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sabraeal · 5 years

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We Seek That Which We Shall Not Find, Chapter 6

Chapter 1 | Chapter 2 | Chapter 3 | Chapter 4 | Chapter 5

Written for Trope Madness’s betting kitty winner, @ruleofexception! It’s been....over six months, but here is this HUGE BEAST of a chapter. I know I said I thought this would be the last Laxdo chapter, BUT...there’s gonna be at least one more!

There hadn’t been much in the way of entertainment, back in the country. At least, not the way Shirayuki’s constantly bombarded with it here, videos up on billboards and scrolling across phones on the subway. The B&B had a limping internet connection, and with the only television in the common room, she’d spent more time inside a book or outside the house than struggling to find a channel the other boarders would agree to.

So when Zen asked her to join D&D, when Kiki had teased her for not even knowing what she’d said yes to --

Well, she’d done her research. Not just the kind Izana gave her, reading source books and studying lore, but watching videos, listening to podcasts, finding the D&D episodes of popular shows -- anything that would give her something to expect. Nothing could have rivaled her disappointment or her relief when she realized costumes were optional; she hadn’t known how she would cobble together historically accurate, fourth century Welsh gown when even the SCA shrugged their shoulders at the idea, but, well...it was exactly the sort of challenge she would have risen to, if she had the excuse.

Still, she’d thought she had an idea of what to expect: roleplay, quick thinking, rich story, complicated feelings, improv, maybe even some funny voices, but --

Nothing had prepared her for the amount of planning.

“So that’s it?”

Shirayuki startles; she’d been deep into splitting healing duties with Mitsuhide. Paladins are only half spell casters, only good for buffs and an occasional off-heal, so all the curse removal duties fall to Lynet. Bedwyr is more or less moral support; unless the curse itself had some sort of permanent stat drain, there’s nothing he can do.

Zen isn’t invested in this conversation, of course; magi don’t have magic that can’t be applied to themselves or their weapon. Which is why he’s craning his neck toward Izana, incredulous. “We just cast a whole bunch of Remove Curse and then hit the road?”

Shirayuki isn’t an expert on Izana’s expressions, not when the difference between them is the angle of an eyebrow or the twitch of a lip, but she feels confident in calling this one positively withering. “Is that what you think you should do?”

The temperature of the room drops two degrees. That’s a question where everyone knows the answer.

“We still don’t know who started this,” Mitsuhide tries, haltingly, thick fingers worrying at the edge of his character sheet. From the dog-eared corners on every side, this isn’t a first-time occurrence. “It’s not a good habit to leave enemies behind us.”

“Not a healthy one, at least,” Kiki adds, leaning her knee against the table.

“But we don’t have any hints either.” Zen’s flushed, frustrated. “Do you guys just want to hang around here, waiting for him to come back? If he comes back?”

“Or her.” Kiki’s brow twitches, and Shirayuki’s not sure whether to read it as amusement or annoyance. Maybe both is the better bet. “Then again, you haven’t tried to woo any rescued damsels this session, so probably not a dread sorceress. Unless there’s something Shirayuki isn’t telling us.”

Kiki turns to her with an inquisitive look, and even though she knows she’s joking, even though she sees the quirk at the corner of her lips, Shirayuki’s cheeks flare fire-engine red.

“Hey!” Zen snaps, not looking much better. “Shirayuki--”

“Well.” Obi’s mouth cants, eyes catching hers from their corners. “I know Beaumains is under her spell.”

She can feel it, this moment of opportunity being flung open like a window, and -- and his wink is not helping matters. Not at all. Especially not when Kihal’s flirt back or make out with his face is burning a hole in her pocket, reminding her of what she was trying to do before plot carried her away. It’s just --

She can’t say something now. This isn’t Lynet and Beaumains, this is -- is them, Shirayuki and Obi, and that might mean something, and she doesn’t -- she isn’t --

Well, there’s just a huge difference between a flirtation and a boyfriend, probably. And she hardly knows if she wants the first, let alone -- that. Not with some college boy she’s known a week. He might play trumpet, for all she knows.

The moment stretches on, too long, and Kiki hums, amused. “I suppose that is some damning evidence.”

“Okay.” Zen’s folded himself into a huff, fuming so hard it’s an honest surprise smoke isn’t pouring out his ears. “So you all think we should just...hang around? Hope for some Big Bad to come wandering back to check his work?”

“Well.” The word bursts out of her, unbidden, but -- she’s committed now, with everyone watching her. “We do have, um, another reason.”

He blinks, some of his flush fading back to pink. “Oh?”

“I, uh, only prepared one Removed Curse at our last rest.” Her hands twist themselves in knots under the table, anxious. “But I can fix that at our next one! If this works like it should, then I should be able to get everyone on their feet in...a few days, maybe?”

Zen lets loose a whine that would make a puppy worry. “A few days.”

“Um, well...” Shirayuki squirms in her seat. “Give or take.”

Kiki’s eyes narrow. “Just how many spell slots do you have?”

“Um...” She flips through her sheet, squinting at the chart on the second page. “Three?”

Mitsuhide lets out a worried hum, too high-pitched for a man his size. “How many people are under this spell again?”

The question sits heavily at the table until Izana leans back, the picture of surprise, and asks, “Oh, are you asking me?”

Zen stares. “Is there someone else who would know?”

“It could have been rhetorical. A nice little thought exercise.” He shrugs, and Shirayuki does not miss the way his mouth twitches at a corner. “But the answer is: as many as it takes to make a castle of this size function.”

Zen groans.

“Oh, looks like we better get comfy, my liege,” Obi says with a wolfish grin. “We’re gonna be here a while.”

This night is your longest yet; you had thought the first interminable, when all the miasma of illness hung thick over the room, choking you even behind yours mask. Despair had clung to every wrinkle in your gown, tight like a child’s hand on a mother’s apron, always niggling, reminding you that time would run out, that perhaps no amount of your cleverness could save them.

But hope is worse.

There is no reason to pick the man you do -- or rather, the lack of one becomes it. With only a single brew, Bedwyr suggests that you spend it on the castle’s healer, but--

But this magic is familiar somehow. It slicks along your skin like a drop of oil in water, and though you cannot divine its maker, you do not trust it to act as it ought. Curse though it may be, there is a part of you that worries any cure that you brew will only add to your troubles.

You worry over that same thought for endless hours, trying to get to the marrow of it, to logic out why dread settles so firmly in your gut. There has never been an instance, not one, where your gifts have failed you, where the joy of victory has turned to ashes in your mouth. Except for the one, of course.

Despite your misgivings, the man wakes at dawn.

It is not a calm thing, oh no; he heaves into life, breath filling his chest so forcefully it arches him upright. He clutches at his breast, wide-eyed, but besides the atrophy expected of long illness and the shock of waking, he is healthy. So healthy he empties the first bowl of broth you give him, and the second, and when you bring the third he inquires after a heel of bread as well.

“Well, this certainly stands as a testament to your skill,” Arturius remarks, bemused, as the man sops up his bowl. You are tired, and for a moment you are tempted to ask if he had doubted it, but -- it would be picking a fight, and it is not the prince’s fault that his particular skills meant he slept, rather than wait.

“I brewed more last night,” you tell him. “Enough dose for three.”

“Our priority is the healer, of course.” He bites his lip, head tipped back in thought. “But the others...”

For the first time in hours, you feel your mouth lift into a smile. “I did have a thought about that...”

Izana blinks. “The dwarf?”

“He’s cursed, isn’t he?” She must be the only one that remembers; despite happening only hours ago, the rest of the party stares blankly at her. “Worse than anyone else, if I’m remembering right.”

“Oh,” Obi hums, thoughtful. “Yeah, I think I remember that. He’s human.”

“Oh, right.” Zen scoops up the dwarf’s figure, squinting hard at its shapeless features. “I thought he was going to be the Big Bad’s sidekick, honestly.”

“Mm, agreed.” Kiki leans over, giving the plastic the same skeptical look. “I was waiting for the backstab.”

“Such little faith in your fellow man,” Izana clucks, shaking his head.

She arches a brow, eloquent in her disdain. “It is your game.”

His mouth stretches, curling into a smile Shirayuki’s only ever seen on the Grinch. “That is fair.”

“Still.” The word drags Izana’s attention back to her, his eyes almost comically wide. “I want to give our friend at least one of these. After all, he’s been helping us this whole time.”

“Has he though?” Obi mutters, and without even thinking, Shirayuki puts an elbow straight in his side.

Every hair stands on end as she realizes what she’s done. She’s -- she’s practically scolded him, the boy she maybe-kind of-might want to flirt with. Or his character, at least. For, you know, fun.

When she dares a glance at him, his eyes have rounded, eyebrows practically up at his hairline, but -- but --

He almost looks impressed.

“Huh,” Izana huffs out, drawing her attention back to the topic at hand. “Do you now.”

It’s not a question, but she hasn’t gotten this far by letting him practice his rhetoric. “I do.”

He hums, tapping at his notes. “Well, I suppose you could...try.”

“Me?” The dwarf shifts on his spindly legs, wringing his thick-fingered hands over his belly. “But -- but there are others. Other who would be of much more use than me!”

“We have more than enough for your healer,” you assure him, though you have to grit your teeth as he dances.

There’s something strange, off-kilter about the way he moves, about the way his face changes, as if your mind is trying to make him into two different people entirely -- one which is familiar, and one which is entirely not. It is tiring to say the least.

You meet his eyes, those warm hazel-green, and say, “You have helped us immeasurably. Who else could be more important than you?”

“The head of the guard?” he supplies with a squeak. “The steward. The -- the cook? Anyone, my lady, would be more helpful that me.”

You lower yourself to a chair, coming to his height. “No one is more important here than the man who knows how this all came to be.”

His gaze is watery when he tears it from yours. “No, no,” he insists, voice ragged. “Spend it on the others. All of them are more deserving than me.”

"Welp.” Obi pops the ‘p’, annoyed, and it draws attention to his mouth, to the way it fits around the words he speaks and -- well, Shirayuki really didn’t need help with that. “We’re doing real good, solving this mystery.”

It’s been three in-game days, and with every awoken man, more questions are asked than answered. So far none of them can remember being cursed, and when they bring the dwarf in front of them --

Well, Shirayuki knows this is all pretend, that the dwarf is really just Izana bending his voice into something new, but the way his expression crumples as every soldier calls him a stranger -- it’s a lot.

“What is even happening here?” Zen groans, fingers pulling at his face. “The dwarf knows something, but he won’t tell us.”

“He can’t tell us.” It comes out a little sharper than she intends, but -- it’s an important distinction. “He’s cursed.”

“Right,” he agrees absently. “But also he won’t let us help him, so it’s pretty much the same thing.”

Her hands clench on her lap. “It’s really n--”

“Can’t you just cast it on him anyway?” Obi asks, chin in hand, drumming his fingers on the table. “Then bingo-bango-bongo: the whole problem is solved.”

Her jaw drops. “I’m not going to treat a patient without his consent!”

Obi rounds on her, eyes incredulously wide. “He’s not real.”

That...is a good point, she’ll give him that.

“Well, he’s real to Lynet,” she informs him primly, setting her hands flat on the table. “And she would never.”

For a moment is mouth goes flat, annoyed, but then -- then it curls, Obi leaning casual on one fist. “I’m sure Beaumains could be persuasive.”

Her mouth wraps around the word, silent. The look he gives her is too knowing, eyebrows lifted in invitation, and she’s so, so tempted to ask just what kind of persuasion Beaumains might be inspired to do--

“Even if Shirayuki cast it, he could still resist it with a Will save,” Mitsuhide interjects, sending the moment skittering. “If he wanted to, at least. And then we’d be out of a spell slot.”

“If we’re stuck here, we should be focusing on the Big Bad anyway.” Zen settles back in his chair, running a hand through his hair and leaving it adorably askew, like he’d just woken up. “Someone has to have said something interesting, right? And we’re not just thinking about it.”

Mitsuhide leans a chin in his hand, pondering the idea. “The head of the guard mentioned that a traveling caravan came through before this all happened.”

Kiki nods. “And the steward mentioned buying wood from traveling merchants. Probably the ones who supplied the logs with the Will debuff.”

Zen settles back, thoughtful. “So you think they were force to sell the wood?”

“They must have some leverage on them,” Mitsuhide agrees. “They didn’t mention any children--”

“Or maybe,” Kiki deadpans, “they were all bandits?”

Mitsuhide gapes. “But there were women in the caravan.”

“Oh my,” she hums, teeth flashing behind her lips. “You’re right. How silly of me. We all know a woman could never be dangerous, oh no.”

“T-that’s not what I meant!”

“Oh?” Kiki smiles, and the room drops an entire degree. Shirayuki practically shivers in the chill. “It better not be.”

Shirayuki blinks, and between one moment as the next, Kiki stabs her pen into the table, leaving it quivering like a knife.

Izana huffs in annoyance. “Kiki, please. The table didn’t do anything to you.”

“It’s just between the leaves.” She shift her character sheets, and there it is: pen nib wedged perfectly into the crevice. With nothing more than a sharp tug, it’s back out again, twirling between Kiki’s long fingers. “Besides, it’s not like this is some family heirloom.”

“No,” Izana agrees, “but it’s the principle of the thing.”

“Okay, aside from Princess Kiki’s love for violence, which, by the way--” Obi tosses her a wink, which absolutely does not send a jolt of disappointment spear through Shirayuki’s belly-- “hot. It looks like our only lead are these bandits.”

Mitsuhide grunts. “We don’t know if they’re bandits.”

“Fine, Schrödinger’s bandits,” he sighs. “We don’t--what?”

The table is quiet, wide-eyed -- even Izana -- and into the silence, Zen says, “You know Schrödinger?”

Obi huffs. “What? I go to college. I know memes.”

“Wow,” Kiki manages, drawling every letter.

“Anyway.” Zen wields the word like a knife, trying to cut through the distractions. “We should track down these bandits--”

Mitsuhide clears his throat.

“Potential bandits,” Zen amends, annoyed. “So while Shirayuki is tending to the people here, we can start canvassing the area.”

“Oh!” It slips out of her, like a punch to the gut. If she’s back at the castle, and Beaumains is out looking for bandits --

She shakes her head. That’s not what this game is about. It’s about saving her sister and having fun with her friends, not -- not practice flirting.

Unfortunately, it’s too late to take it back. Every eye at the table falls on her, and she squirms. “Um.”

“That isn’t very fair,” Kiki observes, dragging her gaze to Zen. “Shirayuki should get a chance to have an adventure too, not just heal in the background.”

“But we can’t take her with us.”

She hadn’t even minded being left behind -- Izana would give her something to do, and it wasn’t as if Lynet would feel strongly about bandit chasing -- but it stings, hearing it from his mouth. Zen had wanted her to be Gwenhwyfar, to be the one waving the handkerchief from the parapets. Instead she’d made Lynet -- an alchemist, an arcanist, an asset -- but even still he’s finding ways to keep her at Camelot, leaving her behind when the knights rode out.

Mitsuhide grunts, disapproving.

“She’s using her highest slots to do this curse thing,” Zen explains, and she gets it, she does, it just doesn’t help. “If we find the Big Bad--”

“--We should probably have our healer with us.” Obi’s mouth cants into a lop-sided smile, cajoling. “Come on, my liege. We don’t have to jump in the deep end the second we get a hint of where this guy is. We have plenty of time to give my lady here a heads up before we get ourselves neck-deep in trouble.”

He winks, and -- and maybe she’s just projecting, but it feels different from the one he gave Kiki. More...personal.

“Um.�� Now is really not the time to blurt out, I’m more upset that I can’t flirt with your character, so she just nods, ducking her head so he can’t see her blush. “Okay! But I’ll need a day to swap out my spells.”

He’s just -- adjusting, she knows that, but his foot swipes right along the bottom of hers and every hair stands on end. Oh, goodness. “We’ll see what we can do, my lady.”

Each day, more men awake from their stupors; three at a time, all of them disoriented, groggy. You had hoped that when you woke the healer, he would at least be able to ease your burden, but all the cursed are emaciated, their muscles atrophied to the point that they must be helped to the chamber pot and back. It is up to you to brew the potions, to cook the broth and, eventually, heartier stews to strengthen them.

And still there are more chores; small things: opening windows and keeping your stores stocked, organizing and documenting the treatment of your patients. Each day blends into each other, sleep only coming in fits and starts and never restful. Still, it is enough. You keep putting one foot in front of the other, hands doing what you ask of them, until --

Until one day they don’t.

Most of the men have not been moved from the great hall, though now, at least, there is room between them to walk, not just bodies laid haphazardly across the stone. It is not a situation you find ideal, however -- it is not feasible to move so many, and in their fugue state, few will care about privacy or proximity. However, those awoken few have been moved to more private chambers; the weft of the curse is thick, as fine a weave as any linen, and you suspect it does not allow any inference, either magic or mundane. Those who lay dreaming are free from any ailment save the caster’s making, but the others --

Well, that many men pressed so close is just tinder waiting for a kindling.

There is a way within Laxdo’s halls to reach the dormitories from the great hall, however, a quick dash through the courtyard’s arcades cuts minutes off a day that already has too few to spare. You hurry through, gaze set ever forward, laden with yet another heavy box of supplies.

Your mind is not on your day, of course. Oh no, it has long wandered far into stranger lands. The dwarf is what plagues your thoughts, for with every man that wakes, their eyes passing over him with barely more than a curious glance and no flash of recognition, he fades a little further. One day, you fear, you will turn to see he is little more than a shadow, a suggestion rather than a reality.

Whoever he is, he must be much changed. Perhaps he is knight, strong bodied and deep-voice; or perhaps he is truly only a boy, and --

Your heel catches, so hard that your teeth jitter in their sockets. It snaps your spine straight, feet staggering beneath you to balance both your weight and the box’s.

All for naught; the shock jolts like lightning through your limbs, and the moment you right yourself, the box slips from boneless fingers, straight to the stone below.

There is a moment where your life flashes before your eyes. Or at least, the last week, which has felt like a lifetime. On shivering fawn legs, you bend, touching each bottle and jar as if they were the saints’ bones themselves. It is not the first inventory you have done with your heart lodged in your throat, but it is certainly the one where you had the most to lose. After all, it wasn’t as if the people of Castle Perilous would rely on their young mistress alone.

Your breath huffs out on a sigh. Misfortune’s bony fingers have no hooks in your skirts today. Not one cracked jar or one broken seal.

You get to your feet, hauling the box into you arms, but -- but you are made suddenly and terrifying aware that you have not slept for days. The world swings in a mad carousel around you, and with the momentum of your lift and the weight of the box you tilt back --

But never hit the ground.

“Oh,” Zen groans, flopping back in his seat. “Come on. Really?”

“Oooh, master, you just wish you had moves like me.” Obi’s hips give a sultry swivel in his seat as he scoops up his natural twenty. It absolutely does not give Shirayuki any -- any ideas. The room is just unnaturally warm for a basement.

“Careful, smooth moves,” Kiki deadpans. “K-pop impressions and bad pick-up lines won’t save you from not investing in your health.”

Obi huffs out a laugh with one of his devil-may-care shrugs. “I don’t invest in nerd things like hit points, I invest in being cool, and I stand by that decision. Besides,” he says, pink flaring high on his cheeks, “my pick-up lines are great.”

“Name one that worked.”

“I dunno.” His shoulders hunch, defensive. “All of them.”

Kiki’s eyebrows lift. “On who?”

Me. Shirayuki catches the word in her teeth, swallowing it down. It’s not -- it’s not even true. Beaumains has been using them on Lynet, and Lynet is the one interested, not -- not her. They’re different people. Probably.

“You know.” He sniffs. “People. You don’t know them.”

If anything, Kiki’s brows only raise higher. “Hmm.”

“If we’re quite done speculating about Obi’s romantic prowess,” Izana interjects smoothly. “I do believe we’re in the middle of something?”

Heat blooms across your back, the way it would when you sat at the hearth, tilting a book so it might not lay in shadow. It smolders along your side, not like a bonfire, but a brazier, or even a bed warmer --

Ah, now there is a thought your father would not appreciate you having.

Your gaze is fixed to your supplies, but it takes you a long moment to realize you are not holding them. No, it is a steady hand over you, sheathed in black leather, and in one, delirious moment, you realize that bare indigo must be pressed into your back, hooking just so at your hip. He doesn’t even shake.

“Careful there, my lady.” The words rumble against your ear, too intimate in the cage of his chest. “Keep this up, and a man could get ideas.”

You lift your gaze, gold tangling with green, breath catching in your throat. He might have made a shoddy assassin, but as your protector, well --

“Do you think if it happens another time, you will believe it?”

He blinks, eyes as wide and gold as coins. “Believe what?”

With all the courage you can summon, you mimic his flirtatious smirk and say, “That I’m falling for you.”

If the birds still sang at Laxdo, then the air would not be so still, so silent. At it is, you could hear a pin drop, so long as it was louder than the throb of your heart.

In a single, staggering moment, you are back on your feet, and Beaumains shakes his head, hunching his shoulders against the cold. “You need to work on your delivery.”

Your jaw snaps shut. “What do you mean?”

“You’re not the flirting type, my lady.” He shrugs, a smirk peeking out from behind his cowl. “Too earnest, I think.”

Blood boils in your veins, and you know he can see it on your skin when you say, “It does not seem fair that you may make love as you wish, but yet I cannot.”

He huffs out a laugh, sweeping a step closer. Oh, he smells...nice. Leather and pine with a hint of brimstone. “You know what I have and you don’t, my lady?”

“What?” You wish it wasn’t so breathless.

He leans in, and unbidden, your eyes flutter to half-mast. “Charisma.”

“Wait.” Kiki snags his sheet, sliding it across the table. “How on earth is your charisma higher than your con?”

“I’m a rogue-sorcerer!” Obi squeaks, snatching it back. “It’s my casting stat.”

“This is ridiculous,” she decides. “Are you planning on using it any time soon?”

He gapes. “I use it all the time!”

“I mean besides for bad pick-up lines.”

“How do you think I snuck up on Shirayuki at all?” He waves his hands. “Obviously magic!”

“I mean...” Kiki shrugs. “There is a stealth stat for a reason. A good rogue wouldn’t need Invisibility--”

He sniffs. “There’s just no reasoning with you, Princess.”

“I thought you were supposed to be bandit hunting.” The words come out breathless, and you wish you were like Morgaine, who never sounds as if anything bothers her at all, instead of -- of this. A girl ripe to be teased, since she can never wear her heart anywhere but on her sleeve.

He looks out over the yard, eyes squinting into the distance, and it is a fine view for watching the smirk creep up the side of his face. “Seemed like my job was here, my lady.”

Warmth blooms in your chest, as suddenly and easily as if he had laid a hand over your heart. Still, you frown. “And you did not think to announce yourself?”

“You did well enough alone,” he tells you with a speculative glance, and the flash in his eyes makes you think he likes what he sees. That he is, perhaps, even a little impressed with you. “And anyway, it seemed like you understood well enough about hiding in plain sight.”

You do not miss the bite of censure in his words, the warmth spreading from your chest to your cheeks. He put space between you, but you close it as you say, “I am the only one who can do this work, I do not have the luxury of--”

“Peace, my lady.” He holds up his hands, as if he might ward you off like a bitch anxious over her pups. “I know well enough. Still...” He edges a step back, teeth flashing white against the dark of his face. “Should you not be wary of me?”

You stare, brows furrowed. “Wary? Has not Uther himself consigned me to your care?”

“That’s true enough,” he admits, hand raising to squeeze at his shoulder. An old injury must lay there, aggravated by the heavy weather. “Though I thought His Grace would fill your head with all sorts of things.”

“Things?”

“Speculations. Rumor.” He grins, sharp enough to cut, though it is not a blade faced outward. “Maybe even something close to the truth.”

“Beaumains.” You step closer, and he watches you now, not the quintain creaking in the distance. “I think my own thoughts, not those of Arturius. And I have never been wary of you.”

The arcade is so quiet, you can hear his breath rasp in his chest.

“Besides--” you let yourself share in some of his smile-- “I was the one who had you pinned.”

“My lady,” he protests, “I let you--”

“I think we can call this argument thoroughly explored,” Izana informs them. “Not that I do not enjoy the enthusiastic roleplay.”

“Oh!” Shirayuki chirps, hands clapping to cover her blush. “I’m sorry, I didn’t--”

“No need.” You do not miss the twitch of amusement at the corner of his lips. “Besides, I think we all know it was your tanglefoot bag that did the pinning.”

“In any case,” you continue, perhaps a little forcefully, “you have proven yourself to be a man worthy of trust in my eyes.”

Beaumains stares, inscrutable. “My lady...”

Whatever words he means to say are lost; he folds his lips around them and the moment carries them away.

“My lady,” he tries again, more sure. “You’re wearing yourself down.”

“I am fine--”

“Perhaps His Grace--”

“I am fine,” you insist, sharper than you intend. “There is no reason to worry Arturius. So you might as well not.”

The silence between you itches, and when those golden eyes look at you, when they stare through you as if you were a specimen under glass, you want to squirm out of your own skin. “Who says I have to listen to anything you say?”

Uther. The name bubbles up, unbidden. You would have to be a fool to speak it; what passed between assassin and king is known by them alone. To pretend you know either of their minds would be a mistake of the rarest form.

Instead, you take a step forward, skirt brushing over the toes of his boots. “You owe me.”

His eyes narrow, thoughtful. “Owe you?”

“Yes,” you breathe. “You do.”

He stares at you, and you know he remembers the same as you do: the botched assassination, him grabbing your wrists and pulling you under him, the way his skin had warmed so pleasantly against yours --

“Fine.” His gaze swivels away, chin turned so much your neck hurts just looking at it. “But...why keep it a secret, my lady?”

Teeth prick at your lips. You cannot just say, Arturius. Not when he has been so kind to you, when he has taken on this quest that no other would. But still, still -- you were barely allowed to come. If he were to know that you are weary, or weak, or, Father forfend, overwhelmed --

Well, you do not have to imagine what sort of behavior that might invite from His Grace.

“Because I can manage on my own,” you say instead, lifting the box from his hands.

Or at least, you would, if he would let go. “We’re only having this talk because you’re not managing, my lady.”

Ah, that is...a point. Your shoulders drop, grip loosening until it is once again only Beaumains that holds it. “I...”

“My lady?” You cannot meet his gaze, but you feel it on you, warm and inquisitive, perhaps even concerned.

“It’s only...”

He leans in. You can feet his heat against your skin.

“The dwarf,” you manage, a flush gathering at where your wimple meets your collar. “There’s something about him.”

“He’s short?” Beaumains offers, voice low, a pleasant rumble so close to you. “He’s cursed?”

Your mouth pulls thin. “That is not what a meant. However...” You shake your head, at a loss. “I only have this...this feeling. It is important that he be cured of his affliction. But...if he does not want to be saved before the others...”

Frustration tangles your tongue. If only you knew what words would convince him, what proof you needed to lay before him --

“Ah,” Beaumains sighs, mouth crooking into a grin. “Is that all?”

Izana blinks as his phone hoots at him, scanning the screen.

“Hm.” He sets it aside, laying it square on the table. “Obi, if you would come with me.”

Zen’s eyes narrow as they stand, gaze darting between them. “What are you doing?”

“Me and the big boss here have some business in hallway time,” Obi tells him with a grin even Shirayuki has to admit is insufferable. “Got a problem with it?”

He frowns. “Why do you need that?”

“Wouldn’t you like to know?” With a waggle of his eyebrows, Obi skips around the corner of the stairs and is gone. The door above shuts with an almost jaunty click.

“Wha--?” Zen stares after him, sputtering. “That’s why I’m asking!”

It is quiet, for once. Only the moan of the wind outside and the scratch of your nib against parchment reach your ears, the crackle of the fire long faded into the background of your mind. It lulls you, the gentle sweep of your own hand, and you close your eyes -- just a blink --

Only to wake at the creak of your door.

“Lynet.”

You do not expect the prince to darken your door, not this late at night, but here he is, cloak dusted with snow, sword at his hip. He follows your gaze, and he seems shocked to find his blade there as well, as if he does not always keep it at his side.

“Arturius,” you say, rising to your feet. “I didn’t think to see you so late.”

“I needed to know something.” He sweeps a hand toward your bed. “Would you mind?”

You blink, and for a moment, he is a different man telling you to get to a bed, gaunleted hands reaching --

“Yes,” you gasp, shaking yourself. This is different. Arturius is a friend. You trust him. “Of course.”

Your legs dangle off the side of the bed, toes just brushing the floor, and he draws his chair up in front of you, holding your hand.

“Close your eyes,” he says. “I’m going to count.”

“Are you taking my pulse?” His fingers are not in the proper place for such a thing. At your wrist is truly--

“Please,” he laughs. “Just trust me.”

You do, and so your eyes flutter closed. For a moment, you are only aware of your breath, of his touch, and you --

Jolt awake, as the door flies open again.

“Beaumains!” Arturius snaps, dropping your hand as if it scalds. “What are you--?

It is only once he is in the room room that you can see -- there is someone behind him. A small someone.

The dwarf.

Beaumain’s smile stretches smugly from ear-to-ear. “Our friend here says he’ll do it.”

“What?” Zen squaws, glaring daggers at his brother before settling back on Obi. “How could you?”

“How could I what?” Obi grins, hooking his hands behind his head. “Get the job done?”

“Intimidate him!” He waves a hand vaguely towards the head of the table. “He’s our friend!”

Obi blinks. “Izana?”

“No, not -- I mean the dwarf!” He lets out a huff. “Izana is definitely not our friend.”

“Brother.” Izana presses a hand to his chest. “I’m wounded.”

“You’re like Rasputin,” Zen tells him. “You’ll get over it.”

“I didn’t intimidate either of them.” Obi darts a glance at her, hooking her with a grin. “I just used my raw charisma.”

Kiki groans. “Go home.”

“Are you certain?” You glance at Beaumains behind him, but there is no menace to the man, just an unseemly amount of gloating. “I will not force you.”

The dwarf hesitates, wringing his small hands over his belly, but in the end he nods, meeting your gaze with a confidence that is wholly new. “I am ready, my lady.”

Your hand shakes as his fingers cup the rounded bottom of the flask, as he pulls the glass from your grasp, and with a deep, steeling sigh, upends the entirety of the potion into his throat.

“Oh!” The sound hiccups out of you, and though you’ve worn a groove in your voice the shape of the warnings you give each time, they tangle in your mouth. It is too late to say, drink slowly, to say, stop if it does not feel right, and oh, you are usual say this to a man prone, insensate --

And yet, nothing happens.

It takes time, you know. Your palms itch, eager to reach for your notes, to see if this was too long an interval, if this was a sign that this geas was worse, that the caster was fighting your remedy --

A muscle twitches. The dwarf blinks, raising his hand -- his hand that is now large, now small, that cannot decide its size at all, which is fine since his whole body follows suit, growing and shrinking. His shoulders rounds as his spine stretches, as if he’s hit a wall, some sort of barrier --

And it shatters, like an egg’s shell, his body growing well beyond its confines, the proportion of his limbs and face changing, until --

“Oh!” You whirl around, putting your back to him. “Oh my!”

“Ah,” the man says, his voice reedy, yet not as high as you remember. “I had hoped that this might be better done.”

“Here.” Arturius tosses one of the sheets from the cots. “Cover yourself.”

“I thank you,” the man says, humiliation riding high in his tone. “My lady, please forgive me, I did not think--”

“You...you are--” it is hard to find the words with your cheeks as hot as this -- “you are the lord of Laxdo’s son!”

He lets out a single, pained laugh. “I am afraid I am more than that now, my lady. I am Laxdo’s lord.”

“But--”

“Arturius!” Bedwyr sweeps into the room, ragged. “The men are all waking!”

“Wait, wait.” Shirayuki shakes her head, brow furrowed. “I removed his curse, and now everyone is healed?”

Izana lifts a hand in a lazy shrug. “So it would seem.”

“But...but...” She swivels, fixing on him. “But he didn’t want to be turned back! He wouldn’t let us, not until--” Shirayuki stops, her brain rushing to put the pieces together. “That was part of the compulsion. He wouldn’t let the curse be broken so that we -- so that I--”

She groans. “We could have done this in a day.”

“Welcome to Izanafinder,” Kiki deadpans. “He may not kill you, but he will make you wish you were dead.”

“My name is Shuuka,” the man says, better settled with the sheet around his hips. You still keep finding the wall just over his left shoulder fascinating. If only Bedwyr would be faster at locating the young lord’s costume. “I must admit, I had hoped you might remember it, my lady.”

You grimace. “I am...very bad with names. My father often despaired of it.”

And as in all his wishes, it bore very little fruit.

“I think I remember that.” He laughs, weary. “It is no matter. I am in your debt regardless.”

“Pray, do not think on it,” you tell him, even as Arturius grunts. “I would not have a soul beholden to me.”

You do not miss Beaumain’s cough, nor the amused way he watches you from the door. Doubtlessly, he would find time to say his piece on that, but it will not be now.

“But, my lady--”

“What would help us most would be if you told us what happened,” Arturius says, oddly strangled. “Since you are the only one that seems to remember.”

Shuuka blinks, as if he had forgotten his prince sat mere steps away. “Of course. I shall explain it all to you.”

“That would be--”

“But first.” He slips his hand around yours, smiling shyly. “We must celebrate how you have saved us.”

“Oh,” you breathe, gaze flying to Arturius. A muscle in his jaw jumps. “I do not think--”

“Please, give me this,” Shuuka insists. “A banquet in your honor.”

You do not look at him, but you can feel Beaumain’s grin as a palpable touch. “Truly, it is not necessary. It was all of us who--”

“Ah yes, then in all your honor!” He squeezes your hand, and gives you a boyish smile that sends you straight back to girlhood. “All the men have been healed, and it would do them good to have a night of merriment.”

You cannot refute it would raise morale. Which would be much needed, once they took in the state of Laxdo’s disrepair. “I suppose...”

He leaps to his feet, thankfully taking the sheet with him. “Then a banquet it is!”

Shirayuki buries her face in her hands. “Oh my.”

“Oooh,” Obi croons. “Looks like you got some competition, my liege.”

Zen frowns. “Oh, shut up.”

#obiyuki #akagami no shirayukihime #snow white with the red hair #Dungeons & Dragons AU #my fic #ans #for all of you that were hoping for flirting #YOU NOW HAVE THIS #also please enjoy 6.5K of this because THERE WAS NO GOOD PLACE TO STOP #I keep hoping this arc will wrap up so i get get to SOME STUFF but NOPE #can't possibly shut up XD

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theseaisagreatplace · 7 years

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Rules: Tag Nine People With Excellent Taste

I was tagged by @gimme-a-chocolate 💕💕

Colour(s): PINK!! Plus also like mint and teal.

Last band t-shirt I bought: I honestly don’t know? I don’t wear really wear t-shirt’s except around the house and I also hate spending money on things I won’t wear so it was probably Cobra Starship or someone equally as ridiculous all the way back in high school.

Last band I saw live: apparently I’m awful at this because I have no idea who it was? I went with my sister to see someone the day before my birthday last year and I cant remember their name (or any of the songs they played??? I don’t know I have a terrible memory). My sister and I got tickets to see The Killers this summer though and I am super excited.

Last song I listened to: I was listening to Hope World (the whole mixtape) earlier!!

Last movie I watched: Wish Upon, it was this horror movie I watched with my mom and little sister and even though it was super predictable I actually kinda loved it.

Last three TV shows I watched: I’m currently in the middle of an episode of A Poem a Day/You Who Forgot Poetry, also The Great Suducer and Evergreen.

Last 3 characters I identified with: Another question that I’m not really sure about?? Maybe a tiny bit with this girl from A Poem a Day because of the whole choosing a medical field over an art field thing (except I actually went to art school for 4 years). Ah Reum from 20th Century Boy and Girl: because her dad and my dad are veryvery alike. I don’t know who else... is there a character that likes cats???

Book I’m currently reading: I’m kinda currently reading Six of Crows except I only read the first two chapters and it was months ago. I also need to read Maggie Stiefvater’s short story about Opal she released recently. I don’t read books nearly as much as I used to.

Also as usual I’m not tagging anyone because basically everyone I know has been tagged already probably and also all my mutuals have the best taste ever so it would be too hard to pick 9 people 💕💕

#tagged #thank you allie!!#💕💕

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kafeuka · 8 years

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[1/1] i’ve only felt religion when i’ve lied with you

█ title: I’ve only felt religion when I’ve lied with you █ author: kafeuka █ pairing: jeon jungkook/park jimin █ rating: nc17

█ summary: Nineteen year old Jeon Jungkook refused to go to church, so his mother brought the church to him. (aka: Jimin was a youth minister who happened to be the man in Jungkook's sexual fantasy and oh crap, was his mother really inviting the pastor in training to dinner to fuel his raging libido?)

Note:

this was inspired by an episode in the 70s show lmao i've written this decades ago and stopped halfway before i could get into the smut bc honestly speaking i suck at it and despite the researches i've made, i never seem to get things right and i cant stop turning red when doing so,,,,,, in conclusion: i cant write smut for shit (◕‿◕✿)

warning: i have no idea how the religion works neither do i practice it so if i offend you, please click exit lmao

regarding the hankie jimin mentioned, i just knew there was a thing where people place their hankies according to their preferencing by representing them on their right/left side or colours. isn't that amazing!!!!!!!!!!!!

Let me know what you think here! Read on AO3 here.

There were times when Jungkook wondered if his mom was clinically brain dead.

Like, now.

He was already late – thanks to that stupid alarm clock Uncle Jooheon had given him as a present last Christmas (that clock had one job! One job! And it failed Jungkook) – and yet here his mother was, blocking the door with her arms on her hips, glaring at her youngest son as if he was caught stealing cassette tapes from a record store.

“Mom! Please! Just this once, I beg of you!”

His favourite band was in Busan and the tickets for their concert were on sale. There was nothing more Jungkook wanted than to attend Radio Wrecker’s first gig in Busan. He swore that he would never miss it for the whole world.

“Jungkook,” his mom sternly said, eyes staring straight at Jungkook. “It’s Sunday. You’ve got to attend church!”

“But Radio Wrecker is going to be here! The tickets will be sold out in just a few minutes and I can’t believe I’m not at to the amphitheater right now!”

“And I can’t believe my own son refused to come to church.”

“Mom, please!” He purposely widened his eyes, jutting out his lower lip to give his mom his puppy eyes – which, usually worked – but somehow, his mom was not having any of it. By now, she should have caved in and let her son buy tickets to see his favourite band and let Jungkook had the time of his life but no, the woman just had to ruin it.

“No, Jeon Jungkook. You’re going to church. All of us are.”

“But—”

“Go change into something nice. Don’t wear that zombie t-shirt, you hear me?”

“Mom!”

“Shut it, or no allowance for a month.”

Jungkook ended up crossing his arms, trying not to look like a petulant child, while being seated next to his mom on one of the pews in the House of God. His mom had been bitching inside the car, about how late they were to church, all because each and every one of them was being tardy. Even his father, who had absolutely done nothing wrong, had to listen to his mom rambling about how important it was to go to church.

As soon as his mother was done talking, he abruptly wore the earphones and crank up the volume of the music to the maximum.

If it were not for the cassette player and headphones Jungkook had secretly bought with his allowance (when asked, he lied that Minghao had bought it for him), he did not think he would be able to stand it. He might have jumped out of the car and begged for someone to run him over rather than listening to his mother pointing her finger at him and Junghyun.

(Junghyun just got home from a party that morning – it just so happened that his mom caught him entering his room through the window when the petite woman busted through his bedroom door with the intention of waking her oldest son up.)

Junghyun was not probably listening at all. Despite his eyes being open, Jungkook knew his mind was somewhere else as if he was sleeping. That was the only thing Jungkook found his brother to be good at, and he thought it was an amazing skill too, how his brother’s brain was completely shut down even though he seemed like he was paying attention to everything that came out of their mother’s mouth.

They were sitting on one of the pews behind, which clearly irritated his mom because usually they were either sitting in the middle or on the front seats.

All Jungkook wanted was to wait in a queue for a concert ticket yet, the only concert he would probably gotten in his whole life would probably the choir in front which was singing right now. He let out a sigh, trying his hardest not to cry because he would probably be the only loser in his group of friends who did not manage to get a ticket.

He regretted not accepting Yugyeom’s proposal to camp in front of the ticket stand.

Jungkook tried to focus his attention to something else, not wanting to burst into tears right then, and stared at the children dressed in white in front. He recognized a few of them. His mom let out a sigh, probably because she felt content or whatever and Jungkook could only roll his eyes in annoyance. He wondered if the woman beside him really gave birth to him because how could she do that to Jungkook?!

He had been a very good son all this time — he had manage not to get caught drinking and sneaking out and he never brought any girls or guys home unlike Junghyun. It was unjust for his mom to not let him skip church just for once. He never skipped church before but this was Radio Wrecker. Jungkook believed Radio Wrecker was the whole reason for his existence and it was his one and only chance to see them perform with his own eyes rather than pretending he was a part of the crowd when watching their performances on TV but who knew it would be his own mom that stepped on his dreams and vomit all over it?

Jungkook glanced at the figure clad in black cassock that was playing the grand piano, and scoffed. He recognized the pianist. He was Park Jimin, Jungkook’s senior by two years, who was now working at the church or something like that, Jungkook did not give two fucks. He remembered his mom mentioning about God showing Park Jimin the light or whatever during dinner a few days ago.

Jimin had a stupid grin on his face as he mouthed the lyrics to the song the kids were singing as his fingers pressed on the keys of the organ skillfully.

He cannot believe the guy was the same Park Jimin whom he used to almost kiss at a party a year ago. The one who had coaxed Jungkook to drink another cup with a playful smile on his lips. How can someone change so drastically?

When the mass ended, Jungkook expected for all of them to went straight to the car and for Jungkook to lock himself in his room and cry himself to sleep. But of course, things did not really go his way recently, and he wondered what he did in his past life to deserve this whole ordeal. Instead of going straight to the car when they went out of the church, his mom decided to have a small talk with Jimin, who was standing outside and wishing everyone to have a pleasant day.

He wondered why his mother wouldn’t just thank Jimin, like everybody else, and then walk the fuck away.

Jungkook groaned when his mother stopped and began to praise Jimin like there was no tomorrow. Junghyun was nowhere to be seen, perhaps he was already heading to the parking lot, even though their dad was still here. Jungkook’s fingers were itching to grab his black headphones and shove it into his ears and turn up the volume of his cassette player to its maximum volume to block out whatever shit his mom was spewing.

At this rate, being deaf seemed appealing.

He almost choked on air when Jimin turned his head slightly to him, gave him a small smile and nodded, “Good to see you, Jungkookie.”

A year ago, Jungkook would probably be crying blood and thank whatever religious figure to ever exist out there that made this happen but now, all he wanted to do was run for his life and wish for a piano to fall from the heavens and crush him deep into the earth. He could only swallow and replied with a nod, not trusting his voice to speak. His voice might have cracked or even worst, he might have started to sob.

“I’m sure your mom is so proud of you, Jimin-ah! Look how handsome you’ve become – you’re going to be a good pastor!” Jungkook’s mother cooed. Jimin smiled, a blush evident on his cheeks as he shook his head, “That’s not true!”

‘Damn right,’ Jungkook wanted to yell out. If only his mother knew how Jimin was literally seducing him on one of the worn out couches in Seokjin’s home and eyefucked him the moment Jungkook entered the house, she would not be talking to Jimin right now. Hell, she would probably even find a new church to go to.

It was only when his dad placed a hand on her shoulder when his mother finally stopped talking and finally, thank God, took the hint that they were supposed to go. She complimented Jimin one more time, thanked him with a small bow before making their way to their small caravan.

‘Finally,’ Jungkook huffed, sliding himself lower on the car seat. ‘I can wallow in self-pity in peace.’

That afternoon, Jungkook did cry.

He was so ready for Yugyeom to boast about the tickets he obtained and for Yugyeom to slap the fact that Yugyeom got a ticket his face but when the phone rang, Jungkook realized that no, he was not ready at all. His hand was visibly shaking when he picked up the receiver, and despite the number not shown, he knew it was Yugyeom.

“Jungkook!” Yugyeom yelled from the other line, as if he knew that Jungkook would be the one to pick up, not his mother.

Jungkook almost winced, readying himself for the inevitable humiliation that would come upon him.

“Yugyeom,” he answered with a grunt, fingers twirling on the cord of the phone, suddenly feeling antsy and super nervous.

“I was waiting for you to show up at the amphitheater!”

He glared at his mom, who was washing the dishes on the sink. “Yeah, someone stopped me from going there,” he said out loud, hoping his mother would realize it was directed to her.

“Whatever, whatever, whatever! Listen, I’ve got the tickets!! Isn’t it exciting?”

He swallowed. “It is.”

“Now, you just gotta pay me back and we’ll have the best day of our life next week!”

“… What do you mean?”

“I bought three tickets, man.”

Jungkook felt his heart beating quickly as he felt a hunch where Yugyeom might be getting at, but he refused to believe the nagging voice in his head unless Yugyeom said so. He waited for Yugyeom to speak, to tell him that he was joking or whatever explanation he could offer, but it seemed like Yugyeom was waiting for him to say something too.

So, he did.

“Uhuh…”

“One for me. One for Minghao. And one for you!”

“No way!” Jungkook let out a joyous scream, eyes widening in disbelief, earning a pointed look from his mother. “You’re kidding me, Kim Yugyeom! How— wh-what even – please tell me you’re joking, man. I swear, if you’re playing with me, we’re not going to be friends anymore. Don’t get my hopes up!”

Yugyeom let out an excited squeal. Jungkook could vision Yugyeom jumping up and down on his bed, a cordless receiver on one hand and the other holding three tickets for the concert of the most Influential and Amazing Band In The Whole World. Without realizing, Jungkook was jumping up and down too in the kitchen, causing his mother to exclaim, “Jungkook!”

Any other day, Jungkook would have mumbled an apology and silently retreat to his room but not today.

“I’m not lying, dude! How can I attend Radio Wrecker’s first concert without you, man?”

“You’re the best, dude! Oh my god, I love you so much. I think I’m going to cry, I swear.” He could already feel the tears prickling in his eyes and he wiped them with the back of his free hand before it could fall. “I really thought I would’ve missed it.”

Yugyeom giggled. “I love you too. Just bring the mulah, yeah? I’ll see you tomorrow.”

Jungkook hung up with a huge grin and a high-pitched squeal that would have made a siren envious. For that, he received a dirty rag thrown to his face.

▄▄▄▄▄▄▄▄▄▄▄▄▄▄▄▄▄▄▄▄

If you ask Jungkook what was the best moment in his life, he would answer the night he went to Radio Wrecker’s concert. It was on a May 21st, 1978 on a Saturday night. While Jungkook was always the goody two shoes in his parents’ eyes between the Jeon siblings, Jungkook risked his reputation to sneak out to the concert. He knew his dad would be okay with Jungkook going to concerts but not his mom.

It was as if she had never been nineteen. He did not regret sneaking out though. His throat was sore from all the screaming and he cried when they performed ‘Chrysanthemum’ – which was Jungkook’s favourite song – because everyone started to sing along as they slowly waved their arms. Jungkook ended up sleeping over at Yugyeom’s, the boys could not stop babbling about how perfect the concert was even though some idiot accidentally stained Jungkook’s Radio Wrecker’s white tee with fucking ketchup.

(Yugyeom insisted that they had to wear their matching black Radio Wrecker’s tees but Jungkook was a stubborn fuck.)

That night, Jungkook slept peacefully like a baby, unaware of the wrath of his mother that he had to face the next day.

When Jungkook got home, his mother was already in the living room, flipping through the cosmos magazine with her slender legs crossed. Jungkook gulped, slowly closing the door behind him and tried to go to his room as slow as he can although he knew his mother already sensed that he was there.

“Why, if it isn’t my son who skipped church!”

Fuck.

“Hey, mom! I didn’t see you there!” Jungkook sheepishly grinned, rubbing his nape. “I thought I’ve told you about the concert, didn’t I? My, how forgetful of me!”

His mom narrowed her eyes towards him, standing up from the couch and threw the magazine to the wooden coffee table. At this moment, Jungkook wished to disappear to thin air. His mother never really used her fists but rather, her words. One time, she said something to Junghyun that made the grown man cried. And that was because he wanted to move out of the house. Jungkook shuddered remembering the incident.

“I don’t know what you’re thinking, Jeon Jungkook.” There was venom when she strongly emphasized his name. “This band of yours is slowly corrupting your mind. Didn’t you realize that?”

“Mom, what—”

“Sure, it’s going to be a one-time thing you say. But I can see you straying away from the right path and live in the streets with only the morning papers as your blanket. Would you like that?”

“I don—”

“And now you’re trying to talk back to the woman who gave you birth. Who gave you life. Who fed you every single day!”

Jungkook grimaced, deciding to remain quiet. If he was a little bit braver like Junghyun, he would have stormed out of the house right now but he had no money with him and he reeked of sweat and ketchup. Speaking of the devil, Junghyun coincidentally walked out of the kitchen and gave Jungkook a sardonic grin when he witnessed the scene unfolding right before his very own eyes. Instead of walking back to the kitchen, he sat on the couch and watched because he, undoubtedly, was a dickhead.

“You’re going to apologize for today, Jungkook, but what will you say when God himself questions you this?”

“Jungkook’s God is Victor Miura, mom,” Junghyun chuckled.

Which proved to be a bad move because their mother whipped her head towards Junghyun with a glare that would normally made any human being ran away from pure terror and begging for forgiveness.

“And you, Jeon Junghyun, don’t you have anything to say to me either? How dare you, you imbecile, still sitting on my damn couch!”

Junghyun abruptly stood up like a soldier given command, dusting his pants with a terrified expression on his face. While their mom had her back on Jungkook, Jungkook took the chance to stick out his tongue at Junghyun and damn, that felt good.

“Is that where your money go to – for you to smoke crack?”

Jungkook hissed internally. He had found a few things under Junghyun’s bed and unlike Junghyun, whom he was sure jacked off to women in bikinis riding motorcycles, Jungkook found the powder in a plastic bag was far more interesting. He had been using it to threaten Junghyun but it seemed like he had lost his blackmail material now that their mother found out.

“Both of you,” his mom hissed, pointing to her boys, “Are disappointments!”

There was nothing to do now except to hung his head, stare at the floor and waited for the lecture to be over. Maybe Jungkook could try to do his puppy eyes but Junghyun was here – his hyung might steal his tactic!

Surprisingly, after a few seconds that somehow felt like years of waiting, the lecture did not come. Jungkook dared to lift his head a bit to look at his mom, who was now crossing her arms and smiling scathingly. Jungkook glanced at Junghyun, who seemed to be waiting too.

Still with her arms crossed, the woman with feathered hair tapped her foot against the wooden floor.

“I’m going to give you boys a second chance – although I’m sure the both of you don’t deserve any,” she began before uncrossing her arms and dusted the high-waisted beige skirt she was wearing.

Jungkook looked at his hyung, who was already looking at him. The both of them exchanged confused looks before exhaling long breaths from their nostrils, slowly relaxing even though their mother was not finished yet. Now, that certainly never happened.

“I shouldn’t have forced my own boys to go to church, don’t I?”

Jungkook’s eyes wavered before gulping, wondering if he should answer or if his mom was just asking a rhetorical question.

“Both of you are grownups, surely the both of you can make up your own mind and know what’s best.”

Junghyun blinked. “Really…?”

“Sure,” their mom smiled. “If you want to turn your backs on God and spend eternity doing laps in a lake of fire, then that’s your choice!” she added, with exaggerated hand motions before glaring at both her sons and stampeded upstairs, purposely stomping her feet loudly with each step she made to show how pissed she was.

The two brothers waited until a door slam was heard before exhaling a loud sigh.

“So. How’s the concert?” Junghyun asked.

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Jungkook was lying on the worn out fawn-coloured bridgewater sofa that was probably as old as his grandmother – occasionally sitting up and most of the time not, to sip on his cola while the record player that was placed on end table was playing On The Backseat Of My Car by Sunset Patrol – when his moment of peace and pretending to be rockstar was disrupted when Junghyun came down to the basement, with their mother prattling behind him.

“What are you doing, Jeon Junghyun? Why aren’t you dressed? Church starts in ten minutes!”

Jungkook had to tilt his head to observe what was going on. Junghyun grabbed a popsicle from the white freezer, unwrapping it before whining, “Mom, I’m not going!”

“What?” their mother shrieked, mortification was written all over her face.

She was wearing a long-sleeved green floral patterned blouse with a matching long skirt, which meant she was ready for church. Junghyun, on the other hand, was wearing his usual maroon shirt and usual ugly dark bell bottom trousers.

Junghyun gulped, popsicle forgotten in his hand. “Well…” he sputtered and then pointed to Jungkook. “Jungkook isn’t going, isn’t he?!”

Great, Jungkook screamed inside his head. This airhead just had to drag me down with him!

Their mother turned her head to Jungkook and when Jungkook stood up, she looked like she almost had a heart attack. “Why are you still in your zombies shirt!?” she yelped in disbelief.

Jungkook made a mental note to kill Junghyun in his sleep but his plans on murdering his brother by suffocating him with a pillow was interrupted when their mother let out a shrill voice, “Where’s your tie!?”

“Mom,” Jungkook sighed. “I’m not going.”

“WHA— oh dear God, what?”

Jungkook gawped at Junghyun, who was now eating his popsicle as if their mother was not on the brink of rage, silently begging for help.

“I-I thought you said w-we had a choice,” Jungkook stammered, his hands began to fidget and he had to hold on the hem of his shirt to quell the apprehension that was building in his chest.

“Uhuh,” his mom answered. Her brows were furrowed, waiting for Jungkook to continue. Jungkook had to glare at his no good older brother and widened his eyes, indicating that he needed help.

Junghyun was still sucking on the popsicle, nodding for Jungkook to continue. Jungkook envisioned himself lunging forward and throttling his older brother. He took a deep sigh, readying himself for the response he would get from his mother. “Well, my choice is no.”

His mother let out a loud gasp, which was a little bit dramatic in Jungkook’s opinion. It was not like Jungkook was confessing that he had his dick sucked by a senior when he was sixteen. He simply declared that he did not want to go to church on a lovely Sunday morning.

“I don’t understand this at all,” their mother began, massaging her temple. “Tell me one good reason why the both of you are not going.”

“It’s boring,” Junghyun started.

“The music sucks.”

“I have to wear a tie.”

“It’s hot!”

“The girls have to wear bras!”

“The past—”

“ENOUGH,” their mother interrupted, both hands on her slim hips. Junghyun shrugged triumphantly as he licked the popsicle. Jungkook only blinked. “I am going to leave in five minutes and I’m sure the both of you will make the right decision.” Her voice was honeyed, a little bit too sweet for Jungkook’s liking, as he pointed to her sons.

She continued, with a smile added this time, “Something tells me that I won’t be sitting in that pew alone.”

The boys only stared at the woman as he slowly backed away, making her way to the wooden stairs. With another huge smile, she walked upstairs.

Just when Jungkook was about to lie down on the couch again, not giving two fucks about what his brother was now doing at the storage room, he heard his mother’s sweet voice from upstairs again, “Five minutes, okay, boys?”

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In Jungkook’s defense, his mother was the one who told the both of them that they have a choice and it just so happened that both boys chose not to go. Besides, their mother was not sitting alone on the pew – their father was there! So Jungkook was not really sure why his mother was acting rather odd to the both of them.

When she first got back from the mass, he had been ignoring the boys the whole day. While she would usually set the plates with food ready on the table, the siblings had to grab their own plates and took their own food. It was not a big deal, not at all, but Jungkook began to feel guilty because his mother was not talking at all.

Usually, she would have made a conversation right now and most of the time, Jungkook wished she would shut up but now, he would do anything for the woman to chatter about anything at all – even if she talk about Park Jimin because Jungkook would not mind. Their father kept on clearing his throat, occasionally trying to make a conversation but kept on failing. Their mother only answered shortly and every time she opened her mouth to speak, Jungkook kept on holding his breath for unknown reason.

The next day, however, gotten a little bit better but certainly freaky-deaky. Their mother was acting brighter than usual and she did not even yell when Junghyun placed his dirty feet on the coffee table. Jungkook was beginning to feel cautious at this point, frequently tensing whenever his mother was around.

He even helped in washing the dishes and rejected Yugyeom’s offer to hang out at Minghao’s house to listen to some sick songs by a band Minghao recently discovered. The whole week, he tried to be extra good to his mother and he began to wonder if she was really losing it.

When Sunday came, Jungkook skipped church again and to his surprise, his mother did not force him to wear a stupid tie and get out from this radical shirts. He thought that he was finally going to spend his Sunday doing productive things.

(Productive Things On A Sunday aka Jungkook listening to the songs his friends recommended and sometimes meeting up with Yugyeom and Minghao)

It was in the afternoon when it finally dawned to Jungkook that his mother had something planned all along.

Jungkook was in the kitchen, making a sandwich while humming to Another Boy Without A Sharper Knife, when he heard the sound of the bell ringing. He deliberately took his time to spread the mustard, expecting someone else would open the door for whoever it was. However, the bell rang again and Jungkook let out a groan, wondering where the hell his family members were.

He counted to twenty and the bell rang again. Exasperated, he grabbed his sandwich, took a bite and strode to the front door, cursing whoever it was that had to ruin his moment. Rolling his eyes, he swung the door open to find Park Jimin, clad in a super ugly black turtle neck along with a tawny-coloured blazer that was a little bit too big for him and a matching slacks and— what the fuck? Why was Jungkook staring?

Jimin grinned, revealing his slightly crooked front tooth which was not cute at all.

“Hello, Jungkookie.”

HOW DARE

Jungkook’s jaw dropped and he swore the sandwich almost slipped from his hand but he was thankfully able to hold on to it and oh shit, he must have looked like an idiot right now.

“Wh-what are you doing here?”

“Jimin!” came a sweet voice behind him, that was unmistakably belonged to his mother. Jimin turned his gaze to the woman behind Jungkook and grinned. Jungkook felt his mom’s hands on his shoulders, softly squeezing them as she giggled, “You came right on time!”

“What is going on?”

Jungkook was slowly getting scared now as he slowly tried to back away but his mother was still holding onto him, wondering if he had destroyed a country in his past life because there was no way in hell this was happening.

“Jungkookie here.” His mother said, squeezing Jungkook’s shoulders a bit tightly now that he almost wince, “And Junghyun refused to go to church. So I’m bringing the church to them!”

If it was possible, Jungkook swore Jimin’s smile gotten a little bit bigger. His eyes were now forming half-moons and damn, Jungkook really should have stopped staring.

“What do you think, youth minister Jimin?”

“I think it’ll be groovy!”

‘God, if you’re out there,’ Jungkook thought. ‘Just let me die already.’

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Jungkook believed in God.

Always have.

But he wondered where the Old Man was now that Jungkook desperately needed him. When his mother just broke the news of Park Jimin being in the same house as him, breathing the same air as him and will try to bring some sense to him about his behavior of skipping church lately, Jungkook found himself dashing to the bathroom, sputtering a made-up reason and locked himself in it, hands clasped together a little too tightly and began praying aloud.

He hoped the Old Man can hear him. Inguk once told him that he had sex with his brother’s girlfriend in the van and when questioned if he was scared, he simply replied that God cannot see through lead. Jungkook hoped that God can still hear him through the wooden door though, because damn, he really needed his prayers to be answered right about now.

He glanced at his reflection on the mirror, noticing that he had some mustard on his upper lip and abruptly washed it with tap water while berating himself. ‘I must look like an idiot!’

Taking a deep breath as he smoothen the band tee he was wearing, he silently declared that he would walk out of the bathroom door while being Cool and Nonchalant™ despite having Park Jimin sitting down on the living room. His living room.

He tried to act casual when he swung the wooden door open with more force than intended, which somehow only made his presence even more known because of the loud creak and found Jimin turning his head to his direction and gave him a huge grin.

‘Stupid moron with his stupid fluffy hair and his stupid smile. Go to hell.’

Jimin was sitting on the couch across the television, whereas his mother was sitting on a brown recliner. His mother seemed more cheery than he had ever seen before, and instantly, he knew that she was trying to ruin his life.

“Honey, go call your hyung. Tell him I need him down here.”

‘Why don’t you call him yourself?’ Jungkook almost retorted but he found Jimin was already staring at him, somehow making the words Jungkook wanted to say caught in his throat. Jungkook nervously coughed, deciding that he did not want to answer his mom back and went upstairs to Junghyun’s room without knocking.

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The urge to grab the phone, call his best friend and let out an inhumane scream was too strong. Minghao was probably at Yugyeom’s house, listening to some song right now and Jungkook wished he was there to bang his head with them. He wanted to tell Yugyeom that The Park Jimin was here but he would not want Jimin to overhear his conversation and got the wrong idea.

So he stayed put in his seat, which was unfortunately beside Jimin’s, feet tapping vigorously against the carpeted floor while his older brother was sitting at a small stool beside their dad’s piano. Their mother watched them lovingly, but Jungkook could not help but think of the possible categories of demon that possessed his mother right now.

“Religion can be cool,” Jimin explained, still wearing the same bright grin.

Jungkook tried to focus on the black screen of the TV, and sometimes the cover of his mother’s cosmos magazine on the coffee table (“20 Kissable Lips: What Your Lover Loves About Your Lipsticks – huh, what a rip-off, I didn’t need lipstick to make Jimin wanted to kiss me. Fuck, wait, what?”) while Jimin was prattling about Jesus and some other thing that Jungkook really did not give two fucks about.

“Do you know what’s the best thing God ever did was?”

Jungkook tensed when he felt an unfamiliar weight on his thigh. He took a glimpse, saw Jimin’s small hand resting on his thigh and swore the room temperature rose. His eyes travelled to Jimin’s face and the dork had the nerve to lock his eyes on Jungkook’s, lips parted waiting for response. The thing about Jimin’s lips was that it seemed as if it was made to do something greater than just talk; they were plump and kissable – Jungkook would have to check the cosmos magazine later to see if Jimin’s lips made it into the article – and Jungkook would love to know what those lips could do.

Jimin probably noticed that Jungkook was staring at Jimin’s lips, because the corners of his mouth instantly quirked upwards in a teasing manner before his tongue ran over his lower lip and Jungkook found himself swallowing.

Whatever they were having was soon interrupted, causing Jungkook to jolt in his seat when Junghyun yelled out, “BOOBS!”

Jungkook turned his head around with wide eyes, a bit thankful for Junghyun and saw that their mother’s jaw dropped to the ground. “Junghyun!”

“And God say, ‘Let there be boobs!’” Junghyun continued in a terrible imitation of God’s voice, spreading his arms wide open. Jungkook could hear Jimin giggle and was a bit disappointed when he felt Jimin’s hand leaving his thigh.

“Junghyun, you imbecile,” their mom gritted her teeth, knuckles turning white. Usually, at this moment, their mother would have started yelling by now but Jungkook knew she could not do anything when Jimin was here. Maybe it was the perfect time for Jungkook to start acting up to made their mother realize that they did not need this at all. Perhaps if he annoy Jimin, he would probably refuse their mother’s offer to stay for dinner next time.

Jungkook cleared his throat. “So, Jimin—” he began, only to be cut off rudely by the same woman who claimed to have given birth to him. Jimin seemed to be a little taken aback when Jungkook attempted to start a conversation with him, but he also seemed amused at the same time.

“It’s hyung, Jeon Jungkook. Where are your manners?”

Jungkook rolled his eyes before continuing. “Jimin hyung,” he emphasized the word hyung just so his mother would stop interrupting him and saw that Jimin’s face broke into a grin for the hundredth time for the past hour. “Did Jesus ever waterski over a shark?”

Jimin blinked and damn, Jungkook could literally feel his mother’s murderous glare burning a hole at the back of his head. Jungkook half-expected Jimin to answer in stutters but instead, the older man only giggled before pinching Jungkook’s cheek, causing the younger to almost whine petulantly.

“Aren’t you too adorable?”

“I’m not.” Jungkook squirmed.

Jungkook’s question was left unanswered when Junghyun added, “Could Jesus start up a jukebox just by hitting it?”

Jimin turned to face Junghyun. “He could, but Jesus doesn’t like to hit anything.”

“Speaking of hit, you never score, did you?”

The question was directed to Jimin but Jungkook was the one who instantly felt the heat rising to his cheeks. Jungkook, somehow, also found himself wondering if Jimin ever Did It with someone because there was no way in hell (or heaven, whatever) Jimin would never score. Even when he was wearing his clerical shirt (which somehow made Jimin ten times more attractive, holy shit thank you jesus), anyone could tell that he probably had some way before he chose to do whatever it was he wanted to do now.

Surprisingly, Jimin seemed calm. “Well, everyone make mistakes at least once in life.”

Then, there was the hand again. Jimin rested his hand on Jungkook’s knee, his thumb softly caressing it and fuck, Jungkook wanted to scream. How can his mother not see this? See what a sinner Jimin truly was? His mother probably took it as Jimin being friendly. If she thought having a very young youth minister who happened to be the reason Jungkook was sexually frustrated one night before was a very good idea, then she was completely wrong.

If anything, Jungkook wanted to commit even more sins than he ever did in the past right now.

So, maybe he was still attracted to Jimin.

Maybe, he still wanted to know how Jimin’s lips felt against his.

It was only then he finally regretted pushing Jimin away when the said man was inching closer to him that one eventful night. His waterfall of gushing regret was interrupted when he felt Jimin’s hand softly squeezing his knee. “But God is merciful, for he will forgive when you seek forgiveness.”

“Cough – Virgin! – Cough.”

“Bless you, Junghyun,” their mother practically yelled out, hoping that Jimin would not catch it and not be offended if he heard it.

Jimin, on the other hand, only had a hint of smile glinted on his lips, almost like he was enjoying the entire situation.

‘He probably was,’ Jungkook thought bitterly. Jungkook almost wanted to stand up and explain that Jimin was not as innocent as he look but decided that he was against it. Besides, he knew his mother would never believe him anyway. She would probably assume that Jungkook tried to make Jimin look bad or even worst, assumed that he was jealous of Jimin.

But how can he make Jimin look bad when Jimin was the one who purposely ran his tongue over his lips and placed his hand somewhere he was not supposed to?

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Dinner was even worst.

While waiting for his mother to prepare dinner, it was awkward in the living room. Junghyun had abruptly left to lock himself in his room the moment his mother announced she was going to prepare dinner, and when Jungkook tried to do the same, his mother had grab him on his arm and he was sure that she was threatening him.

(“You don’t want our guest to feel uncomfortable, don’t you?” If anything, it was Jimin who made Jungkook felt uncomfortable.

“But mom!”

“Stay, Jeon Jungkook. Make him feel welcome.”)

The couch was spacious, but their thighs still kissed. Jimin just had to sit so close to him. It was at this moment Jungkook decided that God was deaf. Jungkook switched on the TV, watching whatever show was running although his mind was screaming at him to go upstairs. He could hear Jimin humming some tune and fuck, if that wasn’t beautiful, Jungkook did not know what was. It irritated him that he was the one who felt awkward with the whole situation and yet Jimin seemed to be able to look as if he had never wanted to pound on Jungkook before.

When his dad came from the front door and joined them to watch a rerun of a sports event, Jungkook murmured an apology to God for doubting Him. His dad greeted Jimin first, the two were talking about something Jungkook did not care enough to listen to before focusing on the television screen.

After what seemed like forever, his mother finally walked out of the kitchen to announce that dinner was ready. They were sat at the rectangular wooden dining table at the dining room, with Jimin sitting across of Jungkook, his parents sat at the opposite sides while Junghyun came down to grab a chicken and then leave. Jungkook watched, snickering as his mother pinched the bridge of her nose at Junghyun’s behavior.

His parents were conversing with Jimin, leaving him to wonder why he even bothered to be there at all. It seemed like he did not belong in his own house. Clearly, his presence was ignored. It was dull until he felt something tapping on his foot lightly. He ignored it at first, thinking that it was Miura, the dog he secretly brought home a few weeks ago.

(Junghyun had laugh his ass off when Jungkook was caught bringing a dog home and guffawed even harder when Jungkook told him his name was Miura; just like the lead singer in Radio Wrecker)

Only to realize that his mother had been a major fun sponge and forced Jungkook to put the adorable little puppy to an animal shelter.

What the fuck?

Gradually, he straightened his back and chewed his mash potato slowly. Mustering his courage, he stole a glimpse at Park Jimin, who was nodding to whatever his dad had to say while feeding himself a spoonful of mash potato. Whatever, Jungkook thought and resumed eating normally until he felt it again.

There was no way in hell that would have been an accident or just wishful thinking.

He shuddered when he felt someone’s (aka Park fucking-stupid Jimin) foot casually running up to his calf and knee before lightly backing down. He was frozen in his seat, eyes wavering and internally screaming to his parents for help. There was no doubt that Park Jimin was purposely doing this to mess with his mind. When Jungkook looked up, Jimin was softly smiling and appeared to be listening intently to Jungkook’s mother rambling about the influence heavy metal music had on teenagers.

Jungkook was supposed to shift his feet, he even considered sitting crossed legs on the chair but instead, he let out a yelp when he felt Jimin’s foot brushing against his clothed crotch.

“Jesus,” his mother gasped, almost dropping the metal fork she was holding while staring scornfully at Jungkook. “What is wrong with you?”

Jungkook turned to his dad for help, but apparently the man found the chicken wings to be far more important than supporting his son out.

When he turned to Jimin, however, he was so close to lunging forward to snap his neck into half. The fucker was staring at him in fake confusion, as if he had not just purposely played footsie underneath the table while Jungkook’s parents were around. Jungkook cleared his throat in embarrassment, muttering a “nothing” and earned another glare from his mother.

And great, his pants suddenly shrunk a size.

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Jungkook could finally relax when Jimin went back home. His mother was literally gushing when the door was closed, voicing out her thoughts on how lovely Park Jimin was. Jungkook did not even bother to hide how pissed he felt when he stomped upstairs.

He abruptly dashed to his room, took his towel and locked the bathroom door to have a quick jerk off session. Jungkook almost let out a loud cry at the image of Park Jimin, in his clerical shirt and all, sucking the tip of his dick. He had to swallow the groan at the edge of his tongue as an image of a naked Jimin, wearing a rosary necklace around his neck and legs wide open crossed his mind.

When he finally came down from his high with his chest still heaving and heart still beating rapidly against his ribcage, Jungkook cursed himself for thinking of unholy thoughts about a very unholy man whom might actually be Satan himself.

He swore it would be the last time he ever think of Park Jimin like that ever again.

Who the fuck was he kidding, of course God would torture him this way.

Jungkook finally gave in and went to church just to humor his mother, eyes often drifting away to steal glances of Jimin in his black clerical shirt. That stupid black shirt was supposed to be a symbol of holiness or whatever the fuck it was supposed to represent, but Jungkook found himself swallowing when he saw Jimin clad in said outfit. If anything, Jimin looked like the human depiction of sin itself.

He tried to weigh out the pros and cons of going to church. For starters, Jimin would not have to step a foot in his house ever again. But it still did not change the fact that the church was still fucking hot, he still had to wear the goddamn tie and Jimin was there, playing the piano oh so skillfully, making Jungkook wonder how those cute fingers would feel inside of him—

Fuck.

Jungkook was really fucked.

So, maybe he did want to get fucked by pastor in training Park Jimin.

After all, what was that thing Jimin said about making a mistake at least once in life? Whatever, if Jungkook wanted to make a mistake, he had to make sure it was in the form of Park Jimin. At least he would make the eighteen year old Jungkook feel at ease after pushing Jimin away.

He convinced himself that he was simply trying to take back the chance he had lost.

The sensible part of his brain screamed: ‘Yeah, but he’s a pastor now, you fucking idiot.’

However, the Jimin-induced part of his brain screamed: “Pastor in training, not yet pastor. Pastor or not, son of a bitch is a fucking tease.”

Jungkook thought that he might be able to get through all the torture but every time Sunday came, he found himself ogling Jimin from the pew. Now, he was the one who fussed if they did not get to sit at the front row of the pews.

His mother, unaware of his son’s libido, was in tears. “Ah, look at my son! I’m so glad you’ve opened up your eyes, Jungkookie. I’m so proud of you!”

If only she knew that God was not the reason he was there. (“No offense, man,” Jungkook whispered as he glanced at the sky.)

And Jungkook knew he needed to put an end to it after he found himself, yet again, in the shower with very dirty thoughts of Park Jimin.

Jungkook finally came up with an idea that would have made Isaac Newton green with envy as he cries in his grave.

“Mom, where does Jimin live?”

“It’s Jimin hyung, you imbecile. How many times should I—”

“Sorry. Where does Jimin hyung lives?” he repeated with an eyeroll.

“I supposed he still lives with his family,” his mother answered, cleaning the ceramic plate with a rag.

He inwardly groaned – he knew pushing Jimin away was a horrible idea. But who was he to blame – he was eighteen, he was scared and the only person he ever kissed was Yugyeom and it was just an experiment for fuck’s sake! (“God, you’re a bad kisser.” “Are you helping me or not? I don’t want Yien hyung to think I’m inexperienced!” “But you are—” “Shut up.”)

“Why?”

Jungkook shook his head, walked over to the small table beside the kitchen counter to grab a cracker. “Nothing. I was just wondering a thing or two about Mary and Joseph.”

Hearing this, his mother’s ears perked up with obvious interest and a wide smile took over her cherry-tainted lips. “Is that so?”

“Mmhm.”

While Jungkook had always dreamed of becoming a professional bassist, he was considering being a soap opera actor now. Damn, he was such a good actor.

“I’ll call the Park household and ask.”

“You’d do that?”

“Anything for my sweet boy.”

There was absolutely nothing sweet about Jungkook going to Jimin’s apartment at a Thursday evening, holding his mother’s homemade apple pie in one hand and the other softly knocking on Jimin’s blue painted door. He secretly hoped that he got the wrong apartment, and then maybe he would not have to go through this.

But as soon as the door was open, he knew there was no turning back from whatever it was the he planned to do. Jimin had a startled look on his face, but soon enough it morphed into an open mouthed smile that could make the sun hide in shame. Jungkook swallowed before wincing internally – he was supposed to be nonchalant and irresistible but fuck that. Jimin’s usual groomed hair was tousled, making him even more attractive despite only wearing a plain shirt and ugly brown shorts.

“Oh, Jungkookie! Didn’t know you’d be here.”

All of a sudden, it was as if everything in his brain was switched off. The only thing he was able to do was shove the dish into Jimin’s chest in an effort to become Detached.

Jimin raised an eyebrow as he took a hold on the dish, fingers accidentally brushing over Jungkook’s and it was fortunate that the dish did not fell to the ground when Jungkook pulled his hands abruptly. He faked cough into his fist, eyes looking at the hallway as he lied shamelessly, “My mom asked me to come over.”

There was a glint in Jimin’s eyes that Jungkook did not catch. When Jungkook turned to him, Jimin only smiled, “Is that so? Come on in then.”

Jimin’s apartment was small; across the entrance there was a marbled countertop and a kitchen behind it. On Jungkook’s left was what he assumed was the living room, the bulked TV was placed on top of a wooden cabinet filled with books and a peach-coloured couch was situated a few steps away from the TV. Jungkook closed the door behind him, glancing to his right and figured Jimin’s bedroom was the one with the door slightly ajar, whilst the one with the plastic door must have been the bathroom.

“You’ve got a nice home,” Jungkook murmured, looking up at the ceiling and wondered why Jimin did not switch on the fan.

Jimin ran a hand through his hair, walked behind the countertop to place the dish and took out two soda cans from his fridge. “Thanks. Please, sit down.”

He slightly skipped to the couch and sat, noting that it was far more comfortable than it had looked. If there was anything Jungkook noticed about Jimin (other than how pouty his lips were and how gorgeous he absolutely looked in just a plain white shirt), it was the fact that he loved to occupy the space between them, leaving none.

The couch was not as big as the ones in Jungkook’s home, but there was still some space that Jimin could spare but no, he chose to sit right next to Jungkook, let their thighs touched as he placed the red cola can in front of Jungkook on the coffee table.

“So… what brings you here?” Jimin asked casually, opening the can. His eyes were trained on Jungkook the whole time he took a sip and the younger could only avert his gaze away and grabbed his soda just so he would have something to occupy his hands with.

Well, honestly, Jimin, I was planning to have a quick fuck or something like that but now that I think about it – this is such a stupid idea. I shouldn’t have thought with my dick.

“Well,” he stammered before clearing his throat, eyes glued to his lap.

“Mhm?”

“You see—”

“Mhm.”

“R-remember when, uh, how do I say this…” Jungkook muttered, ruffling his hair in frustration. Jimin only stared at him patiently as he set his drink on the table. Jungkook’s whole body tensed when he felt Jimin’s hand on his thigh and he had to physically refrain himself from shuddering when the same hand that played the piano skillfully every Sunday was inching higher.

“Yeah?” Jimin breathed out.

Jungkook swallowed.

“D-don’t do that,” he managed to croak out. “It’s distracting.”

Jimin only let out a small giggle, his hand began to stroke Jungkook’s upper thigh and brought his face nearer. “Do what?”

Jungkook bit his lower lip, his mind screaming for God to take his soul right there and then but his cock begged to differ. He could feel himself slowly hardening at the soft touches and the way Jimin was watching him.

“This,” he answered with a murmur, placing his hand on top of Jimin’s.

Jimin’s lips quirked into an amused smile. “Why is that?”

“Hyung.” Jungkook had imagined that it would come out as Tough and Intimidating, but as soon as he heard himself whine, he wanted to cry. “Don’t.”

Jimin’s hand underneath his was squeezing on his thigh lightly, and he had bitten down his lower lip coyly when he did so. “What was it you were saying earlier?”

Jungkook should have removed Jimin’s hand from his thigh, but he did not. He berated his libido for letting Park Jimin doing this to him. He continued stupidly (or rather bravely, he was not sure), “The night at Seokjin hyung’s party. You tried to kiss me.”

Instead of denying and pulling his hand away, Jimin only nodded and began moving his hand on Jungkook’s inner thigh, almost making Jungkook clamp his thighs together. Jungkook pulled his hand away from Jimin, awkwardly holding the can of soda with both hands.

“I did,” Jimin agreed with a hum. “Still am, honestly.”

While his mind was screaming for him to push Jimin and run as fast as he could, there was a small voice inside his head that was encouraging him to just go with it. Jimin worked in a church that was only a few streets away now, training as a pastor and yet there he was, giving Jungkook suggestive looks and touches that were far from friendly.

“But it’s all wrong,” Jungkook heard himself whisper. He watched as Jimin’s lips curved into a wider grin, revealing his slightly crooked front tooth.

“But it feels right, doesn’t it?” Jimin whispered, his hand now left his thigh to palm on Jungkook’s crotch.

The younger looked away in embarrassment, a crimson flush spread from under his collar when he felt Jimin lightly rubbing his clothed semi. “Jungkookie,” Jimin whispered tantalizingly on his ear. Jungkook was thankfully able to stop himself from letting out a whimper when he felt Jimin’s tongue slowly licking his earlobe. “Hyung wants to do this for so long, do you have any idea?”

“N-no,” he gulped.

“You’ll be a good boy, won’t you?” Jimin asked, before lightly biting his helix, Jimin’s hand still rubbing him.

Jungkook gasped softly before nodding. Shit, he really needed to go now.

Why go when you can finally live your bathroom fantasies?

Before Jungkook could turn his head, to kiss the lips he had been dreading to taste, Jimin pulled away and shifted his position a bit further than before. The emotion Jungkook felt was betrayal and perhaps disappointment at the sudden action. Jimin can’t just get somebody hot and all flustered and then suddenly stop – it was unforgivable.

“When did you change your mind? Last time I remember, you pushed me away.”

Jungkook pursed his lips in a straight line; the forceful waterfall of regret began gushing again. He placed his soda can on the space behind him, it was not like he had the purpose to drink it in the first place. Jimin was watching him with amusement now as he crossed his arms against his chest.

“Well,” Jungkook licked his dry lips. “Things might have changed,” he reasoned lamely, looking up to Jimin to watch his reaction. “And I might have been spending my time in the bathroom tad longer than I was supposed to…”

Jimin chuckled drolly, slowly leaning back to eye Jungkook from head to toe.

“Show me then.”

“Excuse me?” he croaked.

“Why did you spend your time in the bathroom, Jungkookie? Were you doing something you weren’t supposed to?” Jimin lowered his voice an octave, but despite trying to sound intimidating, Jungkook can still hear the enjoyment in his voice.

“You know,” Jungkook muttered, ears burning hot. “The things… boys do sometimes. I’m pretty sure you do it too.”

Jimin blinked with feign innocence. “I don’t know what you’re talking about. Unless you show me, then maybe I can tell you if I do it too.”

There was no way Jungkook would have jerked off in front of the object of his fantasy, but his hands were already holding the waistband of his jeans. He felt like he was suffocating in the tight jeans, with the tent that was already growing in there so he might as well take it off and start putting on a show. Of course Jimin knew what exactly what he was talking about, he could see the malicious intent behind his innocent façade but somehow Jungkook wanted to give his all to Jimin.

“I…” Jungkook bit his lip in shame, slowly standing up from his seat. Jimin watched as Jungkook lower down his jeans, but still leaving his gray brief on. “I guess I have to show you then.”

Jimin wanted to backflip to the sun, to scream on top of his lungs because holy fuck, was Jungkook really going to do it? He had been just jesting around, trying to get Jungkook to become bothered and flustered but he had no idea that Jungkook was really going to jack offin front of him.

Jimin swallowed, eyes glued to the obvious bulge.

He should have stopped, he knew he should have but a part of him refused to voice this out. Jungkook looked vulnerable, adorable even, with his blushing cheeks and eyes that can’t seem to turn to Jimin. The room’s temperature suddenly grew hotter, he blamed it for not switching on the fan.

The Jimin A Year Ago would have started to pound on Jungkook the moment Jungkook whined, but after spending a few months training with Father Choi, he had grown to be collected and tranquil but fuck, no one actually taught him to stop himself from tainting the younger.

Jungkook was his junior, whom he tried to sleep with a year ago because he saw the orange hankie on the left side of his jeans, and Jimin had lost his chance when Jungkook rejected him. While he should have moved on and maybe kick Jungkook out of his apartment right this instant, he found himself letting out a groan when Jungkook slowly and rather torturously, placed a hand inside his brief while the other inched his tee up just a bit.

Jimin’s breath hitched in his throat when Jungkook glanced up to him, doe eyes watching his reaction. It was getting difficult for Jimin to remain composed when Jungkook let out the prettiest sigh, his hand tenderly massaging his aching cock.

Jimin had to clear his throat as quiet as he could, knowing well that his voice might come out hoarse if he did not do so, before blinking innocently. “Did you have your brief on when you usually do this?”

“No, but—”

Jimin cocked a brow. Jungkook bit his lower lip for umpteenth time today, hesitating to expose himself but he was already here. Shutting his eyes, he finally discarded his briefs, lightly kicking it to get it off from his feet. Jungkook did not dare to look up to Jimin, feeling a little bit humiliated as this was the first time someone saw his dick – and it was half hard, at that.

“Proceed.” He heard Jimin instructed.

Jungkook licked his lips as he pumped himself.

Jimin began shifting uncomfortably in his seat, his cock twitching with excitement as Jungkook clamped his lips shut to stay silent.

It was only when Jungkook’s mouth dropped open, head thrown back that Jimin finally spoke. “Stop.”

Jungkook’s strokes gradually slowed down and finally stopped to thumb his slit that was oozing with precum.

“I understand,” Jimin nodded. He may have looked collected on the outside, but he was literally burning on the inside. The devil inside of him was screaming at him to pin the younger against the wall, fuck him so hard he would not be able to walk for days but he managed to breathe through his nose properly before standing up from the couch.

Jungkook’s half-lidded eyes followed Jimin’s movement; finger did not stop to swirl around the head. Jimin strode closer, a smirk on his lips and Jungkook gasped softly when he felt Jimin’s hand wrapped around the base of his cock and squeezed it lightly. “To answer your question earlier,” Jimin murmured, nosing the crook of Jungkook’s neck.

“I touch myself too, sometimes,” he continued, hand began moving to stroke Jungkook.

Jungkook held back the groan at the back of his throat, one hand flew to grab Jimin’s arm. Jimin only smirked against his collarbone, satisfied at the way Jungkook’s hand holding on to his arm. Jimin stopped at the tip, gave it a squeeze before pulling his hand away, earning a small whimper from Jungkook.

Jimin stepped back, sardonically grin at Jungkook’s expression – half-lidded eyes, lips parted and chest heaving. He was beautiful.

“Hyung…”

Jimin would be lying if he said it was not a turn on. Jungkook had been difficult, a little bit hardheaded in showing respect to Jimin. When they first interacted at Seokjin’s house, the younger had rolled his eyes when Jimin asked to be called ‘hyung’, he even assumed that Jimin had been lying about his age. But now that Jungkook was flustered, Jimin did not need to remind him who was older now.

“Yeah?” Jimin chuckled.

He thought it was impossible for Jungkook to turn even redder, but he was wrong. Unlike the times he would turn his eyes away, Jungkook mustered every courage he had to look up to Jimin and hoped he looked enticing enough when he said, “Want you.”

Fuck.

“Right now?”

“Right now.”

“Here?”

“Here.”

Jimin seemed to be pleased with Jungkook’s answer when he grinned.

“Well,” Jimin huffed, sitting on the couch. “Come here.” He patted his lap.

Jungkook obeyed, sitting astride him. He sighed when Jimin moved closer, causing his hardened cock to brush against Jimin’s stomach. “You’re so cute,” Jimin murmured before tilting his head slightly and let his lips rested on Jungkook’s tenderly. Jimin parted his lips slightly, running a tongue on Jungkook’s bottom lip and the younger opened up, letting Jimin’s tongue slid over his. He did not even realize that Jimin had one hand on his nape, softly massaging it.

It was Jimin who pulled away, and Jungkook found himself leaning as if he wanted to prolong the kiss.

“You wanna come see my room?”

Jungkook lied on Jimin’s bed, shirt was thrown somewhere on the floor while Jimin began undressing himself. Jungkook did not dare to look up, only focused his gaze on the ceiling as his mind tried to convince him to back out before things could get even worst. But damn, he had been thinking about this for days and Jimin was such a fucking tease and yeah, he deserved it.

“You alright?” he heard Jimin murmur.

“Yeah.”

“First time?”

Jungkook gulped before nodding.

He felt the bed dip beside his legs and before he knew it, Jimin spread him open. He tilted his head to look at Jimin, and thank fucking God, he was finally naked too. Jimin lowered himself, stomach flat on the bed as his legs kicked the air. “Up a bit,” Jimin instructed, placing a hand underneath Jungkook’s cheek to spread it. Jungkook lifted his hips a little, one foot planted on the mattress.

“H-hyung…” he gasped when he felt Jimin’s tongue licking his entrance. “What are you—” he was unable to form a coherent sentence when he felt it again.

“Wanna make you feel good,” Jimin answered, one finger circling on the rim before kissing Jungkook’s balls, causing the younger to shudder.

“I…” Jungkook panted. “Wanna make you feel good too.”

Jimin chuckled.

Jungkook was about to sit up, to probably switch their position but was abruptly against it when he felt Jimin’s warm mouth sucking on his scrotum, back arched at the sensation. “J-Jimin… Oh my god…”

Jimin softly tug on his balls before pulling away, earning a groan from Jungkook that was soon replaced with a whimper when Jimin gave his perineum a lick.

“Wanna fuck you. Can I?”

Jungkook nodded, a little too eagerly. Jimin smiled the 1000 watt smile and at that moment, Jungkook felt something swell in his chest, despite Jimin resting his cheek against his inner thigh and his hand kneading his ass.

“Have you ever fingered yourself?” Jimin asked, sitting up from his position and Jungkook could now see Jimin’s cock standing proud, curving towards his stomach. Jimin was thick and Jungkook, fuck, found himself gulping at the sight.

It was only when he heard a click that Jungkook realized he had not answered Jimin’s question yet. He willed himself to look up from Jimin’s dick, and focused on the older’s lips instead. “No, never,” his voice drowned into a whisper.

Jimin smirked, closing the lid of the bottle he was holding. “You wanna do it yourself, or shall I?”

The question made Jungkook wonder the amount of times Jimin had probably done this. He grimaced at the thought of Jimin doing it with someone else that was not him. The only thing Jungkook ever did with another guy was giving him a head, and it was something he wished to never relive again. It was a horrible experience – the guy was practically fucking his mouth and fuck, he had to swallow it all. It was nasty.

But Jimin seemed like he had done more than just a sloppy blowjob, he could tell from the way he was prepared with the lube. Jungkook had one at home, but never had the chance to use it. He was afraid he’ll get caught with a finger up his ass by anyone in the house.

Jungkook blushed as he replied, “Do it for me.”

“If you say so. Turn around, on fours.”

Jungkook obeyed, using his arms to prop himself. He wanted to look at Jimin, to see his face expression, see the way his lips fall when he came. He heard the click again and this time, Jungkook turned around. Jimin cocked an eyebrow, his hand squeezing the lube into his hands.

“What’s wrong?”

“Nothing,” he faked cough. “Just wanna see you, that is all.”

“That’s cute,” Jimin giggled. “If it hurts, tell me and I’ll stop.”

Jungkook frowned – why would I stop when I got you where I wanted? – but nodded nonetheless.

“Relax, okay? Trust me.”

Jungkook took a deep breath, attempting to calm his wildly beating heart.

Jimin inserted two fingers inside the pink rim, as much as his eyes wanted to watch Jungkook’s hold clenched around his fingers, he had to look up to see any sign of discomfort from Jungkook. Jungkook was biting his lower lip so hard, eyes shut and nose scrunched. In spite of being worried, he could not help but to think how cute Jungkook was.

He began to twist his fingers, moving them in and out slowly, often curving them and scissoring them before adding in another digit.

Initially, it was painful but as soon as Jimin thrusted his fingers, the pain subsided. Jungkook’s mouth opened into a silent moan, his tensed arms slowly relaxing. Jimin began to increase his speed then with Jungkook’s moans fueling him. When Jungkook began to rut himself back onto his fingers, Jimin pulled out.

“Hyung, no no, put them back in,” Jungkook whined.

Jimin snickered at the younger, pouring a liberal amount of lube onto his shaft, shuddered at the coolness and stroked his dick with it.

“Shh,” he murmured, brought himself closer to peck on Jungkook’s nose, one arm propped at Jungkook’s side while he used the other one to align his cock to Jungkook’s entrance. “This will be better.”

“Holy—” Jungkook inhaled sharply when he felt Jimin’s tip pressed against his entrance. Jimin entered rather slowly, stretching the inside of his walls and it was more agonizing than his fingers. Jungkook threw his head back and Jimin took the chance to nip on his neck.

“Fuck,” Jimin panted when he was fully inside. “You’re so tight.”

Jungkook would have snapped (“What the fuck do you think?!”), but he had Jimin inside of him and there really was no space in his brain that would let him do anything other than think about how huge Jimin felt inside of him. His own cock was hot and heavy, but he made no move to pump himself.

Jungkook was about to instruct Jimin to move, but he let out a yelp when Jimin pulled out and snapped his hips.

“Shit, hyung…”

Jimin began moving slowly, straightened his back to hold onto Jungkook’s hips as he moved.

Jungkook was so lovely underneath him, as if he was made to be like this – to have his dark hair sticking up everywhere, half-lidded eyes staring straight at Jimin, pink lips open to produce such dirty sounds that sound beautiful in Jimin’s ears and knuckles gripping tightly on the mattress.

He knew he found the spot when Jungkook let out a particularly loud moan, back arching so gorgeously.

“T-there… Keep going…”

Jimin loved seeing Jungkook writing on his bed, loved the obscene noises they both made, loved the way Jungkook’s hand wrapped around his while the other grip tightly on the pillow beneath his head and god, he absolutely loved the way Jungkook kept on calling him hyung, begging for Jimin to go faster as his breathing became erratic.

The younger came untouched, painting their chests and stomachs white, toes curling and hips lifted from the bed when the orgasm hit him. On the other hand, Jimin kept on going, despite Jungkook jerking every single time he hit the bundle of nerves due to sensitivity. Jungkook began whimpering then when Jimin touched his cock, milking him and at the same time, bucking his hips into him.

Jungkook watched as Jimin moaned his name, eyes scrunched tightly as his body stilled from a minute, before he felt Jimin filling his inside. He abruptly pulled out from Jungkook, collapsing on his chest with a groan. Jungkook let out a yelp as he pushed Jimin off, can’t bear to have his dick being in contact with anything.

Jimin rolled lazily onto his side, placing a peck on his cheek. He looked gorgeous, cheeks tainted red and bangs matted on his forehead. His ribcage expanded and contracted heavily against the mattress, hand slowly travelled to entwine his fingers with Jungkook’s.

With heaving chest, Jungkook croaked out, “Now what?”

The thought of having to meet Jimin at church every Sunday pained him, not that it dawned to him that he loved seeing the half-moons Jimin’s eyes made when he smiled.

“Now,” Jimin breathed on his ear, causing him to shudder. “We have a secret.”

“What would…” Jungkook gulped, trying to steady his breathing. “What would they say, if they knew?”

“Who?”

“Everyone.”

“Screw them.”

“Yeah?”

“Yeah.”

Jungkook decided that he found Jimin’s smile to no longer be annoying, but contagious. He found himself grinning when the older did, and he could not help the fluttery feelings he felt in his chest, slowly bubbling its way up to his throat and came out as a giggle.

Jimin pressed his lips on Jungkook’s shoulder, slightly grazing his teeth on his skin before asking, “Wanna go again?”

#jikook #kookmin #kfk:oneshot #jikook fic #jikook fanfic #kookmin fic #kookmin fanfic #jeon jungkook #park jimin #bts #bts fanfic

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thetowerupright · 4 years

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this is absolute word vomit. sorry in advance.

i started a new med and my psychiatrist said to take it in the morning bc it wont make me as drowsy as the last anxiety med, but when picking up my med the pharmacist said I absolutely need to take it at night bc i’ll get extremely drowsy. i decided to take it bc i had a horrible panic attack at walgreens so it would help me sleep. so i took it at midnight and laid in bed until 2:45 just not being able to sleep :) sooo i guess the med fought against my actual sleep med and now im wide awake :)) ANYWAYS these are all of my thoughts since midnight

1. i had to delete my twitter app bc i like going on there at night and signing petitions bc there’s so many resources for them on twitter. however so many people are coming out about being raped or molested which is good bc i want people to tell their stories but holy shit it is so triggering. just seeing stories and details like i go on and i have to log off a short time later bc im so triggered. it sucks because i want to be there for people but i cant do that if im triggered ya kno?

2. i have always loved amy winehouse for so many reasons but when i sing one of her songs it’s the only time i feel confident in my singing. she was just such a gem and it makes me so sad to know i’ll never be able to see her live. i’ll go a couple months without listening to her and then a song will come on shuffle and she’s all i listen to for the next 24 hours i love her so much

3. going back to singing, god damn. i miss that shit. i miss performing and being on stage and singing and dancing and acting. i posted a video of me singing on tik tok and i keep almost deleting it because i sound so terrible. i am so terribly out of practice. the other day i found like the tap dance side of tik tok and i almost bought myself some tap shoes and a floor set so i could start tap again. i still remember so much lol but like my singing im so out of practice. bc of my rapist and shitty people in high school i feel like i sound so fucking terrible and have so much anxiety singing infront of people. it sucks i just wanna work on the fear

4. i heard recently that people with anxiety will tend to watch the same tv and movies over and over and over again bc their brain already knows how it ends, and i felt so snatched!!! i restarted the office last week, soooo this is my 13th time watching it. ive watched 5 seasons in like 9 days. and when i finish it (which will probably be in the next couple days) ya kno what im gonna do? PLAY SEASON ONE EPISODE ONE lmfao the office is my tv show weighted blanket

5. i realized that since deleting my instagram soooo much tension has left me. like not just in my body but my soul as well. that shit is just so extremely toxic. im glad i deleted my account and dont have the pressures in my life to please people on social media. i did get a little annoyed tho bc people kept messaging me wanting an explanation and i dont owe anyone shit! however it was fucking hysterical when i put out 24 hours before deleting it that i was leaving and all the men actively in my dms were messaging me all upset like HONEY you’ll be FINE go masturbate to someone else GOOD BYE

6. my savage x fenty package was suppose to be here monday and still isnt here :) so im in nashville and it went from indianapolis, to memphis, to louisville, and is supposedly in nashville as of tonight. like they went south and passed me, then was in the SAME STATE, went NORTH OF ME, and now it’s here. it was also shipped by fedex and i haaate fedex because similar shit like this ALLLLLWAYS happens!! honestly im only frustrated bc im so use to my amazon packages being at my house 4-48 hours later. i say 4 hours bc last month i order something at 4am and it was delivered to my house at 8am that day lol

7. i saw a tik tok about rape that said hey guess what every 7 years you have new cells so in 7 years you’ll have a body that was never touched by your rapist. im happy bc nov 11 will be 7 years since the start of everything so those cells will be gone. but he raped me in february so that’ll be another 7 years for new cells. it’s nice to know i’ll have new cells one day that arent touched by him, but as i sit here typing this i can still feel where he first touched me in nov 2013 and i wish i could burn all my skin off

8. in the last 2 days i have eaten....3 bites of a grilled cheese. :)) like ive gone to eat and just the smell of food makes me so sick. i wish i could go back to my attempt in april and be like “hey frankie yeah uhhhhh dont do this...for obvious reasons ofc but also bc you literally will not eat food for months!!!” i cant tell you how many times ive gotten food i love and taken a bite and it’s soooo gooood and then after two or three more bites my body is like “NOOOOOPE ABORT MISSION”

9. it’s almost a year since rileys death. i’m trying to keep myself distracted as best i can. it’s hard though. i miss them so much. i feel so empty sometimes without them physically being in my life anymore. a year has passed and i still find myself picking up my phone to talk to them. ive gone through this pain before and i know it gets better it truly does. but right now it’s hard and painful and absolutely heartbreaking and soul shattering. i hope whatever happens after death, riley is okay. theyre happy and free and their soul is more alive than it was on earth.

10. i felt suicidal today and for a moment yesterday for the first time in awhiiiile. not actively or wanting to do harm to myself, but just not wanting to live anymore. when i talked to my resident about it today and how i was dealing with it, he said i was doing a really really good job. and that he was proud of me. i didnt cry then but when he went to get the psychiatrist that was subbing in for mine, i did cry a little. i wish i heard more that people were proud of me. i’ll appreciate that from anyone, but i fucking wish my family would tell me that. they never really have, going all the way into childhood to now. idk i just feel like nobody is proud but im trying so fucking hard.

11. the sun is rising and it’s so pretty outside. despite everything, this week is going well. it’s not like fantastic or anything, but i feel a little more lively this week than the past several weeks. a few weeks ago i looked at myself in the mirror and started sobbing. not just because i hate how i look and my body. but because i saw no light or life in my eyes. i took a selfie a couple days ago, and i saw a little light and life again. im not gonna say things are better, but things are very very slowly improving. just gotta do the next right thing. ttyl :)

#word vomit

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automatismoateo · 5 years

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My Ex-Catholic wife recently had an existential moment. It hurt her, and hurt me to watch. I think it's time to tell another de-conversion story. Stop me if you've heard this one before. via /r/atheism

Submitted February 19, 2020 at 04:08AM by anon_guy_2468 (Via reddit https://ift.tt/39K4iE0) My Ex-Catholic wife recently had an existential moment. It hurt her, and hurt me to watch. I think it's time to tell another de-conversion story. Stop me if you've heard this one before.

First, I often deplore long stories on Atheism, and I often do not read them. With that said I completely understand if people don't read this. I wont be hurt.

However, I'm starting to understand why they exist. Sometimes we need to know that someone else has been through something before, just to know we're not alone. So i'm going to tell my wife's story today, through my eyes, starting when I met her and concluding last week. Don't worry, her story isn't over, she isn't dead, the story is just going to end there for today.

Who should be reading this? Besides the obvious of "Whoever wants to", I'm intending this to be read by two groups of people. Atheist Spouses married to a believer, and anyone who was raised religious but wants to hear another side of things.

By the term Atheist Spouses i'm referring to people like me. I (An atheist since ~12) fell in love with a catholic woman who said she would never give up her faith. She demanded that I let her raise the kids in Catholic values, and asked me repeatedly to join her in her faith. Her family did too. WARNING, WARNING, WARNING! Every bit of advice will tell you that I should've walked away. Don't get married, don't have kids, don't don't don't. It cannot end well. But I was in love. I wanted it to work out, and I was willing to let her have whatever she wanted.

But i'm getting ahead of myself. I was 23, working a dead end retail job in a city I hated. I got a promotion to store manager and suddenly had a crew working under me. One of them had two jobs, he worked for me and he also worked at a store across the hall. Unbeknownst to me, he knew a girl and thought she would be perfect for me. So they arranged a meeting. They brought her into my store under a false pretense, paraded her around in front of me asking questions about something she didn't care about. It worked, holy hell it worked. Love at first sight. Still to this day I have no idea why.

Within weeks we were arranging our breaks together, going for lunches, and less than 5 weeks in we were off on our first real date. Why did it take 5 weeks to have our first date? Well, that's where WARNING number one should have had me questioning my decisions. She had a (kid). The father was absent and she was raising (it) alone. Didn't matter, I was in love. But because she had an added responsibility this meant that she needed to take things seriously. She made it clear that she wasn't just "dating" for the sake of dating. Because of this I met her family early. They were catholic. VERY Catholic.

First was a lunch with her mother. She'd already asked her daughter if I was catholic, to which she was told that I was not. Then again during lunch she made sure to ask again if I was catholic. I said no. The following day I met the grandmother and the mother made sure to let HER know, in front of me, that I was indeed not Catholic. It came up often. I remember a conversation with her father some time later that sounded similar. None of them ever knew that I was an Atheist, they all just knew that I wasn't catholic. That was bad enough.

Flash forward a bit. 5 months into the relationship I've already proposed. We need to meet the Priest. He wants to interview us separately. Nigerian guy, worked his way to Canada on a religious visa, has to remain a priest to stay in the country. To my surprise he couldn't care less about my religion. He asks me some questions, asks if I will let my wife raise the kids Catholic... I honestly don't remember it much. It was pretty chill. Then comes the kicker. If we want to be married in his church, we have to take Catholic Marriage Classes. Lets be clear, this is the church my wife-to-be has been attending for a VERY long time. I'm willing to do what it takes...almost.

We live below the poverty line at this point. Times are tough, and we've got a (kid) to think about as well. These classes they want us to take are monday to wednesday, in a city about 150km (90miles) away. We're not commuting 3 hours a day, AFTER taking 3 days off work. This isn't going to work. She suggests we consider another church. I make absolutely sure she's okay not being married in HER church. She's not happy with it, but willing to do it. We've been telling people this whole time that my family is part of the United Church (technically not a lie, we are, we just haven't gone in like 10+ years) So we tell her parents that we're going to move the ceremony to a United Church. They are not happy, but grit their teeth.

That Sunday at the end of service they tell the priest that the wedding is being moved to another church. Moments later he literally gets in his car and follows her parents home! They're walking into their house and he's already in the driveway! It's a big thing. Him losing "another young catholic" isn't something he's willing to do. He bends over backwards, finds and arranges for us to take evening classes at a local church. This is the first flexibility I've ever seen in the Catholic Church, and i'm amazed.

These classes, in hindsight, probably should have made me walk away. The brainwashing my fiance had lived through became very evident. She was defensive when she didn't need to be, and even broke into tears a couple times. I still remember two of those times. One time she tearfully told me she was afraid she would live a lifetime with me, then get to heaven and find that I wasn't there. Another time she cried, begging me, "why can't you just believe?". She wasn't being manipulative, not at all. She was genuinely afraid. It hurt. It hurt not because of what she was saying, but it hurt because I realized she was soo deep into this all that she saw faith as fact. It was scary. But I did what I needed, and I agreed to let her raise the kids catholic. That part wasn't negotiable. I was not converting, that part was also non-negotiable.

The wedding goes...okay. This was in the early 2000's, so the priest who I've spoken about is already gone. They're moving them around a LOT right now. Boston just happened a couple years ago and priests are staying in small churches no more than 9-12 months right now. They cant risk anyone being in a church long enough to develop relationships with children. So our wedding is done by a new young priest who botches it completely. He even forgets the first kiss. My wife and I just take a moment to face the crowd, and lay a good 15 second one on each other to give everyone a chance to grab their cameras and capture the moment. The priest doesn't even notice! Oh well.

Soon into our marriage we move away from her hometown. Our jobs are both dead end, and we both wanna live somewhere bigger. My wife finds a new catholic church which she pledges to attend weekly, but that quickly starts to fade. In less than a year she's become a holiday catholic. She still prays, she teaches our (kid) about Jesus, and makes sure to let her family know that she's still living as a Catholic (minus church). Christmas every year has our kid getting a ton of religious gifts. It's kinda sick. Jesus books, Jesus art, Jesus toys. They really know how to make money off this guy.

(Quick Note: Her child is now our child, I always refer to that kid as our first/oldest, the word step dad is never used. We are about to have two children, and that nomenclature never fades)

Our second child is born, and I ain't seen NOTHING yet. The family goes ALL OUT trying to make sure they're not gonna lose this one. Jesus figures, more jesus art, and books that will never be read. But that's nothing compared to the litany of questions and promises that this child will also be raised catholic. The Christening is booked quickly (and don't you dare accidentally call it a baptism).

We move around a couple more times during the years, following jobs here and there. Both the kids go through Catechism classes at different times in different cities, and once again i'm exposed to some real horror. They really beat this "satan" stuff into the kids. If they don't do what they're told satan is gonna get them and burn them. It's scary shit.

But the church that does Catechism with our second child screws up. They screw up big time. During the classes my wife is told that she needs to attend weekly Mass, or they're not letting Kid#2 attend. After the classes are over my wife stops going. Not long after, we get a box in the mail. It's a box of 52, pre adressed and dated weekly tithing envelopes. It's the seed I've been waiting for. We've been married 8 years now, and I've been waiting for this. The church is greedy, and she's seen it.

But i'm not touching it. It's not my intent to make the church look bad. I'm not going to take my wife away from the church. That's dangerous ground. VERY dangerous. I need it to be her decision. So I don't mention it again. I do however start to teach my wife about financial scams. She gets lesson 101 in Nigerian Prince scams, tax scams, phishing scams. I teach her about cold reading, psychics, and I even slip in financial scams like prosperity gospel. All manner of charlatans who want your money, she learned about them. The base was there. She was starting to put it together.

But I really think the end came a couple years after that, all on its own. Her grandfather died. Pretty horrible time. He'd been sick a long time, and one day his heart just stopped. No word of a lie he was in his den watching Matlock, like any good codger should be. He had one leg up on his ottoman, a hand on the remote. When the episode was over he didn't come down for tea, and Grandma went up to check on him. He was gone.

And the fucking priest passed a collection plate at his funeral.....

Sorry, the language probably isn't necessary, but that part still makes me mad. As mad as it made me, the family was even more broken. My wife is completely done. She hasn't attended more than a few times since. Not even christmas is a guarantee anymore. She doesn't make the kids go. She doesn't give it a second thought. And i still don't say a thing. By now I'd call my wife a christian, hedging on deist. She still wants to believe in a god of some sort, but she's really leaning away from the catholic propaganda. She's done a little research on jesus, and knows that he probably didn't exist. She's definitely not catholic anymore, although she still tells people she is when asked.

But after allll of that, it's her mother who screws things up. It's not all at once either, it comes as a one-two punch.

One night she's putting some of her other grandchildren (our niece/nephew) to bed, and tells them a story about demons, and how demons can come for you in your dreams. Well naturally the kids both have nightmares that night. Grandma's right there to say "SEE! That's why we pray, we need to keep the demons out!" The fight is legendary. The nibblings parents are in a RAGE! And they have the right to be. Not long later we get the cliffnotes version. We decide to restrict our kids time alone with the grandparents

Flash forward another couple years. My wife and I book a trip to Vegas and her mother agrees to sit with the kids for the time we're gone. I know what I said earlier, but we didn't have a choice. Talked with the kids about their rights, and how Grandma has some pretty strong beliefs. It's like an innoculation. We head to VEGAS BABY! Out of the hotel I have very limited connection on my phone, only get data if I pass an open wifi network. We're walking around Freemont street Saturday night and I get a message from my oldest. "Dad, grandma wants to make us go to church tomorrow, but we don't want to. She's making us, what should I do?". I reply the only way I know how. Calmly. "I'm too far away to do anything, and if I call her she will know you contacted me and might think you went behind her back. Tell her you don't want to, it's your decision. If she throws a fit just go, it's only an hour in church and it wont hurt you". It's well past midnight before I get another wifi connection, the message goes through, I don't get another reply.

A few days later we get back home and I drive to pick up the eldest from school. I ask how the church thing went. The story is awesome. "We told her we didn't want to go. She wasn't happy. She cried, bribed us with lunch at a restaurant, even tried a guilt trip saying that she wouldn't go alone so it was OUR fault she wasn't going to church.. We stood our ground and didn't go. She wasn't happy. After all that she still took us out for lunch anyway."

That was 5 months ago. Last week my wife and I are doing dishes. She turns to me and says something along the lines of "I'm kinda sad. I realize now that when this life is over, that's it, it's over. There's nothing else after."

She's having an existential crisis. She's given up on the eternal reward, and it hurts her inside. I try a couple things that come quickly to mind, I mention the fact that death is like the time before she was born. She's not interested. She doesn't need it. She's okay with it. She's not entirely settled, but she's okay.

She's not religious anymore. At all.....

#reddit

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cronagorgon · 7 years

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Identity asks...oh shit. Do all 30!!!

damn damn ok

1. if someone wanted to really understand you, what would they read, watch, and listen to?damn lemme think….. i mean i guess just reading keter scp pages would be a start.. there’s a few i LOVE though like 093 and 2264.. then just, LOTS of mcelroy content and scary game squad videos (on jesse cox’s youtube channel)

2. have you ever found a writer who thinks just like you? if so, who?have i ever found a what…. no… not really

3. list your fandoms and one character from each that you identify with.http://drakenlong.tumblr.com/shipsi identify at least a little bit with anyone from the “partners” list really, but i especially identify with crona gorgon from soul eater + lapis lazuli from steven universe

4. do you like your name? is there another name you think would fit you better?yeah i mean.. no i guess i don’t like my ““real”““ name but the name i have now, drake, i picked because it fits me (though i wouldn’t mind being called any variation of “dragon” in any language. its all the same)

5. do you think of yourself as a human being or a human doing? do you identify yourself by the things you do?oh doing for sure. i don’t feel real like.. even a little bit. just a meat machine accidentally affecting others’ lives

6. are you religious/spiritual?i guess. i don’t worship any…..thing, but i believe in a natural energy that flows within everything, that’s higher than us + even this one dimension

7. do you care about your ethnicity?i’m white, so no, not really. if i knew where i came from though, (which i suspect may have been in or near italy) yeah i’d be more into it

8. what musical artists have you most felt connected to over your lifetime?ehhhh not a lot? imogen heap is one just by her song “hide and seek” (i know nothing of the actual artist). i don’t know what it means really or if it has a concrete meaning but it’s been a favorite of mine for years. more recently though i heard “self” by ANIMA! and it too is relatable, though i can’t really speak for their other music

9. are you an artist?i like to think so. i draw stuff sometimes so thats like, a start. is it good though, or meaningful? i can’t really say

10. do you have a creed?i don’t really know what a creed is so i googled it, and going by the definition that it’s a set of steadfast beliefs then… hell no

11. describe your ideal day.going somewhere new to eat, miraculously liking the food (therefore discovering something new i like), going shopping in antique + gem/new age stores & finding something unique, old, haunted, or just the sort of thing i never knew i wanted, then coming home & making a favorite meal that turns out perfect, then eating it while watching a video or new episode i’ve been wanting to see

12. dog person or cat person?dogs.. cats are really cute but i’m allergic ):

13. inside or outdoors?inside but there are times and places outdoors that i adore, like quiet gardens in early morning.. just a little warm, with the sound of a bubbling stream

14. are you a musician?absolutely not. i can play instruments and i guess i can make shit up but i never really found any real interest in making music

15. five most influential books over your lifetime.(trying + failing to even come up with 5 books ive read in my whole life) haha yeah totally. anyway books ive loved: here there be dragons (james a. owen); the last dragon (silvana de mari); half world (hiromi goto); moribito, guardian of the spirit (nahoko uehashi); how to train your dragon (cressida cowell); the dragonet prophecy (tui t. sutherland); deltora quest series..es (jennifer rowe); and guardians of ga’hoole series (kathryn lasky). i know thats more than 5 but these are pretty much the only books ive ever read other than some school assigned stuff.. some short stories by ray bradbury (all very good).. i remember reading the guardians of ga'hoole, deltora quest, + how to train your dragon serieses? series? when i was really young + i loved every book. they were fantastic. could not tell you if they were any good today but u know what? thats ok. im keepin the nostalgia as it is. the other books i read more recently.. half world + moribito were VERY good bc they were.. unique. stories i didn’t often see in my school library. i remember feeling incredibly sad having to return moribito specifically, and i remember it went on the bottom shelf of the library, and that it was not a month after id graduated that the school flooded with about a foot of water and i thought that it must’ve ruined it ):

16. if you’d grown up in a different environment, do you think you’d have turned out the same?absolutely. i grew up one of the most deadly environments for someone like me and yet here i am. perhaps id be more successful, id be flourishing, id be doing the things ive always wanted to do, but i think i’d still be the way i am now personality-wise

17. would you say your tumblr is a fair representation of the “real you”?uhhhh random shit that dont make sense? maybe so

18. what’s your patronus?i think there’s like a test for this but i’m not gonna take it. if i had to pick an animal as my patronus i figure it’d be a dragon. i’ve always been really close to dragons and more recently discovered that i’m dragon kin, so i don’t see why not

19. which Harry Potter house would you be in? or are you a muggle?i don’t know. sometimes i think i’d be in ravenclaw, but other times i figure i might fit better in slytherin or maybe ….. none? they’re all a little bit relatable but none are really “me” you know

20. would you rather be in Middle Earth, Narnia, Hogwarts, or somewhere else?literally anywhere other than here would be fantastic and of course my hyperfixation is always fluctuating and i could just name what i’m into right now but honestly? it’d be great to live in beach city. nobody has to pay for anything or do anything particularly difficult, everyone’s friends, nobody gets mad when you come out as gay. its good stuff all around

21. do you love easily?yes and no? i get attached to stuff easily but i feel like i can just as easily get over anything at the drop of a hat. there are only a few things that really make me tear up and many of them are things i never personally interacted with.. and one is a toy i used to have?

22. list the top five things you spend the most time doing, in order.uhh fuckin sleeping, eating?, sitting, watchin videos, fuckin drawing, typing. thats 6? whatever

23. how often would you want to see your family every year?never. 0 times. fuckin absolutely not

24. have you ever felt like you had a “mind-meld” with someone?a what. no. i’ve never connected with another human person in my entire life

25. could you live as a hermit?Hell Yeah babey

26. how would you describe your gender/sexuality?its unbelievable how badly i wanted to just post a meme or like, a picture of my favorite character + thats it but also that would break my theme of text only and no pictures so i guess i gotta describe it for real. i’m agender but masc presenting (whether that’s to distance myself from being a girl as quickly as possible or just because of trauma + fear of being a cis girl, i’ll never know) + my sexuality is complicated but im polyamorous and at least grey-asexual + panromantic with a strong preference for boys (with this combination i sometimes refer to myself as mlm)

27. do you feel like your outside appearance is a fair representation of the “real you”?yeah i think so. id like to be taller but beggars cant be choosers ig. i’m a good mixture of “kinda ok, pretty sharp, weird but in a way i cant describe (its because my face is VERY asymmetrical but you cant tell unless you edit a picture of me lmao)” so thats like, a good aesthetic i guess

28. on a scale from 1 to 10, how hard is it for someone to get under your skin?uhhh about a 1. maybe a 0.5. but i don’t usually express this, because then i’d be picking fights withhhh everybody. does that technically put it at a 10 then? who knows

29. three songs that you connect with right now.i guess i already said this but right NOW…. self, the bleeding of mercy, and down down? or maybe grace kelly (down down is very feminine even if it is a Mood)

30. pick one of your favorite quotes.well i have a few but the first one that popped into my head was: “All Alone!Whether you like it or not,Alone will be somethingyou’ll be quite a lot.” -Dr. Seuss, Oh the Places You’ll Go

#x #replies #anonymous #about me

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te-amo-ergo-amo · 7 years

Text

How Did I Let This Happen.

Overall things started out great, things were just easy. It flowed like water and I had never felt this way about another person. I was deeply and fully in love. I cant lie, it was terrifying to open myself up to another person like that but it felt right and i trusted him with my life, my heart and my soul. Even throughout the years i can say without any doubt that there were some amazing times and I wouldn’t give them up for the world.I can’t say that it started recently or even immediately. It did start in short bursts soon after the beginning.  Making fun of me to others- specifically other women that he dated or was “interested” in.  Telling me i was overreacting or being too sensitive, responding and talking to me in condescending tones(which honestly he does to everyone,) and blaming me for pretty much everything. Then we got pregnant and financially we couldn’t do it- we made probably one of the hardest decisions in our lives to terminate. That was costly on all sides- it put me a bit deeper with my depression. It may have made him angrier… I’m not sure- I know he was sad but we haven’t really spoken of it.  He made some promises to help me out while I heal- those were empty. I should have realized then but I was in love. I thought we were in love and honestly all of the good things far out weighed that. Actually I would still say the same thing now. However, at that point he just got meaner. Everything is always things that I have done, or my issues that I can’t work out, I’m being ridiculous. That was January. A few months later he would have his first manic episode. That morning he had screamed in my face about getting in his way(he was staring at the iced tea mix) and shoved me and told me to get out and not come back.  This is the first and last time he ever touched me as even I knew- something was very wrong. I stayed, he was in the hospital, then his parents house and then back home in what was pretty much a chemical straight jacket. It was awful and I haven’t a clue how it was for him but it was definitely and obviously worse. He had his moments but overall we could talk things out now as we made the decision that if we were getting defensive then we stop- if it’s important we would come back to it later. This actually worked out quite well most of the time for many years. I moved in. A few months later he proposed- something I was not entirely expecting but I was so in love and could see myself spending the rest of my life with him. It was one of the happiest days of my life.  However, he started leaving the house randomly and after I had had enough and asked about it- “I’m out fucking prettier women” my heart sank. I figured this was just the ending part of his episode and he didn’t mean it and hopefully it would stop- hopefully he was using protection or maybe it wasn’t true at all. Then he stopped seeing his doctor and soon after stopped taking his meds. To where we go back to him talking inappropriately about me to others. He started getting annoyed with me often and so on. It was not entirely a fun time had by me. He lost his job at the end of the year. Yet he was still making more than me with his unemployment which he found amusing. Kind of funny/kind of sad. I tried to make jokes about it as well but I felt like a failure- I mean I loooved my job but the pay was crap. I had some serious goals though through them and honestly speaking they would have been attainable.  A few months later he had his second and so far last manic episode. He was committed and his last comment to me before going in after I agreed that he should stay and that I was sorry- “you’re gonna be sorry”  Can’t say he was wrong. Regardless, they found meds that worked for him and he found a great doctor. He never was into therapy as he “had nothing to say.” Then the sleeping around started going on again. Coming home smelling of other women, nail marks on his back… i cant even say that this time it may not have been real. Again, I stayed and said nothing- to any one.  Things were kind of getting back to normal, he had some freelance work and that became reasonably steady for a while. We got married in July and honestly that was the best day of my life… minus our first kiss. Not sure how I failed to mention that one. That kiss was beyond amazing. It’s like the kiss that books and movies talk about. Where you feel like they are kissing you as though you are the only good thing in the world/ that you have all the good air. We share the same feeling about that kiss. Damn though- I will always remember that, I would go back to that moment in time in a heartbeat.  Things were good. We had our ups and downs like most. He was getting more depressed about not having full time work. The freelance was still coming though. We had great holidays and other memories fill in the rest of the times. Every once in a while he would have a moment where I would do something wrong and “just keep doing these things to set him off, didn’t I care what I was doing” and he started an online thing with someone I knew - and she was ok with it. He even started to make plans to go see her. I lost it. I gave him an ultimatum which isn’t something I would do but I did and it was over.  We continued our life together he would have a moment every now and then but I either brushed it off or walked away and cried on my own. On occasion he would apologize yet somehow turn it around to make it me feel bad about it. Obviously I would forgive him. Love.  We had a big wedding the year after for family and friends. It snowed and he was by far the most handsome man I have ever laid eyes on. My husband is a hottie and I do adore him. That following year was a big struggle for us, financially, emotionally and physically. I was applying for other jobs and second jobs that just wouldn’t pull through. He was having a hard time finding freelance work and finding something full time seemed impossible. He got more depressed, we both gained weight. I would cry after he fell asleep as I didn’t want him to know how much it was effecting me as I was trying to be strong for the two of us.  In November we decided that he would start applying elsewhere- out of state. A few seemed like great matches but there would be some snag and then early within the new year he found a contract in Austin that he was stoked about.  I have always been able to take care of myself financially, yes there have been some hard times but my credit was awesome and my bills were always paid and on time.  I would not have a full time job when I got down there. This scared the hell out of me. He told me not to worry about it and that he would take care of me. I’m not sure how or why I agreed to this- yes we were married but I don’t know. I think I’ve always just had money things thrown in my face and was nervous of that happening again. He stayed with some of our friends and loved his position, I stayed back to fix up the house so we could sell it and to pack everything up. I was so happy for him. It was lonely as hell and part of me was a bit aggravated that I was left behind which honestly made zero sense. Then my anxiety started to kick- what if he felt lonely? What if he turned to someone else? Then the thing I dreaded hearing “he felt neglected” I was trying to finish up everything and I was still working and at night- I would drink myself to sleep.  I offered him a free pass- open the marriage. I trusted him to tell me the truth and to be completely honest.  I started losing weight but still felt disgusting, so he would want to skype and my brain was just like “do you really want him to see you like this?” Any time he called or text i was afraid that he would tell me to just stay in Philly, that he no longer wanted me. The joys of depression and anxiety sabotaging your life.Then I was finally able to move down to him. My anxiety was crap and I was using my phone as a crutch. All things that made him feel alone even with me there. I would stop for a bit but then he would say how I was failing at something else and I would go back. I ended up saying I went in some dates just to leave the house so I wouldn’t feel like I was failing more- that was the wrong thing to do even though I was “pestering him, being annoying, being too negative and always triggering him” Thinking about it, I really didn’t go out much in Philly because of that and I felt bad/guilty because he was out of work and depressed. He’s my husband and we’re a team and I needed to be there for him. So the open marriage- my worst idea in history. We had rules to be open and completely honest, no overnights, condoms were mandatory no matter what, no one on one stuff and a few others that honestly I cannot remember.  He hopped onto sites immediately- I didn’t until I moved down here. The first person who I decided sure let’s get this over with and see how it goes was a disaster. It was embarrassing and I lied about it twice. I had changed my mind and the guy was not into that, fortunately he was so excited by that he came before he was even near me let alone in me. He decided to go for a second try and my brain finally clicked and the shock wore off enough to get him the fuck out of my home. What do you tell your husband? Would he believe you- I mean I would hope so. I felt shameful.  I should have told him the whole thing and ended everything right there but I didn’t and that was stupid and inconsiderate. I will regret that along with many other things for the rest of my life.  Ended up going on a few dates and we mainly had people together. Apparently because I was talking to more people he was upset( yet said if it was the other way around it wouldn’t have been an issue for him) he wanted to close the open marriage but honestly I was afraid that he wouldn’t stop and continue behind my back- awful of me and obviously with that we should have stopped it. Yet again my fail. It continued he found a girlfriend he begged to stop but I didn’t see that happening with her. He had been making fun of me and humiliated me in front of her and with her. I was sort of seeing someone and talking with someone else but I just wasn’t there.  However, slowly he started taking away the rules and went away with her, was ok with him doing overnights. Then he stopped using condoms(“because they kept on breaking”) and he started lying and saying awful things about me to her. He bought her a necklace that matched my engagement ring- that hurt, still hurts because of what it is. My depression and anxiety got worse and I found out he gave me three cancer causing strains of hpv. “He did this to get my attention so I would stop fucking other people and get back at me because this was all my fault.” I found out because i went through their messages, i am NOT proud of this. I still feel like shit because of it. I just felt off and I apparently was right to. My question is - how was he doing this to get my attention if he was doing it behind my back? He says he would have told me but thinking about it now… that sounds off. I ended things on my side, i was still hanging out as friends with one of the guys i had dated but that’s it. About a month later I said I wanted to end it, he agreed and broke up with Amy about a month or so later. For someone who was so eager to end this, why did it take hi so long to end it on his side? Was he just trying to get back at me? Obviously i just thought the worst- I’m an idiot.  During that time he got upset with me a few times- enough so that I left the house and he told me not to come back.  Yet, then he would say he overreacted and I’m the best thing that ever happened to him and he can’t live without me and there was nothing i could do to make him leave me.  He had a major rage moment in August that started with him wanting to quit his job because they weren’t listening and it was so stressful(it was awful to watch and I felt terrible for him and honestly he was right) after I helped to fix it(by talking to his coworker/friend) he was good for a week then the atomic blast landed in my lap- because “I’m a selfish fucking bitch and I’ve changed and he doesn’t like the way I love him” add in all of the past things that he will always and forever bring up when he is mad and I was back at Our friend’s house for a few days- the whole thing lasted about a week and was the longest rage moment towards me that we have been through. I ended up getting a crap job to make him happy and help out more. I should have done this instead of watching my nephew but he told me not to- I should have done it anyway. He had a moment in November and canceled thanksgiving that we were preparing for everyone, a day later he ended up changing his mind and apologizing. At this time I am now weaning off of my old depression medication, which is terrible timing. So we have thanksgiving night- his friend who I thought didn’t like me as he only talks to her when he’s mad at me used the n-bomb in my home… I used a flat stern tone and told her by no means is that ok and she wasn’t to use it here again- I didn’t want an explanation just don’t say it.  Because of that “she could no longer be friends with him because of me”  He didn’t talk to me for the entire weekend. I had passed out in the bathroom and was there for hours, I suppose he didn’t hear me fall but waking and realizing I was alone and … well yeah that.  When he finally started talking to me he said he was sad to lose his “only” friend here but he would pick me because I’m his wife. The following day he realized none of it was my fault. - My brain is still hurt from him having to decide whether to pick me over someone he has only known for a year. I honestly think that is a crap friend. My opinion and I would feel the same if it was a guy or girl. He keeps saying she is gay and now married so I have nothing to worry about. I was never “worried” I just thought/think she’s toxic. Perhaps I’m wrong and because of what he has told her that is why? In which case, she does deserve a second chance and if she means that much to him as a friend then i need to give he the benefit of the doubt. December- I do something else to upset him because “I will never learn and don’t want to change because I don’t care” He cancels Christmas and while I’m at work throws all of my belongings into the guest room along with a note that said I’ve ruined his life. I’m back at our friend’s house again. I still have pictures I wish I never took them so maybe I could forget.  The next day he texts me we talk about everything and he puts everything back before I got home. I’m once again the greatest thing in his life and I just need to be careful not to trigger him.  Things were good until he went to Cambridge for work- I used the card he told me to to pay for some things and became the worst human in earth and left him with no money. As after i had already used the card and told him, he found out that’s his company didn’t not set up the hotel correctly and he needed to pay out of pocket but they didn’t take the credit card that he brought. I transferred money into the account to fix it but he was still livid- he apologized the next day and said he was sorry for being an asshole- he’s just stressed.(stressed is a serious understatement as he busts his ass every damn day. Work, school freelance- to make our life better. So I feel incredibly fucking awful when I set him off and I certainly don’t do it on purpose- who would) We were good/great for a bit longer until he went to Lisbon in March. He was on his way home and I wasn’t feeling well(later finding out because I had forgotten to take my meds) So the other guy came out and I left the house before he even got home which made him angrier.  We talked and he finally realized that “we” have both been walking on eggshells and not communicating like we use to. - We did communicate well in Philly even with his moments, he was more willing to hear me out after and have a rational conversation.  He started mentioning the other guy more and has now told me his name. I’m glad that he feels comfortable and safe enough to do so- in which case I will leave it at that. We were good until this month where the rage moment lasted over a week and he threatened to divorce me again. He thinks I have tried to sabotage him to his doctor which is very much NOT true and something I would never do. His parents don’t believe me- why would they, he is so convincing that even I normally believe that I am an awful human being. He wanted to just sell the house and split whatever was left, as long as I wasn’t greedy with what I wanted from the house he wouldn’t get lawyers involved. He got upset a bit over a week ago because I came home excited from class and he was in the office with the door closed talking quietly. I knocked- a few moments later he opened the door annoyed- his coworker from England was on a video Skype “talking about work”  I thought he was doing school work so I asked who it was as she was glaring at me. Apparently my tone was bad and I have no right to ask such questions. As she smirked and rolled her eyes at me- no offense women do not do this to each other unless something is off.  He wasn’t talking about work. I hate being lied to. But “she has a boyfriend and is across the ocean” so I have nothing to worry about. - He doesn’t work with he office door closed- he just started doing that that week. Not sure why as we don’t share an office anymore. Apparently it’s because I’m annoying and he wants to get away from me. We had a huge long talk last night where once again everything is my fault and I’m selfish because I make it all about me and try to explain things and refuse to let him have feelings.  So I’m not bringing up anything again. I told him I wouldn’t- but I’m losing my best friend and the guy I love has been treating me like garbage. Yet it’s my fault because I fucked up and never do anything right. He wants a divorce- yet changed it to just separating and him getting an apartment for a couple months to where he can go out with another woman if he wants- so he doesn’t feel alone. Do you know how that feels? To know as a wife you have failed or at least been told repeatedly that you fail- that you aren’t trying- that you don’t want to try. Yet if someone isn’t willing to forgive you even though they said they did- is that not setting you up to fail? **So I have come to find out that he’s been cheating on me for months, possibly since March if not earlier? They had a plan set to have her come to the city and he had a hotel. He wanted to see if it was a real connection…I want to die. tbc-

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