#I was also sexually assaulted that same week but after the way she responded to that I was not going to tell her

[fragglerockopinions]

I'm like. actively being abused at home. What do I even do about that.

[aphrogeneias]

it's been seven hours and fifteen days —

pairing: eddie munson x fem!reader (soulmate!au)

summary: it's new years eve, and as the year comes to an end, so do a lot of other things.

word count: 3.5k

warnings: fluff and a lot of angst. brief sexual assault (by an unnamed patron). a little bit of violence. mention of a gun (as a joke, very quickly). a cliffhanger. stobin (platonic with a capital p) appreciation.

author's note: it's been a long time, but the show must go on. i hope you enjoy it! <3 also, please don't hate after you're done with this, 'kay? pinky promise.

series masterlist

Steve and Robin surprised you with a visit right before New Year’s Eve of 1991.

Surprised isn't the word, in fact. They had both been dropping hints about coming over to see you whenever you'd talk on the phone for a few weeks then, especially since Eddie came back to your life. You were trying to not worry them, to not bring up the subject too often, but they knew you better than you knew yourself.

In the same way Eddie once knew you too.

On the morning of the 30th, you were woken up by several insisting knocks on your apartment door. Those were unexpected in themselves, since no one used to visit you. Especially at that time of day, after a long Sunday night shift. Your roommate was out of town for the holidays, and even then, it wasn’t like there were people coming in and out of your home on Monday mornings.

Mornings were for sleeping in and recovering from the buzzing in your ears left by way too loud live music — Linda would always say you'd all end up deaf, but you couldn't think of a better way of eventually losing your hearing — and standing on your feet since the afternoon. However, that particular Monday morning was different than any other.

Stumbling out of bed, you inwardly cursed whoever was bothering you this early, when you'd just gotten to bed. From the other side of the door, you could hear two people arguing. “Stop knocking! You've already woken up the whole building!”, one of them said, in a frazzled whisper-shout. The other responded, in an almost bored tone, “And she might still be asleep.”

You'd never yanked the lock open that fast in your life.

Steve Harrington and Robin Buckley, with bags under their eyes and bags on the floor by their feet, stood on your doorstep. Their matching smiles staring right back at you.

“What are you doing here?” You gasped, launching yourself forward, involving both of them with your arms around their shoulders in an awkward group hug.

“We were long overdue for a road trip to see you.” Steve sounded tired as he squeezed you back.

“The old Beemer almost didn't make it.” Robin commented as you pulled away.

“I’d kill both of you for surprising me like this on my day off but I'm too happy to care right now.” You were already pulling their bags inside and closing the door, leading them in.

“Can we take a nap first? I'd rather be killed while I'm well rested.”

The cold, early morning sun shining through the window curtains made that sight even more surreal. Robin already lying on your couch, and Steve sitting himself on the floor in front of it, resting his head on the seat. You smiled through the sleepy fog that still lingered behind your eyes.

“That can be arranged.”

They slept through the morning and a little into the afternoon, which gave you time to sleep too.

After you were all awake and they'd settled their luggage in your room, showered and changed, it was time for an improvised breakfast for lunch with whatever you had in your fringe. Frozen waffles, scrambled eggs and plenty of coffee.

You sat around the small, square table in your kitchen while you listened to them talk about everything, everyone, you'd left behind. About running into your mom at Bradley’s Big Buy, about the kids going to college, — and how Robin hopes Dustin never follows any of Steve's advice, much to his chagrin — about Robin’s life in the city and Steve’s struggle to let go of the past.

Some things would never change, even when they did most drastically.

You didn't speak about yourself, content in just hearing them talk, basking in their warm presence. Until Robin asked, “What about Eddie, huh?”

“Yeah, what about Eddie?” Steve repeated, trying to act casually while he filled his mug with more coffee. It was never his strong suit.

You sat back in your chair, crossing your arms. “What about Eddie?”

“Can't we ask how he's doing? How are the two of you doing?” Robin mirrored your position, grinning at you.

“There's no two of us, nothing’s changed in that regard, before you ask.” You sighed, “And Eddie… Eddie is doing great. The band is doing great, they're getting good traction with the public, the bar has been more and more crowded each weekend. It's just a matter of time until they get a better offer as a resident band, or from a label. I'm happy for him, for them.” You quickly corrected yourself.

“What about you? Are you happy?”

You couldn't help but smile at Steve's question. “It's bittersweet, I think. I grew used to having him around again, some days it's like I haven't even left, but I know it's got an expiration date hanging over us all over again. It's good to have him while I can, you know? I try not to think too much about it.”

“No use in telling him, then?” Robin finally breached the subject, you knew that was where they were trying to get all along.

You shake your head. “No, there never was, really. It's what I told you guys five years ago and it hasn't changed. Eddie doesn't want a soulmate, even if it's…”

“Not even if it's you? I really doubt that.” Steve interjected.

“Especially if it's me. Especially now, after everything I did. It's not fair to him.”

They exchanged a look then, one of those looks Robin and Steve shared that no one but then could really tell what it meant. It was enviable, really, to be that understood by someone. You once knew what that was like.

Before either of them could say anything, something shifted at the table. Subtle, like a soft gust of air, but you knew the feeling. You knew it well, and when you looked down between the empty plate of waffles and your barely touched cup of coffee, sat something that wasn't there a moment ago.

A woven leather bracelet, with a simple silver clasp. It was slightly worn, clearly well loved. There was no question where it came from.

You picked it up, letting it hang from your pointer finger.

“Is that… his?” Steve broke the silence.

A tired sigh left your lips from deep within your chest. “Who else could it be from?”

One more for the box.

As seemed like a pattern that day, you got woken up again, this time by the phone ringing.

Robin was sleeping in your roommate’s bedroom — because what she doesn't won't hurt her — and Steve was dead asleep, snoring on your couch. He didn't budge as you picked up the bright blue receiver from where it hung from the wall.

“Hello?”

“Did I wake you up?”

Eddie's tone did not indicate he was even a bit remorseful — you could practically see the dimples forming around his lips stretched in a charming smirk, his body leaning against the telephone booth.

“You didn't call me to ask that.”

Little did he know you had a matching smile on your own lips.

“You’re right. Jus’ wanna hear your adorable, middle of the night voice.”

“Asshole.” You scoffed, and if your face felt a little hot, you tried to ignore it. “What's up?”

“You wanna go help me put up some posters over on the Strip? Linda said we need all the marketing we can get for New Year’s, and I could use some help.”

“And your dear bandmates can't help because…?”

“Didn't ask them. I'm asking you.”

“Why? Missed my pretty face that much? You saw me yesterday, man.”

“Jesus…” He sighed, overdramatic and loud, as you'd expect. “Just get your cute butt over here, I'm waiting at the next corner.”

You giggled, again, not being able to help yourself. “I knew it.”

Most days, you liked to tell yourself you shouldn't get too attached. Eddie would soon be leaving again, on a tour bus to brave the country — with how much people they'd been attracting to The Deuce, it was only a matter of time until one of them was a producer scouting for their label’s next big hit.

You told yourself that, if he didn't leave, then you would. You'd done it once, there was no harm in doing it again.

You realized you liked lying to yourself more than you were previously aware of.

Lying to yourself was what you did when you were crammed into the passenger seat of Jeff’s old car, less conspicuous than the beat-up behemoth Eddie calls a van, scouring the city for the best spot to tack some concert posters. The late night radio tune the background of your laughter, inside jokes returning like second nature, the red string tightening around your pinky finger.

It was what you did when he held your hand to make you walk the streets faster, trying to cover more ground through the night, the same way that he used to when you played together. When he asked you to sit on his shoulders to attach posters to places higher than either of you could reach, and his hands rested warm on your thighs. When you ended the night at the same diner you did every morning, sleepy eyes meeting over hot coffee mugs.

Closer each day, still pretending to be far.

Holidays were never a busy time at The Deuce, which meant that the crowd at that New Year's Eve party was something you'd never seen before.

Being one of the smaller, lesser known clubs at the Strip, your parties were always a bit more inconspicuous. Smaller bands, smaller crowds, a lot less trouble. For some reason — and you suspected it was due to the news of a certain frontman’s charisma spreading through the city like wildfire — everything you expected was turned upside down this year.

Tickets were sold out that afternoon, and the bouncer had manager to squeeze in a few more people waiting in line. All pretty girls, of course. You had drinks to sell, after all.

The beginning of the night went as smoothly as you could manage. You got in earlier than usual, as did the rest of the staff, and by the time people started rolling in, you barely had time to greet Robin and Steve, who promptly found a place to sit further from the stage.

It was funny, seeing all of your old friends under the same roof again, even if it was just for one night. The boys came from backstage to say hello for a moment, and it was almost like being back at The Hideout again, with those same old drunks, and much less history between all of you. If you closed your eyes, it was almost like being there again.

If you looked closely, though, the strained smiles and awkward small talk amidst your closest friends and Eddie told you everything would never be the same again, not even if you tried.

A new year, a new life. Wishes to make, though yours was always the same.

You tried to shake that feeling, though, and concentrate on work. On the buzzing, electric feeling in the air, on the loud chatter and the music the DJ was playing in the background, on the eminent excitement for midnight to come.

Your wish happened to come out of backstage again that evening right before the band came on, wrapping one arm around your shoulder while you carried an empty tray towards the bar.

Your heart raced as he leaned closer, voice lowered for your ears only. “Do you see that guy over there?”

He pointed at a man sitting by himself, close to the stage — as close as he could get without getting into the crowd that was already forming in front of it. He looked like a mixture of Kim Fowley and a Ken doll, nothing too out of the ordinary for the men you saw regularly here, but he was definitely not a regular.

“Who is that?” You whispered back at him as you placed the tray back on the counter. Eddie remained there, with his arm around you, his body learning against your side. You could tell how excited he was by the wild grin on his face.

“He's here for us. Linda called on some favors with an old friend who knows people, and… voi-fucking-lá. We have an in.”

“Good luck, then.” You smiled, turning to fully look at him. “You're gonna need it.”

You were not expecting it when he left a lingering kiss on your forehead before walking away.

If there was a strange feeling growing on the back of your throat, you tried your best to ignore it. It stayed there as you watched Corroded Coffin perform what you thought was their best night there, their music rising and rising the crowd until they broke like a wave, manic guitars and heavy drums working them for their own pleasure.

It stayed until the clock struck midnight, and Eddie threw a kiss at you from the stage, and you pretended to catch it in the air and place it in your heart. Somehow, that felt more intimate than the dozens of couples kissing all around you.

All hell broke loose after the band left the stage.

The DJ returned, where he would stay until the bar closed, and as everyone scattered around the bar, it was the usual pandemonium you were already used to, but with much more people. The bar was busy, which meant you were busy, but not too busy to sneak a shot or two with Steve and Robin, or watch the former flirt with Heather behind the bar.

Eddie and the boys were all around, talking to everybody. It felt nice to see them in their element, especially Eddie with his big gestures and loud personality — he was right at home, there. It felt even nicer when you managed to cross each other, his hands always finding a way to touch you, to let you know he was there.

As good nights, though, that one also had to come to an end.

It started to crumble when you had a full tray of beers, and a man bumped into you. You tripped, but didn't fall, thanks to all the practice you'd had. The man grabbed your waist, then, harshly. “Whoa, there! Falling for me already?”

“You wish. Let go.” You responded, curly, already trying to escape. It wasn't the first time you dealt with one of these types, and it wouldn't be the last. Keeping your cool was the best you could do in a situation like this.

“Not yet. Let me show you a good time, baby.”

“I said let me fucking go.” You gritted through your teeth. Some people around started to notice, and it wasn't long until they started staring. His hands started to lower on your hips, whining some you couldn't understand through slurred speech, until you felt someone push the man's shoulder.

“She said let go, man. You heard it the first time.”

“Not right now, pretty boy.” He pointed at Eddie, and you saw an opportunity to pull yourself away, and didn't resist stepping on his foot, hard.

“Asshole. Get the fuck out of here.”

The man’s face grew red with pain, and anger, no doubt. “Bitch!”

You heard Eddie let out a bitter laugh before his face was flying at the man’s face, who upon impact, lost balance and barrelled into you again, but with full force this time, sending the beers on your tray flying, glass shattering on the floor, and beer spilling onto you.

It was like being in the middle of a hurricane. Eddie fought the guy, who was already on the floor, as the boys came running to drag Eddie away. Robin, with Steve on her tow, pulled a startled you by the hand and away from there. Her and Heather lead you towards Linda’s office at the back, but all you wanted was to look back.

In your haste, you'd left the door unlocked.

The bathroom inside the small office room was cramped, but better than the ones outside. Robin had offered to come in with you, but you wanted to cool off alone. She waited outside as you attempted to clean yourself, your black top hanging from the sink as you wiped the drink off your chest with paper towels.

Your heart still beating fast in your eardrums, though the adrenaline was starting to wear off, made you tremble a bit, a cold shiver going through your body. You didn't know if it was relief that nothing worse happened, or if it was the phantom memory of Eddie’s hands gripping your body close to his.

You sighed, looking at your disheveled self in the blurry, dirty mirror.

The door handle rattled behind you, and you answered without looking. “I'll be right out, Rob.”

“Buckley is outside with Harrington and the bartender chick.” There's a slightly injured hand, free of the usual rings adorning it, holding the door a few inches open, and a face obscured by overgrown bangs. “Can I come in?”

Through your daze, you made yourself a reminder to trim Eddie’s hair when you could.

Sensing his hesitation, you smiled as best as you could through your reflection, feeling too vulnerable to look back. “Yeah. Of course.”

Quietly, — too quietly for Eddie — he came in and the door clicked closed behind him, but he didn't move, staying still with his back against it. You realized he was probably trying to make himself smaller, as to not scare you even further. Your heart grew warm while your body still shivered.

“Is everyone alright?”

When you turned, you noticed you were mirroring each other's positions. Trying to stay as far as possible in that tight space, arms pressed to yourselves, as the red string between you pulled and pulled and pulled, strained to the point of breaking.

It didn't, it wouldn't.

“Yeah, they kicked the guy out. Uh… I kicked the guy out, actually, and the guys helped, but yeah.” He chuckled nervously. You couldn't see them, but if you had to guess, the tips of his ears would be bright red. “Linda threatened him to never come back with that pistol she keeps under her desk, you should have seen it.”

You giggled despite yourself, “Man, how could I have missed that.”

“Are you alright?” Big brown eyes stared at you from across the small room and, as they always did, disarmed you completely.

“I'm alright.” You turned again, reaching to give your wet top a thorough squeeze before putting it on again. “Didn't get hurt, just got wet…”

You forced a laugh, but Eddie didn't return the sentiment. When you looked back again, he wasn't looking at you anymore.

He was crouching, picking something off the floor. The ceiling light wasn't on, just the yellow one over the mirror, and you struggled to see what it was until he straightened himself up, shuffling on his boots. The first thing you noticed on his right hand was a silver chain, and at the end of it, a red guitar pick. It must have fallen while you took your top off in a hurry.

You knew it like the back of your own hand. It was slightly chipped at the bottom, the scaly red slowly losing its former glossy finish, the faded Fender logo at the center of it.

You knew he knew it too.

“Where did you get this?”

A hand stretched between you, like a long corridor in a dream. Just within your line of sight, but unreachable. The necklace hung from it, limp, its silver chain glinting in the yellow light of the flickering lamp.

When you didn't answer, Eddie’s voice hardened. “I'm not gonna ask again.”

Your eyes were focused on the red guitar pick, not on his face. You swallowed hard, “I think you already know.”

“No, I don't.” He emphasizes it with your name, and it hurts you to hear it. The atmosphere changed completely, then. “I lost this years ago after a show in Indy, but you were already gone. Where did you get it?”

Eddie's voice trembled with something you only describe as betrayal. There was grief too, somewhere in there. Your shattered heart ached, but you couldn't find it in yourself to say something. Anything.

“What have you been hiding from me?” He had never sounded this quiet. It scared you.

“Nothing you don't already know.” You mumble, staring at the floor. “Like I said, I think you already know.”

Frustrated, he stomps his feet, but you don't flinch. “Goddamnit! Just tell me. Tell me. I want to hear it from you.”

“So, you do know?”

Narrowed eyes met in the middle. The red string tensed, and bent — does it break? Could it, ever? Sometimes you wished you could snap it. For his sake, not yours. But all it did was stretch impossibly tighter, like the fist that closed itself around your heart.

“I don't…” Eddie's eyes glistened in the dark, whiskey dark, swimming in murky waters. “I feel like I don't know you like I thought I did.”

You broke first, approaching the door with trembling legs, like a deer in headlights. The two of you stared at each other closely for what felt like more than just a mere moment, unsaid things hanging heavy in the air.

“Did you ever?”

It doesn't break, but bends, and bends, and bends.

[bonesandthebees]

It's fine I perservere through everything bc I am just that cool

Also yeah, wtf has happened since I've been gone??? Like? Last I new was the Wilbur stuff and know there's talk of the French Union threatening to sue Quackity (I think? I'm a little confused on the whole thing)

oh god sammie you have missed. so much.

um. ok. nutshell summary. this is gonna be long. (tw: talks about more abuse and SA allegations being brought against other ccs)

other mcyt cc allegations after wilbur:

you know what happened with wilbur. after all the support shelby received, another streamer caitibugzz (another brighton cc) came forward with her own story about being sexually assaulted by a cc at vidcon while she was 18 and he was 26. she didn't name him but like with wilbur it didn't take long for people to figure out she was talking about georgenotfound. anyway, uh, that spiraled into a thing. george said a lot of shit, dream involved himself way too much, it was a mess.

immediately after that, punz's ex girlfriend, andi, came forward and discussed how toxic their relationship was and detailed a time they had sex while she was blackout drunk, which is SA. punz did respond insisting he didn't realize how drunk she was, it turned into a whole thing, andi's response basically boiled down to read both sides of the story and form your own opinion.

also then punz jumped in on whatever the hell was going on with dream and george with george's own allegations and discussed how in his entire friendship with dream he's felt very intimidated to speak out against him and often thought of him as a boss more than a friend. along with that he also brought up a point regarding his ex girlfriend andi, but I'm not going to go into too much detail on that because I don't believe andi wanted all that information to be made public and punz later deleted the posts.

at the same time another thing happened. another cc in the brighton group, lexie marie, had spoken out multiple times about how her ex was emotionally abusive to her and the day before wilbur posted his 'apology', she and shelby even did a whole stream together discussing abuse and their experiences. anyway, lexie's abuser was publicly named as wisp, so yeah he responded with an 'apology' of his own.

NOW AS FOR QSMP:

like a week or two after wilbur's 'apology' was posted, a former admin of one of the qsmp updates accounts came forward on twitter and discussed the terrible working conditions she and all the other admins have been having to deal with working for quackity studios. we learned that the updates accounts and the egg admins were unpaid, and were often pushed to pulling more hours or doing extra work they shouldn't have. this blew up in the community and quackity ended up doing a stream to say he basically has to do an entire restructure of the server because the finances for the server were being severely mishandled and he was under the impression most of these people were getting paid when they were not. (also, during this stream quackity made a quick aside to say that wilbur was going to be removed from the qsmp)

since then, more admins have left the team (agent 18, ramón's current admin) saying they haven't received communication and aren't sure what's going on.

one of the issues the initial whistleblower brought up was that pomme's admin had just recently been removed from the whitelist for the server and kicked from the discord server without being given much of an explanation. the french cc's all collectively said if pomme was not given back her role they would not continue on the server. today pomme's admin revealed herself and made a post saying she still hasn't received any communication with the team and is quitting entirely. dapper's admin resigned in solidarity with her.

then today quackity did another stream discussing how things are taking time because they have to work out a lot of internal legal issues and because it's legal stuff he can't give that many updates. he's also been hesitant to update people because he doesn't want to make false promises, as right now the qsmp does not have enough money to pay the egg admins and they won't return unless he finds funds for that because he's ending all unpaid positions. also, as people have left the project, some have been posting private screenshots from the qsmp discord or from communications with the qsmp team and quackity has said these leaks have been causing issues with the legal stuff they're dealing with, and also what's going on has been misconstrued as a result of these leaks, so that's another reason he's been keeping quiet about things. but he's determined to work this all out and to keep the qsmp going, but he completely understands if people don't want to stick with the project or if people who have worked with it wish to leave.

as far as the union goes, the initial whistleblower was a french admin for the updates account and so when she left the studio she contacted a french union about the unfair working conditions. the union has posted on twitter calling out quackity studios saying they're in violation of french labor laws and that if quackity refuses to communicate with them they will pursue legal action. except today we also learned from one of the union guys on twitter that they have not attempted to email him at all. they made their posts on twitter and said it's quackity's responsible to contact them. for the record, quackity deleted twitter a while ago so he's not on that platform right now. as you can see this raised some eyebrows.

so uh yeah. I'm missing a lot of details I know but I was trying to give as much of a summary as I could hitting all the major points. you have missed literally the most insane past few weeks.

[imagines--galore]

hello! i see you write for sherlock! i was thinking maybe serial killer!reader x sherlock...

Pairing: Sherlock x Reader Rating || Genres || Warnings: M. Romance. Thriller. Murder. Fair warnings the story is going to deal with a lot of things such as sexual assault, murder, abuse, trauma, blood, death and a ton of other stuff. But don't worry! There is also plenty of pinning, lovey dovey, and all things romance crammed in this request as well. Also reader is more of a vigilante serial killer so…..yeah A/N: .............Holy ****! When I tell you my brain EXPLODED with ideas for this little suggestion! Erm.....also this got a bit long.......oopsies? I'm actually really proud of what I've written here :3 Hope you guys like it!!!!! Please tell me if you did!!!!

You stood over your latest victim, watching as he tried to crawl away from you. You were at your leisure as you were aware that there was no way he would be getting away.

"You're doing the same thing she did Mr. Miles. She told me how she tried to crawl away from you after you beat her senseless."

You walked forward, not even bothered by the blood that smeared the floor as the man tried to get away. You stopped once you stepped on his hand, watching in satisfaction as he whimpered in pain as you attempted to break a few digits.

"Let me go. Please. Please. Let me go." You let out a little laugh as you played with the sharp edge of the knife that you were holding.

"Oh my! Word for word. Just like she said when you raped her." You allowed him to pull his hand back as he turned over to lie on his back, unable to get any further.

Probably due to the blood loss from where he had been castrated by you not more then ten minutes ago.

"Please, I have children." He begged to which you scoffed. "The children you beat. The children who's mother you raped and beat until she was put in the hospital."

You leaned down, grabbing the man under his arms and hauling him up into a nearby chair. The piece of furniture was the only thing in the otherwise bare and darkened room. The man cried out because of the pain, but remained upright.

You stood in front of him, eyes gleaming with a deadly fire as you raised your knife.

"They're better off without you Mr. Miles." He let out a sob as he stared back into your cold eyes, his own full of fear.

"Who are you?" He breathed, unable to look away from your face as you stood to your full height. The knife in your hand gleamed wickedly.

"Your worst nightmare."

When you walked out of the shed, his screams and pleas of mercy were still ringing in your ears.

Despite the fact that he had been dead for nearly half an hour.

                                             ————————–

You sighed as you slumped into your chair, hand massaging the back of your neck as you blinked at the lights above.

"Long day?" Your closest friend at work, Mary, asked as she looked up from where she had been reading over a chart for a patient. "Try long week." You responded, allowing your body to stretch with your arms in the air to pop a muscle in your back.

"Its the flu season so mothers are coming in left right and center with their little ones." You added as a way of explanation, shaking your head at the thought of the many first time mothers you had helped calm down. To you it was a sign of good parenting, seeing them get so worked up about their child who just had a minor cold.

You glanced at your watch. Only a few more minutes before your shift was over. Maybe you could take the time to catch up with Mary. "So! You didn't tell me what happened with that handsome army doctor you've been going out with. Has he proposed yet?" You asked with a teasing smile as you cradled your chin in your hands, elbows resting on your knees.

She gave a little laugh. "Oh we're getting close to the proposal. His friend coming back put a little detour on his plans, but once their reacquainted he'll pop the question." You sighed in envy.

"Thats what I admire so much about you Mary. You're just so confident that he is." The woman grinned and threw you a wink. "Well he can't get any better then this, so of course he will be settling for the best."

Laughing lightly under your breath, you began to gather your things, making sure you didn't leave your phone behind as you had often done in the past.

Just then the small television that Mary had on for background noise burst into Breaking News. The both of you turned your attention to the screen as the anchor announced how yet another body had been discovered, castrated and left after the male died.

"Looks like we have a serial killer on our hand." Mary said in a soft voice, prompting you to purse your lips and nod in agreement. "Whoever this person is, they're really covering their tracks." You said as they showed the picture of the man you had killed a week ago.

Mary glanced at you, taking in the tense expression on your face and the way your eyes were glued to the screen. Reaching out she placed a comforting hand on your shoulder. "Don't worry love, the killer is only targeting men. And according to very credible resources that I have." She leaned forward as if she were sharing a secret.

"The men that were killed, they weren't really good men themselves. So far, every single one of them has had a rape allegation against them, which all of them dodged because of crummy evidence, bad lawyers, blackmail and money." You watched as she glanced at the screen once more. "My John and his friend Sherlock, you know the famous detective?" You gave a little nod of acknowledgement.

"Well they're both on the case since the Scotland Yard was having trouble finding the killer." You frowned. "But if they find the killer will they be sent to jail?" You asked to which Mary gave a small shrug. "Honestly, they're doing what the legal system could not, taking monsters out of the streets. But of course, the law won't see it that way."

You glanced at Mary before looking at the screen once again, now filled with the pictures of all the men you had killed.

"Yeah." You echoed. "They won't."

Which is why you did what you did.

                                             ————————–

Sherlock was staring intently at the floor where he had laid out pictures, news-clippings, police reports, hospital reports, anything that could help him connect the victims with one another.

This killer, whoever they were, was not like anyone he had ever encountered before.

For one they were smart, smart enough to not leave a single trace of evidence behind.

Second they killed their victim in a place where the latter would frequent. Most of these locations were out of the way, making it convenient for them to be killed.

The only thing so far, that was connecting the victims, was the fact that they had an allegation of rape filed against them in the past. Sherlock had to dig really deep to get some of the files since they had been wiped from the system. He had a suspicion that it had something to do with corruption in the justice legal system, but he wasn't about to dive into that at the moment.

He could always send what he had deduced to Mycroft but perhaps later.

"Any luck?" John asked, walking into the flat with fresh Chinese take out. Sherlock didn't bother with a reply, his mind racing as he tried to come up with something, anything that would help him solve the case.

"Nothing. Nothing that would link all these men together other then the rape allegations for which none of them served any time." Sherlock was starting to feel just a little frustrated at the seemingly unsolvable puzzle. "Six victims in two months, all of them castrated yet killed off in different ways." He began to list them off. "The first poisoned, the second strangled, the third a knife through the heart, the fourth a bullet to the chest, the fifth a bullet to the head and the latest was left to bleed out slowly." The consulting detective glanced at the pictures of the dead men. “Can’t even trace the weapon back to the owner since they were all purchased in bills and were wiped clean of any prints.

"Obviously these were all killings fueled by revenge or justice, perhaps a mixture of sorts." He mumbled under his breath as John began to polish off the dumplings. "Because they were all castrated?" The former army doctor asked at which Sherlock nodded. "Whoever our killer is they're doing this out of revenge for perhaps what happened to them, or someone they love. And I am beginning to believe that this is the work of a woman."

"What makes you say that?" John asked, eyes going over the pictures of the victims dead bodies. "There is a lot of emotion behind these killings. And only a woman is capable of feeling something so deeply." Sherlock glanced up at the doctor who raised an eyebrow at him. "Don't let Mary hear you say that." He stated seriously, at which Sherlock waved a hand in a dismissive manner.

"It is only for this situation that I am applying such a hypothesis Watson. I am well aware of men over-reacting more then women do." His blue gaze turned back to the mind map in front of him.

“Like you.” The Doctor mumbled under his breath.

Moving to grab a box of stir-fry, John glanced at the hospital reports, that Sherlock had set aside, on the table. They were the ones the rape victims had given to the police when they were first brought in the hospital.

"Huh? Seems this girl went to the hospital Mary works at." He stated in an off-handed manner. "St. Gemma." Almost as if a string had pulled, Sherlock's head snapped in the direction of his friend. "St. Gemma?" All of a sudden, the detective was frantically riffling through the files of each rape victim. And in each file he found the same logo stamped in the right hand corner of the page of the same hospital.

"This is it John! The hospital! That's the link!" He waved the papers in the air as the puzzle pieces began to fall into place. "Every single one of these women were taken to this hospital after the rape, meaning our killer is someone at the hospital."

John frowned before shaking his head. "A serial killer working at a hospital? Don't be daft Sherlock, every person working there with a medical degree has taken an oath to never take a life." Sherlock shook his head. "It doesn't matter. We should have Lestrade screen everyone, from the head of the hospital down to the janitor."

He threw the papers in the air as he rushed to pull on his coat and scarf, nearly vibrating with excitement. John quickly shoved his chopsticks in the take out box of his half-eaten stir-fry and quickly followed after the already retreating figure of the detective.

"And with Mary working there, we have ourselves a man on the inside." Sherlock added as he bounded down the stairs.

"Woman." John quickly corrected him at which Sherlock rolled his eyes before hailing a cab.

"Semantics."

                                             ————————–

If it were physically possible, your eyes would be flashing red with pure and utter anger as you tried to calm the near hysterical girl that had been brought it.

She was so young, younger then you at least. And she had just been a victim of rape. By two teenagers no less, from what she had told the story. You did your best to calm the girl down, getting her water to drink and even administrating some sleep drug into her system so she could calm down somewhat, after the police had taken their statement.

Taking out your phone, you quickly typed in the girl's name as well as he names of the two boys she had given. They were from the same school as she was, and God help them if they got away with the heinous crime they had committed.

You would be paying them a visit if they did.

Your mind was still reeling with the possibility of your next target, but for now you had to keep a calm and cool head. There would be a trial since there was more then enough evidence to implicate the two boys, but you had lost your faith in the justice system a long time ago.

It had failed your mother and then it had failed your sister.

And you were not about to let anyone else get away with ruining another person's life.

Not if you had anything to say about it.

Sighing to yourself you leaned against a wall, head in your hand, trying your best to take a calming breath before you were to speak with Mary. The two of you had decided on a little dinner date, and you were looking forward to just having some normal time with your friend.

"Mary! Lets go! I'm starving and if I’m not fed soon I will eat the next thing that comes in front of me." You said as you walked through the door of your shared office space. What you hadn't been expecting was another person just standing at the entrance, causing you to bump straight into them and loose your footing.

You would've fallen, if it weren't for the person, man, reaching out to catch you with an arm around your middle. Your own hands flew out to grasp his shoulders, in an effort to steady yourself.

Your lips were parted in a silent gasp, your eyes wide at being caught off-guard.

Y/C/E met blue and if it weren't for Mary calling out to ask if you were alright, you were sure you would've lost yourself in the varying shades of blue that you were able to pick up with just one look.

"I'm fine." You said, stepping away from the man, neither of you breaking eye-contact as you did. His gaze was rather intense, as if he were scrutinizing your every move, even the way you breathed. You raised an eyebrow in his direction.

"You know, when a person enters a room they are expected to move away from the door to allow other people to walk in." You stated in a dry tone, before turning your attention to the other two occupants in the room.

Despite the fact that you wanted to keep looking at the gorgeous man you had bumped into.

Mary was grinning like an idiot, prompting you to roll your eyes, knowing exactly what ran through her scheming mind. The man next to her stood with an air of authority and the stance of a soldier. "You must be Dr. John Watson. Nice to see Mary didn't just make you up." You said, reaching out to gently bump your shoulder against your friend who gave you an offended look.

He gave you a warm smile, and you instantly liked him as you shook his hand. "And you're Y/N Y/L/N, Mary has told me all about you." You grinned about to reply when the other man cut in.

"Yes, yes we would all love to sit around drink tea and play house guest, but we do not have time Watson." He sounded irritated, probably at being ignored by the woman he had bumped into.

Though he would rather gouge his own eyes out then admit he was effected in such a manner. You glowered at the consulting detective. "Nice to see you keep such polite company Mary." You said, prompting your friend to give a small laugh as she looped her arm through yours.

"Would love to stay and chat boys, but Y/N gets cranky when shes hungry, so I shall see you later." With that she began to lead you out of the room. "It was nice meeting you John!" You called over your shoulder to which he replied, "Likewise."

As for the other man, you gave him a once over that was almost dismissive in nature. "Holmes." Who else could it be other then the famous Sherlock Holmes.

He stood taller, returning your haughty gaze with his own. "Y/L/N."

The exchange was one that would be imprinted in your mind for days to come, as it would be in his.

Though it didn't stop Mary from teasing you about it all through dinner.

                                             ————————–

Your kill streak had died down. For some reason the legal system seemed to be doing what they were supposed to and putting every monster they encountered behind bars.

Perhaps your message had gotten through to them.

Either they take care of justice themselves or you would take it in your own hands.

The Castrator, the media had begun to call you once the details of your kills had been leaked. And it seemed your actions had given victims of rape the strength to come forward and name their attackers, which had led to a surge of people being either shipped off to jail, or being put under investigation.

Whatever had happened, you were feeling more like yourself then ever before. And you were beginning to live a somewhat normal life as well.

All thanks to Mary.

You hadn't expected her to become something of an older sister to you in a span of the few months you knew her. And yet here you were, happily helping her plan her wedding with John and enjoying every moment of it.

The two of you would go shopping, go over the catering, the guest list and everything else in-between. Of course John was always there. He was the groom and his opinion mattered.

Somewhat.

And then there was Sherlock.

At first he had been extremely moody and snappish, a trait he adopted when a case he was working went cold. That case being that of The Catrator. According to him, the killer seemed to have cooled off for now, prompting them to take a step back from killing.

However, that meant he would now turn his undivided attention to helping Mary and John plan the perfect wedding.

Plans over which you and him would butt heads on more then one occasion.

You would both fight both sides of the argument, bouncing facts and opinions off each other as if you had rehearsed it beforehand. Mary and John would stare, amazed to the very core as the two of you would start an argument before settling it yourself by giving logical reasoning. Sometimes Sherlock would win, and sometimes you would win.

Whatever it was, it was fascinating to watch the two of you interact.

Or flirt, as Mary had once put it, prompting you to throw a carefully folded napkin at her head.

                                             ————————–

The day Mary asked you to be her Maid of Honor was truly one of the happiest of your life.

You had embraced the woman within an inch of your life, before entering 221 B to share the news with John and Sherlock. Only to find Sherlock standing there in an almost catatonic like state, holding a cup of tea in his hand and looking at John as if he were a creature from another world.

"Whats with him?" You asked as you removed your coat to reveal the turtle neck dress you had pulled on that morning, paired with knee high boots.

John smacked his lips, barely looking up from where he was reading the news. "I asked him to be my best man while also stating that he's my best friend." Mary, who had stooped to give her fiancée a kiss to the cheek gave a light gasp.

"John! I told you not to break him!" She said, shock and amusement shining in her eyes as she turned her attention to the still Sherlock. Wanting to have your own fun, you peered at him as you stood beside him. "Think we can finally get a day's peace with him like that?" You asked, giggling to yourself as your eyes lightened with mischief.

Without further ado, you quickly raced off to his room, and after a few seconds of rummaging, walked out wearing one of his favorite dressing gowns. "You know I can see why he likes them so much. Gives him a more dramatic flare." You threw out the sides of the gown as if it were a cape, prompting both John and Mary to burst out laughing.

"It is called comfort, Y/N. And put that back." You scowled, pulling the gown off and throwing it in his face. He caught the fabric deftly before it had time to smack him in the face.

"So Sherlock? How does it feel to know you're somebody's best friend?" You asked, wanting to tease him further as you managed to sit atop the table despite the clutter.

"Ecstatic." He stated in a robotic tone, before moving to set down his untouched tea and striding to the living room to begin planning.

Your gaze flitted to the eyeball that was swimming in the liquid.

"Please tell me he drank from that." You said, your eyes gleaming with laughter as you glanced at John. His expression was enough to cause you to burst out into laughter as you followed after Sherlock in the living room.

You certainly didn't miss the way Sherlock blushed from embarrassment.

Though it did surprise you how much more pleasant and sweet you had been to the man. Oh, neither of you had held back on your arguing and bickering and reasoning.

Yet there was a certain softness to both of your tones, almost a tenderness to it that neither of you would admit was there.

                                             ————————–

Bridesmaid dresses.

The one item on your to do list as a maid of honor that was eating you alive. You had narrowed the colors of the dresses down to three, but you were still undecided.

Which was why you, Mary and somehow Sherlock were sitting in a bridal shop as you tried on dress after dress. Mary was giving you her undivided attention, while Sherlock was busy on his phone, most likely solving a case. Every now and then, when you would walk out wearing a new dress, he would make a negative comment about whatever you were wearing, making you try and argue back to which he would simply justify his reasoning.

And though you didn't want to admit it, he was always right.

Tired and a little grumpy, you exited the changing rooms in one more dress.

"What do you think about this one?" You said, giving a little twirl to allow the skirts of the skirt to flow about your legs. Mary gave a nod and smile of approval. Sherlock barely glanced up.

"The color washes you out."

Your temper flared and you practically growled at him as you snatched the phone from his hand. "Thats it! Everything is either too long or too short, or too conservative or not revealing enough, or the color washes me out or it makes my complexion seem dark." You poked a finger to his chest.

"Why don't you pick out something that you think will suit me and we can be done with this entire thing, because I'm getting bloody tired." Sherlock continued to look at you for a good few moments, but you didn't allow your gaze to falter as you stared back in defiance.

Finally he moved away, disappearing in the racks before returning with a dress within minutes.

"Here. Try this." He threw the dress in your direction, which you quickly caught and stomped off to try.

A few minutes later, having adjusted the dress to fit your body, you emerged from the changing room to stand in front of your friends. "Well?" You asked. You hadn't felt nervous when you had been trying on all the other dresses. But this was a dress Sherlock had picked out, and in the deepest parts of your cold heart, you wanted him to say something nice to you about it.

Mary clapped her hands in delight. "Oh! It looks beautiful on you Y/N." She said, smiling from ear to ear. You smiled at her before turning your gaze to Sherlock and looking at him expectantly.

He was staring at you, that much anyone could see. The intensity in his gaze caused you to shiver involuntarily, but you didn't look away. "It looks......acceptable." He finally said.

Mary let out a loud groan before lightly hitting Sherlock's shoulder. "Oh for God's sake Sherlock! Just tell the girl she looks gorgeous!" She exclaimed, noticing how your face fell just a little at the less than stellar compliment you had received.

Sherlock straightened as he frowned at Mary. "Beauty is a social construct. It’s based on society's ideas that have been ingrained into our systems and our psyches over time and have been accepted as the norm. I prefer to see Beauty as something that is in the eyes of the beholder." In the middle of his little speech you had moved to stand in front of him. Your gaze flickered to Mary, who seemed to give an encouraging nod.

You swallowed your nerves before speaking. "And what do your eyes beheld?" You asked, feeling shy and nervous at the same time as you met his cerulean gaze.

He looked back at you, with the same intensity that had been in your eyes when you had first walked out wearing the dress. He slowly stood so he was standing directly in front of you. Of course he had to tower over you given his height. But you found you liked it, as you tilted your head back to look at him.

"That you look ethereal."

The last word was barely out of his mouth before you felt a blush heating your entire face as you stared at him, stunned.

As if he had realized what he just said, and gathering his wits about him, Sherlock strode out of the shop. But not before he stopped at the window display in front of which you had been parading out in dresses.

Your eyes met through the clear glass, with a gentle yet hopeful smile playing about your lips. Sherlock's gaze seemed to soften as well as he looked at you through the glass. The moment only lasted for a few seconds before he walked off, leaving behind an ecstatic you and a stunned Mary.

                                             ————————–

You glared at the man in front of you before aiming a kick to his torso yet again.

"You raped her and then killed her to make sure she stayed quiet." Another kick, followed by a loud groan from the almost prone figure that lay on the carpeted floor. "You don't deserve an early death like the others did."

Another kick to his chest that sent him wheezing. You had definitely felt something move this time and knew you had at least cracked a rib. Still that did not stop you, not as you continued to kick him, your home-made steel tipped shoes allowing you to land one heavy blow after another.

You had already castrated him, now the only job was to finish him.

"You thought you could get away? That you would get off just because she died?!" The young victim had died on your watch. And despite knowing the man would go to jail given the evidence against him, you had snapped. He had stolen away the woman's life by beating her senseless.

Just like the man who had stolen your sister from you.

You stopped only once the man laid still. Reaching down with your gloved hand you pressed your fingers to his neck. Satisfied at the lack of a pulse, you pulled off your boots, and just as you had done with all other kills, you left the murder weapon at the scene.

Glancing down at the now dead male one last time with no sense of remorse in your gaze, you left his apartment.

                                             ————————–

Well the wedding had ended with no one dying.

Well someone had almost died but it had been a win since he hadn't died.

And as you watched Mary and John share a dance after Sherlock had dropped the startling news about Mary being pregnant, you felt as if your heart would truly burst from happiness.

Over the year since you had known the couple, you had begun to love them and see them as something of a family. Someone you were close to and adored with every fiber of your being.

And then there was Sherlock.

Sighing as you pulled on your coat, you wondered just what was it that existed between the two of you. He was perplexing, in the most intriguing of ways, and he challenged you every step of the way. Something that you loved, because you were a sadist when it came to making your life as complicated as possible.

Glancing one final time at the people still dancing at the wedding, you gave a small smile of content before stepping out into the night. It was Spring, but the temperature had dropped a little, prompting you to wrap your coat further around yourself. Thank goodness your heels were comfortable enough for you to walk without your feet hurting.

You had only made it a few paces when you caught sight of a familiar figure standing at the entrance of the gardens.

"Sherlock?" You called out, startling the man enough to cough slightly where he had been smoking a cigarette. "I thought you were going to get rid of that habit." You frowned disapprovingly at him, to which he simply shrugged.

"The situation called for it." He stated, crushing the butt under his shoe and glancing in the direction of the hall where the dancing was still going strong. You glanced in the direction as well.

"Are you referring to the fact that John and Mary are married, or that they are going to have a baby?" You asked, recalling a conversation you had with Mary at how scared Sherlock had been when it came to the change that would come in his life because of John getting married.

He didn't reply, opting to simply stand where he was and keep looking at the hall. Finally, you sighed. Gently taking his hand, you began to lead him away.

Throughout your short walk to the train station neither of you let go of the other's hand. In a way, it was a sad day for you as well. Just like Sherlock had lost his best friend, you had lost Mary. They would both be living a separate life now.

Leaving you and Sherlock behind.

As soon as you reached the train station, and settled into your seats, you pulled off your shoes and curled up in your seat. You were still wearing your maid of honor dress underneath your coat. The train ride would last a couple of hours, which was what prompted you to settle your head against Sherlock's shoulder, take his hand in yours once more, and slowly begin to drift off to sleep.

Unknown to you, Sherlock had only smiled slightly at your gesture, before resting his own head on top of yours and dozing off as well.

                                             ————————–

The Castrator had struck again, and this time, Sherlock was going to catch her for sure.

While at other times he would be fascinated by the game of cat and mouse him and the killer had been playing, after John leaving, he needed a win.

So he went over every single employee file that had been given to him, going over them again and again to try and find a connection between the rape victims and the killer. His gaze flickered to the end of the document.

And he paused.

He stared long and hard. Unable to believe his eyes and yet it made so much sense.

File after file he opened and there it was again and again.

Sherlock had solved the mystery of the who, now the question was - Why?

                                             ————————–

You stood over the CEO slipping the bottle of poison into your pocket as you moved to climb out of the window from which you had entered. You glanced back, watching in satisfaction as his body twitched and foam frothed his mouth.

In a few moments he would be dead.

And he would deserve it.

He was a pedophile. He deserved death.

Jumping down to the ground which was only a few feet away, you brushed yourself off and made to walk off when a rough hand grasped your wrist.

You gasped, raising your other hand to strike whoever it was when you stopped.

"Sherlock?"

The man stared back at you, and though his face was clear of all emotions, there was storm brewing in his gorgeous blue eyes. A feeling of dread settled in your stomach as you realized that he had figured out who The Castrator was.

And now you had to face him.

"I didn't want to believe it at first. Its why I came here without any police." He admitted as he finally let you go. The two of you stood in front of one another, gazes never wavering.

"How did you figure it out?" You asked, your voice soft.

"You were the attending nurse for every rape victim who's attacker was killed. It had to be you. There was no other connection." The look in his eyes made you want to look away, yet you couldn't. You owed him an explanation.

"I don't understand Y/N. Why?" He finally asked the question to which you glanced around.

"Can we go back to your place?"

You had fully expected him to tell you off for even suggesting it, but he only nodded.

                                             ————————–

About twenty minutes later you were sitting in John's armchair while Sherlock occupied his own. You removed your gloves, setting them aside as you turned you gaze towards the empty hearth.

"My mother was raped when she was twenty years old. They were never able to catch the guy, and she was too scared to actually take any action against him because he was rich and had the ability to buy out any lawyer she could hire. So, she stayed quiet, never talked about it to anyone, and when I was born, claimed that she had adopted me." You felt him shift where he sat prompting you to raise your eyes to look at him and nod. "Yes Sherlock, I was the product of that rape. A constant reminder for my mother that the monster had effected her life forever."

You bit your lower lip as you tried to keep those haunting images of your mother's face away from the forefront of your mind. "She had good days and bad days. I have a feeling the rape caused some long-term psychological disorder, but I learned to survive with them. My life was dark and I didn't have a normal childhood with the way my mother treated me. Though that all went away when she gave birth to my sister, Thea." You smiled softly as your hand reached into your shirt to pull out a small locket with the picture of a sweet looking girl inside.

"I know you're not one for sentiment Sherlock, but from the moment she was born, Thea was my whole world. I had found my reason to live. There were days when my mother couldn't even get out of bed and I would take care of Thea. I was only eight, but I knew what I was doing. I bathed her. Changed her. Fed her. Played with her. I taught her everything. From her first steps, to helping with her homework."

Despite the lump in your throat and a break in your voice, you continued. "She was the light in my life. And there were times when she could even drag mother out of bed and for a few moments we would be a happy family."

You shook your head. "But it was nothing but an illusion." You muttered, sighing with the intensity of someone who carried the very world on their back.

"I came home one day from school, and Thea wasn't back yet. It started to get dark and I went out looking for her." You paused, inhaling deeply as if physically preparing yourself for what you were about to say next. "I came back after hours, only to find the police at the door and my mother sobbing hysterically. Apparently Thea had been snatched on her way to school that morning. Her captor had held her for hours, raping her repeatedly before dumping her body where he had picked her up from."

Despite the raw emotion in your voice and your eyes, there was not a single tear. Since the loss of your sister you hadn't cried. You figured you didn't have any more tears left. Just a gaping empty feeling in your chest that you had carried all these years.

"And just like that she was gone. My sweet baby sister." You whispered, clutching the necklace tighter in your palm as you sighed deeply, running a hand down your face in a wearied manner. "Mother blamed me, said Thea had been my responsibility because I was older. Last time I saw her, she tried to throw a bottle at my head, saying I was the one who deserved to die, not Thea." A shuddering gasp fell from your lips before you continued.

"And I agree with her. I should've been the one who died." A steely resolve stole into your voice as you allowed your eyes to finally met his. "The police managed to track down the man who killed Thea. I sneaked into his house one night, just to see him. And while I was going through one of his drawers I found this." You nodded towards the pendant you were still clutching. Tight enough that the shape was embedded in your skin. "He had kept it as a trophy. I heard the door opening, and hid. He was getting back from somewhere and was drunk."

Pursing your lips, your mind replayed the scene in your head, though this time you could feel Sherlock's comforting presence next to you. "Something inside me just snapped." You whispered, as your mind's eye played the scene out perfectly with a younger you as a participant and your older self watching.

Watching how you grabbed a fire poker and stepped out of the shadows, taking the fire poker from the stand near you.

Watching how he stepped into your line of sight and your eyes met.

For that one brief moment, a horrible realization rose within you.

That this had been the face your sister had seen before she died.

You watched as a scream fell from your lips, the same moment you lashed out with the poker and hit him again.....

....and again....

.....and again.....

.....and again......

                                             ————————–

"Y/N?"

You gasped, panting slightly as you returned from reliving your memory. Your head seemed to be spinning as your eyes found Sherlock.

When did he come to kneel in front of you? He had his hands wrapped around yours, which were still clutching the pendant. You loosened your hold around it slightly, though Sherlock made no move to pull back as he continued to look at you.

You gulped. "I killed him."

Silence followed your words. Sherlock simply stared at you, his blue gaze piercing into the very dark depths of your mind and heart.

"Why did you start killing again?" He finally asked, wanting to hear it from you. You gulped.

"There was this girl who came in. Rape victim. She had slashed her wrists because she couldn't live with the fact that her rapist had gotten away. And seeing her lying there, I was reminded of Thea so much that I just ....." You trailed off, unable to finish the sentence.

You sighed deeply as you leaned forward, your forehead touching your clasped hands. The silence seemed to stretch on until finally you whispered. "Are you going to have me arrested now?" You asked the question that had been weighing down on you.

Sherlock licked his lips, though you didn't see it, given your face was still bent over both your hands as if in prayer, his face was one of sympathy and......understanding almost.

"A normal person would yes, but then I'm not normal am I?" You glanced up at him, a startled expression on your face as he continued. "As a self-proclaimed sociopath I believe I can ignore what you have done because according to the dictionary I have no conscience."

You couldn't help yourself as you made a disbelieving sound. "That is bollocks and you know it Sherlock, you're a high functioning sociopath, get your facts straight." You teased him, recalling the many many times he had been called a psychopath by others only for Sherlock to correct them.

"I have one question though Y/N." His gaze was........uncertain, when he looked at you, prompting you to frown in confusion.

"Did you become friends with Mary to get close to me, so that I wouldn't suspect you?"

His words caused your entire body to seize up and your eyes widened. Multiple emotions played about your face, too quick for Sherlock to deduce. You frantically shook your head, lifting a hand to rest it against his cheek.

"Sherlock, please believe me when I say that I truly had no intentions of doing anything like that." You took a shuddering breath before continuing in earnest. "Please you have to believe me. After Thea died and my mother disowning me, meeting Mary was the one bright thing in my life. Then I became friends with John and through the both of them I was able to meet you." There was a brief pause in your words, but gaze was unwavering, and your features schooled into a determined expression as you continued.

"I know you will never accept me for who I am and what I have done, but hear me Sherlock Holmes. Our meeting was entirely up to fate and she delivered. I have met you, spent time with you, laughed with you, adored you." You hesitated before finishing. "And I have loved you from the moment I saw you."

He was silent as you stopped speaking, allowing the words to sink in for the both of you. Never before had you bared your soul to anyone like you had to Sherlock. Maybe it was because you had tasted that sweet sweet nectar of friendship, love and acceptance. And you didn't want to loose it.

And Sherlock knew that if you did loose the life you had built for yourself, you would loose yourself as well.

And he wasn't about to let that happen.

Not on his watch.

You began to speak again, words almost tumbling out as you did. "And I know it might seem irrational to you and illogical, but I've - I jus-mmph." Your words were cut off when Sherlock placed a hand at the back of your head, and pulled you down to kiss you. Your breath hitched and your eyes widened comically.

The kiss was over just as soon as it had begun.

The two of you blinked at one another. You could still feel the tingling sensation of having his lips pressed to yours. And Sherlock? He had taken just a taste of a kiss, and he was already craving more.

"I will speak to my brother." He finally said. "And I will make sure none of those murders are traced back to you." You blinked, not having expecting that. His hand was still at the back of your head, holding you in place, though you weren't complaining. Not when your nose was brushing against his and you could feel his warm breath every time he spoke.

"And I will also make sure that the legal system doesn't allow these monsters to slip away. Mycroft is the British government, he can make it happen."

His gaze turned serious as he continued. "But you will not kill again."

A small laugh fell from your lips as you closed your eyes and leaned forward once more, though this time you rested your forehead against his. "I never wanted to kill anyone Sherlock. I just didn't know what to do. I didn't want those victims to feel helpless like Thea had felt in her final moments. And it made me feel helpless and....and alone." Your voice broke slightly at the end, causing a physical ache to form in Sherlock's chest, as if he could feel the pain you felt.

He loosened his hold on your hands, instead interlocking your fingers and keeping a firm grip.

"You're not alone anymore, Y/N." He reassured you.

This time, you were the one who initiated the kiss, allowing your lips to brush against his in an almost tender gesture. He reciprocated by returning the kiss with a slight pressure against your own. His tongue made a sudden swipe across your bottom lip, and he found the taste of you just as addicting as he did your scent, your laugh, your smile, your voice, your very presence.

You smiled at his eagerness, falling ever deeper into the embrace.

And as the kiss deepened, you could feel a small part of your shattered heart come together in one piece. It would take time for you to heal, but in time you would heal.

With him.

[jobazzle]

just gonna rant below the cut bc i just watched the finale of the tv show The Bachelorette that no one on here gives a fuck about however i'm :) so :) mad :) what :) the :) fuck :) did :) i :) just :) watch :) liiike i need 2 rant here IGNORE MEEEEEE

so ur telling me jenn is the first asian bachelorette and she's given some of the worst men of all time (two who make it all the way to the end????)

first guy (sam m.) jokes about pushing her off a roof while she is freaking out / showing that she is afraid of heights (it was a date on a tall building and idc if they were wearing harnesses that is! a weird! "joke"!) and is weirdly aggressive and sexual with her all the time and constantly talks about himself instead of her whenever asked simple things like "what do you like about jenn". thankfully he got sent home eventually

second guy (marcus) has multiple sexual assault allegations that have been surfacing since he joined the show. also he knew for weeks he didn't feel strongly for her but kept the relationship going. makes it all the way to the final two and then after she says i love you to him he's basically like "yeah i'm just not there" (she says i love you and he literally responds with I KNOW 😀)

third guy (devin) tells her throughout the show how special she is to him. tells her he loves her first. then when she doesn't say it back quick enough tells her he is getting unsure of their relationship (which pressures her to say it back). he is the final guy!!!! she proposes to him!!!!! they get engaged!!!!! after the show he starts showing less interest. they see each other less. he then ends the engagement via a phone call. says he doesn't think he ever loved her. follows tons of women on social media the day after breaking it off (namely a woman named maria who everyone thought was going to be the bachelorette before it was revealed to be jenn). parties it up in nyc. posts memes throughout the show airing (to gain relevancy and followers i'm sure). and refuses to speak to jenn until the finale where he can be in front of the cameras again. like. this man is terrifying. what the fuck is wrong with you.

oh!!!! and then after she confronts the guy who broke her heart in front of all these cameras they then force her to watch her engagement back and split screen it to show the footage of the proposal and her reaction to it at the same time!!!! like???? that is so insanely cruel??????

having an asian woman be the bachelorette for the first time is HUGE. and it was all ruined for her because the show cast a shit ton of men who were going into this expecting a different (white) lead. genuinely terrible how they handled all of this. i'm so mad for her.

[satansapostle6]

folie à deux

Sometimes poison is sweet.

Selina Romanov and Draco Malfoy met when they were only eleven years old. The two of them have always shared an intense bond, always having gravitated towards one another. But the question still remains, as the years pass by, is their connection one of passion, or delusion?

Warnings: Contains Mature Themes/Language, Themes Such As Sexual Content, Violence, Abuse, Sexual Assault, Eating Disorders

Eighteen.

Selina could say without a doubt that Jasper Carroll was the first person she'd ever loved. They had a genuine relationship, and she got to know him and care for him like none of the other boys who'd looked at her the way he did. Everyone looked at Selina, but no one ever saw. 

Jasper made Selina feel things she'd thought were only spoken about in fairy tales. He gave her a new perspective on things. She was in love with him, in a way she never thought she could be in love with anyone. Any room without Jasper in it was empty. He was not just a boyfriend, but a best friend. In a way, he was everything. And when he became just another person in the world who doubted her, it hurt. 

She hadn't even spoken to him at all since the argument she'd had with him and everyone else in her life. She didn't know how to. She'd spent the entire day completely alone, and the only place that felt safe was the lake, which was where she'd hidden after finishing her studies alone in the library. She spent hours sitting on a tree stump by the lake, her favorite spot, which was why it was fairly easy for Draco to guess where she had gone. 

Jasper had also had an inkling as to where she'd been, but decided it would be best to allow her some space after everything she'd been through.  That, and he felt that all he would do now was make things a thousand times worse. 

  "Hey," Draco Malfoy said as he sat down near her.

She looked at him, trying to discern his reason for approaching her. 

  "You come here to see if I'm going to drown myself?" Selina asked softly, choosing to look out at the water. 

  "I came here to sit," he told her, doing the same respectively. "I have enough on my own plate, you know."

She didn't say anything to him, approving of the interaction. 

  "Pansy's driving me fucking insane," he said, completely unprompted.

Selina finally looked at him, knowing what to do at least with this problem. 

  "What is it now?" she asked. 

  "She thinks I fancy Daphne," Draco responded irritably, "Which is insane."

  "Why does she think that?" his friend asked promptly.

  "I don't know, she thinks I talk to her too much. But I've had, maybe, three conversations with her in the past week. And they weren't long! One of them was for Potions!" he exclaimed in frustration.

  "Did you tell her that?" Selina clarified.

  "A hundred fucking times, but she never listens," he answered.

  "Maybe just tell her you need her to listen, about this, and other things," she suggested. "I don't know. Maybe I'm not the person to be coming to for relationship advice at the moment," she sighed in defeat.

Draco looked at her with concern.

   "Why? You and Carroll okay?" he inquired.

  "As of right now, I don't exactly know," Selina admitted. "He doesn't think I have things under control."

  "That's a bit dramatic," Draco provided with a scoff. "But either way, I never liked him in the first place," he reminded her. 

She shook her head, just ignoring his childishness. 

  "I don't know what to do, Draco," she confessed, a strange calmness in her voice.

Draco thought for a second.

  "Do you need to do anything right now?" he questioned.

  "No," she considered lightly.

  "Then, don't," he offered, seeming equally done with his own problems.

Selina looked down at her feet, realizing he was actually right about this. No one was forcing her hand, at least not at the moment. As far as she was concerned that day, and that peaceful moment by the lake, was all hers. 

She spent quite a while staring out at the calm waters, hardly paying any mind to Draco as he left, presumably to go find Pansy, or Crabbe and Goyle(most likely Crabbe and Goyle). Selina was far from being happy that day, but something about the way she had reminded herself of the fact that, although she couldn't totally eliminate it, she was still at least in control of her own suffering. And if she felt the urge to suffer alone down by the lake, far away from anyone else, then so be it. 

She didn't return to the castle until it was time for dinner, and even then, she was still fifteen minutes late. As she entered the Great Hall, she quietly took her seat between Jasper and Blaise Zabini, not saying a word to anyone. The only people who seemed to really look up when she sat down were Jasper, Amana, and Draco. 

They watched with trepidation as Selina gingerly piled a small amount of food onto her plate, picking at it rather conservatively. No one said anything, because they hardly knew what would've been acceptable. 

  "Are you alright, Selina?" Jasper asked her.

She didn't know why, exactly, but this, instinctively, made her blood boil just a little bit. She cleared her throat lightly, and allowed herself to breathe before she answered the question.

  "I'm fine," she assured him.

He wasn't assured by this, of course, and continued to sneak glances at her as he ate with everyone else. Jasper treaded lightly, not knowing what was going through her head. 

  "I, erm... I'm sorry about yesterday," he leaned in so that it was a private apology between the two of them.

Selina stopped for a second, having been forced to think back on the fight they'd gotten in the night before. 

  "It's fine," she told him, hoping that he'd drop it and move on.

Everyone else's conversations carried on around them, but Jasper didn't seem to have any interest in joining them yet. 

  "No, it's not," he said gently.

Selina swallowed her genuine discomfort. Everyone else seemed to be slowly picking up on the tension between the couple. 

  "It's fine, Jasper," she said firmly, "Now, can we please just move on?" 

She was desperate to talk about something else, anything else. Amana and Draco both noticed the same thing.

  "Selina, I'm just trying to apologize to you," Jasper continued. "How I behaved... It wasn't fair."

  "No, it wasn't," she remarked ironically, "And it still isn't. Now, please, let's just talk about something else."

He still wasn't pleased with this response. Draco and Amana both felt aimless and awkward in the conversation, not knowing whether they needed to intervene, or simply fade into the background at the moment. 

  "Are you sure you're okay with it?" Jasper asked with a lack of confidence in the situation.

  "Yes," she told him, her eyes telling him not to bring it up anymore. 

  "The first task is coming up," Pansy Parkinson blurted out suddenly, stating the obvious.

She had to do something to ease the tension. Everyone looked at her in horror, worrying that her decision to join the conversation could ultimately have horrific repercussions for everyone else. Draco just looked at his girlfriend, too nervous to come up with a casual response. 

  "Yes! It is," Amana attempted to salvage the polite dinner table conversation. "I'm kind of rooting for Potter, if I'm being honest."

  "Potter?" Draco chimed in in disgust. "For what reason?"

Selina looked down at her plate, satisfied that the conversation at the table had at least somewhat reverted back to normal. 

  "Come on, Draco, he might be a Gryffindor, but he's also in our year," Amana reasoned.

  "Yeah, because he cheated!" Pansy scowled.

  "Come on, Pans, you don't honestly believe Potter could've successfully fooled Dumbledore and the Cup," Blaise rolled his eyes. "It's completely ridiculous."

  "I'll tell you what's ridiculous," Draco snarled with envy, "Out of everyone in our year, all the people our age, Potter's the one who gets chosen. Isn't he always chosen?!"

  "Draco, being chosen for this Tournament as a fourteen year-old isn't necessarily a good thing," Amana frowned.

  "The hell it isn't! Potter made the front page!" Pansy cried in outrage. 

  "When does he not?" Draco Malfoy scoffed. 

Selina just sat there, taking in the entire conversation as she tried to drown out herself. But still, her thoughts were too loud, and she was too aware. She could feel herself starting to lose control of everything. She felt as if she was quickly disappearing, and she if she could stop it, or if she even wanted to. In that moment, she certainly didn't. 

  "Hey. Selina. Look at me," Jasper whispered, looking at his girlfriend. "Are you sure you're okay?"

Selina stopped dead, breathing in slowly as she dropped her fork. The others exchanged looks of fear and anticipation as they dreaded whatever her reaction was going to be. No one knew what was going to happen after that, but they could all see her hands trembling. 

  "Oh, fuck," Draco murmured.

  "He did it," Blaise agreed, seeming unimpressed and underwhelmed.

  "And now, we're all fucked," Draco completed the sentence. 

He felt that the situation now had only one direction to go in. 

  "Stop asking me if I'm okay," Selina told him frustratedly.

Jasper wasn't entirely receptive to this new idea.

  "Selina, baby, I'm just trying to help," he promised her. 

  "And if I wanted your help, you'd know, wouldn't you?" she pointed out curtly.

Everyone sitting around them at the Slytherin table was uncomfortable. Draco, Amana, and Blaise anxiously waited for the other shoe to drop, while Pansy and Daphne exchanged concerned looks, and Crabbe and Goyle silently ate their dinner. 

  "Please, just let me fix this!" Jasper pleaded.

Selina's patience quickly wore thin.

  "There's nothing to fix!" she shouted over him. "I don't care anymore! Now just eat your food."

  "I know that's not true," he responded sadly. 

  "Fuck! Will you just stop telling me what I think!" she exclaimed, only seeming stressed out by his attempts at diplomacy.

Pansy looked over at Amana as she tried to figure out how to respond, but Amana wouldn't look up from her plate. 

  "I'm not trying to tell you how to feel," Jasper promised his girlfriend.

  "Then why don't you listen to me when I tell you you are?!" Selina demanded. 

  "Selina," he murmured, uncomfortably exchanging glances with the rest of their friends, "Let's go out in the hall, come on..."

  "No! You wanted to have this conversation right now, so we're having it right now!" she declared spitefully, throwing her fork down in a fit of rage.

She looked at him with tears in her eyes, shaking and trembling with anger. She couldn't control herself any longer. It seemed everyone was ultimately expecting her to go off the rails, so she figured there'd be no harm in actually doing so at this point.

  "Everyone thinks I'm going insane because of my mother dying, or what happened with Flint, or my grandmother killing herself, but really, it all happened to me!" she cried out impatiently. "I have to live with it all, and all anyone wants me to do is things that make it so much more difficult for me!"

Just about everyone was staring down at their plates, praying they wouldn't make eye contact with her. Much like with a wild animal, eye contact could mean a new target. 

  "Fuck you!" Selina sniffled, rambling incoherently. "Fuck you all!"

Draco winced out of fear, his eyes still locked on the table as Selina angrily stormed out of the Great Hall, which everyone around them had witnessed. Jasper looked around the Slytherin table, trying to find someone who would at least meet his gaze. They could still hear Selina yelling as she ran out of the room. 

  "Fuck you!"

  "Should I... Should I go after her?" he asked with uncertainty.

Everyone looked at him in shock. Blaise and Amana both glared at him in disbelief. 

  "Really?" Pansy questioned irritably. "Are you fucking daft?"

No one said anything else. They found that what she said just about covered it. 

*****

Selina Romanov ended up hiding away somewhere in the castle the way she usually did when she found she didn't feel safe near anyone. She felt pretty embarrassed by her hysterical screaming fit in the Great Hall, although she didn't find that she necessarily regretted it. She'd been angry at Jasper, and in general, and releasing that pent up energy felt cathartic, however misplaced it might have been. 

Selina knew she should've felt a lot more sorry for the scene she'd caused, and her abysmal behavior, but she couldn't help but at least appreciate the fact that she felt fairly calm after the fact, something which she knew she could only be grateful for. Peace didn't come easily to her anymore. 

  "Romanov?"

Selina looked up from the floor, where she was resting her arms on her knees to shield herself from the rest of the world. 

  "Freddie," she spoke up, quickly sniffing and wiping away her smeared eyeliner. 

  "You know I hate it when anyone who's not George calls me that," he reminded her, deciding to take a seat beside her on the ground.

She didn't respond, awkwardly looking down at the stone floor. She didn't know what to say to anyone at the moment. 

  "What's the matter?" Fred Weasley asked thoughtfully. "You get into it with Jasper?" he guessed.

  "I got into it with everyone," she replied.

  "Hmm," was all he had to say.

  "You ever do the same thing?" she asked him curiously. 

  Fred shrugged. "I find it to be a sometimes useful exercise," he said indifferently as he looked at her. "Did they deserve it?"

  It was her turn to shrug nonchalantly. "I don't know," she admitted. 

  "Fair enough," he nodded appreciatively. "Not to interrupt your sulking, but some of us are going night swimming, if you feel like joining."

  "'Night swimming'?" Selina repeated skeptically.

  Fred nodded. "Yeah."

  "Who's all going?" she inquired curiously. "Gryffindors?"

  "Yeah, a bunch. George and Lee are coming, Angelina's coming... Even Harry agreed to come for a bit," he told her. 

  "I don't know," Selina sighed, not feeling particularly social at the moment.

  "There's going to be a little bit of everyone, though. George and Lee helped me get it together last minute during dinner. Beauxbatons and Durmstrang students are coming, too," he informed her. "You can talk to, or not talk to, whoever you want."

  "Okay, fine, I'll come," she relented, finally getting up off the floor, "Let me get my clothes."

  "I'm coming with you," Fred insisted. 

  "What?" she scoffed.    

  "So you don't crawl off to bed!" he pointed out. "You have to come tonight. George said so. Kelly did too, which, come to think of it, is actually way more horrifying."

  "Okay, fine," she sighed as he followed her to the dungeons, "But you're not coming into the common room."

  "Why not?" Fred pouted. 

  "Because, somehow, I think that'd make me a blood traitor, and I'd never hear the end of it," she groaned.

As Selina uttered the password to the Slytherin common room, she turned to see Fred standing behind her, a playful expression on his face as he puffed out his lip, hoping she'd cave. 

  "Fred. You're not coming in," she said sternly.

  "Please?" he begged eagerly.

Fred ran in place impatiently, pleading with her to allow him to accompany her inside.

  "Ugh, fine! Just stay with me, and don't touch anything!" she commanded.

  "Yes, milady," he quipped.

Selina frowned as she snuck Fred into the Slytherin common room behind her. Fortunately for them, dinner hadn't ended yet, and no one was inside. She led him towards the girls' dormitories, to the room she shared with Amana. 

  "I better not catch you trying to get in here ever again," Selina warned.

  "Oh, I wouldn't dream of it!" he feigned innocence. 

Selina stepped inside the room, about to close the door before he stopped her.

  "Hey! You can't just leave me out here!" Fred complained. 

  "Fred! I'm changing!" she argued.

  "Well, obviously I wasn't going to look!" he reasoned. "What if someone sees me?!"

  "Okay, you go wait in the room," Selina rolled her eyes as she shoved him through the door. "I'll change in the bathroom."

After Selina emerged from the bathroom with a bikini on underneath her clothes, she and Fred eventually left the Slytherin dorms together, leaving through the common room. Just when Selina thought they'd left undetected, a looming ghost blocked their way.

  "Oh, bloody hell," Fred Weasley muttered under his breath 

A tall, translucent figure blocked their path, an angry-looking, blood-soaked nobleman who had died sometime during the eleventh century. The Bloody Baron, the ghost of Slytherin house, as well as the only person, dead or alive, who could successfully control Peeves. 

  "Baron," Selina greeted him formally.

  "Is that a Gryffindor I see?!" the ghost demanded, a menacing expression on his face.

  Selina tried to calm him, speaking to him as respectfully as possible. "Just passing through, sir."

  "Hmm," the specter glared down at her, his cold, dark eyes burning into her, "I will allow it. But only because you have honored the noble House of Romanov."

  "Thank you, Baron," Selina entertained him, rushing past him with Fred as quickly as possible. 

  "He's a bit intense, isn't he?" he thought pleasantly.

  "Draco's terrified of him," she told him, "But he'll deny it."

  "Hmm. Good to know," he thought mischievously. 

They both headed out of the castle, sneaking out with the Durmstrang and Beauxbatons students just as everyone else did. Selina had fully committed to focusing on fun for the night, fully  convincing herself that everything was fine. 

  "So... How are you and Angelina?" Selina asked Fred, who looked down at her suspiciously. 

  "Friends. Why do you ask?" he questioned cautiously. 

  "Just curious," she promised lightheartedly. "You just... seem to like spending time with her, that's all."

His demeanor softened as he realized she was trying to have a genuine, friendly conversation with him. 

  "I do," Fred agreed, thinking about Angelina Johnson for a moment. "I like her. She's... She's cool, and she's kind, and she's pretty," he confessed.  

Selina just smiled, finding his thoughts about her endearing. 

  "I've never really said that out loud to anyone before," he told her awkwardly.

  "Maybe you should say it to her," she suggested helpfully.

  Fred chuckled. "Maybe."

  "I'm serious," she told him, "I think it would go well."

  He paused, looking at her as they headed for the Durmstrang boat. "You do?" he asked, his interest piqued.

  "Of course it would. You're Fred and Angelina," she reminded him. "You belong together. And you really like each other. Everyone sees it. Even on the pitch."

  "Do they?" he laughed softly.

  "Yes," Selina promised. "She clearly likes you. You should ask her out."

  "Maybe I will," he responded, seeming encouraged.

She nodded as they walked together in silence, comfortable with the casual conversation. Anything that had nothing to do with today's events was perfect. She felt a wave of relief washing over her as they approached the boat, surrounded by floating candles for ambient lighting. Everyone was just talking and laughing, no matter whether they were from Hogwarts, Beauxbatons, or Durmstrang.

Selina felt no particular allegiance to anyone, seeing as Jasper and Amana didn't come, believing her to be in the dorms. Selina felt she was free to join whichever conversation she pleased. She and George had encouraged Fred to go and talk to Angelina one-on-one, which was objectively adorable to watch. 

Some people were actually swimming, but most people were just standing around on the boat, talking. Selina saw Kelly with her own friends, and decided she didn't feel like interacting with them. She was just too exhausted. She was eventually able to locate Blaise, who was standing somewhere awkwardly across the dimly lit boat with Draco and Pansy, who didn't seem to be getting along very well at the moment. Ignoring her own best interests, Selina made a beeline for them, until she was suddenly interrupted by someone else. 

  "Hello, Selina Romanova."

Startled, she defensively turned to see one of the Durmstrang boys trying to get her attention. Henryk Checinski, the delusional boy who just had to have her. 

  "Henryk," she sighed, her patience quickly waning, "I'm really not in the mood today."

  "Then allow me to get you in the mood," he smiled, offering her his hand.

  "I'd rather not," she told him as bluntly as possible. 

  "Come. Dance with me," he urged her.

  "There's... no music," Selina replied uncomfortably.

  "We'll make our own," he insisted.

  "...No."

She didn't know how much clearer she could get.

  "Selina. Please. Allow me the chance to woo you," he invited her. 

  "My boyfriend does that just fine on his own, thanks," she reminded him with a sarcastic smile.

  Henryk wouldn't take 'no' for an answer. "Please. Just one dance—"

  "She said 'no'," another voice cut in. 

Selina whipped around to see that Harry had actually seen what was going on, having been extremely antisocial at the gathering himself. He rushed to her side chivalrously, instinctively positioning himself in front of her. Henryk seemed surprised by this; it seemed completely unwarranted to him. 

  "My friend doesn't want to dance with you," Harry Potter said firmly, not far off from drawing his wand. "Leave her alone."

Henryk was surprised by the intervention from the younger boy, and was confused by the fact that he was the person who needed defending against in this scenario. 

  "Of course. My apologies," he said quickly, walking away with his tail between his legs as Harry watched him to make sure he left.

Selina turned to Harry, appreciative of the gesture.

  "Thank you. I could've handled it, you really didn't have to do that," she thanked him.

  Harry, obviously also having a bad day, just shook his head dismissively. "It's alright. You seemed really annoyed."

  "Yes," she smiled in amusement , happy that he understood, "I was."

The boy just smiled awkwardly, and Selina realized how strange it was the last time she'd seen him. She and Draco had both been high, and as far as Harry knew, Selina was just laughing as Draco tormented him. She felt awful about it.

  "Harry, I'm sorry about that day... The ferret incident?" she spoke up.

  Harry just chuckled at the memory. "Why?" he asked in confusion.

  "Well, I, er... Didn't want you to think I was just laughing at you, or anything. I wanted to tell Draco to stop," she confided in him before he interjected.

  "It's alright," he stated. "Really."

  "...Really?" she questioned, not understanding his level of empathy.

  "Yeah. I know you," he shrugged. 

  "Right," Selina nodded, trying to think of something else to say. "I was surprised when Fred told me you were coming. I thought he was surely lying."

  "Yeah," Harry murmured, looking around at everyone on the boat. "This isn't really my scene."

  "It's not really mine either," she said, to his surprise. "I always just kind of end up at these things, you know?"

  Harry nodded, understanding completely. "Yeah. I was just about to leave, actually," he told her. 

  "Oh, are you sure?" Selina asked. "You wouldn't have to be alone."

  "No, it's okay," he smiled. "Thanks. I'm... pretty tired. I'll just go back to the dorms."

  "Alright. Goodnight," she nodded kindly.

  "Goodnight," he responded, waving at her as he walked away. "It was nice talking to you."

  "You too," she murmured, somewhat reluctantly walking away to where her friends were standing. 

Selina silently wished she could've left with Harry. It seemed the situation between Draco Malfoy and Pansy Parkinson had only escalated in the past couple of minutes or so. Things were looking abysmal. Pansy was openly yelling at Draco, and based on his inherently male, nonchalant reaction, Selina could tell that he deserved it. 

Blaise was just standing there behind Pansy, looking incredibly uncomfortable as he wrapped his arms around himself in a sort of self-soothing hug. He obviously did not want to be there, and Selina had no idea as to why he was. Blaise was just odd that way. It was almost as if he had an unnatural tendency to just be where the drama was, even if he didn't actually want to be. Selina stopped thinking about him when she realized just how similar they were at times. 

  "You know I can't understand you when you're just screaming at me," Draco said to Pansy with crossed arms, sounding almost bored, "I don't know what your problem is."

  "You don't know what my problem is?!" she exclaimed in disbelief. "You were flirting with Iris!"

  "No, I wasn't! Don't be ridiculous!" he groaned.

  "I'm not being ridiculous! You put your hand on her shoulder, and you leaned in! You might as well have gotten her shoulder pregnant!" Pansy shouted, earning her fair share of looks. 

  "For fuck's sake! I couldn't hear her, so I leaned in!" Draco shouted. "And why couldn't I hear her?! Because you were fucking screaming at me!"

  "Why do you need to hear her so bad, hmm?!" his girlfriend demanded.

  "I'm not talking to you when you're fucking like this," he muttered. 

  "There we have it! Typical Draco! Always ending the conversation when I'm right!" she spat.

  "I'm ending this conversation because you're fucking insane!" he yelled back at her. 

Selina felt herself already developing a migraine somehow. To her right was a large group of older Durmstrang boys, who, she realized, were passing around a flask, each of them taking outrageous swigs from it. She noticed they'd been doing the same thing for a while now, which led her to believe that it was most likely enchanted. 

Taking a moment to ease into her girlish charm, Selina innocently crept up behind them, inserting herself into the circle of boys as she sweetly batted her eyelashes. 

  "Hi," she murmured, getting all of their attention. "What are you all up to?" she asked. 

A few of them were immediately taken with her, and directed all of their attention toward her. 

  "Just talking," one of them said in a German accent. 

  "Can I see that?" she asked nicely, looking down at the silver flask in his hand.

  He smiled, completely disarmed by her. "Y-Yeah. Here," he handed it to her. 

She tossed her head back, preparing herself for the worst as she poured the liquor down her throat, fully committing to the decision. She found it to be sickly sweet and bitter at the same time, tasting like black licorice and death. She tried her best not to vomit as she drank from the flask, all of the boys watching her in awe. This continued for far too long.

  "Thank you," Selina handed it back, smiling as she scampered away. 

She went back to Draco and Pansy, who both seemed terribly miserable, now somewhat prepared to deal with them. 

  "Fuck you!" Pansy screamed at Draco. "You think you're the only one who can flirt?! I'll show you!"

Selina and Blaise both watched in horror as Pansy ran off in search of the nearest rich Slytherin boy, being disgustingly obvious about what she was doing. Draco just scoffed in disbelief, rolling his eyes at her as he tried to play off his emotions. Selina approached him, her arms folded as she just stared at him. 

  "She's fucking mad," he muttered. 

  "What did you do to that poor girl?" Selina asked him, fully aware of the dynamic at play.

  "I didn't do anything," Draco insisted as Blaise ran off to chase after Pansy, "She makes her own decisions."

  "That's not what I meant, and you know it," Selina told him. "What did you do?" she demanded.

  "Nothing," Draco insisted.

She glared straight into his blue eyes, trying to force it out of him. 

  "Were you flirting with that girl?" she asked, a surprising lack of anger or accusation in her tone.

  Draco just shrugged forcefully, seeming defensive. "I don't know."

She took this as a 'yes'.

  "Why did you do it?" Selina asked him.

  "'Do' what?" he deflected stubbornly.

  She frowned, genuinely irritated by his behavior. "You have a girlfriend that really cares about you. For better or for worse."

  "But, she's constantly accusing me of things!" he whined. "It doesn't even matter if I actually do them or not, the end result is still the same."

His friend frowned, somewhat saddened by this look into her friend's seriously dysfunctional relationship. 

  "If you're not happy, then just tell her that. Don't make her end things for you, just because you can't do it yourself," she told him.

Draco refused to meet her gaze, staring down at his feet. 

  "Why do you even care about me and Pansy?" he demanded harshly.

  "You're my friend. And you're being mean," Selina told him simply. 

  "It's none of your business what me and my girlfriend do," he scoffed at her. 

  "Fine. Don't take my advice. I don't care. Just be an arsehole to everyone, and fuck off," she frowned. 

  "I think I will, thank you very much," Draco said  stiffly, backing away from her as he haphazardly pulled his sweater over his head.

Draco stood near the ledge with the others who were about to go swimming. 

  "What the fuck are you doing?" Selina sighed, watching as he left his clothes on the ledge near Crabbe and Goyle's.

  "Going for a swim!" he declared.

Selina watched as he jumped off the side of the boat, diving into the water. 

  "What the hell...? That's too far!" she yelled at him as he swam out, further and further away from the boat. 

Draco didn't respond. He simply continued swimming aggressively away from everyone else, already having gone past the people who were the farthest from the boat. Sighing, Selina looked around for her friends. It seemed Pansy was too busy trying to flirt with some fifth-year to notice that her boyfriend was actually gone, making it a completely pointless endeavor. Blaise, on the other hand, was keeping an eye on Pansy, too anxious and preoccupied with her to be of any help.

So, not seeing any other options, Selina began throwing off her own clothes as she reluctantly leapt off of the side of the boat. The water was cold, but not nearly as cold as she thought it would be. That was the one thing that brought her relief. She treaded water near the side of the boat, trying to find her friend so that she could make sure he didn't drown himself. 

Sighing as she spotted a tiny crop of blond hair far off in the distance, she breathed in as she submerged herself underwater, swimming in his direction. This took a couple of minutes as Selina tried not to tire herself out. When she reached Draco, he was just treading water in the middle of the lake, staring out at the moon. 

  "Draco! What the fuck?!" she gasped, treading water beside him.

  "You didn't have to follow me," he said petulantly. 

  "You barely know how to swim," Selina reminded him, "I kind of did."

  "I can swim just fine," he argued begrudgingly.

  "I don't even know how you managed to get all the way out here," she admitted, glancing up at the full moon.

  "I'm full of surprises," his voice was saturated with sarcasm. 

  "You're fucking ridiculous," she told him. 

  "Hmm."

The more she looked at him, the more he seemed tortured by something. Not Pansy, somehow, but something. She remained silent as she floated next to him, trying to read him. 

  "You don't have to be here," he muttered. "You can go."

  "Do you want me to?" she asked, not able to understand him at all. 

Draco Malfoy didn't seem to know how to answer that question.

  "I don't know why you insist upon shutting me out," she confessed her frustration. "I don't judge you. I never have. I criticize you, sure, that's what friends do, but I never judge you," she murmured.

Draco just looked at her, a wounded expression on his angular face.

  "I tell you when you're in the wrong, but I never judge you. I don't know why you insist upon doing things that make me hate you," she said.

  Draco looked into her blue eyes, his mouth curving in an unpleasant scowl. "I think you know why," he told her.

  "No," Selina promised him, a look of frustration on her face as she vigorously kicked her feet around to keep herself afloat, "I don't. One minute we can talk about things, and the next, you forget we're friends. I don't understand it, but I know it has nothing to do with me."

  He sighed exhaustedly, a begrudging regret in his eyes. "You act like it's so easy."

  "Like what's easy?!" she cried.

  "Us!" he exclaimed in defeat. 

  "You think 'us' isn't easy?" Selina demanded.

  "No! It's fucking not!" he hissed.

  "Why?" she sighed. "What did I do that's so horrible?!"

Draco averted his gaze, unable to answer the question.

  "What are on earth do you think I did wrong for you to treat me this way?" Selina questioned. "I know we're arseholes to each other, but this is just something else entirely."

He seemed put out by this question, as if answering it was a complete hindrance to him. Selina didn't understand his angst at all, in this instance. 

  "Because, of how things are between us!" Draco yelled at her. 

  She frowned. "How are things between us?" she prompted him. 

  "I don't know, Selina, but I can't think when I'm around you!" he yelled at her. "Everything gets crazy when I'm around you! My heart beats too fast, and nothing makes sense! You make everything feel like it's on fire!" 

  "That's not an answer," she told him, trying to stifle her instinctive reaction. 

  "It's the only one I have!" Draco hissed, standing closer to her. "You...drive me...insane. When I look at you, I can't defend myself! I can't think straight when you're around! I look into your eyes, and I just forget, about everything! I lose myself when I'm with you, Selina."

  "Well, I'm sorry you feel that way, Draco," she said quietly, looking at him without any discernible emotion.

  "No, you're not," he said finally. "It's what you do. You love looking in everyone's direction, and making them think they have a chance just because it entertains you. You do things just because you can. And you're just like me," he said finally.

  "I'm not like you," she told him.

  "Like hell you aren't."

  "I'm not like you, Draco," Selina said again. "I know what I'm worth. I don't have to do any of that. I know I can get whatever I want; it doesn't amuse me anymore," she admitted emptily as he looked at her. 

The both of them were struggling to remain afloat while speaking to one another. Draco just stared emptily into her eyes, as she took in everything about him for the first time that night, from his wet blond hair, to his face, to his pale collarbone. 

  "You're the only one I can compete with. No one else is worth fighting with. Not even Pansy," Draco said suddenly. "You're the only one I see in a crowd."

  "I can't be," Selina sighed. "Pansy... She loves you."

Draco seemed to wince at the mention of his girlfriend's name. 

  "Come on, Selina," he said quietly. "You don't care about her," he whispered. 

  "I don't know if I do," she admitted, "But I definitely know that I care about Jasper."

  "Why?" he scoffed in disbelief.

  "'Why'? Because he's my boyfriend," Selina responded. 

  Draco rolled his eyes childishly. "Why?" he asked again. 

  "I love him," Selina said, her voice dangerously quiet as she warned him.

  "No," Draco told her, "You don't. He's average; he's nice, but that's it. You might care for him, but he doesn't do it for you."

  "Since when do you know how I feel?" she demanded.

  "Since I looked into your eyes, and saw mine," he told her. "You're just as bad as I am. Hell, you're probably worse, even if no one sees it."

  "You don't even know what the fuck you're talking about," she pointed out.

  "I see who you are, Selina," Draco told her. "I see how strong you are, and how powerful you are, and I don't stifle you!"

His words cut deep as she thought about what they really meant coming from him. Draco really did see a certain animosity in her that lured him in. 

  "That's why you act the way you act," she realized quickly. "You just fight with Pansy and ignore her so that she'll get tired of you. You're not invested in her at all; it's all just become a ploy to get to me. That's why you don't care if you lose her," she psychoanalyzed. 

He said nothing, the intensity in his eyes still not fading. 

  "I don't give a fuck about her," Draco said through his teeth. 

At this point, she couldn't tell if he was actually being truthful or not. Everything he said and did seemed meaningless now. She had no way of knowing that this wasn't another one of his ridiculous games, that he cared about her any more than he did Pansy Parkinson. 

  "Draco, we've known each other for quite a while," Selina said softly. "You're my friend. I'd die for you... But I don't trust you."

  "No. Why would you?" he agreed. "You see yourself in me. And you hate it."

Selina couldn't even think of anything to say to that. 

  "Did you ever think that maybe I just hate you?" she whispered.

Draco held her steady at arms' length, half securing her so that she'd stay afloat, half forcing her to stay. 

  "Is it strange to want to kiss you?" he asked, his voice a heady murmur. 

Selina looked at him spitefully, years of cold resentment in her gaze. Somehow, it only drew him closer. His words inspired many different feelings in her, hatred, and indignation, and anger, but the one thing that could be connected to them all was passion. Draco frustrated her to no end, he always had. 

  "You know I won't do that," she shook her head slowly.

  "I don't think I do," he stated, a wave of confidence coming over him. "I think you want to. A part of you wants to, even if you force it down every time you remember that insipid, inadequate husk you call a boyfriend. You don't just want to kiss me again, you want to love me, even if it hurts, because you know that you'd rather scream at me than smile with him!"

  "Draco, I think you're just trying to get under my skin," Selina Romanov sighed, hurt by the attempt.

  "Selina, did you ever stop to think that maybe I just get under your skin?" he questioned. "I know you think about me. Even if you act like you're just cross with me, you use it as an excuse to think and me, because you're addicted, and so am I. We'd rather die than live without each other."

  "That's bullshit!" she cried. "You just want to be able to say that you won me from Jasper!"

  "Two things can be true at once," Draco reminded her, "Maybe you're just a trophy to me, but you'd still be the one on the top shelf."

  "You disgust me," she remarked softly, not in an angry, accusatory tone, but more so in a soft and epiphanic one.

  "But you love being disgusted by me," he pouted petulantly. "The only reason you bother to hate me is so you can push me to make you love me again. You'd much rather play this game with me than be happy with Jasper Carroll."

  "That's not true!" Selina yelled. 

  "Oh really?" he asked, standing right in front of her, so close their noses almost touched. "Then why are you here, with me?"

Selina just looked at him sadly, with a strange sense of loathing. 

  "Why fight it? Why can't we be together, if it's what we want?" Draco questioned existentially. "Look at us, we're Selina and Draco. You always know what I'm thinking, and I always know what you're feeling. We can do whatever we want, no one's stopping us. Especially together. For all we know, it's always been about us."

  "Can you really tell me that this would all even be worth it?" she asked him. 

He saw the glistening pain in her eyes as she looked at him, pleading with him for an answer. 

  "Draco, can you honestly tell me that even if I were to just up and leave Jasper, that I'd be doing it for something equal in substance?" she scoffed. "Look me in the eyes, and tell me we could both treat each other like human beings if we were together."

Her words stung a bit as Draco couldn't help but look at her. He was starting to come down from the high of his own delusions of grandeur. 

  "Can you honestly say that you could see yourself telling me that you love me some day, that you care about me, me, and not just what you think I can give you?" Selina questioned. "You might think you want me, but that's also what you're afraid of. Secretly, you think the sooner you fuck things up with me, the less you'll have to worry about it. You'd ruin it if I ever gave you the chance, and you know it."

  "That's not fair," he breathed, a gasp of air getting caught in his throat. "You don't know that—!"

  "You know what, I shouldn't even be arguing with you about this," she decided with finality, "The bottom line is, even if I choose to sympathize with you ignore the fact that you're probably a shitty person like I usually do, you've still been shitty to me, and there's no use trying to make you be something you're not."

Draco Malfoy's brows furrowed as he struggled to keep up with her every word, trembling as he wanted so badly to tell her that she was wrong. He wanted to tell her that she was wrong, but he found that the claim would be baseless. 

  "I'm not playing this game with you. You can just keep being the selfish, mean person I know you are, and I'll just finally accept that. Goodnight, Draco. Find your own way back," she shook her head at him, swimming away before the situation could get any worse.

She knew that her rejection of him was moderate, to say the least, but she knew that cutting him from her life completely required a certain resolve she could hardly muster. 

  "Sel," he called after her, reaching but not grasping at all. "Hey. Wait."

  "No, Draco," she cut him off firmly, wading towards the boat. "No."

She'd never sounded more like a disappointed parent to him. He watched her leave, and extended no quantifiable amount of remorse. 

*****

Selina woke up angry. She wasn't even sure why as she first opened her eyes and sat up in her bed. The second she stepped out of bed, she couldn't contain the aggression in her every movement. She woke up before the other girls she shared a dorm with, as well as most of the girls in the Slytherin dormitories. Sleep, it seemed, was a fool's errand. 

Even Selina's footsteps were unintentionally heavy, and made more of a sound than she thought was necessary. She practically stormed off to the bathroom, furiously brushing her teeth and hair as she scowled at her reflection in the mirror. Girlish narcissism was a dual-edged sword that knew the reflection staring back at her was virtually perfect, but also felt she deserved to burn for it. 

Selina had the same relationship with herself that she allegedly had with Draco Malfoy; she loved thinking about herself and did it all the time, so when the usual delusions of grandeur got old, she switched things up with dysphoric self-loathing. She screamed at herself silently while she brushed mascara into her lashes, flirted with her own reflected image as she glossed her lips, imagined her own death as she sprayed on her adaptive perfume. 

Knowing that she was one of the prettiest girls in the school felt to Selina like forbidden knowledge. She felt like Icarus, flying towards her own destruction. Although she tried to carry herself with moderation, Selina was also aware that she liked to be part of things that were powerful in nature. She liked being associated with anything that had to do with strength, and prestige.

It could seem to some that Selina took on traditional Slytherin values, favoring traditional Slytherin people, but this wasn't necessarily the case. Nothing about the people who most Slytherins willingly or unwillingly decided were 'powerful' or relevant inherently appealed to her. She didn't feel it was particularly necessary to befriend anyone whose family name was listed in the Sacred 28 to be considered standing on equal ground. 

Selina was confident enough in other people's confidence in her to gain favor without unnecessary amounts of deception or even just effort. She knew that, no matter what she did, her name was relevant for her peers. She knew she could've dated a prince, or Jasper Carroll, and the result would've been the same.

The one thing everyone noticed when Selina Romanov and Jasper Carroll leisurely lorded over everyone in the halls together was the way they heard their eyes. It was strange, but it seemed that never once did either of them look down when they walked together. They always looked at one another, or out at nothing, and just smiled, whether they had a reason or not, almost as if they knew that nothing could possibly be so bad if they had one another. 

Jasper and Selina had the kind of teen romance that made everyone jealous. There was something beautiful and understated about the way they showed their devotion to the world. What they had was so common yet unattainable, like the way Selina's perfectly manicured hand coiled around her boyfriend's arm as they walked. A couple of different students watched as Jasper placed a kiss atop her head, allowing her to head to Transfiguration with the other fourth-years.

Selina chose an empty seat beside Pansy, behind Daphne and Amana, who actually got along much better than they did before. 

  "How'd you do it?" Pansy Parkinson whispered, earning a confused look.

  "'Do' what?" she asked.

  "You know. Find a boyfriend like that," she said.

  "Like what?" 

She still didn't understand the question that was being asked.

  "You know. A boyfriend that's so... nice," Pansy eventually settled on a word.

Selina automatically knew where the question was coming from. 

  "You don't find nice boys, they find you," she thought after a while.

  "I wish Draco was nice," the girl mumbled to herself.

Selina considered for a moment what her contributions might be before she gauged whether or not she should open her mouth. 

  "You know, as a rich, pretty teenage girl, you have much better things to do than sitting around wishing a boy was nice to you," she pointed out. "Wouldn't you just rather come across someone who's already nice?"

  "Someone else can be nice, but no one else can be Draco," Pansy insisted stubbornly.

Selina had to resist the urge to theatrically roll her eyes. 

  "If you just put as much effort into your grades as you do whatever it is you have going on with Draco, you'd test out entirely," she remarked.

  "Don't be an arsehole," Pansy said dismissively.

  "No, really," Selina insisted as she began to diverge, "People don't realize that perfection, living the dream, so to speak, is just a matter of manipulating things that already exist."

  "I'm not following," Pansy stared at her. 

  "Changing your own reality, being a god, it isn't magic; it's just being efficient. You ultimately have control over any part of yourself you want. If you want something, just make yourself need it. If you want to do something, make yourself love it."

  Pansy looked at her, blinking profusely in disbelief. "...Are you fucking insane?"

[cyarsk52-20]

'Beef' Stars Respond to David Choe Rape Controversy: 'We've Seen Him Put in the Work'

Denver Sean

After much controversy, the stars of Netflix’s hit show ‘Beef’ have responded to resurfaced criticism against cast member David Choe.

In recent days, a 2014 podcast interview resurfaced where he had joked about being the “successful rapist” of a Black woman during a massage.

via Variety:

On Friday, “Beef” creator Lee Sung Jin and executive producers and stars Steven Yeun and Ali Wong released a statement to Variety, calling Choe’s story “undeniably hurtful and extremely disturbing” but that he’s “put in the work to get the mental health support he needed.”

“The story David Choe fabricated nine years ago is undeniably hurtful and extremely disturbing. We do not condone this story in any way, and we understand why this has been so upsetting and triggering. We’re aware David has apologized in the past for making up this horrific story, and we’ve seen him put in the work to get the mental health support he needed over the last decade to better himself and learn from his mistakes,” they said.

In resurfaced clips of the 2014 “DVDASA” podcast episode, Choe told co-host Asa Akira a sexually explicit story about a massage he received from a massage therapist he calls Rose. “I’m getting turned on just telling this story,” he said in the footage. “I just take her hand and I put it on my dick. She just holds it there.”

Choe detailed numerous sexual acts and ended the story by saying, “The thrill of possibly going to jail, that’s what achieved the erection quest.” Akira replied, “Ew, you’re basically telling us that you’re a rapist now, and that the only way to get your dick really hard is rape.” Choe responded, “Yeah,” then answered other guests’ questions about Rose’s appearance. “What the fuck is wrong with you guys?” Akira asked. “Who cares what she looks like? Dave is telling us he’s a rapist.” He joked in response, “A successful rapist.”

Choe originally responded to the backlash in 2014, denying he was a rapist in a statement and saying that the podcast was “a complete extension of his art” as a storyteller.

“I never thought I’d wake up one late afternoon and hear myself called a rapist. It sucks. Especially because I am not one. I am not a rapist. I hate rapists, I think rapists should be raped and murdered,” he said at the time. “I am an artist and a storyteller and I view my show ‘DVDASA’ as a complete extension of my art. If I am guilty of anything, it’s bad storytelling in the style of douche. Just like many of my paintings are often misinterpreted, the same goes with my show. The main objective of all of my podcasts is to challenge and provoke my friends and the co-stars on the show. We fuck with each other, entertain ourselves and laugh at each other. It’s a dark, tasteless, completely irreverent show where we fuck with everyone listening, but mostly ourselves. We create stories and tell tales. It’s not a news show. It’s not a representation of my reality. It’s not the place to come for reliable information about me or my life. It’s my version of reality, it’s art that sometimes offends people. I’m sorry if anyone believed that the stories were fact. They were not! In a world full of horrible people, thank god for us.”

He doubled down on the apology and posted a statement in 2017, writing “I have zero history of sexual assault. I am deeply sorry for any hurt I’ve brought to anyone through my past words.” He also revealed he had went through three years of recovery and rehabilitation.

Clips of the “DVDASA” podcast resurfaced on Twitter last week, but some of them were removed with Digital Millennium Copyright Act (DMCA) notices that were filed seemingly by Choe himself under the David Young Choe Foundation. The DMCA notices called the Twitter videos “copyright infringing media” and asked for their “immediate” removal.

“Beef” released on Netflix on April 6, after which it rose to No. 2 on Netflix’s Top 10 list of English-language shows. In its second week of release, it received over 70 million hours viewed. Opposite Yeun and Wong, Choe plays Isaac, the older, frequently-incarcerated cousin of Yeun’s character Danny. Choe, who is a painter and artist, supplied the artwork for nine episodes’ title cards.

This statement smell like PR cover — and we’re not buying it.

Sent from my iPhone

Not-Black POC perpetuate and benefit from anti-Blackness,

Are NOT the natural allies of Black people and CANNOT be trusted to do the right thing regarding Black people without prompting FROM Black people.

Only rapists think it's OK to "joke" about violating the bodily autonomy of someone else, and David Choe went so far as to describe this Black woman's looks IN DETAIL,

So Ali Wong and Steven Yeun are sticking beside David Choe, covering for a rapist,

Cause ANYTHING for Asian media representation.

They coulda kept this li'l statement, cause it just added insult to injury.

As for the show, I’m not watching.

Asians you must do better and condemn the antiblackness in your community

[jasonbehrs]

⏳ what eludes you now ⏳

by airauralintensity (aka me, jasonbehrs!)

“You could have asked for one hour.” Insights into Johnwan’s love story measured in one hour increments.

fandom: love is for suckers / love that will freeze to death characters: park jiwan, john jang | jang joon, yeoreum and jaehoon mentioned ship: johnwan genre: romance, humour themes: fluff, angst and its resolution, 6+1, fatphobia mention, sexual assault mention word count: 11.8k+ rating: T+

read it on ffnet, aff, wattpad, ao3, or below!

~~~

A/N (2.23.2023): Title from Eat Your Heart Out by Walk the Moon. This fic is dedicated to Dez, who bears my Johnwan brainrot with enjoyment and responds in kind.

WARNING for #3. I describe fatphobia and its effects on Jiwan briefly. I also discuss Jiwan’s history of sexual assault in non-grievous terms. Between the way she talked about it on the show and the fact that Johnwan get canonically married, I am taking the liberty of presuming that Jiwan’s healing leads to empowerment with regards to her sexuality and needs. Of course, recovering from trauma looks different for everyone and may not include that path. That all being said: if you wanted a hurt/comfort, first-time-esque kind of description to Johnwan’s sex life, you will not be finding that here.

~~~

1. substitution

John can't believe his luck. Not only did his manager get the time for his Kingdom of Love 2 interview wrong, but the old hag told him it's not worth it to go somewhere else in the meantime when all he has to do is wait for an hour. Hello, it's an hour. He could be working on his deltoids or enjoying a glass of Chambertin Grand Cru with all those minutes!

Instead, he's waiting in the hallway outside of DNA TV's conference room for an interview which should really have been waived for him considering a) he's already done business with the station before and b) said business was only successful thanks to his face and personality anyway.

Yeoreum said they'd interview him early if the 11:30 doesn't show up for her timeslot, but that still means he has to occupy himself for thirty whole minutes in the best case scenario. He tsks. So annoying.

He grumpily settles onto a bench and elects to hate-watch Paik Jongwon's latest youtube video with one airpod in to help pass the time. Not long later, someone takes a seat a few places down from him. He doesn't bother looking up to acknowledge that the person exists, which is more than can be said for the other's behaviour.

"Excuse me. By chance, are you Chef John-nim?"

He straightens out of his slouch in offense at the soft, hesitant voice that dared call his attention. The owner looks like an anthropomorphised garbage bag mated with a Cabbage Patch Kid, and he is less than impressed.

"Yeah, that's me."

She titters a bit in excitement, but she actively reigns it in. He might have appreciated it if only he didn't subsist on attention. "I'm a big fan of Ramen Chef! I watched it every week."

John scoffs. She'd be the only one, and the reminder of that utter failure he had participated in only worsens his mood.

Misunderstanding his scoff as one of disbelief, the woman continues, "It's true! After the final episode aired, I was so sad about it that I rewatched it and followed along as you cooked. It ended up that I didn't have most of the ingredients you used, but that didn't stop me! I just replaced things with what I had, like mung bean paste with doenjang and enoki mushrooms with beansprouts because at least they look the same—and daebak. It didn't taste like any ramen I had before!"

There are noticeable stars in her eyes as she recounts the anecdote, but he stares at her aghast. "Well, of course it didn't. You replaced two of the most crucial ingredients! It probably tasted terrible!"

The bubbles of the woman's effervescence are popped, and she blinks rapidly as she comes back to herself. "Ah. I did, didn't I?" she says with a sheepish shrug. "Those aren't even the only parts I replaced... Well, I still liked it. To be honest with you, I'm not much of a chef," she admits as if he couldn't tell by the everything about her. "That's why my mom owns the restaurant and I—"

"Park Jiwan-ssi?"

Yeoreum waits at the open doorway to the conference room where the new phase of John's life will begin, and the woman stands up to answer her. "Yes, that's me!"

The two women enter the room together, and the door closes on John's flabbergasted face. Not only is Garbage Patch Woman apparently auditioning for Kingdom of Love 2, but she showed up for her interview on time, which means he still has thirty more minutes to kill!

To make matters worse: dissatisfied with ruining his life, she had to go and ruin his recipe, too. He worked hard on those! He made up a brand new one for every episode of that godforsaken show. She had the gall to edit it according to her limitations and claim she loved his cooking? 'At least they look the same,' he mocks in his mind.

He refuses to stand for this, so he gets out of his seat. He spent enough time at the DNA TV headquarters to know where Yeoreum's workstation is, so he goes over and filches a memo pad and a pen. Thirty minutes is more than enough time.

He is still reviewing the paper before him with a critical eye when the conference room door opens again. He looks up with wild eyes, and Yeoreum mistakes his eagerness.

"Yes, yes. It's finally your turn." She gestures into the room with a sarcastic wave of her arm, but John ignores her in favour of stopping the woman, whose name he has already forgotten, from leaving.

"Listen, I get it if you can't afford Hokkaido-farmed enoki on the salary you earn from cashing in the plastic bottles collected off the side of the road, but that's no excuse for leaving your fridge and pantry bare of the necessities. Here." He hands her the paper he had written on while waiting. "This is a list of value brand ingredients that wouldn't offend me if you used them in my recipes. Do yourself a favour and go shopping after this, will you?"

Garbage Patch Woman accepts the list with both hands. "Oh my god. Thank you, Chef John-nim. I will!" She bows gratefully, and she doesn't stop until Yeoreum intervenes, saying it's John's turn to be interviewed.

Yeoreum waits until the other woman is far enough away before chiding, "Yah. You didn't have to talk to her like that." She enters the room without hearing his response.

John shrugs her off then takes a moment to himself before following after her. He needs to be at his most charming for the next 30 minutes, and someone ruined his mood.

God, it's been a while since someone got under his skin like this.

~~~

2. crosshatch

It's no secret that John fell for her words first.

Jiwan is as genuine as he is fake. She cannot help but say what she thinks and feels, a trait that would be dangerous if not tempered by her decorum and natural propensity for kindness. There are no ulterior motives or hidden meanings to her words. For a man who continually forges himself from the fires of insecurity and greed, Jiwan's authenticity in the way she speaks makes him feel more like glass than steel.

Transparent and fragile are not the attitudes you're supposed to have when your girlfriend asks you such an innocuous question.

"Come again?"

"Would you let me draw you?"

He senses that there is a right answer by the way she does not equivocate in the face of his silence, which has gone on a tad too long at this point. He ultimately decides to ignore his silly trepidation, and Jiwan squeaks in excitement when he nods. "Be right back!"

She returns with an A3 sketch pad and a few pencils then resituates herself in the love seat she was previously occupying. "Okay! Please continue what you were doing before. Don't pay me any mind." She sends him a toothy smile then focuses on the open book in front of her.

John gamefully settles back onto the couch, but he can no longer relax as he did before.

As charmed as he was by her way with words, he can't truthfully say he's ever given much thought to her visual art skills (though he proudly announces he's dating the web cartoonist Park Jiwan whenever he catches up with friends and colleagues). The shameful realisation that he has been utterly disregarding half of his girlfriend's livelihood is certainly part of why he was so uncomfortable with her request.

The other part is that he doesn't get it.

It's a lazy morning on a day with no schedules. Before she turned his world upside down—as she seems to have a knack for doing—he was simply hate-reading articles of Paik Jongwon's latest variety appearances on his tablet while drinking a mug of Moroccan coffee. He doesn't have his contacts in, he doesn't have BB cream on, he doesn't remember the last time he washed the sweatshirt he's wearing… yet this is the version of him Jiwan wants to memorialise in graphite?

He has modeled before. He has plenty of experience in sitting still and looking pretty, but the pretty part is controlled. Intentional. He isn't like Jiwan, who only needs a smile to tie her whole outfit together. If there is a subject worth capturing in this room, it's her.

Like the days of Kingdom, John sneaks glances at her to pass the time. Stretched out on the couch as the sun shines into her living room and watching his love do what she loves, John can finally relax again.

"Okay, thank you!" Jiwan chirps.

He lurches out of his slouched position. "That's it? You're done?" He looks at the time on his tablet, surprised to see that almost a full hour has passed since she asked.

His girlfriend nods with a sweet smile. "I appreciate your patience." She gets up to put her sketchbook away, but he stops her with a shout. When she turns to look at him expectantly, he flounders a bit. He hadn't gotten that far in his head. "Well… Can I see it?"

She is clearly thrilled that John asked. Before the shame can fully take root, she tugs him down to squeeze them both into the loveseat, and a rush of affection surges through him instead. She used to be so afraid of taking up space when he was around. She still is, sometimes, but not right now.

Jiwan eagerly offers the whole book to him with both hands, just like she did her love. He accepts it with the same propriety, then his eyes rove over the paper.

The sketches littering the open page depict his full body in the various poses he apparently held himself in while daydreaming on the couch. Though rough in quality, as a set they evoke contentment and domesticity. That is him in these sketches, and yet he is still jealous of the subject for looking so at home.

"This is very impressive," John breathes out.

Jiwan cheers a bit at his earnest praise. "There's more!" She flips to the next page, which contains far fewer sketches. In one corner, it is the grip of his hand on the tablet. In another, the press of his lips against the rim of his mug. The center displays the bangs which he usually keeps out of the way hanging messily over his forehead, right above the rim of his glasses. A stark contrast from the figures on the previous page, everything is so hyper-realistic that he itches to open his selfie camera and compare what he sees to what she drew.

Like never before, he understands now what Jiwan means when she says she can feel his emotions through his food. He is made to remember such innocuous moments—the nights when she sits in the kitchen just to watch him nimbly chop ingredients, the blush on her face when he smiles at her, all the times she tells him he doesn't need to wear gel at home—just by looking at the page.

"Is this what I look like to you?"

Jiwan tips her head curiously. "Hm? What do you mean? You don't think they look like you?" She frowns as she inspects her sketches with a discerning eye, trying to identify improvements to help the subject recognise himself better, which is just so Jiwan.

John chuckles freely as he cups her cheeks to bring her in for a kiss in lieu of a proper response, unheeding of her concern and subsequent surprise. It takes only a moment for Jiwan to let go and enjoy the affection, and the sketchbook eventually falls off his lap in their ardour.

The sound surprises her enough to pull away, and John blinks into awareness to find an embarrassed Jiwan averting her eyes.

"Um. Thanks for letting me draw you."

He loves his girlfriend when she is confident and persistent, but this Jiwan is too cute. He brings her drawing hand to his lips to leave a kiss on her knuckles. "It was my pleasure," he says in English, knowing full well the effect it has on her.

John reaches down to hand the sketch pad back to her, but his attention is drawn to the page it fell open to.

"What's this?"

'This' refers to a four-panel comic in Jiwan's classic manwha style, and the characters portrayed are unmistakably the two of them.

Jiwan blushes as she snatches the book out of his hands. "Stop looking at me like that!"

He doesn't know what he looks like, but he feels delighted and deeply surprised. "Is this the new trend for the web cartoonist Park Jiwan-ssi? Raunchy, suggestive humour? I have to get WEBTOON on the phone; I bet they'd love to know," he teases as he tries to get the book back. He needs to get a picture of that.

"John Jang! Don't you dare!" she squeals as she escapes his determined hands. He playfully pursues her through the house, taking note of the joy lining her eyes and her peals of laughter despite her admonishments.

For a woman who always means what she says, Jiwan doesn't always say what she means. He may have fallen for her words first, but falling in love with her means learning the difference; and that attention to detail proves there is strength in clarity.

~~~

3. chemistry

It's a little embarrassing, but Jiwan understands. To an extent, she's even grateful for it. Her relationship with her body was complicated enough thanks to the fatphobic rhetoric she's heard her entire life. Add in the ways she was abused in middle school, and it's no understatement to say she spent more time ignoring her body and pretending it isn't there than treating it like an actual part of her.

With age and therapy, though, things are different. She loves herself the way she is, and she wants to be loved for it, too.

John, however, refuses to get the memo.

They haven't gone any farther than touching over the shirt, no matter how she tries to convey that she is more than okay with going further. What is the point in dating the Fourth Most Eligible Bachelor in Seoul if fans can see more of her boyfriend's body in magazines than she can in real life?!

Once, John called her cute 'like a Cabbage Patch Kid', and she thought nothing of the sheepishness and odd note of contrition in his voice at the time. Looking back, she's now entertaining worries that he considers her childish, that he doesn't see her as a woman. She resolved to do whatever it takes to change his perception of her tonight.

Luckily, two of Jiwan's best friends happen to embody every conceivable tenet of Korean femininity, and they were more than happy to help.

Under her coat, she's wearing the sheer and lacy babydoll set Jiyeon assured her was becoming and beguiling. The bluetooth speaker is playing a mixtape Yeoreum made of mood-setting, sensual tunes. The perfume she knows John likes is applied to both typical and strategic locations. If the two of them don't see any progress tonight, they never will.

When she finally hears the front door unlock, she allows herself a self-satisfied glance at the clock in the entryway. She timed her preparations well: it's only been a little less than an hour since she herself got home. She positions herself at the top of the stairs, visible from the front door.

"Jiwan-ah!" John calls distractedly as he shucks off his coat and shoes. "I'm back from Cheondam Jjang!"

She steels her resolve, recalls the twin wishes of Fighting! from her friends, and walks down the stairs to meet him. "John. I've been waiting for you," she says in what she hopes is a seductive voice.

He regards her long coat with panic. "Did we have something planned tonight that I forgot about?! How long was I making you wait? Are we late? Give me, like, 5 minutes, and I'll be ready to go!"

Jiwan hurries to bodily get between her frenzied boyfriend and the door. Perhaps 'I've been waiting for you' was not the best opening line, and perhaps her low tone sounded less like seduction and more like a reproach. "Wait! We're not going anywhere; we're not late to anything!"

His relief is quickly replaced by confusion. "Then what's with the coat?" His head tilts as he realises something. "And the music?"

She kind of wants to hide in her room and cry frustrated tears at how inauspicious the start to their evening is, but she is determined. She takes a deep breath and straightens her shoulders, meeting John's eyes with intention. Instead of a verbal reply, she slowly unbuttons her coat and shrugs it off her shoulders in one fluid motion.

The way his eyes draw immediately and automatically to her chest is a good sign.

She takes advantage of his arrested state to stalk toward him, one high-heeled foot in front of the other. She relishes in the way his eyes clearly don't know which part of her to look at even as he stumbles backwards in an attempt to keep some distance between them.

He eventually collides with the newel of the stairs, and Jiwan firmly presses up against him. "You can do more than look, you know." She reaches for his hands, held up by his head like he was caught red-handed, and guides them down to her sides, high enough above her waist to almost reach her chest.

The thin fabric of the lingerie is no barrier for the heat of his palms. His fingers flex once then hold her; and for a split second, all she can think is yes.

Then he pushes her away. "Jiwan, what's happening right now? Are you pranking me? Which network thought this would be funny? I just want to talk."

The night is quickly spiraling out of control, but she tries a last-ditch effort to save it. "This isn't a prank," she explains firmly as she steps back into his space, twining her arms around his neck. "I am trying to seduce you."

Both of his eyebrows raise. "Like this?"

"Yes, 'like this'!" she finally erupts. She stomps back to the entryway to collect her crumpled coat from the floor, and she hastily buttons it up around her as she brushes past her boyfriend. "When I'm not 'like this', you ignored all my other attempts to have sex with you, so what else was I supposed to do?"

"Jiwan, I wasn't ignoring you. I was trying to take things slow; I was trying to respect you!" he justifies as he chases his irate girlfriend up the stairs. He grabs hold of her arm; and when he cannot encourage her to turn around, he jumps up the steps to face her.

His chivalry is neither appreciated nor warranted. "I'd feel a lot more respected if you listened to me all the times I was trying to tell you I was ready," she retorts with crossed arms and without meeting his gaze. "Middle school was ages ago, and I trust you."

John tentatively reaches out for her; and after a huff, she lets him. He rubs comforting circles across her shoulders and down her arms. "You're right, you're right. I'm sorry. Can you blame me, though? I'm your first boyfriend, and you're the first person I've dated seriously since I became a celebrity. I think I was going slow for me, too."

Her embarrassment and annoyance ebb away with every turn of his palms and every word he says. Forgiveness is easy after that. "Now that we understand each other, can we stop going slow?" she pouts.

He leans down to kiss her forehead in response, but she deserves a little more than that after what he put her through. She tilts her chin up for a proper kiss, and the simple affection deepens into something heady and encompassing without either of them meaning to.

"You look great in this, by the way," John gasps out between kisses. His hands slip through her suddenly open coat and wrap around her waist, fingering the lace patterns against her back. "Like, really great."

"Oh, Joon," she exhales when his lips descend to her neck.

(She says his name three more times that night.)

~~~

4. foot-in-mouth

As the owner-operator of several successful restaurants, John knows how important it is to honour a time commitment. This is why he is currently freaking out.

"Can you stop freaking out? I called ahead of time; they know we're running late."

"Jiwan-ssi," he says with all the patience he bought second-hand at the store once he realised Jiwan deserved better than his hotheadedness and gut reactions. "We aren't running late to just any restaurant reservation. This is the reservation to end all reservations!"

She laughs at him outright. "Why are you acting like we're eating at Paik Jongwon's restaurant? It's just lunch at my mom's pork feet place."

John presses harder on the gas.

Ten minutes into their reservation, they finally arrive at Devil's Jokbal. Instead of a minimum wage teenager at the front counter who politely explains to them that their table has been given up to people who showed up on time, there is a middle-aged couple on the older side who greets them with unrestrained exuberance.

Well, they greet Jiwan. John is just there.

"Omo, omo, omo. Is that my Park Jiwan-ssi finally making time to visit her poor old mother?"

"You're more lovely in person! That damn show. All those cameras, and they couldn't capture any of your beauty? Whatever they paid you, it wasn't enough."

"Mom! Dad!" Jiwan cheers as they wrap each other up in a big hug. The sight is so heartwarming, it makes John want to call his mother and tell her he loves her.

Jiwan breaks away and pulls John closer. "This is John, my boyfriend," she introduces with a wide smile, and it's showtime.

"John Jang is my name." He bows deeply and articulates clearly, pausing between the two names. He learned to do that because people kept thinking John was his family name. He rises and passes along the flowers he brought. "These are for you, eomeonim. It's nice to meet you both."

"Omo, such nice manners. I'm Yom Syejin, but eomeonim is definitely fine with me!" Her mom bows cutely.

"You can call me 'sir'." Her dad reaches out for a handshake, and he doesn't let go after a polite amount of shakes. "'John', huh? That's not Korean, is it?"

"No, sir. My Korean name is Jang Joon." Her dad finally lets go of the handshake, and John steps back and hastily gives a shallow bow just for lack of something better to do.

"Why 'John'?" Syejin asks politely, and John freezes. If he tells them the truth, they'll (correctly) think he's greedy. Worse, they might think he's unpatriotic. He's served his mandatory conscription already; he can prove it!

Jiwan, as always, comes to his rescue. "He's a celebrity, Mom. You know they always need to change their names to get more popular. It's good for brand recognition."

"I'm gonna call you 'Joon'," her father states with a smile that doesn't seem to reach his eyes.

John tries very hard not to think about the fact that the last person who called him 'Joon' was Jiwan, and he tries extra hard not to think about the circumstances in which she was calling him 'Joon'.

"Yes, sir." He doesn't salute, but it's a near thing.

The four of them—polite, appraising, hopeful, and panicked—stare at each other in the waiting area of the restaurant for a few seconds before Jiwan's mother claps her hand with intention. "Why don't I show us to our table?"

As he and Jiwan trail after her parents, he can't help but feel like he's walking to the gallows.

As soon as they sit down at the booth, the minimum wage teenager he expected appears to take their drink orders. A glass of beer would really take the edge off right now, but he doesn't need to look sloppy in front of Jiwan's parents. "Water is fine."

"Not a beer man, huh, Joon?"

He chokes on his own spit.

Jiwan fusses over his face with a napkin and defends, "He's driving us, Dad."

"Oh, he drives! Our Jiwan never learned. She was so busy with her sketchbooks and expensive markers," her mom teases, and Jiwan picks up the banter easily.

John is ready to cut in with praise for how far Jiwan's talents have gotten her, ready to start making a good impression, when her dad speaks up again. "What kinda car you drive, Joon?"

He straightens in his seat proudly. He loves his car. "A Genesis G70, sir. Latest model."

"Hyundai, huh? What's wrong with Kia cars?"

At his side, Jiwan meeps. "Dad works at the Kia factory in Gwangmyeong."

"Kias are great cars!" John interjects hurriedly. "I was looking at the Stinger, actually!"

Her dad hums noncommittally then turns to Jiwan with a friendly smile. "You're so down to earth, Jiwan-ah. Where did you find this flashy pretty boy?"

"Yes!" her mom pipes up, eager to talk about things she cares about again. "Tell us how you started dating! What happened to Kim Joonho-ssi?"

Jiwan's face perfectly shows the displeasure that John feels at the name. "We agreed to give it a try for a month, but it was clear from the beginning that it wasn't going to work out." The harsh tone of her voice softens. "John confessed to me before I could get too lonely, and we've been dating ever since."

John doesn't know what Jiwan's parents' stance is on PDA, so he doesn't do anything more obvious than squeeze her knee under the table. At the sweet smile Jiwan sends him, he's sure she understands what it means.

"You make a habit of going after taken women, Joon?"

Simultaneous shouts of "Dad!" and "Park Youngwon-ssi!" are not enough to drown out the bang of John's knees hitting the underside of the table. He hisses in pain; and after he waves off Jiwan's concerns, she turns on her father. "Dad, that was uncalled for."

"I'm just tryna to get to know the guy!"

"Sure, but you're supposed to ask things like 'What are your hobbies?', not 'Tell me all of your past misdeeds'."

"I've gotten really into golf, lately," John pipes up, desperate to find something they can talk about.

"Celebrities and their golf," her dad mutters.

"Okay, I have two waters, a beer, and a Coca-Cola," the minimum wage teenager recites as they set down each order, effectively cutting through the tension that built up between the four of them. "Are we ready to order?"

John hadn't even had a chance to look at the menu yet. "We'll have pork feet, of course. Family style and diablo level," Youngwon says.

If there's one thing John can appreciate, it's a restaurant's shtick: Devil's Jokbal named their spice levels after international words for 'devil', and diablo is their spiciest level. Separate from his anxieties about today's meeting, he was really excited to try the food.

"You can handle spice, can't you, Joon?"

John puffs out his chest. "Of course. I'm Korean, after all," he adds in, still worried about the patriotism thing.

"Actually, I'd like to ask John something," Syejin speaks up before her husband can corner him into another battle of wits, and for that she has John's eternal thanks. "We watched Kingdom of Love, of course. There probably isn't a single person in Seoul who didn't," she jokes off-handedly, "and I couldn't help but notice that you were very interested in the weatherperson. What's her name again? T-T-Tae…?"

John nods. "Jang Taemi-ssi." While a little bit uncomfortable, this is at least a line of questioning John expected and is confident to answer. "My story is very similar to Jiwan-ssi's. Taemi-ssi and I tried dating for a little while, but it was clear to me from the beginning that she wasn't right for me." He looks over at Jiwan and says earnestly, "If I could live my life a second time but only change one thing, I would have appealed to Jiwan's heart as soon as I met her."

Simultaneous "awww"'s are cut off by Youngwon's gruff interruption. "So you wouldn't have pushed my precious daughter off of another contestant after a harmless game of chicken fight?"

To be completely honest, John kind of forgot he did that. Based on the look on Jiwan's face, she did too. They were strangers to each other back then, barely blips on each other's radars and far more preoccupied with people they thought would be better fits for them.

In the same instant that he feels guilty, he can also feel Jiwan's forgiveness, and that's what matters.

It bolsters him to respond the way he does. "Sir. Eomeonim. I understand that you may have preconceived notions about the person I am based on what you saw of me on the show, and as a result you may not approve of my dating your daughter. I will not lie to you and say I'm different now. I remain a prideful man with singular focus, and it manifests in high standards that burn more bridges than they mend.

"I wholeheartedly apologise for every offense I've caused you or your daughter, but I cannot apologise for who I am, not when it has allowed me to achieve my childhood dreams twice over despite my relative youth. Eomeonim, when you look around this restaurant, don't you feel good? Like all the sacrifices you made were worth it because it led to such a great establishment?"

Tears delicately well up in Syejin's eyes without spilling over, and John smiles. He sees where Jiwan got the habit.

A glance reveals Youngwon's rather impassive face, but John isn't deterred. He isn't done yet. "I am not very different now, but I have changed, and that is all thanks to the amazing woman Park Jiwan-ssi is. She reminds me that it is always worth it to fight for something that matters to you, that true criticism is offered out of kindness, that being yourself is the only way to find the things that are meant to be… She reminds me why I love cooking.

"You don't need me to tell you that you've raised an amazing daughter. All I'm saying is… If I can spend my time with her, watch her laugh, and give her even half the support that she gives me, then I want to do that for as long as she lets me."

No sooner does the sentence end before Jiwan tackles him into a side hug that he gladly returns, onlookers be damned. He is unsurprised to find Syejin's tears freely falling down her face, but the mistiness in his own eyes does take him aback.

With a brief kiss to her forehead, he arranges himself and Jiwan back in the booth they're in and turn to receive Youngwon's appraisal.

They don't have to wait long. "Did you just ask me for my daughter's hand in marriage?"

Spit take. "Dad!" "Park Youngwon!"

"You're tryna tell me you used every damn word in the Korean dictionary to tell us how much you love our daughter and you're not tryna put a ring on her finger?! This is the problem with you Seoulites; you're all talk and no action. The next time I see your sorry face you better be ready to beg for the privilege of marrying Jiwan-ah, alright? And don't you dare for a second even think that she'll be joining your family register just because you have more money. Now sit your butt down; the food is here."

.

"That wasn't so bad!" Jiwan chirps as they wave goodbye to her parents.

"Jiwan-ssi, that was the longest hour of my entire life."

She frantically checks her phone. "That was only an hour?"

"Exactly," but honestly he would have taken however long he needed in order to win over her parents.

He is just happy that by the end of the lunch, he fully accomplished this goal. Any bruises on his pride and knees are completely worth it for that alone.

Besides, he received helpful, explicit instructions on how to approach the marriage conversation when he's ready, and he doesn't think it'll be long now.

~~~

5. dis/appointment

Opening up a new restaurant was no less work the third time around.

The parts he actually enjoyed—negotiating with ingredient suppliers, planning the menu—were constantly set aside in favour of more pressing concerns like confusing zoning ordinances and remodeling mishaps. He hired a project manager to handle the daily headaches, but decisions still had to be finalised by him. Besides, he couldn't help but want to personally oversee as much of the process as possible. His livelihood (and more importantly, his reputation) was at stake.

A long day poring over contracts and licenses just didn't bring him the same satisfaction as a long day in the kitchen, and he's coming up on two months' worth of long days.

To make matters worse: he couldn't even seek absolution in his girlfriend's reprieving embrace. Production on the drama adaptation of I Loved That Jerk had ramped up not long after he and his business partners decided it was time to open a third location. Jiwan had been spending more and more time at the production studio than in her own home, and their schedules hadn't lined up nearly as often as either of them would have liked. He missed her so much.

Even now that he can see the light at the end of the tunnel, he still does.

This morning, the ink dried on the final papers that mean Seorae Jjang can officially open for business. There is now only a month of last-minute adjustments and double-checking details left between him and peace.

Jiwan even texted him earlier confirming that she would be home today, which means he could tell her this good news in person. It's shaping up to be one of the best days in his entire life.

When he arrives home, he can hear Jiwan puttering around in the kitchen the way she likes to do because "cooking at home compromises your work-life balance, John!" He can't recall the last time she was home before him, and he says as much in lieu of a greeting.

"John!" Jiwan hastily shuts off the gas before launching herself into his arms, and he staggers a little from her momentum. She smells like day-old perfume and his homemade gochujang, and it's his new favourite smell.

She drags him to the kitchen island and bustles about to plate the food. "Come, come! I made us dinner. I want to hear all about your good news. I have something exciting to share as well."

"You go first," he encourages as he takes a seat. He just wants to hear her voice and experience her presence. He's been utterly denied of both for too long.

"Are you sure? Well, okay." She blazes through the dance of polite deference easily and quickly gets to: "We got the premiere date for the I Loved That Jerk drama! It's real; it's actually happening!"

"No way. No way! That's fantastic news, Jiwan-ssi!" He stops whatever she's doing with a firm kiss on her lips then picks up his phone. "When is it? I'm letting my manager know to clear the 24 hours before and afterwards."

"Afterwards?"

He wiggles his eyebrows at her. "Afterwards."

She pushes at his shoulder to distract from her blush, but the pretty hue that blossoms on her cheeks is all he can pay attention to… So much so that he thinks he mishears her.

"Come again?"

"It's next month. On the 30th."

He puts his phone down with a heavy hand. "You're sure it's the 30th? Not the 29th, or the 31st?"

But of course, it's on the 30th. It wasn't enough for their careers to keep them separate during the hard times, but now they can't even share the good parts together either.

"Is something the matter?" she asks with genuine worry.

John would love to tell her everything is fine, except… "The 30th. That's the day Seorae Jjang opens."

She frowns and pulls out her phone to scan through it. "That's inconvenient, but I think we can make it work. The premiere events start in the afternoon but continue well on into the night... Do you think you can step out of the kitchen in time for the—?"

His eyes bulge out of their sockets. "—I can't abandon the restaurant during the grand opening. What if they need me? My team is good, I trust them, but I should still be there."

Jiwan's face is carefully blank. "You don't want to support me?"

"No, that's not it at all!" He gets up to hold her hands tight in his, as if the physical contact will make her believe him more. "Just because I can't go to the premiere doesn't mean I can't support you in other ways! I'll watch it on Naver as soon as I get home," he promises fervently. "I'll make a bunch of burner accounts so that I can rate and vote and comment and whatever else they make fans do to prove they invested in the right IP."

Jiwan keeps her attention fixed on their hands. "But you won't go to the premiere with me."

John sighs. He brings their hands up to his lips to place an apologetic kiss on her knuckles, hoping to catch her gaze as he does so. "I'd love to, Jiwan-ssi, but I can't."

When she does look up to face him, it's with shiny eyes. "If you'd love to, then do it anyway," she says, steadfast despite obvious reluctance for what she is instigating.

"… What?"

"I get that this is your big night, but it's mine too, and... and my night is bigger." He reels from her bold statement, and Jiwan keeps going. "This is my first show, for my debut webcomic. This is easily the biggest thing that's ever happened to me. Can you say the same? Is this your singular greatest professional achievement?"

He isn't speaking with "I have to buy this; there's a bow on it!" Jiwan or "like the game says: sorry~" Jiwan. This is the Jiwan that had to rescue herself from an abusive environment, that had to ignore disparaging remarks about her size and shape everywhere she went, that had to force herself to keep creating even when no one would pick up her webcomic pitches. Maybe he would still love the persistent Jiwan if she weren't being so unfair.

"It could be!" he seethes. "Seorae Jjang is my most specialised and ambitious dining experience yet. No one else in Seoul is offering French-Korean fusion the way I've designed it; it's practically Michelin worthy. I could even overtake Paik Jongwon as the most influential chef in South Korea! My reputation is at stake here."

"And mine isn't?" She crosses her arms with a huff. "You have two successful restaurants already, John; you won't be set back if this one happens to fail. If my show doesn't succeed, I'm not only losing out on potential licensing deals. The success of all my future webcomics will suffer—whether people will read them, whether they're adapted. No, don't look at me like that. I am not exaggerating. It happens all the time."

It bothers him to no end that they are standing here, defending their livelihoods to each other, when they've had this exact same conversation under much happier circumstances before. She knows why Seorae Jjang is a big deal to him; he knows how important this premiere is to her. He is still incredibly happy for her despite the circumstances.

He forces himself to breathe, to de-escalate the tension. Finally, "I would never ask you to choose my important night over yours. It's unfair of you to ask that of me."

She looks him dead in the eyes when she counters, "It's selfish of you to weigh them with equal importance," and it sounds like a funeral toll.

John turns away. He doesn't want to see her like this. He wants to calm down.

After a long moment, he senses her depart from the kitchen, and something about her stride makes him nervous. He listens carefully as she stalks up to their bedroom, and he springs into action once he hears some heavy thuds and the sound of zippers.

"What are you doing?" he calls out as he sprints up the stairs, trying to rationalise that perhaps he is jumping to unwarranted conclusions. Unfortunately, he reaches the bedroom door to find his conclusions very much warranted.

She doesn't stop packing. "I'm going to Hyejin's. I don't want to sleep next to you tonight."

She's leaving?! "Jiwan-ssi. Jiwan, please. That's no reason to leave your own house. I'll take the couch if it bothers you that much." He tries to stop her moving hands, but she jerks free of his touches. "Jiwan, please."

"It's still too close," she maintains as she heads for the bathroom to retrieve her toiletries.

How far away from him does she want to be? "I-I'll leave then," he shakily offers. He's already trying to remember where his own suitcases are. "Come on. If you don't want to be in the same house with me, I'll leave then."

"John."

He turns to face her again with confused, blurry eyes, and she at last has stopped moving. "You gave up your condo to move in with me, remember? You don't have another place to go."

She's right, of course. In practically no time at all, he had centered his entire way of life around her, and this entire house is filled with proof of that.

When he focuses on the present again, she is zipping closed her suitcase. "I just need some time, John."

He wants to ask so many questions—How much time? Why is she doing this to them? What happens now?—but before he can settle on any one, she takes tentative, measured steps towards him. She's bridging the distance, but it brings him none of the comfort that he seeks.

She takes one of his hands in hers and rests her other on his cheek. The only thing he wants most in the whole wide world at this very moment is to reach for her, but he can do nothing but watch.

Her face is set in determination reminiscent of the night they had their first time, and the emotional distance between that memory and the present makes his heart ache.

"I'm angry. I'm so angry at you, John Jang, but it's because I love you just as much."

She places a kiss in the scant millimeters between her thumb and the corner of his mouth and steps back.

On unsteady feet, he follows down the stairs, and he makes no move to stop her when she closes the door on his face. In the resulting silence of the house, the click of the lock echoes.

He collapses onto his knees and drops his head into his hands. He needs a drink, he needs a shower, he needs a bed. He raises his head as he decides which to do first, and his eyes happen to catch sight of the clock in the entryway.

An hour.

It only took one hour to define the worst day of his entire life.

~~~

6. countdown

10:45pm

Despite the late hour, she still finds herself answering the same questions. "Yes, I'm the Park Jiwan in Kingdom of Love 2." "No, the show turned out even better than what I imagined." "Yes, let's take a selfie!"

"No, John couldn't make it tonight."

If it was tiresome four hours ago, it's downright irritating now. Thank goodness there are only fifteen minutes left before it's socially acceptable for her to leave.

The night wasn't all bad, though. Far from it. She was glad to hear for herself the joy and laughs as people watched the first episode. She appreciated all the fans who came up to tell her their journeys of discovering her work. She even made some new industry friends tonight that she can't wait to get to know better, professionally and personally.

Regardless of her gratitude and the success of the evening, she's ready for it to end. All things—good, bad, and beyond the spectrum of moral judgment—must come to an end.

10:51pm

With less than ten minutes to go before closing time, he explains to his business partner in no uncertain terms that he will be leaving as soon as the clock strikes 11.

"But it's Seorae Jjang's grand opening! Stick around a bit. Have a celebratory glass with the staff for a fantastic first night." And it was fantastic, more than they expected it would be and even still further than he had hoped.

It's just that he's still wondering if it was worth it. "I'm sure they value their time as well. I'll give them a bonus or something. We got plenty of investors tonight, that shouldn't be a problem."

"You haven't cared about punctuality before," his partner comments with suspicion. "Are a few more minutes really going to make that much of a difference?"

"Yes," he says quickly, but he actually doesn't know for sure.

Jiwan did come back home after a few days, not that a casual observer would be able to tell. If he wasn't seeing her before, he saw even less of her in this past month. The handful of times he managed to catch her, she didn't stay, and he didn't ask her to. He didn't want to rehash the same argument, and he was afraid she'd refuse besides. The memory of her closing the door on him still replays in his unguarded moments.

Now the baneful day has come and gone, he doesn't know whether the tension between them will still be there when he gets home. He doesn't even know whether she will be getting home.

But if she does, he would rather find out earlier that he was too early than find out later that he was too late.

11:06pm

The taxi she called doesn't come a moment too soon. She recites the address as soon as she opens the car door and settles into the seat with a sigh.

The breath carries with it all of the adrenaline and tension and unadulterated emotion of the day, annoyances and regrets included. The farther away she gets from the private club where the afterparty was hosted, the less everything matters to her except the deep, immovable satisfaction of a job well done.

It isn't forgiveness, necessarily. More like acceptance. The decisions were made, the night is over, and she is simply tired. In her unguarded moments, she didn't give much thought to what happens afterwards except for a fluffy blanket and catching up on a month's worth of lost sleep.

She knows a conversation is impending, but she refuses to be responsible for the timing. Maybe it's cowardly, maybe it's selfish.

She's made a habit of those attitudes, lately.

11:22pm

The cars had been bumper-to-bumper as soon as he hit the on-ramp, and he slams his hand on the steering wheel one more time in frustration. Twenty minutes into his commute home should have already brought him into her neighbourhood, but he was still on the highway. It was a gamble to take the Gyeongbu Expressway, and he knew it, but he had hoped.

He anxiously checks the clock again, and it seems like time is speeding up just to mock him.

This whole time, he's been operating under the presumption that she will come home tonight (he can't bear to think of what it would mean if she doesn't), and he has never enjoyed making her wait. They've both spent too much time waiting—waiting for a sign that she might be interested in him the way he was getting interested in her, waiting for an apology he didn't know how to give, waiting for her sham of a relationship trial to end, waiting for this day to finally arrive.

He's so tired of waiting.

11:45pm

She scrambles out of the taxi cab tiredly and inelegantly, a far cry from her glamorous and refined entrance onto the red carpet five hours ago. At this point, the concrete path from the sidewalk to the front door is looking better than any red carpet.

She is home.

From the road, however, she could tell the house remains dark inside. Her heart sinks, but she resolves herself. Maybe he hasn't come back yet. She figured he'd make it back before her since Seorae Village is at least on the same side of the river, but traffic can be a real pain, especially if he chose the wrong expressway home.

She refuses to consider that he had no intention of returning tonight at all, but then she does, and she collapses onto her small lawn as a cold emptiness sprawls through her chest. It's not like she gave him a reason to come back; she herself didn't know she was ready to come home until the taxi pulled up in front of her.

She was barely home this past week, caught as she was between the demands of the show and her own avoidance of him. What if he packed a bag and moved out too? Oh god, what if it's permanent? They weren't supposed to break up over this; she just needed space—!

The sound of rubber squealing on asphalt aggressively jolts her out of her spiraling.

11:46pm

He had already been speeding, but when he turns the corner onto her street and sees her there just sitting on her lawn and looking at nothing, he gives up on all pretence of being a law-abiding citizen. His relief to see her home is completely overshadowed by his dread that something was terribly wrong.

He zoomed right up to her house and put the car in park, nevermind the fact that he is decidedly not parked. "Jiwan!" he calls out before he's fully exited from the car. "Are you alright?!"

There is no mistaking the tears in her eyes when she fully turns to face him, so he doesn't even bother shutting the car door in his haste to get to her. "Jiwan, what's the matter? Did something happen at the premiere? Did they not like it? Don't listen to them, they wouldn't know entertainment if it hit them in the face. I bet it's great. It should be online now, right? I'll go watch it right now, I promised you I would. I'll set it up on the tv and my phone and my laptop and my tablet—"

Her hug shuts him up. "John," she sniffles. "You're late."

His arms wrap around her in reflex. "I'm late?"

Between her already weak voice and the muffling from his chest, he has to strain to hear her. "You were supposed to be home by now."

God, he shouldn't have taken the Gyeongbu. "I'm sorry, I'm so sorry. I'm here now," he soothes with gentle tones and backrubs.

"I thought you were breaking up with me!" and then she's sobbing, heavily and loudly, into his chest.

John could honestly care less about anyone potentially finding them like this on an empty residential street at midnight, but he knows Jiwan will be embarrassed about it later, so he regretfully forces her away from him. "Come on, let's get in the car."

While she cries into her hands, he opens the door for her and buckles her in. He grabs a packet of tissues from the glove box and leaves it on the dashboard for her to use when she's ready. He gets into the car himself and has a split second panic as he tries to recall where he put the keys, but they're just waiting for him in the ignition. From there, it's an easy thing to start the car and park it properly.

The minutes it took to do that give Jiwan enough time for her wails to subside into sniffles, but he's still afraid she might not be able to hear him. "I have no intention of breaking up with you," he declares with a strong voice. "What made you think that?"

She takes a moment to blow her nose then confesses, "You weren't there when I got home, and I… I couldn't help but presume the worst."

God, he shouldn't have taken the Gyeongbu! "Jiwan-ssi. I had every intention to make it home on time, I swear it. I wanted to be here already for… well, for if you came back."

Her face crumbles like a paper with discarded ideas. "I'm sorry I made you think I wouldn't come back," she sobs into her hands.

Getting into the car was a mistake. John can't hug her properly like this. "No! No, I could have asked. I should have asked. I was afraid to, though. Not asking was easier than dealing with your reply. Please don't blame yourself, Jiwan-ssi."

"But this is all my fault! You knew from the beginning that we were just going to have to go to our own events separately, but I was being unfair. I called you selfish when I was the selfish one. I wanted more from you. I made you choose between me and your restaurant, and I got mad when you didn't choose me. What kind of girlfriend does that?"

So they're talking about this tonight. "I'm not gonna pretend that you didn't say things that hurt me. It was one of the worst things anyone has ever said to me, and I wondered a lot afterwards if anything I did was worth doing when it was just gonna hurt people I love and make them hurt me… but I got angry at you, too. I answered your challenge instead of trying to calm us down. If I could have just kept my frustration in check, maybe if I presented the option differently, I could have spared us from all this."

Jiwan resolutely shakes her head. "No, I know myself. I wouldn't have accepted it until today—tonight, rather. Not until it was all over. I couldn't feel relaxed until the taxi ride home," she confesses.

He watches her closely, splotchy face dappled by the light from a distant streetlamp. "And how do you feel now?"

"So very sorry," she answers immediately. "Also… relieved? You're not leaving me, my show is on the air and will be for the next two months, and my time on set will be measurable in hours and not days. I feel like everything is good again for the first time in a while."

Despite the solemnity of the conversation, John has to laugh. "I feel you. If I never have to look at the Ministry of Economy and Finance seal again, it would be too soon. All I want to do is cook good food and usurp Paik Jongwon, but I can't help but be involved at every stage. I do it to myself, really."

She grabs his hand, earnest as she always is. "Your reputation matters too, John, just as much as mine. I'm sorry that I implied otherwise."

He shifts their hands so he holds onto hers too. "I'm sorry, too. I could have stopped this cold war ages ago but I didn't. I told myself it was because I was giving you space, but really I think I just rely on you too much to make the first move." Saying it out loud makes him review all of their interactions since they first met on Kingdom, and he sees just how true that statement is. "I can be better."

Something about the way she smiles at him makes him think she doesn't believe him, and she laughs outright when he pouts. "Can we go inside? I ran out of tissues."

With a roll of his eyes, he lets it go. "You can take a shower first, if you want," he comments as he gets out of the car. "I have something to take care of."

Jiwan checks her phone as she follows him into the house. "It's half past midnight. What could you possibly need to do?"

"I wasn't kidding about watching I Loved That Jerk tonight." He beelines for the living room, knowing all his devices are there. "I want it trending on Naver by morning even if it kills me."

"That's big talk coming from someone who wouldn't even read it until this week," she teases.

"I wanted it to be fresh in my mind for when I watched!" John defends rotely. They've gone over this already.

To his surprise, she sits right next to him while he gets everything set up. "I'm watching it with you, obviously," she answers his unanswered question, and he just has to hug her. They both relish in the contact with no console nor conflict to separate them, and Jiwan pulls away first. "Hurry up! The episode is already an hour long, but with my commentary it'll end up being more like two hours," she warns in jest. "Every minute counts, you know!"

He's struck by the distinct memory of when she was too considerate, yet so brave, to ask him for even thirty minutes of his time. It would be false to say the woman she is now is a far cry from the woman she was then: she is still polite, she is still gutsy. It's just that now, she is all his, too.

"I know."

~~~

+1. distinction

Waiting in her bridal suite for the ceremony to start is a lot more difficult than Jiwan thought it would be. Her friends, punctual people that they are, have already bade her well-wishes and taken selfies; and no one else has come since.

Somewhere past the doors is her husband-to-be, entertaining guests as they arrive and helping them find their seats. She'd rather be out there where it's busy and exciting instead of in her quiet, posh, sequestered cage. Her family may be bigger, but his circle of friends is wider than hers. (Much of her family isn't invited anyway, for obvious reasons.)

Suffice it to say, she is kind of lonely and a lot of bored. Jiwan lets out a heavy breath.

"Is something the matter, ah-ee?"

She didn't have to, but Jiwan deeply appreciates that her mom is waiting with her. "I'm just ready to get to the good part, I guess."

Unfortunately, her mother misunderstands. "It's not all good, you know. I'm not even talking about the big arguments. Kids, religion, finances—those are easy. The worst are the small things: running late to date night, doing the laundry improperly. They don't bother you at first, but then they kind of do, and then they build up, and then one last small thing is what causes you to flip. It always looks like an overreaction to the most recent thing when it hardly ever is. Those arguments are almost impossible to handle rationally."

Jiwan is scandalised. Her parents seem so happy! "Where is all this coming from? Are you and Dad getting a divorce?"

"Omo, omo, omo. I was just warning you that these things happen!"

"Are you also going to warn me against getting married? It's a little too late for that."

Her mother narrows her eyes the way other people would roll them. "I'm warning you about the inevitability of polite miscommunication. It's only natural that you don't tell your partner every little thing they do that bothers you; your nerves would fray very quickly, I'm sure!"

"So what do you do?"

She hums. "You choose to understand each other, no matter what," her mother says at last. "You each express yourselves the best you can, and it's up to the other to pick it up from there. Minimising the space between what you say and what they hear is how a relationship gets stronger; and that holds true for friendships, too."

That's a good line. She's going to steal it. "Is that what you and Dad did?"

Sparing a glance to the bored photographer in the corner, her mother leans over conspiratorially. "Your father thinks worse than he listens; but after thirty years of marriage, I've learned to work around him as well as he's learned to work around me." She straightens, then looks Jiwan in the eyes. "I get the sense that you and John will be different, though. I hope you two can do something with the lessons I've learned."

Jiwan nods. She does think she and John are different. "Thank you, Mom."

Her mother smiles warmly at her, holding Jiwan's hands between her liver-spotted ones. "Our darling ah-ee. You don't have to thank me for being your mother."

The moment is broken by a frazzled John Jang. "There you two are! It's time!"

The photographer springs into alertness as he follows after the three hurrying guests of honour, switching to filming just in time to capture the conversation which will later get a hearty chuckle during the wedding highlights video.

("What do you mean 'there you two are'? We were in my bridal suite the whole time."

"Yes, I know, but I couldn't remember where. There are so many in that hallway; I surprised three other brides before I found you. And they put you in the farthest one!")

Her mom hands her off to her dad and joins John's mom in front of the closed doors to the wedding hall, as is customary. The event staff grandly open the door for their entrance as the emcee (Goo Yeoreum was happy to do it) introduces them.

John sends her a quick wink once it's his turn to enter, and he strides through the doors like the model he might have been if only food hadn't called to him first.

The doors close. She and her dad step forward, her dad squeezing her arm so hard it's like he's the one about to get married. Jiwan's dolor evanesces, and excitement lights her nerves on fire. She faintly hears Yeoreum introduce them, then the doors open before her.

The hall looks the same as when she saw it earlier this morning, but as she steps onto the stage and walks down the runway, it feels different. Magical. It's not just the filled-in seats and wearing the dress, but her whole outlook on the event is different. It feels like she has a plot bunny she just needs to write down before she forgets it.

This is real. She's getting married.

Right before her dad passes her off to him, Jiwan sends John a wide smile with all the happiness she has, and his face goes slack with helplessness. Her blood feels like champagne; she's so giddy. This man—who is helplessly in love with her, whose vanity is more than mirrors and compartments, who is so much like her darling protagonist that she initially worried she was projecting onto him, who would crumble if she ever told him that she found his one-sided rivalry with Paik Jongwon adorable, whom she loves just as recklessly—wants to marry her.

Yeoreum invites the guest singers to the stage, and Jiwan squeezes John's hand before turning her attention to the two men. As his wedding gift, Jaehoon got his friends who happen to be idols to perform at their wedding. She only met them once before, and they seemed rather kind, so she is looking forward to their performance…

… Which ends up being a questionable uptempo remix of the I Loved That Jerk OST.

She glances over at Yeoreum, who fortunately looks as perplexed as she feels. When Yeoreum notices her attention, she schools her face into something more professional and makes a complicated hand gesture that Jiwan chooses to interpret as 'Don't worry, I'll make sure Jaehoon gives you a real gift'. John, for his part, is less than impressed.

"Thank you so much for that unique performance," Yeoreum speaks into the microphone as soon as the music cuts out. "At this time, I'd like to invite the honoured couple to recite their vows."

An event staff hands John a microphone from off stage, and he takes it in one hand as the other reaches into his suit jacket to pull out his written vows. He spares the rest of the room a glance before turning his attention to Jiwan.

His eyes remind her of the night he confessed to her, intense and singularly focused on her.

"Jiwan-ah." He licks his lips, fiddles with the paper nervously. "I wanted my vows to be… better, but I don't have pretty words like you do. I even wrote them in a bulleted list, so I don't get aesthetic points either." He shows off the page as proof, earning distant chuckles for the action. "I'm sorry."

As if he had anything to apologise for. She shakes her head resolutely, pleading with her eyes for him to continue.

He nods, takes a deep breath, and begins. "To Park Jiwan: If you only have one fan left in the entire world, I promise that fan is me. If your pencil dulls, I promise to be your sharpener. If your dinner tastes bad, it means I didn't make it, so I promise to make you a new one."

"I promise to earn your trust. I promise to be brave enough to start hard conversations and patient enough to end them properly. I promise to support you, and I promise to compromise on what support looks like. I promise to love you in all the ways that make you feel loved and create new ways, too.

"And lastly, I promise that these are not just promises. They are privileges you are granting me by letting me be your husband, and I promise I will never forget that."

She has no clue how she's supposed to recite her own vows with sobs clogging her throat, but it's her turn.

The applause dies down, the event staff brings her the microphone along with the basket she prepared ahead of time, and John raises an interested eyebrow. "There's a legend that says if you fold a thousand paper cranes while having one wish in mind, the wish will come true," she explains. "I only have twenty here, but each crane has a vow written in it."

She gently unfolds one and encourages John to read it out loud. "I promise not to use my webcomic characters to vent my frustrations about you," he reads, the end of the sentence broken off by his own laughter and that of the audience. She can only nod. There are many like that, genuine promises over benign hazards of being bound to her for life.

"I could pull them out and read them all, but instead I'll simply say this: I am going to complete this project. I will think of 980 more vows I want to make to you; and with every fold and crease, I will think about the single wish I want for us, which is…"

Originally she was going to say "which is that we will always love each other," but she looks out to her side of the runway and meets the teary eyes of her mother. Neither of them thought she'd get to this stage.

She faces John again. "Which is that we will always choose together. No matter what happens to or around us, as long as we keep choosing each other, I know we'll be okay."

As soon as the event staff free her hands, John pulls her into a hug that she returns with all her might.

"Can I kiss her yet?" he demands.

From there, the exchange of rings and the officiant's pronouncement of marriage occur in short order. Korean weddings are notoriously quick affairs to begin with, but Jiwan is still shocked at how soon everyone sits to eat the celebratory meal John himself designed—complete with a side of potatoes au gratin, of course. The first guest bids them goodbye before the top of the next hour.

("The wedding industry is very efficient, isn't it?" John's mother, Sunok, says during her talking head interview for the wedding highlights video.

"We were getting ready for longer than the ceremony actually lasted," Syejin comments wryly during her own interview.)

Their pyebaek is scheduled for tomorrow, so the new family of five head their separate ways: Syejin and Youngwon to the restaurant, Sunok to her hotel, and Jiwan and John back home.

Is that it? Can such a life-defining occasion pass so quickly? Surely there must be more, something that will make her feel different, something like when she stepped through the open doors and the ceremony commenced.

"I know we were planning to go straight home," John broaches once his new car (a Kia sports sedan which he uses whenever he knows they would be meeting her dad "just in case he changes his mind about me") is on the road, "but would you mind if we drove around a little bit? I'm not ready for the day to be over, to be honest."

Jiwan looks over at John in open wonder. That's it.

She doesn't feel different because nothing changed. John is still the person that knows her best, and she is still the woman that loves him for that. The wedding passed so quickly because it was never meant to last. It was a formality, really for everyone else's benefit. She and John were already bonded in all the ways that mattered before today, made even more evident by how his one question was able to completely undo her slow spiral into dejection.

By the same token, marriage isn't an event. It's effort, it's trial and error, it's choices. It lasts as long as they want.

They were wedded this morning, and they are married now. If there were at all a difference to find, it is that.

"I don't mind," she says at last. John sends her a grateful grin and directs them towards the highway. "The place I wanna go to… It'll take us an hour to get there," he hedges.

It's just an hour.

"Can't wait."

That's nothing compared to a lifetime.

~~~

A/N (2.23.2023): Let’s play a game called ‘how many times did I write the word hour in this entire project’.

John’s restaurant names have no canon. I’m calling them “[location] Jjang” b.c jjan is the Korean onomatopoeia for ta-da, his family name is Jang, and I bet he felt very clever when he came up with this pun because I felt very detestable for having done so on his behalf. The two canon locations are Cheongdam and Hannam > these are wealthy neighbourhoods along the Han > I picked the third location to be Seorae Village, another wealthy neighbourhood along the Han > Seorae Village houses almost all of South Korea’s French expat population > French-Korean fusion.

I have actively refrained from wedding ceremonies in my years as both a fanfic consumer and creator and would have happily continued if not for the fact that Johnwan’s story did not feel complete without one. It was a good challenge for myself, but wow never again lol. (Interested in learning more about the modern Korean wedding? Check out this Soompi article… It’s a sad day when the most comprehensive resource I could find on a topic of Korean culture is Soompi, haha.)

[thehiddengodsofficial]

The Hidden Gods Origins Book 2: Ezmadora Reich

!!WARNING!! This story depicts graphic sexual assault, r*pe, and deals with harsh mental issues.

CHAPTER I: Birth

Succubus Ezmadora Velindra Reich was born in her Pride Ring in Hell as an heir to Crisynthia, and Amalthea Reich’s throne. Originally born so that Amalthea could marry her off, Crisynthia decided to keep her around, allowing her complete heiress freedom to roam, grow, and train wherever she'd like. Much to Amalthea’s disapproval.

As Ezmadora got older, she and her father grew a close bond, such that even overtook her parents’ wilting marriage, not that Amalthea ever really cared. After turning 8, Ezmadora asked Crisynthia to teach her to use a sword, more specifically; A longsword.

After Ezmadora reached the age of 18, and her Succubus hunger finally adapted and set in, she ended up pursuing a high-paying yet low-profile job at the nearby strip club, run by a high-energy young man known as Valen.

CHAPTER II: Shifts

Once getting the job at the club, she noticed just how much Valen seemed to… Watch her. Even eventually noticing her shifts beginning to switch with other workers so that she's around when he is, she also noticed her shifts getting longer.

She walked up to Valen one night after a shift and decided to ask him about it,

“Um, Valen sir? Why exactly are my shifts so… different?”

She asked warily, narrowing her eyes at Valen as he grins largely back at her.

“Hm? Oh yeah that! I figured since you were getting so much money and whatnot, the extra hours might help you get a bit more. Nothin too bad, Babes!”

He lightened back at her, Ezmadora uncomfortably shifted a bit but nodded nonetheless.

CHAPTER III: Paid Labor

Ezmadora awoke on one of her so convenient days off and quickly ran to her father's room to say her daily good mornings to find him gone. Nothing missing, nothing touched. Just gone. Her breath caught in her throat for a moment before she wandered the palace, looking in the kitchen, the throne room, even asking Amalthea where he was.

“Not sure. Just went missing, but why would I give a fuck? Good riddance if ya ask me.”

She scoffed at her mother as she anxiously skittered off, her breathing getting heavier as she locked herself in her room.

“Did he leave? Did he abandon me? Why would he do that? I thought I was his favorite little girl…”

Ezmadora balls herself up tearfully, muttering to herself as she sobs herself away on the floor.

CHAPTER IV: Gryphon

Ezmadora awoke a couple of days later a tear-stained heap on her room floor, still trying to repress the idea of her father abandoning her with her intrusive and brash mother. As Ezmadora ran her usual paths, going to and from work she would continue seeing the same guy, with the same red armor, every day. At first, she thought nothing of it, figuring that unless he's a regular at the Club she has no need to care, if she even did in the first place.  Days and weeks went by of still catching sight of him on her ways out until on the start of one her shifts, she spots the same man in one of the booths on the other side of the room. The man in armor then waved Ezmadora over beckoningly, She skimmed off of her stage and sasheed her way over to his booth.

“Well hello, Darlin~ What can I getcha~?” She bends onto the table slightly to playfully accentuate her breasts. The man in question made a rather confused yet slightly uncomfortable expression in response to her flirtatious comment as he responded in a very uncomfortable tone,

“I'll uh… I'll just have some whiskey.” Ezmadora nods to the man before heading up to the bar and purchasing one for him, and one for herself, as she was just about to take her break. Upon returning she kindly hands him the drink.

“Heh, could I sit with you? I'm on a break for now.” She smiles nervously at the mysterious man as he looks at her again.

“Eh, guess I wouldn't mind it” The man said respectfully, but his tone sounded quite blunt. Ezmadora sits down across from him, watching the dancers and keeping tabs on the waiters as she orders a couple more drinks,

“What’s your favorite drink, Dear~? It’s on me.” She shrugs as the waiter looks at him expectantly.

“... Whiskey. If I had to pick anyway.” The man said in a more comfortable tone though, it was fairly apparent that he was put off by the flirtatious tone in Ezmadora's voice. Ezmadora nodded and placed the order, smiling affectionately at the waiter, whoever she may be to the Man in front of her, it’s clear her intentions here are pure. For now, at least. Once the drinks get to their table she tips the waiter a portion of her money made from her shift so far, smiling with insistence.

“These waiters really don’t get paid enough.” She retorts compassionately to the Man, noticing a strange look that looked almost like a mix of confusion and what could be mistaken as either irritation or complacency. After a little while, Ezmadora sees another man in the distance, this time she lowers her head down so that he in question can’t see her. The man across from her however would see her face darken in anxiety as the man passes by, calling her name.

“Ezmadora! Where are ya, Party Slut? Your break is almost up!” Ezmadora shudders in fear, slightly hyperventilating as the man darts his vision towards her and The Man, trudging over to them through the mosh pit.

“There you are, Baby~ And who’s your ‘friend’ here? You ain’t cheapin me out again, right~?” Ezmadora gulps as the neon pink demon pulls her up out of the seat by her wrist.

“V-Valen I- uhm… I was just finishing up.” She looked away from Valen and to The Man for a subtle sign of ‘help me.’ The Man stood up, towering above Valen,

“You know, she's still got 6 minutes on her break… she doesn't have to go back early. And considering it's been 24 minutes, she's on lunch, which means she REALLY doesn't have to go yet. Besides… I was about to start a conversation.” The Man replied, a seemingly subconscious growl in his tone as Valen put his hands up in defense.

“Well, SHE’S always slow to back on the clock for one, and for two if it was a ‘Lunch Break’ she would’ve eaten instead of drinking off like a Party Whore.” Valen rolls his eyes at The Man, clearly not very intimidated by his tough guy attitude.

The Man quietly snarled, then calmed a bit,

 “Regardless… Given you’re her boss, you should know that whether or not she's slow to clock in, she's on lunch. Which, if you EVER pay attention to how to run a business, you'd let her keep the last 6 minutes of lunch; idiot” The Man obviously knew what he was talking about, and wasn't a fan of how Valen was treating Ezmadora. 

Valen rolls his eyes again, glaring at Ezmadora as he flicks her wrist downward, earning a slight hiss of pain from her as Valen leans in close,

“Get back to work on time or I swear to fuck…”  Valen releases her and stares at The Man,

“Have fun with my Slut. She’s good use~” And with that, he leaves as Ezmadora sighs and sits down with a hiss of pain from moving her bruised wrist.

“That man has balls of steel to fuck with a man as large and terrifying as you��” She snorts, gently rolling her wrist to help the pain go away.

“No. He's stupid, trust me… I know what a man with titanium nuts looks like.” Ezmadora perks up a little bit,

“Oh no, he has balls of steel, it’s just casing since those are all he thinks with.” She giggles to herself as she looks away from The Man, blushing slightly.

“Anyways, I don’t think I ever caught your name, unless you want me calling you pet names every time you stroll in here~” She jokes, waving herself off with a chuckle,

“The name's Gryphon. Gryphon Reyes.” Gryphon says, quite proudly. Ezmadora giggles, very poorly hiding her pink cheeks as she responds,

“Well then, Gryphon, my name’s Ezmadora. Though you can give me any nickname you’d prefer since my name is rather formal, heh heh.” She giggles nervously, mentally scolding herself for being so giddy around him.

“Good to get a name before ya go, but you've got 3 minutes… so I'd go clock back in if I were you, Ezmadora.” She couldn't see it, but Gryphon was obviously happy under that crimson red helmet he was wearing. 

Ezmadora nodded, getting up and heading to her back room to clock back in, smiling throughout the rest of her shift as she pressed the little paper into the stamping machine with a *bump*

((Author's Note: There are, in fact, more chapters to this story, however we are not fast to update unfortunately))

Written and created by: Fox (me)

Revised by: Fox (me)

Character/story assistance: Matt, and Funny-Skeleton

[pashterlengkap]

Moms for Liberty co-founder caught having sex with a woman in new video

Florida police have obtained a video showing Moms for Liberty co-founder Bridget Ziegler having sex with a woman. It’s unclear if the woman is the same woman who accused Ziegler’s husband of rape after having had regular threesomes with the couple. Police obtained the video after executing a search warrant on the cell phone and Google account of her husband, Christian Ziegler. The warrant was part of the police investigation into the aforementioned rape accusation. Neither Bridget nor Christian Ziegler have responded to inquiries about the recently obtained video. Related: Moms for Liberty claims they’re “truly shaken” by rape allegations after first dismissing them One Moms for Liberty insider says more local chapters will split as the scandal engulfs the extremist organization. The couple’s former threesome partner filed a complaint with police on October 4, alleging that she was sexually assaulted in her home by Christian Ziegler on October 2. Sources close to the investigation said that the woman had a sexual relationship with both of the Zieglers for the past three years. Bridget Ziegler was not present when the alleged sexual assault occurred. Never Miss a Beat Subscribe to our daily newsletter to stay ahead of the latest LGBTQ+ political news and insights. Promotions (occasional) * Week in Good News (one on the Weekend) * Week in Review (one on the Weekend) * Daily Brief (one each weekday) * Sign Up The sources also said that investigators searched Christian Ziegler’s phone and found that he secretly recorded video of the three-way sexual encounters with the woman and his wife. Bridget Ziegler has admitted to having threesomes with the woman and has been roundly criticized since her organization, Moms for Liberty, opposes LGBTQ+ content in public schools and equal rights. A police affidavit stated the accuser’s allegations that she and the Zieglers had planned a sexual encounter for October 2. But when Bridget Ziegler was no longer available, the woman canceled, saying, “I was mostly in for her.” She then alleges that Christian Ziegler was waiting in the hallway outside her apartment when she opened the door to walk her dog. She says he came inside and sexually assaulted her. The affidavit says, “The victim advised Christian did not wear a condom, and he stated, ‘I’m leaving the same way I came in.’” Christian Ziegler – who has been captured on surveillance footage at the woman’s apartment – has admitted to having sex with her but claims it was consensual. The victim also reportedly told police she was intoxicated after having been drinking tequila all day, emphasizing she was unable to consent. Though no charges have been filed in the case yet, last Sunday, the Florida Republican Party voted unanimously to censure Christian Ziegler and strip him of authority as the party’s chair amid the investigation. Michael Thompson, chairman of the Lee County Republican Executive Committee, attended the meeting and told reporters, “He apologized for putting all of us in this position. He apologized for the shame that it brought on him and his family and the community. He was remorseful. He’s not a bad guy. He just did a real stupid thing and he’s going to suffer the consequences.” Florida Gov. Ron DeSantis (R) has called on Christian Ziegler to resign in the wake of the allegations, saying, “I don’t see how he can continue with that investigation ongoing given the gravity of those situations. And so I think he should step aside. I think he should tend to that.” Bridget Ziegler was quietly removed as the director of the School Board Leadership Program at the Leadership Institute, an organization that trains conservative activists. The Sarasota School Board also voted unanimously for her to resign, but she has refused thus far. http://dlvr.it/T0c3Z1

[amysubmits]

Where I Stand (For Now)

It’s been an ugly week around D/s tumblr. I’ve been reading and trying to process. 

I’ve done my best to read as much as I could about this topic. I have re-read all of the posts I could find at least once. Still, I have a gut feeling that I have somehow missed something. I saw where CherishedProperty stated that she feels like she has about 5 pieces of a 100 piece puzzle. I feel much the same way. I have seen the two blogs sharing information about this receive asks wanting more information or expressing confusion, and the responses are that the information is already out on the blogs. This is why despite feeling like I’m missing something, I‘ve decided to speak now rather than wait. However, I am absolutely open to changing my mind if I see information that I haven’t yet seen.   

I’ve seen 144 accused of these specific behaviors:

Prioritizing his blog over his sub.

Not texting/calling his sub while “off grid” camping, without giving prior warning that he wouldn’t be in touch. The sub said after he got back he said he though he had told her he would be out of contact. 

Asking his sub to be private about their relationship. The sub has stated she was okay with this at the time.

Responding to asks he would receive about littles by saying things like “I don’t know, I don’t do littles” while he was in a D/s relationship with a little.  

Being married to someone else while having a sub. I have no idea if this is ethical non-monogamy or cheating. 

I saw a screenshot of a DM where someone had basically asked what was going on with these accusations Dani has shared, where he responded that he thinks Dani is experiencing mania. 

Sharing two of his friends’ very personal information with other people.

People on tumblr have tagged him and asked him to respond to these, and he hasn’t. 

*Edit - a day or two after I posted this, 144 did make a statement. 

Also here is Dani’s blog post of compiled links. 

I’ve also seen statements like these said about 144

He is our Harvey Weinstein

This is our #MeToo movement

He’s a predator

His new username is “ped0-like”

Him and JD targeted and corralled littles

He has run a gaslighting campaign on all of his followers.

My take is this....

I believe the specific accusations. I think these behaviors show that he has been dishonest, hypocritical and untrustworthy. I see the lack of communication with his sub as neglectful. It doesn’t sound like he was taking his responsibility to his sub seriously enough or prioritizing her enough. 

I understand why his ex-sub, his old friends who have had their information shared with others, and others in the tumblr community are hurt, angry, or disappointed. I feel disappointed myself and I have never been close with 144. 

What I don’t understand is the list of statements (the ones in italics). For example, “he is our Harvey Weinsein” and “this is our #metoo moment”. Harvey Weinstein is a serial rapist. #MeToo is about sexual assault, too. I have seen nobody say that 144 sexually assaulted them, so I don’t understand these statement being used in reference to what he stands accused of. I have also seen general statements about JD of OLK being abusive towards his sub Pip and I have seen nothing at all to back this up. I’m just feeling a pretty significant disconnect between the specific behaviors people have shared, vs the general statements being said about him. I haven’t seen information that supports the general statements. 

If anyone has content that they think I may have missed, anything that supports the italicized statements or other misdeeds beyond what I listed in the first bulleted group, I would appreciate being sent links. My stance here isn’t set in stone, it’s just where I’m at with what I’ve seen so far. 

[boy-gender]

tw: violent transphobia, CSA, attempted murder

I was in the same position as your friends. I came out at the tail end of highschool. I was maybe only a few months out, and only partially, and to just a few friends- one of whom was a cis woman. She was a very men-hating feminist, though neither of us knew the term “radfem” at the time. Turns out she also hated trans people, despite me being the first one she ever encountered. She tried constantly to get me to detransition, trying to manipulate me into thinking I was just a lesbian. She would give me books about conversion therapy and tried to take me to church with her. She tried to break me off from my support system- any friends who supported my transition, including my partner, she would purposely start fights and lie about them to get me to leave them. She insisted on giving me rides to and from school everyday- I couldn’t drive at the time, so she literally controlled my transport. When none of that seemed to be working, she escalated her tactics.

This included sexually assaulting me while I slept over at her house. I think her logic was that if she raped me, my body would respond, thereby “proving” that I was attracted to women, and was therefore a lesbian. Yes, there are a lot of holes in that logic. She’s a rapist- I don’t expect her to be smart. She thought I was asleep during, but I was playing possum because I had no idea what else to do.

After the assault, I began pretty obviously pulling away from her- refusing to hang out, refusing to stay over, refusing to do anything with her, ghosting her texts. I began relying on my other friends. We were almost out of highschool- if I could just make it another few weeks, I would never have to see her again.

So she escalated again.

On the day of our highschool graduation, she was driving several of us home from the rehearsal. She had a long car with three rows of seats and a trunk behind the third row. I had been sitting in the way way back, but once she dropped off most of the others, I was going to flop over the top of the seat and move up a row. She waited for me to move, and then gunned the car in reverse, sending me through the back windshield.

She tried to kill me. Because this was her very last chance to detransition me. And when abuse and lies and manipulation and rape all had failed, her last option was to fucking murder me.

She literally completed the perfect terf escalation. First she tried to “softly” detransition me with emotional abuse and manipulation and conversion therapy. Then when that failed, she tried to detransition me with brute force, by assaulting me. And when even that failed, she turned where all terfs will turn: if she couldn’t control me, she was going to kill me.

It always leads to death.

"terfs don't target trans men" mfers will read some 55 year old british woman's 6000 word essay on how the testosterone injecting youtube groomers are brainwashing their daughters into mutilating their beautiful feminine bodies and the only solution is conversion therapy and come away being like wow that was so transmisogynistic of them

[page150]

Not A Friend - (Sister to Oscar "Spooky" and César Díaz)

Request: "i was wondering if u could do a fic where oscar and cesar have a teen sister and she’s sexually assaulted and tells oscar??"

Pronouns: She/Her

Word Count: 3181

Warnings: Sexual Assault, Guns, Cursing

A/N: I usually don't do a author's note before the imagine, but this is a sensitive topic so if this might be triggering please click away.

Y/N - Your Name f/c - favorite color

Y/N sat quietly in her room, reading a book, illuminated by a white lamp sitting on her dresser.

Outside her brother, Oscar laughed with some men and her other brother, César had left a while ago on another adventure with his friends, leaving Y/N by herself in her room. Placing the book down, she moved the curtains away from her window. She looked at the gathering of Santos socializing in the backyard. Red solo cups in hand, dancing and eating. She remembered how Oscar had let her help decorate the backyard for the party only to be later excluded from it. Looking at him laughing with a with his arm around someone she betted that he had forgotten that she was inside.

She had gotten used to being forgotten and treated differently by people. Ever since she was born her brothers didn’t know what to do with her. Oscar had never expected to have to raise a brother by himself and especially not a sister. Even though she was only a year younger than César, Oscar's idea of keeping her safe was keeping her hidden.

She was only allowed to go straight to school then straight home, never alone either. If César or Monse weren’t going to a place neither was Y/N and that’s how it always was. She was especially not allowed to hang out with any of Oscar's friends, making life extremely lonely.

Glancing at a photo that was taped next to the window, she smiled at herself situated between Jasmine and Monse with Jamal, Ruby and César in the back. César’s friends were nice, but they were his friends not hers. He was the one invited to all their parties. He was the one they had tried to save, not her.

This left school to be the only place Y/N could socialize, but no one wanted to be friends with a girl from a gang. She was labeled dangerous before anything else, leaving her by herself. Always forgotten, and always alone.

That night she went to sleep feeling sorry for herself and woke up the same way. It continued the next few days until one day when while sitting in her algebra class, a new student was introduced. He was placed next to her and, ignoring the strange looks the class gave to him, he introduced himself.

“I’m Luke. Can I sit here?”

Y/N looked up at the blond haired boy. Her table partner had moved schools a few months ago and no one bothered to sit with her since. He looked nice, he had a nice smile and it made her want to lower her guard slightly, “Yeah, you can sit here.”

Luke sat next to her and immediately tried to start a conversation. He talked about how he moved from Florida. She noticed, as they talked more, how similar they were. They both had interesting families. He had two brothers, she had two brothers and they both lived near each other.

Y/N found herself laughing more than usual at his jokes. This led to the teacher having to stop class multiple times to scold them. Y/N never had a connection to someone like this, especially not on the first day. At lunch Luke went to sit with with her and -

“Who’s this?” César asked, suddenly sitting down at the lunch table next to his sister and wrapping an arm around her. Jamal, Ruby, and Monse also sat down. The table that previously consisted of two people quickly turned to six. Other kids nearby, eyed the two “dangerous” siblings sitting together.

Y/N rolled her eyes at the unexpected attention that was now forming. “This is Luke, he’s new.”

“Lukeee,” César trailed, “I’m Y/N’s older brother-”

“By a few months,” Y/N butted in.

“Whatever, I’m César, these are my friends Jamal, Ruby and my girl Monse.”

Monse laughed, “I’m not your girl.”

“Not yet,” César winked.

Y/N sighed and threw César’s arm off her. She turned to Elliot and apologized.

“Sorry for them.”

“No they’re cool,” Luke grinned. “Any friend of mine is my friend as well.”

Y/N raised her eyebrows, “We’re friends now? It’s only been a day.”

“Of course, you’re cool.”

With the compliment Y/N cheeks turned red. As childish as it was, having an established friendship with someone made her feel nice.

“This must be how César and Oscar feel all the time.” She thought.

“I don’t know if Oscar will like you having a friend that is a boy.” Ruby remarked. “No offense, Luke.”

“None taken.”

“Oscar doesn’t like anyone anyways.” Monse muttered, taking a bite into her sandwich.

“Don’t worry” Luke smiled, “I’m one of the good guys.”

“That’s what they all say,” Jamal said suspiciously. He leaned in close to Luke’s face and gave him some crazy faces.

“Okay, great talk guys,” Y/N said sarcastically, “I would love to chat with you more but lunch is about to end and I have to show Luke where his next class is. I’ll see you later.”

“Yeah I have to go, but it was nice meeting you guys.” Luke stated, before he was dragged away by Y/N.

The next few weeks Y/N spent all her time with Luke. He sat next to her in the classes they shared, they talked at lunch and while walking home after school. They even stayed up at night so they could talk on the phone. She found herself smiling every time he talked to her. Every time he offered to carry her books. He was just so nice.

One Friday afternoon, Luke came running up to Y/N, putting her items in her backpack after her last class. He put his hands around her eyes, trying to hold back his laughter.

“Guess who?”

“Mrs. Kurt, I told you we can't see each other here.” Y/N whispered.

Luke removed his hands and his face went white. Y/N turned around and started crying with laughter. She had to sit down, her face turning bright red as she continued to laugh, gasping for air.

“I don’t even want to think about you dating my mom.” He trembled, before returning to his cheerful self. “Stop laughing, I have important news. There’s a party tonight and I was wondering if you wanted to come with me.”

Y/N stopped laughing and thought about it before responding. “I don’t know. I don’t think Oscar would want me to. You know how he is about stuff like that.”

Luke smiled and picked her backpack off the floor. He then put out his hand and helped Y/N to her feet.

“Which is why César and his friends already said they are coming too. Oscar doesn’t have to know you're going as my date.”

“Your date?”

“If you want to be. I want you to be my date.”

Y/N smiled, a pink blush covering her cheeks. “I can be your date.”

“Great,” He took her hand and began to lead her out of the classroom. “It’s going to be amazing, don't worry.”

That night Y/N drank water out of a red solo cup, while sitting on the couch of a kid she had never met before. This time she was the one laughing and partying. Colors flashed around the room as more and more kids came into the house. The air was foggy with smoke and smelt like a mash of perfumes and colognes. Y/N nodded her head to the music enjoying the energy in the room.

To her surprise Luke pulled her up to dance with him. She giggled feeling his hands go around her waist. She put her arms around his neck just like she saw in the movies. Rap was blasting out of speakers placed on the ground. Somewhere someone joked about getting a noise compliment to which the crowd began shouting the rap lyrics louder. Taunting the idea, almost hoping for it so the party could gain extra excitement. Y/N shouted along with them in bliss. Ignoring the past fear she had felt once she noticed César had left. Ignoring the looks she had gotten when she first walked in the party. Ignoring how Luke had moved his hands past the dip in her back...

When she felt his hands squeeze her butt she whispered for him to stop which he did, but she still felt weird. A sinking feeling sat in her gut that this was a mistake. Suddenly the small action made the party feel like too much now. She could smell the stink of alcohol on Luke’s breath and weirdly on herself as well. How did she get drunk?

Y/N moved from Luke to where she had placed her cup. Now she could see scribbled on with a black sharpie, someone else’s name. She must have grabbed the wrong cup sometime during the party. Swaying slightly, she moved back toward Luke.

“I need to go home,” She hiccuped. “I drank someone's drink.”

In the darkness she didn’t see Luke’s small smile. “Wow, I’m sorry. Let’s get you home.”

The two exited the party and began to walk home. Y/N felt more tipsy as she walked, eventually having to lean on the blond boy. She didn’t feel really drunk, she could still tell what was happening, it was just her body felt a little out of balance. Luke seemed the same way, but before they reached Y/N house he grabbed her hips. The sudden movement left her in shock.

“You looked really nice tonight, babe.” He said, pulling her into a kiss as he ran his hands on her back, slowly moving lower onto her butt, then up to her breasts.

Immediately Y/N pushed Luke off of her, moving to wrap her arms around herself. “What the hell? I’m a Santo, pull that shit again and it's over” She yelled, backing away from Luke.

“Like you would, I’m the only one who cares enough to pay attention to you. Do you really think anyone else wants to be around you? I’ll do whatever I want. You would be an idiot to lose me.” He fumed.

Y/N froze. Luke had never acted like that before. He couldn’t truly mean what he was saying. She ran into her house and locked the door behind her. She waited a few minutes to check that he had left, which he did.

After her shower she convinced herself that Luke must have been really drunk. That’s why he acted that way, but on Monday he proved that that was not the case.

At the beginning of algebra it started off okay. Luke kept his eyes on the board and focused on his work. It was okay up to the point where he started rubbing on Y/N's leg. She told him to stop but he ignored her. First rubbing small circles on her knee. Then moving up to her thigh moving closer and closer upwards. No matter how many times she moved his hand he kept putting it back. Eventually she had to stay quiet out of fear of distracting the class, but he kept going. She begged silently for it to stop. Suddenly feeling powerless as he continued to do as he pleased for more days.

At lunch even though Luke continued to joke with César she started to go silent. It was a constant internal battle. If she pushed Luke away more, it would cause her to lose her only friend. If she didn’t she would continue to feel uncomfortable. She told herself it would stop eventually, that things would go back to normal, but they didn’t.

As more days went by Luke tried to do more things. The more he tried to do the quieter Y/N got. But luckily César began to notice. He noticed that Y/N wanted him to sit between her and Luke more. How she stopped laughing at his jokes and how Luke changed his tone when talking to her. It wasn’t always playful like it used to be.

Even though César wasn’t really close to his sister he acknowledged that they had to look out for each other. Y/N had been the one to get Oscar to let him back in the house many times. She looked out for him, and he had to look out for her.

Which is why when César and Monse accidentally walked in on Luke kissing her in an empty classroom while she tried to push him off, he freaked out.

“What the hell do you think you’re doing?” He shouted, pulling Luke off of her and close to his face by the collar of his shirt. “I'm Lil’ Spooky I’ll have your face in the dirt if you do that shit again.”

“César, stop what are you doing here. You’re going to hurt him.” Y/N yelled. Monse gently pulled her away from Luke, but she pushed Monse back.

César punched Luke in the eye and he fell down, crumbling into a fetal position. César continued to kick him in the stomach until Y/N pulled him away.

“You’re hurting him! You can’t do this here! César stop please!”

César turned and grabbed Y/N's arm. He led her out of the classroom and out of the school with Monse trailing after them. Y/N’s items in hand.

“I can’t believe he was on you like that. Shit, Y/N. Wait, don't cry, don’t cry, it's okay.”

Y/N hadn’t realized she was crying until he said that. Tears were falling rapidly down her cheeks. She choked back sobs, trying to keep herself somewhat together.

She was thankful for César stopping it, but afraid for what would happen next. Once they reached their house César guided her up the stairs and inside where Oscar was smoking a cigarette at the dinner table. Hearing the door burst open and crying he instantly got up. He reached for his gun, but seeing that it was his siblings he stopped.

“Shit, what the hell happened César. Why is she crying?”

“Tell him,” César said softly. Monse ran in and went to Y/N’s side pulling her into a hug.

“Tell me what. Why are you crying?”

“He 's not mad at you hermana. Él va a ayudar.”

Y/N sniffled and buried herself into Monse’s shoulder. Trying to hide her embarrassment she whispered, “My friend at school was touching me in a weird way, Oscar. He wouldn’t stop. I told him to stop, though. I did. Please, don’t be mad at me.”

“We’re not mad at you and he’s not a friend anymore, Y/N. That should’ve never happened to you.” Monse murmured.

The room went silent. Monse still slowly rubbed Y/N’s back and César stood tense. Oscar looked from César to Y/N.

“César, do you think he left school yet?”

“Uh yeah, school ended right after I pulled her out.”

“Come on,” Oscar grabbed his gun and began to walk out the door, César following after. Y/N ran after Oscar begging for him to stop.

“Don’t Oscar, don’t hurt hm. He’s my only friend. He’s a kid, it was just a mistake.”

“No no!” He shouted. Oscar turned and placed his hands on Y/N’s shoulder’s. Looking into her teary eyes.

“It’s not your fault. It’s never your fault hermana. My job is to keep you safe. I've failed at a lot of things, but I refuse to fail at that again. Get in the house and rest. He just needs to be taught a lesson. Stay with Monse. Te amo como una hija bebé espeluznante.”

He left with César, leaving Y/N on the lawn. Monse guided her back into the house. She remembered what her dad did whenever she was going through a lot. She treated Y/N the same way. Reassuring her that it will be okay. That it wasn’t her fault.

César and Oscar didn’t come back until later that night.

“We got you this,” Oscar muttered, walking into the house and tossing a stuffed bear to Y/N. “We saw the idea online.” It was a f/c bear with a heart on it that said ‘Te Quiero’ with little messages César and Oscar wrote on the back. There weren't a lot, but the few ones there were were heartfelt.

“Thank you, I love it” Y/N smiled, holding the bear close. Her eyes were still slightly red from crying.

“And pizza,” César quietly cheered. On his face was a bandage, but he moved his face so Y/N couldn’t see it. “Monse do you want to spend the night?”

Monse looked at Y/N, “Yeah I already have clothes here so I’ll stay,”

She picked up a slice of pizza. “Soo, what did you guys do?”

“We took care of it,” Oscar said, sitting on the couch next to Y/N. “He won’t mess with you again. If I didn’t have a reputation I would’ve reported it.” He lowered his voice. “You can always go to us Y/N, we’re going to protect you. If that cabrón messes with you again I’m coming for him. ”

“I know,” Y/N mumbled. “I just wanted a friend, how dumb is that.”

“You can always hang out with us,” Monse added, “We’re your friends. We love having you around.”

Y/N sighed, “I mean my own friend. I love you guys too, but it gets so lonely. No one at school wants to be near me. Soy un marginado.”

The room went silent again. Before Monse spoke up, “You know you’re really smart Y/N. There’s a school in BrentWood that might offer you a scholarship to go there. I know you could pass the entrance exam. ”

“I could get a job for the tuition,” César added, rising from his seat at the dinner table. “Oscar what do you think? You’ve been making more money lately. It would keep her safe. She is really smart.”

Oscar looked at the ceiling, a good sign that he was thinking about the idea. Y/N kept her mouth shut, trying not to get too excited.

“How would she get there?”

“It’s a long bus ride,” Monse remarked, “But it’s safe. Only a bunch of rich kids. Most of them will be nice to you, Y/N. You’re smart, you’re funny, and you’re strong. Not a lot of them are like that there. No one will know who you're related to. I can get my mom to help get you in.”

César, Monse, and Y/N looked at Oscar. He took a deep breath and released it. Pulling a cigarette out his pocket, he lit it. Breathing deep he puffed out the smoke.

“I failed you today as a hermano, if I can keep you safe I will. I’ll work on getting you there.”

Y/N smiled and hugged Oscar, feeling César join as well.

“Thank you Oscar. Thank you Cesar. Thank you Monse. I love you.”

“Yeah, yeah” Oscar grinned. “Get off me I’m going to bed. I think I’ll go to the beach tomorrow. Want to come?”

“Yes!”

Author's Note: My DMs are always open to anyone who needs it. I am also on twitter to anyone who wants to talk @/thepage150. Requests are open. You are important. You are valued. You are loved. Have a wonderful day ~c'k

[dykefight]

I want to share some of the experiences of my loved ones and myself that started leading me to radical feminism

One of my best friends (currently a 19 year old college student) used to have an onlyfans and currently sells underwear online. She says that the most humiliating moments of her life happened on onlyfans and similar websites. She had guys ask things like would she have sex with her brother, could she cry on camera, or if she would piss herself for them. There were two men she encountered that still make me sick to think about. The worst one was a man who regularly paid for videos of her pretending like she was being raped by him without a condom. She would beg for him to stop, not to impregnate her, and she cried and screamed. She was not allowed to get any pleasure from it or she wouldn’t get paid. The man only found pleasure in the idea of a teenage girl being traumatized and abused. The other man paid her to dominate him over the phone. He wanted her to control every aspect of his life. He was nearly 30 at the time while she was 18. The worst part of this ordeal was that they knew each other from when she was around twelve or thirteen. During this time I watched her mental health rapidly decline. Her poor mental health ended up causing her to quit less than a year after starting her account. Now she sells underwear and the conditions are no better. She’s been asked to sell worn underwear, underwear she’s pissed in, underwear with her period blood in it, and underwear she’s worn while masturbating. She has been masturbating so frequently that her skin over her clit has begun peeling. The idea that this is empowering her as a woman makes me sick. It’s basically a form of self harm. Anytime I mention that she might need to slow down she explodes, ranting about how she loves doing it, how it’s good money, and that it’s her choice. No woman should be brainwashed into that mindset.

Two of my other friends have been coerced by their boyfriends into sex that they didn’t want. One of them was guilt tripped into having anal sex by her boyfriend. She didn’t want to have sex until marriage, which he already knew prior. She said he looked so disappointed that she felt like she had to let him do anal. She also said this was easily one of the most painful experiences of her life. She ended up being pressured into vaginal sex only a few weeks later. Another friend was VERY adamant about saving any kind of sex until marriage. Her boyfriend pretended like this was totally fine until around a year into their relationship. He starting persuading her into giving him handjobs and blowjobs, insisting that they were meaningless acts and no big deal. She complied but still wouldn’t let him do anything sexual to her. Eventually he got impatient and decided to touch her while she was asleep on a school trip. She admits to being scarred from this, but insists that he didn’t mean any harm and that he wouldn’t do it again. In March, they were at a party together and had a fight. My friend is known for being a lightweight. While she was furious and drunk, her boyfriend was barely tipsy. He apparently decided that the best way for her to get over it was to push her into a room and have sex even though she was fully unable to consent. At some point, someone walked into the room, saw them, and told everyone at the party about it, including complete strangers. People still bring it up to her like it’s some funny story. Neither of my friends see anything wrong with their boyfriends or their actions. I, along with mutual friends, have tried to bring it up but they insist that it was a one time thing, their boyfriends didn’t know any better, and that we’re being over dramatic. It hurts me to know that they’re just one of many girls who dismiss sexual assault just because they’ve never been told what is wrong in a sexual relationship.

My mom was raped by my father while they were dating. My mom was raised in a very religious family so she saw premarital sex as one of the ultimate sins. She was okay with everything except penetrative sex. At some point, they were naked together and he saw that as an invitation. She froze up and couldn’t bring herself to stop him. That was how she lost her virginity. It wasn’t until she told me that she realized he raped her and that was only because I told her. She didn’t know she was raped until over 30 years later. She said she always thought she asked for it since she was naked around him and let him get close enough for it. She didn’t know that there are multiple types of rape until much later in life, so she never connected the dots. If she had known, she might’ve been able to save herself from the abusive marriage that followed.

Speaking of my mother and her marriage, she was also taught that getting a divorce was a sin in the eyes of god, especially if the wife initiates it. My mom couldn’t bring herself to divorce him in the beginning and then once she had kids she couldn’t divorce him until she made sure he wouldn’t get joint custody of us. She suffered through 35 years of abuse all because of some bullshit she had forced upon her since she was young. My grandma on my moms side experienced the same thing and wouldn’t divorce my grandfather who cheated on her and had a child with another woman.

These last ones are my own personal experiences. I, like many women, have faced sexual assault multiple times. The first time was when I was 12 and sexually assaulted by my long time family friend who was 15. He was best friends with my cousin who I am very close to so he also became a friend of mine. We also went to the same school. One day the three of us were at my cousins house and I was sharing a blanket with the friend. Under the blanket, he began to brush his hand along my ass which I thought was an accident since we were on a small couch sharing a blanket meant for one person. It soon escalated to him grabbing my ass under my jeans and through my underwear and then cupping my boobs. This was all while my cousin sat five feet away. When I finally got the courage to get out I got a text from the guy begging me not to tell my cousin. It took me nearly a month to tell my family and the school. My family said they would cut all contact with his family and the school said they would make sure I never had to be around him in a school setting. However, almost immediately, my family went back to being friends with his family and my school went back on their promise. Even though the guy confessed and I had the texts as evidence, he faced no real repercussions. Another guy continually harassed me over the course of our freshman, sophomore, and junior year. He’d do things like grab me, slap my ass, stick his hand down my uniform, grind against me during class while I was bent over, and he always found new ways to contact me after being blocked. When I finally told a teacher mid junior year, the way the school “punished” him was by having his football coach talk to him. This is the same football coach that’s known to indirectly slut shame girls in front of everyone. The guys behavior towards me didn’t change so I just gave up. I was never taken seriously when these incidents came to light. Everyone just assumed it was something to brush off. That it’d go away after a gentle scolding. Even my peers who say they’re all about protecting and defending women basically responded with “that sucks” and moved on.

I turned to radical feminism because it’s given me a place to be heard. I can speak my mind. Even if someone doesn’t agree with me, they’ll have a civilized discussion or simply move on rather than start an argument.

[riffheartsgraziella]

The Jet Couples HC - We’ll Find a Way of Forgiving

Summary: The Jets learn that forgiveness is possible.

A/N: This one ended up being a lot longer that I originally anticipated, and took me a lot longer to write as well, but I think it was necessary.  Though I didn’t want to turn this into a novel, I also wanted to make sure that I did each couple justice in as succint a way as possible. I hope I’ve managed to do that!

I would strongly recommend that you read Parting Words, Breaking Up Is Never Easy, and Father, Forgive Him before reading this one so that you can understand the full impact of what is discussed, particularly towards the end.

Warnings: Subtle references to sexual assault.

Diesel wasn’t the same person after that night. He couldn’t be. Losing Mamie, after watching two boys who had been like his brothers die, had been the wake up call he finally needed to start turning his life around. He just wished it hadn’t taken so much violence and destruction to open his eyes.

A week after the rumble, after watching Riff get laid to rest, Diesel got a job at the auto repair shop near his apartment. It was grunt work, but honest work. Mamie didn’t want to see him, but he left notes for her on the fire escape outside her bedroom window. He told her all about his new job and promised her that he and the Jets were done with fighting. He told her how much he missed her. Most of all, he told her how sorry he was. “I’m nevur gunna stop trieing ta mak it up ta you,” he often wrote. His spelling had always been horrible. Mamie never responded, but the notes were always gone whenever he went to drop off another one. It was two months after the rumble when Diesel discovered a small note resting under a rock on the fire escape when he went to drop off one of his messages. His heart had sunk, thinking Mamie was finally starting to ignore his letters, until he opened it up and recognized Mamie’s delicate handwriting. Will you meet me at the park? She’d included a date and time underneath. Their first meeting had been awkward, stiff. Mamie had kept her distance from him, which had made the dull ache inside his chest sharpen into the piercing agony he’d experienced for weeks after the rumble. But she had agreed to see him again, just to catch up. For the next couple weeks, Diesel and Mamie would meet whenever Diesel had time off from work, always in a public place like the park or a diner. Their conversations became easier, more comfortable as time went on. Mamie even started to laugh with him again, like she used to. He still loved her so much, but he knew he didn’t deserve her love. He never pushed her for anything more than her friendship, knowing he’d be lucky to have that. That’s why he was shocked when Mamie appeared at the auto repair shop one morning, tears brimming in her eyes as she found him bent over the hood of a car. “Mamie? What’s wrong?” Diesel asked worriedly, grabbing a rag in an attempt to rub the grease off his arms. “I…I miss you!” Mamie exclaimed, her chin wobbling as she looked up at him. “I know I said that I would never forgive ya, but I…I want to!” Heart hammering in his chest, Diesel dropped the rag he had been holding and slowly began to approach her, not daring to believe that what she was saying could actually be true. “Mamie…” “What yous did…it was so awful,” Mamie breathed out, a few tears trickling down her cheeks. “But I can see that ya’ve really been tryin’ ta change. I’ve been readin’ yer letters an’…I believe ya. I believe yer tryin’ ta be better.” She stood before him, twisting her hands nervously. “An’, despite everythin’, I never stopped lovin’ ya,” she confessed. Mamie’s words brought Diesel to his knees. He fell down before her, wrapping his arms around her waist and weeping into the front of her dress. “I’m sorry, Mamie, I’m so sorry!” “I forgive ya,” Mamie sobbed, holding onto him as he clung to her. “I forgive ya.” She slid to the floor to meet him, the two of them clinging to one another in the midst of the auto repair shop. “I love you, Mamie,” Diesel whispered, his tears making tracks through the dirt that coated his face. “I love you, too, Diesel,” Mamie said softly, kissing his tears away. “I never stopped.” * Ice had thought he knew what emptiness was, but he’d never felt as empty as he did in the wake of the rumble. There were nights when he still woke up in a cold sweat, the memory of Riff’s death haunting his dreams. He could still feel the weight of Tony’s lifeless body resting on his shoulder as he and the others carried him into Doc’s. In his deepest moments of grief, he always reached out for her, only to be slapped with the realization that she wasn’t there. The memory of Karen’s eyes, filled with such disgust and disappointment, was like a knife in his chest. He had let her down. He had let himself down. He couldn’t even forgive himself, so how could he ever expect her to forgive him? Ice tried to push the pain away, throwing himself into working odd jobs around the neighborhood. With Riff gone, the other Jets were looking to him now for guidance, for direction. Without their girls, they only had each other to cling to in the midst of their grief and confusion. Ice wanted to set the example he’d failed to set that night. No more fighting. No more causing trouble for the Puerto Ricans. No more stealing or pranking. He’d pass the malt shop some days, just to catch a glimpse of her. There were times when he thought she knew he was there, but she never looked at him. He missed her so much, but he knew he deserved her rejection. When Diesel and Mamie got back together, Ice started to wonder if maybe all hope with Karen wasn’t completely lost. One day, he plucked up the nerve to walk inside the malt shop and take a seat at the counter. Karen ignored him for as long as she could until her boss finally nudged her in his direction with a scowl. “What do ya want?” Karen asked icily, not meeting his eyes. “I really miss ya,” Ice said softly, resisting the urge to reach out and touch her hand. Karen glared at him, crossing her arms over her chest. “I know ya hate me. I don’t blame ya,” Ice told her. “I hate me, too. I just wanted ya ta know that I’m workin’ every day ta be better. It ain’t gonna change what happened or what I did, but for what it’s worth, I am sorry. I wanna be a better guy.” With that, he got up and left the malt shop, determined not to bother her anymore. A week later, on his way home from working at the docks, Ice just happened to catch sight of her in the dim glow of the streetlight, closing up the malt shop on her own. “Karen?” he called out softly, not wanting to scare her. Karen turned to look at him. She didn’t smile, but her expression wasn’t as cold as it had been. “What are ya doin’ here?” she asked. “I was just on my way home from the docks. I been workin’ there some days,” he admitted, rubbing the back of his neck. He looked around at the dark, deserted streets. “Can I walk ya home?” He expected her to refuse, but to his surprise, she nodded her head. They walked in silence for a few minutes, tension thick in the air. “Mamie’s been tellin’ me about what yous have been up ta,” Karen finally said, glancing at him out of the corner of her eye. “Yeah?” Ice murmured, his mouth feeling a little dry. “Funny about her an’ Diesel, huh?” “She always adored him,” Karen replied, tugging on her sweater lightly. “I remember what that felt like,” she added, her words cutting him to the quick. “Me, too,” Ice said softly as they came to a stop in front of her apartment building. The two of them were quiet for a long time, just staring at one another. “If ya want…I don’t mind if ya walk me home some nights,” Karen began slowly, biting her lower lip awkwardly. So for the next few weeks, whenever Karen was working the night shift, Ice would walk her home on his way home from work. Their conversations began to flow more naturally, the way they once had when they’d been able to bare their souls to one another. “Good night, Ka,” Ice said one night, the first time he’d used the nickname in months. Without thinking about it, he leaned forward to press a kiss to her cheek, then froze. “God, I’m sorry. I don’t know why I—” He was cut off as her lips met his, her arms sliding around his neck. He could feel her tears, wet and salty against his cheeks. Or maybe those were his tears. “Karen, I’m sorry, I’m so sorry,” Ice breathed against her lips, just grateful for the opportunity to hold her in his arms once again. “I…I forgive ya, Ice,” Karen whispered back, burying her face in his neck as she held him. “I forgive ya.” * Every time Skink saw Sorella around the neighborhood in the weeks and months following the rumble, he wanted to cry. He missed her so much. Their eyes had met on the street once. She’d been out with Tat, Gussie, Maxie, and Sweden. He didn’t know if she’d known he was there, but she’d turned around suddenly and their eyes had met for the briefest of moments. Maxie was the one who had grabbed her arm, scowling at him as they had all hurried away. One of Skink’s cousins worked for the Sanitation Department and offered to help him get a job there. With all the other Jets scrambling to get their lives together in the wake of Riff’s death, Skink had taken him up on the offer. He knew he had to change. He wanted to be better than what he had been. He wanted to be a man who deserved Sorella, though he doubted he ever would be. It was at the market a couple months after the rumble that he ran into her on her own for the first time. They’d both been equally startled, Sorella clutching her basket a little closer to her chest, which had made his heart ache. His sweet Ella. He scared her now. That was what he had become. “How are you?” Skink asked, keeping his distance so as to avoid upsetting her. “Fine,” Sorella replied quickly, staring up at him uncertainly. “How are you?” she asked, out of polite instinct. “Fine,” Skink nodded, nervously rubbing the back of his neck. “I…I heard ya got a job with the Sanitation Department,” Sorella blurted out, blushing slightly. “I did. It’s pretty hard work,” he responded, chuckling slightly. “But good work. I’m tryin’ real hard ta turn things around.” He paused for a moment before adding, “I’d like ta be someone you could be proud of one day.” Tears glistened in her eyes as she cleared her throat, lowering her head. “Good luck, Skink,” she murmured before hurrying off. After that day in the market, he began seeing her more frequently. She was on her own so often that he started wondering if she was making it a point to stroll the neighborhood by herself on the off chance that they would bump into each other. But no, that was just wishful thinking. Or so he thought until Diesel casually asked one day, “Ya seen Sorella around the neighborhood lately?” “Sometimes,” Skink nodded, glancing over at his friend curiously. “Why?” “Mamie said she’s been askin’ about ya,” Diesel told him, raising his eyebrows. The next time he saw her, he wasn’t so afraid to talk to her. He asked her to lunch, which she accepted. It hurt to spend time with her and know that she wasn’t his anymore, but he soaked up any and all time he could spend in her presence. Over time, her laughter came easier and her smiles grew brighter. She genuinely seemed happy to see him whenever they spent time together. While walking her home one day, Skink turned to her, a serious look on his face. “Sorella, I really am sorry. I know sorry will never be enough, but I want ya ta know that if I could go back an’ change everythin’, I would. I’ll never not be ashamed o’ what we did.” “Oh, Skink,” Sorella replied softly, reaching out to gently touch his cheek. “I…I forgive you.” “Sorella…” Skink breathed out, unable to believe his ears. She smiled up at him, wrapping her arms around him. “Call me Ella,” she whispered, kissing him slowly. * Big Deal felt very lost in the weeks following the rumble. In one night, everything he’d thought he’d known, everything he’d held dear, crumbled around him. He’d lost Riff. He’d lost Natalie. He’d lost a part of himself. He didn’t know how he would do it, but he knew he needed to change. He missed Natalie so much. She had always been his guiding star, the one who pointed him in the direction he needed to go and gave him the confidence he needed to be able to go there. He needed her now more than ever, but he had betrayed her. He had hurt her. He had hurt so many people. She had been right to reject him, to turn away from him. He didn’t deserve her. After Riff’s funeral, following the lead of the other Jets, Big Deal started looking for a place to work. It wasn’t easy, considering honest labor had never been something he’d sought out before, but he tried. A-Rab’s uncle ended up offering him some work at the club that he owned. It wasn’t much—usually just lugging boxes, sweeping the floors, or working security in the evenings—but it was something. When Mamie finally took Diesel back, Big Deal was happy, but not altogether surprised. Mamie had always been the gentlest and most forgiving of the girls, at least where Diesel was concerned. But when Karen and Sorella forgave Ice and Skink as well, Big Deal began to wonder if maybe, just maybe, there was a chance that Natalie could forgive him, too. He tried calling her a few times, just wanting to hear the sound of her voice again, but she hung up on him every time. The last time he called, it was her 12-year-old brother who answered the phone. “Leave Nat alone! She cries every time ya call here,” he’d said angrily, before slamming the phone down himself. Defeated, Big Deal swore he would leave her alone after that. He didn’t want to hurt her any more than he already had. That’s why he was so surprised when he received a phone call one day and heard a familiar voice on the other end of the line. “I know ya’ve been tryin’ ta call me,” Natalie said, her voice even sweeter than he remembered it. “I…I wasn’t ready ta talk ta ya then, but I think I am now. Would ya like ta meet for coffee?” He would have agreed to meet for a root canal if she had asked. The two of them met the next day at a nearby diner, each of them filling each other in on what they had been up to. There was an awkwardness in the air that had never existed between them before, but she ended their time together by saying, “I’m happy for ya, David.” She was the only one who ever called him by his real name. “It seems like yer doin’ well.” “I miss ya, Natalie,” he told her honestly, just grateful for any time he was able to spend with her. She was quiet for a moment. “I miss ya, too,” she said softly, so softly he almost could have missed it. They started to talk on the phone regularly after that. He updated her on how his job was going and told her about the ways that he and the Jets were trying to change for the better. She always offered him encouragement. “I really am sorry,” Big Deal said one day, knowing he could never say it enough times to make up for what he had done. “What we did…what I did…I was like an animal an’…well, I’m just really sorry.” “I know,” Natalie replied quietly. Natalie’s forgiveness came softly and sweetly, which was just how she was. Big Deal was walking her home one afternoon after they’d gone out for coffee again, when she’d suddenly turned and looked at him. “David,” she said, their eyes meeting as he turned his head to look at her. “I just wanted ya ta know that I know ya’ve been tryin’ ta turn yer life around an’ be better. I see it. I can see that ya really are sorry for everythin’ that happened an’ I’m…I’m proud of ya.” “Thank you, Nat,” Big Deal murmured, her words meaning more to him than she could ever know. “An’, David?” “Yeah, Nat?” “I forgive ya.” * For Little Moly, life could never be the same after the rumble. Though he was one of the youngest members of the Jets, he felt like he had aged fifteen years over the course of that one terrible night. Death had never seemed like a real possibility until that night, until he’d watched Riff and Bernardo die before his very eyes. And there was no unseeing that, no going back from that. There was no going back from what they had done afterward either. Even in their grief, even in their anger, Little Moly knew there was no excuse for what they had done to Bernardo’s girl. Valentina had been right. They’d done nothing but disgrace themselves and dishonor Riff’s memory. And Sweden…his sweet Sweden hadn’t even been able to look at him after that. Her arms had always been the place where he found comfort, but he lost the right to call them his that night. He missed her so much. He often saw her around the neighborhood, usually with some of the other girls, while he was working. He was too young to find a job in construction or on the docks like some of the other Jets were doing, but he’d managed to find work as a delivery boy, which meant that he was frequently on the move all over town. His heart had skipped several beats the first time he realized that one of his deliveries was to Sweden’s apartment. Since she lived with her grandparents and they were having a harder time getting around, they often had things delivered. He’d been at a loss for words when she’d opened the door, and evidently so had she. She’d simply snatched the package out of his hand and slammed the door in his face. He knew he deserved it, but that didn’t make it hurt any less. In the weeks that followed, he had to make several more deliveries to her apartment. Her reception was always chilly, but eventually she stopped slamming the door in his face. On a couple rare occasions, she even wished him a good day. One day, when he was making deliveries in the middle of a rainstorm, she offered him an umbrella from her apartment. “I don’t want ya ta get sick,” she said, biting her lip. That small opening was all they had needed to slowly begin communicating again. They began spending more and more time talking to each other in the hallway outside her apartment. Sometimes, when she knew he’d be coming, she even made him lunch or gave him a thermos filled with coffee. It felt good to be the recipient of her smiles once more. Skink was the one who told him that Sweden had been asking Sorella about him, about everything that he was up to lately and what the Jets were doing. Now that he was back with Sorella, Skink encouraged Little Moly to invite Sweden to come to the park with them, as a double date of sorts. To Little Moly’s surprise, Sweden accepted. “Only ’cause Sorella’s gonna be there,” she explained. They began spending more time together after that and Little Moly fell in love with Sweden all over again. He knew she’d probably never feel the same way about him again though, which ate at his heart terribly. One day, a few months after that night when she’d told him to leave and never come back, Little Moly arrived outside her apartment, no packages in hand. “I didn’t think we’d ordered anythin’—“ “Ya didn’t,” Little Moly said, shaking his head as he stared at her. “I just…I needed ta ask ya somethin’. Do ya think…do ya think ya could ever forgive me?” Eyes widening, she stared at him for several minutes without saying anything. Some sort of realization seemed to dawn on her, some private revelation that came to her in that moment. Suddenly stepping forward, she wrapped her arms around him tightly, tears springing into her eyes. “I already have.” * Balkan had always known how much he loved Tat, but he never realized how much he had taken her love for granted until he lost it. The sound of his sweet Tat screaming, “I hate you!” had haunted him every night since the rumble. But the truth was, he deserved her hate. What he had done that night…what they had all done…he was filled with shame every time he thought about it. He had tried to justify it at first, at least in his own mind. They had just lost Riff. It was Bernardo’s blade that had killed him. Bernardo’s girl was just there to make more trouble. If they couldn’t punish Bernardo for what he had done, then they could at least punish his girl. The sight of Tat lying on her bed, weeping, had slapped the sense into him. As much as he may have hated Bernardo, the truth was that he hadn’t meant to kill Riff. And his girl hadn’t been looking to make any more trouble. He and the Jets had just…they’d just been looking for a reason to take their grief and their pain and their anger out on someone else. And now Tony was dead, too, because they had acted like animals. “Velma asked me how we woulda felt if the Sharks did ta Grazi what we did ta Anita,” Mouthpiece had told them all solemnly. No one had said a word, all of them too ashamed to even imagine such a thing. As much as he loved her and as much as he missed her, Balkan knew Tat was better off without a loser like him. He vowed to stay as far away from her as possible. He wasn’t as strong as he’d hoped he’d be though, and eventually he began finding reasons to walk past her uncle’s bakery, wondering if he would be able to catch a glimpse of her. It was Gussie he ran into first, however, about a month after the rumble. “Leave my sister alone. She doesn’t want ta see ya,” Gussie said coldly, wiping her hands on her apron. “You broke her heart.” As much as he and Gussie had always bickered with each other, he couldn’t fault her for looking out for her twin. He had broken Tat’s heart, as well as his own, and he didn’t deserve to be forgiven for that. It wasn’t until over two months after the rumble that he actually got to see her again. He just happened to be passing the market where she was running errands with Sorella and Sweden. He’d stopped in his tracks immediately, struck by how beautiful she was. Without stopping to think better of it, he’d approached her, just wanting to be close to her for a minute. She’d been startled at the sight of him, her cheeks turning pink as she stared up at him. “Hi,” he said slowly, not knowing what else to say but knowing that he needed to be near her. “Hi,” Tat replied cautiously, glancing over her shoulder to see if Sorella and Sweden were nearby. “I didn’t mean ta bother ya. I just saw ya over here an’ I wanted ta…” His sentence trailed off as he gazed down at her. God, he missed her so much. “Ya look good, Tat.” “So do you,” she admitted, lowering her eyes and staring down at her feet. “I heard ya started workin’ at one o’ the construction sites,” she said slowly, clutching her shopping basket tightly. “I did. Me an’ some o’ the other guys,” Balkan nodded, fighting the urge to reach out and take her hand in his. “That’s good. I’m proud o’ ya,” Tat replied, the words seeming to slip out of her mouth before she could stop them. “Um, I…I have ta go,” she added hurriedly, quickly moving away from him. When the girls started slowly offering their forgiveness to some of the guys, the other Jets started holding out more hope that their girls would forgive them, too. No one wanted to actually admit it, but they were a mess without their girls. Balkan, however, refused to let that hope rise within him. Tat was too good for him and he knew that now. She shouldn’t forgive him and she shouldn’t take him back. It was raining the night Balkan happened to pass by the bakery, only to find Tat on her own by the curb, wrestling with a large garbage bag that had burst open. “Tat! What are ya doin’?” Balkan had exclaimed without a second thought, rushing over to help her. “Where’s Gussie?” “She’s sick, so it’s just me tonight,” Tat told him, brushing the raindrops off her face as she continued to try to retrieve all the scraps of garbage that had spilled everywhere. “Leave it, Tat, I’ll take care of it,” Balkan told her, gathering up wet garbage as he did so. “Ya don’t need to…” “Tat, please, let me do this for ya,” Balkan insisted, their eyes meeting as the rain continued to fall around them. “Fine, but I’m helpin’,” Tat finally said, the two of them working for the next several minutes to clean up the mess that had been made. When it was all done, Tat tried to get Balkan to come into the bakery to warm up. “I’ll make ya some coffee,” she told him, both of them soaked to the bone. “No, I should go,” Balkan told her, shaking his head. “Balkan…” He wasn’t sure how long they stood there in the rain staring at each other, or who moved first, but suddenly she was in his arms and their lips were meeting in an explosive kiss, filled with months of desire and longing. “No,” Balkan finally said, reluctantly distancing himself from her. “No. I’m nothin’ but bad news, Tat. Nothin’ but garbage that’s gonna bring ya down.” “That’s not true!” Tat cried, trying to get closer to him, though he held her at arms length. “Yer a good guy, Balkan.” “No, I ain’t! Ya know I ain’t. What I did—” “I forgive ya,” Tat told him, her tears joining the raindrops that were dripping down her face. “What?” Balkan exclaimed, unable to believe what he was hearing. “I forgive ya,” Tat repeated, taking advantage of his sudden lack of defense and stepping closer to him. “I love you.” Balkan, who usually hated showing his emotions in private, let alone in public, wept on the street that night as he took Tat into his arms and kissed her in the rain. * Snowboy knew that he could never really love Gussie the way she deserved to be loved until he found a way to remove the hate that had burrowed its way inside his heart. He wasn’t sure when it had taken root exactly, but that night after the rumble, he knew he had been consumed by it. And it had destroyed him. He’d said and done awful things that night. Every time that he tried to look back and reflect on what had happened in Doc’s, he cringed in shame. Then he would remember the look of horror and disgust on Gussie’s face, the pain that had flashed in her eyes when she’d pulled away from him, and the wounds in his heart would all reopen afresh. She had been the best thing in his life and his own selfishness and cruelty had pushed her away. Snowboy knew that even if Gussie never forgave him, which she had every right not to do, he had to find a way to atone for his actions somehow. After that night, per Ice’s direct orders and an unspoken agreement on the Jets’ part, there was no more troublemaking for the Puerto Ricans. But Snowboy took it a step further. He still had plenty of things that he’d stolen from the PRs’ stores, some things taken for necessity and some taken just for the thrill of it. Though he didn’t quite have the nerve to face the storeowners themselves, he left the items he’d stolen outside their storefronts, including signs he’d torn down in the past few months. He started working with Balkan and a few of the other guys, getting hired out to work a few different construction jobs around the city. Before Riff’s death, he never would have thought about getting a job like that, but a lot had changed since they’d lost Riff. Everything had changed. He missed Gussie with every fiber of his being, but he knew she didn’t want to see him. Even if he managed to run into her, she wouldn’t want to talk to him. And how could he blame her? Why would someone like her ever want to be associated with a guy like him after what he’d done that night? Snowboy kept his head down when some of the girls began forgiving the Jets, not daring to get his hopes up about a future with Gussie. Even when Tat forgave Balkan, he refused to let it change anything in his mind. He adored Gussie, but even he could admit that she was much more hardheaded and stubborn than her twin sister. Just because Tat had found it in her heart to forgive didn’t mean Gussie would. His suspicions were confirmed when Balkan told him, “Gussie’s apparently mad at Tat for forgivin’ me. Can’t tell if it’s the forgiveness in general she has a problem with or just the fact that it’s me bein’ forgiven.” He rolled his eyes. “She has a right ta still be pissed off,” Snowboy said, defensive as always when it came to Gussie. “I know, buddy boy,” Balkan replied, sobering as he put a hand on Snowboy’s shoulder. “I’m sorry. I know ya miss her.” “She ain’t never gonna look at me like she used ta, but it’s my fault,” Snowboy said sadly, trying his best to accept that reality. As much as Gussie drove him insane, Balkan knew how much she meant to Snowboy, and so he began to pass information about what Snowboy was up to to Tat, hoping she would find a way to relay the information to her sister. Snowboy didn’t know he knew, but Balkan made sure to include the fact that Snowboy had been returning all his stolen merchandise to the Puerto Ricans. It was Gussie herself who finally approached Snowboy first, accompanying Tat when she went to bring lunch to Balkan at one of his job sites. “I wanna talk ta ya,” she told him, as blunt and to the point as ever. Dumbfounded, Snowboy just followed her, the two of them walking a few feet away so that they could have a tiny bit of privacy. “Is it really true what ya’ve been doin’?” Gussie demanded, crossing her arms over her chest. “Returnin’ all the stuff ya stole back to the PRs?” Startled, Snowboy stared down at her. “How did ya know that?” He didn’t think anybody knew about that. “Balkan told Tat an’ Tat told me,” Gussie told him, as if it was obvious. “Why’ve ya been doin’ that?” she asked, her stern defenses weakening slightly as her curiosity slipped through. Snowboy rubbed the back of his neck awkwardly. “’Cause it was shitty that I did that, takin’ all that stuff. Especially since I didn’t even need most of it. I’ve done a lot o’ shitty things,” he said, the two of them sharing a knowing look. “Just tryin’ ta make up for some of it. I know I’ll never be able ta make up for all of it,” he added quietly. Gussie was quiet for a few moments, just staring at him. “That’s decent of ya,” she finally said, their eyes meeting again. “That means a lot, Gus. Comin’ from you,” Snowboy said sincerely. She seemed suddenly overwhelmed. “I gotta go,” she told him quickly, hurrying off to find her sister and get out of there. After that day, however, Gussie began to accompany Tat more often whenever she came to bring Balkan his lunch. They’d talk whenever she stopped by. Snowboy just enjoyed getting to see her again. “I’ve really missed ya, Gus,” he told her one day when he and Balkan decided to walk the girls back to the bakery. Balkan and Tat were far ahead of them, too busy mooning over each other to pay much heed to what he and Gussie were doing. “I’ve missed ya, too, Snowboy,” Gussie replied hoarsely, suddenly turning her head as tears began to leak out of her eyes. “Oh, Gus, don’t cry. Please don’t cry,” Snowboy begged, feeling guilty once again. “How do ya expect me not ta cry?” Gussie demanded, wiping at her eyes with the back of her hand. “I miss ya, damnit! An’ I swore I wouldn’t forgive ya, but then ya go around tryin’ ta fix things an’ fix yerself an’ make everythin’ better, an’ I go ahead an’ do it anyway!” “What?” Snowboy asked, stopping dead in his tracks on the sidewalk. “Gussie, what did ya say?” “Oh, ya heard me! I forgive ya, ya idiot!” Gussie snapped through her tears, trying to wipe them away quickly, but it was no use. They were falling too fast. “Gus,” Snowboy breathed out, taking a tentative step closer to her. “Ya gonna stand there or ya gonna kiss me?” Gussie asked, tipping her face upwards. Laughing like he hadn’t laughed in months, Snowboy cupped her face in his hands and kissed her. * Numbers had never been one to dwell on the past or get caught up in regret, but regret was practically all he had been able to feel since the rumble. He regretted not talking Riff out of buying that gun. He regretted not doing more at the rumble to somehow prevent what had ended up happening. Most of all, he regretted what he had done afterward. He and the Jets were no saints, far from it, but he knew they had crossed a line that night in Doc’s. Graziella had told them that Riff would be ashamed of them, and she was right. He was ashamed of himself. He knew Maxie was ashamed of him. He couldn’t erase the memory of their breakup from his mind. Now he knew why he never used to dwell on regret. It was bitter as hell. Like the other Jets, Numbers threw himself into making a new start, working odd jobs where he could find them. Sometimes he worked on the docks, sometimes on construction jobs, sometimes he even worked with Big Deal and A-Rab at the club A-Rab’s uncle owned. At first, he did it mainly as a way to keep his mind off things. He knew if he dwelt too much on that night, he would go crazy. If he thought too much about losing Maxie, he would lose his mind. So he threw himself into working. Over time, however, he found that he actually liked it. It felt good to put in an honest day’s work and have money in his pocket that he had actually earned with his own two hands. Whenever he saw Maxie on the street, she would turn her face and hurry away from him. It shattered his heart, but what else could he expect from her? He had shattered her heart that night, so it only seemed right that his heart be broken, too. He missed her though. More than anything. A few months after the rumble, on his way to work, Numbers happened to catch sight of her standing outside a corner store, a cigarette perched between her lips as she fiddled with her lighter. It was clearly jammed. “Need a light?” Numbers asked, approaching her carefully. He already had his lighter in hand. The cigarette nearly fell out of Maxie’s mouth as she looked up at him, the touch of a scowl on her lips. “Stupid thing won’t work,” she muttered, tossing her lighter back into her purse. “Sure ya have time? Don’t have ta run off ta play with the Jets?” she asked sarcastically. He deserved that. Even when they’d been together, he’d put the Jets before her a number of times. “I’m on my way ta work actually,” he told her, leaning forward to light the cigarette she held out to him, clenched between her lips. She took a puff, gazing up at him. “I did hear from some o’ the girls that yous have been workin’,” she admitted, crossing her arms as she continued to smoke. “Never thought the day would come or that I’d be sayin’ this, but I actually like it. It feels good ta do somethin’…I don’t know…kinda worthwhile. Ya know?” he asked, watching her. “Yeah,” Maxie nodded, her eyes meeting his. They gazed at each other for a couple minutes, so many unspoken thoughts and questions passing between them. “I should go,” Numbers finally said, reluctant to walk away from her, but knowing there was nothing left for them. He had ruined what they’d had. “Numbers?” Maxie called out as he started to head towards his job site. When he turned, she asked, “Ya gonna be around later? Maybe we could go for a walk or somethin’.” So they’d started going on walks together in the evenings, catching up and getting to know one another again. He tried to show her all the ways he was working to change, not just with words, but with his actions. She listened whenever he got caught up in his grief, remembering Riff and all that had been lost. “Grazi’s havin’ a real hard time. Sometimes it helps when we just sit an’ listen,” Maxie explained, gently squeezing his shoulder. Numbers felt grieved at the thought of Graziella struggling. She wouldn’t see any of them, but he knew Riff would be disappointed that they weren’t looking out for his girl. One night, while he was walking her home, Numbers felt overcome with shame and regret. “I’m sorry, Maxie. I’m so sorry. Ya were right when ya said ya’ve forgiven me for so much, an’ I don’t deserve ta be forgiven for what I did that night. But I won’t ever stop sayin’ I’m sorry ’cause I am. I really am.” “Oh, Numbers,” Maxie murmured, looking up at him as he fought back the tears that threatened to spill over. “Numbers, I really thought that I could never forgive ya for what ya did. I didn’t want ta forgive ya. But holdin’ onto anger, holdin’ on ta bitterness, it just eats ya up inside. I’m startin’ ta see, after everythin’, that forgiveness is the only way ta move forward.” She took his hands in hers and waited until he met her eyes. “I forgive ya, Numbers.” Knowing he didn’t deserve such grace from her, Numbers broke down crying. Maxie immediately wrapped her arms around him, holding him close as he clung to her. “I love you, Maxie,” Numbers whispered into her hair. He had never stopped. She squeezed him tightly as she whispered back, “I love you, too.” * Yer a disgustin’ pig! Mack’s words had been echoing in Tiger’s mind every day since that night. Only animals do what yous did! She was right. He had been a pig. An animal. No, worse than an animal. Animals, at least, had no real sense of right and wrong. But Tiger did. He’d known what they were doing that night was wrong. He’d felt it in his bones as they’d pinned Bernardo’s girl to the floor. But he hadn’t cared. He’d been so filled with grief and rage and hate that he didn’t care who he hurt in his wake. He’d hurt Anita. He’d hurt Mack. He’d hurt himself. Every day, when he looked in the mirror, Mack’s harsh accusation rang through his mind and he didn’t try to fight against it. She had been right. Tiger didn’t know how to go about making things right. There were some things that couldn’t be changed. He couldn’t bring Riff or Tony back. He couldn’t undo what he and the Jets had done that night in Doc’s. On his darkest days, he wondered if he really was completely beyond all hope. His neighbor owned a butcher shop in the neighborhood and he ended up giving Tiger some work there. It was all menial stuff—sweeping the floors, cleaning the counters, hauling boxes, making deliveries. But he threw himself into it. His grandmother had passed away when he was small, but he remembered that she used to tell him that even the smallest jobs mattered when they were done with care. She’d told him and his cousins that the most boring work could even be offered up as a kind of sacrifice for other people. Tiger wasn’t sure if that was true, but he knew his grandmother had been a good woman, and so he offered up even his most mundane tasks as a small penance for the mistakes of his past. He knew it would never make up completely for what he had done, but it helped him from feeling completely hopeless. When Numbers and Maxie reconciled, Tiger couldn’t help but ask Numbers if he had seen Mack or heard anything about her. She and Maxie were best friends and the four of them had been together all the time before…well, before. “Maxie said she’s doin’ okay,” Numbers told him sympathetically. “She actually got a job workin’ as a salesgirl in Gimbels.” Tiger wasn’t expecting to see her the day she walked into the butcher shop, evidently having just gotten off a shift at Gimbels from the way she was dressed. Tiger tried to hide in the back, but his neighbor suddenly called, “Constantine, take the girl’s order, will ya? I’ll be there in a minute.” Swallowing nervously, he’d had no choice but to step up to the counter. She looked shocked to see him, dropping her purse with a clatter. Her lipstick, change purse, and several other items spilled onto the floor, rolling all over the place. “Let me help ya,” Tiger said hurriedly, running around the counter. He snatched up her lipstick tube and keys, dropping them into her limp hand. “I wasn’t expectin’…I didn’t know ya’d be…” Mack had been at a loss for words, staring at him. Without another word, she’d turned and practically ran out of the store, fleeing from him. Tiger didn’t know why he’d expected anything different, but her reaction had hurt like hell all the same. He was attempting to accept the fact that Mack would never be a part of his life again when she’d suddenly appeared in the butcher shop again one day, looking more prepared this time. “I’m sorry about the other day,” Mack said slowly, looking at him warily. “Ya don’t need ta apologize ta me, Mack. For anythin’,” Tiger told her. “I wasn’t expectin’ ta see ya here. I didn’t know…well, Maxie ended up tellin’ me ya got a job here. That’s good,” Mack said, chewing on her lower lip. He knew that was a nervous habit of hers. “I heard ya got a job at Gimbels. That’s good. Very grown up of ya,” Tiger replied with a slight smile. “I think all o’ us had ta grow up that night,” Mack said quietly. Clearing her throat, she blinked back the sudden emotion sheening her eyes. “Anyway, I gotta pick up some things.” After that day, Mack started stopping by the butcher shop more frequently. Most of the time, she was picking up something for her family, but there were times when she would throw something random onto the counter, almost like an afterthought. Almost like the purchase hadn’t been her main reason for coming in. Whenever she had particularly large orders, Tiger would volunteer to help her carry them home. That was one of the perks of being a delivery boy. One day, as he was walking with her towards her apartment building, he realized she was staring at him. “What is it?” he asked, looking down at her. “Nothin’,” Mack said quickly, shaking her head. “It’s just…yer different. Since that night, I mean,” she added slowly, biting down on her lower lip again. “Ya just seem…lighter. Less angry.” “I’m tryin’ ta be,” Tiger said softly, adjusting his hold on her packages. “I’m ashamed of what I did, Mack. Ya were right when ya called me an animal. It’s what I was.” Mack closed her eyes at that, evidently reliving that night the way he so often did. “Tiger, I—” “I know ya can’t forgive me, Mack. I don’t expect ya to. I don’t deserve that,” Tiger told her, coming to a stop with her outside her building. “I did think I’d never be able ta forgive ya, Tiger,” she said softly. “I thought…I thought yous would never change. But…I was wrong.” She looked up into his eyes, warmth glowing in her own. “I do forgive ya, Tiger. I do.” Neither of them paid any mind as Tiger dropped her packages to the ground, wrapping her in his arms as they held one another tightly. * A-Rab had been angry for as long as he could remember. Maybe it was something he had picked up from his old man, who’d angrily beat on him and his ma until he’d died the miserable death he deserved. Maybe it was something he’d picked up in his childhood, living in a city that seemed to be overrun with miserable people always looking for ways to take their misery out on each other. Whatever it was that had made him the way that he was, A-Rab knew he was an angry guy. And that anger had finally reached its boiling point the night of the rumble. It was only in the wake of it all, sitting on the fire escape outside Dot’s bedroom window, that he finally allowed himself to feel something besides anger. When he did, it was like the floodgates opened and he realized why he’d clung to anger for so long. Anger was easier to swallow than grief, than shame, than pain and sadness and regret. He’d felt all those things and more as he’d sat on that fire escape, weeping for all that had been lost that night. Dot had been the brightest spot in his life. They may have bickered like cats and dogs, but he loved her. She was the one person who centered him, the one person who could help him see through his constant haze of fury. But she couldn’t stop him that night. And his anger, his uncontrollable, blind rage, had destroyed them. He had lost her that night, just as surely as he’d lost Riff and Tony, and it was all his fault. Anger, A-Rab came to realize, was exhausting. It was too heavy a burden to bear. He just wished it hadn’t taken such awful tragedy for him to finally realize that. In the wake of that night, just like his friends, A-Rab began throwing himself into the work of changing who he had been, trying to be someone better, someone Dot could be proud of again. His mother’s brother owned a club in the city, so it wasn’t too difficult to convince him to give him a job there. He even managed to get some work for some of the other Jets. Watching his uncle work, A-Rab found that running a business could actually be pretty interesting. He picked up the phone to call Dot so many times, but always ended up hanging up before he could go through with it. She hated him now and he didn’t think he was strong enough to withstand her rejection again. With so many of the guys getting back with their girls, however, the chances of running into her kept increasing. It finally happened one day when A-Rab was visiting Diesel at the auto repair shop. Mamie dropped by to say hello, and Dot just so happened to be with her. “Oh! A-Rab!” Mamie exclaimed after kissing Diesel hello. “I didn’t know ya were gonna be here,” she said, surreptitiously shooting Dot an apologetic look. Dot crossed her arms and refused to even look at him. “I’ll wait for ya outside, Mamie,” she said coldly, turning to walk out of the shop. “Dot,” A-Rab called out, hurrying after her despite Mamie and Diesel’s concerned looks. “Leave me alone, Gabriel,” Dot told him sternly. She only ever called him by his given name when she was mad at him. “I’m not tryin’ ta upset ya, Dot,” A-Rab said honestly, raising his hands and taking a few steps back from her. “I just…I just miss ya, is all. I just wanted ta see how ya were doin’.” “I’m doin’ fine,” Dot snapped, crossing her arms over her chest again. She softened only the tiniest bit at his deflated expression. “I’m fine,” she said again, lowering her arms. “I heard ya been workin’ for yer uncle.” “Yeah,” A-Rab nodded, rubbing the back of his neck. “I been learnin’ a lot o’ things from him. Thinkin’ maybe I’d like ta run a place o’ my own one day.” The corners of Dot’s mouth turned up in the ghost of a smile. “I could see that.” Just as A-Rab opened his mouth to say more, Mamie suddenly reappeared and the two of them were off. He brightened just the tiniest bit, however, when Dot glanced back over her shoulder as she was walking away. “Mamie says she thinks Dot kinda wants ta see ya again,” Diesel told him the next time they saw each other. “I mean, she didn’t say it outright—ya know Dot—but Mamie could tell from the things she was sayin’.” After that, Mamie made it her personal mission, with Diesel’s coerced assistance, to get the two of them together as often as possible. They went for walks and sometimes talked on the phone. Dot even visited him at work a couple times when Natalie was going to see Big Deal. They were sitting outside on her fire escape one evening when she suddenly turned to look at him. “I’m real proud o’ ya, A-Rab.” She’d started calling him A-Rab again instead of Gabriel. “Really. Ya’ve been workin’ hard.” “That means a lot, Dot. Really,” A-Rab replied, swallowing past the lump in his throat. “I been wantin’ ta make ya proud o’ me.” Leaning forward, she pressed a soft kiss to his cheek. Before he could stop himself, he turned his head and their lips met in a brief kiss. “I’m sorry, Dot. I shouldn’t o’ done that,” he apologized quickly, worried he had just ruined all the progress he’d made with her. Dot was quiet for a moment before lightly touching his cheek and pressing another soft kiss to his lips. “I forgive ya, A-Rab,” she said gently, slipping her hand inside his. He knew she didn’t just mean for the kiss. “I forgive ya.” * Action was a wreck after losing Rhonda. Diesel and Ice had to stay with him for a couple days after Rhonda moved out of their apartment, that’s how inconsolable he was. He took to sleeping on the couch, refusing to sleep in their bed without her. In one night, he felt like he had lost everything. Losing Rhonda caused him the most regret, however, because that was the one thing that had been completely his fault. He’d behaved like a monster and he’d had to face the consequences of that. That night Rhonda left, when she’d compared him to her abusive father, he had wanted to die. He had always done whatever he had to do to protect her, but in that moment, he had been just another abusive piece of garbage in her eyes. Rhonda was the one who brought out the best in him and he was lost without her. Ice was the one who pulled Action along with him when he started looking for jobs around the neighborhood. It was thanks to him that Action started finding some work, odd jobs at the docks and some local bars, and even, on occasion, a construction site. But when he went home at night, his apartment always felt cold and empty without her. She was staying with Mamie. That’s what she had told him the night she left. Mamie lived in the same apartment building as Grazi, so he knew she was surrounded by the girls. Once Diesel and Mamie got back together, Action was always begging Diesel for any information he could provide, wanting to know if he had seen her. “I saw her,” Diesel nodded one day, running a hand through his hair. He didn’t know how to tell Action the truth of it. “She looked…sad. Mamie said she spends a lot o’ time with Grazi. I think she’s just havin’ a hard time.” The thought of Rhonda sad, and all because of him and his selfishness, broke Action’s heart. “I’m goin’ over ta Mamie’s for dinner tonight,” Diesel told him a few days later. “She said ta invite ya. Rhonda said it was okay.” His heart nearly burst out of his chest when he saw her that night. It was the first time he’d laid eyes on her in over two months. She’d barely been able to meet his gaze as the four of them sat down together. Just moments later, when he asked her to pass the butter, she burst into tears and fled from the table. Action wanted to die. Mumbling a quick “thank you” to Mamie, he hurried from her apartment. Rhonda was the one to call him at home a few days later. “It was just so hard seein’ ya,” she explained as she apologized for her behavior. “Ya don’t have ta say sorry, Rhonda,” Action assured her, holding the phone tightly as if he was holding her. “I know what I did was wrong. I know how bad I hurt ya.” There was silence on the other end for a few moments and he wondered if she was going to hang up. “I miss ya,” she whispered, her voice clogged with unshed tears. “I want ta forgive ya. I just…I just need time.” Time was what he gave her as he continued working, giving Rhonda her space. He desperately longed for her forgiveness, but he knew it could only come if and when she was ready to give it. A few weeks later, he was startled by the sound of a knock on his apartment door. His heart did a somersault in his chest when he opened it and found Rhonda standing on the other side. “I forgive ya,” she told him, tears streaming down her face as she looked up at him. “I forgive ya,” she said again, collapsing into his arms as he opened them wide to her. Action lifted her up into his arms, weeping into her neck as he held her close, there in the threshold of the apartment. “I wanna come home,” she whispered, resting her forehead against his as he carried her inside. * The weeks following the rumble were the hardest of Baby John’s young life. Riff had been his hero. The older boy had looked out for him, protected him, given him a home in the Jets. And how had Baby John repaid him? He’d thrown him the knife that had ended his life. He would never, ever forgive himself for that. That wasn’t all he couldn’t forgive himself for. Looking back on it, he had no explanation for his actions in Doc’s that night. He’d felt scared at the sight of Bernardo’s girl, worried that she was there to discover Tony’s location and pass it on to the Sharks. He’d felt anxious when the Jets had started harassing her, prowling around her like the wild beasts they’d felt like that night. He’d been terrified when even Grazi began begging them to stop and the Jets had just ignored her, pushing her to the side like they didn’t even hear her. Then they’d thrown her out, Grazi and Velma and… Tessie. His sweet Tessie. She’d been there with him that night, there to offer him the comfort he so desperately sought in the wake of Riff’s death. She’d been scared to be on the streets that night, but she’d come with him anyway. And instead of standing up for her, defending her, protecting her, he’d let her get thrown out onto the street. He’d joined in with the Jets as they’d torn at Anita’s clothes, pinned her to the floor…God only knew what else they would have done if Valentina hadn’t arrived. Deep down, he knew, but he didn’t want to think about it. He didn’t want to believe that any of them were truly capable of that. Tessie had seen it all. She’d witnessed their savage brutality as she and Grazi and Velma had beat their fists against the window, begging them to stop. Begging them not to lose their souls on top of everything else they had lost. The other girls may have forgiven the Jets, but they hadn’t been there. They hadn’t seen it with their own eyes like Tessie had. How could he ever expect her to forgive him after that? He missed her so much. She hadn’t just been his girlfriend, she’d been his best friend. Even before he had the Jets, he’d had Tessie. She’d been his confidante, his conscience, the person he trusted the most in the whole world. And he’d thrown it all away. He would never forgive himself for that. Despite the fact that they lived across the hall from one another, Baby John had hardly seen her since that night. He had a feeling she wanted it that way. To be honest, he wasn’t sure what he would do if he saw her anyway. There was nothing he could say that would fix what had happened, nothing he could do that would make her love him again. Seeing her would only bring him even more pain and regret. He was too young to work with most of the other Jets, so instead he went back to his old job as a paperboy. It was the job he’d had when the Jets had first rescued him. Sometimes he helped Little Moly make deliveries as well. Every day, he went through the motions, knowing that a part of his heart was missing and he’d never be able to get it back. He nearly had a heart attack the day, almost three months after the rumble, that he walked into his apartment after a long day to find Tessie sitting at his kitchen table. She looked just as uncomfortable. “John, there you are!” his mother exclaimed, setting a pot roast on the table. “I invited Tessie over for dinner. It’s been so long since I’ve seen her,” she told him, oblivious to all that had gone on since the rumble. Baby John kept her in the dark about most things related to the Jets. It would only break her heart and he would never do that to his ma. Dinner that night was the most uncomfortable affair of his life. His mother and Tessie were the only ones who talked. Baby John just stared at his plate the whole time, too ashamed to even attempt to look Tessie’s way. After facing a torturous round of dessert, his mother forced him to “walk Tessie home,” even though she lived right across the hall. “I’m sorry about that,” Baby John told her once they were outside his apartment. “Ya didn’t have ta say yes.” “I like yer ma,” Tessie countered, twisting her hands in the folds of her skirt. “She’s never done anythin’ ta hurt me,” she added pointedly. Baby John winced and opened his mouth to say something, but Tessie cut him off. “I know all the other girls have been takin’ the boys back an’ forgivin’ ’em, but I can’t. I just…I can’t,” she told him, a sad expression in her eyes as she looked up at him. “I understand, Tessie,” Baby John replied sadly, his heart breaking as she turned and disappeared inside her apartment. Things might have stayed that way between them if it hadn’t been for the Emeralds. Though the Irish gang wasn’t as strong as it had been since the Jets had defeated them in a rumble, they’d been taking advantage of the Jets’ absence from the streets and regrouping. And Baby John had always been their favorite target. Just like that day when the Jets had first come into his life, the Emeralds jumped him while he was delivering papers. Except Riff wasn’t there to save him this time. Instead, he managed to stumble his way over to the butcher shop where Tiger was working. Panicked, Tiger had made a few phone calls and soon the Jets had Baby John stretched out on the couch in Action and Rhonda’s apartment. It was Mamie who hurried to get Tessie, knowing she should be there. “Oh, Johnny! Johnny!” Tessie sobbed, falling down at his side when she arrived. “Tessie?” Baby John croaked, gazing at her through his swollen eyes and reaching out a bruised hand towards her. “I’m here,” Tessie assured him, holding his hand between both of her own and pressing it to her cheek. The other Jets remained on the periphery as Tessie nursed Baby John back to some semblance of health, with help from some of the other girls. Once he was able to sit up, the rest of them made themselves scarce so as not to be in the way. “Oh, Johnny, I was so worried about ya,” Tessie confessed, holding an ice pack to his cheek. “When Mamie told me what happened, I just…I just had ta see ya. I didn’t care about anythin’ else.” “I’m glad yer here, Tessie,” Baby John said quietly, brushing his fingers against her hand. “I’ve missed ya so much.” “Oh, Johnny, I’ve missed ya, too,” Tessie whispered, tears brimming in her eyes. “Today, when I thought…well, when I saw ya layin’ here…I thought about how I would feel if anythin’ happened ta ya without me forgivin’ ya. I don’t want that ta happen,” she told him, squeezing his hand. “Tessie, ya don’t have ta—” “I want to. I forgive ya, Johnny,” Tessie told him, pressing a tender kiss to his bruised cheek. “I forgive ya.” * Mouthpiece’s greatest fear came true in the wake of the rumble. He’d always been afraid that he wasn’t good enough for Velma and the truth was, he wasn’t. Deep down, he had always known that, but now she knew it, too. She’d seen with her own eyes what a worthless piece of nothing he was. He had never deserved her and now he had lost her for good. That whole night felt like some kind of terrible nightmare that he couldn’t wake himself up from. He’d been lost in a haze that night in Doc’s, too blind to even register Velma, his beautiful Velma, being pushed out onto the street, crying and begging him to stop all the while. It had only registered once it was too late. He could still taste the tears, mingled with the blood, that dripped down his face as Valentina called them rapists. That’s what they’d become. That’s what he’d become. How could Velma ever love him again after that? After Riff’s funeral, Mouthpiece began working with Balkan, Snowboy, and some of the other Jets on construction sites. For all his lack of a work ethic for most of his life, he actually ended up having quite the knack for it. He was good with his hands and quick to learn. He worked himself to the bone every day so that by the time he got home, he could fall into an exhausted, dreamless stupor. That way, he didn’t have to think about the rumble, about what he had done, or about Velma. He saw her around the neighborhood every now and then. It was hard not to, especially when all the other Jets started getting back together with their girls. He was happy for his friends, though it pained him that Velma would never be his again. The way she looked at him when she saw him on the street made that clear. From what he heard from the others, Velma spent most of her days with Grazi, who barely left her apartment. He felt even more guilt when he thought of Grazi suffering with none of them there to support her. Yet another way they had let Riff down. He ran into her once on his way home from work with Balkan and Snowboy. They had just recently reconciled with Tat and Gussie and were stopping by the bakery to check on them. Mouthpiece had figured it couldn’t hurt to tag along. When they stepped inside, they found Velma at the counter, furtively whispering with the twins, who had handed her a plain loaf of bread. Mouthpiece had paled immediately. Turning, all the color had drained from Velma’s face as well. The twins had stood there awkwardly, as had Balkan and Snowboy, who slowly inched their way over to their girlfriends. “Thanks, girls. I’ll talk ta yous soon,” Velma told the twins, clutching the loaf of bread tightly to her chest as she went to push past Mouthpiece. He was too dumbfounded at the sight of her to move out of the way. “’Scuse me,” she said coldly, avoiding his gaze. At an unusual loss for words, Mouthpiece stepped aside, pushing the door open for her. “Ya look good, Velma,” he finally managed to get out, looking at her with remorse brimming in his eyes. She glanced up at him for a brief moment. “I need ta go. Grazi’s waitin’ for me,” she said flatly, turning and hurrying away. “Bye,” Mouthpiece said quietly, too quietly for her to hear. Any time he saw her after that, it was much the same. She could never really look at him, was always hurrying away. He knew he deserved it. He had hurt her beyond words, beyond forgiveness. He’d always thought he would treasure her for the rest of his days, but his anger and his hatred had caused him to let go of the greatest gift he’d ever had. The cost of hate, he’d realized too late, was high indeed. It was over three months after the rumble when he came home from work to find her sitting on the bench outside his apartment building. “Velma?” he asked in surprise, shocked to see her sitting there. It seemed like she had been waiting for him. “Hi,” she greeted him, rising from the bench and shifting from foot to foot. She seemed nervous, or uncomfortable. “Could ya…could ya maybe sit for a minute?” she asked, indicating the bench she’d just been sitting on. Nodding, Mouthpiece sat down beside her as she took a seat again. They sat in silence for several moments as Velma seemed to be trying to work out in her mind what she wanted to say. He would have sat there forever, just to be near her. When Velma finally did open her mouth, what came out of it was the last thing he had been expecting. She started telling him about how Grazi had talked to some priest at the Church of the Blessed Sacrament, how he’d told her that Riff wasn’t beyond God’s mercy, how Grazi’s prayers mattered, how forgiveness was possible even in the most impossible situations. Mouthpiece was silent as she spoke, his pulse hammering erratically in his veins as he tried to determine her purpose in telling him all this. “An’ I guess what I’m tryin’ ta say is…ya hurt me, Mouthpiece. Ya hurt me real bad. Ya broke my heart that night,” Velma told him, tears coursing down her cheeks at that point. “I know I did, Vel,” Mouthpiece replied honestly, the nickname slipping out as he hung his head in shame. “After everythin’ that happened that night, after everythin’ I saw, I didn’t think I’d ever be able ta forgive ya,” she told him seriously. “I thought it was really over for us. But Grazi hasn’t been able ta stop talkin’ about this an’ it got me thinkin’ about it, too. About forgiveness an’ all that. Grazi thinks that maybe it’s not so impossible. An’ if she can think that, with all she’s been through, I figured I could try, too.” “Velma, what are ya sayin’?” Mouthpiece asked slowly, not daring to get his hopes up too high. “I’m sayin’…I’m sayin’ that after thinkin’ about it for a long time, really thinkin’ and reflectin’ about it…I forgive ya, Mouthpiece. I really do,” Velma said softly, slowly reaching out and taking his hand in hers. “Velma…Vel,” Mouthpiece choked out, a sob bubbling up in his throat as he took her into his arms, her arms circling around him as he cried into her shoulder. He wasn’t sure how long they sat on that bench, his face buried in her neck as her fingers lightly ran through his hair, but it was dark by the time they finally rose, hands clasped together tightly. “Can I walk ya home?” he asked, gazing down at her beautiful face. “I’d like that,” she told him with a smile. * They all stood outside the familiar storefront, frozen in place. None of them had been there since that night. None of them had dared. Even standing outside now filled most of them with a sense of dread, memories of what had taken place there still fresh in their minds even months later. “If yous can’t face her here, ya can’t face her anywhere,” Karen said, resting her hand on Ice’s shoulder as she gazed around at all the other Jets. Their girls were by their sides, holding onto them the way Karen was doing. “She’s right,” Velma nodded, squeezing Mouthpiece’s arm gently. “She agreed ta see yous,” Mamie said encouragingly, gazing up at Diesel. “She’s finally willin’ ta talk.” The boys had been shocked when their girlfriends told them that Graziella was finally ready to see them again, ready to talk to them. She hadn’t wanted anything to do with them after the rumble, not after what had taken place at this very spot. Even when their own girlfriends had forgiven them, they held out little hope that Grazi would do so. They knew she was offering them a great chance here and they didn’t want to waste it. Taking a deep breath, Ice, who the others had elected to speak for them, pushed open the door of Doc’s and led everyone inside. A hush fell over the group as they saw Grazi, sitting alone at the booth she’d been sitting in that night. She looked pale and even skinnier than usual. From what the girls had told them, she hadn’t been sleeping well and was barely eating. Riff would be devastated to see his Grazi, who he had loved so much, grieving this way. “Hey,” Grazi said slowly, all of them watching her carefully. “Hey, Grazi,” Ice said, emotion clogging his throat as he met her gaze. His last words, spoken to her in this exact spot, had been so callous and cold. “It’s good ta see ya.” “It’s good ta see yous, too,” Grazi said, her gaze shifting so that it came to rest on each one of the Jets in turn. Though it was hard for some of them, they all met her eyes as she looked at them. “Grazi, we—we just wanted ta tell ya how sorry we all are,” Ice began, the other Jets nodding and murmuring their agreement. “For everythin’. For what we did that night. For how we treated ya. For the fact that we ain’t been there for ya since.” He coughed, getting uncharacteristically choked up. Karen reached out and rested a comforting hand on his arm. “We let Riff down that night. An’ we’ve been lettin’ him down ever since by not lookin’ out for ya.” “We’re sorry, Grazi,” Diesel said, the same sentiment echoed by several other Jets. Rising slowly, Graziella began walking around the room, stopping in front of each one of them in turn. She met her girlfriends’ eyes as she passed them, knowing how much her forgiveness meant to each of them as well. She didn’t fault her friends for forgiving the boys, for taking them back. God knew she would have forgiven Riff anything if she could just have him back again. She could see the shame, the remorse, the contrition in each of the boy’s eyes. She knew from the girls what they had been doing in the months since the rumble, how they had been trying to change, trying to be better. And Father O’Rourke’s words had not stopped replaying in her head since that morning at the Church of the Blessed Sacrament. “It took me a while ta feel ready ta see yous,” Graziella finally said, standing in the center of Doc’s. “I was so angry for such a long time. But I don’t want ta be angry anymore. I don’t want ta carry bitterness an’ regret in my heart anymore.” The boys were all watching her carefully, unsure of what she might do or say next. Grazi was all they had left of Riff. It was her absolution they needed above all else to feel at peace, to feel right with Riff. “I’m pregnant,” Grazi said suddenly, prompting shocked gasps and wide eyes from the Jets. Their heads spun around to look questioningly at their girlfriends, who all shrugged without apology. “It wasn’t our place ta tell yous,” Rhonda told them all firmly. Dumbstruck, they all turned to stare back at Grazi, some of them eyeing her belly, which had yet to pop. If Graziella was pregnant, then that meant that, even though he was gone, there was a piece of Riff that would still be with them. And that meant more to them than words could say. “I don’t want my baby…I don’t want Riff’s baby…born into a world with another ounce o’ hate in it,” Graziella told them, tears stinging the backs of her eyes. “An’…an’ I don’t want ta live the rest o’ my life without yous in it,” she admitted, the tears starting to roll down her cheeks. Everyone was crying now as the Jets and their girls circled Graziella, reaching out gently to embrace her. “So I forgive yous. I forgive yous,” Graziella exclaimed, wiping her tears away with the back of her hand. “This baby,” she added, resting a hand on her stomach. “He ain’t gonna have his daddy, so he’ll need some really great uncles.” “You got it, Grazi,” Diesel sobbed, Mamie dabbing at his eyes with a tissue she’d pulled from her purse. “We’ll be here for ya, Grazi. Anythin’ ya need,” Ice promised, reaching out to squeeze her hand lightly. Glancing around the room, he knew he spoke for all of the Jets when he added softly, “Thank you, Grazi.” As they all walked out of Doc’s, arms around one another and bursts of laughter breaking forth through the tears, Graziella realized that Father O’Rourke had been right. Forgiveness was possible even when it seemed the most impossible. Healing was possible, too. If there was anything they had learned from that terrible night, it was that life was too short and the cost of hate was too great a price to pay. Somehow, despite everything, they had forged a path to forgiveness. And though things would never be the same, would never be as they had once been, maybe somehow they would be alright. Someday, they were going to be alright.

[coochiequeens]

Once you get past the gender cult pandering at the beginning this is an important read.

A couple of things unrelated to the Russian war of aggression against Ukraine recently caught my eye, reminding me that while this conflict will eventually end, the violence visited upon women by loved ones is a war that endures.

I say “women” knowing full well that men and people with different gender identities are victims of domestic violence too. I’m using “women” as a shorthand, much the same way “men” has long stood for all of us, because women by far and away are victimized more often than men in intimate-partner relationships.

This is why the landmark legislation Joe Biden sponsored in 1994 when he was a senator and reauthorized last week as president is called the Violence Against Women Act, or VAWA.

The law lapsed under President Trump, who was hardly a champion of women’s rights. The new version expands protections for survivors of partner violence and sexual assault.

It will also fund rape treatment centers, training for law enforcement and offer new federal protections to Native American women who are assaulted by non-Native perpetrators. This is one of the law’s most important achievements; in the past, if a non-Native person assaulted a Native person on tribal lands, the suspect would be referred to federal prosecutors, who frequently declined to prosecute, according to the Justice Department. Now such cases will be handled by tribal authorities.

The law had bipartisan support but, sadly, because of pushback from Republican gun worshipers, Congress was unable to use VAWA to close the “boyfriend loophole” in federal law. The loophole allows non-married partners to possess firearms even if they have been convicted of misdemeanor domestic violence. Currently, you must be married, living together or have a child in common for the firearms ban to apply.

This is lunacy, given that so many intimate-partner killings are committed by dating partners. In one analysis, 80% of domestic violence calls to Philadelphia police in 2013 involved non-married partners.

“A growing portion of the population is not protected by federal policies designed to keep guns out of the hands of abusers,” according to two University of Pennsylvania researchers who analyzed data in 2018. “Current boyfriends and girlfriends are a risk to their intimates.”

So, those “couple of things” I mentioned above? They are reminders that while media interest in domestic violence waxes and wanes, it is an abiding problem. Whatever else is happening on the world stage at any moment, we can be sure that, behind closed doors, intimate partners are being bullied, harassed and attacked. Things only got worse during the pandemic, when families were locked up together for so many months.

On Tuesday, Trevor Noah of “The Daily Show” let up on the comedy for a moment to broadcast his fears about the way Kanye West has been treating his ex-wife, Kim Kardashian, and her current beau, Pete Davidson. What Noah did was extremely unusual, and praiseworthy.

West has engaged in an escalating war of words against Kardashian, and has been particularly nasty about “Saturday Night Live” star Davidson, releasing a video showing a Claymation version of Davidson being kidnapped, buried and decapitated.

You could chalk this behavior up to just another attention-grabbing celebrity train wreck, but Noah saw something darker.

“What we’re seeing,” said Noah, whose mother survived after being shot in the head by his stepfather in 2009, “is one of the most powerful, one of the richest women in the world, unable to get her ex to stop texting her, to stop chasing after her, to stop harassing her,” he said. “Just think about that for a moment. Think about how powerful Kim Kardashian is, and she can’t get that to happen.”

The next day, after West responded to Noah with a racial slur, Noah posted a long, compassionate message on West’s Instagram account: “I’ve woken up too many times and read headlines about men who’ve killed their exes, their kids and then, themselves,” wrote Noah. “I never want to read that headline about you.”

Two weeks before Noah’s plea to West, the New York Times Magazine published a devastating story about the overlooked brain damaged suffered by women whose partners hit them. Researchers speculate that the damage, which occurs in private and is often untreated, can be worse than what football players experience. It amounts to a kind of slow murder.

“Even slight blows to the head, when repeated often enough, could result in long-term neurodegenerative disease,” wrote journalist Christa Hillstrom, who spent two years researching the piece, and led it with an account of a woman whose boyfriend hit her in the head so much that her hearing and memory were impaired. Her face was scarred and her scalp had a bald patch, and she suffered migraines, blurred vision and confusion.

Hillstrom interviewed Eve Valera, a Harvard associate professor of psychiatry who studies traumatic brain injuries among survivors of domestic violence. “Every year,” Hillstrom writes, “hundreds of concussions occur in the N.F.L.; thousands occur in the military. Valera’s estimated number of annual brain injuries among survivors of domestic abuse: 1.6 million.”

Like war itself, that notion is almost too distressing to contemplate. But we do know that, like war, intimate-partner violence can be inflicted anywhere, on anyone.