to fight, she always said, so that you can protect them.  If you’d been a better fighter, you could have saved Nola and Nelaros.  Who’s Nelaros?  What happened to Nola?

“Something doesn’t — feel right,” you mutter.  “I — I feel like I’m forgetting something really important.”

“You’ve got a fever, honey, that’s all it is,” your father speaks, but you shake your head and pull away from them even though it makes your mother’s face twist into a look like mourning.  Your head only pounds louder.  

“No, no — I — I was getting married.  It was my wedding day.  And someone — someone hurt us.  Someone — hurt — Shianni.  I…”

Your mother comes closer, takes your hands.  “Don’t you want to be safe, honey?  Don’t you want to rest?”  Rest.  Rest.  Wait.

“I do, but not — this isn’t right.”

“You don’t have to fight any more.”  Her voice is so gentle and you want so much for this to be real.  You want so much for this to be realer than what you left behind.  “Just forget.”

You stiffen and you pull away, hands burning, the fog in your head suddenly clear.

“You’re not my mama.”

“But she could be,” the creature who is not your father offers, making his way to her side. "We do so much for you. Doesn't she deserve to me your mother?"

“My mama,” you start, throat thick with ugly tears once more, “would never ask me to forget what happened.  You’re just — pretending to be her.”  The insult of that — the profanity and the blasphemy — is not enough to make you stop crying with that familiar desperate aching want.

You escape the dream, because you must, and you save the others from their dreams because you must do that, too.  Alistair will ask you later what you saw in your nightmare.  You will not have the strength to tell him of the way your mother looked while she died a second time.

[katkitpaddywick]

🐣, 🤡, 🎬

🐣 Whose fledgling would you rather be?

My first thought was Armand, because he's awful and I love him, but I think he's clingy enough that I'd need to be able to take my own space if we wanted to keep a positive relationship, which is hard when they're your maker. That said, I DO want him blocked out of my head! tbh, probably Madeleine. She's the least fucked up out of all of them from what I've seen, and I think she'd respect my space 😭

🤡 Favourite headcanon of your favourite character.

Not sure where this sits between canon and headcanon (I haven't seen it explicitly mentioned by the show but it feels implicit), but I love all the stuff around Armand being a painter's model and how that shapes his behaviour now - his stillness, the way he always seems to hold himself in some sort of pose or angle unless he's extremely distressed... I haven't seen anyone mention this yet but I'm almost certain his flight/flight response is "freeze" - unless he's forced into action, he always waits such a long time to make sure the chips have settled before he'll do anything, and I think in a weird indirect way that also comes from that same model background.

also daniel has blackout blinds in his room because armand will come in during the day and open his coffin just to stare at him like a creepy fucking cat, and he forgets the sun can still hurt daniel

🎬 Do you have any wild theories for the upcoming season?

i think we see sam DJing at all of lestat's show afterparties and because he's wearing the fucking helmet it doesn't get revealed until halfway through the season. this is grounded in nothing but the fact that i WANT it

[datadegroove]

i guess my generic point is that i see a lot of plans for change in this country. democrats, republicans, anarchists, socialists, conservatives, liberals, blah blah blah blah blah blah. i see a lot of outrage over things that occur. over the rights of workers. a lot of these discussions of rights are limited on the things that are most visible or that have a certain cleanness or prestige to them. actors, game makers, animators, people who work at starbucks, that kind of thing. but i never seem to hear anyone talking about these things that have affected this branch of society. in particular, never at my own job, or any of the jobs that i've ever held (and i've held a lot of shitty blue collar jobs). the amount of times i've almost been killed or horribly injured probably far exceeds the average person's. and if it happens to me you can take my experience and probably extend it to anyone i've ever worked with. every single one of these jobs has been pointless. over expensive products to be sold to dumb consumers. overpriced "smart" beds, overpriced food, overpriced and overdesigned windows, the gas that gets put into your fountain drink (just sell fucking bottles of soda for christ's sake), delivering newspapers (a worthless waste of trees), etc., etc., so on and so forth. and there really is this like magic quality that people think people like me have. i had a conversation with my mom that caused me to realize the kind of global issue with this whole thing. she was like "not everybody can do what you do". and it's like. the divine right of kings or something to people in this world. there's a magic quality to being a "hard worker" or a "skilled laborer" or whatever bullshit term you want to use. you have an ability that other people don't have. well let me tell you, i don't have any abilities. i just show up and do what i'm told to do, get paid and go home. anyone can drive a truck. it's not that complicated. BUT if you're attempting to justify the awful things that are happening to you, or your kid, or your friend, or your brother or WHATEVER, then having a magic quality that makes you better than other people even though you're being "put down by the man" sounds like a really good way to justify that in your brain. and it's like great. i'd rather have the magical quality that makes it so that i can easily to afford to move an hour away after a year's worth of busting my ass. or the magical quality that enables me to buy a car made sometime in the last 10 years. or the magical quality that gets me health insurance that pays for me to get contact lenses - i'll even take glasses that are completely paid for by my health insurance. but i don't have that quality apparently. i only have the quality that makes me the perfect slave. i guess what i'm asking is that anyone reading this kind of start to think about how they interpret labor in this world, and how they view the steps that got whatever it is they own or enjoy. every. single. thing. that exists - a person who works in manual labor was partially responsible for. and probably a higher percentage of that product exists because of them rather than not. in this way, i do think there is an internal bias that has to be worked on for there to be change, and it's not always about the super big news-worthy stories

[mocolococoffeesimp]

You've written so much so fast, I am in awe, it's been fun reading all of them and I would like ask for hc's of Elphelt with a dress maker S/o that loves making cute stuff for her, thank you!

I'm on vacation as of right now, so this has been a fun way to spend my evenings. Ah, the idea of this alone is so cute.

-She loves it when you make her the accessories. Each of them being different, and a reminder of your love and adoration for her.

-She pounces ideas for dresses to you. Colors, its style, even modeling for you in them. She does spend a lot of time in your workshop, both helping you around and distracting you from your work. From skirts and tops to ball gowns, she just loves to model for you no matter what clothes.

"How do I look, love? Exquisite? Beautiful?"

"Magnificent. But, I do think the rim will need to be fixed." You gently take the rim into your hand, as you examine. Elphelt seemed worried about it for a moment, but before she could ask about it, you replied to her.

“It’s a small thing to fix.”

-Elphelt would like to help, but her thoughts drift to you seeing her wearing different dresses and outfits. She daydreams of you two in matching outfits. Just something little for others to see you two are together.

-Whenever you make new accessories for her, she is just bursting with joy. It has gone to a point, where her guns can't handle the weight of them. She spends a certain amount of time, whenever she has to use her weapons, deciding which accessories she will put on them.

-But, her most treasured possessions you’ve ever done for her, are the rose headdress and a dress for her. She wears the rose headdress almost everyday, to her it feels like a crown to a princess. But, she adores the dress even more. To her, it is like a fairy-tale come true. She feels the care and effort you’ve put into it. True showcase of your love to her.

-The one thing to make it the most perfect gift would be if you had a matching one. Which, you will make but as a surprise to her. She squeals excitedly, when you finally reveal it to her. She jumps at you, wrapping her arms around hugging you.

“You look amazing, darling! Now, we look like the dream couple!”

“Heh, I guess we do. So, ready to go out, my princess?” She takes your hand, as she starts to drag you outside with the largest smile on her face. She really felt like a princess thanks to you.

[k1tt13sbl0g]

Head cannon for Jeff;

❗❗❗ART ISN'T MINE 𝙏𝙃𝙄𝙎 𝘼𝙍𝙏 𝙄𝙎𝙉'𝙏 𝙈𝙄𝙉𝙀, I'm using this for visuals, I'm too tired to draw anything out but yea credit to these artist❗❗

So for mr jeffy boy, I like to use BanningK's jeff. If you haven't heard or read the story and know of the time line, PLEASE check out Mr.creepypasta's videos for it, they are the SHIT.

So anyways, Jeff in this timeline by the original author, he doesn't carve a smile into his face, doesn't magically turn white because of being burned. Instead of that happening, the three boys still gang up on him. 𝘽𝙪𝙩, the main one, I forget his name, his mom and Jeff's mom decided they should get to know one another, 𝘦𝘷𝘦𝘯 𝘵𝘩𝘰𝘶𝘨𝘩 𝘵𝘩𝘰𝘴𝘦 𝘢𝘴𝘴𝘩𝘰𝘭𝘦𝘴 𝘸𝘩𝘦𝘳𝘦 𝘮𝘦𝘴𝘴𝘪𝘯𝘨 𝘸𝘪𝘵𝘩 𝘑𝘦𝘧𝘧'𝘴 𝘢𝘯𝘥 𝘓𝘪𝘶'𝘴 𝘣𝘪𝘬𝘦𝘴. Granted, Jeff beat the shit out of the kids but whatever. Cops knew and were friends with the asshole crotch goblins families so they were on their side for the most part. 𝘼𝙉𝙔𝙃𝙊𝙊𝘿𝙇𝙀, Jeff goes over to this kids house, and they actually get along ang bond over some stuff. Eventually, their moms' leave, 𝙊𝙊𝙊 𝙃𝙄𝙎 𝙉𝘼𝙈𝙀 𝙒𝘼𝙎 𝙍𝘼𝙉𝘿𝙔, and Randy tells Jeff to follow him. They go into his garage and he eventually shows Jeff his flare gun. Jeff, not wanting to deal with more fighting, tries to leave, but Troy and Keith show up, and Randy's saying basically to let them beat Jeff up. And Jeff, losing it, beat the fuck out of all them basically. Randy's and Jeff's mom eventually come back, they hear the car pull up. Randy freaks out and tells them he needs to put the flare. Everyone starts putting stuff away, and as Jeff goes to pick up magazines, Randy actually accidentally drops the flare, it goes off and shoots Jeff in the face. So, now half of his face is burned, and he's blind in his left eye. Doesn't turn any shade of color, it's just burned skin now. He doesn't kill his brother either in this one, his brother actually goes on to write books about his brother. I think it's called "friend, brother, killer. By Liu Woods" some shit like that.

𝘽𝙐𝙏 𝙉𝙊𝙒 𝙁𝙊𝙍 𝙏𝙃𝙀 𝘼𝘾𝙏𝙐𝘼𝙇 𝙃𝙀𝘼𝘿 𝘾𝘼𝙉𝙉𝙊𝙉-𝙎𝙊𝙍𝙍𝙔 𝙁𝙊𝙍 𝙏𝙃𝙀 𝘽𝘼𝘾���𝙎𝙏𝙊𝙍𝙔 𝘾𝙍𝘼𝙋 𝙄 𝙅𝙐𝙎𝙏 𝙉𝙀𝙀𝘿𝙀𝘿 𝙄𝙏 𝙁𝙊𝙍 𝙏𝙃𝙄𝙎 𝙏𝙊 𝙎𝙊𝙍𝙏𝘼 𝙈𝘼𝙆𝙀 𝘼𝙉𝙔 𝙎𝙀𝙉𝙎𝙀

So, Jeff sees certain members of slender's proxy and acquaintances, (such as LJ, Jason the toy maker + Candy pop, Hobo Heart, and others), as family. Especially since his actual family was ehhhh not the best. Granted, he killed his parents but if they actually acknowledged their children and what was 𝘢𝘤𝘵𝘶𝘢𝘭𝘭𝘺 going on, maybe they'd be alive. He views Sally as a little sister, and he has mixed feelings about her. Not in a bad sense, just, he feels awful. Especially since Jackson (EJ Goes by Jackson for my HC since LJS there and he tends to prefer it anyways), filled him in on what happened to her exactly. (𝙄𝙛 𝙮𝙤𝙪 𝙙𝙤𝙣'𝙩 𝙠𝙣𝙤𝙬, 𝙖𝙣𝙙 𝙮𝙤𝙪'𝙫𝙚 𝙗𝙚𝙚𝙣 𝙞𝙣 𝙩𝙝𝙚 𝙛𝙖𝙣𝙙𝙤𝙢 𝙛𝙤𝙧 𝙖 𝙝𝙤𝙩 𝙢𝙞𝙣𝙪𝙩𝙚 𝙙𝙤 𝙨𝙤𝙢𝙚 𝙧𝙚𝙨𝙚𝙖𝙧𝙘𝙝 𝙗𝙧𝙤 𝙣𝙤𝙩 𝙚𝙭𝙥𝙡𝙖𝙞𝙣𝙞𝙣𝙜 𝙩𝙝𝙖𝙩 𝙤𝙣𝙚) He likes Jackson, but has no idea how he'd even approach a person, er uh, demon? Like him. He knows he has emotions and feeling like a "human" but obviously he's not human anymore. With Ben and Toby, they're like his weird gbf's (Ben and Toby do be gay tho), but Jeff doesn't mind them dating. He's actually the reason they said anything to each other in the first place.

With jinx, it's weird. He met her one time just doing his crap in the forest. She attached him, because she needed to eat. Jeff having experienced junk like this, threw her off and they kinda had a stand off. Jeff was v e r y confused. I don't blame him, she'd be wearing a floor length dress, similar to mortica adams, but more Victorian goth. Eventually though the develope like a bro, sibling type bond. She's imortal and almost as old as Jack (LJ) so he didn't try to pursue her in anyway, plus he had *hinted* about it to her one time and she made it clear they wouldn't work out, but she was flattered non the less.

Uhhh yeaaaa. I'll make one for Jinxs as well, especially because she's like my sona and I plan on writing a story about her background and how she became a vampire. It's sorta similar to Luis in "Interview with a vampire". But y'all will hear about this as I go hehe

[capsicrew]

30 WoL Think Thonkers

6. Who was their Azem? What were they like, and were they different from your WoL? Who were their family, friends? Or, if you don't care for the Azem angle or went in your own direction for their past self, how so? How does your WoL feel about their Ancient identity?

So I think I've talked about it before; despite having 5 characters, they only have one Azem; Piperi (they/them). After some deliberation, and revelations in Endwalker--I've determined this actually came about esentially because of a time paradox, lol When Venat met the warriors who would become Hydaelyn's champion--she knew there were five of them. However the sundering of the world came around, and the souls of the star were affected, there were five heritors of Azem's soul. But after the sundering, as well as seeing a rejoining… she saw the source only had one person with Azem's soul… and it stayed that way after that first rejoing. That can't be right? There were five of them?? Taking advantage of her power as Hydaelyn, and her location in the aetherial sea she set about making sure things worked right. The next time the heritor of Azem's soul died--she began a process of spreading that power. Either with other soul aether or her own power, she esentially crafted two full souls. That wasn't five, but she couldn't dilute the soul any further than that. The answer eventually came with another three rejoinings--aweful that they were. By the sixth rejoining, there were "five Azems" (the remaining calamity, and the joining with Ardbert, basically "joined" with all of them simultaneously).

Piperi had a great care for the world. In all ways that it can come about--creation magic or developing on its own--Piperi wanted to watch over it all. In a way, they had a sort of hero complex about it--almost selfishly. In concept, like, "nobody else is going to take care of this, so I HAVE to do it." Its a genuine care for the world and desire to see it protected. They just assume that nobody cares as much as they do. For all the differences between them and Emet-Selch, they were also so alike. They would've stood in extreme defiance against both the Convocation's plans with Zodiark after ending the Final Days, but also greatly against Venat's plans for sundering.

The Warriors and Piperi would've had many things in common, but almost as much not in many cases. They and Jalliim share many interests--but with less deep history to study, since they're still making it. Jalliim is more optimistic than Piperi often is. Capsisi, though, would not have gotten along with them. She would've seen through that hero complex, to a point where it starts to feel like just another manipulative ancient. Kola would be impressed with their power and skill--something she'd love to emulate, though she, herself, might come across as a rather simple-minded being to Piperi. Beutiq has no strong opinion. Unlike the many concept-makers among the ancients, Piperi was more about observation and preservation, and didn't do as much creating, so Beutiq has that greater edge. They'd get along on some level, though… the way Beutiq generall does. Piperi, though, can be credited among the ancients for the creation of a specific kind of fruit-bearing nightshade. Ejvi is perhaps the most alike to Piperi, in there way of just doing what they want and seeing the world. Additionally, one funny thing-- I notice a lot of folks prefer to draw their Azem without their mask. But Piperi would've fallen into that mode where they would always have their mask on--one of the other things they and Emet-Selch would agree on without reservation. Ejvi has, unwittingly, inherited this preference in always keeping her goggles on. Additionally, Piperi's mask design would call to mind the facepaint design Beutiq's tribe wears around their eyes. Again, unintentionally… but certainly noticed by a certain long-lived Ascian.

[kurosstuff]

A/N: so here's a donna x reader thing I thought of!! Also the reader is a maiden a head maid to be more exact- made the header with the only pic that DIDN'T come out terribly??? Idk how the fuck to make them?? Its- technically first pov but isnt exactly written that way idk man I'm dumb

Warning(s): blood, angie swears because I say so. Goes into slight depth of a small injury. FEMALE READER, panic attack(s) SPOILERS!! AND ANGST- this isnt a nice fic. It's not even close haha(but I changed some stuff around to make more sense so fuck you♡)

Donna Beneviento x F!reader: Right place. Wrong time

Parties sucked. Being a handmaid was fun and all but the biggest downside is you have to attend these.. events? You weren't entirely sure what they were but Lady Dimitrescu was very clear on you attending to assist her and the other lords during this time

"I swear if it weren't for Mother Miranda" Lady Dimitrescu spat out at the drunken fool-no her brother? You weren't actually sure what he was to her but they acted like siblings. Mother Miranda help anyone who asks- last person who did landed in the cellar "I would have kicked you out." Taking a drag from her cigarette. Leaning down and blowing into his face making the man start yelling as Moreau hide behind the table yet again-unless he wished to be dragged into the fight as well as he usually did during this time

If it weren't for two things happening with you. You'd probably laugh. But with how many villagers there are-the ones who hurt you. Your anxiety was racing. Even worse when the lord-no the women you were very interested in was here as well. The mysterious women dressed in all black as usual, Donna Beneviento and her doll companion, Angie by her side looking around frantically at all the new people. Jumping up and down excitedly

Deep breath...

Deep.. breath..

Turning you started out the door. Thankfully being the head maid you wouldn't exactly get in trouble with an extent of course(also helped the fact the lady and her daughters were well aware of your anxiety and were surprisingly kind about it?). As you moved you were unaware of a pair of painted eyes glancing at you before turning to another

-

The cool breeze in the air calmed you as you roamed around the garden. If it weren't for the weather it would have been such a beautiful sight. Well more then it was. Dispite the chilly air as winter was just rolling around the corner. The indication of it creeping up a bit closer with the speaks of ice and snow arounding around and on the flowers. Personally decorating then with their own weather, the crunch under your feet became louder as you got farther away from everyone

"So this is where you went?" A voice called out behind you, stiffening in response you could only hope for the best as you turned-half expecting one of the sisters, but you knew better then to assume that-if it was they'd have bitten you gently-as they could-before dragging you off somewhere

Turning around your assumption was proven correct. Standing infront of you was a small porcelain doll, odd colors painted on but overall handled with such care-you stared in awe before remembering yourself. Kneeling down a bit infront of the doll you smiled

"Why, hello Lady Angie" you started with a smile-watching the mock of a shock on her face, her mouth a gap more then it was before "would you like something?" Speaking softly to ensure not upsetting the doll if you even could? You weren't sure but you've heard that she had a temper of sorts on her

With a mock scuff Angie threw her hands in the air happily "ooo! 'Lady'? Can't remember the last person to call me that seriously" with a scratchy giggle she bounced around you happily. Almost intrigued with you "and what do I want? Hmm" she stopped infront of you again crossing her wooden arms in thought

"Walk with me"

She spoke suddenly after a moment rushing off you in tow- before her foot caught the long dress of hers. Almost sending her falling if you didn't grab her hoisting her up in your arms suddenly. Standing frozen for a second before placing her down gently

"Sorry Lady Angie." Looking her over you nodding in note of no injuries seen on the poor doll "rude to not ask but I'm glad your alright" before looking around her again to ensure you didn't miss anything.

Angie stood head titled to her side interested, holding her arms up to you she made grabby hands like a toddler would when wanting up. "Pick me up" she ordered with a giggle, kneeling down you gently grabbed her. Picking her up you held her against her hip, almost like a mom holding a baby or a toddler it seemed to be the best choice-her reaction was a happy laugh. Pointing off to a room she nodded her head towards there

"Off we go then Lady Angie" you said, walking to the door across the wintered garden. Opening the room to show the indoor version. After all Bela-the eldest likes to do some research on them every now and again-and some of the gardening things held vegetables for the other maidens to keep them "fresh" as they said.

The greenish room should more of the vibrant colors of the objects then the snowy wind from outside. Catching your attention was the chorus of 'down's' repeatedly from the doll-who in turn was put down on the floor gently. Rushing off she called for you to join her. Following close by you couldn't help but smile at her child like nature-dispite her crazy nature, it was very enduring

Turning the corner you didn't expect to see her maker-the lady of the Beneviento house. Donna Beneviento also the same one who caught your attention from seeing her for the first time. Growing a bit flustered you bowed your head towards her-gaining a snicker from Angie who whispered-or at least seemed like it- to the veiled women. Of what? You weren't sure but it must have been something if she suddenly jolted up almost nervous like

"Hello Lady Beneviento" you responded carefully. It was obvious to anyone who sees the Lady- she seems to not be be used to being social with others, "its nice to meet you, My lady" speaking formally as you've been taught-and reprimanded for repeatedly in the past. Thankfully now it stuck

Nothing but silence filled the room. No talking. No movement even from Angie who just stared at the Lord. Your anxiety crept up even faster now, did you say something wrong?

"..WELL!" Angie suddenly jumping up bringing her wooden hand onto your pant leg pulling you forward- with such strength for such a small doll. "Come on" she tugged again annoyed like a child would if their toy was taken from them

"Give me attention!" Smiling you followed her to the smaller table you've seen before- when you first entered you never knew why the Lady would want such a small table. Now with Angie you knew why. Sitting down infront of the doll you leaned forward awkwardly in the seat

"Thank you Lady Angie" smiling at the doll like child who held a cup of 'tea' flavored air towards you with a cackle and nod-unaware of the gaze on you both from the veiled women who underneath smiled slightly at the sight

After a couple moments of playing tea, Angie's attention was stolen from a butterfly getting up and chasing after it with a yell of- profanities which you could have only assumed she learned from the other Lords. Movement was heard behind you-aware of the other women you pretended not to hear as to not scare her off

A flower crowded your vision for a moment before you took it gently. Fingers grazing across the other women's gently-ignoring the way she flinched away almost like you burned her somehow "thank you Lady Beneviento" you replayed glancing over at the veiled women who moved to sit beside you-almost so still you would has mistaken her for a statue-if not for her breathing hitching softly as a smile crossed your face. You didn't want to scare her off as she finally started to relax around you, slightly but enough

Holding the flower you looked down admiring it with a soft smile- which if you remember correctly Bela-during her studies-called it a Calla lilies. Whatever it was, it was a beautiful flower. While looking at the flower you failed to notice the one who gave it to you watched intently. Almost like she was flustered- but it was hard to talk with her veil to anyone. Anyone but Angie-who giggled behind you. Ditching the Butterfly for the scene before her. It was not only surprising that Lady Beneviento gave it to you but it also confused you as to why. Twirling it in your fingers gently you glanced up to the black veiled women "Thank you Lady Beneviento" smiling before remembering you already thanking the women-you grew slightly embarrassed from the lack of response-unsurpising as it was.

Laughing that scratchy tone-almost like a disk being scratched you drew your attention to the doll clinging to your pant leg once more "oohh~" Angie started in a tease "Donna thinks your pretty~ I can see it I guess" Angie giggled pulling at your pants for attention-if it weren't for what she said you'd compare her to Daniela for her need of almost constant attention

"What?" Was all the response you gave as the veiled women yet again stiffened in response-before abruptly standing up. Looking up at her smiling getting up as well. Angie curling herself around your leg like that of a cat against their scratching post, the Lady before you stopped almost as if debating something before turning and leaving hurriedly. A groan was heard as Angie unwrapped herself from you and chased after Lady Beneviento'

"Aww why can't we keep them?" Was all that you heard before they left the room. A smile grazed your face at the comment. It wouldn't be all that bad to be a maid for the two Ladies. You looked at the flower in your hand unaware of the glowing yellow eyes watching with a knowing smile.

-

A loud call of your name rang through the building loudly- the same way it was usually used for a certain sister. Gulping the lump down you straightened your outfit as best you could to be at least somewhat presentable, the flower safely in the pocket of your front shirt poking out.

Rushing down the hallway hastily while making sure not to make it seem like your running. Getting to the lady of the castle while running from one of her daughters? Yeah not that fun. The memory of the incident where you did accidentally set one of then off thinking you were trying to run away. Rubbing the scar on your wrist shivering at the thought.

Yeah. Not again.

Rounding the corner to the front of the manor your Lady and Lady Beneviento stood almost like they were waiting for something, or someone. A loud snicker brought your attention to Angie who stated up at you, bowing your head at them respectfully-thankfully remember the first rule anyone would know

Rule 1- don't look at any of the Lord's until they gave you some sort of signal(you technically broke it? But they either didnt care or mind)

Lady Dimitrescu placed a single hand on your shoulder sending a tingle of fright and anticipation through you "I will be giving you my own head maid, Donna dear" she started nodding in your direction giving you a odd smile-almost knowing? Of something "to help around your home" with that decided-it was clear she would not be changing her mind. Not that you'd want her to either

"Oo! We get the pretty lady?" Angie giggled loudly making her run around you in circles chanting something along the lines of "Pretty!" And "tea partner" smiling softly at her, Beneviento tensed up in embarrassment at the thought of you in her home. But accepted none the less

Calling out your name as you all got ready to finally leave. You turned to your former Lord "Now" she started giving you a stern look "be on your best behavior. Treat her right." Placing a hand on your arm her nails slowly turning to claws before turning back to normal. Like a warning

-

Entering Beneviento's home you noted how.. homie it really was. Like a normal house minus the dolls around. Some on shelves others on random chests or just sprawled on the floor.

Smiling like a little kid on Christmas you let a small "woah" as you glanced around the Lady of the house watching you intently as you neared one of her dolls, a defensive one who attacked if an unknown/violent person enters in her home on instinct without her command. Nibbling her lip nervously under her veil she hoped you would grow uninterested in the doll.

She was wrong

"This is so cool!" You escalated getting way to close for everyone in the room. The other dolls stared worry surrounding them from their Mothers nerves being shot. The doll sprung to life-a sharp intake from Beneviento, Angie moved to get you away, She slammed her eye shut. Awaiting the scream of pain to come out. The blood. But nothing came. Slowly she opened to see what could only be a silent but swift kill.

Her mouth opened in shock. You held the doll gently in your hands-it didn't even try to harm you just stared curiously at you, "I'm assuming you made this as well m'lady?" With a tilt of your head you sent a smile her way. Shock and disbelief was all she felt-even Angie was stumped about this.

"W.." for the first time since she first learned to talk. Angie was at a lose for words. "Well of course you dummy!" She just as quickly regained her ability. With a nod of your head you placed the doll where it leapt from gently smoothing out its outfit and you moved back. Hands on your hips before turning to face the two once again

"Well I think its cute!" The dolls around the surrounding area chattered excitedly, their mother stood yet again stumped. They obviously liked you-and she had no idea what to do about it.

She ignored the giggle of Angie who stared at her knowingly.

-

That started your new routine.

Everyday you woke up, changed. Accompany Angie around to clean as she entertained(teased) you. Everynow and again one of the Dollmakers dolls that are capable of walking yet have no speak or full will of their own like Angie would pop up and just stare at you. Or follow you. But if you looked at then they'd run off

So that made you have another rule.

Rule 2- if one of her dolls pop up don't look at them depending on who they are, and if you see them politely smile and wave. Do not engage unless they do.

It seemed like almost everyone in the house liked you to some extent. Almost everyone. You knew the Lady Beneviento at least somewhat liked you even during the small times of seeing her.

Yet during the last couple of weeks you barely saw the Lady of the house herself. Just at breakfast through Dinner. When you bring the food in she brought the tea. She refused to let you make it- Angie said something about how that's her favorite thing(and only thing) she cooked. All the other times you assumed she had little to no interest in you.

That all changed when one day you drew her attention to you even more then you unknownly had.

While cutting the bread you glanced up watching Angie as she ran around the small room, in awe about how life like she was, even after the amount of times you've seen it and heard it- she acted like a child- it was heartwarming but it was still a surprise. "Fuck" you hissed moving your hand away from the knife, in your obviousness you accidentally cut your thumb. Some specks of blood. Looking up from the deafening silence Angie was frozen in the middle of the room staring at you mouth agape. As usual you imagined if she was truly alive you wondered if she'd outright laugh

Which she did. And to your horror mimicked you

"Fuck" Angie copied gleefully. 'Oh no' was all you could think of as you rushed to her "FUCK!!" She yelled out louder then the last

"No no Lady Angie please" you attempted to calm her. What if Lady Beneviento heard? Would she be mad? Or find this funny? You were almost scared to find out "don't say that word please" at that she froze before slowly turning her attention to you

If this was anyone else. Like for example the daughters you served at your time in the Dimitrescu castle you'd be dead right about now. That's when it finally settled in. You just gave an order. To one of the lords. And if not the most unpredictable one at that considering how out of the ordinary she is. They all were in their own sense but Angie is arguably a very very unpredictable doll. If you weren't already worried out of your mind, you are now

"Um-" you started before she floated close to your face frozen. It was a couple minutes. Long painful silence. If it weren't for this situation that was happening admiring the work done on the doll would have been something you would have been doing

"Fuck" she giggled making a deep sigh of breath you held in this moment. "Hehe~" laughing that weird laugh of hers rushing off leaving you alone in the living room. Around dolls that seemed to pierce daggers into you much harsher then usual. Like Donna knew what you just taught Angie that. Like she saw

But.. she couldn't have. She's in the basement.. right?

-

That night Angie still said the word and laughed like the 9 year old? You guessed? She was, but never said it infront of her mom. Thank god for that. But.. that didn't last long either

"Motherfucker" was the first thing you heard leaving your room. Looking at the small doll in question who just giggled at your shocked expression "you are a motherfucker" before rushing off laughing

"WHO TAUGHT YOU THAT?" you yelled after Angie who in turn laughed even harder in horror you tried to wrap your mind around it. Did you say that? No. You're 50% sure you didn't say that word yet. At least not here

Standing in the hallway for a moment. Someone was behind you watching frozen not at you telling but at the young dolls profanity. Turning around you saw the one person you hoped wouldn't see or HEAR anything.

"L-Lady Beneviento!" You exclaimed bowing your head down harshly, "sorry about that I don't know where she heard that from" hoping to Mother Miranda she wasn't mad.

Silence.

A ear piercing silence surrounded you both in the hallway before the sound of a chuckle-then a deep soft laugh escaped the veiled women in front of you. Bringing her hand under her veil to probably whip away tears she probably had escape from how hard she laughed. Standing in shock at the scene infront of you-growing flustered before a smile crept on your face.

You could only hope you'd hear that lovely sound again.

"...thank you" a hoarse voice so soft you had to hold your breath to hear it clearly. It was even more apparent that she hardly spoke to anyone if it was that hoarse. But it was still the most beautiful sound you've ever heard. A smile crept up your face as your heart swelled in happiness. "Donna." She interpreted your thoughts making you blink in confusion

"Call me Donna"

-

After a couple of months you and the two Ladies of the house got closer. Angie followed you around like a duck yelling profanities or teasing you about your crush on her mom- that she somehow figured out. Just like now.

"Donna and Y/N sitting in a tree" Angie sang, dancing around the coffee table. Donna sitting next to you drinking a cup of tea under her veil "K-I-S-S-I-N-G" Angie spoke making the veiled women spit the tea out onto the table and the surrounding area.

"ANGIE" You yelled flustered but chuckling at the exaggerated reaction from Donna who was frantically whipping the spilled tea off of herself. Leaning over with a napkin you helped a bit

Silence filled the room when Angie ran out laughing the only slight of sound was the tick from the clock which sat above the door to the living room. Tapping the table you glanced at the time, realizing what the time was you jumped up catching Donna off guard

"Oh! Donna I have to see the Duke" you spoke looking away unaware of frozen panicked state. You hadn't left the house since the day you moved in, so you weren't aware of the jar, unaware of the village's state. Unaware of everything. With a gulp behind the veil the one thing that mostly plagued her mind.

What if you left?

What if you saw what she helped do and left her? Forever?

She couldn't deal with another lose- especially not you. Looking back you smiled at her gently, grabbing her hands gently rubbing the too with the palm of your thumb "I'll be back. I promise. I won't ever leave you or Angie, Donna I swear it"

Taking a deep shaky breath Donna nodded her head. "Alright. Just... don't be gone too long ok?" Donna begged-Hopeing it wouldn't seem too desperate- if it was you'd never comment on it.

"Of course" you promised.

-

The trip to the Duke wasn't easy nor was it too hard, bumps and bruises here and there. But in the end it will be worth it.

"Ah, the young helper from Lady Beneviento's correct?" The Duke spoke allowed rolling out of no where- you'd never figure out how he could do that. Or how the single horse could pull such a big guy either. A large grin appeared on your face

"Duke! Hey what's up?" Going over towards his shop you looked around a bit "it's been a bit quiet hasn't it?" The Duke froze turning towards you looking as you gushed over some of his items. A smile suddenly came onto his face

"Ah yes" he cleared his throat "I believe their planning on some..celebration of some sort for the Lords. And Mother Miranda of course" he concluded

"Ah, that makes sense!" Before you would say anything else something caught your attention. A single flower. A rose. If you could remember from the many books-and studies with Angie it means "Love" pointing to the rose "I would like to buy that one please" you spoke the Duke following your gaze and smiled softly

"Ah, a beautiful rose for a beautiful lord, my dear. Perfect choice" pulling out a couple more then just the single you assumed he'd pick he held them out to you gently, before you could pull your coin pouch out he held a hand to stop. "It's on the house, dear. You don't owe me anything"

"Oh! Well.. thank you Duke" smiling you took the Rose's gently in your hand turning and rushing off, rubbing the scar on your wrist in nervousness. The Duke watched in silence- he could only hope you'd stay safe looking back in his shop at the three statues he concluded- life isn't that fair nor kind to anyone.

-

Holding the flowers tightly so you wouldn't drop them yet gently so it wouldn't break, you smiled gently, today is the day, you were finally going to tell Donna how you felt. How much she meant to you.

Rushing up the trail to the house you couldn't help but shiver, a slightly unnerving shiver-almost cold. Obviously worried about the whole confessing thing. With a rub of your wrist you gulped deeply, biting your lip slightly-Donna would never cast you away for how you felt-she wasn't like that...

Right?

The closer you got to the door as it came into view, the more worried you became, walking around the sprawled out dolls around you took a deep breath and opened the door

"Donna. Angie I'm back!" You called out

Silence

Nothing came back. No quick pitter patter from the wooded feet of Angie sprinting towards you. Gulping down the lump in your throat you clutched the flowers a bit tighter still being mindful of how much strength you put in it.

The doll room! That must be were they are, walking around the couch you started down the hall before you froze everything happened in slow motion. The flowers falling, the white red speaks appearing in your eyes.

"No..."

The scream that pierced out of your throat in horror. Anguish and grief. The bloodied body of Donna laid on the floor Angie beside her. Blood pooled around them, it was obviously Donna's and by the looks of it- it stopped pouring out. Dropping to your knees with a heavy thonk-you ignored the pain in then. The static in your ears as blood rushed from your face. Bringing Donna's head onto your lap. You shook her gently

"Donna" you started tears rushing down harsh against your cheeks-all you saw was the blurrier vison of the women you loved "wake up" you begged shaking her yet again. Trying desperately to ignore the painfully obvious dull in her eye as her veil moved slightly, before you on instinct moved it to cover her whole face.

"Don't leave me" sobbing harshly you brought her closer as you shook. "I" gulping down the sob from your horse throat "I love you, please don't leave me alone"

"Please. Come back"

All you got was silence

Then another scream

[lordabovehelpme]

How bout this: the mandalorian has always touched his forehead against the readers. The reader thinks it's a sweet act but doesn't understand why he does it. Until one day they are in some public space and there is an intimate moment and he does it again. Then they kinda split up for a bit and an onlooker smiles and makes a comments about it. the reader asks if they know anything bout what it means and they explain. Then the reader's all happy and you can take it from there! YOU ARE AMAZING!

Keldabe- Din Djarin x Reader

Summary: A kind old lady informs you that not everything you do with Mando you know about.

A/n: I used this gif becuase it was me writing this. :)

masterlist 

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

It’s something you just expect now. The way he always greets you with a press of forehead to helmet. He’ll cup the back of your head and tenderly pull you towards him so he can rest his helmet against your forehead.

When he first started doing it, he seemed almost shy. But now, it’s second nature to you two. He never actually told you why he does it, so you’ve just figured it is some culture thing from his creed. Like some way he would address friends and people close to him.

***

“Stay close to the ship. Don’t go too far.”

You nod at his commands, turning to face the busy street market. Energy is bubbling from all the commotion the people are creating. It’s not a bad energy though, it’s light hearted and filled with excitement.

“Make sure that you’re not being followed.” He reminds you.

“I know. It’s not like this is my first time going out by myself.” He can hear the amusement in your voice, “Can I go now, mother hen?” A smile forms on your lips, lighting up your entire face.

“Just remember to be safe.” His entire body is anxious with worry for you. “Oh, do you mind picking up some more snacks for the little one?”

“Of course, do you want anything?”

“Just for you to be safe.”

“Maker, Mando. I’m not ten! I can go to the street market by myself for a few hours without dying.” You roll your eyes at his brooding. “I’m going.”

He smiles under his helmet. “Wait, you forgot something.”

You turn around and laugh at how out of place he looks. People are conversing and walking around him in the busy street. He is just standing there, shiny as ever.

Walking back to him, you stand on your tiptoes and lean your forehead against his helmet. His hand snakes around your back to cup your head, pressing the both of you closer.

“I’ll be fine, tin can.”

“I hate it when you call me that.”

“That's why I do.” You shimmy out of his hold, flash him one more big smile, and walk into the crowd of people.

***

A colorful fruit stand catches your eye first. A kind looking older lady seems to run the stand.

“Hello dear!” She greets you as you approach. “Can I get ya anything?”

“Do you have anything that children really like?” She throws you a knowing smile. Although, you’re not quite sure what she knows.

“Yes I do suga’, these berries are quite popular amongst the youngsters.” She points to a large basket of maroon berries. “Here try one, hon.”

Popping one into your mouth you moan at the taste. It’s sweet and plump and practically bursts of flavor.

“These are so good! Can I get a bag of them.” She nods and starts to pack them. “Actually, two bags.” You already know that a certain mandalorian is going to steal most of them.

“You and ya Mandalorian are too cute. I remember when ma husband and I were still in our honeymoon phase. We acted ‘bout the same as ya two.” She giggles to herself. Your face is tinged red at her assumption.

“Oh, no, we’re not anything.”

“WHAT?” You jump at her sudden question. “Then why wa y’all o’er there kissin’ in front o’ everyone?”

“KISSING?” Now it’s your turn to scare her with a loud question.

She frowns before leaning close to you. “Is he takin’ advantage of ya? ‘Cause ya can just nod ya head and I’ll give ‘m a fine wackin’.” She rolls up her sleeve and shakes her fist.

“What? No, not at all. But what do you mean kissing?”

“Ya mean to tell me, ya don’t know what a keldabe kiss is?”

She sighs as she sees the bewildered look on your face.

Rolling down her sleeve she continues, “Oh, darlin’. He’s given’ you a big ol’ smoochin’ e’erytime he presses that metal ta ya face.”

“Really?” It comes out hushed as your mind plays back every time you’ve apparently kissed him.

“He a Mandalorian right?” You nod your head. “Hon, that there is how they kiss.”

“Oh.” Suddenly your feet are more interesting to look at than her.

“Here are ya berries. I think ya need to go work this out with ‘em. Because, hon, I know a man ‘n love when I see one.” She hands you the two bags.

“Thank you.” You go to hand her the credits.

“Oh no, deary. This is on ole Marguerite. Go getcha a man. But I want ta see y'all when a couple munchkin’s are runnin’ ‘bout.” Your skin is ablaze at the thought of having Mando’s children. Thanking her again you turn and walk back into the crowd.

“Good luck, but ya won’t be needin’ it!” She hollers to you.

***

When you arrive back at the Crest, the child runs up to you with outstretched arms.

“Aw, did you miss me?” The child coos as you pick him up and walk into the main hull.

“Cyar’ika, you’re back!” He grabs the bags of berries from you before moving to touch his head to yours.

“Wait!” It comes out of your mouth before you can stop yourself. His visor snaps up to meet your eyes. You can’t help but think he looks like a kicked puppy. “I want to know the meaning behind our little head touches.” The nice old lady already told you, but you want to hear it from him.

He looks down at the ground and you can practically see the gears moving in his head.

“It's- In Mandalorian culture,” He looks up at you and you nod, egging him to continue, “It’s how they show love.” He takes a shaky breath, “It’s called a keldabe kiss. It’s how I can kiss you with my armor still on.”

You can tell he is preparing for rejection by the way he is slightly leaning away from you.

“Why didn’t you tell me?”

That’s the last thing he expected you to say. “I didn’t want to scare you, cyar’ika.”

You nod, “And why do you always call me that?” Deciding you might as well ask now that it is question time with Mando.

He takes a moment before answering. “It means…” He trails off searching for the right translation, “beloved.”

“Oh.” Heat rushes to your cheeks. Sucking in a breath you reach out for him, pulling his head against yours.

It’s like he has never had hands before, they flail around before catching hold on your sides.

“I like it.” You murmur to him.

He squeezes your sides in a loving manner, “I like it too, cyar’ika.”

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

I hope this is kinda what you envisioned and wanted. I am loving all your asks! 

Love, Lordy. 

[yesimwriting]

Searing Starlight (chapter 3)

A/n I CANNOT believe how many people have supported this story,, I’m so excited to continue it with you guys :)) 

Just a reminder that while this is based off the show i hope to blend in some book aspects/vibes and this is just a fanfic and it won’t be completely accurate/follow the show 100% and any changes I make/parts I chose not to focus on are for the sake of the story I’m trying to tell 

-- 

I can’t tell if I wish Kaz had let me go with Inej or not. She’s faster than I am, and considering that I have no real reason to be loyal to them, I’m a flight risk. That means I’m stuck here with only the Kaz Brekker and Jesper, who I tricked. I hadn’t exactly befriended Inej entirely in the few minutes I was alone with her, but she seemed more trustworthy than them. More susceptible to reason. And when she heard where I was from, who was responsible for raising me, something in the way she watched me changed. It was the oddest combination--a look of both tired sympathy and cautious admiration.

“What I don’t understand…” Jesper breaks the silence. “Is why you all go back there. He lets you leave, he gives you money--there’s no reason to return.” 

I try not to let the question anger me. I shift awkwardly, scratching at my palm. “We tried leaving.” My stomach knots. “Once.” How do I make them understand? “He caught us because we young and stupid, and then he…” I exhale slowly. They’re just words. They don’t change anything. Whether I speak them or not, the events of my history aren’t different. “He picked the youngest, a girl only six months younger than me, and he slit her throat from ear to ear and took a finger of anyone that flinched as her blood splattered onto them. He said her blood was our penance and to live with knowing what we did to her would be our punishment.” 

I don’t tell them that I was twelve. I don’t tell them Anya lied about my birthday on the records. I don’t tell them I’m missing the very tip of my pinky--a small punishment for the twitch of my lip. “When Kenya is truly angry, he never hurts you--he hurts those around you.” No one responds to that. They’re making me seem like such a bummer. “It’s not awful all the time...he borders on agreeable when you listen to him.” 

Most days we have peace, left to our own devices as long as we accomplish certain goals. Their silence does little to unnerve me. After speaking so freely of such a nightmare, the desire to be rid of the taste of those words from my mouth is almost overwhelming, but I hold to the silence. 

“Why has he never sold you to the grisha that are so desperate for you?”

Of course Kaz Brekker would ask a question like that. “He isn’t the business of money, he’s in the business of creating gods. He indentures people he thinks could one day become saints or something else entirely. He wants to be owed by the heavens.” 

I watch Kaz carefully, a part of me curious about how someone like him could react to a goal like that. I can see him understanding the ambition of it all, but I can’t imagine himself a person of faith. Perhaps he’ll think it a clever trick. Perhaps he’ll even agree with Kenya.

He nods once; something I get nothing from. 

Whatever. He can be coy and distant this entire time. They all can. I’ll be out of here soon enough, and I’ll find Anya. And if I can stop something bad from happening to Alina then that’s a bonus I’m willing to take risks for. 

“That man is awful.” 

Inej’s voice comes from right behind me. I snap my head around. “You’re in here.” 

She nods once, oblivious to how shocking her sudden appearance is. She hands me a knapsack casually, staring at Kaz. “What’s the plan? We have six hours.” 

I look around the room, only seeing one closed window and one closed door. “There’s one door in this room.” 

“We take the Inferni to the ship.” He doesn’t even bother looking in my direction. 

Okay, they can be mean to be all they want but they can’t ignore me. I don’t think I’ve ever been ignored in my entire life. Gods in the making get attention. It may be the cruel attention of fate, but it’s something. 

“Did she come in through the window?” 

Again, I am ignored. 

“And then what, boss?” Jesper casually crosses the room, sitting down next to me on the small couch. It’s like I’m not even here. “We’d need to break into the Little Palace to get Alina.” 

What? “You guys are going to--” No. No. I am not kidnapping Alina. And there’s no way she’d be in the Little Palace. “First off--if you want to kidnap Alina Starkov for whatever insane ploy you’re all playing at, you’d never find her at Little Palace. She’s not a Grisha and second--” I cut myself off, standing from my seat. “Why am I even telling you this? I shouldn’t be helping you kidnap her.” 

Kaz’s eyes dart to me boredly. At least it’s some kind of acknowledgement of my existence. “I thought you two weren’t close.” 

I seriously consider scorching him. Just a little. Not even enough to scar him, just enough to get him to shut up. “She’s still a person who has a right to her body and what happens to it.” 

“Not that it’s any of your concern, but if we pull this off we get one million kruge.” 

What does he think I’m going to say? ‘Okay, well as long as you’re doing it for a good reason.’ Is that the response he expects. “Okay, well that makes it fair.” 

His eyes narrow skeptically, but Jesper is the one to ask, “Really?” 

“No,” I scoff, slumping back into my seat, “I was being sarcastic.” 

I drop my head back, neck craning over the back of the small couch. It isn’t exactly comfortable, but at least it makes it easier to ignore them. I’ve kept worse company for less. There’s an odd silence for a long second. I look forward without moving, I see Kaz vaguely gesture in Inej’s direction.

“Y/n,” Inej’s voice is refreshingly measured, “I think after the kinds of things we’ve gone through we understand that there’s some relativity in morality.” 

I shift my head to the right so I can look at her. “...Yes, but you’re just forcing another girl into a similar situation.” Why is Alina even worth so much? “And why would anyone pay so much for Alina?” 

Inej hesitates, glancing at Kaz and then back at me. “She’s a Sun Summoner.” 

On instinct, I straighten entirely, my body rigid. They’re insane. “You all are cracked if you think Alina’s a Sun Summoner.” No. No. It couldn’t be her. “Bless your hearts, seriously, she’s--she was trained to be a map maker--she’s not…” None of them relax, none of them shift in any way. What good would lying about this bring them? They have no reason to lie about this. “Saints, I should have had more to drink while downstairs.” 

So what if she’s a Sun Summoner? She didn’t ask to be one. She doesn’t deserve this. I cross my arms. “It doesn’t make this okay.” 

“And would it make it okay if you were getting a cut of the profit?” What? 

Kaz is looking at me in that tactful way. It takes all of my focus to not let myself become unnerved. “What?” 

“If I offered you a cut, would you be able to push aside more protests in order to make working with you easier?” 

Could I do it? Could I betray Alina? I drop my gaze away from his, opting to focus on the forgotten lantern on the coffee table in front of me. It flickers to life with no conscious prompting on my part. The flame is low and blue. Still though, Kaz notices it. What doesn’t he notice? 

“I can help you do what I agreed to.” I swallow around a lump in my throat, “But I cannot help you kidnap Alina.” 

The corner of his mouth tugs downwards. “We’re just going to get her to work with us.” 

“Work with you?” 

“We never said anything about taking her, and if Alina is really your friend you should know that the entire world is after her. Better us who can get her out of an unwanted situation quickly than the brutal General Kirigan who will hold her hostage until she does what he wants.” 

...I guess he has a point. “Oh.” I’m not naive enough to think that their methods will revolve around making Alina comfortable, but perhaps it’s not as dark as I assumed. “Maybe I was a little quick to assume…” I trail off awkwardly, looking at Inej for some type of reassurance. She avoids my gaze. 

I scratch the back of my arm, feeling like a spiraling child. I pick up my knapsack and place it on my lap, fiddling with the strap. 

“Come on,” Kaz stands, adjusting his grip on his cane, “We only have until sunrise.” 

As I stand, I pull down the skirt of my dress, suddenly aware of how inappropriate my clothing is for this late in the night. “Can--can I change first?” 

It’s a sheepish question, leaving me feeling like a child. 

“Five minutes,” Kaz offers, stepping out of the room with the rest of them. 

Inej leaves last, feet more silent than a cat. She offers me the tiniest hint of a smile. Despite my reservations, I beam at her. Something about me finds her politeness endearing despite it all. I think she closes the door loudly on purpose, to assure me of privacy. 

Normally changing in a building so full of drunk men would leave me nervous, but knowing Inej is outside leaves me feeling safe. I may not trust her with my life but something about her being tells me she values personal autonomy enough to protect it. 

I sift through the belongings Inej brought me. Clean underwear I try not think of her searching for, a thin white dress, comfortable pants, shorts, a few casual shirts, my red hood, and a nightgown. When I get to the bottom of the bag, and I see the personal belongings Inej smuggled back for me, I’m moved so powerfully my hand flies to my mouth on instinct. She had brought the folded up piece of paper with the only information I’ve been able to find about Kamil, the book I left on my nightstand, the small candle holder Alina had given me the day before I was taken away, the blade Mal had given me the day I left, the deck of playing cards Anya had first taught me to play with, and my mother’s necklace. The silver north star on a long chain. 

Before I can become too emotional, I take off the Crow’s Club T-shirt Inej had given me when I looked cold. I change into black pants, tucking the small blade Mal had given me into the pocket. The shirt I put on is pale blue, breaking the dark theme of everything around me. I fasten my red hood over my shoulders, basking in the familiar fabric. Lastly, I pull the north star necklace over my head, watching the blue orb with a black dot at its center blink at me in the light. I always found the stone at the pendant’s center odd. I'm quick to walk towards the door, nervous about what wasting their time could mean. 

“Let’s do this,” I sigh, pushing open the door. 

They all pause. Or maybe they were never moving. I try to imagine them interacting normally, but it’s hard to picture them as anything but intense and unflinching. There’s something odd about them, though, Jesper practically sulking and Kaz dropping his head despite Inej’s harsh stare.

“What kind of stone is in your necklace?” 

I swear to the Saints that if Kaz Brekker tries to steal it I’ll melt those leather gloves into his hands. “Try to take it and--” 

“That’s what I get for trying to make ‘polite conversation.’” He throws a look at Inej as he speaks the last two words. 

Wait--did Inej tell him to try to make polite conversation? Wait--more importantly, did he just kind of, almost say something that borders on casual? 

Wrinkling my nose, I let out a slight sigh. “Sorry.” 

His eyebrows draw together quizzically. “Did you just apologize for assuming I’d steal from you?” 

Great. Now I’m fully embarrassed. “Can we just go?” 

“Not before meeting me, I hope.” The stranger’s voice means nothing to me, but the others tense at it immediately. What? The man continues to walk forward, his steps too casual and confident for me to trust. The stranger is quick to respond to the question on my face, “Pekka Rollins.” 

--

Taglist: @ambrosia-v-black @fandomstuffff @boxofteenageideas @losers-club6 @cityofstaars @stillreadingfantasy @slatersbrekker  @xoxo-aclown @alzawas-plug @nuwanda-greaser @swearingsolemnly @-thatgirloverthere-

General Taglist: @theincredibledeadlyviper @grishaverse7

[elfcollector]

no one should claim to know the will of the maker.  not me, not the chantry. - perhaps nobody should.

[helnjk]

Crazier - F.W.

Fred Weasley x fem!reader 

This was written for @vivianweasley ‘s 400 writing challenge! I used the song Crazier (by Taylor Swift) from the Hannah Montana movie hihi. Congrats on the milestone lovely ❤️ I hope you enjoy 🧚🏼‍♀️

Word count: 2.6k

Warnings: just fluff! and wedding vibes 💗

A/N: ok but this song is ADORABLE ! it makes me so giddy when I listen to it (& i did, A LOT, especially in the process of writing this) 

Flashbacks are italicized

---

 Feels like I'm falling and I'm lost in your eyes

There was something special about a war time wedding. 

 The atmosphere surrounding the Burrow seemed to glow in the morning light. The gentle breeze rustled the surrounding fields and the sun was just peaking across the horizon. Champagne colored rays burst from between the clouds littered in the sky, providing warmth for anyone who found themselves outside. Despite the early hour, the residents (and guests) of the Weasley household were already up, busying themselves with tasks that Molly had assigned them. 

You found yourself still wrapped in your fluffy dressing gown, nursing a warm cup of tea in your hands as you directed Fred and George. You three were in charge of making sure the flowers, arches, and chairs were all ready for the upcoming ceremony. A smile couldn’t help but inch its way onto your face as you watched Fred jokingly shove George and cause him to lose his footing for a moment. 

 The soft laugh that escaped your lips caught his attention and your eyes locked. Brown eyes glimmered with mischief and adoration met yours and you couldn’t help the fluttering of butterflies in your stomach. 

 “Oi! Be nice to your brother, Fred!” You called out as George once again lost his balance, “We don’t want him losing any other body part!” 

 “Don’t be silly, Y/N.” He retorted, pretending to look like he wasn’t about to send a jelly-legs jinx his brother’s way, “He’s a big boy, he can handle it!”

 You made your way towards the boys who couldn’t stop roughhousing with each other now, “Well regardless, we’ve got to get the flowers and arches up and perfect before your mother comes and has a right fit!” 

 Slightly amused at how much you reminded them of their mother in that moment, the twins stopped horsing around and actually got their wands out to be as efficient as possible. You were able to get back to peacefully sipping on your tea and telling them where they should put certain flowers and which arch belonged where. 

 The sun was fully risen when the three of you finished, standing side by side admiring your handiwork. 

 “Great job team!” George announces, patting both you and Fred on the shoulder before turning on his heel, “I’m gonna go check and see if mom’s made some food! I’m starving!” 

 Before you could follow him, Fred’s arm wrapped around your waist and pulled you from behind. Your back connected with his chest in a huff, and he placed his head on your shoulder, “Yes, Freddie?” You giggled. 

 “Nothing love,” He kissed the side of your neck, “Just love you, is all.” 

 Your heart fluttered at the simple words and you practically melted in his arms, “Where’d that come from?” 

 “The whole atmosphere of today, of the wedding, I dunno” He hummed, “It just made me think of seeing you walk down the aisle in a white dress in the future.” 

 Turning around in his grasp and wrapping your arms around his neck, your eyes met and it was the most genuine and sincere you had ever seen Fred look. It made your heart stutter and butterflies fill your stomach. 

 “You’re such a sap, Fred Weasley,” There was no malice in your voice, just adoration for the wonderful man in front of you. 

 “Only for you darling.” 

 -

 Bill and Fleur’s wedding was nothing short of magical. 

 The moment the blushing bride walked down the aisle, the crowd seemed to freeze in awe of her beauty. But nothing could compare to how she glowed the moment she reached the arms of her loving husband. 

 As the newlyweds shared a loving kiss, your eyes locked with Fred’s and you were struck with the image of him in his best dress robes, pulling you in for a sweet kiss just like the one happening in front of you. When the redhead sent you a cheeky wink from across the room, you had no doubt in your mind that you wanted to marry him one day. 

 You couldn’t help but reminisce on the years past and how your relationship with the cheeky mischief maker developed. 

 I watched from a distance as you made life your own

 Laughs rang through the crowded hallway as the Weasley twins rushed to get away from Filch. You rolled your eyes at their antics, but a small smirk graced your lips. Being yearmates and housemates with the rambunctious pair for four years now had allowed you to grow used to their mischievous pranks and their witty ideas. 

 “Oi, watch it Weasley!” You teased, turning to face the boys who nearly knocked you over in their rush to get away from the cranky caretaker. 

 “Sorry, Y/L/N!” One of them yelled over his shoulder, before the pair of them rounded the corner and disappeared from view. 

 Despite being in the same year and house as the twins, that was usually the most interaction you would have with them. Nothing against them, but you had your own group of friends and they had theirs. As much as you admired their mischief and wit, that wasn’t really your thing. You preferred to keep to yourself or your little group of friends, not fading into the shadows but not exactly stepping into the spotlight either. 

 When you were accidentally on the receiving end of their pranks meant for Snape, though, the twins forced themselves into your life. 

 You were sat on one of the beds in the hospital wing, waiting while Madam Pomfrey puttered around looking for some bruise cream and muttering under her breath about how dangerous the twins could be. You hid your smile behind your hand, it honestly wasn’t all that bad, you just had a bruise on your cheek and one on your shoulder. They were both sore and aching, but you knew it could be fixed in no time. 

 Before the mediwitch could apply any salve to your exposed shoulder, the twins burst into the hospital wing. 

 “Y/N!” One of them, you thought maybe George, yelled. 

 “Oh Merlin, we’re so sorry!” The other twin said as they reached you. 

 Madam Pomfrey began to protest the twins’ presence, but you were quick to reply, “It’s fine you guys. Madam Pomfrey’s just about to fix me up and I’ll be good as new!” 

 The rest of the week, the twins didn’t leave you alone. Constantly opening doors and pulling out chairs for you, the pair of them weaseled their way into your daily routine. You could feel them wriggling their way into your heart too, and you knew that there was no going back now. 

 Every sky was your own kind of blue

And I wanted to know how that would feel

 “Y/N?” You turned around to the source of the voice only to be face to face with none other than Fred Weasley.

 “Fred,” You breathed, hitching the books in your arms a little higher and tighter, “What’s up? Do you need something?” 

 The castle was decorated beautifully for the Christmas hols, and more importantly to impress the Beauxbatons and Durmstrang guests you were hosting that year, but you were in a bit of a rush and you couldn’t really stop and chat. The professors had made sure to assign as much schoolwork as possible before the break began, which meant you were scrambling to finish everything on time. 

 You noticed Fred rock back on his heels and shove his hands in the pockets of his robes, “Are you alright?” You asked. 

 “Huh? Oh yeah, I’m brilliant really,” He muttered, his eyes shifting around and his ears tinging pink ever so slightly. 

 “O-kay,” You said, “Sorry, Fred but I’m rushing to get some coursework finished. I’ll talk to you later, yeah?”

 “Yeah, of course.” He mumbled as you turned on your heel and rushed away. His shoulders slumped slightly, “Bloody idiot, couldn’t get a word out of your mouth…” 

 Unknown to you, Fred walked all the way back to the common room muttering under his breath. The Yule Ball was coming up and the only person he wanted to take was you, he just needed to buck up enough courage to actually ask you. Every time he tried, though, he clammed up and nothing could come out of his mouth. 

 When you climbed through the portrait hole a while later, he was still sat on one of the couches, staring at the fireplace and brainstorming ideas of how he could gather up some of his Gryffindor courage and ask you a simple question. He actually made it a point to write down a few of them on some parchment, but most of them were crossed out. 

 Sonorus charm during breakfast 

Sending her a letter (? possible)

Ask Hermione to ask her for me 

 He hadn’t noticed that you came in, so when you plopped down on the couch beside him, he almost jumped out of his seat. He looked right suspicious to you, trying to shove the piece of parchment he was holding back into the pocket of his robes. Knowing the kind of mischief he could cause you, you did what any other sane person would do.

 “Accio parchment.” You said, pointing your wand at his robes. The paper flew out and into your open palm. 

 “No, Y/N-” He protested, but you stood up quickly and got out of his grabbing reach. 

 “What’s this Fred? Haven’t gotten any good ideas to ask someone to the Yule Ball?” You teased after skimming over his messy notes. 

 At that moment he thanked Merlin and Morgana that he hadn’t actually written down your name. Still, his ears and neck were pink and he could feel his face grow hot as you read over the dumb ideas he wrote down. 

 “That’s none of your business, don’t you think?” He mumbled, taking the parchment out of your hands and sticking it back safely in his pocket. 

 “Oh alright,” You smiled, “Just teasing!” 

 He nodded quickly then proceeded to make his way to the staircase, wanting to just curl up in bed and scream into his pillow. Something stopped him, though. He paused right at the doorway and turned to face you slowly. 

 “Y/N?” He said. 

 “Yeah, Fred?” You asked, busy trying to smooth down the disheveled uniform and hair that came from running away from him so quickly a few minutes before. You weren’t paying as much attention to the redhead as you should’ve, adjusting the strap of your bag on your shoulder. 

 “Do you want to go to the Yule Ball with me?” 

 His question rang through the empty common room and made you pause what you were doing. 

 “Sorry, what?” You asked, turning to look at him. 

 “Erm, I asked if you wanted to go to the Yule Ball with me,” He mumbled, rocking back on his heels. 

 A slow smile spread across your face, “Of course! I’d love to.” 

 “Great!” He nearly yelled, “Great, yeah. I can’t wait!” 

 -

 You stood at the top of the staircase, your gown swishing gently as you made your way to where the rest of the students were waiting. Fred’s hair could easily be spotted above the crowd, so you weaved your way through to him. 

 When his eyes found yours the world seemed to stop. Blood rushed to his ears and his breath came out in short puffs. His vision seemed to tunnel and the only thing he could see was you. You looked absolutely stunning.

 “Wow,” He breathed once you reached him, “I think I’ve just died and gone to heaven. You look phenomenal, Y/N.” 

 Your heart stuttered at the compliment, “Thanks, Fred. You look great too.”

 Fred was nothing short of the perfect date. He held your waist as the two of you entered the Great Hall, held your seat out for you as you reached your table, and took your hand to lead you to the dance floor when it was time for the waltz. The both of you weren’t great dancers, but you stumbled and giggled through the whole thing with smiles on your faces. 

 When the two of you grew tired of dancing, he gently whispered in your ear, “D’you wanna get out of here?” 

 “Sure,” You smiled. 

 In a moment of bravery, you took his hand in yours as the two of you walked leisurely through the snow filled grounds. Heart still beating in your chest, you stole a glance in his direction. To your surprise, he wore a goofy smile on his face and his ears were slightly tinged pink. Instead of letting go, he squeezed your hand and led you to an empty bench. 

 You sat in peaceful silence for a few minutes, taking in the gorgeous decorations made for the ball, but after a while you asked “Knut for your thoughts?”

 Fred turned to face you slightly and let out a small puff of breath, “I’ve actually wanted to talk to you about something.” 

 Your brows furrowed in concern, “What’s up?” 

 “I fancy the hell out of you, Y/N.” He breathed nervously, tucking a piece of hair behind his ear and staring at the ground. 

 “Oh Fred, I really fancy you too.” You grinned giddily, a small laugh leaving your lips. 

 His eyes widened at your statement and his grin seemed to match yours, “What’s so funny then?” 

 “Nothing,” You shrugged, snaking your arms around his neck, “I’ve just fancied you for so long, I just didn’t think you’d actually feel the same for me.” 

 Instead of replying, Fred swooped down and pressed a searing kiss on your lips. You gasped slightly, not expecting his lips to be on yours, but soon you melted into his touch. His arms wrapped around your waist before the two of you broke apart. 

 “That answer your question?” He breathed, going back in to peck your lips again and again until you were giggling and playfully slapping him on the chest. 

 “You’re really something else, Weasley.” 

 You lift my feet off the ground

You spin me around

You make me crazier crazier

 “D’you wanna get out of here?” A familiar voice asked in your ear as strong arms wrapped around your waist. 

“Now where have I heard that before?” You teased, placing a soft peck on Fred’s lips. 

The wedding reception was in full swing now, a crowd of redheads filling the tent. You were standing to the side, taking in just how much happiness this event sparked in your life and in so many others’. It was as if the world stopped to celebrate the love that Bill and Fleur clearly felt for each other. 

Without answering you, Fred merely took your hand in his and led you out into the dusk. The breeze cooling down your slightly warm skin. 

“Care for a dance?” He grinned at you, holding out his hand when you two had reached a relatively empty area in the surrounding field. 

“I thought you’d never ask,” You joked, taking his hand and putting your other one on his shoulder. 

Gently, the two of you swayed together as the sun finally set beyond the horizon and as the first few stars appeared above you. No music was playing, nor was it needed, as you were wrapped around the love of your life. 

He sighed contentedly, “When all this is over and we’ve won the war, I’m going to marry you.” 

“Good,” You said confidently, “Because I want to spend the rest of my life with you, Fred Weasley.” 

[littlemisspascal]

Death and an Angel part 4

Death!Din and Cupid F!Reader

Summary: When you and Din arrive at the village in Sorgan, you both learn that the universe is full of surprises.

Rating: G

Word Count: 3,300

Warnings: Fluffy fluff, angsty angst, pining (so...much...pining...)

Author Note: All the love and thanks to everyone who reads, likes, reblogs, and comments on this series! Seriously, the support is beyond words. I wanted to go ahead and spoil it now that Winta does not make an appearance. I love that little girl in the episode, but I just couldn’t get her to fit in this segment. Maybe she’ll appear later on in the future, I honestly don’t know how my brain works. 

Also, fun fact, this will be my 100th post 😱🥳

Links to Part 1 and Part 3 and Part 5

Photo Inspiration: (I love black and white photos if you can’t tell by now...)

Sorgan is a beautiful planet, covered in massive forests and several freshwater lakes filled with krill. There is a tiny, farming village that isolates itself in the midst of Sorgan’s swampy region which is where you hope to find Omera. Rumor has it she’d fallen in love with the community five years ago and bound her nurturing powers to the planet, shielding them against the harshness of famine and plague. Her powers also prohibited other immortals from teleporting directly into the village, even if they meant no harm, thus forcing you and Din to walk the five-mile-long road from the common house to the village boundary line.

Mud sticks to the bottom of your shoes and the humidity is absolutely murdering your hair, but you love the addictive burn of fresh air filling your lungs, the symphonic sounds of the wilderness encompassing you. Here on Sorgan, the positive attributes far outweigh the negative ones.

Din walks beside you, close enough your arm occasionally brushes against his  vambrace, and you find yourself glancing at him out of your peripheral every few steps, dazzled by how the sunlight reflects off his armor. He catches your eye more than once, inclining his head to stare back while puffing out his chest, preening like the kriffing asshole he is. Each time you swiftly turn away with a burning face, hating how his smugness changes to amusement at your inability to hold his gaze, even with the impeding visor.

You string together creative expletives in your mind, each one meant to strengthen your resolve to ignore him. Except, like clockwork, your eyes helplessly drift back over again mere minutes later, dooming you to a continuous cycle of torment and embarrassment.

At least up until you’re less than a mile from your destination and Din abruptly halts without warning. “How will I know?”

You nearly slip as you whirl around to face him, worried at first but then confused when the question registers. “Know what?”

“If I’ve met my match,” he answers, the hand branded with his soulmate marking restlessly clenching and unclenching at his side. “How will I know it’s my soulmate?”

It’s a question you’re extremely familiar with. Maker knows exactly how many times you’ve been asked it throughout your years as a Cupid, but it’s got to be nearing a couple hundred thousand at least. And yet your usual go-to answer—a speech fed to you by your bosses about the perfect plan of the universe—doesn’t feel right to give him. He deserves your own honest opinion.

The first time you ever matched two individuals, you’d naively expected literal sparks to appear when they shook hands. Or a beam of light to shine down on them from above, an unmistakable sign from the universe they were meant to be together. So you were crushed when absolutely nothing noteworthy happened, only that neither one was able to look away from each other, eyes as wide as moons and full of awe. The same kind of awe usually reserved for watching sunsets and hearing a baby’s first cry of life.

You’d realized then the exact moment soulmates experienced their connection was not something externally witnessed by the eyes of the world. It was an internal sensation felt only by the two halves finally becoming whole.

“They’re called your soulmate for a reason, Din,” you say, slowly drawing closer. You’re not truly cognizant of your actions, only your voice, and perhaps that’s why you reach out to take a hold of his gloved hand, rubbing your thumb over his leather-covered knuckles. Distantly, as if looking through a foggy window, you’re aware of the way his whole body freezes at your touch, but still you hold on, still the words keep flowing from your lips.

“The moment you shake their hand, there will be no doubt. It’ll be instant. Like you’re tasting air for the first time after being trapped underwater. Everything will be clearer, colors brighter. Your whole world will crumble apart at their feet because all that matters now is them. And the only thought you’ll be able to think is, ‘It’s you. All this time I’ve been waiting for you.’”

Din sucks in a ragged breath. It’s only barely audible because of your closeness, but it’s also just loud enough to snap you out of your daze. “Angel,” he says hesitantly. It’s your turn to freeze when he leans in, helmet pressing softly against your forehead. “Have you ever—“

You jerk backwards, cutting Din off and releasing your grip on his hand all in the same movement. Panic is swelling in your chest and you can’t stop it, clothes suddenly feeling too constricting and you force yourself to remember why you’re here on Sorgan, the importance of the mission at stake.

“We need to keep moving,” you say, looking anywhere but Din’s direction. “I don’t think the village is that much further.”

Din watches you silently, no doubt trying to make sense of your agitated state. You feel exposed, torn open at the seams with all your insecurities on full display for him to pick apart and criticize.

In the end though, he only heaves a sigh, respectfully granting you time to begin the slow process of stitching yourself back up.

“Lead the way,” Din says, gesturing towards the path with a nod of his head. “I go where you go.”

The rest of the journey would have been completed in silence, if not for how Din’s unfinished question seemed to float alongside you in the breeze, echoing in your ears.

Have you ever...

                                                 Have you ever...

                                                                                          Have you ever...

~~~

The villagers are scared of your arrival at first, panicked to be in the presence of Death. Parents clutch at their children and the elderly are ushered into huts, as if they’ll be better protected by being kept out of Din’s field of vision.

“I promise you, we don’t mean any harm,” you say, but your words do little to reassure any of them.

A woman emerges from the crowd, the only one whose expression doesn’t bear a hint of fear. Segments of her dark hair are intricately braided while the rest flows unhindered over her shoulders, long enough to nearly reach her waist. Her features are delicate, but there is strength in how she carries herself as she marches right up to you and Din, shoulders drawn back with determination.

“Omera,” you breathe, recognizing the woman for the goddess she truly is.

“Yes,” she says, sounding reluctant to confirm her identity. Her eyes flick between you and Din. “Who are you and why have you brought Death here? I have a formal agreement with the Guild that grants me permission to personally handle the passing of my people’s souls into the afterlife. Death should have no purpose here.”

This is news to you. 

Not the reference of the Guild—you’re very much aware of Greef Karga’s organization of reapers who assist Din in maintaining the natural order by collecting deceased souls on his behalf across the galaxy. Despite all the powers that come with being Death, Din is unable to be everywhere all at once. So the reapers bring the souls to Nevarro where Karga holds onto them until Din arrives to usher them into the afterlife. 

What you weren’t aware of is her claim that this village might be the one place in the whole galaxy where Death and his associates have no influence.

“I’m a Cupid. I help people find their soulmates.” You gesture to Din who stands so tense behind you, you’re not entirely certain he’s even breathing. “And currently, I’m helping him.”

The way Omera’s expression instantly brightens is almost comical. A smile grows across her face, warm and friendly as if she’s known you for years and not mere seconds. “Oh, forgive me my rudeness. That’s wonderful to hear. It’s been quite some time since we’ve had guests. Would you like something to drink?”

“Actually—” Din starts, speaking for the first time since you’ve arrived.

“Yes, I would love one,” you interrupt, digging your elbow into his side and eliciting a soft grunt. “I heard the spotchka here is exceptional.”

The villagers, who had relaxed once Omera deemed you and Din weren’t a threat, are eager to prove their reputation as spotchka brewmasters. Nothing brings people together like alcoholic beverages, and within the hour you are sitting on a log bench in the village center and chatting amicably with them.

It’s a happy, tight knit community. Omera’s nurturing powers have only further increased it’s natural conditioning as an ideal sanctuary to raise a family. Everyone knows one another and takes care of each other. You can see how easy it was for her to have fallen in love with the place.

“He’s different than I expected.” Omera interrupts your thoughts by nodding to someone behind you.

You follow her line of sight, and see Din standing distantly in a field of grass, surrounded by a squadron of younglings. He’s too far to be heard, but you can tell by the gesturing of his hands that he’s explaining to them the pieces of his armor. They’re hanging onto his every word, completely enthralled, if their wide-eyed expressions are any indication. You realize as you watch that they’ll never come to recognize Din as the true identity of Death due to Omera’s agreement with the Guild. In their eyes, he is just an interesting stranger wearing shiny metal who they can pester with an endless amount of questions.

“He’s got many layers,” you admit, turning back around before the bittersweet scene makes your heart melt into a disgusting puddle at your feet.

And it is only because you look away first that you notice how Omera’s gaze lingers just a beat too long.

“Does he ever take it off?” she asks. “The helmet, I mean.”

You hesitate, stalling by sipping at your spotchka. “Not when he’s Death.”

Omera looks at you like you’ve told her a riddle. “When is Death not Death?”

When he’s with me, the voice in the back of your head wants you to shout at her, but instead you ask, “You said earlier you handle the souls of the villagers when they pass away?” 

“They asked me if I could protect their planet for future generations,” Omera explains slowly, confusion still present in the lines of her face. “My powers are strongly connected to the growth of life, blessing both expectant mothers and nature’s saplings. After I chose to bind myself to Sorgan, the villagers offered to lend me their souls as sources of energy to further strengthen it. So now, rather than losing them to the afterlife, we continue to see those who have passed on in every blossoming flower and in each drop of rain, remaining part of our everyday lives despite their physical absence.”

“That’s beautiful,” you breathe, because it’s the truth. It’s also the confirmation you needed to hear to honestly tell her, “He wouldn’t be Death here. He’d have the opportunity to be anyone else he wanted.”

Omera lets the words sink in for a moment, then she returns to staring at Din, eyebrows furrowed thoughtfully. You don’t blame her for being curious, especially since he’s barely said anything to her, subsequently forcing you to be the sociable one. 

You thought when you both arrived he’d try harder than this to make a good first impression. Omera’s his potential soulmate, he knows this and yet it seems as if he’s doing all he can to avoid her. 

Omera startles you out of your thoughts when she abruptly inches closer to you, as if preparing to share a secret in your ear.

“You said you were helping Death find his soulmate,” Omera’s voice is no louder than a murmur, seeming uncharacteristically bashful all of the sudden as she tugs at a strand of hair. “Does he...Has he been marked?”

It occurs to you then that this whole time she’s been fishing for information from you, gradually leading up to this particular question. This is a good thing, you tell yourself, despite the sickening pit forming in your stomach. It means she hasn’t been offended by his standoffishness. 

“Yes.” Your head dips in a jerky nod. Fortunately the goddess doesn’t notice your awkwardness as she peers down at her hands folded in her lap. You know what’s there without having to see it. “We came here because I knew you’d been marked too.” 

“I’d hoped so,” she confesses, showing you her palm. “I didn’t think it was possible, someone like me having a soulmate.” An immortal, your mind deciphers her underlying meaning. “But, then again, the universe always seems to be full of surprises, right?”

Soulmate markings all resemble each other as black lines forming the shape of a heart no bigger than a bottlecap in the center of one’s palm, regardless of what the person looks like themselves. They only appear on select individuals the universe picks for reasons known only by the divine Maker. Those without marks often make the ignorant mistake of comparing them to tattoos. A soulmate mark doesn’t fade with time like ink does, remaining eternally vibrant and warm to the touch, as if there’s a tiny flame buried beneath the skin.

You’ve seen thousands of marks on thousands of hands, yet your mouth dries up at the sight of hers despite it looking no different. An unexpected tremor rocks your body, worse than anything you’ve ever felt before. It’s as if you’ve been stabbed by an invisible shard of ice, threatening to freeze you solid from the inside out.

When you speak, each word scrapes against the inside of your throat and tastes bitter on your tongue. “You should go talk to him.”

Omera’s face goes a bit pink. “You think so?”

You force yourself to smile, hoping it doesn’t resemble a grimace or, Maker forbid, a snarl. “I think you’ll never know if he’s your match unless you do.”

Not needing any more convincing, she spares you one last hopeful look before leaving to approach Din. She walks across the grassy field with unhindered grace, not once tripping over a rock or the bottom of her dress, and you can’t help feeling envious, knowing your clumsy feet wouldn’t be able to carry you three steps without an issue. You watch as she says something to the children, inducing several disappointed groans audible even from where you sit, before one by one they each depart, seeking entertainment elsewhere in the village.

Omera and Din fall into conversation, and you bite your lip, knowing you’re only making the ache hurt worse by watching but unable to tear your eyes away. Their conversation is too quiet for you to make out, but given the way Din’s body language is relaxed and without a hint of defensiveness, you’re convinced Omera’s definitely charming him.

They’ll make an attractive couple, you think before you can stop yourself. They’re similar, too, in that they both have protective streaks a mile wide when it comes to those they care about. As a divinely gifted caretaker, Omera will know just what to say to pull him out of one of his brooding episodes. She’ll soften his rough edges, lend him strength when he needs it most, and might even be able to convince him to settle down in the village where he can shed his persona as Death and actually experience life. Most importantly, though, you hope she’ll make him happy.

Because Din deserves someone who will make him happy every day of his existence.

You know it’s coming, but still your breath stutters when you see Din begin to remove his glove. He moves slowly, revealing tanned skin inch by inch as he pulls at the leather with his other hand. He has never been one to hesitate over things in the past, except when he showed you his mark that night at the train station. You really don’t want to think that Din could be nervous, but you also can’t determine any other reason explaining his behavior. Omera, for her part, is the perfect image of patience as she waits for him to initiate contact, if not for the way you spy her pulling anxiously at her brown locks again.

As Din reaches out to grab hold of Omera's hand, there is a second right before contact where his helmet shifts in your direction and you feel the intensity of his gaze cut through the distance, piercing your fragile heart.

In the next breath, an invisible explosive force sends you hurtling backwards through the air several feet. You bite your tongue when you collide with the ground and blood begins pooling in your mouth, causing you to gag at the coppery taste. Ignoring the pain emanating from your undoubtedly bruised rib cage, you force your body to roll over so you can spit out a scarlet blob onto the dirt. Gross, you think sluggishly.

Movement out of the corner of your eye has your head turning to look, but it takes several more seconds before your brain comprehends what you’re seeing.

The village looks as if a massive wind storm has swept through it in the last five seconds. Several villagers are slowly rising onto their feet, having apparently also been roughly tossed to the ground, looking just as bewildered by the state of things as you feel.

Your eyes next lock onto Din’s figure. He and Omera stand in the distance exactly where you last saw them, appearing completely unaffected by the unseen force. But rather than looking at each other with awe as all other soulmate pairs do, there is only unbridled shock on Omera’s face.

With newfound urgency, you stumble onto your feet, knowing something’s gone horribly wrong.

“Din!”

Your shout startles him enough he visibly jolts, increasing your worry tenfold.

Your feet skid to a stop closer to his body than you anticipated, nearly colliding face-first with his chest. It’s on the tip of your injured tongue to ask them what the hell just happened when Din beats you to the punch.

“What happened to you?” he demands, cradling your jaw. He’s using his gloved hand, you can’t help but notice. His other one—still uncovered from when it had touched Omera’s—is pressed firmly against the segment of armor protecting his upper thigh. His thumb starts to wipe at the blood staining the corner of your mouth, but you refuse to be tended to when there’s a bigger issue at stake.

“What happened?” you repeat incredulously, pulling away and resisting the urge to smack the side of his helmet. “I should be asking you that, idiot. Did you two match?”

Omera says nothing in response to your question, but there is something about the way she stares at you directly, like you’ve revealed a secret of the universe right in front of her, that brings back the same self-conscious feeling of being exposed you’d felt earlier.

“Look for yourself, angel,” Din answers with a tone full of scorn, gesturing widely to your surroundings with both arms. “Does any of this look like what you told me would happen?”

Taken aback by his hostile tone, you glance around the field, only to be stunned by what you’d initially failed to notice. In an almost perfect circle encompassing the three of you, the once beautifully green and luscious grass is now black and shriveled, entirely devoid of life. It crunches beneath your shoes as you nervously shift in place, eerily resembling the sound of bone breaking, and you’re beginning to understand the shock you’d glimpsed on Omera’s face.

“No,” you say, feeling slightly hysterical but doing your best to keep it out of your voice. “No, it definitely doesn’t.”

Omera had said that the universe is always full of surprises.

What a kriffing understatement that turned out to be.

Tag List: @leilei-draws​, @theocatkov​, @becauseican2, @vintagesaph​, @stardust-and-starlight​, @kay2304, @odelia-d32, @adrieunor​, @remmyswritings​, @gallowsjoker​, @rhiannon-russo​, @randomness501​, @eleine-t1d​, @nicotinebirds, @sylphene​, @softly-sad​, @maytheglitter​, @melobee, @rogertaylorsfalsettogivesmehives​

[letterboxd]

Careful How You Go.

Ella Kemp explores how film lovers can protect themselves from distressing subject matter while celebrating cinema at its most audacious.

Featuring Empire magazine editor Terri White, Test Pattern filmmaker Shatara Michelle Ford, writer and critic Jourdain Searles, publicist Courtney Mayhew, and curator, activist and producer Mia Bays of the Birds’ Eye View collective.

This story contains discussion of rape, sexual assault, abuse, self-harm, trauma and loss of life, as well as spoilers for ‘Promising Young Woman’ and ‘A Star is Born’.

We film lovers are blessed with a medium capable of excavating real-life emotion from something seemingly fictional. Yet, for all that film is—in the oft-quoted words of Roger Ebert—an “empathy machine”, it’s also capable of deeply hurting its audience when not wielded by its makers and promoters with appropriate care. Or, for that matter, when not approached by viewers with informed caution.

Whose job is it to let us know that we might be upset by what we see? With the coronavirus pandemic decimating the communal movie-going experience, the way we accommodate each viewer’s sensibilities is more crucial than ever—especially when so many of us are watching alone, at home, often unsupported.

In order to understand how we can champion a film’s content and take care of its audience, I approached women in several areas of the movie ecosystem. I wanted to know: how does a filmmaker approach the filming of a rape and its aftermath? How does a magazine editor navigate the celebration of a potentially triggering movie in one of the world’s biggest film publications? How does a freelance writer speak to her professional interests while preserving her personal integrity? How does a women’s film collective create a safe environment for an audience to process such a film? And, how does a publicist prepare journalists for careful reporting, when their job is to get eyeballs on screens in order to keep our favorite art form afloat?

The conversations reminded me that the answers are endlessly complex. The concerns over spoilers, the effectiveness of trigger warnings, the myriad ways in which art is crafted from trauma, and the fundamental question of whose stories these are to tell. These questions were valid decades ago, they will be for decades to come, and they feel especially urgent now, since a number of recent tales helmed by female and non-binary filmmakers depict violence and trauma involving women’s bodies in fearless, often challenging ways.

Emerald Fennell’s Promising Young Woman, in particular, has revived a vital conversation about content consideration, as victims and survivors of sexual assault record wildly different reactions to its astounding ending. Shatara Michelle Ford’s quietly tense debut, Test Pattern, brings Black survivors into the conversation. And the visceral, anti-wish-fulfillment horror Violation, coming soon from Dusty Mancinelli and Madeleine Sims-Fewer, takes the rape-revenge genre up another notch.

These films come off the back of other recent survivor stories, such as Michaela Coel’s groundbreaking series I May Destroy You (which centers women’s friendship in a narrative move that, as Sarah Williams has eloquently outlined, happens too rarely in this field). Also: Kata Wéber and Kornél Mundruczó’s Pieces of a Woman, and the ongoing ugh-ness of The Handmaid’s Tale. And though this article is focused on plots centering women’s trauma, I acknowledge the myriad of stories that can be triggering in many ways for all manner of viewers. So whether you’ve watched one of these titles, or others like them, I hope you felt supported in the conversations to follow, and that you feel seen.

Weruche Opia and Michaela Coel in ‘I May Destroy You’.

* * *

Simply put, Promising Young Woman is a movie about a woman seeking revenge against predatory men. Except nothing about it is simple. Revenge movies have existed for aeons, and we’ve rooted for many promising young (mostly white) women before Carey Mulligan’s Cassie (recently: Jen in Coralie Fargeat’s Revenge, Noelle in Natalia Leite’s M.F.A.). But in Promising Young Woman, the victim is not alive to seek revenge, so it becomes Cassie’s single-minded crusade. Mercifully, we never see the gang-rape that sparks Cassie’s mission. But we do see a daring, fatal subversion of the notion of a happy ending—and this is what has audiences of Emerald Fennell’s jaw-dropping debut divided.

“For me, being a survivor, the point is to survive,” Jourdain Searles tells me. The New York-based critic, screenwriter, comedian—and host of Netflix’s new Black Film School series—says the presence of death in Promising Young Woman is the problem. “One of the first times I spoke openly about [my assault], I made the decision that I didn’t want to go to the police, and I got a lot of judgment for that,” she says. “So watching Promising Young Woman and seeing the police as the endgame is something I’ve always disagreed with. I left thinking, ‘How is this going to help?’”

“I feel like I’ve got two hats on,” says Terri White, the London-based editor-in chief of Empire magazine, and the author of a recently published memoir, Coming Undone. “One of which is me creating a magazine for a specific film-loving audience, and the other bit of me, which has written a book about trauma, specifically about violence perpetrated against the body. They’re not entirely siloed, but they are two distinct perspectives.”

White loved both Promising Young Woman and I May Destroy You, because they “explode the myth of resolution and redemption”. She calls the ending of Promising Young Woman “radical” in the way it speaks to the reality of what happens to so many women. “I was thinking about me and women like me, women who have endured violence and injury or trauma. Three women every week are still killed [in the UK] at the hands of an ex-partner, or somebody they know intimately, or a current partner. Statistically, any woman who goes for some kind of physical confrontation in [the way Cassie does] would end up dying.”

She adds: “I felt like the film was in service to both victims and survivors, and I use the word ‘victims’ deliberately. I call myself a victim because I think if you’ve endured either sexual violence or physical violence or both, a lot of empowering language, as far as I’m concerned, doesn’t reflect the reality of being a victim or a survivor, whichever way you choose to call yourself.” This point has been one many have disagreed on. In a way, that makes sense—no victim or survivor can be expected to speak to anyone else’s experience but their own.

Carey Mulligan and Emerald Fennell on the set of ‘Promising Young Woman’.

Likewise, there is no right or wrong way to feel about this film, or any film. But a question that arises is, well, should everyone have to see a film to figure that out? And should victims and survivors of sexual violence watch this film? “I have definitely been picky about who I’ve recommended it to,” Courtney Mayhew says. “I don’t want to put a friend in harm’s way, even if that means they miss out on something awesome. It’s not worth it.”

Mayhew is a New Zealand-based international film publicist, and because of her country’s success in controlling Covid 19, she is one of the rare people able to experience Promising Young Woman in a sold-out cinema. “It was palpable. Everyone was so engaged and almost leaning forwards. There were a lot of laughs from women, but it was also a really challenging setting. A lot of people looking down, looking away, and there was a girl who was crying uncontrollably at the end.”

“Material can be very triggering,” White agrees. “It depends where people are personally in their journey. When I still had a lot of trauma I hadn’t worked through in my 20s, I found certain things very difficult to watch. Those things are a reality—but people can make their own decisions about the material they feel able to watch.”

It’s about warning, and preparation, more than total deprivation, then? “I believe in giving people information so they can make the best choice for themselves,” White says. “But I find it quite reductive, and infantilizing in some respects, to be told broadly, ‘Women who have experienced x shouldn’t watch this.’ That underestimates the resilience of some people, the thirst for more information and knowledge.” (This point is clearly made in this meticulous, awe-inspiring list by Jenn, who is on a journey to make sense of her trauma through analysis of rape-revenge films.) But clarity is crucial, particularly for those grappling with unresolved issues.

Searles agrees Promising Young Woman can be a difficult, even unpleasant watch, but still one with value. “As a survivor it did not make me feel good, but it gave me a window into the way other people might respond to your assault. A lot of the time [my friends] have reacted in ways I don’t understand, and the movie feels like it’s trying to make sense of an assault from the outside, and the complicated feelings a friend might have.”

Molly Parker and Vanessa Kirby in ‘Pieces of a Woman’.

* * *

A newborn dies. A character is brutally violated. A population is tortured. To be human is to bear witness to history, but it’s still painful when that history is yours, or something very close to it. “Some things are hard to watch because you relate to them,” Searles explains. “I find mother! hard to watch, and there’s no actual sexual assault. But I just think of sexual assault and trauma and domestic abuse, even though the film isn’t about that. The thing is, you could read an academic paper on patriarchy—you don’t need to watch it on a show [or in a film] if you don’t want to.”

White agrees: “I’ve never been able to watch Nil by Mouth, because I grew up in a house of domestic violence and I find physical violence against women on screen very hard to watch. But that doesn’t mean I think the film shouldn’t be shown—it should still exist, I’ve just made the choice not to watch it.” (Reader, since our conversation, she watched it. At 2:00am.)

“I know people who do not watch Promising Young Woman or The Handmaid’s Tale because they work for an NGO in which they see those things literally in front of their eyes,” Mayhew says. “It could be helpful for someone who isn’t aware [of those issues], but then what is the purpose of art? To educate? To entertain? For escapism? It’s probably all of those.”

Importantly, how much weight should an artist’s shoulders carry, when it comes to considering the audiences that will see their work? There’s a general agreement among my interviewees that, as White says, “filmmakers have to make the art that they believe in”. I don’t think any film lover would disagree, but, suggests Searles, “these films should be made with survivors in mind. That doesn’t mean they always have to be sensitive and sad and declawed. But there is a way to be provocative, while leaning into an emotional truth.”

Madeleine Sims-Fewer in ‘Violation’.

Violation, about which I’ll say little here since it is yet to screen at SXSW (ahead of its March 25 release on Shudder) is not at all declawed, and is certainly made with survivors in mind—in the sense that in life, unlike in movies, catharsis is very seldom possible no matter how far you go to find it. On Letterboxd, many of those who saw Violation at TIFF and Sundance speak of feeling represented by the rape-revenge plot, writing: “One of the most intentionally thought out and respectful of the genre… made by survivors for survivors” and “I feel seen and held”. (Also: “This movie is extremely hard to watch, completely on purpose.”)

“Art can do great service to people,” agrees White, “If, by consequence, there is great service for people who have been in that position, that’s a brilliant consequence. But I don’t believe filmmakers and artists should be told that they are responsible for certain things. There’s a line of responsibility in terms of being irresponsible, especially if your community is young, or traumatised.”

Her words call to mind Bradley Cooper’s reboot of A Star is Born, which many cinephiles knew to be a remake and therefore expected its plot twist, but young filmgoers, drawn by the presence of Lady Gaga, were shocked (and in some cases triggered) by a suicide scene. When it was released, Letterboxd saw many anguished reviews from younger members. In New Zealand, an explicit warning was added to the film’s classification by the country’s chief censor (who also created an entirely new ‘RP18’ classification for the Netflix series 13 Reasons Why, which eventually had a graphic suicide scene edited out two years after first landing on the streaming service).

“There is a duty of care to audiences, and there is also a duty of care to artists and filmmakers,” says Mayhew. “There’s got to be some way of meeting in the middle.” The middle, perhaps, can be identified by the filmmaker’s objective. “It’s about feeling safe in the material,” says Mia Bays of the Birds’ Eye View film collective, which curates and markets films by women in order to effect industry change. “With material like this, it’s beholden on creatives to interrogate their own intentions.”

Filmmaker Shatara Michelle Ford is “forever interrogating” ideas of power. Their debut feature, Test Pattern, deftly examines the power differentials that inform the foundations of consent. “As an artist, human, and person who has experienced all sorts of boundary violation, assault and exploitation in their life, I spend quite a lot of time thinking about power… It is something I grapple with in my personal life, and when I arrive in any workplace, including a film set.”

In her review of Test Pattern for The Hollywood Reporter, Searles writes, “This is not a movie about sexual assault as an abstract concept; it’s a movie about the reality of a sexual assault survivor’s experience.” Crucially, in a history of films that deal largely with white women’s experiences, Test Pattern “is one of the few sexual-assault stories to center a Black woman, with her Blackness being central to her experience and the way she is treated by the people around her.”

Brittany S. Hall in ‘Test Pattern’.

* * *

Test Pattern follows the unfolding power imbalance between Renesha (Brittany S. Hall) and her devoted white boyfriend Evan (Will Brill), as he drives her from hospital to hospital in search of a rape kit, after her drink was spiked by a white man in a bar who then raped her. Where Promising Young Woman is a millennial-pink revenge fantasy of Insta-worthy proportions, Test Pattern feels all too real, and the cops don’t come off as well as they do in the former.

Ford does something very important for the audience: they begin the film just as the rape is about to occur. We do not see it at this point (we do not really ever see it), but we know that it happened, so there’s no chance that, somewhere deeper into the story, when we’re much more invested, we’ll be side-swiped by a sudden onslaught of sexual violence. In a way, it creates a safe space for our journey with Renesha.

It’s one of many thoughtful decisions made by Ford throughout the production process. “I’m in direct conversation with film and television that chooses to depict violence against women so casually,” Ford tells me. “I intentionally showed as little of Renesha’s rape as humanly possible. I also had an incredibly hard time being physically present for that scene, I should add. What I did shoot was ultimately guided by Renesha’s experience of it. Shoot only what she would remember. Show only what she would have been aware of.

“But I also made it clear that this was a violation of her autonomy, by allowing moments where we have an arm’s length point of view. I let the camera sit with the audience, as I’m also saying, as the filmmaker, this happened, and you saw enough of it to know. This, for me, is a larger commentary on how we treat victims of assault and rape. I do not believe for one goddamn minute that we need to see the actual, literal violence to know what happened. When we flagrantly replicate the violence in film and television, we are supporting the cultural norm of needing ‘all of the evidence’—whatever that means—to ‘believe women’.”

Ford’s intentional work in crafting the romance and unraveling of Test Pattern’s leading couple pays off on screen, but their stamp as an invested and careful director also shows in their work with Drew Fuller, the actor who played Mike, the rapist. “It’s a very difficult role, and I’m grateful to him for taking it so seriously. When discussing and rendering the practice and non-practice of consent intentionally, I found it helpful to give it a clear definition and provide conceptual insight.

“I sent Drew a few articles that I used as tools to create a baseline understanding when it comes to exploring consent and power on screen. At the top of that list was Lili Loofbourow’s piece, The female price of male pleasure and Zhana Vrangalova's Teen Vogue piece, Everything You Need to Know about Consent that You Never Learned in Sex Ed. The latter in my opinion is the linchpin. There’s also Jude Elison Sady Doyle’s piece about the whole Aziz Ansari thing, which is a great primer.”

Sidney Flanigan in ‘Never Rarely Sometimes Always’.

Even when a filmmaker has given Ford’s level of care and attention to their project, what happens when the business end of the industry gets involved in the art? As we well know, marketing is a film’s window dressing. It has one job: to get eyeballs into the cinema. It can’t know if every viewer should feel safe to enter.

It would be useful, with certain material, to know how we should watch, and with whom, and what might we need in the way of support coming out. Whose job is it to provide this? Beyond the crude tool of an MPAA rating (and that’s a whole sorry tale for another day), there are many creative precautions that can be taken across the industry to safeguard a filmgoer’s experience.

Mayhew, who often sees films at the earliest stages (sometimes before a final cut, sometimes immediately after), speaks to journalists in early screenings and ensures they have the tools to safely report on the topics raised. In New Zealand, reporters are encouraged to read through resources to help them guide their work. Mayhew’s teams would also ensure journalists would be given relevant hotline numbers, and would ask media outlets to include them in published stories.

“It’s not saying, ‘You have to do this’,” she explains, “It’s about first of all not knowing what the journalist has been through themselves, and second of all, [if] they are entertainment reporters who haven’t navigated speaking about sexual assault, you only hope it will be helpful going forward. It’s certainly not done to infantilize them, because they’re smart people. It’s a way to show some care and support.”

The idea of having appropriate resources to make people feel safe and encourage them to make their own decisions is a priority for Bays and Birds’ Eye View, as well. The London-based creative producer and cultural activist stresses the importance of sharing such a viewing experience. “It’s the job of cinemas, distributors and festivals to realize that it might not be something the filmmaker does, but as the people in control of the environment it’s our job to give extra resources to those who want it,” says Bays. “To give people a safe space to come down from the experience.”

Pre-pandemic, when Birds’ Eye View screened Kitty Green’s The Assistant, a sharp condemnation of workplace micro-aggressions seen through the eyes of one female assistant, they invited women who had worked for Harvey Weinstein. For a discussion after Eliza Hittman’s coming-of-ager Never Rarely Sometimes Always, abortion experts were able to share their knowledge. “It’s about making sure the audience knows you can say anything here, but that it’s safe,” Bays explains. “It’s kind of like group therapy—you don’t know people, so you’re not beholden to what they think about you. And in the cinema people aren’t looking at you. You’re speaking somewhat anonymously, so a lot of really important stuff can come out.”

The traditional movie-going experience, involving friends, crowds and cathartic, let-loose feelings, is still largely inaccessible at the time of writing. Over the past twelve months we’ve talked plenty about preserving the magic of the big screen experience, but it’s about so much more than the romanticism of an art form; it’s also about the safety that comes from a feeling of community when watching potentially upsetting movies.

“The going in and coming out parts of watching a film in the cinema are massively important, because it’s like coming out of the airlock and coming back to reality,” says Bays. “You can’t do that at home. Difficult material kind of stays with you.” During the pandemic, Birds’ Eye View has continued to provide the same wrap-around curatorial support for at-home viewers as they would at an in-person event. “If we’re picking a difficult film and asking people to watch it at home, we might suggest you watch it with a friend so you can speak about it afterwards,” Bays says.

Julia Garner in ‘The Assistant’.

But, then, how can we still find this sense of community without the physical closeness? “It’s no good waiting for [the internet] to become kind,” she says. “Create your own closed spaces. We do workshops and conversations exclusively for people who sign up to our newsletter. In real-life meetings you can go from hating something to hearing an eloquent presentation of another perspective and coming round to it, but you need the time and space to do that. This little amount of time gives you a move towards healing, even if it’s just licking some wounds that were opened on Twitter. But it could be much deeper, like being a survivor and feeling very conflicted about the film, which I do.”

Conflict is something that Searles, the film critic, knows about all too well in her work. “Since I started writing professionally, I almost feel like I’m known for writing about assault and rape at this point. I do write about it a lot, and as a survivor I continue to process it. I’ve been assaulted more than once so I have a lot to process, and so each time I’m writing about it I’m thinking about different aspects and remnants of those feelings. It can be very cathartic, but it’s a double-edged sword because sometimes I feel like I have an obligation to write about it too.”

There is also a constant act of self-preservation that comes with putting so much of yourself on the internet. “I often get messages from people thanking me for talking about these subjects with a deep understanding of what they mean,” Searles says. “I really appreciate that. I get negative messages about a lot of things, but not this one thing.”

Michaela Coel in ‘I May Destroy You’.

* * *

With such thoughtful approaches to heavy content, it feels like we’re a long way further down the road from blunt tools like content and trigger warnings. But do they still have their place? “It’s just never seemed appropriate to put trigger warnings on any of our reviews or features,” White explains. “We have a heavy male readership, still 70 percent male to 30 percent female. I’m conscious we’re talking to a lot of men who will often have experienced violence themselves, but we don’t put any warnings, because we are an adult magazine, and when we talk about violence in, say, an action film, or violence that is very heavily between men, we don’t caveat that at all.”

Bays, too, is sceptical of trigger warnings, explaining that “there’s not much evidence [they] actually work. A lot of psychologists expound on the fact that if people get stuck in their trauma, you can never really recover from PTSD if you don’t at some point face your trauma.” She adds: “I’m a survivor, and I found I May Destroy You deeply, profoundly triggering, but also cathartic. I think it’s more about how you talk about the work, rather than having a ‘NB: survivors of sexual abuse or assault shouldn’t see this’.”

“It’s important to give people a feel of what they’re in for,” argues Searles. “A lot of people who have dealt with suicide ideation would prefer that warning.” While some worry that a content warning is effectively a plot spoiler, Searles disagrees. “I don’t consider a content warning a spoiler. I just couldn’t imagine sitting down for a film, knowing there’s going to be a suicide, and letting it distract me from the film.” Still, she acknowledges the nuance. “I think using ‘self-harm’ might be better than just saying ‘suicide’.”

Mayhew shared insights on who actually decides which films on which platforms are preceded with warnings—turns out, it’s a bit messy. “The onus traditionally has fallen on governmental censorship when it comes to theatrical releases,” she explains. “But streamers can do what they want, they are not bound by those rules so they have to—as the distributors and broadcasters—take the government’s censors on board in terms of how they are going to navigate it.

“The consumer doesn’t know the difference,” she continues, “nor should they—so it means they can be watching The Crown on Netflix and get this trigger warning about bulimia, and go to the cinema the next day and not get it, and feel angry about it. So there’s the question of where is the responsibility of the distributor, and where is the responsibility of the audience member to actually find out for themselves.”

The warnings given to an audience member can also vary widely depending where they find themselves in the world, too. Promising Young Woman, for example, is rated M in Australia, R18 in New Zealand, and R in the United States. Meanwhile, the invaluable Common Sense Media recommends an age of fifteen years and upwards for the “dark, powerful, mature revenge comedy”. Mayhew says a publicist’s job is “to have your finger on the pulse” about these cultural differences. “You have to read the overall room, and when I say room I mean the culture as a whole, and you have to be constantly abreast of things across those different ages too.”

She adds: “This feeds into the importance of representation right at the top of those boardrooms and right down to the film sets. My job is to see all opinions, and I never will, especially because I am a white woman. I consider myself part of the LGBT community and sometimes I’ll bring that to a room that I think has been lacking in that area, when it comes to harmful stereotypes that can be propagated within films about LGBT people. But I can’t bring a Black person’s perspective, I cannot bring an Indigenous perspective. The more representation you have, the better your film is going to be, your campaign is going to be.”

Bays, who is also a filmmaker, agrees: representation is about information, and working with enough knowledge to make sure your film is being as faithful to your chosen communities as possible. “As a filmmaker, I’d feel ill-informed and misplaced if I was stumbling into an area of representation that I knew nothing about without finding some tools and collaborators who could bring deeper insight.”

Carey Mulligan and Bo Burnham in ‘Promising Young Woman’.

This is something Ford aimed for with Test Pattern’s choice of crew members, which had an effect not just on the end product, but on the entire production process. “I made sure that at the department head level, I was hiring people I was in community with and fully saw me as a person, and me them,” they say. “In some ways it made the experience more pleasurable.” That said, the shoot was still not without its incidents: “These were the types of things that in my experience often occur on a film set dominated by straight white men, that we're so accustomed to we sometimes don’t even notice it. I won’t go into it but what I will say is that it was not tolerated.”

Vital to the telling of the story were the lived experiences that Ford and their crew brought to set. “As it applies to the sensitive nature of this story, there were quite a few of us who have had our own experiences along the spectrum of assault, which means that we had to navigate our own internal re-processing of those experiences, which is hard to do when we’re constructing an experience of rape for a character.

“However, I think being able to share our own triggers and discomfort and context, when it came to Renesha’s experience, made the execution of it all the better. Again, it was a pleasure to be in community with such smart, talented and considerate women who each brought their own nuance to this film.”

* * *

Thinking about everything we’ve lived through by this point in 2021, and the heightened sensitivity and lowered mental health of film lovers worldwide, movies are carrying a pretty heavy burden right now: to, as Jane Fonda said at the Golden Globes, help us see through others’ eyes; also, to entertain or, at the very least, not upset us too much.

But to whom does film have a responsibility, really? Promising Young Woman’s writer-director Emerald Fennell, in an excellent interview with Vulture’s Angelica Jade Bastién, said that she was thinking of audiences when she crafted the upsetting conclusion.

What she was thinking was: a ‘happy’ ending for Cassie gets us no further forward as a society. Instead, Cassie’s shocking end “makes you feel a certain way, and it makes you want to talk about it. It makes you want to examine the film and the society that we live in. With a cathartic Hollywood ending, that’s not so much of a conversation, really. It’s a kind of empty catharsis.”

So let’s flip the question: what is our responsibility, as women and allies, towards celebrating audacious films about tricky subjects? The marvellous, avenging blockbusters that once sucked all the air out of film conversation are on pause, for now. Consider the space that this opens up for a different kind of approach to “must-see movies”. Spread the word about Test Pattern. Shout from the rooftops about It’s A Sin. Add Body of Water and Herself and Violation to your watchlists. And, make sure the right people are watching.

Brittany S. Hall and Will Brill in ‘Test Pattern’.

I asked my interviewees: if they could choose one type of person they think should see Promising Young Woman, who would it be? Ford has not seen Fennell’s film, but “it feels good to have my film contribute to a larger discourse that is ever shifting, ever adding nuance”. They are very clear on who can learn the most from their own movie.

“A white man is featured so prominently in Test Pattern as a statement about how white people and men have a habit of centering themselves in the stories of others, prioritizing their experience and neglecting to recognize those on the margins. If Evan is triggering, he should be. If your feelings about Evan vacillate, it is by design.

“‘Allies’ across the spectrum are in a complicated dance around doing the ‘right thing’ and ‘showing up’ for those they are ostensibly seeking to support,” Ford continues. “Their constant battle is to remember that they need to be centering the needs of those they were never conditioned to center. Tricky stuff. Mistakes will be made. Mistakes must be owned. Sometimes reconciliation is required.”

It is telling that similar thoughts emerged from my other interviewees regarding Promising Young Woman’s ideal audience, despite the fact that none of them was in conversation with the others for this story. For that reason, as we come to the end of this small contribution to a very large, ongoing conversation, I’ve left their words intact.

White: I think it’s a great film for men.

Searles: I feel like the movie is very much pointed at cisgender heterosexual men.

Mayhew: Men.

White: We’re always warned about the alpha male with a massive ego, but we’re not warned about the beta male who reads great books, listens to great records, has great film recommendations. But he probably slyly undermines you in a completely different way. Anybody can be a predator.

Searles: The actors chosen to play these misogynist, rape culture-perpetuating men are actors we think of as nice guys.

White: We are so much more tolerant of a man knocking the woman over the head, dragging her down an alley and raping her, because we understand that. But rape culture is made up of millions of small things that enable the people who do it. We are more likely to be attacked in our own homes by men we love than a stranger in the street.

Mayhew: The onus should not fall on women to call this out.

Searles: It’s not just creeps, like the ones you see usually in these movies. It’s guys like you. What are you going to do to make sure you’re not like this?

Related content

Sex Monsters, Rape Revenge and Trauma: a work-in-progress list

Rape and Revenge: a list of films that fall into, and play with, the genre

Unconsenting Media: a search engine for sexual violence in broadcasting

Follow Ella on Letterboxd

If you need help or to talk to someone about concerns raised for you in this story, please first know that you are not alone. These are just a few of the many organizations and resources available, and their websites include more information.

US: RAINN (hotline 0800 656 HOPE); LGBT National Help Center; Pathways to Safety; Time’s Up.

Canada: Canadian Association of Sexual Assault Centers—contacts by province and territory

UK/Ireland: Mind; The Survivors Trust (hotline 08088 010818); Rape Crisis England and Wales

Europe: Rape Crisis Network Europe

[roses-ruby]

Come home to me...Darling

Jimin x Female Reader (+ Jungkook & Mystery Member)

Ao3 Link

Part 2 of 2 (Part 1)

Genre: Cheating!AU, angst, smut (masturbation and fingering, both female), fluff

Warnings: Masturbation, Fingering, Infidelity, Cursing, Sad, Low self esteem, Mentions of a panic attack, Jimin’s a jerk :(

Word Count: 29,555

Summary: Jimin cheats and you try to make him stay. But whatever you do, it’s never enough.

Tag: @some-random-stranger-007​

A/N: it is finally out now I can go yeet myself into the lake of fire never to return. Can you believe i almost lost this? ahahahaha the level of clownery. Anyway I hate it, so let me know what you think of it. Thank you to @meuurtrierr​ it wouldn’t be possible without her. Edited but I know I missed some shit, also I skimped on the warnings cuz i dont remember what else skskssk do let me know babes mwah Enjoy!

Mondays are the worst.

It’s not enough that you needed to skim through the employee evaluation files in the next 2 hours, but a grueling headache had somehow found a way to attach itself into your brain. Even blinking was painful. You weren’t able to do anything but stare at your desk with little to no energy present in your build. There was a dull lull in the room, and you felt suffocated in your stuffy office. When one of the open file’s papers flutters in front of you is when you manage to snap out of dreamland. Peeking at the desk right outside your office, you let out a sigh of relief at finding the space empty. Finally, you could get up and do something about this headache as well as pour some caffeine into your body.

Usually Yura would gleefully grab it for you, but you felt awkward around her since that day and hadn’t asked anything of her since. It was a bit silly, you don’t know why you were avoiding her exactly. Most likely it was due to not trying out her therapist suggestion yet. But it wasn’t like she was forcing you and it also wasn’t that you didn’t want to go…you were just unsure. You were scared. An unfamiliar person, poking and prodding at you – at your life. Finding and pulling out all the faults in you like weed. Judging you. Your habit of overthinking had already made you fit irrational scenarios inside your head of your ‘sessions’ and how awful they would end up being.

This irrationality also embarrassed you and led you into avoiding Yura.

In a nimble pace, you quickly make your way into the center office filled with cubicles. From there you speedily step your way into the breakroom. Thankfully, it was also empty. It wasn’t like coming here wasn’t unusual for you – you had been in here before you were promoted, albeit just a bit. You weren’t the most extroverted person, and people seemed to always be creating some forms of conversation in here. Which scared you into staying in your cubicle until certain timestamps where you found it vacant. Sighing, you walk to the coffee maker in the corner of the room to find it barren, and you heave a groan as you gather your ingredients for coffee. You didn’t want to stay here in case of running into someone, but life was making everything harder for you as usual. Watching as the coffee hits the pot in the coffee maker, you think back to last night.  

Jimin never made it back home throughout that whole day. That had become a usual occurrence, but it really hit you hard this time because you were aching to sort things out after the clash you both faced. There was a restless ache in your stomach, which you’re sure was the cause in you turning sick today. Last night you had caught the exact moment Jimin figured out that you knew about him and her, his aura completely morphing into something between docile and tense. After he left, you couldn’t sleep for hours, tossing and turning and just waiting for him to come home. The scene kept replaying in your mind and you kept analyzing certain aspects, wishing you had said something better or acted in a compromising manner rather than driving him away. But then he never showed up and you were too afraid to call him back to you. If you went to voicemail yet again, you felt you would go insane.

Though you pondered where he was with exhausted efforts, a dreadful thought told you that you already knew, you just didn’t want to accept it. You hoped it wasn’t true. That he wouldn’t be with Tina – not after last night. Maybe…he was crashing at Jin’s place? …Wait, why didn’t you think of him sooner? Jin, his best friend since he moved to the city, would know where he is! Friends are considered confidantes, aren’t they? It wouldn’t hurt to inquire s few things from Jin, he was always a sweet man. But you didn’t want to force Jimin back to you or anything of the sort, you just wanted to know if he was ok. Hopefully he’ll realize how much you need him, hopefully he’ll come back home to you on his own accord. You were going to give him some time to think, then he’ll surely be back by that day, right?

Hopefully.

As you pour the coffee into your mug, the door creeks open and a citrusy cologne fills the air which pulls you out of your thoughts as you stiffen. Great. Carefully, you turn to see the culprit to be a tall man yawning loudly and stretching his arms while walking towards you. It alarms you that he’s moving straight at you without even realizing, but you don’t make an effort to move. Which ends up with him crashing into you slightly-

“Oh, whoa,” He says as his eyes fly open and he holds onto the small of your back with his warm hand, “Sorry about that, didn’t notice anyone was here!”

No kidding.

Now that he wasn’t scrunching up his expression, you could properly take in his appearance. He had such a soft and youthful face, big doe eyes that seemed to be lit with stars. Everything about him was so round, his nose, his cheeks, his small mouth. Jet black hair covered his forehead and compared to his boyish features, the muscles protruding from his white button up were anything but soft. You felt bad for his shirt, which was straining to hold itself together. There was a small scar on his left cheek, yet another mark amplifying his young features. He seemed to be observing you as well, his eyes a tad bit larger and his hand still on your back.

You clear your throat and straighten your back, looking away from him to the floor.

Breaking out of his daze he retracts his hand immediately, “Oh, sorry!”

That’s when he notices the mug in your hand, then turning to the coffee maker he beams,

“Hey, did you make a fresh brew? That’s awesome, Thanks!”

“It’s no problem.” You say in a small voice

At the moment you desired no conversation with anyone. It felt as if once the tiniest amount of sympathy is thrown in your direction, you become a puddle of pudding into the persons hand. Instead, what you really wanted to do was to stop feeling so weak. Stop relying on them to hold you together, because people leave. Jimin left. Left you to melt into the ground without looking back.  

Right now, you just wanted to be left alone.

But the boy in front of you did not seem to be good at detecting facial cues.  

“Umm…do you work here?” He asks you, and you give him a confused look, “I-I mean, I’ve never seen you around…but it must be because I just started here last week, I’m a new recruit.”

Yura mentioned something about that, but you never actually got a chance to look through the profiles since the Jimin fiasco.

“Is that it?” He asks again, “Are you a new recruit as well?”

“Um...” You wondered how to properly tell the boy that you were his boss. The reason he hasn’t seen you before is because you rarely come out of your office. Unless there’s a big meeting.

“Then you must’ve started today, huh?” He says, a smile on his face displaying his teeth…his bunny teeth. Adorable. “We’re in the same boat then! If you ever need anything, just let me know!”

The expression on him was so pleased, you didn’t have the heart to decline. Didn’t have the heart to walk away or disregard him. So, you just stood there as he introduced himself.

“My name’s Jungkook by the way.”

“_-___.” You respond shyly

“___,” He repeats to himself, scratching the back of his head, “That’s a beautiful name.” He gives you a look that has you blushing as you mumble out a ‘thank you.’  

It was so natural then.

You don’t know how it happened, but you were suddenly thrown into a conversation with your company’s most enthusiastic employee, Jeon Jungkook. At first, you were worried a bit by how young he looks, yet it turned out he was only two years younger than you – and he refused to believe you were older, the brat. He stood there explaining how things work around the office, telling you tall tales about some of the ‘haunted’ conference rooms and scary coworkers to which you were enthralled by, despite being here way longer than him. You found yourself giggling every time he exaggerated a story with his words or eyes.

“So ___, how do you like it here so far?”

“It’s nice,” You respond vaguely, taking another sip of your coffee, “How about you?”

“They really work you to the bone! But I like it, they’re fair with the salary and the donuts here are always so good.” Jungkook beams widely while reaching over to grab one of the chocolate glazed donuts off from the small white box next to the coffee maker.

“Heard the CEO’s batshit though” He says with a mouthful

At that you let out a snort – almost spilling some of your coffee from your mouth, which leads you into covering it with your hand and coughing. It was true, she was a little strange.

“Oops.” Jungkook responds with a mischievous glint in his eye. In return you squint your eyes at him in mock anger as you let out your last cough. He reaches over again and grabs another donut from the box. You wish he would stop doing that, his arm radiated a lot of heat and you were going crazy trying to ignore his scent. Pulling out a second donut, this one with pink frosting and dark red glaze decorated in a zig-zag pattern, he hands it out to you.

“Here,” He says with his bunny teeth displayed.

You give it a long stare before taking it, “Thank you.”

“It’s a peace offering.”

“I see.” You eye the sugary dough and the colorful star sprinkles sticking into the frosting, “Interesting choice.”

“It’s cause that one was pretty.” He pouts

“You gave me a donut because you found it pretty?” You raise an eyebrow at him

Scoffing at your tone, he leans into the countertop and fold his arms, displaying his biceps up in your face. Damn those arms. “And what about it.”

“Nothing,” you giggle, “Just that normal people would give pretty flowers or pretty letters and not…fried dough.”

Jungkook turns silent at that, turning his face toward the ceiling as if in thought. He was making an odd expression, one with his eyebrows drawn in and lips pulled straight, you wondered if this was normally how his face was while thinking. It was kind of funny. But also, very cute.

“You’re right.” He suddenly says

“Hmm?”

“I should get you flowers.”

“…And where would you find flowers in an industrial urban structure?”

To this he removes himself off the counter and turns to you, his height and muscles intimidated you a bit. He was definitely taller than Jimin. “Is that a challenge?”

“Maybe it is.” You say in a low voice, maintaining direct eye contact

“Alright then ___, we may be new here (you internally cringe as he says this) but I bet you I can find you some pretty flowers lurking about in this stale glass cube of a building.”

You laugh at how serious he got – the fiery glint in his eyes, and raise out a hand, “And I bet you won’t!”

Being here three years had taught you quite a lot about this location. The lower floors contained a computer enterprise, and the upper floors remained a basic accounting firm. Grass surrounding the building was patchy and dry thanks to the summer heat. Also, your CEO had a strict pollen allergy, so keeping things like vases to fill with freshly cut daisies in or around the residence was impossible. There was no way he would was going to find any flowers here. It was a bit sad how much you knew about this place, being the only other dwelling you hung out in other than your home. But on the bright side, you were totally gonna win this bet.

“What do I get if I win?” You question as he shakes your hand. Heat immediately shoots down your spine at his touch and you block yourself from shivering by clenching your teeth…he had a very firm grip.

“I’ll be your servant for a week.” He pipes making you raise your brows as you shape your mouth into an ‘o.’ “And what If I win?”

“Hmm…” You hadn’t thought of that because you didn’t think there was any way he could.

“How about if I win, I get your number?”

…

Huh?

Tilting your head, you scrunch your brows. “…Why would you want my number?”  

That confused you.

He gave you a wide eye stare. Did you really just say that? Perhaps you were playing hard to get? Yes…that must be it. No need to feel embarrassed. She didn’t reject you he thinks abashed. While you on the other hand were clueless to his fretful appearance.

“…Um.” Jungkook clears his throat looking down at his shoes. Wait…were Timblands allowed in the uniform? “Just cause.” He mumbles

You dwell on it for a second. You’ve never gave your number to a guy before. It can’t hurt, right? Besides he wasn’t going to win anyway.

“Well, alright.”

He grins at your approval, and you giggle in return. Was he the cutest man, or what?

“You know…you’re very pretty when you laugh.” He says abruptly and that makes you completely drop your mouth. His face flushes and that’s when you notice he still had your hand in his. The sudden awareness makes you pull it back at lightning speed. You try to speak again, but somehow the sound was knocked out of you and the room feels very, very, very, very warm for some reason.  

“I- I should prob-” You point over your shoulder, slowly backing away from the doe-eyed man. “I have work.”

“A-alright…” He scratches the back of his head again. A habit you suppose. “See you around.”

“Yes.” Was the last thing you said before practically sprinting out of the breakroom.

You don’t know how long you spent chatting with Jungkook, but you came back to your office on sore legs. Sitting down on the revolving chair, you spin around a bit feeling bizarrely giddy inside, headache completely forgotten and newly revitalized. As you remember his red cheeks you pull up your arms in front of you. Chills…you had chills. What. Was. That.

Even though your legs hurt from standing, you don’t regret it one bit.  

That was…strange. Never had you been one for conversations, especially not with the other sex. Your husband didn’t seem to like it when you were chatting with another man, so you never tried to. Yet Jungkook…why did you enjoy being around him so much?  

It felt like you were back in high school, talking with the class president you had a huge crush on. Or like the guy from 5th grade who gave you a band aid. And even when you first met Jimin. You’re not sure, but you do know this is the first time in years where you became so smitten with someone so quickly. Jungkook was like a breath of fresh air, you really liked him.

Wait, what?

As soon as you process the weight of your thoughts, you immediately sit up in your chair. No, you couldn’t just have thought of such, right?

You…you were a married woman! Holding up your hand, you stare at your wedding ring while guilt crawls up your spine. This wasn’t right, you shouldn’t be doing this your conscious spoke. Not when your married life was in shambles. Is this who you were? Though, when you really think about it, it wasn’t like you did anything, you were just talking. So why did you feel so bad? Bringing your hand to your chest, you hold onto your ring finger with your other hand and close your eyes. Jimin appears before you, a light smile on his handsome face.

Your heart clenches.

“-ght.”

Just then, you register someone’s voice outside your office, breaking you from your daze. You stiffen, recognizing the soft laughter of your beloved secretary. She must have returned from her lunch break.

These days you had begun to pay Yura special attention.  

It was due to her confession, knowing that she dealt with so much but still managed to be happy – genuinely happy – made you feel…curious. You wanted to understand how she did it, how she managed to deal with life in a better way. And then maybe, just maybe, you could do it too.

Yes, that should be a rational clarification of why you were creeping up to the entrance like a stalker. Calmly stepping up to the see-through door, you hide behind the solid wall to the right of it, peeping your head out to spot Yura. You honestly don’t know what you were wanting to accomplish, but you had been getting yourself involved in a lot of strange situations recently, so it was better not to question it.

She had her back facing you, thankfully, or this would have been even more embarrassing. You stretch your neck out as much as you could, feet planted firmly on the hidden side of the wall. Watching as she stood beyond her desk casually, her phone to her ear while she conversed gently with someone on the other line.

“I’ll pick up some Chinese tonight- no not that one I hate it!” She laughed. “Seriously babe we’ve had that four nights in a row now…okay, okay we had tempura for a whole month because of me I know that!”

It was easy to tell she was talking to her boyfriend. It was just general, everyday stuff but you couldn’t help but feel envious. Yura sounded so content, her boyfriend sounded like he loved her. That was all you’ve ever wanted. How come you’ve never had that?

A grimace falls upon your face. Just what were you doing trying to spy on your secretary? When did you become so pathetic? There was no secret, and if there was, she has told you of it already. The truth was, you were stubborn, unwilling to change from the old ways as if your conservatism has ever been of any help to you. With a silent sigh, you were about to walk back to your desk when you heard him tell her ‘I love you.’  

In return she giggled, “I know~ See you tonight!”

You stood there stagnant for a bit. After a moment, you smiled, although there was no sign of joy on your face. Really…you were really pathetic.

Once you were at your desk, you eye your bag on the side of your chair’s leg before you pick it up, digging through it until you find what you were searching for. The piece of paper with the number was still in the same state as when she first gave it to you. Albeit crumpled. wouldn’t it have been hard for her to gather up the courage to say something you, her boss, could wrongly take offense over? Which you almost did. You respect her courage, her dedication and determination. When she first joined, you thought she was like you.

You were wrong.

She was stronger than you had ever been.

And instead of dwelling in that bitter pool of jealously you’ve drowned in with so many other women, you respected her. You wanted to learn from her and Irene and any woman in your life that had fought their battles with determination. It was like you said before, you had been getting yourself into strange circumstances lately, so why not this too? Who was here to stop you? Who was here to feel pity for you?

All you wanted was to be happy once again. Just once more.  

You owed it to yourself

Tick…tock…tick…tock…

You sat at the edge of your red seat with your palms holding onto your knees. Uneasiness found a way to penetrate your bones and you sensed a thin layer of perspiration on your hairline as you watch the clock ticking down until your dreaded deadline.

There was a lady situated underneath the clock, an elder woman by maybe a decade. She had soft wrinkles around her eyes and forehead, a bun high on top her head and bright red lipstick on her thin lips. Clacking away at her key board, she would occasionally furrow her brows in concentration at something she was looking at on her computer screen or smile at you if you made eye contact. Didn’t do much to ease your nerves but it still felt nice. The lady reminded you of yourself, and you speculate if this is how people saw you when you were at work.

It had been a couple of days until you managed to call an appointment for a therapy session. The isolation ate away at you after Jimin had been missing for the third day. You desperately wanted to talk to someone about your problems, but Irene was out of town, your husband absent, and you were too shy to seek out Yoongi. Instead of pushing your complications onto others, you thought it was finally time to call in some professional effort. The lady on the phone had been really nice and you were able to set an appointment up fairly quickly. Now you were just sitting here, in the monotone lounge area waiting for the therapist to arrive.

There was quite a bit of research you did beforehand. Turns out, different therapists professionalize different problems. Cognitive therapist help deal with bad thoughts and unclutter daily habits. Family-oriented systems therapist dealt with family related issues. Personal issues are dealt by people who are experts in narrative, behavioral, or solution-oriented therapies. And psychodynamic therapists, like the one you were visiting, dealt with unconscious motivation.

Actually, many therapists deal with many different fields at once, some work in relationship therapy both romantic and platonic while others work only on you – if you choose to keep the people in your life out of your segments. Because of that, it was up to the person seeking out therapy to decide what’s right for them. For instance, if you are someone who always felt closer and comfortable with your dad, then maybe it’s best that you seek out a male therapist. You also had to be meticulous about their personalities.

During your search, you found a person who said their therapist always read their email during sessions on a blog forum. One even said their therapist ate rounds of cheese during theirs! It was extremely uncomfortable to read that. But now you knew there were many things to make sure of, therefore being prepared. Gender, expertise, field of education, professionalism, reviews, trust and even the vibe you get from certain therapists are all important factors in choosing a therapist.  

Researching yours, you found her specialty was in female psychology. Including relationships and intimacy. All reviews on her were positive and you were so glad to read through them. After rounds of self-motivation and days of procrastination, here you were.

It’s quite humorous actually, a month ago you never thought you’d be doing anything like this.  

You just weren’t ever capable, especially not with your level of anxiety. What could it be about the past few weeks that you’ve grown so courageous? Was it the meeting with the stranger on the roof, the discovery of a friend, or empathizing with someone you worked with? But what if it wasn’t a person? Perhaps it was the city’s rapid heart at 3 AM, the wild club and heavy beats or the mundane office life encouraging you to take a step forward. Maybe it the tragedy behind that rainy day you hate to recall and hitting rock bottom with such force. Opening the pandora box? As you struggle to find answers within yourself, you realize Jimin wasn’t the only one confused with your behavior.  

You don’t get to dwell on the past for too long as a door clicks open and lets a slight breeze pull you from your thoughts.  A slender young lady holding a clipboard appears; short brown hair, black kitten heels and thin rimmed glasses sitting on her nose. She looks in your direction and smiles, gesturing for you to come her way.

You get up nervously, wiping your sweaty palms on your pencil skirt. Straightening yourself out, you make your way towards her.

“Hi, you must be ___, correct? I’m Dr. Lin.” She raises her hand and you immediately grab it. Her voice was gentle and steady, you felt actually welcomed.

“Yes, nice to meet you, Doctor.”

“You too.” She smiles, “And please, call me Lin. This way please.”  

She leads you in with her arm on your back, making you effortlessly walk into the sanctuary of her office.  

Once you were inside the room, you gape at her place in awe. It was wide open, there was no way you’d feel suffocated in here as you originally thought. There were large windows, displaying the greenery located at the back of the building. She had two huge shelves filled with colorful books on both ends of her office. In front of the windows rested a large shaggy carpet with a glass coffee table on top. Behind the table were two grey sofa chairs that complimented the fuzzy blue carpeting. And a small desk on the right side next to an office chair where she probably did most of her work. As you hear the door shut behind you, you turn around to catch her eye and she smiles at you.

“Right this way.” She says, walking past you which leads you into following her. When she reaches a chair, she pauses, waiting for you to take a seat first.  

So, you do.

“Well.” She starts, grabbing the pen off her clipboard, “How are you today ___?”

“I-I’m alright.”

Lin raises the corner of her lips “Just alright?”

“Yes…I.” You don’t know what to say. Were you already doing something wrong?

“That’s good,” Lin smiles as she clicks her pen open and jots something down onto her clipboard. “That’s a beautiful ring by the way.”

“O-oh thank you.” You cover your finger with your hand as Lin slightly squints at your action, still writing something.

“So,” She takes a deep breath and put down her pen, “What brings you here today?” Looking back up at you, she beams.

“Um…I needed someone to talk to…”

“Do you not have someone in your life to talk to? Or is it that you don’t feel comfortable confiding in them?”

“Kind of both…I…don’t want to trouble anyone.”

“I see.” She writes something else down

“Now tell me ___...why’re you really here?”

Out of nervousness, you kept messing with your ring and you knew she could tell. So, to distract your hands you needed something else to clutch onto. There was a tall glass of water on the coffee table in front of you. Your doctor notices your staring right away to which she points, “Please, go ahead.”

At her approval you pick up the glass and bring it your lips. After drinking just a bit, you decide to hold it down on your lap. For a second, you just stare as the water softly vibrates inside the clear glass while Lin waits for you to speak up. Is there a right way to tell her? You struggle internally at voicing your problems.

“I-I’ve been married six years…and it’s…I’ve had a hard time.”

“Six years is quite long…most married couples have problems by then.” Lin says, “It’s normal. Going through difficulties ranging from various reasons either with money or fidelity – having ups and downs.”

You take a deep breath trying to keep your heartbeat steady. “I barely remember having an up…”

She stares at you, and you don’t look at her. Instead you stare at the small burgundy table on the side of your sofa. It separated your chair with hers.

“…Can you tell me a bit about your husband, ___? Why don’t start by telling me the last up you do remember?”

At that, you finally look up at her. Was there an up you remember? For a large portion of your life, you had thought that every single moment with Jimin was an up. But when it came down to it, that wasn’t the truth. Jimin spent tremendous amounts of time breaking his promises to you. You actually remember the last promise he kept…how innocent the display of your relationship was back then…

The morning was pure white.  

Or at least it felt like so in your cramped dorm room where you spent another day lying next to the only other body you desired. The craving was an ache on par with stories that are never finished or poems with no end. You wonder if this is how it would always be; you longing for him while being so close, as well as lingering on the edges of how long this would last, when he would get up and leave you. Then you can crave him for an eternity.  

Oh, how you dreaded that day. You couldn’t imagine it, couldn’t fathom it, you couldn’t even conjure up the courage to acknowledge it. But it was inevitable, wasn’t it? Out of the thousands who want him, the millions who would do anything for him – what could have made you so special?

“What are you staring at?” He asks, softly turning his sleepy eyes to you.

His gaze raises your heartbeat, you feel a blush crawl up your bare spine. He’s been quieter these days, always seeming like he was in a deep stupor. A covered silence behind his beautiful mind. Everything was domestic and wholesome, your mind felt relaxed.  

“I’m looking at my world…” You whisper, close to his ear as your lips brush against the outer lobe.  

For a moment he just stares before he lets out a breathy laugh. “Cheesy.”

You smile, head molding into his shouldering with ease. Sex with him was always like a gentle wave, slowly covering your whole body in its warmth. His body was warmer than your comforter and his skin more alluring than any sight offered to your eyes.

“Says you.”

“Oh?” He quirks an eyebrow up making you nod

“Remember when you took me to the arcade and kept trying to win me that fat round stuffed whale for 2 hours?”

“Pfft, and I never even won that, did I?” He scrunches his nose in mock anger

“Exactly.” You giggle

“Hmm…but do you remember you stood there and encouraged me on the whole time. Didn’t complain once.”

Of course, you remember that day. The heels you wore were so prickly, your feet were sore for a week. Still you didn’t want to discourage Jimin, who was trying so hard for you. Or maybe he was just to immersed in the game, but it didn’t matter. None of that mattered but the fact that Jimin was with you.

“You didn’t complain when my car broke down in the snow on that abandoned road. Nor when I insisted to go see Candyman instead of whatever romcom movie you had in mind… I’ve always love that about you.”

I love that about you.

“How can I ever complain when you’re having fun…I’m not the complaining type of girl anyway.”

“You’re right, you aren’t like the other girls.” Jimin turns to face you completely, a soft grin on your face, “Maybe that’s why I like you too much.”

“R-really?” You flush as he laughs. It was always so easy for him, wasn’t it? “Cheesy.”

“But you love it.” Jimin bites his lower lip and well, you couldn’t deny that. He leans in just then, catching your fleeting eyes before he tenderly connects your lips. You couldn’t deny him then either. Your mouths move in a languid fashion, tongues tasting the deepest corners slowly.

He tasted of honey. That sweet, addictive pleasure.

After a few seconds you both part, Jimin hums with a lazy smirk. Your stares battle infinity before he looks at the clock. “Shit…I should run, my boss needs me to come in early today.”

“Oh, okay.” You say, masking your dejection when he gets up to put his shirt on. Jimin always hated his bosses. Actually, he seemed to have a problem with any figure who displayed authority over him.

“…Jimin…” You call out to him and he looks at you over his shoulder. “You’ll come back tonight, right?”

“…Right.” He says with a smile.

“Promise?” Your voice is so quiet it disappears with the sounds he makes as he shuffles to get up. So you just watch as he gets ready, the yearning in your heart and mind stirring again as you glare a hole into his muscular back. And suddenly he turns, with that same smile on his face. The one that has entrapped your heart many times before.

“I promise.”

And that was the last promise he actually fulfilled.

“That sounds so sweet.” Lin pulls you out from your thoughts and you take notice of the gentle smile gracing your features.

“It was.”

“How long ago was this?” she questions

“…”

“___?”

“Si-…seven years ago”

She frowns, furrowing her eyebrows “And how long have the two of you been married again?”

“Six years.”

“Then what have the last six years been like for you?” She asks softly

“He’s fucking another girl.” You calmly state as the room goes silent. The only thing you could hear were the morning birds outside the window and your sullen breaths. Thinking about the last six years made you upset…you couldn’t do anything to change that. Your grip on the glass becomes tighter, and you notice you’ve left prints again. So, you quickly begin wiping them. “He’s been…fucking other girls.”

…

“…I see…why don’t you start from the beginning.”

And in a moment, you’re spilling it all. Every single tortuous detail from your spousal life. Jimin’s promises, his lies. Every time he shut you down or off. Whenever he created distance. Jessica. Mina. Tina. All of last month, as if it was a story written in a word document. Every single pain you felt. You were crying by the end of it. Both from the searing lump in your throat and from the dreadful feeling of betraying your husband by not keeping your marriage’s confidentiality.  

Why did you always feel so guilty?

You were sobbing into your palm as the doctor offers you a Kleenex. Wiping away at your tears, you take a glimpse at her expression. It had somewhat hardened in what you think is sympathy…but you couldn’t describe it well.

“Is there anyone you’ve spoken to about your husband’s infidelity other than Irene or Yoongi?”

“No.” You sniffle

“What about your mom?”

“I…I barely see her. Last time I t-talked to her was on the phone a year ago…on my birthday. And even if I d-did…I doubt I’d tell her.”

Lin takes a deep breath, “I see.” She commences to write something down once again on her clipboard. “Infidelity can be damaging in all sorts of way to an individual…especially to one’s self confidence.”

She looks at you “Do you feel that you have lost your sense of self-worth?”

“I wouldn’t know…I’m not sure I ever had any.”

This time, she takes off her glasses to hold in her fingers as she rests her knuckles under her jaw.

“While you’ve been here, I noticed you gave vague and short replies as if you didn’t want to talk in the first place when that’s exactly what you said you came to do. And you’re sitting at the edge of your seat.” She points at your hips and you immediately look down, “You’re trying to not leave a mark of your presence in the room, just like in the lobby…even the glass…you’ve marked off your prints around three times now?”

Were you really doing all of that? You felt embarrassed.

Her eyes immediately soften, and she speaks in a slower tone, “I just want you to tell me why you keep trying to make yourself as insignificant as possible. Why do you only become full of life at the mention of your husband?”

You wish you had an answer for her, but you don’t. Huh, how funny is it that this is the one time your perfectionism fails you. The one time you fail to provide an answer. Instead you opt to stare at the small table again. There were books on the table…one particular one stacked on top that caught your eye.

Her Body and Other Parties, the title read.

Lin notices where you were gazing off at.  

“…___...can I ask you something private? You don’t have to answer it if you don’t want to.”

Well she knew so much already. How can yet another intimate fact hurt? So, you nod meekly.

“How is your sex life?”

“Huh?” You make eye contact immediately after processing what she just said

“Can you tell me the last time you made love with Jimin?”

“Uh…um… uh-we haven’t been, I mean I can’t…with him.”

“Why?”

“Because when I tried to…Tina appeared in my head and I just…”

“Alright.” She says, looking ahead as if in thought. “Then when was the last time you were able to?”  

You try to think, “Around 3 months ago.”

“Before Tina then. And you’ve been sexually active occasionally before that, yes?”

“Yes.”

“How was it then? Did he make you feel good?”

“Yes…I think?”

She gives you a certain look, “You think? What do you mean by that?”

“I mean it’s Jimin…everything feels good with Jimin.”

“Were you able to reach an orgasm with Jimin?”

Silence puddles the room.

“No.” You whisper in the smallest voice

“…___, can you tell me how long it has been since your husband gave you an orgasm?”

There’s a strumming inside you and you feel your insides pound. She said you didn’t have to answer right?

“Since…Jessica.” You murmur her name so low you don’t think she heard it. But the way she clicks her pen on tells you otherwise.

“…Can you tell me how many years it has been?”

“…”

“If you don’t want to answer it, that’s all right. We can talk about something else.”

“5 years.”

“…I see…and before that?”

“Before that…I always came before Jimin. It was surreal to have him above me…inside me. I felt so…loved.”

Lin glances out a window for a few seconds, seemingly in thought. Then she brings her attention back onto you. “Has Jimin ever noticed?

You snort at that, to which she raises a brow. Clearing your throat, you speak again.

“No, he hasn’t noticed. I fake them.”

“So, you let him have sex with you, never once felt satisfied and didn’t complain?”

You look down at your glass once again, “I…I didn’t want him to not touch me.”

Lin nods, waiting for you to continue.

“I wanted him to love me…to only look at me. Not being able to cum…is all my fault anyway. Something…must be wrong with me.” You wipe the tears loitering your sockets with your crumpled Kleenex.

“No. This isn’t your fault.” Lin states before she sighs, rubbing at her neck. “I’ve heard that before in a lot of my female patients. Yet it still manages to amaze me.”  

“___,” She addresses you with full attention, making you straighten your spine, “Recently, I have been reading books on female sexuality and happiness. One of them being this-” She picks up the book you were looking at “-‘Her Body and Other Parties’ by Carmen Maria Machado. And I have come to notice a pattern between a woman’s sensuality and her self-esteem.”

Lin pauses, putting the book back down and looking back at you to make sure you were keeping up with her, making you nod in return.

“If I may ask…have you, by chance, brought yourself to an orgasm in the past 5 years?”

“Huh?”  

“Have you ever masturbated?”

“Umm…no…”

“Maybe once when you were a teen? College, perhaps?”

“No.”

Like she had an epiphany she writes down something yet again on her clipboard.  

“Then that’s what I want you to do before our next session. Educate yourself on healthy masturbation.”

Your jaw drops open at her statement, a string of questions leaving your lips. What did she just say? There was no way you’d be capable of doing something like that! You almost died just thinking about-  

“___, I know it seems crazy, but masturbation is directly linked to a women’s mental health. It helps you gain confidence, release stress, produces endorphins and strengthens your immune system. We will be able to find out a lot about you, such as if you are interested in the idea of sex or not, either which is fine. It can also tell us if Jimin’s infidelity has been causing you subconscious psychological damage.”

Your mouth shuts as she lists her reasons.

“You have spent your life, giving yourself away. To your mom, to Jimin, to your work. You spent your life trying to become someone they’d love, that you forgot about who you are. There’s barely any of the real you left inside.” She points at your chest, “I need you to find out what you want, the things you like. The pleasures YOU seek.”

“I want you to learn about yourself. Learn how to properly care for yourself…how to love yourself.”

As her words register in your brain, you think back to a couple days ago. About how you sat with Irene, outside that small café. Not understanding that you genuinely liked cooking, just thought you did it to make your mom or Jimin happy. And about how good it felt, how amazing it was to realize there was a part of your personality not molded from the people who took advantage of you. It was…liberating.

“O…okay, but how do I…I mean my sessions with Jimin were all soft…I’ve never done anything myself before.”

“It’s up to you really…why don’t you start out by using a toy? You’ve missed out for a long while, so yes. I think a toy would help you.” She smiles at you and you want to stuff your face into the couch.

Could today get any stranger?

Suddenly a timer beeps causing Lin to look back at her desk.

“Oh, that’s all the time we have for now ___,” She says standing up, and you rush to stand with her, placing the glass back on the table. “I hope you can successfully complete this task I’ve assigned you, and I’ll meet you the same time next week, alright?”

She extends her hand, and you take it immediately “Umm, yes definitely.”

With the pleasantries out the way, you carefully make your way towards the door. Once you place your palm on the door handle, Lin calls out to you once again,

“Oh, and no thinking about Jimin while completing my assignment! This is about you and only you after all.”

“BWAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHA-”

“Irene, please stop laughing.” You groan into the receiver, pinching the bridge of your nose in embarrassment.

“Sorr-I just ahhahahah, no wait-” She wheezes over the other line. Taking a deep breath, she consoles herself. “Alright, so let me get this straight. I’m out of town for a week and you end up going to a therapist who tells you to jerk yourself off on the first session?”

“Ireeenneee,” You whine, “She’s a smart lady. She’s trying to help me.”

“Oh, she’s definitely trying to help you alright.” Irene snickers and you huff in frustration. Maybe you shouldn’t have called her to tell her about your Saturday night plans.

“Okay, okay, no more jokes. So, are you going to do it?”

“Yes…I mean I don’t know…I’m a bit nervous.”

“You haven’t came in 5 years. As a girl with a healthy libido, that would emotionally damage the hell out of me. Maybe the Doc’s onto something.” Irene states

“You think so?” This is what you wanted as usual. Reassurance.

“I don’t know to be honest…why don’t you try it out and tell me? You sure you bought the right item?”

You stare at the small unwrapped object in front of you. A bullet vibrator. All of that internet searching for a pink oval-shaped ball.

“I…think…” You gulp, becoming slightly intimidated

“Well I think you’re going to have an amazing night my princess.” Irene coos making you blush

“I-I-I am hanging up on you now!” You pout, flustered

“Wait, no I wa-”

With a huff you end the call, throwing your phone off to the side. Again, you were left doing nothing but staring at your toy. It just laid there, staring back at you. The atmosphere of your room felt oddly tense.

“Okay…be gentle.” You whisper to it. It doesn’t respond.

You pick it up carefully, taking off your robe and laying down against your mattress.

…Now what?

You were a grown woman; it was healthy to explore your sexuality. That’s what those internet articles and female magazines told you, all written in a perky tone to somehow connect with the modern working woman. Although you being you, you couldn’t help but point out their spelling mistakes.

That’s not the point, you huff, staring at your ceiling in frustration. What were you supposed to do right now? Your core was exposed to the air, the bullet vibrator stayed stiff in your left palm and you felt kind of ashamed in this position.

No thinking about Jimin, you recall Lin warning you. How were you supposed to do that? Who else would ever make you feel the way Jimin made you feel? Granted, he didn’t actually make you cum in the past few years, making love with him still felt good.

Or at least you think what you had with him felt good. At the times he made love with you, you desperately tried to convince yourself that it was different with you than with Jessica or Mina. That you were special to him and they were just side pieces. It…didn’t really work. Nevertheless, there wasn’t anyone who made you feel as bright as Jimin, no one you made you flustered and left you stuttering.

Well except maybe Irene and her smart mouth.

You giggle as you think of your friend. Before you begin to ponder on the subject a bit too long. Irene did have a pretty mouth. Her lips were always so cherry red and eyes foxy and seductive. It was always difficult to look at her straight in the face, but she made you sure you did no matter what. She was so assertive.

It was then, when you were dreaming about her intense ogling that your hips shifted slightly, your exposed core aching. H…How would Irene feel around your…your…

“Ah-” You moaned, your arm sliding down until your fingers made contact with your folds. Your eyes were closed so you could better picture her jet-black hair, the lax strands perfectly framing her small face. Your mouth was shaped as an O, as your fingers brushed through your folds, sliding them across the lax skin, before stretching them open, becoming wetter by the second.

“Nn-ahh.” You cry out softly as you rub around your clit. Your mind filling with a deep haze. This was so strange, you’ve never thought of women this way. But then again, you haven’t thought of anyone this way except for your husband.

“Nuh uh~” You hear the tender tone of a feminine voice echo, and you strain to look between your thighs to spot your smirking vixen of a best friend, “No thinking of him here.”

She coos before she tips her tongue out, her face dropping into your middle. Whimpering loudly, you arch your back off the bed as you feel her take you into her mouth, wet muscle playing around with your juices. She slid it up, down and across, pinch your nipple as she sucked on your nectar.

“oh my- I-Ire-” You hear her snicker, her laughter shooting straight through your spine. While still in a foggy daze, you squeeze the vibrator in your left palm, before pressing the small power button with your thumb. Your breathing was heavy, the device buzzing slightly in your hand as you brought it down.

For a moment you hesitated, the object’s frequency intimidating you. So, with a deep breath, you shut your lids, connecting the vibrator with your clit. Immediately a wave of pleasure washed over you, your eyes shot open as you groaned. It was as if Irene’s tongue was molded to the shape deep inside of you. Your body raised in temperature.  

Although only connected to one part, you could feel the toy course throughout every limb. It left you shivering as you clutched the bedsheet beside your hips with your wet digits. You could feel your thighs, drenched in your sweetness, the air around them cooler, softer. Irene’s tongue increased in speed, sending your mind spiraling.

“O-OH mm-” You don’t know why you were trying to hold back your voice, but you couldn’t help it for some reason.

“Don’t hold back.” You suddenly hear, and you break out of your bewilderment to find another person on top of you. Shadowing over you was straight black hair, lusting doe eyes and soft rabbit features passionately regarding you. “I want to hear you.” He whispers as his large arms enclose around your head.

Why was he here?

Did you somehow want him to be here? You didn’t know. All you did know was that there was a knot forming inside of you, coiling around your insides with a viper like grip as you continued to fall into his stare. It felt so good, so euphoric. The pleasure was addicting.

You felt like you were going crazy, fingers slowly linking to your cunt once again. Rubbing circles as the device vibrated through your bundle of nerves. This wasn’t right, you shouldn’t be thinking about him. But the heat from his body made you feel lightheaded, whimpers escaping you like crazy. It was so wrong, but you felt so good in the moment.

“You’re so pretty like this.” Jungkook murmurs, moving away your hair sticking to your face. In a second Jungkook took the device away from you, winking at you. Confused, you tilted your head at him on the pillow before your eyes suddenly rolled into the back of your head.

He amped the vibration, placing the toy halfway inside of you. Your hips moved off the bed, fingers leaking wet with your nectar as you played with your clit. You wanted him inside of you so bad. It’s not that you wanted to conceive this very image, the sane you would never ever do something like this but fuck you don’t know what the fuck was wrong with you in that moment. And you didn’t care.

You imagine Jungkook drilling inside you, his fat dick ripping through your insides as the bed shook with every thrust. That was all it took to push you over the edge. And soon you were cumming, screaming out his name.

“J-Jungkook, yes! Oh God!”  

A heavy wave of pleasure washes over you, stars obstructing your sight. Your mouth hung open as your pussy convulsed. Shuddering through the tremendous sensation, you fall back onto the mattress with a thump, and the toy helps you ride out your orgasm.

“Haah...haa...”

BzzzBzzz

The only noises that were left were of your excessive breathing and the strumming of the bullet vibrator. It felt like all your energy had suddenly left you, you forgot how powerful orgasms were until now. Soon finding it to be painful, you remove the toy from inside you, pressing the power button as you hold it up to your face. It was sticky wet, your juices smothered around the pink device like glaze.

Glazed donuts.  

Blushing, you throw it to the side, still trying to process everything that just occurred. Wow. That was…Irene…and then Jungkook. You jump around, squealing into your pillow. What just happened?! Why did you imagine those two out of everyone? How will you ever face them again?

Even after everything was done, you couldn’t help the way your body felt so thrilled and satisfied. For some reason, you felt like you were floating on cloud 9. It felt so out of place, you hadn’t felt this way with Jimin ever. Not even on your best days. Who knew something so taboo could turn you on so much?  

Fuck.

You turn so your back rested against the bed again, before slamming your hands onto your face. Were you going to have to explain all of this to your therapist? No way were you going to tell her who you jacked off to. As you were overthinking and worrying about your near future, you suddenly began to feel very drained and numb. You blinked lazily, the familiar weariness akin to sleep.  

It took you by surprise, you hadn’t been able to fall asleep without sleeping pills for a long time now. As you bring your arms back down to look at the ceiling, you’re faced with your empty bedroom one again. Jimin had always been gentle with you, hadn’t he? It was another reason you loved him as much as you did. When you both made love, it felt like he could never hurt you.

Reality kicks in and a longing surrounds you. It was inevitable, you were bound to remember him again. You couldn’t help but wish your husband was here with you to share your happiness.

You wish he was here with you to see your growth, to be proud of you. You wish he was here with you and you couldn’t help but feel that yearning for him like you’ve always felt. You really wish he could love you. Looks like you hadn’t exactly passed this task, since you weren’t supposed to think about Jimin but you didn’t care. More than anything, you wanted him home.

Old habits don’t just die after one success.

So, as the thought of your vacant house infected you, before you could dwell on the topic further. Before you took another pill, feeding your insides with your own poison. Become a moping drone, a sickened shell once again, you shut your eyes. Blocked out the evil world before you and relaxed every muscle, every scar in your brain. It was the only thing you could think of doing. Thankfully your spent energy agrees with you.

Before Jimin could take over you once more, without ever lifting a muscle.

You fell asleep, letting yourself feel drained and dreaming of the wedding and the bright shore.

It was inevitable.

Your eyes flutter open to a soft white room. The sunlight was peeking through the curtains, lighting up the canvas across your orbs. You wriggle your toes about, slowly seeping into full conscious.

Once you can make out the ceiling above you, you stretch your muscles before sitting up.

“Ji-”

Turning on your side, you place your palm down on the cotton sheets beside you. A palm you meant to place on a body that was meant to be on the bed. Beside you.

“Right.” You whisper, staring at the cold spring empty of life and bringing your hand back to your lap.

No one’s there.

Sighing, you swing your legs off the bed and onto the floor – the fluffy carpet molding into your feet. You push yourself up, the action causing the sheets to slither off your naked body and expose your nipples to the chill atmosphere. Again, you stretch your tendons, raising your arms above your head and lifting the bottom soles of your feet off the ground. Your back curves and your eyes clenched shut. It’s been a while since you had fell asleep without pills.

Blinking lazily at nothing in particular, you sluggishly turn your body to the direction of the bathroom. You begin to saunter across your room, reveling in the peaceful silence of a sunny Sunday. As you’re a few steps from the door, your gaze catches onto the full-length body mirror set just aside.

It makes you halt in your tracks. A moment passes by before you step closer to your reflection in fascination.

Have you always looked like this?

Is this the way your hair falls over you face? You think as you run your fingers through your soft locks – bringing forward a single strand to the front of your face to focus in on. Slowly your gaze falls back to the mirror and you tilt your head. Sliding your digits onto your face, the tips of your pointer and middle fingers caressing the peak of your nose, gradually underneath your jaw and upon your neck.

Is this how your body was shaped?

You take it all in. Captivated by the glowing expanse of your silky skin, the gentle rhythm of your chest, and the highs of your curves you ran a palm over. Shuddering as a strangely new sensation waltzes within you. The sun’s rays wrap around you like gold, highlighting every mole and freckle settled into your casing. Scars and marks from forgotten memories finding shelter under the spotlight. Every secret exposed in the flare of the replication. It felt like you had just stepped out of a decaying cocoon – stitched together by the molding twined fabric of your uncertainties.

And the you who emerged shone.

There were sparks of glitter all around you. Tiny angels spinning threads of new-found purity onto the secret corners of your soul.

A once caged bird, with virginal wings as large as her innocent heart. Who wears her crown fragile; while her refined mind heals from the battles with the toxicity in amour. Her beauty is an ode to the agile cosmic, lucky enough to hold her able within its seams. Your dimensions were your unique, the line between pleasure and hurt fitted across your stomach.

It was beautifully raw outside that rotten cocoon. You spread your arms out, relishing in the way your body weaves between space and time as your insides melt perfectly into the shape of your skin. Every bone, every ounce of lush, the fruits of your divine frame. The mountains and hills spread amongst your flesh – the caves and burrows layered one on top of the other.  It was all beautiful. Raw, real and radiant. Like a pallet with too many colors splattered amongst the wood, splashes from aches and pain and memories and gain.

Your pallet.

As the pearls of your pupils rake through your figure, they suddenly land on your unclothed core. You let out a shaky exhale, eyes glossing and lashes fluttering. Carefully you guide your hand to your lower region until your fingers make contact with your wet folds. A shiver runs through you, goosebumps poking through your soft pores. Awakening the images of last night; of the whimpers and aches. Of the satisfaction and the explosion of your confined stellar.

This was you. Your perfect frame, your flawless physique, your structured identity.

Was it the early morning air? The first good sleep in years? Or the sensual night before?

…Did it matter?

A smile graces your lips as you wrap your arms around yourself. The slick from your nether regions painted amongst your fingers staining the upper part of your left arm.

You were just happy to be awake.

_

“They’re pretty, right?”

He holds up the peonies clutched in his hand at you, tilting his head so you could see him just behind the stunning flowers. He was everything for you; your energy, your medicine, your happiness. You wanted to melt.

“Yes.” You reply, trying to sound happy; less depressed.

He frowns and it goes straight to your heart, “Sorry”

“For?” He asks, throwing the plant on the couch. Not making eye contact.

Suddenly you wanted to cry. You’re too sensitive to all of his emotions and he knows it. Uses it to his pleasure. It was amazing – how some words had so much power over you.

For being sad. For not living up to your expectations.

“I love them Jimin.” You smile, placing your hands on each side of his face and turning him to you. “I love you.”

And he’s happy. The sun is back on his face.

On the other hand, you feel like the unlit side of the moon. Especially when Jimin engulfs you in a smothering hug.

“That’s what I wanted to hear.”

From me or Jessica? You think. It had only been a week since the dire revelation and your insides were crumbling. He had sex with you time and time again, but you felt nothing. Something was wrong with you, but you didn’t want to tell him.

You wanted him to be happy. Even if you hated yourself.

As you fit into his arms, you stare at your reflection in the mirror on the back wall. How ugly…how unworthy. No wonder he cheated on you. No wonder he found someone better.

He loves you too, he says.

But you couldn’t help hate yourself.

Ok. What the hell was a T-front string?

You squint your eyes at the screen, rereading Irene’s text for the tenth time.  

Your heels were clacking the floor below you, as you speed walked through the mall with a small giftbag in hand. A while after your little intimate moment with yourself, you had called up your friend to speak to her about the rejuvenation you experienced in excitement. She was very happy for you, giggling through the receiver like a child. It made you smile.

Although, no matter how much she pestered you, you refused to spill the beans about who you ended up jerking off about. Irene was persistent, naming off every actor and model she knew. And you on the other hand had no idea who half of them were. Thankfully, she couldn’t get you to spill the beans. You dreaded her reaction if she ever did find out.

After warding off her interrogation and chatting about something mundane, she had suggested for you to go to the mall so she can help you find some useful ‘items’ for women since you had nothing else planned. Your interest was piqued, thinking it might be items such as the world’s most comfortable bra or scrunchies that never go missing. Yet as you parked your car in the lot, and tentatively made your way inside – you had given up all hope for your superpowered hair ties.

None of the items Irene had been texting you made any sense.  

‘Double D Balls Dildo. Make sure the balls are squishy!’    

‘Shower Sex Foothold. Very useful for shaving your legs. Other things as well I guess.’

???

In an array of confusion, you had gone up to a random employee to ask him what exactly Doc Johnson’s “The Fist” was. The paling look he gave you in return has you traumatized for life. Never again would you ask anyone to explain anything Irene tells you.

As she continued to text you severe objects to buy, you just shook your head while buying a little something of your own. Letting her think you were following what she said of course. You could just imagine the look on her face, the tiny snicker as she continues to lightheartedly play around with your innocence. There was a small jewelry shop you loved in this mall, one Jimin would bring you to after he got a promotion or when it was your birthday.

You bought a small bracelet for Irene from said shop; to thank her for her friendship and for listening to you mope about Jimin. Satisfied with your purchase, and only this purchase – you decided to head out of the place. Your legs were practically running out of the mall, trying to get back home. It’s actually been like this for the past few days.

Since he disappeared.

Every time you stepped out of your apartment, even for a few minutes, you would rush back at twice the speed. It was as if…you were hoping that once you step inside. Once you’re in the sanctuary of your house, he’d be there too. He’d turn around and you could run into his warm arms again. And he’d promise you – genuinely promise – he’ll never leave again. Ever. It was a fairytale reunion made for a dreamy girl. Ridiculous, but you still wished it to be true.

For some reason, you were especially eager to get home today. Even more than usual. When you made it to the first floor and could see the doors you came in from, your phone abruptly buzzed again. Huffing, you open the device, trying to see what nonsense Irene sent you this time.  

You were too busy checking your phone to see where you were going. Your legs were rushing a bit too much to notice the other pairs of legs walking in your direction.

“Whoa-”

“Oww-”

That’s when you ended up bumping into another body with a small thud. The phone in your hand crashing onto the ground, sliding away from your peripheral vision on the floor. Both of you wobbled around a bit but grabbed onto the others arms to seek balance. Once you stood sturdy, you immediately searched around for your missing phone with your head turning about in a frenzy. It didn’t take you long to spot it as it didn’t travel too far, ending up right next to the girl’s leg. In relief you sigh, bending down to pick it up to brush the specks of dust and surveille the damage. The girl on your arm doesn’t move an inch, like she was frozen in place.

After you’ve made sure it’s not broken and everything was working properly, you smiled. Looking up at the girl to apologize.

“Oh, I’m sorr-”

A gasp escapes your throat.

Your eyes instantly widen – in an eerily painful way as your jaw fails you. Your insides plummet with a chaotic mix of anger, confusion, and dread swirling through you – thundering up a storm that has you stagnant. The atmosphere takes a sudden drop in temperature and a chill runs down your spine at the cold air. Subconsciously, you take a step back. Away from the sight before you.

“H-hey ___, long time no see.”

In return, the girl stands there in as much discomfort and anxiousness as you. Shifting on her feet, she sends you an awkward smile. A smile you were used to seeing daily at one point in your life. A smile you grew to reluctantly dislike over the years. Your muscles start to constrict.

“Mina.” A whisper leaks from your lips.

Clink, clank.

You listen in to the busy atmosphere surrounding you while sitting still in your wooden seat. Waitresses passing by, the small chatter, the clinging and clanging of cups and forks. It was all more interesting to you than the predicament at hand right now. There was nothing to really focus in on, except the table in front of you and its stiff glass casing. Which you were eyeing with lasers shooting out of your orbs.

The tension in the air was thick.

And the girl sitting opposite to you was looking at you a bit too anxiously, failing to be subtle with her regard. You could tell she was playing with her fingers underneath the table, a habit you had noticed many times before. Almost four years ago.

“H..how have you been?” She starts, making you look up at her.

As soon as you acknowledge her, her face drops. Like she was afraid of your judgement. She clears her throat.  

“I-it’s nice to see you again…” She strains, “After all these years…you look great.”

There’s an awkward silence that goes by as you’re slow to register her words. It was as if your brain doesn’t want to recognize the situation you’re in – trying to run away from you rather than recall any more past memories.

“It’s been quite long.” You manage to make out, “I’ve been well.”

Why did you lie to her? Were you that afraid of her finding out the truth?

“T-that’s good.” Mina replies a bit too fast.

…

Another awkward silence engulfs your vicinity as you both proceed to poke holes through the table.

“All right, here you are!” A shout wakes you both, making your shoulders jump. “One glass of water and one small coffee, one cream and two sugars.”

A lady places down your coffee cup in front of you, and you exhale at the balmy steam warming up your otherwise cold face.

“Anything else?” She chirps with a small tray in hand

“That’ll be all, thank you.” Mina responds to which the lady nods and leaves with a smile

Mina watches you as you stir your coffee mindlessly. You could tell there was a lot running through her mind like you.  

She hasn’t changed much. Just a couple of alters you could spot. Like how her hair’s a bit longer now, reaching just above the conjecture between her neck and her shoulder and dyed a darker color. A few more piercings graced the left side of her ear now. There was also a small tattoo on her ring finger – some sort of symbol in a mix of purple and red. On the other hand, her style hadn’t changed at all. She still wore those oversized black hoodies and white sneakers. You hide a smile as her dark top almost drowns her.

Mina was as beautiful as you remember.

Suddenly, she huffs, picking up her water.  

Gulp, gulp, gulp

You gape at her with wide eyes as she drinks the whole glass in one go. She sets it down with a clang, wiping her mouth with the back of her hand. Then her orbs connect with yours, as she continues to stareat you with an unreadable expression. For a second, you catch her regarding the gift bag by your side.

“___, I-” She starts off strong, faced focused and seeming like she knows what she’s going to say.

But as her linger remains, she loses her grip – mouth slacking and concentrated expression failing.

“I…”

“What is it?” You say in a low yet clear tone of voice

“I…God! I don’t know how to say this!” She places her elbows on the table, burrowing her face into her palms. Her outburst turns a few heads to which you shift uncomfortably to.

“Are you alright?” You reach over and place a hand on her wrist, which has her removing her hand covering her face to stare at the place you were touching her. She spots your ring.

“Are you still with Jimin?” She whispers

“…yes.” You say, although it’s not exactly the truth.

You retract your hand and her eyes follow it till they land back on you.

“How is he?” Mina asks, even quieter than before

“He’s well.” You’re not sure how else to answer. Honestly, you didn’t even want to answer.

She scoffs, “Good for him.”

The hate in her tone catches you off guard, your eyebrows furrowing as you stare at the now frowning girl.

“…Wha-”

“Good for him. Park Jimin. Great. Wonderful. Of fucking course he’d be well, he’s the one and only Park Jimin. The nicest guy in the world. Light of everyone’s fucking life. Sweet, kind, charming Park Jimin. Let me go jump off a cliff.”

She spits each word with abhorrence laced in her tongue. Her eyes squint in anger and her fist clenches the ends of her long sleeves. You sit there, shocked and confused.

When she notices the expression on your face, she unwinds. Moving her arms off the table and sitting up.

“I’m sorry, I didn’t mean to scare you…I just…” Taking a deep breath, she closes here eyes to contemplate something. Before looking up at you once again, “I always wanted to apologize for what I did to you.”

…

A third silence passes you both. Your brain was now fully awake and taking in each and every word.

“There’s not a day I don’t think about it…what I did to you…the mistakes I’ve made.” Mina’s voice cracks halfway as her eyes become glossy. For some reason, your chest starts to ache. “I regretted it every single day ever since you left. And I always, always wanted to talk to you one last time. I-if that’s okay with you?”

She halts to study your reaction. You nod, urging her to continue.

“…It’s not a secret – what I did over the course of half a year. What I allowed to happen…” She sniffles, staring at the gift bag as a tear falls down her eye. “It’s just…you meet this guy, right? A polite, charming, extraordinarily handsome guy, and he’s great. And he’s married which is also great but-”

“He sees you, like…he actually sees you for you and he befriends you. And he doesn’t tell you to change unlike other guys. He doesn’t turn his nose up at your quirks and doesn’t hold animosity in his eyes. He tells you his secrets…or what you think are his secrets and he appreciates you.”

She takes a deep breath, her nose running and cheeks rosy. Taking a napkin from the table’s corner, she wipes the tears littering her face as your own eyes well up. So this was how Jimin was in her mind compared to yours. There were a lot of similarities and a lot of differences.

“And so,” Mina strains, “You fall for him. Even though it’s wrong and even though he’s m-married. Even though his wife is a wonderful person, y-you fall so, so hard. And when he kisses you while he’s a drunk, giggling, beautiful mess…you don’t stop him.”

You close your eyes as the first tears makes its way down your cheek. Even though there were a lot of differences, the feelings were the same.

“Y-you don’t stop after the first time. Nor after the second and then the third… and it just keeps going on and on and on. Until it’s too late to stop. Even though the guilt eats you alive. Even though you stop eating and stop sleeping and no one can see the bags under your eyes, when he smiles at you-”

Mina shows you a pained smile, “When he smiles at you, and his eyes crinkle and his nose buttons. You think it’s all – the pain, the secrets – it’s all worth it. Because you just feel so damn special for some reason. So, you throw yourself down the drain, become the woman you never wanted in a relationship that would never go anywhere. You lie until your teeth start rotting and hide until the shame stops consuming your heart.”

You wipe your tears with the back of your hand, trying to calm your senses by pursing your lips.

“Then one day…he tells you he doesn’t need you anymore. That you never meant anything to him and it’s over.” Mina’s stop crying now. She stares at the table once again, this time looking at her reflection in the glass. “And you don’t put up a fight, because you knew this was coming. It was inevitable. A real relationship can never be based on a lie. All you’re left with is the person you’ve become.”

“In the end…all you did was become a liar that hates herself. Someone who hurt a woman who’s been nothing but kind to her. Someone who shut everyone out till the one guy she’s wanted shuts her out… that’s the conclusion.”

You let out a shaky exhale, your body lagging and mind numbing. There’s yet another moment of silence as you process everything you’ve just heard. Your feelings…were just the same.

“I’m sorry.” Your eyes shoot up as Mina speaks up once again, “I’m sorry for what I did to you and for all the things I let happen.”

“I understand if you don’t forgive me. And I understand if you never want to see me again. I…just wanted to tell you that you were great. You were a great wife, and a great friend…a great cook haha...and a great person. You deserved better than all of this. You deserved better than all of us.”

“And...and I know how it feels…I…I dated someone after Jimin… and huh ironically-” Mina lets out a breathless laugh, “He cheated on me… and I know I deserve I-”

“No.” You interrupted her, “No one deserves that.”

Mina pauses as she stares at you, “It really hurts…it’s not just them loving someone else, but them breaking your trust and connection. Completely disregarding your feelings and disrespecting you. And something like that coming from someone you love – someone’s who’s supposed to love you…breaks you apart from the inside. And that’s why I now understand what kind of a person Park Jimin was. A manipulative, lying piece of shit who immediately uses people’s vulnerabilities for his own pleasures.”

…

“I hope one day you’re able to move on from what I’ve done but…I will always carry what I did to you. I’ll continue to fall into toxic relationships and continue to have trust and commitment issues for the rest of my life.”

You frown at the feeble girl in front of you. Was this what you wanted from her? From Jessica? Is this what you want for Tina? Would this satisfy your idea of karma?

“Thank you…for apologizing…for speaking your truth.” You began slowly, Mina’s inflamed face staring at you,  

“I always tried to understand why you did it. How you could do that to me when you’ve met me and knew me and…my head was just a mess for the longest time…but now…I just hope you’re able to move on from this as well…I don’t know if I can truly forgive you but I don’t want to hate you any longer. I spent so much energy trying to hate you and the other girls…I compared myself to you, I looked down on you…I ran away from you.  

“But what was it that you owed me at that my husband didn’t owe me a hundred times more?”

Trying to piece your thoughts together you sigh, “The you I conjured up in my mind was a lot more characterless and viler. But now it just seems like I was trying to blame anybody but Jimin for his own mistakes. That’s the whole idea behind homewrecker, huh? I blamed you, I blamed my mother, I blamed myself. I blamed every single person except Jimin. And I shouldn’t have. There was no one else at greater fault. Not even you… and I no longer want to do that. I no longer want to put the blame on others.”

Mina looks away once her eyes tear up again. Her body felt sore and her insides twisted painfully. There’s no greater pain than the guilt of a woman.

“In the end we were all trying to find our happiness…anyway we could. I guess…we just searched for it in the wrong places.”

The rest of the sudden meet up was spent in silence. This abrupt hush being the last one before you finished your drink and observed the traffic around you. It felt like you both had said what you wanted, like your chests were finally free of such a huge burden. What was left was a empty feeling, satisfying but still an end.

Soon, it was time for goodbyes.

And then there you were, driving home from the longest trip you’ve ever had at a mall. You sat there, steering your car on the road, thinking just one thing. All this time, you’ve remembered nothing but bad things about her. About Jessica. And now about Tina. But what was the point in accusing them?  

What type of satisfaction had you gained from hating other women?

Did it stop your husband from cheating? Did it dissolve his sins?

What sort of people were Jessica and Tina, apart from the characters your imagination had invented?  

There were new questions you needed answers to. And there was just one person who could help you answer them all.

Just one.

Jimin was in the balcony, drinking his night away again.

Tina wouldn’t shut up tonight, he didn’t want to deal with her. But right now, he didn’t have anyone he could trust as much as her so his feet were planted in her damn apartment. As he looks up at the bleary sky, his mind wanders back to you. What were you doing at the moment?

Tsk, he scolds himself then. Why did he always think about you in the end? What did you mean to him? NOTHING. You were a toy. A toy he ended up going overboard with almost 6...no 7 years ago from tomorrow.

A toy that was causing him problems...  

Jin had called this morning. “Why doesn’t your wife know where you are?”

It infuriated him; how dare he be questioned like this. And that bastard was one to talk, he was with Jimin playing wingman anytime Jimin needed a quick fuck. Telling him he knows men shouldn’t be tied down to one woman, that men were made to pump out their population into mankind. So why was everyone acting different now?

Why were you?

He kept you under his control for so long. How did you even find out about Tina?

Why was he?

Jimin couldn’t eat for the past few days. Nothing tasted like your cooking so he couldn’t swallow it down. His sleep was fucked up and he tried to wear himself out going to the gym or having sex with Tina or someone else but nothing worked. If anything, he just felt worse. He kept remembering the cologne you came in with that one night, just which bastard were you fucking?

His grip on the glass beer is so tight, he could hear it crack. No, you couldn’t have. Jimin was sure you wouldn’t even think about another man as long as you had him. Who would?

As his heart continues to ache and yearn without him knowing why, mind numb and limbs sore, his phone begins to ring.

Speak of the devil.

...

You studied the phone in your hand, as your thumb trembled while hovering over his name.  

Why was this so hard? You’ve been upfront with him for a while now. So, what is it about today – this moment particularly – where your insides would rather shut down than hear his voice?

As you once again back out from pressing his name on your phone screen, you huff, sitting up in frustration. It shouldn’t be this hard, it’s really not a big deal. So what if you had no idea where your husband was for the past week? So what if he had his own wife sent to voicemail so many times that she had become too traumatized to call him? And so what if the biggest day of your life was tomorrow and he was still MIA? All you had to do right now, was ask about his location. Drown the wild thoughts and insecurities in your head with confirmation from the love of your life.

He owes you that much.

So, with a loud sigh, you click on his name. Ready to face the truth.

Your gut drops when it rings. Falling deeper and deeper with the first ring.

Second ring.  

Third ring.  

Fou-

“Hello?”

Gasping at the voice, you immediately put your phone next to your ear.

“Y-yes hello?”

“…___.”

You wanted to cry. He actually picked up, he really answered. “J…Jimin.”

Your whole body shivered, as if it remembered Jimin existed. He wasn’t some fever dream you mind conjured up. There was so much you wanted to tell him, which spiked up the adrenaline in your system. Oh, how you longed to speak to him.

“I heard you called Jin…” Was his immediate response. After being away from home for so long, after leaving you in the dark. He was more concerned about you talking to someone about how he left you.

“Yeah…I-I did.”

“Why?” He sounded annoyed

“Because I didn’t know how else to reach you…”

“You shouldn’t have called Jin.” He spoke again, firmly.

Biting your bottom lip, you hold back your tears. Does he think it was easy for you? Doesn’t he realize how embarrassed you were? Can’t he understand that you wouldn’t have called him if he just picked up his phone? Jin’s seen you before, he’s made you laugh before, you know him. He’s a very charming person, it’s why he’s one of Jimin’s few coworkers that you genuinely liked. Also one of the first friends Jimin made when you moved into this city.  

It’s why you were terrified that when you make the call…his high opinion of you would change. That to him you’d look like a pathetic, desperate woman whose husband casted aside. You felt so much shame and if you truly, frantically didn’t need his help, you would have never asked.

Doesn’t he know that? Does he care about you at all?

“I…I’m sorry.” You whisper

He doesn’t respond. No, you didn’t want to blame him.

“Jimin…I’m so sorry for everything…I got ahead of myself. Please Jimin…”

Still, silence.

“Jimin…I don’t know where you are…I don’t know what you’re doing but I know that I love you. I love you and I miss you and I need you so much that it hurts.”

…

“Jimin…would you please…please come home to me? Please.”

“I don’t know, ___.” He responds tiredly, “I just don’t know who you are anymore.”

By now you should have known it was useless for you to hold back tears. “You stood in that altar with me, right? You took my hand and told me you wanted to stay by my side forever. You said forever didn’t you Jimin?”

Again, you shared radio silence and you close your eyes and imagine him. His beautiful self, his past innocence. What should you do to capture his attention?

“I met Mina yesterday.”

At that you hear his breath hitch.

“W-what…where?”

“At the city mall…she’s still as pretty, you know.” You let out a giggle

“You’re prettier.” He jokes. It was so out of place but he said it casually.

You laugh. You laugh and laugh and laugh until you start to sob. Breath heaving and lungs sore, you sob into the receiver. Your face was wet, and your nose was running, you were sure you have never looked more unattractive. Being close to him once again opened up the flood of your insecurities, made you feel hyper aware of your appearance. Shame and embarrassment enfold in you once more and you feel your throat close in on yourself.

Him just casually joking around reminds you of the old days. Where you might have been broken inside but Jimin was here to mend you outside. And that’s what you needed right now, for him to glue your shards back together again. A porcelain doll is always hollow inside anyway.  

“…_-___.”

You cry louder at the sound of his voice. Your Jimin…you loved him so much.

“J-Jimin-hic-…pleas-please -hic- some home…I’ll change Jimin, I-I’ll be better, so please.”

He listens to you cry and his chest aches like someone pulled his heart out. This was something he was never good at, dealing with someone’s feelings. That’s why he never let anyone get too close, even if they felt like they were. Everyone…but you. Fuck, he shakes his head. No, you meant nothing.

But he still wanted to console you.

“T…the anniversary dinner is tomorrow, right?” He starts, his voice uncertain, “I…I’ll come then.”

“You will?” You hiccup, your own tone unsure

“I will.” He says, and this time he sounded confident. “I will come back home ___, just wait for me…”

“Promise me…”  

What else could you wish for?  

“I promise.”  

How could a little more waiting hurt you?

Jimin shuts of the phone and sighs. It seems like you were back under him, which is a relief. He smiles then, his heart soaring at the thought of seeing you again. Just imagining the look on your face would be enough to keep him satisfied for a long time.

See? You love her. A voice interrupts. It came from deep inside his chest. Conscious, they call it. He hated it more than anything. The only person Jimin loved was himself and the only person he needed was himself.

He’s not like those pathetic people that lust after him immorally. There were no similarities between him and them, there never would be. His conscious seems to disagree though, telling him once again, how much he loves her, someone like her.

Growling at his brain, he smashes the bottle down onto the balcony’s pavement. The shards scatter, glimmering in the moonlight of the pale city. He could see himself in the reflection.

And for the first time, he didn’t like who stared back.

You were waiting.

On that time of year again.

June 17th, the most special day of your life.  

You still remember it quite well; the well-lit Azul sky, the light specks of sand, the calming roar of the clear waves. It was the most beautiful morning in the universe.  

Yet you were a wreck of nerves, sweaty palms and jittery teeth. Jimin’s dad placed a hand on your quivering shoulder, your eyes shooting the gentle senior as he smiles at you consolingly. You were never close to Jimin’s parents, nonetheless they were always tremendously kind to you. A part of you felt so undeserving of their love, but Jimin would remind you that you have earned everything good in the world. Jimin…you couldn’t believe in a few moments you were marrying the love of your life. How and when did your life take such a drastic turn for the better?

Snapping from your reverie, you shyly nod your head at your new father and place your hand under his outstretched arm. And soon it starts – the piano melody signaling the curtains withdrawal.

As the fabric was removed from your vision, the picture-esqu sight came into view in front of you, making you hold your breath and faintly tighten your grip on the elder man’s arm. The audience immediately turned their heads, a pleasant expression of awe plastered on their faces. White and pink carnations, complimenting your long lacey dress, decorated the virgin painted benches and their petals littered the bleached soft satin carpet.  

And in front of it all – the audience, the flowers, your mother – stood Jimin. You lost control of your senses when you saw him. He stood perfectly still, hands clasped together and slightly taller than usual with his heeled derby’s and straightened posture. His black suit was stitched without a visible flaw, even in this bright daylight. It elongated his limbs and made them seem sturdier – rather well put as he jut his chest out ever so softly. Your eyes couldn’t break away, even as you began advancing towards him. Jimin too, stared right at you unwaveringly, like he could see no one but you at the moment.  

His hair was gelled back and brush to the side, letting the sunlight highlight his ethereal features. When you reached the end of the carpet, Jimin’s father took a hold of your hand and handed it to Jimin. As soon as Jimin’s fingers touched your palm, a spark of fire traveled underneath your skin and your arm broke out in goosebumps. He led you up the three-step stairs, into the altar where the priest stood in front of you both.  

“You look gorgeous.” He whispers with a cheeky smile

You break out into a shy smile, some of the rashness in your nerves leaving you.

His eyes never leave yours as the priest starts speaking and you could feel your own eyes well up as you hear the quiet sobs of Jimin’s mother.

After the small sermon, it was time for that big question.

“Do you Park Jimin, take ___ to be your lawfully wedded wife? To cherish her in sickness and in health? And never leave her lonely?”

For a moment you thought you saw a pause in Jimin’s smile. That there was a sudden weakness flashing across his orbs. But it was over, very, very quickly.

“I do.” He states proudly, causing all the unease in your lungs to vanish.

As the priest repeats the question to you, you take a deep breath, ready to state your obvious answer.

Suddenly though, you catch the eyes you’ve been avoiding the whole time.

Your mother. Sitting in the front row.

Without a smile.

“Don’t do this to yourself.”

“Mom, please…I’m getting married in a few hours. Why is this the only thing you have to say to me?”

The older lady inhales, her nostrils flaring in exhaustion. “I’m saying this for your own good.”

“No! You’re saying this for your own sick pleasure!”

“How could you think that way about your own mother?”

“…because let’s face it mom…you’ve never cared about me…”

She went silent after that. 10 minutes of arguing and this was what made her silent.

“Alright.” She spit, bitterly. “But when he ends up leaving you, don’t come crying to me.”

…

“I never have.”

“Madam?”

You jump from your daydream.

“Pauillac?”

A well dressed, older waiter stands in front of your table. He held out a bottle of expensive looking wine.

“Oh, thank you.” You say, holding out your glass.

Fast forward to seven years, you set up a reservation at the most popular 5-star restaurant in your city. It’s something you’ve done every year for four years, a month ahead because of the place’s demand and limited seating options. Even though your nerves were eating at you, you kept yourself alive. Today is the day you’ll see Jimin again. He’ll be back home again.  

Your body was yearning for his touch again, you felt yourself getting hot and cold at times for no reason. But it was alright, you were happy.  

You’ve gotten your hair, makeup and nails done at a salon today, wanting to look beautiful for your husband. It was red in color and light weight, to not seem overbearing, and you wish Jimin would like it on you. Imagining him complimenting you had you unintentionally beaming. Anything and everything he’d say tonight was bound to have you convulsing inward, you were just so excited to see him again.  

Having arrived 15 minutes early, you mess with the napkins and cutlery, making sure everything was straight and preppy. Your nerves were on high making you fidget and glance at the door every few seconds. Jimin’s promise rang inside your head as assurance. There was a letter clutched in your hand. Since there were so many – way too many things you wanted to tell him, you decided to write a letter instead.

He’ll be here. I know him.

Time went by a bit too slowly, so you took some sips of your wine. What should you say first to him. Oh, you should thank him for keeping his promise. That would make him happy. Then you should apologize for that night, negotiate carefully to not scare him away. You’d tell him of the progress you made, about how you were learning to stand on your own two feet so you wouldn’t bother him again.

Whatever you did, you could not afford to make him feel upset again.

As you continued to carefully plan out your time with Jimin, a voice resounded in your head.

“You spent your life trying to become someone they’d love, that you forgot about who you are.”

…

You were doing it again. Of course, you didn’t want to apologize to him…but you were more concerned with what pleased him. Sighing, you took another sip of your wine.

Where was he? You were beginning to get angsty. Tapping your foot against the floor, you signaled the waiter for more wine. 20 minutes had passed. 30. 40. Soon you were bombarded with voices echoing your head.

Lin. Irene. Yoongi. Mina. Your mother.

Everything they said over the past month haunting your insides until you shook. Stop it, you wanted to yell. All you wanted was to be in your husband’s arms. You aren’t stupid for yearning for love. Jimin promised.

1 hour.

You had begun to stare at the people around you, dressed so lavishly. They all look so content. How lucky they were. There was a senior couple a couple of tables away from you, the lady feeding something sweet to her husband. It made you smile, and your heart hurt even more. Jimin, please come soon.

2 hours.

Where was he? People were starting to notice you could tell, their shaped became nothing but eyes that beheld you with animosity. Eyes poking you in places that left you sore. You wanted to jump into a cold river. Wash away the restrictive feeling around your throat. No, you aren’t stupid for trusting Jimin again.

With a deep breath, you press his number, holding it to your ear with pursed lips. He doesn’t pick up. But you dial it again. What if something happened to him, you worry. There was a similar feeling inside of you. The one you felt when you visited this office that night. Your heart and mind pleaded with him.

Please, Jimin.

“…Hello?” A groggy voice answers

You smile – you actually fucking smile for the tiniest millisecond. Before realizing that wasn’t his voice. No, that high-pitched feminine voice wasn’t his. Your whole face falls.

“Ms. ___?”

Tina.

“H-hello, Ms-” You overhear some shuffling before you hear him.

“Kitten, who is i-”

No longer concerned, you hang up. You were so stupid.

Your face twitches, mind still frozen before the tears fall like rain. It was raining outside too.  

In seconds, your makeup’s all ruined, and the collar of your dress is strangling you. With so many people in the vicinity, you try to stop your tears but it’s no use – you can feel a few stares burning a hole through your head. You don’t even care to acknowledge the waiter who cheerily walks up to you pushing a cart.

“Ma’am here’s your oh-”  

He stops dead in his tracks in front of you, who’s silently heaving into the air. He’s at loss of what to do as he gapes at your wrecked state, in his sweaty palms he weakly holds the handle of the cart. On that cart laid a large 2 layer lavishly decorated vanilla-swirl cake. Jimin’s favorite. With two words written at the top in pink strawberry icing.

‘Happy Anniversary’

You had no clue where you were headed.  

The hush of the car pushed you forward. Your grip on the handle was deathly, frigid arms barely holding it eerily still and not crashing into one of the pawn shops on the right out of pure fury.

After the tears came the rage. You were so, so angry. And you didn’t give one single fuck.

Fucking Jimin, perfect, lovable, charming Jimin. Fuck him.

How dare he?

How fucking dare he not show up? How fucking dare he embarrass you like that? He lied to you yet again. And you, like the pathetic woman you are, fell for it again. It was like a drug, the wrath and despair within your system. Traveling across every nerve and every stream. Feeling like tiny needles prickling you all at once. You were so fucking angry.

It kept replaying in your mind. Tina’s groggy voice, her confusion…her pity. You couldn’t control anything, not your breathing nor your anger. All you wanted to do was forget about it all. Before you did something you really regret. So, you sped to the only place that made you forget once before.

You push the breaks to a halt, your body lurching forward at the sudden stop. Turning, you look out the car window, breathing fire through your nose. The loud beating of the music silently shakes the whole road. Bright red neon lights flare into your vicinity, reflecting even the puddles of the long dead rain.

Cypher Road.

With a humorless smirk, you open the car door, stomping your way out of the vehicle. Wasting no time, you sprint into the entrance with a slight stumble in your step and are immediately greeted by dancing bodies. It wasn’t any different than that other day – if anything, busier. The noise was so loud you could stop yourself from thinking for once. You brush past the lively bodies without a care, yet there is a small warmth with each touch of flesh that has you inhaling repeatedly.

Trance.

There is a joy of being here. You hadn’t wiped the scars of mascara off your face, your hair was a mess from you pulling on it. And your dress felt even lighter than before as you stepped onto the dance floor. The atmosphere was blinding, and you had come here to be filled with its addictive ignorance. How sweet it is to not taste the bitter reality.  

It was slow at first. You weren’t in rhythm with anyone, but then again when had you ever been. Spanning your arms out, you brought them above your head as you twirled once, twice – a few times. Every second you unraveled yourself, closing your eyes as your heels glided along the dance floor and you shook and turned. Swung and twist.

You wanted to lose all your energy here. Everything had to melt away.

With every move you made, your mind became light headed, stars amongst your seams exploded and the fast pace of the universe seem to lull. So, softly, you fluttered your lids open.

The first thing you saw were the bright neon green lasers, traveling across the dance floor from the ceiling. Then you notice how the whole floor had slowed, the laughing, the screaming, the motioned limbs. Everyone around you had begun moving along your timeline, your pace – the slow dance with life for the very first time. Somehow the music had lost all it’s upbeat fervor and your ears echoed a blue ambiance in its place. You felt drunk even though you took mere ounces of liquor.

Numb, you were more numb thank drunk. Your movements were sluggish and your mind in a deep haze. This is what it feels like to be high on grief. While your eyes were roaming the dance floor, they landed on someone. There was a girl, around 10 feet away from you, who caught your attention, you’re not sure why. Nothing seemed unordinary about her – not her short dress, nor her pretty face. The club was full of that. She dances as lethargic as the figures around her. What you kept staring at was the necklace she wore, the pure silver being the only color you could see on her as the darkness of the club muted all other colors.

But the second a citrus scent fills the air around you, she is long forgotten. You turn back in front of you to see him.

He, who stood a good 5 feet ahead, taller than Jimin. He, who wore an expensive suit with a colorful scarf tied around his long neck. Dusky hair and sharp eyes, a slight tan and fixed stare. It was in that moment time come to a complete halt. Just you and him, even breathing and secret heartbeats. His face tilted to the side, a smirk present on his inviting lips. You blinked leisurely.

“Nice to see you again, baby.” He said in his deep, sexy voice

You recognized his voice.  

Who could forget it?

The stall door slammed open as your body was pushed inside. For the first few seconds your breath was knocked out of you, just to fit into his mouth once again.

“Mmm-ah-”

His mouth was hot, heavy and wet. The middle of your spine shivered, sending a cursing sensation all throughout your body as you held onto his arms. The warmth of his shoulders kept you giddy, your face tilting to allow his tongue in further. His grip on your hips was tight, his fingers dangerously lurking your ass. You blushed as you felt your chest pressed up against.

He bit your lip and you gasped, your fingers treading into his hair as you tilted your head back. His lips kiss down your jaw, onto your neck as you moan loudly. The air was immense, the four walls of the stall closing in on you and you didn’t care one bit. You wanted to be swallowed. After nipping the soft skin of your neck, he looks up, into your eyes.  

As you stare into the endless abyss by your own glossy orbs, you could swear there was no one more beautiful.

He smirks yet again, making you clench. His thigh parts your legs as his warm hand travels along your hip line before he grabs your dress. Pulling up the light fabric, you feel his hot fingers on your bare skin. You try to hold back your voice but fail miserably as you whimper, holding onto to him tightly. Softly, his hand caresses your thigh, tender and slow. You close your eyes, your brows knitting in what you think was frustration and you hear him chuckle.

God, that voice of his.

The air is knocked out of you as his fingers land on that sweet, sweet spot. Your eyes opening to find his intense stare.

“You’re so wet, fuck.” He huffs, fondling you over your panties

Unable to properly respond, you blush. Biting your lower lip before you begin to rub yourself on him. You’ve never done that before. Taken control of the situation that is.

“Shit.” He mutters, staring you down as you shamelessly stroke yourself against him. Your freedom didn’t last long as he snakes an arm around your back, your chest crashing into his and his long digits slam into your core.  

“Ah!” You grab onto his arms as he scissors your insides.

“Fuck, baby,” He grunts, his low voice making you tremble, “You haven’t been fucked properly for a long time now, have you?”

His dirty words cause you to clench, curses once again slipping out of his mouth, “I’m gonna change that tonight – shit. I’ll fuck you so good, fill your nice and pretty cunt with my cum.”

You couldn’t say anything, lips trembling and back arching as his elongated fingers fucked into you, reaching such a depth that had you weak in the knees. Thankfully his hold was tight.  

“You want that baby? You want to be stuffed with my dick? I bet I’d slip in so – fuck – so easily, I bet I’d cum right away, what do you think baby?”

“Nn- oh, yes-” It slipped out, as his pace became faster, harder and you wanted to thank whoever created him for his blessed fingers. They were much longer than Jimin.

…

Jimin?

…Jimin.

In an instant your eyes shot open, “N-no!”

The guy made out a ‘huh?’ Before you pushed him away with all your strength. His back collided with the right stall wall, as you used the left one to stand up properly.

You suddenly become all too aware of the ring encasing your finger on your trembling hands. The warm atmosphere now defeated by a scorching heat. Your eyes became cloudy as images of your husband flashed through your mind. The man you swore your soul to, the man who you came home to, his smile, his love. What the hell were you doing? You were married! Married! How could you-

“H-hey? Are you alright? Was it something I said?”

The man reaches out for you, causing you to jump.  

“No!” You shout again, your loud voice echoing the stalls. His eyes fill with worry and the guilt threatens to spill out your throat. Did he know you were married? How would he feel about that? What were you doing? WHAT WERE YOU DOING?!  

You were wheezing without any cause. The air in your lungs felt painful, throat sore and breaths ugly. Panic…you were having a panic attack. The walls were closing in and the light of the restroom gave you a pounding headache.

“I-I’m sorr-” You manage to choke out before running out of the stall, not even daring to look back.

You ran and ran and ran. Pushing away from the heavy bodies littering your way. Sobs of pain left you, but no one even cared to look. This wasn’t what you wanted from tonight – you wanted to forget Jimin, not become him. Yet you can never forget how you reacted to that stranger, how sensitive your body was to someone who wasn’t your husband. Tremendous shame and guilt travel up your neck like parasites. Your eyesight had become blurry, all the overwhelming lights meshed together, and you couldn’t even see anymore. All that was guiding you was the reminder to get out of this loud place.

And it was then that you bumped into someone.

“___? Hey, are you alright? ___?”

A frantic voice, and grip on your arms pulls you back to reality. For a moment you just heave as he shakes you softly, grip firm and protective. Slowly, your eyes begin to clear and breathing slows. There you see Yoongi and you, standing near the entrance hall of Cypher Road.

“Y-Yoon…gi?” You mutter, out of air

“Fuck, ___, what happened to you?” Yoongi shouts, his eyes widened in concern  

“You lied to me Yoongi…” You mutter

“…What?”

“You lied to me!” You cry, pulling him off of you, “You t-told me…” Your voice breaks, tears filling your eyes, “You said he did nothing but fool around with his friends…YOU LIED!!!”

The anger in your voice has him putting up his hands in concern. “W-what do you mean-”

“In there!” You scream, pointing at the dance floor, “In your precious club – is a girl with a necklace!”

“A…necklace?” Yoongi squints in confusion, his head turning back and forth between you and the dance floor.

“A fucking necklace!” You roar as he winces, “A necklace…similar to the one Jimin wore some time ago…”

“___, there are plenty of ways she could’ve gotten that necklace, maybe she-“

“No!” You interrupt him, shaking your head vigorously, “That’s what I say! Those are the excuses I make! ...But not this time. Not when I recognize that special custom-made J pendant on her neck…”

You began to cry, hot fat tears rolling down your cheeks as your throat starts to close in.

“I-I could…couldn’t even see her face…I don’t even know what s-she looks like…” Taking a deep breath, you bring your hand to your mouth in embarrassment, “Yet I know her…because she wore my husband’s necklace so proudly. Like she owned it…owned him.”

Yoongi stares at you, at loss at what to say. The people around you gave glances and strange looks time to time. But still…no one cares long enough to stay.

“___...just calm d-”

“NO!” You scream again, cringing at the strain in your voice. “I won’t! I won’t calm down! I have every right to be angry!”

“I know that!” Yoongi yells cautiously, “I understand that-”

“No you don’t– No one does! No one knows how it feels to be in my position, no one- Or else you wouldn’t have lied to me!”

“You think I had a choice? You think I wanted to purposely lie to the woman who was staring at the ground a thousand feet below her like her only way out?”

“Just-” You bring your hands up, a sudden wave of exhaustion pouring over you, “I’m so, so tired…I’m so tired of being lied to, Yoongi. Please…please leave me alone.”

“__-” Before he could say another word you were rushing down the hall, out of the building. He stared at the exit you left from a bit too long, the bright neon of the sign hurting his eyes. Everyone else danced on, carefree, around him. His husband always told him this job would be his wolfsbane.

And he was right as usual.

As he’s debating whether to chase after you, a call of his name interrupts his concentration.  

“Hy- fuck, Yoongi hyung!” The pale faced man turns around to see the youngest of his pack shoving through multiple bodies in disdain. The taller man rushes up to him, breathing heavily, with a worried gaze.

“Taehyung?” The older asks with concern laced in his tone. What the fuck was happening? “What’s the matter?”

“S-she was…do you know where the girl who was just with you went? She was right here! The one with the red dress…soft demeanor…?”

Yoongi straightened up as Taehyung described you,  

“How do you know ___?”  

You sat at the edge of your world in silence. The winds of tomorrow’s past blew past you, your hair in rhythm with the fast-paced clouds above. For the moment, you would have preferred silence, but that was not a sentiment the city shared with you. Cars, honking, muttered chatter, you could hear it all. Passing through your ears like an afterthought. Your feet dangled as you held your heels in your hand. What were you thinking of showing up to that anniversary dinner?

What ever made you think Jimin would stop disappointing you?

As you stared at the glass structures you sighed, you always ended up back at the same place. The same kind of city, the same rain, the same broken heart. Perhaps the universe really was trying to tell you something.

A quiet hum stained your body, Keeping you sane from your sadness. It was crazy really, how many questioned can be answered in a day. With a deep breath, you reach out to into the night, stretching your arm. Hand laid flat against the air for a few seconds before you clasped it shut – as if grabbing something. What were you desperately searching for in the night?  

Your husband? Your life? Your childhood?  

Your happiness.

“Thought I might find you here…”  

It was routine then, the sudden loud beating of your heart. Your widened eyes, your frozen physique. The shaky exhale.

…

“I…tried to find you downstairs…in the apartment…but you weren’t there…”

Jimin.

You can hear him walk towards you. And you could imagine it, hands in pocket, the wind blowing through his hair, his relaxed stance and clear eyes. It had been too long…so long, just a couple days felt like years. It felt like something grabbed onto your heart, so tight you couldn’t breathe. You were too scared to turn. To look him in the eye.  

But you did anyway.  

And you just knew the universe hated you. It was him. It was him. It was him. His ethereal face filled with a halo no one could replicate. He was God’s most beautiful creature. How spiteful your creator must have been.

It was him. You wanted to reach out to him.

He stared at you, reading your eyes as you read his. But you both had stopped understanding each other’s language a long time ago.  

You both waited for the other to speak. Yet for some reason, you wanted this silence to last forever.

“…How have yo-”

“Did you fuck her?” You ask, your voice immediately breaking. His face turned pale. “When I trusted you…and waited for you…”

He looked away, mouth shutting and eyes squinting.

You had dreamt of this scenario a thousand times, and in each one you never came off this strongly. So, what were you doing right now? Why did you feel so guilty?

“You fucked her…did it feel good? Are you happy now that you’ve emptied your dick?” There was so much fury in each of your words, but you enjoyed watching him squirm. You didn’t even know half these words were in your vocabulary. “How has she been for the past week? Why did you even come, JIMIN? I waited, and waited, and waited in the pain of the unknown. All while you got your dick wet…And I always do that Jimin…I’m so stupid, aren’t I?

He says nothing.

“Tell me I’m stupid!” You slam a palm on the ledge, “Because you really make me feel that way! And for what?”

The tears you hold back wrapped themselves around your neck, making you struggle to get your words out. You wanted him to feel as hurt as you did.

“What have I done Jimin? What did…I do to you?” Breathing was becoming hard, your lips quivering as you stared at the beautiful somber devil. “All I did was love you, so why? Why do you t-treat me like this?”

It must have been an illusion of either your river-filled eyes or the bleak night because for a second you thought you saw despair and guilt inside him.

“I broke myself apart to try and fit into your world. Became happy for you, always did what you wanted, never questioned you-fuck I would’ve even had children if it meant you would stay with me…”

“God, I’m so stupid!” You roar, grasping fistfuls of your hair and pulling at it, “Here I was trying to be better, here I was thinking that those three girls had something I didn’t but that wasn’t it at all! M-Mina didn’t have lipstick on that night. She couldn’t have marked your shirt…but someone else did! Isn’t that right Jimin?”

You turn back to him, eyes wide and head pounding. “I thought there were only three girls…but there are many, many more aren’t there? I thought Jessica was the first time, but it wasn’t was it?”

Jimin finally looks up at you, and you realize you never said anything about Jessica. He didn’t know you knew.

“You’d been cheating on me…since the beginning…haven’t you? Here I thought I must have done something wrong after marriage…but I’ve been your plaything throughout this whole affair, haven’t I?”

He opens his mouth to speak, but nothing comes out. You slowly lower your arms, face and body still in shock.

“I’m so stupid Jimin…I felt special for a while…I’m so stupid…aren’t I?”

His face twitches, but his thoughts remain a mystery. You watch quietly as he closes his eyes, a soft exhale leaving his lips. It was too painful to keep staring at him, at the man you once loved more than anything. So you looked back at the sky, pleading for a chance to redo every single event since before you met.

“Jimin…” You whisper, voice pleading. Your sanity was on the brink and you wanted to be pulled in before you fell over. “Tell me I’m not stupid.”  

“I’m letting you go, ___.”

You really hated yourself in that moment. Your name coming out of his mouth felt so good, you almost didn’t hear the first part.

Almost.

“I have to let you go.”

And the first tear falls. Sliding down your cheek easily before the next one leaks. You close your eyes, letting the pain wash away at you for the first time in a while. The fall was long, you could feel the emptiness surround you. For a second it felt like flying, unobstructed and liberated.

“…”

“This has gone…beyond my control…___. I didn’t know what I was thinking, I just...” He looks at you, but you kept yourself inside your head. Arms numb and brain empty. “…I acted on impulse…I thought I knew what I wanted…I thought it was…”

You

“You are right…I have been cheating on you for a long time now…I never loved you…I just kept this charade on for as long as I could. And I don’t know why because I don’t love you…I d..d-don’t.”

That’s what you needed to hear, right? Just like that? Everyone’s been telling you this is better for you, haven’t they? So why are all your words stuck in your throat.

“I’ll go back to T…my friend for now…I’ll be back to pack up my stuff in the next few weeks.”

And with that he gives you one last glance before he turns. That was it, that was his whole explanation. What exactly had you expected? Why the FUCK did you keep expecting? You wanted to call out to him, your heart jumping out of your chest and latching onto his turned back. But instead of uttering a single peep, you listen to his footsteps all the way back to the door.

You listen as he touches the door knob. You listen as he twists it and pulls the door open slightly. All you do is listen when you can feel him hesitate, turning around to look at you.

For the strangest reason you remember the day you met him. That bright day, the soft wind and cherry blossoms. His bright smile and angel eyes, your innocent mind and open heart. It replays in your memory like your life flashing before your eyes. The wind picks at your toes and your body itches, yearning for something you couldn’t comprehend.

So much has changed since. This isn’t the same day, the same wind. There are no cherry blossoms, or smiles or innocence. You both are different now.

This was your chance to call out to him. To jump off this ledge and into his arms. But you just sat there. Listened as he turned back and left. And it was just you and the wind once more. The door closing felt like the cover of a book closing, that this was the end.

And against the fast-paced wind that night, you accepted your defeated.

There were no books out today…

That much you could tell as you stared at the small desk between the couches, dozing off as the sunlight from the large window behind hit your face.

Much like you, she also stared. At the distance in your eyes, the iris dim and face unreadable. There were many things she wanted to ask, many holes she wanted to poke. But she remained as restrained as her profession taught. For she knew the signs of unapproachable person at first glance, having read them countless of times over.  

Yet she couldn’t have you stay quiet the whole time.

“Is everything alright?” Lin spoke meticulously  

You didn’t answer.

She sighed, studying you as she shifted. What could she do right now to make you talk? You’ve been so quiet these past 3 weeks, almost like you didn’t exist. Last week you never showed up, Lin couldn’t help overthinking and dial your emergency contact – Irene, who dragged you over here in frustration.  

You had told her about Jimin, lifelessly stating everything that happened as if facts about your life that hold no meaning to you. She knew how much pain you were in, but your reaction to despair was abnormal since crying was the body’s healing method. It’s a healthy way to process emotion. Then the next week you became silent, were a no-show last week and didn’t speak a word today either. Lin had consulted Irene, who said Jimin had been coming over, taking more and more of his stuff which helped the therapist understand a bit more.

You were mirroring your safe space, becoming as hollow as your apartment was.

“___, please you have to talk to me. Just for a bit, alright? I can help you.”

“Do you ever…” Her thoughts were interjected as you spoke up quietly. She was instantly all ears. “Do you ever…want to redo life? If you could start all over again, without any of your mistakes…would you?”

Lin stared at you for a while. Your expression did not change, you continued to glare a hole through her desk.

“Well…that’s a difficult question ___. Even though a part of me wants to erase the mistakes I might have made… I think it’s important to have the knowledge of those mistakes…why I made them…what I can learn from them…etcetera…”

“Well what mistakes did I make?” You say softly, looking at Lin in her pretty brown eyes. “What kind of mistakes have I made…that I still – to this day – have learned nothing from?”

You were trying to hide it, but she could see it as clear as day. The barrage of emotions you tried to conceal in your pupils. “Why am I getting constantly punished and learning nothing?”

“Why?” You plead, throwing a palm over your head and slouching down in your hair, “Why should I always be the person in pain? I’m so, so, so sad and I can’t change that even though I want to!”

“Trust me L-Lin, I want to change so desperately, I want to! I want to crawl out of my skin and find a new body because everything hurts but I can’t leave me…I can’t leave me, I c-can’t leave even though he can…I can’t leave even though she can… but I can’t, I CAN’T!

“..and you know what hurts the most?” You ask her, to which she does not respond. “What hurts is that he left me…like I was the one who did something wrong.”

“…He left me.”

It falls dead silent after your outburst. The only sound echoing the room was of your steady breathing.

“W…why do they get to walk away whenever they want after everything they’ve done?”

Lin breathes out tenderly, her eyes on the glass table and the reflection of the sun behind. In moments like this, she wishes she really had all the answers for her patients. She really does.

“By she…do you possibly mean-”

“My mother.” You mumble. “The one person in the world that was supposed to love me unconditionally…the one who threw me away like a discarded doll…”

Lin blinks slowly. “It can be very difficult to deal with the trauma and pain from a parent who abandons you…” After deliberating for a bit, she speaks up, “Tell me ___, why do you think you’ve given your all to every authority figure in your life?

You sit back up after a shaky exhale. Nothing comes to mind, except Jimin’s smile. Life was exhausting.

“Be…because…”

Lin nods, encouraging you to go on.

“I wanted them to love me.”

“And why did you think being perfect at everything, work, household chores, unconditional love, would get you their love.”

“B…because…I don’t know…”

“Hmm, can you tell me the first time you noticed someone’s reaction to you being ‘perfect.’ A child hood memory perhaps?”

After thinking about it for a while, you nod.

“...When I was…in the first grade…I got an A on my math exam. I was the only kid and…and the teacher called my mom to tell her I got an A. I didn’t want to bother her so I didn’t do it. And…my mother…she smiled at me for the first time that day.”

You could sense Lin’s soft smile.

“So I tried to get more As but I guess she got used to it. When Jimin…when I would blush or be openly smitten with him…there was a twinkle in his eye. One I could never get out of my head. And I tried…so hard.” You close your eyes, “So hard to keep that twinkle alive even when I was dying inside…but I guess…even he got used to it.”

Opening your eyes, you look at your therapist. “That’s why I did it. So they could love me.”

You become quiet, playing with your fingers as Lin stare at you. Her mind was in deep thought.  

“___,” Lin sighs after a while, “You know that I can’t tell you to not be upset… you have every right to feel whatever you feel because what they did to you caused you great pain…but I think it’s time you learned how to love yourself. And for that we need to address the root cause of your issues.”

“My mother?”

“Your mother.”

You nod, contemplating what she said. Learning to love yourself? That was a concept so foreign to you. Could it really help you understand yourself? What could you possibly gain from it, what was there to love about you? Right now, you just wanted to sleep forever. Forget you exist at all.

Existence is a pain itself.

Maybe you should confront the cause of your existence then.

“Trust me ___.” Lin speaks, catching your gaze, “You deserve better. You deserve to love yourself.”

Oh, you just cracked the puzzle.

She had aged.

Your mom, who was always so tall. To you, she stood over all the towering counters and tables and light switches. Compared to her, you were tiny. Someone who always had to look up at her, stretching your neck and straining your eyes. At her, who easily touched things you could only wish to reach.  

She looks so small now. Wrinkles skin deep, frown lines too permanent. She, who was once the tallest person in your naïve, 5-year-old eyes. Someone you thought would always look as young, as beautiful.  

As cold.

You watch her, face trained to be still. Her posture was demure, lips sat motionless and eyes downcast. She wore a light earthy dress, full sleeves and prim collar…which was so very her. It was strange to you, how at one moment you wanted her to look at you more than anything. To acknowledge you.

But today you were content in studying her with a passive gaze.

“How have you been?” She begins quietly. You stare at her, then glance at her fidgeting hands in her lap.

The atmosphere was dim, a bit too lull for a restaurant during lunch time. Maybe you were suppressing the chatter and clatter, to focus on her. Again, how fitting.

“…I’ve been well.” I have not. “How about you?”

“Good.” She replies softly, staring at her steaming tea in interest.

You sigh, your shoulders moving up and down along with your breath. What were you expecting? This is a person you hadn’t seen in 3 years. Why would she suddenly be interested in you? Why should you be in her?

At that moment, you hear small laughter reach your ear. You turn toward the appealing sound, not sure why you wanted to find its source. Yet once you took it in, you understood. It was a child. A mother, and her small child. The lady was not much older than you, wearing a blue-green dress as she fed her daughter dress in pink a small piece of the steak she ordered. They seemed happy, content in the small moment they shared, and you couldn’t help but smile at them.

What a fantasy they were living, you hope they knew how lucky they were. Everyone seems to be luckier than you. For a while you felt like a kid staring through the window of a candy shop. Tsk, how ridiculous.

“I���I’m glad you are well…”

You turn back to the fragile sound of that voice. “It…I was happy to get your call…and you suddenly asking to meet me. I felt nervous…I don’t know why.”

Surprise was well written on your face at her words. This was not what you were expecting.

“And I…” She coughs as if her voice was raspy. “How have you been? H-how’s Jimin? I hope he’s taking care of you.”

She smiles then. A slight, delicate smile as she looks you in the eyes. This is not what you were expecting. Not from the woman who’s only given you cold shoulders when you’ve asked for warm arms.  

All you could think about was how she was never home for your birthday and the one time she was, you overheard her call it just another rest day on the phone with her coworker. All you could remember was asking her if she would come to your recital and she never showed, so you just sat there after the choir concert watching all the other kid take pictures and receive flowers from their family. All you could call upon was the time she forgot to feed you for almost a week, which was what made you begin cooking.

And for some reason, unbeknownst to you, you utter the thorn pressing against your brain.

“Jimin left.”

Her smile takes a second to drop. The color of her face wearing off as her eyes widen. Jaw parting as she looks at you, like a worried, petrified mother. It almost made you laugh.

“W…What?”

Concern laced her tongue and you felt anger as a natural reaction. This wasn’t it – it wasn’t how you were expecting this to go. The person you remember, the person instilled into your core would have sighed in disappointment. Gave you a cold look and a wintery frown. Told you she warned you. Why was she suddenly acting this way?

“_-”

“H-he left mom.” You say, your voice choking up, “You were right, once again. He left me, just like you said. Aren’t you happy?”

You spit the question with venom, your eyes welling up.

“___.” She repeats in that same pitiful tone. It sparked more fury inside of you.

“Aren’t you happy?!” You ask a little louder, the neighboring tables giving you a glance. “I’ll be signing divorce papers soon. You were right all along!”

“N-no, no.” She shakes her head, seeming as distraught as you. Who was this person in your mother body? Wearing your mother’s face.

“What, why?” You sneer, “Have I done something to upset you again, like I don’t know ask for some fucking food?”

“___, no. Oh my God, no.” She was crying.  

It was getting hard to see as you shook in your seat. The weight of the world felt like it was on your shoulder. And as you stared at the weeping lady in front of you, you felt like a child again. A child who hid under the bed, crying because of the thunder. Desperately wanting her mother to come home. But she never came.

“I hate you.” Your tough voice broke, “I hated you so much…I never knew how much I hated you until I found Jimin…even if his love was fake at least he acted like he cared. Why couldn’t you just fucking act?”

She begins to tremble. Fuck.

“I know…how much dad hurt you, but why did you have to hurt me? I needed you. I needed you, mom. I spent every single day trying to live up to what I thought were your expectations, I thought I had to earn your love. I thought-” You take a moment, shutting your eyes and feeling the aching beat of your heart. “I thought if I was the perfect child- if I didn’t cause you trouble, if I was quiet and stayed out of trouble y-you would at least smile my way. And still you didn’t…all of my accomplishments, all of the things I so hard worked for vanished just like that…”

“Tell me…why did you…abandon me?” You look at her and for the first time something feels different, although your heart continues to constrict. She looks so small in her light earthy dress, straining her shoulders and shaking her head.

“I am so sorry ___. I am so, so, so sorry. I shouldn’t have treated you like that, ___. I am so sorry.”

“But more than you I hate myself.” You continue, ignoring the sear of pain on her face with every word. “I hate that I can never be perfect for anyone, I hate that I can’t have a normal conversation without second guessing everything. I can’t even ask someone for help without having a mild panic attack! Did you know that? I hate how I am so sad and weak all the fucking time. I hate me, I hate me.”

“___, please, please don’t say that. Please.”

“Why, huh? So you can pretend to have a normal daughter, if you want to pretend I even exist today-”

“NO!” She screams making you silent. You could hear the whispering of the tables around you, but you pay it no mind. They were the lucky ones, they wouldn’t understand. “So you don’t turn out like me.”

“…What?”

She exhales deeply, her face morphed into anguish, “I never wanted you to be like me, ___. Never. Y-your father made so many promises to me, told me he loved me so much. I was a shy, quiet conservative woman who fell into his trap. Then one day he just got up and left. A-and I was so stuck I didn’t know what to do! No one taught me how to raise a child, I had no guidance, no family and barely any money.”

You listen to her silently. The air was thick and her breathing rapid. For some reason you really wanted to dry her tears.

“A-And then you w-were born. B-but every time I looked at you…I remembered what your father did. I remembered that I never wanted a child. I remembered that because of you…I couldn’t go anywhere and do anything, and I was trapped in the same damned town for the rest of my miserable days. I was so lonely and ashamed…I couldn’t hate you though…I tried but you were so small and fragile I just couldn’t. Yet it was easy to pretend you didn’t exist. So, I did just that…to help me cope, I pretended you weren’t there. That I never met a man like your father and he never betrayed me…”

She looks at her hands, “But I was wrong. I shouldn’t have done that. I shouldn’t have have…but I realized it too late…when you already met Jimin…”  

You tense.

“Since the start…he reminded me of your father, and it terrified me. I was so scared for you, and I tried to get you not to marry him. But you hated me, and it was all my fault. You sought for the love I couldn’t give you so desperately, that it was easy for you to fall victim to someone who wanted to take advantage of you. I prayed for you…for your relationship every day, I wanted to be wrong so bad…I did ___.” She looks up at you with a frantic gaze. “I never wanted you to be like me, never ever. I did so many horrible things to you. I’m so sorry ___. I’m so sorry. I know you can never forgive me, and that will live with me for the rest of my days.”

Your mom looks back down. Her expression empty and tears still. It seems like she let out all she wanted to say and now she was a ghost. There was nothing in her…nothing. She reminded you of herself, which is why you said the next words.

“I can’t forgive you…” You speak softly and she winces. “The young me…can’t forgive you. The one who was subjected to your neglect. The innocent child striving for a mere ounce of love and affection. The part of me that you disregarded every day until even I questioned if I existed. I can’t.”

She physically deflated, as if agreeing with your sentiments.

“But-” You interrupt her acceptance, “The me now…the me growing and changing and evolving every single day. The me who’s learned to be happier…who’s learning how to find herself and converse with others…the me who has learned to heal…that me. I…can forgive you.”

And you watch her as she takes a moment. Looking up at you like a star just exploded.  

“I can forgive you, mom.”

The next moments were a blur. She seemed extremely please, beyond ecstatic and you felt for her. Especially when she cried like a baby, and you think she was the child now. You mother was the small one now, the one who needed your love. And you weren’t going to be someone who repeats her mistakes. Everything you said to her was true. You could forgive her now. It would take some time, but strangely you understood her.

If Jimin left you with a child, you would have the hardest time acknowledging it. All the pain you would feel could be unintentionally directed at it. You were so glad you weren’t in her shoes. They were bigger than you could imagine. As you breathe out, you feel it all leave you. The resentment you’ve held onto for years. The resentment that grew too heavy for you to carry.

It was lifted off your back and you could breathe again. There were traces of bitterness left, staining the deepest corners, but you will work on washing them out.

“I…know it’s too late…but I will try to be better ___.” She looks at you with her swollen eyes. It was as of you were staring at your reflection.  

“I think you already are.” You say with a smile, directed more to yourself.

You really were your mother’s daughter.

_

It was silence once again.

A screaming silence, that woke your inner most core as you step into the vacant apartment. You were so tired. The meeting with your mom ran longer than you thought and now you just wanted to drown into your bed. Taking off your coat, you hang it by the rack before changing into your slippers. Without a second thought, you bee line for your bed room ready to sleep today off.  

But you halt in your tracks as you notice something on the dining table a few feet from you. A stack of white papers. You look around you, as if searching for someone before you look back at the table once again. It had been a few weeks since that night. Jimin would come by when you weren’t around, take more of his stuff and leave. Half of you was wondering why he was taking his sweet time and torturing you…the other half was yearning for as much time with him as possible.

With a defeated sigh, you slowly make your way to the dining table. Every single inch of this space had so many memories attached to it. Each step felt like reliving it all again. Once you bump into a dining chair, you can read the letters as bold as day.  

Divorce papers.

Oh.

Jimin was working quicker than you thought. You expected his, but not this soon. It hit you then. That you didn’t realize how real of this was until this very moment, as you reread those big black letters in the stiffest font. This was real, it was happening.

Jimin was finally going to leave you.

That’s right, he gets to leave. While you were stuck washing out the resentment.

So, you let out a breathless laugh. One after the other until you were full on laughing at the situation. Oh my God, you tried so hard and for what? You tore yourself up and for who? There was nothing left of you, you gave it all away and what did that get you in return.

You were so crazy stupid, it was insane. You actually apologized when Jimin cheated on you. You forgave him multiple times. You starved yourself, you loathed yourself, you killed the young girl just wanting honest love and respect inside of you. And you cried until your eyes broke and you’re crying now.

You’re crying for the girl who once stood in that mirror, pinching every ounce of her skin till it bruised. Scourging herself for never being good enough. You’re crying for your lost dignity, handing it to someone with clumsy hands you thought were loyal. You’re crying at how you lost who you were, not only in the longest seven years of your life, but ever since you were born. You’re crying because that’s all you ever did for you.

How different life would have been if your mother had taught you how to love yourself? If her mother had taught her how to love herself? If the men in your lives didn’t continue to ravage you of all you could offer. It felt like some sort of curse.

Which is why you fell to the floor to let it all out. The tremendous pain and grief that built over the years, the horrible conditions of your body and mind. Every single pore had to leak, only then you would truly be free.

You’re crying because you wasted your life away. You’re crying because you treated yourself this way, when you didn’t deserve anything but love, trust, and honesty.

You’re crying because you learned too late of what – who you should have loved.

You were crying because your book wasn't written by you, but by somehow who couldn’t care less about you.

You are crying because of what is and what isn’t.

And trust me when I say, you’re crying for the last time.  

_

You woke up today and the ache was still there, that mind numbing helpless feeling of isolation.  

But instead of that horrible drilling pain to the brain, it was a small tremor in the back of your head. And for the most part, you could ignore it. Sauntering down the hall with your many files, you stop in front of the large wooden door and stare at the name plaque. The morning air felt fresh. Maybe that was why you took so many deep breaths. And another one, before knocking on the door.

“Come in.” You hear an easy-going voice and you open the heavy door carefully.

“Ah! ___, I was just about to call you! Great job at that meeting by the way, you really wowed the investors.”

Your boss sat relaxed at the front of the vast room, in the middle of her bulky brown desk like some sort of royal.

“Thank you.” You smile, stepping into her large office. The air was cooler in here and a shiver ran down your spine at the sudden chill that intruded your light purple blouse. Your skin erupted in small goosebumps, both from the temperature and the sights of your grinning boss.

Not that you didn’t want to see it, you were just so unsure of what to do when it would inevitably fade at the news you were about to share. It’s what you’ve been scarred of from your whole life, the thought of disappointing an authority figure. But seeing as how two-thirds of them disappointed you instead, you really could not care anymore at this point.

She watches you pace your way up to her desk, small inquisitiveness in her wide set eyes.

“Did you have something for me?” She asks, pointing to the files in your hand with her gaze.

“Oh, these-” You put down the big stack of gray folders in front of her, “This is just something you have to look over.”

“I see. And what about that?”

Your grip tightens around the envelope in your now empty hands. “T…This is…my resignation letter.”

Her stare shifts from the envelope to you, mouth parting to display her surprise.

“Resignation?”

Throughout your life you always thought your body was a strange one. The length of the reactions you felt had to be abnormal, you continuously believed it. Do others feel this cold when they are alone? Do others feel this upset at the sun for rising? Do they feel the deep ache of the tragic finale that was the last 7 years? You sure did. But you still got up, you still made it out of that wretched house that was too bare to bear, and you kept it moving. And to you, that’s what matters.

There was so much thinking you did last night, so many thoughts flew in and around your head. You wonder how others reflect back on their life. What regrets do they swallow, what makes them laugh the loudest? What parts do they cry the hardest and who do they miss?

You couldn’t tell, you’d only been you the past 7 years. It was useless to sonder. So you didn’t, instead you thought about who you were. On that cold floor of the house you cemented with your naïve heart, tears dried by the very air you hated, you thought about the past seven years.

And the past 4 months.

The rooftop, the club, the people in your life, the people not, the heart break, the longing. You had always been analytical, and it was safe to say you had found the answer you sought.

It was funny how the answer became so clear once you only thought about yourself, obscuring yourself from other’s needs for the very first time.  

“Yes.” You state undoubtedly, cold long forgotten. “I’m resigning.”

Another sigh as you leave the room. But this one was of relief. Although a bit upset at losing her best employee, she had taken the news surprisingly well. She even encouraged you when you told her what you were planning to do after this. Irene would be glad to hear that.

Although the pain was there, it didn’t have a hold on you anymore. You wouldn’t allow it to.

“There you are!” You hear, jumping in your spot as your palm was still on your boss’ door handle.

As you look up, a handsome young man with bunny-esque features jogs up to you. His left arm was behind his back, concealing something from your vision. All you could focus on was the strain it caused his muscles.

“I was looking for you,” He comes up close and you could hear his rapid breathing. His lavender scent gentle invades your space. You look at him curiously, watching the way his face falls as he realizes where you stood, “Hey, were you meeting the CEO? You’re not in trouble, are you?”

The fact that he seemed genuinely concerned made you laugh. “I’m not.”

He exhales a sigh of relief. “Thank God, didn’t want you getting fired for being in love with me.”

For the longest time you had been avoiding him. Ever since thinking of him in that way, you ran away from wherever you spotted him. Yet you had forgotten how easy-going he was. How effortlessly he made you laugh.

“Pfft, please.” You scrunch your nose, “You’re a goofball.”

He just stares at you, a wide smile present on his face. Tilting your head to the side, you squint at him.

“What’s the matter?”

“N-nothing, you just…seem different today…from last time I mean.”

“In a bad way?”  

“No!” He shouts flustered, “I-in g- a good way! You seem relaxed.”

You break out into a laugh. He really was the brightest employee. It was a shame you didn’t get to spend more time with him.  

“Thank you.” You say, as you watch him blush fondly. “I feel different. Relaxed, I guess.”

I’m no longer cold.

His gaze travels down, as if he had something he wanted to say. Your eyebrow quirks at him when you remember he still had his arm behind his back.

“What are you hiding?” You ask with a sneaky smirk.

He grins back at you, displaying his large teeth. Biting his bottom lip, he swings his arm out,  

“Tah-dah!”

There were suddenly a bundle of white roses in front of you, a gentle scent of freshness blew past you. You subconsciously took a long whiff, the pure layered petals creating a picture-esque image. Once your surprise passed, you were left doubtful.

A part of you had forgotten the bet.

“Roses?”

“Yup.” The man holding the bundle up to your face beamed

Scoffing, you place your hands on your hips. “Are you kidding? You expect me to believe you found roses around the building?

“But I did.” He pouts, and for a second you were ready to blindly believe him. Until you caught ahold of yourself. This lying brat!

“Where exactly did you find these beautifully healthy flowers, hmm? The backwall where even weeds don’t grow?”

“Yes, actually.” He states just as proudly, “I planted them.”

Your eyes widen at his words. “You did what?!”

He moves closer to you, you could feel his breath hitting you as his face was adjacent with yours. “I. Planted. Them.”

“T-that’s…Y-y-you ca-”

“Why not?” He asks with a mischievous glint in his eye, “The bet was to find flowers on the property, it doesn’t matter where they came from. And like you said, there’s some gorgeous land on the backwall.”

Your jaw drops slightly at his reasonings. You wanted to continue arguing but instead you just stood there watching him giggle in the most adorable way.

“You wanted pretty flowers, I got you pretty flowers.” He winks, handing you the roses. “Think of it as a one-month anniversary gift.”

Oh, right. He still thought you were new here.

His naivety makes you burst into laughter, the first genuinely happy expression you’ve made in months. It was mystery at first, but now you knew now why you liked him so much. The youthful nature, the sincerity he displayed was alluring. You didn’t have to be any front you had put up in the past in front of him, instead you were just another person. Someone normal for once.

“Thank you Jungkook.” You laugh as he proudly holds up his nose. Just as your eyes twinkle upon him, you recall upon something suddenly. Reaching into your pocket, you pull out a small piece of paper, your number scribbled on it long ago. Honestly, you couldn’t help but like him.

“Here. You earned it.”

He looks at your hand extending the paper, as your other holds the roses close to your heart. His heart beat quickens at the sight, you were so graceful and effortlessly beautiful, he wanted to know you more and more. Jungkook knew when he first saw you, the traces of a secret battle all across your face. Although he didn’t want to pry, he couldn’t help but let his heart be captured by the silent beauty that shone from you as natural as daylight.

“Thank you.” He mutters, his ears turning red.

While you look at him staring at your digits in awe, you found him to be an absolutely enchanting man. And you wanted him to know that, so you step up to him, softly connecting your lips with his cheek. You could feel him freeze under you, and it made you feel enthralled. It was nice, being in control for once.

“I’ll see you around, Jungkook.”

With that you sauntered down the hall, almost turning the corner before you hear his melodious tone stutter out to you. “T-this Saturday? It’s a date!”

Although surprised, you said nothing, just continuing to walk along the hallway. But you couldn’t help the grin that broke out on your face, thankfully obstructed from him, of course. You felt giddy all the way back to your office. Once you were there, you squealed in glee.

Through your small jumps and smiles, your phone rang, startling you. Already? You thought before checking the caller ID. In a flash your beam dropped, orbs beholding the name anxiously. How did he get your number? With a hasty sigh to calm you nerves, and an oddly guilty feeling, you decidedly answer the call.

“Hello…Yoongi?

Meanwhile, back at your boss’ hallway, a certain bunny boy hadn’t moved an inch. Argh, he felt so stupid. Why did he ask you out so fast? The plan was to first call you, maybe get to know you. But somehow, when you told him you’d see him around, it felt like a goodbye…the forever type. His gut told him he had to act quickly.

You didn’t even respond though…wow he felt dumb. Huffing, he rubs his face with his oversized hands. He didn’t blow it, did he? Should he call you tonight to make sure? Did you even want him to call? Well, obviously, you gave him your number!

As he was faced with a silent moral dilemma, he fails to register a young woman pacing up to him.

“Hello?”

He jumps with a small scream, which has the lady confused. She recognizes him though, he must’ve been one of the new recruits. Yes, the overly enthusiastic one.

“Umm, Mr. Jeon, right? You were just speaking to the supervisor, weren’t you? Can you give her this last gray file for me, please? I forgot to hand it to her.” With that the lady clacks away in a rush.

Jungkook stares at the file. She must have been talking about you. He smiles, thinking this gave him a valid reason to look for you again without seeming like a creep. This time, he’ll be more suave – more stress-free with his methods. This time, he’ll have his answer. The stretchy smile soon disappears, however, once the lady’s words fully register in his mind.

Did she just say supervisor?!

It was subtle really, blink once and you’d miss it.

Jimin softly shut the door behind him, looking into the dim living room he never quite got used to.

Did this place always feel so empty? He thought, staring at the walls with disinterest. He’s never had to be in here alone, he realizes. You were always here to warm the spaces between the loneliness.

But who was here to warm you?

It didn’t matter anymore – you didn’t matter anymore. You had changed, you weren’t the person Jimin agreed to marry. The you now weren’t someone he recognized. Time passes by too fast; he couldn’t keep up with it anymore. That’s why he wanted to end it with you as quickly as he could. Wasn’t it just yesterday he was confronted by you? Was it yesterday when he broke everything off?

He really couldn’t remember.

Oh, but his body sure did. His face grew thinner every day, arms losing the vitality his lithe limbs always presented. It was like his body realized you were leaving him and began a protest of its own. No one from college would recognize the Jimin he was now, the one who started to speak a little less. The one who stiffened his neck and sagged his shoulders. This wasn’t their Jimin.

As he stared off at the dining table, his mind recalls upon that rainy night. Where the distance between you started to grow like poisonous gas. It was the first time he felt the detachment from your side, since before you had always made yourself emotionally and physically available to him. Needless to say, he abhorred it, he hated what you had become. All without understanding the irony.

Jimin was someone who never understood his faults, too busy picking out the mistakes of others. Another thing he slighted in was confrontation, because he’s never been called out. Only when he looked in the mirror recently did he have the worst of days, lashing out at himself, at Tina at his friends and coworkers. Yes, he kept himself quite busy. Everyone was beginning to leave him, and he was getting desperate. Running his hands through his hair, he starts to trudge towards the bedroom. He was exhausted, shifting between work, leaving you and consoling Tina. His scandalous lover wanted to make a life with him, he just wanted to rest, maybe for a month or two. It’s alright though, he could just keep himself in her safety for a while before running off to whatever new toy he found next.  

Once he’s inside the bedroom, he freezes involuntarily. The sight of the familiar place had his heart yearning. It made him angry, that feeling of attachment he could possibly have connected to you. You were nothing to him and these days you were a headache to deal with. He gave seven years to you, you should’ve been grateful. Now he just missed the old you, the you who would follow him blindly. Jimin wasn’t made to be questioned.

So why did he feel like puking his guts out onto the floor? Why did it wound him to blink? Face it, the voice inside sneers at him. You love. Someone like her. You’re pathetic.

No, he doesn’t.

Yet he recalls upon another buried memoir. When he first started dating you, he slept with another girl in the same week. That’s what he did to all the girls he ‘dated,’ it turned him on to know people desired even if he was ‘taken.’ It was then as he held the other woman asleep in his arms, you texted him ‘goodnight’ and a bizarre feeling came over him. Guilt. He became so afraid, he ignored you for a week. Until he yearned to see you again. And why exactly should Jimin deny himself of anything he seeks? The same situation occurred a few more times, till it became a habit like alcohol. Although it may burn the next day, in that moment you enjoy the carnal pleasure for what it was. Pleasure.

He would never admit that other women never gave him the same sensation anymore, that you and the vanilla and wholesome sex meant everything to him at some point. Never, ever. Because he didn’t love you. The beating in his head couldn’t convince him otherwise.

In all honesty, he didn’t have an answer himself. Why did Jimin marry you? He didn’t love you…you just asked him about it once. Subtly hinting to marriage when asking him about what his thoughts on it were. Of course, you’d want commitment, every damn bitch wants commitment. And in that moment, he should have shut you down. Should have used his charms to make your place clear to you. Yet he didn’t have it in him to hurt you. Instead he proposed to you the next week, thinking that you’d vanish like the other girls when he made his intentions clear. But why? Why were you the only one different? It wasn’t like he loved you.

He didn’t.

Which is why it was easy for him break it off with you, wasn’t it? So easy, that he hadn’t slept or eaten in days.  

He was on the brink, his conscious just needed a little more push to take over.

Jimin wasn’t here for anything big today. Just searching for a custom J pendant he seemed to have lost a while back. Sadly, he didn’t know if it was you or not – he didn’t know where it was at all actually. Maybe he left it here, maybe he left it with another faceless girl he fucked senseless. As soon as he forces himself back to reality, he begins to look around. He was already late today, and you would be home soon…he didn’t want to run into you again.

Cluttering about, a bit staggered from his lack of forte, he steps up to the bedside drawer in one swift motion. He pulls open the drawer, running his fingers through all the items present inside. It was then that he stumbled upon a letter.

Marked with his name.

He couldn’t help but feel curious, drawn to your timid handwriting on the otherwise blank paper. Picking it up, he opens it to find hundreds of words scribbled together. Although the words were slightly messy, there were no mistakes he spotted, leading him to think you must have rewritten the letter a thousand times.

His breath was in his lungs, his feet glued to the floor. Something inside him wanted to put it back – leave it alone, his nauseous gut giving him another warning. But he began to read it anyway. Because why should Jimin be denied from anything he seeks?

Dear Jimin, the letter began and Jimin’s eyebrow twitched.

I’m not sure how to write this. I’ve rewrote it so many times already my wrist hurts. But I do want to tell you all of this, and as I am not the best at conversing my thoughts across, I would rather jot them all down. In hopes that my heart could reach you through them.

I’ve recently done a lot of stuff I never thought were possible for me. I made a friend, I learned a new interest, I took up therapy. There’s so much I want to talk about! But I’ll keep it short. Even through everything I did, I thought of you. Every corner I turned; ever route I took. Somehow, I felt you were on the other side, waiting for me.

No matter what anyone said, it didn’t mean anything to me. Just you, Jimin. And I realized, how much I need you. How I can’t lose you. I lost my mother Jimin, I lost her because I wasn’t perfect, and I know, to you I am not perfect.

But to me, you’re perfect Jimin. Which is why I don’t care what anyone says. I’m scared of coming home lost and cold, I’m scared of losing my home, which is you. I know I haven’t been great to you these past few days and the truth is I was hurt. I was alone and scared, but I should have known...I should have remembered who you are to me.

These past few years I am beyond grateful for. Thank you for spending your days growing old with me. I remember all the little stuff. Like that time, we went to the theater and you ordered too much popcorn and the aftertaste of the butter lasted in your mouth for a week. You always said me kissing you made the taste a bit more bearable. Or what about that time I got malaria and you stayed up for three days with me in the hospital? I have never seen you so scared.

That’s our love, Jimin. Those days mean so much to me, I wish you would remember them.

No person can get between us, Jimin. I won’t allow them. I want to apologize to you; I want to take everything I said back. I’ll be better, Jimin. I’ll remind you why you wanted to marry me.  

I’ll be perfect, Jimin.

So, please. Come home to me...darling.

Sincerely, your loving wife.

The door slammed open and shut, breaking him out of his concentration. Jimin was too immersed, he didn’t even notice how much time had passed. All he did know were of the tears that lingered his sockets. With an aching inhale, he practically ran out of the living room to catch you by the entrance. It was like magic then, you were a sight to behold. A most beautiful fairy.

You were in the middle of removing your heels before you noticed Jimin’s presence. It made you halt in your tracks, your hand still carrying your small pumps. He holds you inside his gaze with such intensity, it makes you gulp. What was he doing here? Had he always looked this sick?

…Was he crying?  

In moments he was upon you, his strong arms molding around your limbs as he exhales into your neck. You were as stiff as a board, confusion and angst swirling your mind.  

“J…Jimin, wha-”

“I love you, ___.”

…

What?

“I love you, I love you ___.” He repeats, moving off you to stare into your eyes. His orbs were bright, glazed but sparkly. All you could do was gape at him.

And in the midst of your shook state, you peak at the letter clasped in his hand.

He follows your gaze, holding up the paper to you.  

“Let me explain.” Jimin pleads, seeming sincere for the first time in…forever. “T-that night, our anniversary night, I wanted to come home to you. I really did. But Tina got into my head with and she...she manipulated me. Into thinking I don’t love my own wife! I was so confused, so instead I decided to listen to my carnal desires once again, push you out of my mind the only way I knew how.”

You were still trying to process everything. Why was he here again? “Wha...what?”

He looks sad just then, beyond exhausted like he was on the brink.

“I love you…___. Everyone’s leaving me these days, but you. You were always there for me.”

“…Jimin…”

“___, I…I have been in a lot of pain since I left. I couldn’t sleep, I couldn’t eat. I missed you so much. I never wanted to admit it, I always ran from it. And you were just…always so understanding…that I never looked back at my actions. Never thought what I was doing might hurt you. I’m so sorry.”

It hit you like a truck. Jimin apologized. This was the Jimin you saw that day after Mina. The vulnerable, broken boy.

“You’ve been coming on so strong…I couldn’t handle it. I thought I finally got the chance to break it off with you and be free…but I was wrong. I was wrong. I love you, ___. I don’t know since when but maybe I always had. And being away from you helped me understand that, the agony I felt. The yearning…I never want to leave home again. Your letter helped me understand! You make me a better person, ___.”

Jimin smiles, “So I’ll stay. I’m home ___. Thank you for bringing me home.”

Once again, he wraps you in his hug, ready to end the night with you in his arms. He finally feels free after so long, the spikes slowly removing themselves off his body. You were his energy, he realizes, you would help him get back on his feet. Finally, everything will be okay again, finally he can have you within his pincers once more. How he’s missed the delicious taste of eating you alive.

But as happy as he feels…he couldn’t help notice you weren’t responding.

Slowly, he unwinds from you, muddled. He takes a look at you, you who didn’t make any face. You who weren’t reacting to him the way he always knew you would.

Instead, you just glared.

It was his turn to be flustered, his turn to take a step back and process everything.

“___?”

“I…don’t love you, Jimin.”

Silence. As if you just dropped a bomb. His eyes widen, before squinting at you.

“W-what? Since when?” He almost sounds offended

“Since just now.”

“…What are you saying, ___.” He scoffs, taking your hand in his. You weren’t wearing your ring…again. “You love me.”

“I don’t.” You say more firmly, removing your hand from his. Jimin just stares at his now empty palm in surprise. “I don’t love you Jimin, and I’m not sorry about it.”

When he doesn’t retort, you sigh. “Jimin, did you know…a few days ago…I heard my secretary on the phone…she was talking to her boyfriend.” Looking down at how close your bodies were, you take a step away from him as courtesy, but you fail to regard the way his face grimaced at your distance. “He told her ‘I love you’ and do you know what she said?”

You look back up at him, and Jimin wonders if you were truly asking him for a second. “She told him ‘I know,’ just like that. Almost like she took it for granted, you know. But I didn’t think of it like that…instead I was jealous of her. Because in her mind, she doesn’t have any doubts that her boyfriend loves her. Which is why she’s able to respond so casually like that…he gives her so much love, that she never has to second guess her answer.”

Giving him a moment to register everything you said, you pause for a bit and smile.

“And Jimin…I have never felt that way with you.”

He winces.

“I have always doubted myself, second guessed your love and honesty. I always thought ‘there’s no way he could love me’ and there was nothing you did to convince me otherwise. But do you know Jimin? Do you know how many times you’ve said, ‘I know’ when I told you how much I love you?”

“_...” His voice dies

“That’s what I want, Jimin. I realize, it’s what I always wanted. That unconditional, blatant love. That’s what I deserve. I went through so much…yet I held onto you still. No matter what anyone said. And if anyone was looking at me right now, into my life, they would think I was crazy. But it was just that I couldn’t let you go. I couldn’t do it, I don’t know why. I just couldn’t…”

There was a glimmer of hope in his dark pupils.

“Even in that letter…I held back so much because I was afraid of surprising you. I could never be honest with myself. So that’s why…thank you for letting me go. For leaving me. Do you know how much I accomplished when you left me, how much I couldn’t accomplish in years? I had an actual orgasm, I left my job, I’m going to start a restaurant with my best friend, Jimin, I gave a guy my number.” His face went through many changes; anger, shock, hurt. But you continued on anyway. “All of that, just because you weren’t around poisoning me. Leaving me was the best thing you did for me, Jimin.”

He begins to tear down, tears fall in his eyes and he looks away. His jaw was clenches and his nostrils flared, telling you he was upset. But you didn’t feel satisfied, you didn’t feel happy that he was as hurt as you had been. You felt nothing for him. Maybe except pity.

Carefully, you step closer to him. Taking his face in your palm.  

“And I hope, Jimin, that leaving me helps you as well. That you stop chasing after meaningless convictions and you find whatever it is that can keep you grounded. You’ve hurt a lot of people Jimin, and for that you will suffer a lot as well. Me, all the girls and people you threw away after using. We never could help each other together, but we can help each other apart. It’s going to stab for a while, and you’ll feel as cold for a very long time. But then, I’ll pray for you to learn Jimin. I’ll try.”

And that was that, the ache lingering in your heart, was pushed all the way down to your stomach. It was still there, but not bothering you as much. Not controlling your destiny any longer. In your senses a melody played in the background; a constricted melancholic piano melody dedicated to love, to the happiness and woes.

This man you stared at, the man you once loved for seven whole years, who was he now? He couldn’t be blamed for everything, you had given him chances to hurt you again and again after all. More importantly, who were you? Definitely not the same woman you’d been when you first found out about Jessica. Not Mina. Not even the new one. You were changing, always evolving and you were proud of that.

You really were so thankful that Jimin had decided not to come home that night. That he continuously left you alone, to stand on your own. Because now your legs felt stronger than ever. There were a lot of people you were thankful for, a lot left to confront but this was your story. So good job you. Your love was first and foremost for yourself. Of course, you’ll continue therapy, you’ll work hard to open a new restaurant, you’ll try to give yourself the happiness you always deserved. Not every day would be great, some days you were going to struggle and there would be a lot of tears. But they’ll be your tears, your struggles, your joy, they won’t be based off of some other person’s mood.

This was only the end of Jimin’s chapter. Your real story will begin from today.

You were never going to convince yourself otherwise. Were never going to push down your feelings and act like they didn’t exist. That was the least Jimin had taught you.

It really was nice outside that rotten cocoon.

He was quiet for the first time in ages, and you honestly preferred silence from him. There were a lot of stupid things he said once he opened his mouth. Why should he become a better person from your pain? What kind of creator allows that?

After a moment of staring at his lost soul, you take a deep breath, exhaling softly. You couldn’t stay here too long, Yoongi had called you, getting your number off someone named Joy, asking you to come over to Cypher Road. He wanted to apologize for that night, as well as meet someone. If Jimin needed help, he should go search for it like an adult.

“Ok, umm…finish up whatever you were up to…I have to head out.” You say, turning around. Jimin doesn’t respond, but you couldn’t care less how he feels right now. “And I signed the divorce papers, they are on your shelf in the closet. Tell me when they are finalized, I’ll be free all week.”

You turn the door handle, pulling the door open halfway before remembering something and spinning back to him.  

“Not… Saturday though. I have a date.”

[greekbros]

"greek-Bros: When in Rome, wait wut?; The Reboot Nobody Fucking Asked For"

*after two incidences with his sons, Zeus has recruited Hades and Poseidon to investigate why the living hell was so distracting about Rome*

Zeus: *poorly disguised as a shepard* Well, it is a mighty fine city indeed. It's almost comparable to Athens. Don't you think so?

Poseidon: *also poorly disguised as the world's most muscular fisherman* It is dear brother! Why even our statues here are incredibly beautiful!

Hades: *who's cleverly disgusted as an old lady* hmf.

Poseidon: What's the matter Hades? Disgruntled that you don't have a shrine dedicated to you?

Hades: No quite frankly I actually don't care about shrines or temples in my honor. *Looks around and sees the same issues that the Bois saw* .....why do the mortals here call me Pluto?

Zeus and Poseidon: *both laugh at that*

Hades: Hahaha, laugh all you want.

Centurion: YOU TWO! How DARE you laugh at that poor, ugly old crone! You're under arrest for harassing the elderly!

Hades: *grins*

Zeus: *having absolutly none of this BS* .......

Poseidon: Ugh but sir we-

Centurion: *takes out cuffs and chains, FuCkInG puts them on Zeus and Poseidon* You're coming downtown! *Drags the both of them*

Zeus: *glares into space completely understanding why his sons tried to destroy Rome*

Poseidon: But sir! You can't just thrown people in jail for laughing!

Centurion: *in a completely casual tone* I deeply sorry sir but as of late there has been a zero tolerance policy throughout the city, orders say we MUST make an immediate arrest and put you through the identification process.

Hades: *still as an old crone clicks heels and walks away to sight see*

*later*

Mortus: *looming in the dark corner of the interrogation room, walks slowly to the table and slams his fist*.....where were you on the day of the Coliseum's destruction... And if you weren't there where were you on the day of its reopening?

An innocent bean farmer: *shaking in fear* ugh....in my field sir?

Mortus: *glares at the farmer*

A Centurion: *walks in the room* Sir! We have more prisoners! I think you maybe interested in these two.

Mortus: *slowly turns around* ......if this is another dead end.... you're joining the rest of the scum at the crucifixion field.

A Centurion: *gulps* ....y-yes sir.

Mortus: Bring them in...oh and release this one.

Bean Farmer: *just fucking bolts out of the room*

Mortus: .....

Centurion: *brings in Zeus, whom already looks a little claustrophobic in the already small room* There's a second one outside.

*outside*

Poseidon: *apparently has attracted the attention of many young beautiful women* Fear not Roman citizens! For I Po-*thinks of a name*...uhm...Paul.... understands your infatuation, but alas I am happily married, BUT let that not stop you from admiring my very being! *Tries to flex while handcuffed*

The small crowd of women: *swooned*

A Centurion: oh shut up.

*inside*

Mortus: *actually a little intimidated by Zeus and his stone cold resting death face*....Well now....you rather large for a shepard. Retired I suppose?

Zeus: ....no.

Mortus: Than what is your occupation?

Zeus: ......I do not think you have the jurisdiction to ask me.

Mortus: *getting angry* Where were you when the Coliseum was being destroyed!?

Zeus: .... Probably with your mother, who I would be certain would be very ashamed that her son has decided to harass the elderly.

Mortus: *steaming mad* YOU WILL ANSWER THE QUESTION!

Zeus: I want to speak with my lawyer.

Mortus: WHAT?!?

A Centurion: Um sir, we have a Mr-*looks at a crudly written card* Plutonium? He's a law maker and legally represents the detainee.

Mortus: *feeling a cold sweat as if the devil has entered the building, looks at Zeus*

Zeus: *smiling*

Mortus: ....bring him in.

Hades: *now looks more like a mortal version of himself but now carries a satchel* Good evening my name is Cryus Plutonium and I have heard my client and his brother have been unlawfully detained. *Places a scroll on the table* Sir if I may infer, I've been working several weeks in the law office and I have found no evidence of this new "Zero tolerance policy". So I do believe you have no legal right to detain and must release him-

Poseidon: *from outside* AND ME!

Hades: -and his brother.

Mortus: *stares in disbelief* ....what.

Hades: *slowly walks to Zeus and unbinds him*

Zeus: thank you.

Hades: Now. Let us l-*feels a sword near his next* ......

Mortus: *has just about snapped* .....I've been after you and your mutant kin for a whole year and three months.....you owe not just me....but you owe the empire....an explanation.

Hades: ............

Zeus: ...........*lifts a finger, shocks him and tases Mortus, knocking him cold* ................you know something.......I think I finally understand why the children hate this place.

Hades: *shakes his head, as the two leave they see poseidon just flexing for a small crowd while the Centurion who was gaurding him is tied to a support beam*

A Centurion: Please help me.

Zeus: *points and sarcastically smiles* No. *Walks to Poseidon and drags him* It's time to go.

Poseidon: Awww....but I was just getting the crowd warmed up!

Hades: Let's just say they'll be warmed up with a few weeks of heavy thunderstorms.

Poseidon: .....can there be earthqu-

Zeus: You may bury the lot.

Poseidon: *smiles* Huzzah!

Hades: Or....we can be a little less intrusive.

Zeus: Fine, I shall ask Odin if he wants to help.

Hades: Yes my thoughts exactly.

Zeus: *still angry until he sees Octavia and little Caius and suddenly feels a little odd*......Hades.

Hades: yes

Zeus: I understand you don't have children...but what are the chances that one of my sons may have left something behind.

Hades: *trying to understand what Zeus meant until he saw Caius* Hmm....oh come now you're not going to take the child away from. His mother....or..... fornicate with her.....are you?

Zeus: .....oh damn it all....we can't destroy this city........

Poseidon: *in a singsong tone* I can! *Suddenly a little rumble starts until Zeus bonks him on the head* ~°

Zeus: No....the city of Rome...if officially protected.

Hades: ........all this because there's a bastard grandson around here isn't it?

Zeus: Silence Hades. Look at him, not a care in the world. Enjoying his moments with his dear mother talking to Hera a-WHAT THE?!?!

Hades: Wait Hera is here??

Poseidon: *rubbing his head* Hey look! It's Amphitrite too!

Hera: *talking to Octavia* Oh yes, married life is great but have you ever considered divorce?

Octavia: Oh heavens no, even though my husband has been rather distent. I'm positive he isn't in an adulterous relationship. That's punishable but crucifixion here.

Amphitrite: Well yes darling, for the WOMEN, men here get away with it scot-free.

Octavia: Oh heavens no.

Caius: *squirming a little*

Octavia: aww what the matter deary.

Hera: *knotices that Caius has few enough features of Zeus to be related but not directly enough to be his son* Aw what an adorable little baby boy. Who's the father?

Octavia: oh I'm happily married to General Mortus Biccus.

Hera: hmm....

Zeus: Oh there you are my beautiful, wonderful and not here to make sure I'm cheating on her wife! *Grits teeth* what are you doing here?!

Hera: ....I was wondering the same thing. I'm here shopping for some exotic fruits.

Amphitrite: *shows her basket of bananas*

Zeus: Oh.

Poseidon: *enthralled by the bananas* ohhhh.....

Hades: Well....I guess we can all go home then.

Octavia: Oh my! This must be your husband. You must be very lucky to have married such a big strong man.

Hera: *unamused* I am so blessed.

Zeus: *puts his arm around her* not as blessed as I am to be married to her.

Octavia: aww.

Caius: *kinda happy sensing he's found grandma and grandpa* c:

Zeus: *now getting a closer look, the baby literally looks like a spitting image of Hermes* oh my.

Mortus: THERE YOU ARE! *huffing and puffing from running* You are all under arrest!

Octavia: Oh Mortus, don't be so rude to these fine people they have done nothing wrong.

Mortus: This man shot LIGHTNING out of his finger! And that one *points to Hades* is...well he's just scary and THAT one is just annoying! *points to Poseidon*

Poseidon and Amphitrite: *sharing a banana and suddenly stop* hmf?

Mortus: These men are connected to the destruction of the coliseum last year and the disappearance of Gaius!

Zeus: ....Oh! You mean my sons? Oh yes they're actually harmless. You see, they're traveling magicians and they perform fantastic illusions!

Mortus: NO! FUCK YPU OLD MAN! I know what the people saw! Clearly something is going on! ...my suspensions are...that you...and your cohorts.....are demons!

Octavia: Mortus!

Caius: :c

Zeus: ....oh that's rather rude.

Hera: Now hang on a minute. Let's prove our innocence.

Zeus: Hera what are you doing?

Hera: .....you know, the gods are technically innocent....and exempt from being accused of any crime.

Mortus: *tempted to mention Emperor Caligula and his recent campaign against Poseidon but decided not to*

Hera: ...so...if we were gods...we would be innocent.

Octavia: Hmm...she does have a point.

Mortus: What are you getting at?

Zeus: *deep sigh* Fine...I lied.....me...my lovely wife and my brothers....are all gods......I'm actually Zeus, she's Hera and so on and so forth. My sons are were Apollo, Hermes and Dionysus....you see....it's likely their fault for losing their tempers, I apologize for that too. And I apologize for shocking you but you did threaten to crucify me.

Mortus: ..........*starts laughing hysterically and has officially lost his mind*

Octavia: Oh dear. Let's go honey, I must apologize for my husband's behavior. He's been working day and night. Oh sweetheart let's go.

Caius: byebye c: *waves*

Mortus: *while laughing like a mad man* HAHAHAH wait! I HAVE to know this but IS Caius here yours?!? HAHAHAHA I mean, I don't have BALLS! HAHAHAHAHAHA *gets dragged back home*

Zeus: ......you didn't help with that last portion did you?

Hera: No. I figured a man who looked as pathetic and desperate like that probably was already at his wit's end.... Speaking of which is that child yours?

Zeus: hmm....

*back at Olypmus*

Zeus: *pulls the ears of Hermes and Dionysus*

Hera: *helping with the situation and pulls Apollo's and Ares's ear*

Zeus: You boys are forbidden from returning to Rome. And as for you Hermes....it's one thing frolicking with farm maidens with incompetent husbands....but a war general with no testicles?....shame on you.

Hermes: *knows what he's talking about*.....worth it. *Feeling his ear getting pulled* ow~°