#My husband literally never asks what my pose references are for- he just does them

[mylifeiscomics]

Part 50 - College AU Did I make my hockey player husband pose for skating references? Yes.

Read the first 4 chapters here

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@deardiary17 @mizzingyou @i-belong-in-a-retirement-home @kittenwhodidntwanttogiveup @septic-dr-schneep @queenlovett @theoncomingdoo-dah @thethickofitt @jicklet @ginshoujo @samsrosary If anyone else wants to be tagged because I update pretty irregularly let me know.

[beauty-and-passion]

Time to talk about the flower shirt

You read the title. Time to talk about this.

This is the infamous flower shirt Thomas put on in his store and, since the fandom is the fandom, everyone started to speculate about those flowers.

At first, I didn’t want to do it. They’re just flowers and other people already talked about them, so what could I possibly add to the conversation?

But while I was writing about Orange, I had to talk a moment about the orange flower. It was supposed to be a small parenthesis, just a couple of words about that.

But then I looked at the other flowers and what other people told/not told about them and how some didn’t find Patton’s flower... so here I am, adding my two cents to this theme.

You needed it? Probably not. Well, I’m writing it anyway.

So let’s take a closer look at those flowers and see each one in detail:

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Roman: Red rose

Should I really explain why it’s perfect for Roman? Red roses are the universal symbol of love. Basically in all cultures red roses symbolize passion, true love, romance and desire. Also, according to this website, even the shade has a meaning! In fact, the deeper the red shade is, the stronger is the passion.

And even the number of red roses has a meaning! In this case, we have only one single red rose and that "represents love at first sight, or if it’s coming from a long-term partner, they are saying “you are still the one”.”

You know what that made me think? About Thomas telling Roman “You’re my hero”. A perfect symbol that he was “still the one” for Thomas.

__________________________________

Orange: Lantana camara

This is an incredibly peculiar flower.

Lantana Camara symbolizes severity and rigour. And this alone can be analyzed in all possible ways, but there are other interesting details about this plant I think it's worth mentioning.

Lantana is toxic for livestock, such as cattle, sheep, horses, dogs and goats. According to Wikipedia, previous studies suggested it could be toxic for humans too, especially the green unripe berries. However "other studies have found evidence which suggests that its fruit poses no risk to humans".

Lantana is a freaking invasive plant. In some areas, it's so predominant, to reduce biodiversity, because its presence "can significantly slow down the regeneration of forests, by preventing the growth of new trees". Also, as if this isn't enough, this plant can also produce toxic chemicals which inhibit other plant species.

Lantana has also a great adaptability, that helped it to be so invasive: it can live in a wide range of different environmental conditions, it can survive long periods without water, heck it's even resistant to fire. It's not a plant you can underestimate. Like Orange, I assume.

But Lantana isn't just an invasive plant. Lantana has always been used for medical purposes, because it showed good antimicrobial, fungicidal and insecticidal properties and its extract helps against respiratory infections and ulcers.

Also, since it doesn't have many pests or diseases, lantana became a common ornamental plant. It even attracts butterflies!

In other words: isn't that the perfect plant to symbolize the double nature of a dark side? It can be a threat, change the environment, destroy and even kill. But it can also be a medicine, something useful, something beautiful.

Whoever Orange is, Lantana camara tells us that, whithout a doubt, he’s a dark side.

__________________________________

Janus: Sunflower

Do you think Janus isn't perfect enough as he is? Do you think there's not enough husband material in the snek?

Well, you’re wrong and the sunflower is here to prove it.

Sunflower symbolizes loyalty, adoration, longevity, vitality, worship. Now add this up to the sunflower’s behaviour and how it follows the sun... and you’ll get Janus. Janus literally acts like a sunflower: Thomas is his sun and everything Janus does is for him. His whole existence is centered around Thomas.

But we already knew that, because it's the same message that shone through his playlist. Everything about Janus tells us how much he adores Thomas, from his canonical behavior in the series, to his playlist, to this flower.

Oh, do you need another proof that this is flower is perfect for Janus? Some societies use sunflowers as religious symbols. Ah, some good ol' reference to religion: it’s like being in his playlist all over again.

And, of course, sunflowers are used for a variety of reasons, like cooking oils, skin care and so on. Even the flower says self care.

This man is perfect.

__________________________________

Remus: Green chrysanthemum

Here's another interesting flower.

Chrysanthemum symbolizes death and it’s the typical flower used for funerals. And I thought this was its universal meaning. It was perfect for Remus just like that.

But then I found out that Europeans use chrysanthemums for funerals and to honor the dead. This flower actually has a whole lot of meanings, some completely different from this.

In China, for example, chrysanthemums are associated with wealth, prosperity and long life. Also they're symbols of new life and reincarnations, so they're the perfect gift for old people or newborns.

While in Japan chrysanthemums are symbols of power and royalty. And that's even more fitting for Remus, because he's a Duke, so he is royalty.

But chrysanthemum also symbolizes friendship - and not just "a friendship", but a meaningful one. It's a symbol of loyalty, devotion, romantic/platonic love and, in general, positive energy. It's a flower with an incredibly strong meaning, so it can't be given too lightly.

And this makes it even more perfect for Remus. It's a flower with a huge plurality of meanings, it's both associated with life and death, it's powerful and it's royalty.

Also, you can eat it. Isn't that the perfect Remus flower?

(On a side note: please notice how chrysanthemums and sunflowers are both associated with joy, loyalty and devotion. I would have never considered "joy" a common trait between Janus and Remus while loyalty and devotion... well, they both care about Thomas and his career and they both work for him despite not being accepted, so I can see why those are common traits.)

__________________________________

Patton: Nemophila

Surprise surprise, this flower wasn't easy to find. I’ve never heard of it, so I had to search among endless lists of blue flowers, hoping to find one that would perfectly match the one on the shirt.

And that’s how I found nemophila.

First of all: nemophila is also known as "Baby Blue Eyes" and it's an extremely rare color to find in nature. It’s very famous in Japan, thanks to the Hitachi Seaside Park. Open this link: it’s a literal sea of blue and it’s absolutely gorgeous. Of course, it attracts people every year.

Nemophila represents prosperity, congratulations on success and victory. Not the first things you would associate with Patton, right?

Well, while I was searching more informations about this flower, I found out this website about the essence of Baby Blue Eyes and the passage I quoted down below has the exact same words you can find on that link:

With its pronounced affinity for water, the Baby Blue Eyes flower essences addresses qualities of tender sensitivity, innocence and trust associated one’s early childhood relationship to the father, or other significant masculine figures that are in some way disturbed.

Very often the father was absent, or there was a lack of support or genuine presence. The Baby Blue Eyes type attempts over time to cover this wound of vulnerability with a false “hardening,” such as emotional distancing, mistrust, cynicism or spiritual alienation. It is a flower that can be equally helpful for men or women, although it is especially needed for many men who struggle to become strong, by disowning their pain.

So nemophilia’s essence has qualities associated with childhood, to the father figure and attempts to “repress” and hide emotions.

That’s Patton. That’s him, period. The childhood-related emotions, that are linked to Patton’s longing for “a simpler time”. The mentions of a father figure - who migh be absent or showing lack of support (like, idk, suggesting you should die so your friends live?). And the attempt to “cover the vulnerability” doesn’t remind you anything? Like the Nostalgia episodes?

This flower is Patton.

__________________________________

Logan: Blue petunia

I would like to say, from the bottom of my heart, a huge "FUCK YOU" to this flower, because I spent TWO DAYS searching all the blue flowers in the world and all possible variants, asking myself why this goddamn flower looked so familiar and why it was so hard to find. Blue isn't even a common color in nature, so why couldn't I find it?

I've learned more about blue flowers in these two days than in my entire life. I've searched among flowers I never saw before, like glandora diffusa, leschenaultia and omphalodes verna. I was so desperate to consider this flower a new species, with the petals of a bellflower and the corolla of a morning glory. I even found a goddamn chinese variant of the morning glory that was somehow similar but not that much and why, WHY this was so hard to find?!

And then, after two days and a lot more desperation, I remembered: my dear friend @reptilianwithscallions​ told me about a post they made, regarding this shirt and the flowers. Maybe they had some idea about Logan's flower?

Well, let's all thank my saviour and this post, because otherwise I would've kept searching until the end of my days.

Long story short, Logan's flower is a fucking blue petunia.

And it's a very peculiar choice, because petunias have multiple meanings, several of which can be contradictory.

In general, petunia symbolizes anger and resentment. It reminds someone that you're still angry or disappointed by their actions and you haven’t gotten over the things that caused these feelings.

Oh my, I didn't know we were back in Logan's playlist. It's basically what he kept expressing towards Thomas with his songs: that he was angry at Thomas for his decision, that he doesn't approve that Thomas hasn't "a real job" and so on. Petunia is a flower that screams passive-aggressive, so it's perfect for Logan.

But petunia's meaning deeply changes, depending on the color of the flower. And while petunia in general symbolizes anger, a blue petunia is a symbol of peacefulness, intimacy and deep trust, shared between two or more people. It's so wholesome, because the deep trust reminds me - again - of Logan's playlist and how it ended: no matter what, he and Thomas are always best friends.

Also, petunia flowers have even a secret meaning behind. Since they’re also gifted to new neighbors or to people who have just moved into a new home, they represent a perfect welcome and a way to express affection and kindness to others.

You’re lucky to be so wholesome, you tricky flower.

__________________________________

Virgil: Perennial Geranium

Geranium is a confused flower.

Some of the other flowers have conflicted meanings, but not as much as this flower. These are the most common meanings I found:

Folly or Stupidity

Gentility and kind nature

Clever minds

Ingenuity

Melancholy

Perfect gift for a bride

You can gift it to someone with whom you have planned a meeting 

You can gift it to someone with whom you haven't planned a meeting, just to make them feel welcomed

True Friendship

See? It’s confused.

Aside from jokes, this variety of meanings is due to its great diffusion: since geraniums grow everywhere, every culture gave them a different meaning. And sometimes these meanings depend on the situation too.

Awww, isn't it perfect for Virgil? He can be good and bad at the same time. Anxiety can be bad for Thomas and detrimental for his life, but it can also be the alarm Thomas needs. It depends on the situation.

And, just like geraniums in general symbolize positive emotions, happiness and friendship, so Virgil is in general a good guy. All he does is for Thomas' wellbeing, not against him.

And this is confirmed by the vast use of geranium's essential oil. It's one of the most popular and it has a ton of properties: anti-viral, anti-bacterial, anti-inflammatory, anti-depressant, decongestant, relaxing and so on. Just like our Virge boy can be incredibly useful under the right circumstances. (Did someone say "Flirting with social Anxiety"?)

Also, geraniums are simple, humble flowers that usually grow outside, but then we take them and make them part of our homes. Once again, it’s Virgil: he's an outsider, he's humble, he talks bad about himself - but Thomas and the others took him and made him part of the famILY anyway.

__________________________________

Thomas: Cherry blossom

I searched this flower everywhere and the only one that looks like the one on the shirt is the cherry blossom. Why did Thomas make a cherry blossom with eight petals, when they all have five? I have no idea. Is this a different flower, maybe? Maybe, but I’m done: I've looked at enough flowers and I don’t have any strength left.

As you probably already know, cherry blossoms are extremely important in Japan. They're beautiful, they're everywhere and they're meaningful.

Why? Because cherry blossoms are considered the perfect metaphor for human existence. When they blossom it's a pink ocean, a party, people go to admire them - but they’re short lived, because in two weeks, the blossoms start to fall. It's just like human life: a small, rich, glorious parenthesis in the void. Something little and precious that ends soon.

But cherry blossoms also symbolize rebirth, optimism, hopes and dreams. When they bloom, it means springtime is coming and spring has always been associated with renewal.

That’s a very good choice for character Thomas. He’s basically a cherry blossom, the whole series is: something that reminds us how beautiful life is, how multi-faceted, how important. Just like Thomas' single being encompasses seven different sides of himself, so life presents a wide range of choices, of aspects, of flavours. All beautiful, all worthy of appreciation, no matter how different they can be from you and your experience.

And this becomes even more important, in relation to the passage of time and the transience of life. Because life is short and, after that, there won't be any more time to appreciate anything.

In addition to that, I would like to point out how the theme of passage of time is something we already saw in the series. And not just one time, but several. Since the first season, we have episodes all around the concept of growing up, growing old, not being a child anymore, becoming an adult. And the last Aside keeps going in this direction. It's clear this is a big theme and its connection with the cherry blossoms proves it.

But why is the flower so different on the shirt? Because Thomas wanted to mess up with us? Probably. Almost certainly. Once again, thank you Mr. Sanders for making me question everything.

The floor is (figuratively) yours now: if you have any other information, thoughts or opinions, feel free to share them.

_______________________________

TAGLIST:

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[wiypt-writes]

Murder, He Wrote

Epilogue

Summary: You and Ransom attend the launch of his book and the cover closes on your story.

Warnings: Bad language, Mature (NSFW, 18+) NON-CON situations, kidnap, violence. Blood. DO NOT READ IF ANY OF THOSE TRIGGER…READER DISCRETION IS ADVISED…YOU HAVE BEENWARNED.

Pairing: DARK! Ransom Drysdale x Reader

A/N: The end! I can’t believe all this span from @jtargaryen18​’s Halloween Challenge last year. I hope you have enjoyed his as much as I have.

Word Count: 3.6k

READ THE WARNINGS!!!! This is a DARK series so don’t @me if you can’t follow simple instructions and end up with butt-hurt. And if you’re under 18 get off my blog!

Disclaimer: This is a pure work of fiction and by writing it does NOT mean I agree with or condone the acts contained within. This fiction is classified as 18+. Please respect this and do not read if you are underage. I do not own any characters in this series bar reader and any other OCs that may or may not be mentioned. By reading beyond this point you understand and accept the terms of this disclaimer.

Murder, He Wrote Masterlist // Main Masterlist.

Part 7

 The town car and it's driver took you to whatever swanky hotel Ransom and his publishers had decided upon, you not caring the slightest inwardly, outwardly only half paying attention. You glanced out the window watching the lights of downtown pass by as your husband of merely three weeks held your hand and rubbed the back of it with his thumb. 

It was a warm July evening, the two of you dressed to the nines in formal attire. Ransom had insisted the launch be an invite only, formal event. Therefore, he was dressed in a two-piece suit, black of course, with a crisp white button down, silken black tie, and you, you looked like an ice queen's slutty sister. The powder blue silk dress you wore tied together with thin straps on each shoulder, your feet already hurting in your nude six inch sandals. Your free hand tapped a neatly manicured finger over your clutch that matched your shoes. A delicate white gold and diamond tennis bracelet adorned your wrist whilst the necklace you'd been gifted at Christmas hung around your neck. You wore your hair the way he said he loved it, in a ponytail full of waves and wisps framing your face.

After the incident on Valentine’s Day, you’d spent another two weeks in the confines of the basement. All luxuries removed and you were used and abused in exactly the way you had been when Ransom had first taken you, until he’d once more sucked the fight out of you. Only this time you didn’t have the strength to find it again. 

You played the part you’d been cast in his sick little fantasy and became totally passive to his whims. You let him fuck you which, in all honesty, wasn’t an entirely unpleasant situation as he knew his way around your body and it felt good. You had given up denying it, and for the moments he was teasing those carnal reactions out of you, you escaped, let yourself imagine you were with someone who you wanted. And by keeping him sweet, you fooled him into thinking you were content. And things settled down, you had that halfway to normal life that you’d achieved before you discovered his manuscript.

But it was bullshit. A means to an end. And you deserved a fucking Oscar.

He’d had the audacity to propose to you, too. In a restaurant. Surrounded by people. He asked you the question, like you had a fucking choice.

Angry, desperate tears had filled your eyes as you’d simply gaped at him, tears the deluded cunt took for you being overwhelmed with happiness. With a smile he slipped the gaudily large diamond on your finger, sealing your fate.

It weighed as heavy on your hand as the grief for your lost life, and the despair at your situation did in your heart.

You’d had a small wedding. Attended simply by your parents and sister. He sent an invite to his mother and father but they didn’t show up. Your dad walked you down the aisle and as you walked towards the man you hated with every breath in your body, your father kissed your cheek and asked you if you were sure you wanted to do this. And no, of course you didn’t, but what could you do?

There was no way out. 

“You look as gorgeous tonight as you did on our wedding day.” Ransom’s voice slightly startled you and you turned to face him. 

You smiled at him, the smile you knew he wanted to see, as he placed a soft kiss to your cheek before doing the same to your hand, his lips ghosted over the top of the obscene rock and matching band on your finger which caught the lights of the city, sparkling with all the ferocity of a supernova.

Before you needed to reply with some half assed compliment back, the town car stopped as the driver got out and opened Ransom's door.

"Wait here," he instructed and walked around with the driver on the other side, escorting you out the minute your own door opened.

Flashbulbs fired off in your eyes, no doubt the press there for some absolutely ridiculous notion that this book was anything but its true nature of terror and disgust.

Ransom’s hand pressed into the base of your back as he guided you along in front of him, various members of the press calling his name, and you heard the excited shouts from some as they spotted the bands on both yours and Ransom’s hands, positively shrieking as they asked when you’d gotten married. 

The headlines flashed in your mind now, 'Grandson of the Great Harlan Thrombey Releases First Suspense Novel'. 'One of Boston's Most Notorious and Eligible Bachelors is Strictly Off The Market' . 'Trust Fund Playboy Sinks His Bunny'. 

It made you want to puke. 

In fact, as the press line faded and you stepped foot into the lobby, you swallowed back the bile forcing its way up. A tray with champagne flutes passed you by and you immediately snagged one.

When Ransom had been distracted for a brief moment, you quickly glanced around and swallowed back the entire flute of the bubbly drink. Delightfully enjoying the brief taste and quick head rush it gave you.

The further you walked into the event, his hand still against your bare back, the louder it grew and the more trays of champagne and appetizers were floating by.

As typical, the two of you were fashionably late so, you had little chance to take part in any nibble or further, a drink, because the supposed "man of the hour", more like terror of life, was due to give a speech.

His agent pulled the two of you aside and made mention that it was time for Ransom to greet his guests. He pressed a sickening sweet kiss to your lips and confidently took to the small podium atop a small stage nearby.

“First and foremost, thank you to everyone who came out tonight. But more importantly, thank you to my beautiful wife, without you Sweetheart, this wouldn't be possible.”

The smile he flashed you was loaded with meaning as the pair of you looked at one another, his eyes shining with the depraved private understanding you shared. 

And you hated him then just about as much as you ever had.

Excited muttering spread around the room as he had knowingly referred to you as his wife. It was the first time he’d announced your marriage to the world but, as he smiled and held his hands up, nodding smugly and confirming whatever people were asking him, you felt nothing but an overwhelming sense of nausea. To everyone else it was a sweet dedication, to you it was a sickening truth. This book was based on what he’d done to you. What he was saying was literal truth. 

And the fact that the people currently applauding whatever he had said would never realise the true nature of those words on the pages of his book made you want to vomit in your handbag.

Applause rang around the room and you realised everyone was turned in your direction. Drawing your shoulders back you stood tall and once more fixed that fake smile on your face before Ransom cleared his throat and began to speak again.

But you didn't listen, you drowned him out, the sound of his voice distant and murky like Charlie Brown's teacher. You allowed you mind to think of anything but the present, other than the fact that these people were in unknowing full support of the hell you'd been through the last nine months.

Eventually a loud, rapturous applause signalled the end of his speech and he stepped back, smiling and then turned to the man from his publishers who shook his hand furiously, before the pair of them posed for photos.

That was when he beckoned you to him, looking at you in such a way that made your skin crawl and your teeth seethe with each breath. This bastard expected a photo op from you above all this, commemorating this disaster.

On autopilot you headed towards him, indifference obedience now your specialty and his arm curled possessively round your waist, fingers splaying on your hip. You posed and smiled as the flashes went off, but as you stole a glance at the large, ornate clock on the wall, you suddenly felt your head beginning to swim.

Seeing a convenient way out of this bullshit, you made sure to falter just a little, placing your hand to your chest. It caused Ransom's attention to turn to you.

"Sweetheart, are you alright?"

“I’m feeling a little light headed and warm.” You looked up at him. “Could we maybe get some air?”

"Sure, yeah," he looked to his agent and they nodded towards a side door in the room.

His arm still round you, playing the doting husband, he led you towards it and opened it with a flourish, allowing you to step out in front of him. 

You emerged into the alley at the side of the building and took a huge gulp of air, steadying yourself.

"Y/N, what's wrong?"

You were warm, flushed, your skin tingling as the now cooling air hit your slightly damp skin, your nipples perking at the temperature change were visible through the silk dress, and you didn’t miss the heated glance he gave them as you spoke. "I, I don't know. I think it's all the commotion."

“You do look a little flushed.” His eyes moved back to yours and he studied you for a moment, his large hands gently cupping your face as he kissed your forehead before his lips pressed to yours. “Wanna take a walk?”

Despite the fact you really couldn’t walk far in the ridiculous shoes you were in, you nodded. Anything to avoid going back in there and listening to all those sycophants kissing his ass.

He took your hand and started walking slowly down the alley. You were mid-way down when a man jumped out from behind the dumpster. You screamed and instinctively Ransom jumped to the side, pulling you slightly behind him.

“Give me the money and the jewellery, no one gets hurt.” The man spoke gruffly and you felt Ransom draw himself up to his full height as he glared at the dirty, dishevelled man, disdain on his face.

“Eat shit.”

“Ransom, just... please give him what he wants.” Your voice trembled as your body shook, your right hand already removing the rings on your left.

“I’d listen to your pretty wife, if I were you.” The man spoke as he reached into his pocket and when he withdrew his hand you swallowed at the unmistakable flash of metal.

“Fuck, Ransom, he’s got a knife!” You clutched his arm. “Please just give it to him!”

"Fuck, no," he started reaching for his phone but the man lunged toward him.

In the melee that followed, you were thrown to the side, your rings clanging to the floor somewhere along with your clutch, your palms and knees scraping painfully on the floor. By the time you’d pushed yourself up, you saw the man scrambling to his feet, Ransom’s watch and wallet in his hand. He turned to look at you and you backed away, stumbling once more to the ground letting out a blood curdling scream as he advanced. He stopped, picked up your rings and your bag, before he turned, bolting up the alley and rounding the corner, disappearing from sight.

"Y/N," the croaking voice came from your husband as he staggered towards you, a deep red seeping through his white dress shirt, his one hand attempting to stave off the bleeding. The other, cradling his phone. But he didn't get more than a few steps as he collapsed nearby. 

"Ransom!" You shrieked and heels be damned, you ran to him, looking around, "help!" 

"Call 9-1-1, Baby," he begged, trying to thrust the phone into your hand and you leaned over him. 

With a jittery hand you swiped over to the emergency call option and hit the first two digits before you glanced around again and hesitated, rising slowly to your feet.

“What...” Ransom’s chest heaved as he looked up at you, his face white with shock as you turned the phone in your hand and shrugged.

“Yeah, you see, I could call for help but...” with that you tossed his phone to the hard ground and crunched it with your stupidly high heel, rotating your foot to make double sure, the glass and metal grinding between the stiletto and the tarmac. “Whoops, looks like it got smashed in the fight.” You gave a little chuckle. “And of course, mine was in my bag which he took. Isn’t that ironic? I mean the first time you permit me to use it for something other than to contact you or my mom, I can’t.” You made a little tutting noise. “Guess I’ll just have to keep yelling and hope someone hears.”

With that you turned and screamed, a frantic yell. “Please, someone help us! Please, he’s been stabbed, call 9-1-1.” You slowly dropped back to a kneel, ignoring the sting of your grazed knees and smirked. “Dammed, I really am good at this acting shit, don’t you think, handsome?”

Ransom coughed a harsh and wet cough. His chest heaving raggedly as he struggled between catching a breath and bleeding out. 

“Y/N...” he spluttered, “you...please...”

"So many criminal junkies in Boston, Sweetheart. Plenty who will take the fall for a little hit,” you emphasised the 't' of the last word as you spoke the very same line that he had delivered to you months ago, the threat he had held over you and used to keep you in check whenever you stepped over that line. 

His eyes widened further as the realisation set in, you could see his brain working and it gave you a buzz, a sense of satisfaction to know that he understood this was your doing.

You wanted the last thing this bastard thought about to be how you were responsible for his death. But more so, his narcissistic and sociopathic tendencies be damned, you wanted him to completely understand exactly how it was his fault. 

And given the way he was bleeding and struggling for breath, you didn’t have long.

Another scream for help flew from your mouth as you pressed one hand on top of his which were now both clutched to the wound in his stomach, the other brushing his hair back slightly as you smiled down at him. 

“I told you when you threw me back in the basement that the way you treat people would come back to haunt you.” You gave a little shrug. “And, when you told the homeless guy looking in the bins on collection day a few months back to eat shit and get a job, well, he took it kinda personally. He didn’t even blink when I asked how much it would take to knock you off.”

"You..." choking on blood, "vicious..." choke,

At that you gave another loud hysteric yell for help before you turned your head back to look at him.

“See, once upon a time I thought you’d changed. But here’s the thing, a person like you doesn’t change, Hugh. You’re incapable of love. You take what you want when you want for no reason other than it pleases you.”

Another scream for help, and this time you could hear someone answering and a lot of yells as people started running towards you.

“Well, now I’ve taken your life like you took mine.” You bent down, your forehead pressing to his as you smirked. His arm reached up to grab you, his blood soaked hand curling over your cheek and side of your neck. "And you know what? It feels good."

His palm was warm and slick against your skin and his eyes blazed with anger as his fingers squeezed. You knew he was desperately trying to hurt you but you felt nothing. You smiled, as you placed a soft kiss to his lips, your words whispered as you pulled back ever so slightly. “Karma’s a bitch, and so am I. See you in hell.”

As the fake tears started to pool in your eyes once more, you allowed your lip to tremble for distraught emphasis. Blood was now trickling out of Ransom's mouth, along down his ear and to the tarmac. You pulled back just a little so as to see his eyes. You wanted to watch him choke on his own blood as he took that final breath. You started sputtering words incoherently as you amped up the hysteria, hearing the footfalls now just behind you. 

He didn’t even make it to the hospital. 

Hugh Ransom Drysdale was pronounced dead at 21:05 hours on Friday 17th July where he lay in a pool of his own blood, in that dark alleyway down the side of the hotel.

Leaving you a widow.

And free. 

***10 months later***

It was as simple as it sounded, closing your eyes and pointing to a spot on a map. Your finger ended up on Boulder. 

Colorado was far enough from the last year or so of your life that you could feel comfortable. You'd researched it, finding it to be something worth interest. Affordable. Breath-taking scenery. Incredible life altering activities and quaint little towns. The summers were supposedly warm but rarely did the temperature rise above ninety-five, the winters were supposedly very cold, dry and windy; rarely dropping below six degrees with partly cloudy skies year round.

The months following Ransom’s death had been as draining as humanly possible. The investigation had involved countless interviews before the police and authorities settled for it being a mugging gone wrong. But then there had been the months of wrangling and private law cases his parents had attempted to bring against you to prevent you getting his money, despite the probate law being fairly simple. You were married. He left no will. It was yours by default. 

Eventually, when the Drysdales had exhausted every last option, they were forced to concede and that was when you made the decision to leave, a decision of which your parents were highly encouraging. They practically talked you into this whole thing to begin with. Helping you leave your nightmares behind. Despite them not suspecting anything at first, you weren't blind to the fact that things still had not sat right with them. You knew they had suspected a level coercion, that maybe you'd had a manic episode of mental illness, but you never had divulged the full details and by the time he was gone, they hadn't cared. Your relationship with them had strengthened and healed and that was what you cared about.

Now, you were newly nestled in Boulder with a great condo downtown, a stone’s throw from the historic district that was filled with cliché shops and bars.  Whilst you didn’t need the money, you’d taken a job working in the media department of a private law firm. It was a far cry from your journalist days, but it suited you just fine.

The more distance you put between who you were now and who you had been, the better. 

You were at peace.

The May evening air was temperate as you crossed the street and opened the door to the designated bar in which you were meeting your new group of friends, mostly gathered from work, for a girl's night out. You’d been held up a little in the office so they were already waiting at a table. You waved and gestured to the bar, indicating you were going to get a drink. 

As you sidled up to the wooden counter, you were jolted a little into a man to your right. You turned to apologise and gave a little double take. You recognised him instantly. But you didn’t want to make that obvious and cause him to feel uncomfortable. You knew how it felt, to have everyone looking at you, hushed whispered comments as you went about your business, people trying to figure out if you were who they thought you were.

That was part of the reason you had moved, and you sure as hell weren’t about to subject the man next to you to the same, uncomfortable experiences. 

Recovering quickly, you hastily apologised and he smiled.

“Don’t worry about it.” His Boston accent was evident and you smiled.

“I miss that accent.” 

The man chuckled, his warm blue eyes creasing slightly as he looked at you. “You from Boston, too?”

“Concord.”

“Newton.” He replied, “well, I lived there anyway, but I’m sure you already knew that.”

You wrinkled your nose. “Should I? Know that, I mean?”

He studied you for a moment, and you kept your face as passive as possible. You could tell he knew that you knew, but you gave a shrug none-the-less and he smiled, a gorgeous smile that lit up his entire face, perfect white teeth flashing from beneath an immaculately groomed beard, as he extended his arm towards you.

“Andy Barber.” His fingers gently brushed the back of your knuckles, as you shook his hand, his grip warm and gentle.

“Oh, of course.” You smiled back. “One of our attorneys.”

“Our?”

“Yeah, sorry, I’m Y/N. I work in the media department. I mean I only started a few weeks ago but...”

“Well, in that case, I’m pleased to meet you, Y/N, and welcome aboard.” His smile didn’t falter as he let go of your hand and gestured to the bar. “Can I get you a drink?”

You paused for a moment before you took a deep breath.

And nodded.

“Sure, that’d be great.”

******

Sequel: Follow Andy and reader’s story in Consciousness Of Guilt. 

[mintseesaw]

Mad Passion | 2

Pairing: namjoon x reader Genre: arranged marriage au, smut, angst, fluff Word count: 14k Warnings: jealousy, possessiveness, graphic sexual content, unprotected sex Summary: As you become emotionally invested with your marriage, you have grown accustomed to being Namjoon’s wife. Not until you realize you barely have an idea what it is really like to be his wife.  *unedited

Part I | sequel 

The midnight moon illuminates vibrantly on the clear, dark blue-ish sky— a clear view from the sky high cocktail bar and lounge, of which is about to approach its peak hours, serving exclusively to the hotel guests.

The four and a half thousand square foot space is indeed a perfect place to unwind minus the bustling crowd and unnecessary loud music. Among the tables neatly scattered in the open air terrace, the two men occupied the miniscule pavilion situated on the right corner of the sky high rooftop, the farthest possible spot from the little crowd growing as the night progresses.

Seokjin and Namjoon are currently on a business trip. Namjoon rarely joins him on his international-scale meetings one as he isn’t an expert of the global market of fisheries like Jin himself. This time, however, it was Namjoon who initiated the trip to meet a good number of businessmen to secure a majority vote on the retail corporation he had invested in several months ago. He was new to this particular field, which was why Jin was here with him. 

Jin was with him all through the course of said meetings. As Namjoon’s schedule abroad concluded today, it was safe to say the result of these meetings posed a good sign. Namjoon will soon take over another company. Of course, Jin wouldn’t let the night pass without them celebrating. He could’ve invited the rest of the group if they came along on the trip. So it was only the two of them who are celebrating, as Jin insists to call it. Namjoon could have turned it down, and calling his wife appeals to him more, but he really needs a proper drink even if Jin under the influence of alcohol means having to endure his annoying ass for an hour or two. “Your wife doesn’t have any idea on all of this, does she?” Jin nonchalantly asks, the alcohol cleansing his palate refreshingly from the numerous glasses he had. They had been in the pavilion for over an hour or two, he’s not certain.

Namjoon gave him a stern look, almost feigning innocence on the question his friend suddenly threw at him. “Know what?” There it was, the annoying side of Jin. Jin smirks, shaking his head. He could read his friend like the back of his hand. Amongst the group, he knows Namjoon the longest. Even with the passive expression he always wears, Jin could easily see through him.

“She doesn’t know? You’re screwed, Kim.” By now, both have already had a decent amount of alcohol in their system. The younger one, however, doesn’t appear as fuzzy as the older one. “She doesn’t need to know about my business affiliations. It would not matter what she would think of it.” He remarks, before emptying the liquor in his glass. His reply only made Jin snorted. “I bet you don’t.” He muses before continuing, “No doubt, it would be a pleasure to meet the woman who stole your heart. Hoseok told me a lot of things about you and her. I’d like to confirm it myself. After all, it’s been months since you secretly changed your marital status.” Also, he ought to know why Namjoon seems to talk too little about his wife, as if he was avoiding the subject itself. Namjoon’s eyebrow shots up. “Confirm what, exactly?”  “How smitten you are to the woman.” Namjoon leans his back on the couch, “Shut it, Hyung.” He shrugs, eliciting too little expression that only fuels Jin’s amusement further. Crossing his leg to the other, he continues to nag his friend. “I thought I’d never see the day, my friend. Have I not mentioned how surprised we were learning about your marriage in a newspaper?”

“You did, you couldn’t seem to move on from it, can you?”

“How can I? You didn’t even us at your wedding!”

“I already told you why.”

“Well, you have to give the girl a proper wedding. That is… if you already bear feelings for her.”

“There’s no need for that.”

“Did you ask her? Girls like those romantic shit.” Jin concludes, his own experience being his reference.

“The marriage is a part of the deal, Hyung.” He says in an indifferent tone, a pretense he had mastered through the years of his experience in the industry. Jin already knew the story behind his marriage, but the rare chance of pissing his friend off tempts him as always.

“If you don’t love the girl, you can easily get a divorce once you have secured the position. With the influence you have over the Korean government, there’s no way you can’t be granted a simple request.” Jin continues to press, enjoying the look of irritation growing on Namjoon’s face. Namjoon chose to keep quiet, distracting himself with pouring alcohol in his glass.

“What do you think the princess would feel if her castle has already been claimed by her King long before her father steps down on his throne?” Jin queries in a teasing manner.

“You forgot to mention she had long abandoned her throne. She already lost the title when she left.” Namjoon was quick to answer back.

Jin smirks, “Touché.” Namjoon purses his lips, letting the air be filled with silence. At the mere mention of the lost princess that is his wife, his mind wanders off. It’s been almost a week since he last saw his wife.  He misses her that no amount of alcohol could suffice. Although he consistently calls you every day, it was not enough to make peace with his mind. How should he converse with you to prolong the conversation? He loves hearing you talk endlessly, regardless of what it is about. The conversations feel restricted. Whether it was because of his intimidating self or you’re merely not interested to talk to him—he has yet to know why.

What is certain, though, is he will finally come home tomorrow.

Mingyu quietly turns the ignition on the moment you climb inside the passenger’s side. Silence has awkwardly ruled between the two of you since two weeks ago especially when you don’t initiate a conversation, yourself. His actions are always calculated alongside the formality in his voice whenever you attempt to have a casual conversation with him.

And you figured, he might have been instructed not to entertain your friendly gestures, much less converse with you.

You find his awkward but formal disposition adorably hilarious, which sometimes make you laugh out loud, that in return, earns you questioning look from him.

Since his post as personal security detail two weeks ago, Mingyu always lingers on your whereabouts. The role he plays is obviously a college student, casually eating on a table far away from your usual spot, or pretending to read books in the library when you’re studying so he could unnoticeably guard you around. The pretense alone is a dangerous task, you presume, because he is an eye catcher and he has to stay low-profile not to gets busted.

You don’t even know how they can roam around the vicinity of the campus without alerting the security department. When you say ‘they’, you’re generally referring to the team of agents responsible for your well-being. After the incident involving your friend and one of them weeks ago, they have visually disappeared. But you were not that dense to believe they’re literally gone. For all you care, they are just scattered everywhere, pretending to be whoever they are. Namjoon is too smart to have the same men follow you around. If he intentionally wants to make you think he has removed an entire team in your care, he would strategically have new faces to do the job. As if Mingyu’s presence will make you believe that he’s the only person that guards you.

Until now, you couldn’t believe your husband selected Mingyu as your shadow amongst the couple of hundreds working under his security agency. Knowing he’s territorial when it comes to the male acquaintances you have, it makes you there’s an underlying reason for it. Perhaps, is it trap to test your loyalty? But the probability of it being true is too low, because why would your loyalty matter to him in the first place?

When Namjoon married you several months ago, not only has your life changed, but your feelings too. You used to dislike the thought of being forced into a marriage with him, with someone you barely know, with someone who has so many similarities with your father.

It wasn’t just a simple attraction that you have developed towards him, nor was the socio-economic status he has. There is not even extraordinarily admirable about his personality that could justify your feelings—that unavoidably blossomed through time.

He was not the typical guy, of course. Men his age are probably enjoying the time of their lives, partying and all that stuff or perhaps, struggling to even get a decent job that would financially support themselves. He was not the romantic type of guy. Sweet talks, knows how to make you feel giddy, charms his way to your heart— he is far from that. Strange, how he still unknowingly earns more brownie points the longer you live with him, despite the uncertainty.

The awkward tension between you two have improved after months of having formal and painfully monotonous interactions. Perhaps, the rare intimacy has helped you open up to him more casually.

Despite that, you couldn’t rest your mind with the fact that your relationship with him lacks emotional commitment.

While he has the money and power at such a young age, you have nothing but student loans and your father’s last name. While he sees to your every need, it was never really established what you two are aside from the arrangement of your marriage. Unfortunately, it was just that. There may be papers which legally conclude your matrimony as husband and wife, but there’s no certainty of mutual, requited feelings. Every single day that comes and goes around, you couldn’t stop yourself from wishing that the marriage had been alternatively a result of a conventional, romantic affair. Part of you wishes he could, at least, learn to reciprocate your feelings for him.

He asked you on a date before, the first and only one so far. It turned out as expected— a little awkward because he basically rented the restaurant leaving you two alone in the spacious, luxurious place which meant having to endure silence while he enjoys his food as you try to think of things that you could talk to him about. It was, nevertheless, sweet because you have not predicted he would be thoughtful enough to know the food that you like, having it served as the main course.

Since the date, Namjoon never really spoke about it or anything that may hint another one. You’re ashamed to even admit that you’re eager to know what he feels for you, now.

Has it changed?

~

It didn't take long before you arrive at the apartment.

Without waiting for your guard, you went straight to the bedroom, the same one you share with him. Despite his absence for six days, the scent of his signature perfume still lingers in the vicinity.

Heaving a sigh, you huff on the mattress, allowing your muscles to relax, and allow your mind to wander into nothingness.

Earlier, you magically crammed mind-draining essays due today as well as made progress on your provisions for your upcoming midterms. The mere thought of it all makes you want to take a nap before proceeding with your papers, again.

After a moment of silence, you decided to have a long, warm bath instead. It’s been ages since the last time you had one since you have a waiting husband in mind whenever you’re using the bathroom even though he has several spares in his penthouse.

You did just that. And about half an hour, the comforting and relaxing warmth seeping through every part of your body, and the peppermint scented diffuser further lets your mind float elsewhere. Before you know it, you have lurked farther into the depth of your endless thoughts, slowly leading you where darkness and dreamland meet. You woke startled by an endless sound of a familiar tone ringing. And as your eyes strained by the blinding light, you mindlessly search for the source. You couldn’t seem to find where it was coming from, although you know it was your phone. The mere sound of it tells it was not in the bathroom. Where did you place it, anyway?

Still dazed with the traces of your unsolicited nap, you carefully but swiftly climb out of the tub, grabbing the towel on top of the counter to quickly dry your body. You found it on top of the bedside table. The eerie silence inside the room made the sound echo all throughout, that you feel your ears bleed as it continuously rings.

Your thumb slides on the screen after you took a brief glance at the caller.

Your abandoned, dripping hair sticks irritatingly on your nape, soaking your towel as you forget to put on a robe.

“You’re not answering my calls.” Namjoon greets, his voice unrecognizably low.

What time is it there, again? You wonder. “Sorry, I dozed off in the tub.” You replied too quickly, words jumble in your mind as they stumble out of your mouth. Listening to the words seems wrong when you have come to understand what you said.

“You what?” He asks, sounding puzzled. A trace of concern laces in his voice more than anything, although you were too flushed to take the hint. “Uhh... Yeah, I fell asleep. Sorry about that...” You sheepishly falter. As you wait for his reply, you hear some shuffling instead on the other line. 

Your mind still is blank as white while struggling to come up with a better reply. 

“I heard that, but you fell asleep? In the tub? That’s not safe.” He probably just woke up. Perhaps, that must be why his voice is extra low, though he calls you every night and it sounded quite normal in his previous calls. “Right, I’m fine though. It’s not like I would drown or something.” You try to joke.

The silence lingers for a few seconds, before you hear him speak on the other line. “You should have rested instead of taking a bath.” He lightly scolds over the phone.

A chuckle bubbles past your throat, nodding in agreement. That was your initial plan. “I will...eventually.”

“Busy?”

This time, you hear people talking in the background. He’s in his hotel room, right?

“Just about. I had a long day, spent most of my free time in the library. I presumed, Mingyu already told you that, right?”

At the mention of his name, you didn’t see the way Namjoon’s eyebrows rose, as something weak but ugly feeling stirs inside him. “Hanbin communicates with him.”

Your mouth fell into an ‘o’, nodding as if he could see you. “Oh, right. He’s fine, right? I mean you approved of him as my guard?”

“Yes. Why do you ask? I trust that you’ll tell me if he ever acts inappropriately and I’ll make sure—“

“No, no, he’s okay, I mean… uh, he’s actually really formal.” You stammer, slowly growing flustered at the way you have spoken about Mingyu. The subject itself doesn’t really interest you, it’s just that you don’t want him to be dragged into Namjoon’s territorial issues especially when he’s not around.

Not only is Mingyu a taller version of Namjoon’s physique, he is also as attractive as your husband, which didn’t matter to you as Namjoon pretty much owns your heart, that you didn’t choose to.

“Good. I’m also expecting you to behave while I’m gone.” He warns playfully.

You scoff, returning the playfulness of his tone. “When have I not?”

“Of course. You’re a good girl for me, yeah?” He casually prods although the impact of his words seem to have struck you somewhere. 

You bit your lip, started pacing back and forth with the towel as the only cover in your body. What would he feel if you tell him that?

You decided to change the subject, “Hey, listen… uh… I heard your birthday is approaching.” You begin, recalling the conversation you had with the housekeeper. This would be your first time spending his birthday with him.

“Uhuh...” He trails, silently telling you to keep going.

“Do you have plans for it?” You nervously ask, biting your nail in agitation as you kept going around the vicinity of the room.

Being a part of the elite social class means birthdays are extravagantly celebrated. You had them when you were young. Yet, Namjoon has not mentioned to you about his birthday plans, if he has any.

“Plans?” He echoes with a curious tone.

“I mean parties and stuff.” You immediately clarified back.

“Angel, I don't celebrate birthdays.” He says in a casual tone as if he was just telling you a random piece of information.

Taken aback by his response, you repeated what he said in a form of question. “You don’t?” Namjoon has not sensed the change of tone in your voice.

“I don’t. I have to go, baby. I will call you again. Hmm?” He didn’t even wait for your reply, ending the call right away.

He doesn’t celebrate his birthday? 

Namjoon, who obviously has all the resources in the world to organize the most luxurious social events, happens to have disinterests celebrating his birthday?

You mean, you have too little enthusiasm toward social gatherings but that doesn’t mean you don’t celebrate your birthday. Even when you barely have enough savings to pay for your bills, you couldn’t let your birthday pass without treating yourself or spending the day with your friends.

It sounds weird, at the same time, lonely to hear that he disregards such an occasion enough to make your heart tug painfully. He must have had a horrible childhood, you thought. Or perhaps, he’s merely not fond of any kind of celebration. It shouldn’t be a big of a deal, right?

Slight dismay washes through you at the abruptness of the call.

What is it about him being away that bothers you? Is it his safety, your safety or...his mere absence?

For the nth time since Namjoon left for his business trip, you had slept through your alarm which only meant you were late again in your first class.

The day progresses rather slowly. When it feels like you’ve spent ages sitting inside the lecture theatre, barely listening to half the professor was saying turns out to be just a couple of minutes whenever you check the time on your phone.

After what felt like a day, your break comes rolling around. Bearing the effect of sleep deprivation, your walk towards the dining hall was unusually sluggish. Fortunately, Jihyo was already on the table of your usual spot waiting when you arrived. 

Your shadow has yet to make his presence known which seems odd as he always tail you far behind, at the same time, intentionally allowing you to spot him wherever he is.

With his height, you could easily see the top of his head through the crowd, only that you didn’t need to look around because he’s in front of you and Jihyo, slightly wide-eyed with Jackson on his left, the former seemingly forced to be here.

Your eyebrows narrow in confusion. Though your friends knew you’re being guarded by him, they never really showed intention to befriend him.

“What’s going on Wang? Mingyu-ssi?” Jihyo seems amused at the mere sight, holding back her laughter as she notices the discomfort written in the poor handsome boy’s face. Your bodyguard surprisingly fits well in his all black casual attire like as if he is sporting a bad boy college student vibe. You couldn’t even point anything suspiciously odd with the way he casually holds himself as if he has his own world, not minding others’ business.

Jackson plops on the vacant seat across Jihyo’s and drags Mingyu on the seat next to him. He obligingly follows suit.

“He seems nicer and harmless than the other ones, Y/N. Had to befriend him before he makes me his next target.” Mingyu gazes at him with his sharp gaze that strangely reminds you of your husband’s stare.

“I can perfectly hear you.” He formally says to your friend, which presumably meant alternative to warning him.

Jackson paid no mind on the harmless threat, giving Mingyu a friendly smack on the back instead. “I know, bud. I’m not the enemy here, is what I’m trying to tell you.” He quips, which made Jihyo chuckle in return. Mingyu peers in your direction, then goes back to Jackson’s and Jihyo’s in utter confusion.

He probably has no idea what transpired before.

“You didn’t know?” Jackson attempts to confirm with a question.

“What?” Mingyu immediately asks back.

His act of ignorance isn’t believable enough for you. On his first day as your guard, you were stunned at how proficient he seemed to be on his pretense for someone who barely knows his way around the campus as if he’s been here before.

Shaking the thought away, you chose to butt in, “Don’t give him ideas.”

Jackson’s eyes slightly widen in realization. “You’re right. Anyways, I’m officially inviting you to eat lunch with us everyday. Is it a yes or a yes?”

Mingyu stares at him, dumbfoundedly.

“Shut up, Wang.” Jihyo laughs and then turns her head to meet Mingyu’s curious eyes. “Ignore him, but you’re always welcome to sit with us, just in case you’re allowed to— you know, eat with us.”

You only nodded in agreement.  

If he ever considers it, he never showed any sign that he did as he ate silently the whole time while he listened to the three of you converse endlessly.

Like the past few days, the home feels different and strange without the towering owner lurking around the spacious vicinity like the king, himself. Namjoon never really confirmed when he will be back. He had not brought it up again after he once mentioned that the trip would take him a week. Perhaps, longer? It’s been a week. You don't know how long you’d manage without seeing him. His absence, as you first thought, would be a sense of breather for you for the first time since the marriage happened. But as days rolled around, you only hope for the week to end so you could see him again.

The longer you ponder over the thought of missing him, the harder it is to ignore the ache on the pit of your stomach, and desire pooling between your legs. The temperature on your body feels strangely higher considering it’s not yet summer and the room is fully air conditioned like the rest of the apartment. Your hair was pulled up in a bun, clothes thrown haphazardly on the cold, bathroom floor as you skimmed inside naked without bothering to close the door.

You let the shower run as you gradually get used to the feel of the water on your skin, your body shudders ever so lightly as you step under the running water, cautious enough not to get your hair soaked in the process. Shortly after, your shoulders slug as the water finally cools down your body, your insides almost relaxing.

You drew a long sigh, eyes closing, loving the therapeutic sensation of water as it soaks your body.

It wasn’t until you felt strong arms encircling your waist from behind that the heat spirals back into your body, especially in your lower region.

Their clothed body molding perfectly against your naked back as they pull your body impossibly closed. It was too sudden, and you were probably too lost in your own thoughts that you failed to hear any strange sounds, footsteps even. A shriek of surprise went past your throat, harshly squirming in reflex. You're too shocked to process who it is until he made a hush sound, calming you down. His lips found your naked shoulder, further making himself known through his gestures. “It’s me.” The familiar voice whispers next to your ear. Your violent movements instantly halted, but the shock still is evident through erratic beating of your heart. “Joon?” you softly call, trying to peer behind to have a proper look on him. In a teasing manner, he kisses your other shoulder, ruining your intent while your body is kept locked on his arms. By now, his clothes are already soaked against your back as wet as your hair as the running water continues to shower you both. And just as his lips found your nape, his hand cups one of breasts, softly squeezing the mound, his fingers gently pinching the pink nub. Your hand mindlessly flew to the hand on your waist that is keeping your body close to his, gripping it tight enough that your knuckles are turning white. Your eyelids fell shut at the sudden sensation, biting your lip to suppress any sound from your throat. His hand didn’t stop the gentle tormenting on your breast, his warm, sinful mouth now assaulting the skin on your neck, sucking it until the spot turns purple. The mere contact is enough to make you dizzy in need, intensely lighting your long overdue desire. And then the sensation stops all at once, his hand gone and his nose nuzzling your now-soaked hair. “J-Joon...” you softly beg. He didn’t answer, yet you could hear his ragged breathing, his crotch pressing hotly on your back. “Please,” you impatiently murmur. “Hmm...” Hums Namjoon, feeling his lips on your temple. “Please let me see you,” Your voice almost breaks. It’s been a week since you last saw him, his absence certainly overwhelmed you achingly.

His lack of response drives you into frustration. Then he swiftly spins you around, his hand on your hip pushes you further until your back is pressed flat on the cold tiled wall. Palms planted on either side of your face, entrapping you.

Your mouth left agape at the sight of him. His soaked white dress shirt, clinging to his torso like a second skin, further accentuating his lean body, his dripping wet slacks evidently showing the bulge of his arousal. Your mouth instantly waters at the sight, suddenly wanting to feel it under your touch, have your mouth and tongue taste him.

But you were too nervous to initiate a move. He continues to torment you under his wanton gaze, as if challenging you to protest against his captive. His eyes then roamed over the length of your body, feasting the view beneath his lashes, “Beautiful.” His fingers caught your chin, tilting it so he could look into your eyes.

His mouth draws nearer, until it lands on the wet skin of your cheek. He mumbles against your skin, “You have no idea how much I missed seeing your pretty face. Did you miss me, sweetheart?” Your eyes closing shut, nodding. “Yes,” You manage to say, while finding the strength to rub your palms sensually on his forearms that would hopefully coax him to initiate a move. He only hums in return, to your dismay. The running water from the shower head has stopped. Namjoon probably turned it off although it was too late as his whole body is already dripping with water.

His mouth is so close to yours, teasingly hovering over the corner of your mouth. When you ever so lightly tilt your head to the side, your lips caught his supple ones. Your delicate fingers found his cheeks, deepening the kiss. A groan vibrates on his chest, the weeks worth of abstinence has not been too kind for him, and he would undoubtedly break you if he suddenly loses the control he’s been nurturing instead of his desire.

Your actions, however, are doing so little for your own good. To your dismay, he was reacting too little, maintaining a minimal response. “Joon, please...” You mumble in between kisses.

“What do you want, sweetheart?” “I-I... I want you.” You moan, your voice almost failing you from the overwhelming heat of your desire.

The burning ache on his abdomen only intensifies at the mere sound of your begging. “You have me.” He says back in a soft voice, nuzzling your cheek while keeping a safe distance between your bodies. When your hand dares touch his crotch, a low growl rumbles on his chest, swiftly catching your hand on his, restraining your very intention. Tears pool in your eyes in desperation. And as much as you want him to fuck you senseless right this second, the desire to taste him was too intense and stronger to just set the thought aside. “Let me touch you... Joon, please...” His breathes quicken, refusing to entertain your offer. But it didn’t mean his desire is not spiraling wildly, his member twitching painfully the more your pleas feed his ears. His head momentarily threw back, and you use it as an opportunity to shuffle on your knees, your hands quickly found his crotch. Taken aback by your bold eagerness, he hisses harshly as your delicate fingers found his bulge. His intent to drag you back on your feet vanishes as he took in the sight of his naked goddess— blazing eyes returning his stare while hovering over his sensitive arousal. “Fuck, sweetheart.” He curses when you impatiently palms him while your other hand trembles as it attempts to unbuckle his belt. Helplessly murmuring, “Help me...” when you couldn’t seem to do it on your own. At your helpless plea, Namjoon quickly came to rescue your little dilemma. No more than a second, his large hand swiftly unbuckles his belt, your hand greedily undid his buttons, and tug his boxers enough to release his hard member. A gasp falls on your lips, taken aback at the sudden jolt of his thick cock against his stomach before your eyes. Surprise at the size of it, your insides clenches achingly, wondering how it had fit inside you before. But realizing why his entrance burns your insides despite your wetness, his huge cock filling you would extremely stretch your walls to fit himself.

You have seen it so briefly before on your first night together, but you haven’t had the time to admire it as Namjoon took you so urgently.

Your mouth waters at the sight of a glistening pink head, your cold, delicate fingers coming in contact with his slick member to wrap themselves around his thickness.

The subtle touch of your fingers felt too good. If it’s possible, his brown eyes only grew darker, that they are almost black now. Your mind is in shambles as both of your hands gently pump their way up and down his length.

His hips stutter at your ministration. As Namjoon falls into a state of euphoria, his head is thrown back, palms glued on the wall behind you to prevent his strength from crumbling. Drawing your lips near, your tongue did an experimental lick at the glistening pink head. The harsh intake of breath you heard from him coax you further, swiping the underside of his length with your tongue before slowly taking him in your mouth. ”Fuck!” He growls so sexily at the feel of your warm mouth. You felt his cock twitched, hips bucking at your warm, inviting mouth. Then you suddenly felt your bun loosens, followed by the pull of your hair as his fingers thread into your soaked hair.

“That’s it, pretty slut.” He breathlessly praises. He draws back before filling your mouth full again. His sensitive tip touching your throat has you moaning rather erotically which only turns him on further.

He is huge, and despite willingly taking him down to your throat, the length of his cock couldn’t possibly fit all inside your mouth. Your eyes closing for a moment, suppressing the urge to choke.

“Such a good little slut for me, aren’t you sweetheart?”

Namjoon’s grip on your hair tightens, manipulating the pace to his desired speed. You didn’t care, because his pleasure matters to you more at this point.

When he glides his cock back inside, you hollow your cheeks just in time, tight enough to have him nearly gasping his next breath.

You let him fuck your mouth slowly, until he picks up a pace. Assaulting your mouth with the intrusion while mixture of your saliva and his arousal continues to leak out of your mouth.

The sounds of pleasure you hear from him only intensifies your own arousal, your stomach heating up each time your core achingly clenches.

The darkness in his eyes and the way curses recklessly stumble out of his beautiful mouth while you suck him raw takes your breath away. You’ve never seen him this vulnerably clouded in pleasure. And you’d willingly let him fuck you again this way if it means having to witness him this helpless while he chases the feel of your mouth. Your eyes never left his as you peer up from your knees. The more you listen to his pleasure, the harder you want to take him in.

When you felt it twitch again, you deliberately took him deeper until you’re nearly choking.

Namjoon has had his fair share of women— all of whom are experienced, knew their way to pleasure him. But the goddess beneath him—his sweet angel, the woman of his dreams and dirty fantasies unknowingly had him at his mercy.

The addicting warmth and suction of your mouth pulling him further into the depth of bliss. “No, angel—” He rasps in between rapid breaths, wanting to prolong the fire until he gets to fill his favorite addicting hole, so tight, he could already taste the feeling.

You whimper, “No…” You wanted it so much. The thought of him cumming undone inside your mouth is a dirty fantasy you suddenly wish to fulfill right now.

“We’ll save it up for when I’m inside your tight pussy.“ He breathes, pulling you up and bracing you against the wall. Your thighs wobble from your previous position.

His eager mouth captured yours, harshly sucking your bottom lip, teasing it as his teeth gently pierces through your bruised lip.

He could taste himself in you as his tongue thoroughly laps the inside of your mouth. Until he moves down to your jaw, his tongue tracing his tracks down to your neck onto your already purple skin while his fingers found the pink bud of your breast. It was what made you react so sexily, moaning helplessly, burying your fingers in his hair tightly as his teeth punctures the skin then laps the area soothingly.

Your body continues to heat up in his ministrations despite the cold atmosphere in the bathroom, certain that your arousal now visibly pools out of your core to your thighs.

Your fingers hastily unbutton his dress shirt, impatient to reveal his bare torso for your eyes to feast on. But just about you had undone the last button, he crouches, robbing you of the chance to admire his body. His mouth encloses on your hard pink bud, his tongue teasingly encircling on the crown of your breast as his other hand works simultaneously, squeezing your mound inside his palm.

The sensitivity of your breasts adding up to the sensation of his mouth and hand is too much, panting as you struggle to catch your breath. Until his head lowers farther down, tracing his way down with his open mouth kisses.

Namjoon swiftly pulled your thighs apart, hooking your thigh over his shoulder to see all of you.

The mere sight of your sex could already tell how turn on you are, but it wasn’t enough for him. His fingers part your folds, dipping his thumb to feel your arousal. “Ah, you’re dripping, baby. Is this for me, hmm?”

His head lowers more, mouth hovering your pubic bone, teasingly planting sloppy kisses there.

The rapid intakes of your breath did not go unnoticed by Namjoon. A devious grin spreads on his lips as his thumb starts assaulting your clit enough to have your legs trembling from bliss. The reaction he seeks from you were generously poured out of your mouth.

“Yes god. Joon please—” Your hips jerking, needing more friction than what he’s giving. He was quick to restrain your movements, pushing your hips flat against the cold wall. Your whines of frustration soon echoes inside the bathroom.

Namjoon draws his mouth nearer, his nose erotically nuzzling your front sex that you could already feel his warm breath, “You smell exquisitely alluring, angel.”

Your anticipation shortly turns into desperation, continuously sobbing his name. Your heavenly pleas were enough to give you what you want, Namjoon willingly rewarded his tongue on your clit, licking your nub so good your eyes clenched from the sudden spark of sensation.

“So sweet…” he mumbles appreciatively, before sucking the sensitive nub in his warm mouth. The act alone has you panting in pleasure.

“Ahhh! Joon—fuck!” Your fingers quickly found his hair, your grip tightening the harder he sucks and laps your clit. You were drowning in need, darkness fills your vision as they remained shut, focusing on the sensation brought by his mouth’s ministrations. You could feel yourself leaking, and made it easier for him to slide his fingers inside your aching core, rubbing and curling them until you're visibly writhing. Cries of pleasure continue to pour out of your mouth.

“Ah! Joon! Oh god!”

Your beautiful sounds alone could bring him to hilt, his cock painfully growing harder, merely listening to you as his mouth and fingers drive you oblivion.

The painful tug of your fingers on his scalp as they tighten their grasp on his hair signals your forthcoming orgasm.

“That’s it, cum for me, little slut.” He mumbles against your sex, the vibration of his mouth against your core sending you further in the brink, as the knot of pleasure building up in your stomach snaps. You cry out, his name the only thing you can articulate of, as you climax deliciously against his mouth. Hips grinding to ride out your orgasm.

Namjoon greedily lap every bit of your sweet juices, while his thumb strums your clit to prolong your orgasm. He didn’t stop, not even when he hears you whining from overstimulation. He only withdrew his mouth on your core when you finally met his gaze, coming back from your high.

Your fingers raking his wet locks out his face as it keeps the span of his forehead hidden, wanting to see all of his pretty face.

Namjoon stood, his knees skillfully bracing you flat from the wall. He yanks his soaking, white top off his body, discarding it there before doing the same thing to his slacks proceeded by his boxers, revealing his perfectly honeyed skin body. This is the first and only time you had seen him completely naked right before your eyes.

The two of you sharing an expansive closet lets you have a glimpse of his naked torso once in a while, sometimes him adorning a pair of boxers while he selects his working attire for the day. But those times were always short lived, you shying away from staring for too long than casual glances.

From the intimate instances you had with him, you never had the opportunity to appreciate his nudity. Your eyes glint with pure admiration, seeing all of him now in front of you. Your tongue dazedly darted out to wet your lips, feasting purely on his body.

Namjoon yet again found your lips, his tongue unsolicitedly invading your mouth, fighting for the dominance which you willingly gave up. He took your responsiveness as an opportunity to pull your body in his embrace, your legs following on their accord as they automatically weave themselves around his hips over his back, your hands finding purchase on his nape. His very arousal pressing on your stomach has you moaning against his greedy mouth.

Namjoon gracefully carried you all the way out towards the bedroom, completely dazed in his kisses.

He didn’t let go of your lips all the way out, not until he dumps your wet body on the mattress. Namjoon kneels on the foot of the bed, hands grasping on your hips to flip you over.

“On your knees, sweetheart.” He commands.

A sound of what he initially recognizes as a moan tears out of you. He plants a small kiss to your hip, before he hears you object, “No!”

“What—“

“I want to see you,” You whimper, pulling his face closer, fishing for a kiss.

A smirk slowly made its way on his face, eyes darkening at the sight of you helpless in his mercy.

“You want to see me while I fuck you, is that it?” He trails, pulling your thighs apart, crawling his way between your thighs.

His nose nuzzles yours teasingly, hovering over your mouth.

Heaving a sigh in contentment, you nod. “I miss you...”

“Do you, now? Or... you only want to be fucked hard?” He murmurs, mouth ajar as it tormentingly touches your lips.

Your forehead creases in a frown, “That’s not true.”

“I’ve never seen you this needy before, Y/N. Tell me, what do you want me to do?” His fingers brushing wet locks away from your beautiful face.

“Please, fuck me...”

He nods, gently bucking his hips to slide his length on your slit. “Is this enough for you, sweetheart?” You whine helplessly.

“Joon, please… just fuck me!” Plea pours out of your mouth in complete devastation. His warmth doing nothing but fuel the ache in your core as it clenches in wanton need of friction.

You beg more and more, the longer he teases you. Namjoon lowers his head further in the crook of your neck, his teeth and tongue alternately grazing and soothing the sensitive skin. The sensation feel achingly erotic, until he not so gently bit your skin, enough to leave a mark. The mere distraction made you almost forget his tip on your entrance, until he thrusts so hard your eyes closed from the undesired pain, stretching you far too much.

“Joon—“ Your moan stifles, crying out at the painful intrusion. Tears brim in your eyes as his length stretches you fully, your slick wetness welcomes him in a swift but burning entrance. He captured your lips, somehow distracting you from the unavoidable ache of your union.

You almost didn’t want him to move from the burning ache of your walls around him. He rocks ever so gently, eliciting a sound of pleasure from you. The burning ache didn’t subside, but as he prolonged the small pace he started, you became used to the pain, chasing the tiny pleasure that comes with each thrust he gives.

The sounds you continuously emit signals him to keep going, until he picks up a pace. Soon after, sparks of euphoric bliss came shooting within your core, numbing the pain.

Your lustful gasps and his grunts were in unison as you both get used to the delicious friction of your intimate union.

“Fuck! Fuck! Fuck!” You deliriously moan when he suddenly pushes your thigh up on his shoulder, allowing his cock to plunge farther into your warm, tight depths until you’re writhing, your sounds were music to his ears further pulling him deeper in euphoria.

The feeling of your tight walls gripping around his cock is such a sweet, addicting sensation. The deeper he hammers into your core, the closer he gets to chase down the delicious spark of his pleasure. The new angle allowed him to discover the places untouched, thus finding your sweet spot, that has you rolling your eyes in the back of your end. Toes curling as sparks violently shoot through your core, intensifying the knot that holds your desire.

“I’m— oh yes, right there!” you gasp, “Fuck!” Your fingers tightly thread on his hair, mouth greedily seeking his attention.

“So fucking tight, sweetheart. You feel so good around me.” Namjoon growls in between sloppy kisses against your mouth. 

“So good… Joon, please... don't stop!” You sob, getting lost at your pleasure as you desperately chase the end.

Namjoon rolled his hips incredibly faster, ramming through you endlessly making you shudder from the intense sensation.

You could feel it, so close.

The violent pushes and pulls of his hips didn’t stop, rapid plunges in and out of your depths until the pleasure came rushing from the pit of your stomach.

“Joon!” You moan, the knot finally twisting, waves of euphoria shattering through your trembling body.

Namjoon’s hips stutter, savoring the feel of your clenching walls around, nearing his high. “Angel—fuck!” A long, carnal sound vibrates on his chest, as he picks up his speed while your insides tremor at the intensity of your orgasm, ferociously thrusting his cock so fast as he chases his own climax, and shooting his liquid generously inside you. His mouth attacks your breast to counter his sounds of pleasure. 

Your whimpers echo in the room, the post-orgasmic bliss mixes with the stinging sensation brought about by the love bites he generously marked on your skin slowly pulls you back from oblivion, while you listen to your pants and his rapid breathing.

When he finally comes back to his senses, his tired eyes briefly surveys your length. Your body remains still as your eyes are closed shut, chest rapidly rising and falling. Assuming you dozed off, he carefully untangles his limbs off of you to clean you up before tucking you in.

As he climbs off the mattress, your hand manages to grip his arm in time. “No, don’t go.” He hears you breathlessly whimper.

You look spent— satiated even. He could clearly see your eyes as they struggle to open still. He retreats back on the mattress, pressing a soft kiss on your forehead.

“I’m not going anywhere.” He reassures you in a soothing tone. A sigh went past your lips in relief. You gave him a subtle nod, trusting his words.

“I miss you,” You croak, you were just so tired, and sleepy. But you can’t seem to move on from missing him too much for the past few days.

He could see it in your eyes, the vulnerable side of you in the aftermath of the lovemaking.

“I know, baby.” He whispers close to your ear as he strokes your hair in a comforting manner.

His touch, so gentle in contrast to how he rammed you to the hilt minutes ago. It was as if he was cooing you to sleep. Few moments later, your consciousness slowly shrinks, finally succumbing to darkness.

The next moment your eyes open, the first thing they search around is him. His side of the bed is empty. And the moment you dared to move, you instantly felt the ache in your muscles and the numb feeling in between your thighs. Then your eyes noticed a shirt, which you have on. Just by the size of it, you knew it was Namjoon’s but you don't ever remember putting it on before you fell asleep.

How long have you been sleeping?

It was dark in the room, the dim lights supporting just enough so you could see your way through the room.

“Joon?” You call out, looking around the room. There’s no sign of him— until your ear caught a distinct clinking of glass, your gaze instantly landed on the very subject you were seeking for.

At the sound of you calling his name, his head snaps, instantly meeting your gaze as you struggle your way towards the corner of massive room.

He wore a pair of plaid pj pants and a plain white shirt similar to the material that covers your body now. His messy hair tells you that he had pushed back his locks more than once. His isn’t this long before, and you wonder how many regular haircuts he had abandoned to have it this long. With how endearing he looks with his hair, you made a mental note to have your way to stop him from cutting it any time soon.

When you shifted your gaze away as you near the stone coffee table, you saw there on top, a glass container of expensive alcohol, a liquor glass and an ashtray which made you turn your eyes back at him. You didn’t notice the stick in between his fingers right away.

“Angel,” he greets in a curious tone, surprised to see you awake.

“You’re not asleep.” You say, your stare following his fingers as he inhales a long draw through the stick before crushing its end against the ashtray. Smoke coming out of his mouth and nose as he exhales.

His hand caught yours, coaxing you to sit on his lap. His fingers brushing away your hair out of your face. “You okay?” His surprisingly gentle tone laces in concern.

You only nodded in reply, willingly obliging onto his embrace. Your thighs curling on his lap as his arms instantly pull you on his chest, preventing you from falling off.

The lingering smell of cigarette and alcohol from his breath mixed with his natural scent wafted through your nostrils as you find yourself burying your face on the crook of his neck. You didn’t know it could smell this intoxicating on him. As if your core is not literally burning enough from the intimacy earlier, you could feel yourself slowly leaking, core clenching painfully at the thought of his thick length inside you.

His hand rests on your back, the other on your thigh, the warmth in his body enveloping you from the cold.

You tilt your head to the side, “I didn’t know you smoke.” You say in dazed of your growing desire.

“Hmm, does it bother you?”

You didn’t answer. But let yourself drink in his exquisite smell.

You felt his palm soothingly rub your back, “You should rest, I’ve worn you out.” You cheeks heating up on his mere words.

Your lips pressing tiny kisses there, on the skin of his neck.

He stills, recognizing the intention of your sweet gestures. “Sweetheart—“

“Please, make love to me Joon.”

He sighs, “I was not gentle with you, sweetheart, it’s too soon for you.”

His shirt crumples beneath your fingers, “I want you.”

The way you beg him to take you made him forget how he was striving to control himself to fuck you again and again, until his needs are temporarily sated.

He was not gentle and the aftermath of the intimacy surely left traces of pain from how tight your core is. It was the reason why he’s now several glasses in from liquor, distracting himself because it’s too soon to satisfy the urge have his addicting vice.

With your plea, his restraint vanishes so quickly, giving you what you had begged for.

He took you there on the couch.

You were clinging onto him, urging for him to fuck you harder. Your sweet moans, your stinging bite marks on his shoulders, and your warm, tight core choking his cock brought him to the hilt. Cumming in the depth of your insides raw and hard. The thought of you bearing his child briefly feeds his mind as his liquid mixed with your juices gushes out of your core.

The alcohol, being the source of his early distraction, fail to restraint him to fuck you, again. For the third time of the night, you willingly gave yourself in to his carnal needs. Despite the evident ache in your muscles all throughout your body, his touch, his kisses and the pleasure he made you feel were enough to coax you.

The next morning, you unquestionably feel horrible. You could feel your head throb, and the slight attempt of moving made you whimper in pain. The burning sensation in your core is difficult not to miss as much as the ache in your body.

Namjoon is nowhere in sight and as much as you want to come search for him, the blinding light seeping from the floor to ceiling glass wall made it such a heavy task to do so.

What time is it?

You inwardly groan at the thought of missing your classes. You have done it a lot of times before that you literally couldn’t afford to miss some more.

Feeling the exhaustion from your body, you dozed off some more and only stirred awake when you felt something on your face.

With your eyes closed, you know it was no other than your husband. His hand moves from your face to your hair, gently stroking and raking your locks away from your face.

When the afternoon break came approaching, he paid a short visit to the room to check you in. He didn’t come to his office today, shifting his appointments through digital meetings in his study.

He’s been watching you for a few minutes now. Worry creeps into him, the intimate activities must have drained your energy empty. He mentally reminds himself to be gentle to you next time.

“Hey,” Namjoon suddenly hears you greet. His gaze lifted toward your eyes.

A smile slowly spreads on his lips.

“Good afternoon, sweetheart.”

He laughs when you groan, shutting your eyes closed in distraught as you realized it is indeed late.

Frowning, “I missed my classes.”

“You did. Your friend called this morning, I answered the call and told her you’re unwell.”

“Jihyo?“

“Yes. Perhaps, you’ve rested enough?” You nodded.

Unfortunately for you, that wasn’t the only time you missed most of your classes just because you were too tired to get up in the morning.

He didn’t falter the following days. Taking you one way or another. You even thought he would finally be sated with his needs after several days. You’re wrong. Because the more you allow him to touch you, the more he wants to take you shamelessly just about anywhere he can make his advances. “Joon, we’re in the kitchen.” You manage to say as his hand slides inside your sweatpants one Sunday evening. You‘re heating up a pasta that was abandoned several hours ago, starving from fulfilling your other needs. Miyoung must have kept the food in the fridge when she realized the two of you have no intention to eat the supposed lunch. Namjoon tags along, watching you prep the food in the microwave until he decides touching you seems like a better idea. His fingers almost there, where they were earlier on the bed, and if you weren't too hungry and spent, you would probably let him do you here. Your hand grips his arm tight, restraining whatever intention he has. “No one is here.” He insists, lips assaulting the skin on your exposed shoulder. The bulge of his crotch pressing on your back, feeling the evidence of his growing arousal.

A mere slave to his touch, you appeal, “Joon, can we eat first? I’m hungry,” when you feel his other hand sneaks under your shirt. His movements gradually took a pause, sighing in defeat. He kisses your temple before letting you eat in peace.

“Listen, can I talk about something?” Mingyu gave you a brief glance, although he seems to have his focus fixed in front as he drives you back home. “Of course, Mrs. Kim.” He says politely. Your face scrunches up. “I told you to call me Y/N.” That was on his first day, you instructed him to address you by your name when Hanbin introduced you to Mingyu as ‘Mrs. Kim’. Mingyu nods without returning your gaze, “I could, but I’m not sure the boss would be thrilled to hear I’m on a first name basis with his wife.” He could be right. But you choose not to voice it out. Shrugging, “I’m sure he would not mind.” “You don’t want the boss to get mad.” He states as a matter of fact, then adds, “What do you want to talk about, anyways?” You shifted in your seat, slightly angling your body towards him. “So, do you guys know what time Namjoon usually comes home?” He didn’t speak right away, eyes narrow hearing your question.

“Hanbin does not tell me that sort of information, unless it’s necessary. My job is to guard you, anyway. Why do you ask?” There was something in his demeanor that changed, or was it your mind playing tricks on you? “I... Uhm...” You fumble through the right words that could explain your plan, but all you had come up with is a simple reassurance of his participation. “Can I trust you though? You know... not to tell him?” He clears his throat and shuffles on his right earpiece. Your eyes caught it. Is someone speaking on him through it? “I’m not sure, we don’t keep a secret to the boss.” He responds, shortly. Part of his job requires him to disclose your activities and anything related to your safety. Entertaining your antics might put him in serious trouble. Your eyebrows rose. “Ever?” You ask, testing the water. His cooperation would really help you out.

His forehead creases, sizing up your words whether it’s a trap or just some white lies far from a threat to his job. “Are you questioning my loyalty, Mrs. Kim?” The thing is, as the conversation prolongs, it would be difficult for him to avoid trouble, he thought as he fails to understand your purpose.

“No. Just... it’s a different kind of secret.” Your voice falters. If you want to keep a secret, why should you drag him with it? “A secret is a secret. It would cost me my job, you know.”

Your eyes roll as if you don’t know that. He’s not even letting you talk before deciding on his own. You wouldn’t even bother telling him if you don’t need his support to pull off your plan, how will you buy stuff without him tipping it all off to Namjoon’s right hand man. Speaking of which, perhaps, you shall consider tagging Hanbin along in your plan. Heaving an exaggerated, you convince him further, “It's not something bad, will you hear me out? You won’t be in trouble if you keep it a secret. Just promise me you won’t tell him?”

He didn’t look at you, nor made an effort to acknowledge it. “Hear me out first?” You try again when he seems doubtful. His focus was clearly on the road as he shows clear disinterest to listen to you.

“Fine then...” You surrender, crossing your arms.

Silence filled the air inside the car all throughout the journey home, with you frequently shooting childish glares in his direction the entire time. When Mingyu expertly maneuvers the car on the garage, you quickly climb off the car fully intending to ignore him just so you could stir guilt in him because you couldn’t directly admit you need his help.

Unexpectedly, Mingyu catches up with you and suddenly offers, “We can talk tomorrow. On your break.” Then he sprinted toward the flight of stairs instead of usually taking the lift  before you could even process his words. 

He changed his mind that fast?

Out of curiosity, you did try to talk to him again during that night but you couldn’t get a hold of him. And going to the basement where the team camps in could raise suspicion so you waited until tomorrow.

The following day, you notice an unfamiliar guy adorning a similar all black uniform. It does not bother you though since your husband owns a whole agency. However, Mingyu didn’t show up and was replaced by a new one. Although questions start stirring up in your mind, you never really voiced out your concerns to anyone.

When you got home that night, you attempted to wring out an answer from Namjoon. You didn’t need to find him because the moment you returned from uni, he was at the foyer with Hanbin, backs facing your direction. By the mere looks of it, he was sort of giving commands to his right hand man, something you couldn’t properly hear what it is about.

“Hi.” You finally speak, catching both of their attention. Namjoon made a gesture in his hand, dismissing Hanbin while you approached his tall figure.

As Hanbin passes by you, he sends a polite nod to your direction as a greeting, before disappearing from one of the doorways.

With a few steps forward, Namjoon met you half-way, eyeing you up and down. “Sweetheart,” He murmurs while swiftly reaching for your hand, to pull you in for a kiss.

It wasn’t even just a peck. His lips have instantly dominated yours, making sure he sucked and licked your lips enough to have you catching your breath when he drew back. Your cheeks instantly flame at the sudden ministration. You couldn’t even keep an eye contact with him, too embarrassed with how quickly your body reacted to his lips. Unlike you, Namjoon still wear a passive expression, not even a single affected by the kiss. Of course, he did more than just a kiss to you before. Keeping a safe distance from him, you took a step back. “You replaced Mingyu?” You begin inquiring. Out of all the things you can ask, it has to be the very reason for his anger. He didn’t seem one bit pleased to hear you mention your bodyguard’s name instead of asking how his day had gone like your usual opening question during dinner. “I did, should it matter?” He answers with another question. Nervous by the intensity of his stare, you shrug, “I was just wondering why he’s not around.”

It’s true. If Mingyu didn’t promise the talk today, you wouldn’t be this curious. “He’s back in the headquarters.” Namjoon briefly provides.

But the information was too short to rest your mind in peace. Why did he suddenly removed him as your guard? “Oh, okay.“ Something tells you, it’s not all of that. Mingyu’s absence, for all you care, could be anything work-related or personal as long as the boss is concerned. You‘re already aware that Namjoon does not take jealousy too lightly, and somehow you’ve presumed Mingyu will inevitably be victimized under Namjoon’s territorial behavior. The problem is, you couldn’t seem to think of any instance that would make your husband jealous. Unless... Namjoon knows something else you’re not aware of.  “Will he come back here?” You ask further, nervously fidgeting your bracelet while surveying his expression. His eyebrows knitted for whatever reason, significant or not. “No.”  “Why not?” Namjoon cocks his head to the side, his now pitch black eyes strangely spoke with raw emotions you couldn’t tell what exactly is. “Tell me one good reason why he should be here...” He suggests with a nonchalant tone. Unknown to you, his patience is shrinking as he lowers his head to eye you with his tense stare. You didn’t understand what it is for, but you couldn’t help your body as it faintly shudder under his stare. “I’m just curious—”

“How many secrets of yours have you told the boy, Y/N?” Your heart momentarily stops at the mention of your name. Because he rarely calls you by name.

Is he referring to the conversation you had with him yesterday? “W-What... do you mean?” The cold temperature couldn’t even cease the rising tension between you two. “You perfectly understand what I mean.” He answers right away, locking his gaze to you. Making sure you could see the way his eyes flicker with fire. Mingyu told him?

You fumble with words, confused at Namjoon’s anger towards you. “How...w-what...what did he tell you?” “What do you think?” Namjoon returns the question back. And it confuses you more now for how your inquiry has turned into a confrontation, especially that the unnecessary anger is directed at you. You should have not beat around the bush and just directly told him you wanted to surprise Namjoon.

Now, Namjoon thinks you’re actually keeping something serious from him. Did Mingyu really snitch on you? You quietly ponder over, as you recall what happened inside the car. Mingyu was barely participating in the conversation, and the way he responded to you... it was formal, and uncooperative like the usual. The fact that Namjoon knows about it is already a giveaway that Mingyu actually tell-taled. Unless... the earpiece— “If he told you about it, then you would know he didn’t even let me talk, unless he told you something else...“ You trailed. The longer you think of it, the more convinced you are that Namjoon knows something more, just from the look he bears... “We can talk tomorrow. On your break.” Mingyu’s words echo in your mind, once again. And as your brain slowly processes the information, it gradually makes sense to you…

The way he was talking to you in the car made you believe he didn’t want to participate in whatever ploy you have, but he quickly changed his mind once both of you were out of the car. It was not his two-way earpiece. But the car-- Namjoon saw the horror slowly creeping into your face. “You heard, didn’t you...” You breathed. Namjoon heard it clearly, fully comprehending the words you just uttered.

“Something must be in that car, isn’t it?” You press, further.

He is well-aware that you’re not stupid, and you’ll eventually find it out. He just didn’t imagine it to be revealed this way. Nonetheless, his lips only pursed as he remains calm and collected, no trace of remorse or guilt visible on his face. 

His expression tells you he was not bothered by the fact that you found out. You didn’t know how the fire in your eyes is effortlessly piercing his heart. The kind he does not want to see in your eyes. You scoff, “What else—Is my phone bugged?” You suddenly prod, tilting your head up so you could fully observe him through your lashes. His face, however, maintains a straight face. You waited for his answer, silently wishing he would debunk your assumption.  The lack of response only made you confirm it. Fury quickly courses within you, “Why?” Your hands rub your face in utter disbelief. “You have me tailed everywhere by your men, is that not enough?” You spat, resentment slowly clouding your mind, 

”You have my freedom under your mercy, now my privacy? What else do you want from me?”

“It’s for your safety—”

You laugh humorlessly, harshly brushing the stubborn tears on your cheeks. “Tell me, is everything in your apartment bugged? The bedroom? The closet? The bathroom—” “Hush sweetheart, your body is mine and only for my eyes to see.” He was quick to come to your side, catching your arms. You didn’t like the proximity. It makes you weak.

“I’m not your fucking toy! You can’t do this to me!” “Calm down, baby. I love my woman submissive.” He says in a soothing tone. His words as softly as they were spoken hurt you deeply, fueling your ire even more.

You didn’t know how you found the strength to slap him. Your hand trembles, stinging from pain after it meets his skin.

“Find another woman, then!” His face barely turned from the impact, proceeding to address your anger.

“Calm down.” He attempts to console, but it only did the opposite to your ego. You trash your arms out, hating the way he still has the upperhand despite the table being turned upside down. Your strength could never compare to his as you struggle to push him. “You are my woman. Need I remind you that?” Harshly shaking your head, “No! Don’t touch me!” His grip loosens on your arms, and you took it as your chance to sprint off towards the stairs, not wanting to repeat what happened in his office before.

You locked yourself in the bathroom, somehow trusting that this is the only place kept hidden from any prying eyes. Tears uncontrollably flow through your cheeks, face buried on your hands as you helplessly listen at the loud thumping of your heart. If you didn’t pull back, chances are he would have his way to take your weakness in his advantage. The strong surge of emotions you feel cannot even compare to his physical strength.

You’re confused, hurt and disgusted all at once. You didn’t expect how messed up this whole marriage thing could get, realizing you actually know so little of him, of what he does in a living. To think that you have learned to trust him because of the stupid affection you have been nurturing for months, makes your insides twist in fury. Perhaps, it was a spur of the moment thought that you regarded as a wise decision, as anger overpowers your senses. You didn’t understand how it transpired, accordingly. When you quickly packed up a few things put the bag underneath the bed while waiting for the night to progress, Namjoon didn’t come to the bedroom. You thought it helped you leave smoothly.

Little did you know, Namjoon was watching the scene unfold through the numerous cameras simultaneously viewing before his eyes on the screen of his laptop. It was taking all of his willpower to stop you and lock you in his bedroom until your anger subsides, but something tells him it would not do good to cool down your anger.

Funny how the situation unexpectedly turns upside down as he recalls being gutted with anger. Not liking how you so easily open up to others than him. He couldn’t deny the ugly feeling traversing within him when he listened to your interaction with the boy.

As the night rolls around, the burning sensation of the alcohol in his throat becomes addicting, taking more until the ache in his chest numbs.

Jackson’s apartment was the only place you could reach at this hour. Considering Jihyo is staying in the college dorm, you wouldn’t be able to get inside the building for it was already past two in the morning. His place was not even considered a hideout. But at that point, you don't even care if Namjoon comes along breaking down Jackson’s doorway to force you back at home. You only needed a safe place away to think at the moment because you couldn’t bare to see him, yet. And you’re well aware of the effect he has on you. He can quickly cloud your judgement over his will through his mere touch. That’s how bad you’ve fallen for him.

Few days of distancing should enough for you to sort your feelings, if he doesn’t come collecting you himself.

“You okay?” Jackson croaks, seeing you trembling a little. Minutes prior, he was ready to beat the shit out of the person who was smashing his doorbell like a madman. Never would he think it was you of all people.

“He didn’t... hurt you, did he?” He hesitatingly asks, seeing the traces of tears staining your cheeks. Shaking your head, “No. We just had a fight.” “He doesn’t know, right? That you’re here?” You gave Jackson a knowing look, “He probably does by now.” Jackson offered his bed on the first night, but you turned his offer down. You took the couch instead, somehow preparing yourself for the imminent devastation of the storm. Fortunately for you, no one tried to break their way into Jackson’s apartment that night, relieved that everything is still in place or it’ll surely make you guilty for dragging your friends to your problems with Namjoon.

That following morning, you transferred into Jihyo’s dorm, deciding it would be best for Jackson’s safety. Six days insufferably passed. However, it felt longer than that. Staying away had not concluded the fight you had with Namjoon. There was also no sign of Namjoon or his men lurking around the college or the dorm in the past few days. And it bothered you more than it should have given you peace. The thought alone made you realized, you were more affected by your action as you were deeply tormented by the thoughts of him and the possibility that he doesn’t want you, anymore.

Your anger towards him couldn’t tame your feelings for him. Maybe you have underestimated it as a mere attraction—infatuation, even.

That night, Namjoon showed up in the dorm’s doorsteps, to which you had already expected since the first night. But you’re still left surprised, nonetheless.

Your heart painfully tugs, as your chest rises and falls with rapid breaths. “What are you doing here?” Indeed, it was unfair. While you wallow in despair for days, he seems not one bit affected by the situation.

“You will go home,” He calmly orders, his eyes briefly scanning you over.

As ever, he didn’t fail to make your heart thump crazily from the mere sight of him. While you look worse—missing a lot of sleep from trying to balance your studies and your issues with him, he looks stunningly gorgeous, powerful, and unfitting to be in a place like this. “No, I‘m staying.” You insist. “I’m not asking for you permission.” He corrects you in a formal tone, before walking past your figure. “Namjoon—wait! Where are you going?” You panicked, tailing behind him as he immediately finds Jihyo’s room where he scans around the small space. This is barely a room to stay in, he silently thought. “Pack your clothes. I’ll give you five minutes before we go. Unless, you want to leave without them—” You didn’t let him finish, cutting him of mid-sentence. “No, I'm not coming with you.” You compel, determined to follow what you had planned in your mind.

The look on his face is all too familiar, the one that tells you he won’t take no for an answer. “Do not test my patience, sweetheart.”

“Namjoon, stop.” You begin, visibly in distress by the sudden shift of the situation. You are aware he always has the upperhand.

“I want to stay here. Can’t you at least give me that after what you’ve done?” You implore. As much as you miss him, you couldn’t afford to see him yet, or it could break you. “I already gave you space, that’s enough for you.” Shaking your head, “I didn’t ask you to. I left.” You say. His height does not intimidate you anymore, but the way he holds himself now, he seems different. As if he was deliberately trying to make you succumb to him.

“Sweetheart, I had all the means to stop your ploy if I wanted to. I didn’t, because I figured you would need it.” Declares Namjoon, drawing himself closer to where you stood.

You took a step back. “What if I don't want to?” You challenge.

He lowers his head, allowing you to have a glimpse of his dark eyes, silently warning you. “You don't have a choice, sweetheart.”

You let him win, again. Because you were left with no option. You couldn’t think of anything else that you could do to oppose him without compromising anyone, especially your friends. Nothing you could do but to give in for now.

Namjoon already disappeared from somewhere when you entered the living room, leaving you all alone until you hear footsteps nearing towards your direction.

You turn to see who it was.

“What are you doing here?” You warily ask, utterly surprised to see him. How many more surprises do you need yo deal with today? By how ugly the events have turned out, you won’t expect to see him again, or anywhere near the penthouse. He gave you a nod as a form of greeting, before answering, “Working. What else do you think I’m here for?” “For Namjoon?” “Of course, he’s my boss. But he gave me a specific instruction to guard the queen.”

You only gave him a look, although with the obvious height difference, you had to tilt your head up to do so.

Your visible annoyance quickly amuses him. After what happened, he really has the nerve to smirk right in front of you?

“I’m sorry Mrs. Kim, but you look horrible today. You alright?” He shamelessly nags to which earns him scowl from you. “That’s nice of you to say.” You retort, “I’ve been missing a lot of sleep, thank you very much.” He laughs as if nothing really happened.

It’s not his fault, anyway. You don’t blame him for what happened. However, the urge to ask him why he’s back here almost slips past your lips. Only that you remember someone could potentially be eavesdropping to which you didn’t need unnecessary suspicions from Namjoon, anymore.

The conversation was short lived when Miyoung called you in, gesturing for you to come with her in the kitchen, not expecting to see Namjoon sitting in one of the stools in the island counter where food is sumptuously served.

Your footsteps stagger, half-considering to leave the kitchen. However, Namjoon patiently waits for your next move, as if silently ordering you to take a seat.

Heaving a sigh, you did just that, not wanting to stir an argument with him.

Once you sat down across from his seat, he starts placing various food from the empty plate in front of you, until it is almost full that you’re not sure if you can eat all of it.

“Stop... I can’t finish all of that.”

Namjoon pauses, peering at you in disbelief. “You can, it’s your favorite.”

You didn’t like the way he was acting up like he didn’t cause the problem in the first place. You hated how the impact of his action didn’t seem to affect him a single bit.

“I’m still angry,” You couldn’t help but to say.

His serious stare tells you he has no time for a confrontation, but so are you.

“I know, you can be angry for as long as you want. But please, angel, eat the food so I could have the peace. You haven’t been using your cards for your meals, did you intentionally do that to make me worry?”

You scoffed, his indifference to your issue only frustrates you even more. “Why would you think I’ll use your money while I’m gone?”

“You don’t have the means to live independently.”

“That’s not the point here, Joon.”

“It is, when you were not looking out for yourself. You haven’t been coping well… you look a few pounds lighter.” He said in a firm persistence to prove your inability to live well without using his resources.

So what if you were miserable? You couldn’t really force yourself to eat if you didn’t have the appetite to consume food. Either it was because of your distress over the fight or food simply didn’t appeal to you.

Speaking of, you barely touched the food in front of you. You’re not even hungry anyway.

“Shut up—“

Namjoon was quick to cut you off, dismayed by the lack of light in your eyes, you almost look like you’re about to pass out. “Why is it so easy for you to disregard yourself for your pride? If you have been taking care of yourself well I would have given you longer time to mourn in that little cubicle room you call a place.” Namjoon says in a clearly disappointing tone.

The fact that you lost a few pounds in a matter of days bothered him. It took so much of him to let you wallow in despair, he knew that disrespecting your privacy is not right and he understands how it left you scarred with the horrid feeling of betrayal. The same reason why he let you on peacefully for days, until he couldn’t handle it no more.

The short glimpse of you while he had you followed only did more damage to his heart than the peace he was aiming for. A single look from you and he already knew the fight took its toll on you deeper than what he had expected. Your physical state was the last straw to make up his mind to take you back, unwilling or not.

“My pride? You think it’s because of my pride? You think I’m mad because you outsmarted me with your stalking shenanigans?” You echo his words, finally losing the will to touch the food.

“What else is there to be angry about, I told you, it’s for your safety.” He counters back. His mind was spiraling wildly, uncertain how to handle this situation in a way it wouldn’t upset you more.

Namjoon was used to having the control in every situation, a single look from him and no other human being would dare speak further. He used to not care whether he could tear anyone apart with his mere words or sharp glares. He tried it with you and the impact only came shooting back at him, there in the depths of his heart, which no one had been able to inflict him with such raw powerful emotions, enough to make him bend helplessly on his knees.

“That’s the problem! You didn’t even tell me! I was kept in the dark all this time! And now what? You suddenly care about me when you didn’t even consider what I would feel when you gave everyone else something to snoop in about right under my nose?” You accuse, finding the strength to hit him with your words. A moment ago, you felt too empty to even bother a conversation with him. As the remnants of disgusting feeling stirs within you, you now want nothing but to lash out every bit of your anger towards him.

However, Namjoon didn’t want the confrontation this soon when he just had you back home. Though he would not avoid it, he believes now is not the time to talk it over.

“We can talk after you eat, sweetheart—“

“No, we will talk now!”

His gaze pierces straight through your eyes. Although his eyes almost reflected defeat, the aura he carries is so powerful. No one would ever dare scream or say no at him, unless, they don’t value much of their life.

You really are something. Someone who can never compare to him, someone whom he can easily crush in a snap of his fingers— but you’re not just some woman out there. You are his woman, the only one who has bewitched him—not only claiming his heart but also owning his dark soul. If you only knew the effect you have on him...

Silence fills the cold air, shortly. As you look away, not liking the effect he has on you, he quietly seeks for your eyes. He could always see through you—the emotions your eyes transparently reflect. He failed to see any of it when you turned your head away.

He sighs, before breaking the cold silence. “No one can access your phone, you don’t have to worry about it. It is for when… something happens, I could track your location and your digital activities.” Namjoon briefly explains.

There are things that should be left unsaid for your sake. His company has long strayed away from the black market since his father died. But the industry he belongs to will always bear ugly truths in order to sustain the reputation of his company. What he did, to put it into the simplest terms he could articulate of, protection does not only mean hiring people to be your human shields. In this digital age where perpetrators can utilize technology to harm their target, something has to be sacrificed to protect an individual alongside. In your case, it was your freedom, privacy and much more you have yet to realize. He didn’t want you to run away every time you learn something about him or the kind of business he has.

He could not tell you anything else.

“Liar! You’re only saying that to validate your action.” You say in an accusing tone. You got up from your chair, increasing the distance from him as the ambience gets suffocating.

“I’m not justifying what I did whether it’s wrong or not. I would do it again if it means to protect you. When have I not shown you I didn’t care?”

He didn’t mean no harm to disrespect your privacy, but that’s just a part of many things you would have to deal with when you’re married to him. Danger has come along with his name long before he was born.

As he steps closer, you quickly step away. Your head lowering, avoiding his eyes. “W-What are you… saying, you shouldn’t have kept it from me, in the first place. You don’t have to pretend you care. You’re only protecting me because I’m your responsibility.”

His forehead creases, “You are my wife. That makes you my responsibility, isn’t that the same thing for caring, sweetheart?” His hands extend forward to coax you closer.

You shook your head, “No.”

You couldn’t deny that he’s been attending to your needs, being more than just a guardian, crossing the line beyond the role of a mere provider. He became someone you have come accustomed as a husband despite the lack of emotional commitment from him, a friend under the guise of a husband. Even if you wanted more from him, who are you to demand such thing? The mere thought of your unrequited feelings towards him painfully tugs your heart.

Namjoon caught the raw emotions swimming from eyes. To what are those for?

“Have I not shown you enough? With my actions, with my kisses... when we make love—“

“Shut up, you d-don’t know what you’re t-talking about.” You stammer, turning your back at him as you feel your eyes welled up. 

“Then tell me how you feel, I can only take so much when it comes to you. I’ve never felt so helpless when I see you suffer, when you cry. Baby, I was so lost when you left. Tell me what I should do.”

“Stop… you’re confusing me with your words.” You croak, as you struggle to process his words.

The sound of his steps nearing made you still. Your eyes clenched shut, and as the tears stain your cheeks, you quickly wipe them away. Namjoon is so close, you literally could feel the heat of his body. 

“I’m not good at expressing my feelings. But I thought I made my intentions very clear. You don’t know how much I’ve missed you baby, please let me hold you.” Namjoon drew himself nearer, until your bodies are touching. When you made no effort to distance yourself farther, he cautiously encircled his arms around your waist.

You remain still as he pulls you even further in his embrace, nuzzling your hair from behind. You hate yourself for giving in too soon, the moment he has you locked in his arms, your anger quickly melts away. The warmth from his body felt too comforting as it slowly envelops your body, reminding you one again how much it tore you apart when you left. The ache in your chest, somehow, subsiding. You didn’t want him to let you go from his hold.

His nose traces an invisible path on the side of your head, loving the alluring scent of your hair. Softly murmuring just above your ear, “I have loved you since the day I saw you taking orders in that coffee shop. While you made me this crazy for you like no one else has ever done, you’re willing to leave everything. It was that easy for you to walk away and leave me, just like when you left your home for your freedom—“

The hard thumping of your heart is so loud as you cut him. He could probably hear it from the close proximity of your bodies.

“No, that’s not true! I didn’t leave you,” you pause, shaking your head violently to give emphasis on your point. Your heart aches, as your chest felt suddenly constricted hearing his confession. The information felt foreign in your ears, as if you were hallucinating. Is it true? Did he really know you way before you met him?

“I needed some time to think for myself. But I wouldn’t leave. I could never… I’ll always come back. I would come back to you.” Tears instantaneously flow in your cheeks. 

Namjoon spoke no more, as he squeezed your body in his arms, burying his face on the crook of your neck. Savoring this moment.

You in his arms.

You barely had a glimpse of what kind of his life he has, and have no knowledge of half the ugly things he had done. The deeper he falls for you, the more he willingly succumbing himself to your mercy, as if surrendering a dagger for you to destroy him through his weakness.

He silently wishes from the gods above that you would never walk away from his life again, when pieces of him slowly unravels to you through the course of time.

“Namjoon,” you whisper, seeking the attention you unknowingly have.

“Don’t leave me again, Y/N. I can take your anger, scream at me, hurt me— anything. I can take so much from you, as long as you’re right in my sight, the way I can protect you. I’ll give you as much as time alone.”

“Joon,”

“Promise me—”

“Namjoon!” You plead loudly, tugging his arm to gain the attention you want.

He takes a deep breath, confused at the tone of your voice. “Hmm?”

“I love you, too.” You murmur so suddenly.

He stills, hearing the words he had heard you say in his dreams. This time, he was awake with you in his embrace and he was uncertain if he actually heard the words right.

“Angel—”

“I love you so much.” You repeated, with a longing voice, this time you turned to face him. The look in his face tells you all of it. Shock was written all over his face, as if your confession was something he was not expecting in his wildest dream. Between the two of you, his confession of love for you is the most unpredictable thing you heard from him.

You tiptoed, reaching for his lips. He quickly met you halfway through, greedily capturing your mouth. His tongue went past your parted lips to dominate the kiss. You sigh against his mouth, missing the rich taste of his lips.

Nothing else matters now but his embrace.

Note: Hope you all enjoyed this one sjajahahagj 

This turned out a bit longer than what I had initially written only because I kind of included something to introduce characters/details that are part of my upcoming series. 

mintseesaw © 2020

[seancekitsch]

Not to Touch the Earth

this is a prize buck 60s au bc apparently i have enough of an ego to do that

a/n & warnings: drug reference, alcohol references, no actual drug use, unprotected car sex, use of the word daddy, roughness, cult references, orgy references, none of this is even really prize buck canon but yknow we might reference it again for a joke or two. natural born killers reference also

“Some outlaws lived by the side of a lake, The minister's daughter's in love with the snake,” you sing off-key, “Who lives in a well by the side of the road. Wake up, girl, we're almost home!”

You punctuate the end of the verse by howling out the window of the car Klaus was using, voice being swallowed by the vastness of the desert somewhere on the California border. Klaus drove on, trying to remember a time you were ever so free. He figures you probably never were, not sober. Not totally sober like now. He was coming up on three years, you on six months, and your new favorite activity was definitely driving out into the desert, as far away from Klaus’ little commune as possible, and singing songs that hadn’t been written yet and making love on the hood of the car. 

He smiles and looks over, watching you lean out the window bathing in the golden light of the sunset and he has to laugh. Is this just what you’re like in a car? Or is it being trapped in time? Your first week here was spent avoiding any of his followers and trying to talk to any of the universities in San Francisco, but none of them would hire you because a woman with a doctorate was rare, and a woman professor was even rarer. You stopped trying in a fit of anger after one Dean told you your ‘husband was a brave man for letting his wife become so educated’ before offering to let you take undergraduate classes because those were available to women. So you leaned into helping him hide from the Destiny’s Children. You had fun here. You kept each other in check being sober, you kept him from being fully engulfed by the group. You like these people, you just wish they didn’t like you and your partner as much as they do.

But the times when the two of were alone were the best. Klaus loves stealing you away from everyone else and being with you like everything’s normal. He loves you without that twinge of shame you carry with you, without waking up with tears in your eyes and thinking he doesn’t notice them. You haven’t been crying or hiding it from him here. He loves how goofy you allow yourself to be, the way you don’t constantly hold yourself back.  He remembers back on earlier today, when you’d snuck up on him, licked a warm stripe up his neck and sang lyrics from the very song you were piecing together now.

“Not to touch the earth, not to see the sun. Nothin left to do but run run run,” you sang, only for him.

“Let’s run.”

You didn’t have to say it again before he grabbed the nearest set of car keys and was swatting at your ass to get you running for the passenger seat. 

You feel the hot air hit your skin, and you can’t remember a time you ever actually liked the heat. You never saw yourself even visiting southern California. Sobriety re-introduced you to the cold and you greeted her like an old lover. You like your cold weather and your jackets and your fucking hospital socks you stole and stockpiled which now didn’t even exist yet. But the heat here is different, it kisses your skin like Klaus does, frees you from the burdens of life fifty years from now. The heat is a reminder that you don’t have the struggles you had in 2019, the heat is a reminder you can rebuild yourself. You know you have to go back sometime, but you can be selfish and steal this time with Klaus. You squint into the setting sun on the horizon as Klaus makes the car slow, then veers off the empty road to park. You’d have the moonlight soon, which meant a cool night with him all to yourself. By the time he walks around to your side of the car, he blocks the sun from your view. Your eyes trail up from the tip of that ugly fucking beard he’s got growing to his chin, to his lips. To the grin he sports, saves only for you.

“Do you think they’ve noticed were gone?”

“Why? Worried Keechie’s missing you?” you snort.

“Keechie? God, no. Although, if I were you I’d be worried Madelaine was getting lonely by now”

Right; you were hiding from two members of the group in particular. Your first mistake was attempting to have sex in a five mile radius of the group. You didn’t think they’d barge into your tent and invite themselves to join. But, ever the adventurous and slightly stupid, you let them. Now two of the four that had been in your tent  were trying to recreate that moment again.

“Not my fault I rocked her world. You jealous, Prophet?”

“At first I was impressed because I didn’t think you swung that way, but yes. Yes, terribly.”

That probably isn’t much of a joke. Sobriety put a bit of a possessive streak in Klaus, and as much free love is flowing, it’s nice to feel like you belong to someone. And you do belong to Klaus, in every way that counts for your group. But you’d struck a chord with Madelaine and now shes creeping in on Klaus’ territory.  

He pulls you from the car, literally pulls you. His hands come up under your armpits and lift you from the car window until you can step out of the window and he can lower you down onto the sand. He’s thankful you’ve learned your lesson, as the last time he did this you weren’t wearing sandals and burned your feet on the sand. He bends to let you pluck the wide brimmed hat from his head and you place it on your own as you walk to the trunk to fetch a blanket. Dancing, not walking, he thinks. The way you walk is more like dancing. You grab a blanket from the trunk and sit with him until it’s night. You sit with him close enough to reach out and touch, but not quite. It’s in these moments you can close your eyes and perfectly imagine you’re back in your studio apartment with him, listening to the record player and sharing a bottle of wine, thinking about the narrowly avoided apocalypse and job hunting for him. You can close your eyes and imagine inviting his siblings over to crowd your apartment for a loud night of laughing and take out. You can hold his hand and think of how very little space the two of you took up in the world and how comforting it felt. 

When you open your eyes again it’s dark. Perfect. Night falls quickly in the desert. You look over to see Klaus equally as relaxed, an easy smile painted across his entire face, worry lines smoothed away.  He hums a song you recognize.

“Sweet Jane? Don’t you think that’s a little too ‘Mickey and Mallory’ for us?”

He hums a little more of the song before he answers.

“I was just thinking if we mixed blood in a wedding ceremony our paramours would leave us alone,” there’s a hint of something dark in his eyes, “Now get on the hood.”

It’s the way that he says it, low and commanding, that has you jumping up onto the hood of the car and eagerly arranging yourself in a provocative pose, legs splayed and leaning on your arms to arch you back a little, just to entice him even more. That’s all part of the dance, and here more often than not he leads. He commands and positions you the way he likes it and rewards you in kind. He actually looks a bit like a god figure or a superhero the way he saunters over to you in the dark and crawls above you onto the hood, sandal clad feet standing on the grill so he has more leverage for what he has in mind. 

“Now, are you ready for Daddy?

You have to snort at that.

“Daddy? If anyone is daddy here, it’s me babe.”

He grips your bare thigh, just above the knee, then gives it a little warning slap. Not hard, just a little more than nothing.

“I don’t think you’re in the position to call yourself anything besides what I feel like calling you, doctor.”

Any retort to that comment, which honestly stung a little, died on your tongue when a low growl rumbles from his throat and his mouth connects with your stomach, biting at the cloth of your tank top and the skin underneath. You sink back down and stare at the stars, whimpering as you count them and let Klaus tease you as he undresses you. 

“If you were the prophet I’d be entirely devoted to you,” He says as he pulls your shorts down your legs, “I’d follow you everywhere on Earth, I’d do anything you asked of me.”

“Don’t you already?” you laugh.

“I do,” He confirms, “I do, I do, I do” and punctuates each confirmation with a little nip at the inside of your thigh, the same one he had just slapped. The beard he’s been growing out tickles as you squirm beneath him, hands roaming wherever they wish but solidly keeping you in place for him. You think back on your first time with him, how eager he’d been to please, how you wanted to be the one he was pleasing, and how far you’ve come together. His fingers wind up your legs like ivy on an old statue and pause at your underwear, teasing for a moment, before pulling them aside and plunging two fingers into you without warning. He pushes them in deep, scissoring them back and forth a few times, before pulling them back out, and sucking on them. If youre moaning or swearing, you can't hear yourself. An appetizer for a meal, or something equivalent of that. The delighted moan that echoes from his throat as he sucks you from his fingers sends shivers up your spine, just knowing you're in for it tonight. Propping yourself up on your elbows, you dare to meet his eyes, dark and stormy and hungry for you. He has the audacity to give you his sweetest smile before roughly pulling your underwear away from your body and heavily dropping his knee onto the car hood between your own. Klaus himself is intoxicating, you didn't need drugs or alcohol. It was so easy for him to consume your senses, and you readily let him. And when he finally kisses you, you feel yourself drowning. Really truly drowning. The way his tongue dances with your own has you gripping his shoulders like hes the last rock before a riptide pulling you under. It takes him no time at all to have his pants undone and to be grinding himself against you. This is a glimpse of the Klaus of 2019, humping against you and gently whimpering into your mouth. But quickly he pushes that away, lining himself up with you and pulling back enough from you to make eye contact as he pushes himself in. No matter how domineering he could be in the 60s with you, he makes sure to look at you, to ask those silent questions, to be granted that permission to absolutely take over you.With each thrust, long and deep, punctuated with a needy moan, he takes a little more of you. And you willingly let him, and give him everything you can. 

You probably look like one of those renaissance paintings beneath him, as he thrusts hard deep fast, your breasts exposed like all of the biblical women, your body contorted on the hood of the car, like one of those angels in anguish. There was no where for your hands to find purchase that wasn't Klaus, so your hands are far up behind you, palms planted on the windshield to give yourself a better angle, a better arch of your back for Klaus to wrap his arms firmly around you, so he could kiss your chest and the long expanse of your neck and shoulders while he kept his pace. He held you as lose as possible, and for a moment you imagine its just him. You as nothing but an extension of himself, your pleasure mixing and becoming his pleasure. When he got like this, its easy to imagine he didn't have many lovers before you that cared that much about his pleasure. Sure they probably thought he was a fun time, as that was a given, but it was probably rare someone actually cared about what he was feeling. You like that he trusts you with this bare part of himself. No, you love it. You love-

A deep moan from his mouth vibrates against your breast, you feel it even more than you hear it, and it brings you back to where you are now, looking down at his lust filled, indulgent expression. 

“Keep looking at me,” he commands, thrusting harder, making you almost squeak at the angel he's hitting, “It's just me, and you, and the coyotes out here.”

Your hands scramble to grab the sides of his face as you start to move your hips to fuck back against his thrusts, eager to come for him while hes watching you. Any attempt to praise him comes out as stuttered moans and fragments of words, but there's a devilish smile on his face that tells you he knows what you're saying. 

He pulls one arm from under you, slams it on the car below right next to your head, and goes in for the kill. He’s merciless in his thrusts as he kisses and nips at your fingers that he can reach. He doesnt guide you but throws you off of the cliff into bliss, a scream parting from your lips as he refuses to slow his pace. This more dominant and possessive Klaus is wild, selfish in a beautiful way. In his face you see indulgence personified, a modern Dionysus filling each urge that swept over you. He doesn't let you calm down, doesn't let you catch your breath, overstimulating you as he reaches his own release. He comes equally as loudly, with a shout of your name and “oh, lover” tumbling from his lips before he stills, and captures your lips on his own. 

He kisses you slowly, like he's drinking in the taste of you, holding you still, feeling your skin melt with his. It's hard to tell where he ends and you begin, but you prefer it this way. It's just the two of you in the desert. Just the two of you in the world. There's plenty of water in the canteen, and after a drink to refresh you, you'll be tearing at each other again, just far enough off the road no one will see you. He pulls out of you with a hiss, like it hurts him not to be inside of you, and you find yourself involuntarily whining at the loss as well. He grabs the canteen and returns to put it to your lips, then his own, then you sit and talk of nothing and everything sweet, needlessly flirting and preening each others egos with loving words until you're both ready to go again. It continues like this until one of you falls asleep on the other. This is the desert routine. 

When you wake around sunrise, covered in bruises and hickies, hair tangled to hell, you're wrapped in the blanket from the trunk, Klaus’ shirt used as your pillow. He’s just outside, naked as you are, greeting the dawn. Something about his posture beckons you to join him, and on shaking legs you pull yourself from the car, unsteadily stepping until you can wrap your arms around his torso, his hand reaching to grab for you and sliding over your shoulders. He repositions you so you stand together, not with you behind him. The way its supposed to be. And then the moment the sun is fully in the sky, he greets it by crowing like a rooster. Loudly, freely. You join in.

[drivingsideways]

in search of a better dream

This is about three pieces of South Korean media that crossed my path recently: the dramas Search WWW and Flower of Evil, and the novel Kim Ji Young, Born 1982.

Disclaimer and context : I'm not Korean, I don't speak the language, and I've watched a very limited set of kdramas. The criticisms I make in this piece are not to single out kdramas, or kdrama fandom,  as what I've described exists in Western and other Asian media and fandoms as well.

 Under the cut for length:

There's a scene in the first episode of the hit 2020 k-drama "Flower of Evil" that made me want to quit watching the show within the first ten minutes. The scene goes like this: our protagonists, Cha Ji Won and Baek Hee Seung meet Baek Hee Seung's parents along with their four year old daughter. The occasion is Baek Hee Seung's birthday, and loving wife Cha Ji Won has set up a special birthday dinner for them. On the way to the restaurant, the daughter has already complained about how she's scared of her grandparents, and they don't like her. When we meet the grandparents, we see the truth of this- they are as cold as the Arctic to all three, but especially to their daughter-in-law and granddaughter. In a bid to smooth out the social awkwardness, Cha Ji Won instructs her daughter to greet her grandparents the way they had "practiced" earlier- a cutesy little greeting where the adorable Eun-ha makes a heart over her head and chirps "I love you grandma and grandpa". When this fails to soften them, Eun-ha retreats, looking scared and disappointed. Not to worry, Cha Ji Won has this completely figured out: if you try harder, she tells her four year old daughter, they'll eventually love you.

Reader, I was, as they say, mad.

We find out soon enough that this stellar bit of parenting follows from an abiding principle in Cha Ji Won's life. Her romance with Baek Hee Seung starts when a handsome oppa walks into the family store, and is a saga of her stalking and pursuing a man who repeatedly tells her he's not interested, until he finally gives in. The power of her persistence pays off when the emotionally distant and abrasive man, in a classic beauty-and-the-beast transition, becomes a loving boyfriend, and then later, husband and father. It's a fantasy- some might even say feminist fantasy come true- he's handsome, supportive, reliable, artistic,  the primary housekeeper and caretaker of their daughter while she pursues her demanding "dream" job as a police officer, and they have enough money to live in a charming and lovingly set up two-storeyed house in ruinously expensive Seoul. This is heterosexual female wish fulfilment at its peak, and it is all made possible because she persevered.

It all threatens to come apart with the discovery of the perfect man's dark past- for a brief period, she's forced to contemplate the idea that he's actually a serial killer who's conned her for the entirety of their relationship of fourteen years; that the perfect life was, in fact, a lie.  

However, since this is written and billed as romance melodrama, this horror is short-lived. As the story progresses through increasingly improbable, violent and sometimes downright hilarious twists and turns, we grow closer to the (inevitable) happy ending. Baek Hee Seung/ Do Hyun Soo is no killer, just a traumatized child with a horrific past. The lies are the result of psychological damage inflicted by a society that unfairly deemed him a monster; the cage of repressed emotions that he'd locked himself in needed only the unshakeable conviction of Cha Ji Won's love to be broken open. "I wish you could see yourself as I see you" she tells him, in one of the show's endless supply of tearfully emotional moments, "I wish you could understand yourself the way I understand you."

This framework continues right to the end, when a bout of short term amnesia (!!) has Do Hyun Soo questioning himself and her: do you know, he asks her, when I'm lying to you, and when I'm not, because I don't.  The show answers that almost immediately- it doesn't matter, because it's her vision of him that he wants to be; in other words, he chooses the version of himself that she wants. The horror of the lie was a red herring, Cha Ji Won was right from the start about her husband- all it took was the power of her love and her perseverance to overcome the lie at the heart of her marriage,  to restore it to its previous shape- quite literally. The dream house they built together, which was destroyed by the villain, is shown in the last shots as unchanged from how it was in the beginning. One of the last shots we have of the couple is of them kissing in the artisan husband's workshop, an almost perfect recreation of the first time we see them. Paradise Regained, and all of us- and Cha Ji Won- can breathe a sigh of relief. You, the twenty-first century woman, are the architect of your own fantasy and can have it all. What could be more powerful than that?

 In Kim Ji Young, Born 1982 , a novel published in 2016, and often credited with kickstarting a new conversation about feminism in South Korea, the eponymous protagonist's story is also one of perseverance. It's a starkly written tale, an everywoman tale, a dryly narrated fact finding mission report complete with citations and references, about a woman born in the late twentieth century into a rigidly patriarchal culture, whose very existence is an aberration- her parents didn’t opt for a sex-selective abortion unlike many of their contemporaries when they found that their second child would also be a girl. Kim Ji Young, like the rest of us, grows up immersed in a misogynist culture. Even before she understands it, she learns to work around it and through it, rationalizing the micro-aggressions, burying the anger at the casual and institutional sexism that permeates her life, compromising and coping with it all, and achieving some semblance of having it all: a job, a decent, loving husband, a child. However, it's when motherhood arrives that it all falls apart- Kim Ji Young, faced with the exhausting carework of having a baby at home and another regular, full time job, does what so many women in her position do- quits her "outside" job for her parenting one. Fighting exhaustion and depression, a casually cruel and misogynist remark from a stranger in a park proves to be the proverbial final straw; Kim Ji Young suffers a mental breakdown, dissociating herself completely from her own life, and "seamlessly, flawlessly" taking on the personalities of other women she's known- her mother, her friend, her colleague. The novel ends with a narrative twist that's both horrifying and appropriate:  we learn that our narrator is actually her male psychiatrist. Kim Ji Young doesn't even get to be the voice of her own story; instead, it is told by a man cocooned in his own privilege, who displays the same paternalistic and misogynist behaviour that he correctly identified as the cause of her breakdown.

There is no escape here for Kim Ji Young save that of a complete break from reality. In the light of the narrative that leads her to that point, it feels both inevitable and even more horrifically, a blessing. This is a horror story told as it is shorn of any hope; the ending is death or insanity.

Reading Kim Ji Young, Born 1982 was to confront the familiar and heart-breaking and horrific neatly distilled into 200 odd pages; it's "fiction", but not really. My only surprise was how similar the culture described there was to my own in specifics; how incidents in Kim Ji Young's life were things I had actually experienced myself or seen other women experience, in a country several thousand miles away.

I read this novel just after watching the 2019's Search WWW, a show with a bit of a cult following, I think. Before I started watching it, one friend assured me that I would love it, that it was made for me; another said that  she dropped it because it "rang false" to her at the time. I've seen the show described several times as a feminist power fantasy, sometimes, if the reviewer wanted to demean it, with the qualifier, unrealistic.

This seemed an odd sort of criticism to me- after all, who turns to k-drama romances or really, any romance, for realism? Female wish fulfilment, which is the cornerstone of romance as a genre, whether in books or film, is still written and recognized as fantasy. So what was particularly unreal about Search WWW?

Well, simply put, it is written like the patriarchy doesn't matter, and has never existed.

The three female protagonists are all in their thirties, in powerful positions in their careers. As such, they are constantly walking into meetings where women speak more than 33% of the time. There are men in the room, but they never outnumber the women, and they don't silence the women.

The interests and decisions and choices  of women in the show- even the lead antagonist, who is an older woman whom we often see casually making beefy young men pose nude for her paintings- matter, not just to domestic and private realms, but to society at large; the antagonist is a power broker whose reach goes right up to the highest echelons of the country's politics; the younger women's ethical choices directly affect the republic's functioning as a democracy.

What about the men? It's not that they've been ignored; it's just that their place in the narrative has been decentered. Do with that what you will, the writer seems to say, as she writes in speaking roles for women wherever possible—every second side character is a woman— I have no time or inclination to justify that choice.

As for romance- it's not just that two of the three romances fall into the "noona romance" category, which is subversive in itself. It's that the power of decision making in these relationships clearly rests with the women.

In the "main" romance track, in a reversal of the usual trope, the woman is the one who is emotionally unavailable, and whom the man has to convince to take a chance on their relationship. What was hugely refreshing was that the reason for her emotional unavailability isn't trauma, that the man has to help her heal from, unlike the gender reversed versions we often see, eg in Flower of Evil. Instead, it's a difference in perspective that has its roots in the years of experience she has compared to him; it's the difference in life perspective of a twenty something man, and an almost-40 woman. She considers the implications and possibilities of entering into a relationship with a man who wants marriage and kids, while she doesn't want either and is unlikely to want them in the future. She thinks through it, and sees the pitfalls of it, perhaps all too clearly. In the end, when she makes a decision to commit, it's with the understanding that she's choosing to live in the moment, that he makes her happy; that they make each other happy and it is worth something, even if it doesn't last.  But both of them understand that her happiness is not centered in him or their relationship being successful. The other two romances end on a similarly open note- the possibility of love with the man you just divorced, but there's no hurry to get there; and a long distance relationship that may or may not last the two years of military conscription the man has to undergo.

The happily ever after in this series is not the perfect heterosexual family unit; it was always going to be the complicated, thorny and intense queerplatonic relationship between the three women, who, in the end, literally drive off along an endless open road under a blue, blue sky, to "a place with no red lights", as one of them describes it.

For a week after watching Search WWW, I wandered around in a daze. How did this show get written, I kept asking myself? How did it get produced? Aired??? What magic was worked to put it in my eyeballs, and how can it keep happening?

That feeling intensified when I read Kim Ji Young, Born 1982. But the book also provided the answer, at least to the first question. Because it is Kim Ji Young's voice in Search WWW. This is the fantasy that Kim Ji Young would have wanted to live in; a society and a life where she's seen as a person, entire, and it's not something she has to fight every day for. The gigantic leap of imagination that the writer of Search WWW took was only because that fantasy has been yearned for, in a way only a person growing up in Kim Ji Young's world- our world- could.

"Flower of Evil"- and other dramas like it— are also, undeniably, products of this world. It's unsurprising to me that in many ways, Cha Ji Won's little fantasy domestic world in Flower of Evil, on the surface, looks exactly like a post-feminist world. If the real revolution is men doing housework and childcare, then that fantasy has already been achieved on the individual level for Cha Ji Won. Sure, she's the only female member on her squad, and maybe the entire police force, for all you see women in her workplace. Sure, the other female characters with speaking roles exist mostly to be tortured for manpain by the narrative or literally by men as part of the plot. She seems to have no friends outside of work, which means that all her friends are men. As for relationships with other women, except her mother, who exists mostly to share the burden of childcare, and her mom-in- law who turns out to be an evil sort herself, there are none. When she meets her sister-in-law, the entire scene gives off a strange catfight vibe- her sister in law is the only other woman who can legitimately be said to have a claim on knowing the real Do Hyun Soo, and Cha Ji Won's reaction is to deny that claim and tell her to buzz off, basically. "I'm his family now" she tells her sister in law, "He has a wife"; firmly establishing the primacy of a heterosexual romantic relationship over all others.

Her "dream" job means nothing much despite the work she has put in to get it; for most part of the narrative she ends up betraying every professional ethic and her squad- her only friends. Of course, she is easily forgiven for it, without doing any of the work to earn that forgiveness, but that's really because who has the narrative time to develop those relationships which do not matter, like her work, which is shown up for the narrative prop it is, just like her daughter?  Even her sociopath (but not really, poor baby) husband ends the series with a tentative sort of friendship with a person he's not married to, but not Cha Ji Won, whose entire world by the end of the series has narrowed down to the four walls of her perfect little house and her perfectly-rescued husband. "I can't be happy if he's not happy," she tells her mother, who suggests that maybe it's time she let go of her not-so-perfect husband. "So please accept him."

In the end, the fantasy is based on this : self-improvement as the winning strategy, not structural change. Try hard enough and you'll get what you want. In the fine print, easily ignored: as long as what you want falls within the bounds of heteronormative patriarchal standards. It's an attitude that is passed down to the next generation; Cha Ji Won's early conversation with her daughter is an example.

The writer's vision is clear- what could have been an interesting and intimate look at our deepest fears in a relationship- that the other person will see us for who we are and horror-struck, leave; or even a deconstruction of the heterosexual woman's fantasy of The Perfect Man, is instead a tired repetition of the Beauty-and-the-Beast trope. You can dress it up and put a gun-toting, career woman wig on it, but that disguise falls apart pretty quickly. Cha Ji Won openly states not once, but several times, that she would rather live the comfortable lie; it's only when even that isn't an option- and not because of her choice or agency, but circumstances and the man coming to a decision, that she begins to let go. But only for a little while- barely ten minutes in show time- because ultimately, this is a female wish fulfilment fantasy, isn't it? Her longsuffering perseverance is rewarded when he decides to mould himself to her fantasy version of him, and the past is erased, and time reset, complete with soft lighting and soaring soundtrack.

Some love stories are horror stories, but others are horror stories masquerading as love stories. Why are we so often sold the latter, and so accepting of the narrative gaslighting? When I look at the popularity of Search WWW vs Flower of Evil, I feel bitter despair and quite a lot of anger. Why do so many women- and it is women, who are producing this work, for women, primarily (I mean, romance, as a genre)- settle for so little? It's the twenty first century, I think, why are we still here, I rage, gnashing my teeth, and indulging in the vicious satisfaction of giving Flower of Evil a single star rating that will make not a dent in its popularity. If we can't demand and aspire to a better class of fantasy, what hope do we have? As you dream, so you will do.

I often think that these days feminism is made toothless because we're shaping it into something that will validate every little feeling of ours;  we don't want to be made uncomfortable by it. But feminism is not meant to make anyone comfortable; interrogating your own desires and pleasures is as much a part of smashing the patriarchy as fighting for fundamental human rights like bodily autonomy.

I guess, in the end, what I want to say is this: for the love of sanity, dream better.

[greekbros]

"greek-Bros: The Return of an Old Enemy"

Chapter 9: The 'War' Room

It was approximately high noon, the Dionysian Games were at their peak, all was well for the residents of Delphi except for one. Dionysus was in his competitors tent near the game field, explaining to Hermes the whole situation. Dionysus had agreed to a challenge that had now put Delphi and Ariadne in a compromising situation, if Ares won the joust he would take everything from the land to sleeping with his beloved wife.

Dionysus was laying on a pile of pillows, deeply remorseful of his string of terrible decisions. "I can't believe I would put Ariadne in this situation I really am like dad!", he sobbed, "WHY the fuck did I even agree to this?!", he continued while crying into his pillow. Hermes sat next to him, patting his back trying to comfort him. He couldn't care too much about how it all happened but he had an idea on how he was going to help.

Hermes laid down on the pillows and let out a relaxed sigh, he already had the plan all mapped out. "Dionysus, you know very well even if Ares does win...I'm not letting him screw you and Ariadne. By the way....is he using his OWN horses for this?", he asked. Ares's chariot was pulled by a trio of horses that would be best described as literal Night Mares, these mystical fire breathing war horses are fast, aggressive and can pull a lot more than Ares's weight.

Dionysus turned, sniffling, "....I'm not sure why?", now he was curious as to what Hermes was planning, "why? What are you going to do?". He was desperate to find some way of winning. It would be devastating if Ariadne found out she was going to be a prize for Ares and lose her kingdom let alone have her husband lose a challenge he decided to enter.

Hermes gave a smirk, inspite of current events he always knew how to make time for anything. "Well, I remember correctly....his horses are pretty tough....if he is using his horses, I could let them out....replace them with some of the horses from here.....I mean...how does wine effect horses.... especially ones that....breath fire?", he asked with a sly grin. He leaped up, pacing back and forth. "We could.....get him drunk, throw him off his game...or...we can go a little more further.", he turned to Dionysus for some approval.

Dionysus was catching on with Hermes's plan. He stood up, "...yeah.....I see where you're going with this....yeah.....but how are we going to get the horses to drink the wine? I mean....you can't just lead a horse to water....also....what if an animal that BREATHES fire....wine is flammable you know...". The two were brainstorming, thinking of ways Ares could be sabotaged. Their brain power would get a boost in the form of someone outside. The two heard the familiar but eloquently frustrated voice of Apollo, demanding to see Dionysus. Dionysus rushes to the tent entrance and opens to see Apollo, talking to one of the satyrs guarding the tent. "Hey man how's it hanging?", Dionysus chimed.

Apollo turned around and the look on his face spoke a thousands that all could translate to "What the HELL did I tell you?!". He marched towards Dionysus, pushes him gently back into the tent to yell at him. "WHY IS THERE AN EVENT GOING ON?!?", he shouted, "I thought I told you to hold off on any parties or anything to make sure the people are safe from what's been going on!". He almost couldn't believe that Dionysus would go the point of risking the Delphians for the sake of having fun.

Dionysus slunked into himself like a turtle going into his shell. "W-well Apollo ol'pal...ugh....wow you are NOT going to believe what else....ugh...Ares is here too....aaaaaand I'm in trouble.....more specifically.... Ariadne is in trouble.", he tried to soften the news but even he knew it wasn't going to quell Apollo's mild fury.

Hermes stepped into help in his own way, "Yeah Dionysus bet his wife, Delphi itself and his patronship of Delphi to Ares if he lost.", successfully making the situation far worse. Apollo's usually fare glowingly pale face was slowly glowing a burning fiery orange with anger, it became hotter in the tent, melting any wax candles and drying any leaves from fruits inside. "Come on Apollo, are you really going to get mad inside of this highly flammable tent with your two favorite brothers in mine?", Hermes charmed Apollo. The hot glow dimmed back into the cooler pale tone he usually had, he knew no matter how angry he got it would be pointless to lose his temper.

Apollo took a deep sigh, sat down to further collect himself. ".....ok...now...what do you plan on doing then?", he asked. He could see both Dionysus and Hermes had a plan, and he knew he wasn't going to like it. "Oh good....it seems you both have something cooked up.", he begrudgingly assumed.

The two stood there looking at Apollo, Hermes walked to a table that had a bottle of wine. "Let's just say, Ares isn't going to drive his chariot straight if his HORSES have been drinking....oh..ugh....DID you see his horses?", he asked. Apollo nodded 'yes', so unfortunately, the plan of forcing Ares's horses to drink the wine would pose a challenge. "Ok, so....we will have to feed the horses something else....spiked fruit?", he suggested. The two looked at Hermes, both couldn't argue against the idea yet they found it to be a usable one.

Dionysus chimed in, "yeah I think I have some marinated apples somewhere. We could feed it to his horses if they don't drink the wine.", he left the tent to look for some at a food tent nearby, leaving the two brothers alone.

Apollo knew that Hermes wasn't here just to enjoy watching Dionysus's fake Olympic games, he had been watching what had been going on in Greece. "Hermes, now that we're alone. What have you seen as of late? Is what I've heard from Artemis true?", Apollo was referring to the wolf man that Hermes and Artemis had encountered. He had recently come in contact with Artemis, whom had come to him to ask about Zeus's whereabouts.

His mischievous demeanor calmed into a somber awareness. Hermes took a deep sigh, he got distracted with Dionysus's issue. He turned to Apollo, "yeah, it was pretty freaky...the thing didn't die on the first shot either. I haven't seen them appear during the day though. I think these creatures only come out of night.", he took off hat hat and scratched his head. "Dionysus was getting a lot of complaints....guess people here can't stand still for long....I can see why he caved in, he doesn't want to disappoint anyone....I can relate, buuuuut honestly the whole situation feels weird.". Hermes felt mildly uncomfortable about his encounter, he had been so use to seeing things die and stay dead, that it had never occurred to him that something could reanimate.

Apollo's stern face loosened up, "Well.....he always seems to listen to his mortal citizens more than me so I'm not sure why I always act surprised.", he relaxed a little but noticed Hermes a little bit worried, "Are you ok? Artemis did mention you didn't take too well to the.... creature.". He could see Hermes look like a someone who saw something he shouldn't.

"it's ok", Hermes replied, "....I just prefer dead things to be dead....that's all.". He turned to the shuffling tent wall and sees Dionysus come in with a jar of fruit pickled in wine. "Ah perfect Dio, I'll take the fruit and wine. Wait here and I'll handle the rest.", Hermes took the jar and an amphora of wine and jetted off, leaving Dionysus and Apollo in the tent.

Dionysus turned to Apollo, "sooooo........ugh....hehe, have you seen the games? Man the folks out there are having fun.", he tried to make it as if he wasn't caring about his dilemma but there was no point, "man I fucked up big time..... fucking Ares, the asshole.... should have asked for someone who wouldn't want to fuck Ariadne.....man I'm a terrible husband.", he slumped on to a pile of pillows. He was still worried about the joust, he was worried about losing Ariadne's trust in him, and above all he was worried if he resembled Zeus in the worst way possible. Dionysus let out a deep sigh, "guess I really am my dad's kid..."

Apollo could hear the hurt in Dionysus's voice, he got closer to him and placed his hand on his back. "Look, you messed up even for your standards.....but you're not a terrible husband, you two are young newlyweds, you've been married for a short amount time and mistakes happen.... don't be THAT hard on yourself. There's still time to fix things....does she know about the bet?", asked Apollo.

"No...she doesn't....and I don't want her to know about ANY of it. If I lose, I lose everything that's important to me....if I win...well...I have yet to see Ares be a good sport about losing....for all I know he'll tell her out of spite", Dionysus replied.

"Oh come now, Ares is a difficult person for sure and he's unbarable at times....but I doubt he will be that level of cruelty. Maybe he was just exaggerating...after all the man is the father of Fear and Terror himself, he would know a thing or two about making people fear him." Apollo reassured him. "Plus, I have no doubt Ariadne would forgive you. You've done quite a lot for her if you remember, she knows you love her and you'd end the world for her.", Apollo hoped his words would at least inspire Dionysus not to consider himself a failure of a husband. After all, he along with Hades, have seemed to have rather successful marriages and to compare one's marriage to Zeus's marriage is surly a blow to one's heart and soul let alone their ego.

Dionysus looked at Apollo and smiled, "....thanks....but I just don't want to mess up anyway.", he got up and took a quick peek outside to see how far into the games the people had gotten through. Unfortunately time wouldn't be on their side, it had seems the Delphians had gone through the whole games and have already started giving out makeshift medals. "GAH! THE GAMES ARE ALMOST DONE!", he loudly panicked, he ran towards the set of armor that he set aside so he can put on for the joust, "OH GODS IM FUCKED! Hermes better be done with what he was doing!", he quickly put on his armor.

"I'll go and distract Ares then, see if I can change his mind about the bet, good luck out there Dionysus.", Apollo quickly left Dionysus in the tent.

"Bye see you later.", Dionysus responded.

Elsewhere, Hermes was at a temporary stable where the horses for the joust. Hermes snuck into the stables in hopes no one noticed him. He looked around and could see Ares's three huge, scary looking chariot horses, he slowly tiptoed to them. The horses noticed his presence, these weren't friendly horses, these horses might as well have been the horses of straight from King Augeas's stable. Hermes took a bowl and pored the wine into it, he raised it to the opening of the stable up to the three horses. In a whispered voice, "...hey there buddies, you want something to take the edge off? Come on, it should smell irresistible.", Hermes was hoping the sweet smelling wine would attract their attention, one of the horses did I fact take a sip from the bowl. It drank the whole thing in a few sips, letting out a loud delighted whinny.

"Hehe, perfect.", Hermes poured another bowl to see if he could give more wine, the same horse drank the wine while the second horse became curious and took a few sips as well. Now all was left was to get the third horse hooked on the wine, but the third horse was different, this one was a stubborn mare that lead the trio while they pull the chariot. She wasn't going to fall for the wine as easily. Hermes took a quick peak at the mare, "c'moooooon, what gives?", he could see she was all the way in the corner, glaring at him while her brothers fought to take the last few sips. As Hermes poured the last of wine into the bowl, he went to take out a wine soaked pealed apple from the jar. He gently tossed to the mare, the other two horses could smell the wine on the apple and tried to go right for it, but the mare reared her head, snorting aggressively. The two other horses stopped, the mare sniffed the apple and took a small nibble.

It took a few seconds for the mare to understand why this apple was spicy, however, she seemed to have liked the spiked fruit and ate it in one bite. She clopped towards Hermes, intimidating him for more apples, he quickly obliged and held the jar to the mare. She shoved her muzzle into the jar, eating a few more bits of alcoholic fruit. Hermes wasn't satisfied yet, he left the jar with the mare and he quickly ran to get two more amphoras of wine. He quickly began to pore more wine for all three horses, the more the three sipped, the relaxed and tipsy they acted. The three swayed back and forth, bumping into each other, loudly snorting and whinnying.

Plan A, was a success. Hermes patted the three horses snouts, knowing damn well he would never have a chance to do this with Ares's horses ever again. "Ok, bye bye.", he darted off to see what Ares was doing, unfortunately, he was more focused than ever, he was now for some reason practicing using his sword on an innocent tree as if he was going to fight Dionysus to the death. "What the fuck is he doing, he isn't going to kill dionysus is he?", Hermes questioned to himself. He suddenly saw Apollo call out to Ares, wanting to have a conversation with him. "Ah oh, this is going to be good....or really bad.", Hermes hoped Apollo was going to help.

End of chpr 9

[xxisxxisxxis]

Deleted Scene: Gateway Drug

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.

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"Fool Me Once" -- [1987] 

I run a hand through my done-up hair, snagging it on hairsprayed strands, wincing. 

"Thank you for coming today, I know you're busy as busy can be but you made time for this, so, we appreciate it." Danielle tells me me as I sit down and she readies her notepad and pen, switching her recorder on to tape audio.

"No problem." I reply, glancing at Duff in the corner by the door. 

"I know this might be a little strange but I always like to start my interviews off with a icebreaker, if that's okay?" She offers. 

"No, that's fine." I tell her, getting more comfortable in my chair. 

"This philosophy we've been trying to pan out in some of our shoots is the difference between beautiful and sexy, and explore that notion and gauge if people even think there is a difference, so my question for you is: do you think there is a difference between 'sexy' and 'beautiful' and which would you rather be?" 

"Oh, my God, okay." I breathe out, laughing, and she joins me. 

"You said 'okay' so I asked." She reminds me and I nod. 

"Beautiful implies to more than just outward appearance, it applies to someone's soul and their spirit, their attitude, how they carry themselves, how they treat others, whereas 'sexy' literally means sexually exciting which is usually based on looks mostly." I point out. 

"Okay, and I also asked which you'd rather be--or which one you think you are." She rewords it. 

"You sure did, um…" I already know my answer, but don't want to make it seem like I want someone to tell me I'm pretty. "...I don't…" I sigh and she looks like she's dying to hear my answer, and so is Duff. "I'm pretty." I reply and she furrows her brows. "I mean, I think I'm decently pretty. I've been called beautiful before but I still have a lot to work on within myself before I feel comfortable with that. But I appreciate it when I'm called that." 

"And what about 'sexy'?" 

"Oh, no. I'm not." I say it matter of fact, and she looks stumped. 

"What?" 

"I mean, if I try I probably can be but just everyday I don't see myself as 'sexy'." 

Duff's laughter quickly erupts, and I look at him to see his hand on his mouth to stifle it before he clears his throat. 

"Sorry." He mumbles to Danielle when she looks back at him before turning back to me. 

"I assure you, Vivian, you are a very sexy, very beautiful woman." She promises. 

"Thank you." I smile shyly at her.

"Okay, I was wanting to talk about you a little bit because I feel like people know who you are but not much about you other than what's, I guess, painted on you in a certain way, so if you would tell me who Vivian Sixx is." She crosses her legs, brushing a hair from her eyes as she patiently awaits my answer. 

"Oh, gosh, nobody's asked me that, yet." I blurt, thinking for a moment as she brushes my comment off with a small giggle. "Um," Nikki Sixx's wife, maybe?, "to be honest I'm not sure." I chuckle out, rubbing my lips together. And she looks at me like she fucking pitties me. I force myself to save this close-call shitshow, giving Duff another look and he gives me an encouraging thumbs up as he mouths, "you got this." 

"I dance." I let out, and she raises her brows. "Ballet, not stripping." I clarify. "I have since I could walk." 

"You've never considered a professional career in it?" She asks me next. 

"I was going to but then plans changed and I put off school. But I do plan on going back and finishing at some point." I explain. 

"Did those plans involve your marriage?" She questions and I chuckle a little. 

"I got pregnant--or I thought I got pregnant. It wasn't until after we got married that I found out it was a false positive." I admit. "And I'm sure people are going to say that I was never pregnant, that I was just trying to trap Nikki in a marriage but that's bullcrap because nobody can 'trap' Nikki or make him do something he doesn't want to do, so..." 

"I can’t see him doing anything he doesn’t already want to do.” She agrees with a smile, glancing down at her notes before clearing her throat. “On the lines of Playboy, being that some of our executives saw you in the music video for ‘Girls, Girls, Girls’, you were voted ‘easiest on the eyes’ in this past weeks poll out of eighty-two other women.” She informs me and I raise my brows. “Does stuff like that flatter you or do you see it as misogynistic?”

“Well, um, firstly, I’m sure glad you said ‘on the eyes’ because I was about to ask you who started the survey and where do they live?” I reply and she laughs. “So, I’m glad it wasn’t what I thought it was going to be, but, um…” I lick my lips, letting out a breath. “...I don’t think it’s necessarily misogynistic so I don’t mind it, but I don’t really like the fact that there’s eighty-two other women at risk of feeling less-than now.” I admit. “I appreciate it, though. I’ll take it.”

“You don’t like competition?”

“I do but I’m pitted against women constantly in my personal life or the media tries to, at least, and it’s just stale at this point, you know? It’s stupid.” I rub my forehead.

“Are you referring to what’s recently happened with Vanity?” She blurts and I force myself not to be phased. “Do you have any comment on that particular situation?”

I look at Duff once again, screaming internally while faking a smile.

“It was honestly a misunderstanding.” I lie. “I know we’ve already said it was misunderstanding before but it truly was.”

“Have you spoken to Vanity since?”

“Yes.”

“So, you two are still on good terms, even though she told the world she was engaged to your husband?” She presses more and I brush red hair from my face, trying to keep my tears from growing in my eyes as I see Duff from the corner of my eye, looking at me sympathetically.

“I love her to death.” I say, honestly--even though I shouldn’t love her, I do. Even if she’s a part of the reason my heart broke, I still love her. Even if I’m not acknowledging her existence, I love her. “And I wish and pray nothing but the best for her.” I finish and she grins slightly, knowing she’s getting a good story.

"Is she a woman you've felt like you've needed to compete with?" She asks next, her words hitting me in the gut. 

"Subconsciously, maybe, but I've never gone out of my way to compete with her. I've never had to." 

"What about groupies?" She raises a brow. "Or do you care because you two have been married for a while?" 

"I'm sure a lot of women think, 'oh, I'm married to him so I've won', but I've seen guys take off their wedding rings before walking into a strip club or a bar and leave with three girls under each arm--a marriage doesn't solidify anything we think it does, it should but it doesn't so of course there's been moments where I've been pissed off about women doing everything they can to cross a line but, again, I don't wake up every morning and say, 'what do they have that I don't?' in comparison to groupies. They're termites: they swallow wood, ruin homes, and then it's on to the next." I say and she swallows uncomfortably. 

"Does that not contribute to society's stigmatic view on promiscuous women being 'sluts'?" She asks me. 

"Having sex with people doesn't make a woman, or a man, a slut. Pursuing a taken man or woman, knowing they are taken, makes a slut. Cheating on a significant other makes a slut." I state. 

"What about posing for Playboy while being in a relationship?" She counters. 

"Posing naked doesn't make someone a slut." I defend what I said earlier. 

"Just wanted your view on that since you come from a strict upbringing in the Christian faith, is all." She tells me. "Especially since your mother is bound to hear of all this and probably have plenty to say." 

"I haven't talked to my mother in years so if she has something to say but can't say it directly to my face, it's not worth hearing." I tell her. "My dad is the one I'm antsy about all this happening because of." I feel my skin prickle with nervousness because I never gave much of a thought to my dad seeing me on Playboy. 

"Do you have a good relationship with him?" She asks me, intrigued, and I nod. 

"Yes." I say. "I always will, he's the most important person in my life for sure."

"I think we all thought that'd be Nikki from the way we see you look at him in pictures and in passing." 

"Oh," I say it a little flat, a small inkling of a look coming to her face and before I plant any doubt in her mind, I add, "I'm still completely head-over-heels for him but my dad's always gonna be my number one." 

"Does he and your father get along or does your dad keep his distance, too?"

"No, no, he and my dad get along fine." I assure her. "He really keeps his distance out of respect for my mom, but lately he's been more involved, so...but, no, he doesn't have any problem with Nikki. He really appreciates him and all he's done for me, um, yeah, it's really a blessing they get along." 

At least he did. Before he found out Nikki had an entire mistress...on national television…along with the rest of the country. 

"That is very nice." She agrees. "And what about the other boys, do you get along with them as well?" She refers to Vince, Tommy and Mick. 

"Oh, yeah, absolutely." I rub my lips together.

"Is it true you and Tommy and Vince and our very own Tansy Lyn grew up together?" 

"Yes. I met Tommy in elementary school, and Vince and Tansy in middle school and we've been friends ever since." 

"What are they really like? Outrageous news reports, complaints from parents and the church, girls, parties, drugs and booze aside, what are they authentically like and how do you coincide with them and how has being alongside them from the start of their journey, to now, shaped you?" 

"They seem larger than life and it's hard to see them as anything but that, but I've seen them all be so overwhelmed indescribably with joy, and I've seen them all be completely broken and not know what to do, and I've seen them be piss poor and then have more money than God it seems, but they aren't these huge rockstars behind the scenes. They have diva moments, of course, but Tommy and Vince still act just like the boys they were when I first met them, and the same goes for Nikki and Mick. They act out for publicity, and everything in the press is obviously exaggerated but they're normal guys. They're honestly just regular, gross, messy, disgusting, perverted, immature stinking boys--talented, but still normal." I admit. "And I think the effect it's had on my life is just that I've had to mature faster than maybe I would have because it's like I have children. Like I'm constantly going and someone's going through a crisis whether it's Tommy one day or Vince the next, or whatever so keeping them out of trouble the best I can and then trying to be there and as present as I can be when they need me is stressful but it's rewarding. I like helping out where I can and they need all the help they can get so, it's really helped mature me a little more, I guess, is what I'm trying to say."

"I mentioned earlier their reputation within churches and religious groups and I'm curious as to know how you, as a Christian yourself, feel about songs like 'Shout at the Devil' which really got a rise out of politicians and church-goers everywhere, and most recently 'Wild Side'--which is a song that you are an accredited writer on--that's off of their 'Girls, Girls, Girls' album and is a mockery of the Lord's Prayer?" 

"First of all, to clear this up, I didn't write anything in 'Wild Side', Nikki asked what the Lord's Prayer was and I told him and his brilliant mind gave me a writing credit which will plague me the rest of my life, I suppose, but to answer your question...it's 'Shout at the Devil', not 'Shout with the Devil', therefor it doesn't bother me. Now, 'Wild Side' bothers me. A lot. But that's a way Nikki felt when writing it, and I'm not going to tell him those feelings aren't valid just because I don't feel the same way. That's not fair to him, and I'm certainly not ever going to tell him not to express himself and channel how he feels into his work because that's what makes music and art individual and unique. So, it doesn't matter how I feel. If it makes him happy and he's proud of it then that's that and if I don't like it or don't agree with it or find it insulting to my beliefs then I just, 'forgive him, God, he knows not what he does' and just get over it." 

"Do you think there will be a new 'Filthy Fifteen'?" 

"I would say Tipper Gore and her group of desperate, dry, housewives can go get screwed by other men because their husband's are clearly inadequate but then I suppose they can't find bigger pricks than who they're married to, so..." I blurt and she widens her eyes, a little smirk on her lips as she laughs. 

"I take it you weren't a fan of the censorship?" 

"The only plus side to censorship and stickering everything is that kids know what to play in front of their parents and what to save for themselves." I finish and she chuckles some more. 

I talked some more about marrying so young, what it was like being married to one of the biggest names in rock music at that time and so on, all while hiding the fact that once I left there, I was going to go back to the tour, sleep in a separate room than my husband, not talk to the friends I grew up with who were supposed to have my back, and be so completely miserable.

The moment Duff and I leave the room once I've said goodbye and thanked everyone who was apart of the process for my shoot, I feel lightheaded. 

"Viv?" Duff asks me, concerned, and I take deep breaths, bracing against the wall. "Are you okay?"

"Yeah." I lie, nodding a little. "Just tired, I think." 

My voice cracks painfully and my tears are already beading at my lashline. 

"Viv, if you need a second--"

"--No, I'm fine. We gotta go." I deny, making myself walk again before he stops me. "Duff…" before I can argue, he's putting his bass down and pulling me to him, hugging me tightly. 

I give up, knowing that he knows me too damn well to buy my shit. 

I wrap my arms around him, burying my face in his chest, feeling my tears, hot against my cheek, soak into the fabric of his t-shirt as the warmth of his lips press comfortingly to my hair. 

[obsessedwithallthingsbooks]

Cosmere characters on social media

alright guys it’s time for the Important Question: What social media would the cosmere characters use?

Kaladin: you bet his bitter ass is on Twitter. non-negotiable. the politics of it would piss him off, but the man lives for justice. he’d be bringing attention to patreons and such (for others, not himself) and maybe tweet out self defense/medical tips, or about something sweet Syl or Oroden did (or even tweet out quotes from his father). he’d have a campaign against amaram (those tweets are liked by Bridge Four and Adolin). the only reason why he hasn’t tweeted mega angry shit about lighteyes in general is because he doesn’t want to lose his job (in bursts of bitterness he occasionally likes OTHER people’s tweets about that though. he’d feel bad for jeopardizing his code. and Syl might get onto him about it. but. at least they can’t fire him for that). he’d be pretty silent about his depression on there (by that i mean he wouldn’t make posts or draw attention to it, but he’d definitely like some mental health tweets. i feel like shallan would post something incredibly vague about the matter every now and then and he’d like all that) 

Adolin’s cheerful so he can’t be anywhere near Twitter. it would break him. honestly, he’d make pinterest boards. he’d like the organization of it all. being able to have a panel for fashion AND swords???

Vin: girl is reclusive as HELL. i feel like she’d use social media though. I’m surprised to say, maybe Instagram? or Twitter too? insta bc she’s got a girly side, but idk.. i don’t see her as the posing for pictures type. she’d have instagram but she’d like never post. at least, book 1 Vin would never post. Book 3 Vin gives updates of her and Elend on her story and maybe writes a motivational paragraph every couple of months about her own struggles and finding herself. her insta grows with her character development. she avoids celebrities as much as possible.

Vasher: bitter old man is also on twitter. actually, no. he deleted all of his social media EXCEPT twitter. he only goes on there to laugh at arguments. he gets involved maybe twice. opposite with Vin, his involvement declines with his age. Nightblood would prod him to log in, though. if he could, he’d hack in and just type “EVIL EVIL EVIL EVIL EVIL EVIL EVIL.” 

(warning you: i actually haven’t?? read?? Elantris?? yet?? or white sand??? fake fan, i know. i’m waiting for white sand at the library. and elantris is on my Christmas list.)

Shai: Devianartdevianartdevianartdevianart. she’d get blocked from there though because someone posts their art with the caption ‘mine, do not steal,” and she doesn’t, she just recreates it to near perfection and posts it as hers. so yeah. blocked. she’s bitter about it. 

Hoid: man, oh man, would any of our little human sites suffice? jk, he’s on tumblr. he’s got that energy and would be able to take on multiple different personas. now that i say that, Shallan’s here too.

Wayne: Wayne doesn’t have social media, he fiddles with whatever he’s got in his pocket and that’s that.

Dalinar: whatever social media he has, he’s bad at it. especially if he’s arguing. nobody takes him seriously. even Adolin has trouble supporting some of his posts. Kaladin likes every single one though, especially if honor’s involved.

Sazed: the man has a whole blog that only two people read, but that’s enough for him. in fact, he thinks he’s famous until he asks people irl about it and refers them to his blog. when they don’t check it out, he gets dejected, but Vin--and every now and then, with Vin’s prodding--Elend will give his stuff a like.

Siri: she’d be a vlogger. idk why she has vlogger energy, but she does. “hey I’m in Hallandren~, hI BACK HOME! VIVENNA, HERE’S MY HUSBAND. YOU KNOW, THE GUY YOU WOULD HAVE MARRIED! *Susebron blushes into the camera and says nothing*” 

Lightsong: i don’t know what social media he’s on, but wherever he is, he actually gives some really sound advice buried beneath layers of self-effacing sarcasm

Jasnah: she uses Twitter to promote whatever book she’s just published and to call out everyone’s bullshit now and again. also to piss people off.

Pattern’s like a bot. literally no one can tell if he’s actually tweeting stuff out or if it’s generated. he has the same shit recycled bUT every now and then he’ll post about a discovery (which Syl will like and comment on like, “Oh! I remember finding out about MATING, something Kaladin won’t do!”). sometimes he’ll post something about Shallan and.. she was Very embarassed the first time it happened. However, talking to Pattern proved to be a long and ultimately fruitless conversation. Pattern still doesn’t understand why Shallan doesn’t like that, just that she doesn’t. he only talks about it occasionally, now. at least, online.

Elend: Goodreads! He’s also got something on the side--probably Instagram, actually, to be all ‘I LOVE MY WIFE!’ Kelsier. Cannot. STAND. IT. Elend notices that every one of Vin’s posts has received a like from Kelsier. nothing of Elend’s has ever been liked.

Feel free to add onto this!

[kae-karo]

Okay but can you do an analysis of the heart throb video?? bc WE all need that

oh hello dear u bet ur ass i can i mean jfc how could i not what is this nonsense i’m shooketh to my core

thank u dearest anons for expressing literally all the moods on this one lmao let’s go

throbbers dan u are well aware what that sounds like

see the cute thing is i think they went into the vid with the intent of it being like lmao fun cute wholesome which is sweet but like this is dapg they should know better

‘phil’s got his guns out’ nobody asked dan???? i mean we love em just as much as u tho

any time dan says ‘this is gonna be a whole thing’ u know it gon b gay

we stan air quotes around ‘for girls’

‘a whole big box of yikes right here’ did u mean: dnpgames

dan always looks immensely soft in that jumper??

hi excuse me where’s phil’s heartthrob card bc like damn

sned hlep

dan adds ‘apparently’ to stuff when he’s like actually genuinely unsure/uncomfy/feeling awkward this has been a psa

‘choose your favorite on looks alone’ i mean same phil

“‘fast food freak’ that person might have my heart” / “i’m a fast food freak” i mean honestly ‘you and dan are so married’/’it’s a useful thing’ is quaking, i would bang voldemort whomst? idk her

phil absolutely roasting dan, fast food freak and has to be the center of attention i mean we been knew but phil out here exposing him

they both like,,,,,,,enjoy looking at buff lads but wouldn’t actually be like Genuinely into them ofc bc they’re both fuckin noodles and they love each other

‘toot toot hello’ dan,,,,,stop

look boys i know y’all only have eyes for each other but like u don’t have to come up with stories/reasons why every single guy is actually creepy or terrifying

hi i now demand dan posing as bobby and phil posing as richard, complete with the tank top for dan and the glasses/sweater combo for phil

it’s always about the kinks isn’t it

the fuckin yodeling pickle why why is that a reference

dan’s idea of school dancing being grinding and phil’s just straight up like

dan’s ‘oh phil’ catch me fucking sobbing why is he so soft for his man

dan having like a paragraph-long explanation for why he thinks phil chose the person he chose, where phil’s just like ‘lmao p sure u picked this one eh’

OH MY GOD NO EXCUSE ME PHIL U MADE THIS DECISION BC U THINK DAN’S A THIRSTY HOE WHO WOULD FULLY JUDGE ON LOOKS AND PICK THE SEXIEST-LOOKING PERSON

‘the night leads somewhere a nice pg peck on the cheek’ mhm yeah okay lads we all know what ur idea of ‘a night together’ ends with so ¯\_(ツ)_/¯

someone save me why do they have to look This Good

granny is not a reference i wanted or needed thanks bye

i love that they both thought it was cute that richard was a tuba player

and then ofc they went the whole ‘it’s sexual’ route what is wrong with them guys guys guys ik this might come as a shock but not everything is sexual okay

(hi dear anon! basically there’s a whole stigma abt band camp being like where all the teens hook up n stuff just a weird culture thing)

dan sees phil in richard and that’s why he keeps trying to defend all the cute lil awkward things and u cannot convince me otherwise

like if they did another round with ‘who would u like want to marry’ dan would pick richard them’s just the facts

phil’s ‘i’m not messing around/lying/fucking with u (but i actually am lmao)’ face

dan guessing all of phil’s right is a mood i mean that boy has to keep up his phil trash status

dan’s doing that ‘top or bottom, phil’ face to the camera bc it says girlfriend and he’s trying to Make A Point by staring

stop they’re so cute look i can’t

‘that is a game changer’ dan had richard pegged as his endgame but now he’s got a Project to work on with bobby, u bet ur ass he didn’t go into his current relationship feeling like Super Confident and maybe felt like phil looked at him as a project or someone to fix n he never experienced that n so is that his way of projecting or smth idk but i think it’s Very Interesting

‘he’s just a lil jaffa cake’ phil ily but ur metaphors man ur metaphors need some work

twins

the final piece of the richard puzzle: “bumps into walls and trips over his own feet” dan: *internal screaming* oh my god it’s phil

this literally became ‘who do u want, the rich boy with a soft, sensitive side, the awkward but endearing nerd, or the unsettlingly strange guy who’s called ‘the lemon’’ and idk how i feel abt it

i do love that phil knew dan was moved by the ‘never been kissed’ thing

and then dan had to go on a full minute-long explanation for his actual reasoning bc nothing is ever simple with him and i love him but he a complex boye and everything he does he either puts a massive amt of thought into or literally none at all he has no concept of moderation

phil straight up attacking dan ‘u like fancy things boy u ain’t slick i know u’

also phil relating furries to nudism as if they’re at all related i mean same dan same

(his actual reasoning was dan doesn’t like wearing clothes around the flat and that’s the tea)

‘u like his look’ ‘no i mean okay yes but that’s not the point okay’

i also feel like dan’s looking at this from the perspective of,,,,,an adult pretending to be a teen and applying what he knows now as an adult and like his life growth to his decisions even though he’s pretending he’s a teen,,,,,

also boi u literally got with ur husband at eighteen don’t pretend that meant u were an adult u were still So Young

bless phil for sounding offended at the idea of dan wanting to date someone as a project

hi dan ur fond is showing

‘you are not editing that out’ yes drag ur husband on camera i’m here for it

this felt important

bless them both for discussing the lack of diversity in the game & calling out the gender role issues, it’s always good to hear that

i’m sorry it’s ‘almost as sexual’ lads did y’all even watch the gwf vid???? i’m hard-pressed to come up with a more blatantly sexual vid y’all have ever made (and i don’t mean like higher on the fuck energy scale that’s another story i just mean like full of intentional innuendos) 

honestly sometimes they Do Things and i’m like lmao they think they’re self aware they ain’t tho they know Nothing but like. sometimes

[night-filled-mountain]

So I’ve had part of this post in my drafts since Sunday, and I decided to finish it up and release it into the world. Please keep in mind that much of it reflects my immediate thoughts and feelings after watching the episode Saturday night. Right now, I’m feeling a lot calmer and more sympathetic toward Nott...though I’m still terribly, terribly afraid that Caleb is going to leave the M9, at least temporarily. Anyhow, here goes:

I’ve written substantial portions of two separate posts about the latest episode and then deleted them. There is just so much to think about and talk about and obsess over right now, and I’m having so much trouble articulating anything in a way that feels useful (or even accurate).

This emotional aftermath is reminding me a lot of the way I felt right after Molly died, but, uh...worse in some ways?? Because not only does it radically change my expectations for Critical Role going forward, but it also changes the way I see a million moments and conversations that already happened. Molly’s death changed the direction of the campaign going forward, but everything that just went down with Nott--and especially between Nott and Caleb--turns some of my impressions of the entire campaign upside-down.

I’m not angry at Nott for anything she said or did in this episode. The situation was horrific, and my heart breaks for her. But I am angry at her, for reasons that still feel too big and crazy for me to analyze properly. Reasons that have to do with her relationship with Caleb, the direction she’s allowed it to take, the role of central emotional importance that she’s willingly (eagerly!) played in a severely traumatized man’s life, while withholding vital information about her own life and motives, until a moment when it all burst out in a form that could very possibly destroy him.

What happened in Felderwin isn’t Nott’s fault!! But it did bring all of my campaign-long fears and doubts about the healthiness of the Caleb/Nott relationship screeching into an unbelievably painful climax. And I know it sounds kind of awful to say that I’m more worried about Caleb than about Nott right now, but...Nott has the Mighty Nein. She has no reason to doubt their love and loyalty, even when she’s dropped a bit of a bombshell on them. She has her son, alive and safe for now, and even Yeza might still be out there somewhere (and I hope he is).

But Caleb? He has Beau, who tries so damn hard but consistently misunderstands him (and vice versa!)...and he has Nott, who has in many ways treated him like a literal child, who’s hardly trusted him with anything important about herself--or even about her motives and expectations with regard to him--when he’s trusted her with everything. Nott, the only person he’s been 110% ride-or-die for, who he considered family...but who’s had a family of her own all this time. And the moment she got a sense that her makeshift child (a role Caleb never asked to play) might pose some sort of threat to her actual child, she said the worst possible things to him at the worst possible time. She stuck a dagger in the heart of the deepest, darkest secrets he’s ever told her and twisted it, in front of the entire team. Right after the wizard tower. Right after he saw and recognized two Cerberus Assembly members. Right after those letters referring to “Trent’s protégés.”

And it really isn’t that moment that I blame her for! Or even her lack of concern/awareness as he fell apart entirely (...and thank gods for Caduceus saying the best possible things at the best possible time, though I’m very much afraid it won’t be enough). What I’m blaming her for is that she never told him anything. About her child, about Veth, about the way she viewed their relationship, about wanting him to change her (and why). With all the times various members of the party have been maddeningly condescending to Nott, you’d think that she would have been more forthright with someone whose intellect she claimed to respect so much.

...But there’s still so much we don’t know. About who Veth really is or was. About Nott’s feelings throughout the whole campaign--whether she had good reason to be afraid or ashamed to divulge the truth. She may have intended to tell Caleb everything when the time was right. She may have envisioned it happening in a far gentler way, under far more optimal circumstances. I know I can’t judge her based on the way things actually went down in this past episode, which she never could’ve predicted.

And, as other people have pointed out, Caleb owes Nott so much. She’s taken care of him selflessly throughout the entire campaign, giving him much of her money and time, and (seemingly) all of her love and devotion. Of course she was frustrated when he was worried about keeping his own secrets in her hour of greatest need. Of course she wants to be able to rely on him for once, to know that he’ll make a sacrifice and share his past with the others if it will help them save her friend/lover/husband (?). It’s easy enough to make sense of that moment, and I just hope that tonight’s episode will help us make sense of the whole tangled web of lies (or omissions) that is Nott’s time with the Mighty Nein.

[sophieakatz]

Thursday Thoughts: What if Abraham Refused to Sacrifice Isaac?

I’ve been watching Xena: Warrior Princess with my boyfriend, and enjoying it a lot. Xena and Gabrielle’s adventures mostly focus on Greek mythology, taking new spins on the stories of Hercules, King Sisyphus, and Helen of Troy. However, on a few occasions, I’ve seen my own people’s mythos played with.

In one episode, it’s ultimately revealed that the mysterious chest Xena’s been chasing contains within it a stone tablet with the phrases “thou shalt not steal” and “thou shalt not covet” on it – though the people Xena returns the chest to are never said to be Jewish, that is the natural conclusion.

And in a later episode, titled “Altared States,” Xena comes across a family facing a conundrum. A father has been ordered by his god, “the one true god,” to sacrifice his son.

Now, the son’s name is Icus, not Isaac. And he has a nasty older brother who gives the story a heaping spoonful of Cain-and-Abel/Jacob-and-Esau vibes. And there’s a lot of ambiguity about which of this god’s commands are actually divine, or are a human pretending to be a god.

But the basic structure remains: an ostensibly benevolent god tells his devoted follower, a patriarch, to sacrifice the son he loves. The climax even takes place on top of a mountain, on a stone altar. And – spoiler alert – at the last minute, the god relents and the son is spared.

This episode got me thinking about a question I saw posed in an online discussion of Torah a couple years ago, but hadn’t thought much on since:

What if Abraham had refused to sacrifice Isaac? If he had defied G-d, how might that change both this specific story and the way we think about religion?

In case you aren’t familiar with the story of the almost-sacrifice of Isaac, here is a very short version (based on the Torah translation found here): 

G-d tells Abraham, “Take your son, whom you love, and offer him to me as a burnt offering.” And Abraham goes to do so.

Along the way up the mountain, Isaac notices the lack of a lamb for the sacrifice. He asks his father about it, and Abraham replies, “G-d will provide a lamb.”

Abraham and Isaac set up the altar for the sacrifice. Abraham ties Isaac up and reaches for the knife.

Suddenly, an angel calls out for Abraham to stop: “Do not harm the boy, for now I know that you fear G-d… and G-d has sworn that because you did not withhold your son from me, He will bless you and your descendants.”

And then a ram shows up and Abraham sacrifices the ram instead of his son.

Every story in the Torah serves as an allegory, from which we derive lessons for how to live our life today. The moral of this particular story, at least as it was presented to me in Sunday School, is that we should put faith first. I was taught that G-d was testing Abraham, and that Abraham passed the test by being willing to do whatever G-d said, even kill his only son. We should therefore put faith above all else, even when it’s hard.

That’s the stance that Icus’s father takes in “Altared States.” Even though he is clearly torn apart inside by the decision, and both Icus’s mother and Xena are telling him not to go through with it, he is determined to show his son that “faith is [not] just for those times when it’s convenient to believe.”

But what if that wasn’t the moral? What if Abraham said no?

It wouldn’t be out of character for Abraham to disagree with G-d. In an earlier story, Abraham outright haggles with G-d about the fate of the people of Sodom and Gomorrah (Torah translation here). Abraham gets G-d to agree that if there are just ten righteous people living in the city, then He will spare them all. “Far be it from You to do such a thing,” says Abraham, “to kill the righteous with the wicked.”

In the case of Sodom and Gomorrah, Abraham doesn’t just go along with what G-d says should happen. He tells G-d, “This is not who you are; this is what you should do instead.”

Arguing with G-d is practically a Jewish tradition. The name Israel literally refers to one who “wrestles with G-d” – it was given to Jacob, Abraham’s grandson, for fighting with an angel.

One of my favorite jokes is about three rabbis arguing about a law, one on one side and two on the other. Then G-d Himself comes down from heaven to declare that the one rabbi is correct – and the two rabbis reply, “Alright, so now it’s two against two.”

We respect G-d, of course. But we hold Him to the same standards as we hold ourselves: to be open to debate, to strive to improve, to be a good person.

The sacrifice of a child sounds more like the kind of thing a terrible warlike god would ask for, not the monotheistic G-d, who is generally portrayed as loving. At one point, in a moment of reluctance, Icus’s father cries out, “Our god is a benevolent master!” But he does not follow that train of thought to its logical conclusion: “So he wouldn’t, or shouldn’t, ask me to do this.”

In the Torah, Abraham doesn’t follow this train of thought, either. He doesn’t show any sign of thinking much about G-d’s demand at all. But he could have.

What if Abraham had responded to G-d’s order regarding Isaac in the same way as he responded to the fate of Sodom and Gomorrah? What if he had said, “Far be it from you to demand the life of an innocent child, the child you promised me!”? What if he had said, “I will sacrifice myself before I lay a hand on my own son!”? What if Abraham, lying on the altar himself with the knife poised towards his own neck, was then told by the angel to stop – because the real test was whether Abraham would do not the obedient thing, but the right thing?

It would change the moral. It would not be a story of thoughtless faith, but of morality, of sticking to one’s principles even when those who are supposed to guide you falter.

It would bring this story in line with the standard Jewish practice of questioning authority, of asking why, of finding a better way to live.

It also would line this story up with the rest of the Torah. Yes, it’s full of laws, especially in the last few books. But the first book, Genesis, the book where we find Abraham and Isaac, is full of people going against what is demanded or expected of them, by G-d or tradition.

G-d says that Abraham will have a son by Sarah; Sarah doesn’t believe that this will happen, so she encourages Abraham to have a son with her servant Hagar instead. Cain kills his brother and lies about it to G-d. Jacob deceives his father and steals the blessing intended for his brother Esau. Tamar disguises herself and sleeps with her father-in-law to create an heir for her dead husband. And right at the beginning is perhaps the most famous instance of disobedience of all time: Adam and Eve eat the fruit of the tree forbidden to them by G-d.

Sometimes the disobedience ends poorly. Adam and Eve are kicked out of Eden, for instance, and Cain is branded a murderer.

Other times, the Torah indicates that the disobedience is approved of by G-d. Jacob is decisively rewarded for sneaking away with Esau’s birthright, going on to literally father a nation. Tamar gives birth to twin sons, a big double-thumbs-up from G-d. Hagar learns that her son Ishmael will father a great nation of his own.

My point is that if Abraham had said no to G-d, and refused to kill Isaac, then he would be in excellent company. It would make Abraham’s behavior more like what we see in the rest of Genesis, and more like the rest of us Jews, too. We don’t always do what G-d says. And G-d seems to be more or less okay with that, as long as what we do results in a more just, peaceful, and prosperous world.

Which makes me wonder – do we actually have the “sacrifice of Isaac” all wrong?

What if G-d didn’t want Abraham to sacrifice Isaac?

Note that it is not G-d Himself who stops Abraham from killing Isaac, but an angel, who relays G-d’s message. At other times, even at the very beginning of this chapter, G-d is perfectly willing to show up and speak directly to Abraham. But in this instance, He has someone else go instead. Why is G-d, in this moment where he ostensibly approves so much of Abraham’s behavior, suddenly distancing Himself from Abraham?

Perhaps we have the test all wrong. Perhaps, by going along with what G-d commanded, Abraham failed the test – and now G-d is off hanging his head in shame.

Perhaps G-d was actually trying to see whether Abraham would continue to question G-d, as he did for Sodom and Gamorrah. Would Abraham stand up against G-d not only for strangers, but also for his own family?

Turns out, he wouldn’t.

And so G-d realized that Abraham was not yet ready to hear a message that perhaps we are now ready to understand: that sometimes disobedience is the right thing to do. Perhaps G-d wants us to protect each other first, and obey second.

[ravenstagtarot]

As a huge fan of both Will and Hannibal independently, as well as them together as an odd couple pair of sorts, I’ve found my interpretation of their relationship doesn’t always mesh with how others view them. While this is 100% fine, I thought I’d do a clarity reading for the nature of Will and Hannibal’s relationship to one another to see what the cards had to say.

As I began reading the cards, however, I found myself thinking mostly of Will, completing the reading from his perspective. So this ended up being a clarity spread about Will’s investment/perspective in/on his relationship with Hannibal as opposed to a reading about both of them.

Deck featured: The Wooden Tarot

Spread featured: The Wild Unknown “Clarity Spread”

In this spread, the card on top represents the overall situation while the bottom cards represent the contributing factors. 

Pulling the 7 of Bones (pentacles) for the overall situation is really, really interesting to me. The 7 of Bones is a generally a card about putting in the hard work so that you can sit pretty and reap the benefits of your labor when the time is right. It’s often seen as a card that speaks to sowing the seeds and stepping back--waiting for the right moment to harvest. Little Red Tarot also has a neat spin on this card, pointing out that this can also be about taking stock of how a project or situation has been evolving. Are things moving as expected? Does the path feel right? Should you continue as you have been, or do adjustments need to be made? 

Taking all of this into account, I feel this card is speaking to the in-flux nature of Will’s relationship with Hannibal. Choices have been made by Will--seeds of his love for Hannibal and his desire to be with him have been planted--and now he’s in the position of stepping back and watching them grow, trying to determine how he feels about the way they are developing. By the end of season three, we’ve found that Will has come to accept his feelings for Hannibal and the appeal of killing alongside him, but also that he cannot live with this acceptance. Understanding this part of himself is immediately followed, after all, by an attempt to destroy it. But given that we know Will and Hannibal survive the fall (since we’ve seen the place settings at the table with Bedelia) we know that now Will has to live with his choices (to love Hannibal, to want to destroy himself, his love, as well as Hannibal) and assess the direction he and Hannibal are now moving in post-fall. And personally, I think this is going to be a mental space that Will lives in for the rest of his life. What results will he harvest from his choice to stay alongside Hannibal? What consequences will he reap for his actions with and against the man he cares so deeply for? That’s the crux of the 7 of Bones for Will.

The contributing factors prove just as insightful. I drew the 8 of Plumes (swords), Death (ha!), and the 4 of Stones (wands). 

The 8 of Plumes is a card about feeling trapped, wounded. Responding to an overwhelming situation with fear and passivity. I like that in this deck, the card is represented by a quiver of arrows, with one of its own arrows piercing the quiver itself. This suggests the damage is self-inflicted. It reminds me of the Devil card--being bound by our own chains of anxiety, depression, or low self-esteem. Bakara Wintner points out that this can also come very directly from the experience of trauma. I think this is important to keep in mind when considering Will, given that he is a deeply traumatized individual (often by Hannibal). Will Graham has really been put through it. And, frankly, Will Graham has really put others through it, too. 

So, to me what this card speaks to is the influence that Will’s truamas have over his relationship with Hannibal. In relation to the 7 of Bones, I would argue that Will’s negative experiences with Hannibal are often why he must reassess his choice to be with him. We know a big concern of Will is distinguishing himself from Hannibal. “You and I have begun to blur,” Will tells Hannibal in “Dolce”. "Isn’t that how you found me?” asks Hannibal. To which Will replies, “Every crime of yours feels like one I am guilty of. Not just Abigail’s murder, every murder. Stretching backward and forward in time.” And certainly Will does not sound overly bereft in this scene, but I think generally speaking Will worries whether his desires come from his empathy disorder consuming him and blurring what he really wants, or whether his desires come truly from himself. This question is never greater than when it comes to Hannibal, who has been manipulating Will from the start. It’s hard to build long-term trust when the foundations are built on violence and dishonesty. 

I also think of Bedelia here, and Hannibal’s question to her in season 3, “Are you--at this very moment--observing or participating?” I personally think this exact question is one Hannibal could pose to Will at various points in the show, and likely beyond. Thus, the 8 of Plumes suggests to me that one of the reasons Will is perpetually considering his choices is because he is constantly stopping to ask himself (maybe unnecessarily at this point) “Am I observing or participating?” And perhaps he remains terrified of that answer. 

The next contributing factor is so fitting and self-explanatory I almost don’t feel the need to discuss it. The Death card. What this represents here is the core element of Will and Hannibal’s relationship: Change. Change, evolution, becoming, etc. Hannibal changes Will, Will changes Hannibal, they both almost die repeatedly in the process. When it comes to Will and Hanni, the Death card is literal as often as it’s metaphorical. And I think in a lot of ways Will’s biggest debt to Hannibal, what draws him so thoroughly to Hannibal, is what Hannibal brings out in him (and vice versa). I think the seeds of Death have been planted in Will and by Will, and at this point he’s rather interested in stepping back and watching to see if he flourishes. I think Will also lives with the knowledge that more change (and more death) is likely to come, and so it’s become part and parcel of his relationship with Hannibal. 

The final contributing factor I drew was the 4 of Stones (wands). I love this card in this spread, because it speaks to a lighter side of Will’s love for Hannibal. The 4 of Stones is one of those quintessential party cards, a card that stands for celebration, particularly after a lot of hard work. I’m going to refer to Bakara again, because she says something about this card that really resonates with this spread for me: “We’ve made something beautiful, and it’s time to gather the people we love and feel really fucking good about that.” Of course this makes me think of the seminal moment at the end of season three. “It really does look black in the moonlight. It’s beautiful.” Granted, Will’s idea of a party after this moment is to throw Hannibal and himself off a cliff, but, I like the idea that there are moments in their relationship where their mutual appreciation of each other and the life they’ve built together leads to a some good ol’ fashioned fun. I admit, I don’t exactly know what that looks like for the Murder Husbands, but I think the point is that whatever Will has chosen to grow, though there may be aspects of the harvest that feel rotten, there are also aspects that feel deeply satisfying. 

Maybe Will and Hannibal really do get married. Maybe they really do continue killing together. Maybe their 4 of Stones moment looks as simple as Hannibal cooking people for Will, and Will being at peace with the fact that he enjoys the food regardless. What matters is that there is joy in some aspects of their love for one another, and maybe that makes me a bad person for wanting that for them--at least on occasion--but...hey! I can be at peace with that too. 

In summary...I don’t think Will is ever going to be completely happy playing house with Hannibal. I don’t think he’s ever going to reach a place of ultimate fulfillment if he’s coupled with a murdering cannibal. The 7 of Bones speaks to being more in the middle of a journey than the end, suggesting that for Will, his feelings for Hannibal will be an ever-changing, never-settling thing. This is reinforced by our contributing factors--the fear Will feels about his own feelings, the amorphous nature of their love/relationship, and the joyous elements of the life Will has chosen to live with Hannibal. 

Sounds like a deliciously complicated mess! Sorry, I had to. You know how much this show loves bad puns.

Got any thoughts? Beg to differ with some of my interpretations? Want to ask for a Hannibal-related tarot reading yourself? Don’t hesitate to send me an ask--I’d love to talk more! 

[theladyofdeath]

Castaway {ACOTAR/Chapter 6}

Word Count: 2,775

Summary:  A modern-day University AU, from the A Court of Thorns and Roses universe. All characters belong to Sarah J. Maas. The idea for this fanfic hailed from prompts sent in by Anonymous, and @queen-archeron. You can read previous chapters here.

Author’s Note: ***TRIGGER WARNING*** This chapter deals with heavy material (via conversation). If you click on the link above (read previous chapters here link), you can read more about what heavy content this fanfic includes. Or, always feel free to ask me. 

I hope you all enjoy this chapter, and I would love to know what you think! Whose story is your favorite thus far? Feyre x Rhys? Elain x Azriel? or, Nesta x Cassian? Look forward to longer chapters again starting with chapter 7, which will be posted later this week. :)

Feyre stood outside his door, staring at the dull slab of wood.

She had debated knocking ten times already, and thought that maybe she should have just left. Tamlin, after what she had witnessed at dinner, not even to mention what happened at the party the other day, would not approve.

Then again, she wasn’t so happy with him at the moment.

He had yelled at her all the way back to campus. As soon as they got into the car, after Feyre slammed the door, she locked eyes with him. Was that necessary? You acted like an asshole –

Don’t. he had said. Shut your mouth unless you’re going to be on my side.

Tamlin could be charming. He would be gentle, and loving, and kind. But he had a temper. And when his temper even rose in the slightest, all hell broke loose. And the way he had acted around her family…..

She was not impressed.

It was unacceptable.

But he would apologize the next day. He would beg for her forgiveness, and she would give it to him. They would forget what had happened, and start a new day.

Although she was sure there would be no forgiving her if he found out she was standing outside of Rhysand’s apartment, without his knowing.

She needed a good grade though. And, she couldn’t lie – she was excited to paint again.

It had been so long.

She knocked on the door.

It didn’t take long for the door to open, but it was not Rhysand who answered.

A tall, white-haired male stood in front of Feyre, dressed in dark-denim jeans and a button-down shirt, with his eyebrows raised. “You must be Feyre.”

“Uh,” she blinked, “yes?”

“Don’t worry,” he smiled, genuinely. “You have the right apartment. Come in.”

Feyre was shocked at how clean it was. For a couple of men, they were surprisingly neat. It was black and white – literally. The walls were white, as was the carpet, even the tile in the kitchen was ivory. But the furniture was all black – the kitchen table and the chairs surrounding it, the area rug on the living room floor, the futon, the arm chairs available for extra seating.

“Rhys! Your lover is here!” the man, who never mentioned his name, walked into one of the back bedrooms and shut the door.

The door across the hall opened, and Rhysand walked out to see Feyre standing in the entry way, gaping.

“Ignore him,” Rhys winked. “Kallias thinks he’s funny.”

He was wearing a black tee-shirt, and a black pair of sweatpants. His feet were bare, but it was his arms that caught her attention. There were tattoos swirling from the edge of his shirt sleeves to his wrists.

“I heard you had quite the dinner.”

Feyre didn’t move from her spot just inside the door. She didn’t answer, just nodded, once.

“If we’re going to do this, Feyre, darling, you have to come in. You do realize that, don’t you?”

She scowled. “Noted.”

After removing her shoes, Feyre walked into the living room and placed her supplies on an end table.

“Wow,” he said, observing everything she had dropped.

Feyre shrugged. “I take painting seriously.”

“Uh,” he picked up two different paint brushes and examined them, trying to tell what the difference was. “I would say so.”

“I’ll go first. You pose.”

“Straight to business then? No small talk?”

“I’m not interested in small talk,” Feyre snapped. “I’m interested in getting my A and moving on.”

Rhysand sighed, dramatically. “Very well. Where should I pose? How should I pose? Nude? I’ll pose nude.”

“If you start removing your clothes, I’m out of here.”

Feyre wasn’t sure what it was that made her so annoyed by Rhysand. Maybe it was the fact that Tamlin hated him, or maybe it was because he was a cocky bastard.

“Fine,” Rhysand grinned, her annoyance not getting to him in the slightest. “Tell me how I should pose.”

Feyre pursed her lips. “I don’t know. Do something natural.”

“Standing here, arguing with you, feels pretty damn natural.”

“If you’re not going to take this seriously –“

“Okay, okay.” Rhysand held his hands up in surrender. “I’m sorry. Get set up.”

Rhysand sat on the couch as Feyre pulled out her sketch pad and squeezed out a series of colors into her palette.

“You’re just going to sit there?” she asked, once she was ready.

Rhys shrugged. “I thought we would start with something simple. If you don’t want me nude, or sprawled out to show off my goods, then yes. I am just going to sit here.”

After a roll of her eyes, Feyre began.

  He had waited for Cassian to go back across the hall and Nesta to head back to her own apartment before Azriel sat down with Elain on the couch.

It was nearly midnight before everyone had left, and he had helped Elain finish cleaning up. She was disappointed with how the night had gone, and Azriel couldn’t blame her.

He could tell it was bringing her down.

“You did good tonight,” Azriel said, with a soft smile. “Your food was delicious.”

“Thanks,” she smiled, wistfully, with a yawn.

“Why don’t we do this in the morning?” Azriel asked, patting her knee. “You had a long day.”

“No,” she argued. “I won’t be able to sleep until we talk about this. I need answers. It’s driving me crazy.”

Azriel nodded, unsurprised with her answer. “Okay. Ask away, then.”

“Tell me everything. Like….What happened with Mor?” she asked, leaning her head back against the sofa cushions. She nibbled on her bottom lip, as if she was afraid of the answer.

It took Azriel a moment to sort his thoughts, but Elain sat by, patiently. “We were foster kids, which you know. But the three of us boys – Rhys, Cassian, and I – had been together for three years already. Cassian and Rhys were sixteen, and I was fifteen, by the time we met Mor. We had overheard our foster mom talking on the phone in the kitchen after dinner one night, when she thought we were upstairs. She was telling her sister that they had found a girl on the streets, who had been kicked out of her parent’s house for losing her virginity. Her parents were strict, and that sort of business was apparently  unacceptable…..Anyway, they found this girl, who was only fifteen, and they were looking for someplace to bring her. Miryam had volunteered.”

Miryam. He didn’t refer to his foster mother often, but not because he had anything bad to say about the woman. She was kind, and she did the best she could. They hadn’t heard from her much since leaving the nest, though. Azriel called her every so often to check in, in which they would all talk for hours, but there were always foster children to take care of. And Miryam wanted to take care of them all, even as young as she and her husband, Drakon, were.

“Anyway. Mor had secluded herself when she arrived on our doorstep, we could tell she was terrified, which was understandable. We did everything to make her feel comfortable, without trying to overwhelm her. But the thing that got her, the thing that finally made her smile, made her open up…..We told her our own stories.”

Azriel had told them to Elain before, although simply thinking about his story, thinking about all their stories, brought a heavy ache to his chest.

Azriel had just been a toddler when his mother abandoned him on the steps of a church. She had been addicted to drugs, gotten pregnant out of a horrible situation. He had never known who his father was. He had always thought about trying to find her, if she was even still alive. He had always wondered why he wasn’t good enough for her. Why she would have rather chosen her addiction, over his life.

When he remained quiet, Elain simply laid her hand on top of his, bringing him back.

“Sorry.” He cleared his throat. “Um, when we told her our stories, it gave her courage to share her own. She repeated what we had already known, that her parents had thrown her out, that she was homeless……but, there was something that she mentioned that we were not aware of. That her innocence was not given, but taken from her. And her parents didn’t believe her. They thought she was using it as an excuse because she was embarrassed, and because she knew the consequences.”

When Azriel cast a glance at Elain, his heart dropped further down into the pit of his stomach at her expression. “Eris Vanserra?”

He nodded. “It wasn’t until we started school again a week later that we realized we knew him. That he was a senior at East Velaris.”

“I would have never known,” she shook her head, sadly.

It was impossible to. Morrigan was strong, she walked with her head held high and her back straight, although it took her a long while to get to that point. And Eris….he didn’t look like someone who belonged in a jail cell. Like a prick, maybe, but that wasn’t good enough for the judges. It wasn’t good enough for Mor’s parents, either.

“And what did Tamlin do?” she asked, after a moment of silence for the girl that was once Mor. “How does he fit into that?”

Azriel took a deep breath. “He wasn’t familiar with Eris all that much. But he was good friends with Lucien. Even more so then than now. They were a power duo, the popular crowd, the people that everyone liked and wanted to be around. They deigned to make our lives a living hell.”

Elain blinked. “Why though?”

“Because of Rhys. Because of his family.” Elain’s fingers tightened around his as he continued, “Rhysand’s parents, and younger sister, died in a house fire when he was thirteen. He was gone to a friend’s house, it was a Saturday night. His friend’s parents got a call in the middle of the night that there had been an accident. When they brought Rhysand home….there was nothing left. And no one made it out in time.” Elain covered her mouth with her free hand. “At first, they thought it was a freak accident, but after more investigating, there were holes. Not everything was adding up. To keep a long story short, they discovered that one of Rhysand’s dad’s employees had been blackmailing him because he was on the verge of losing his job. They brought him into custody as a suspect, and they found countless charges against him. He was found guilty, and sentenced for life.” A tear fell down Elain’s porcelain cheek as she listened. And she couldn’t help but close her eyes in remorse as Azriel confessed, “That man was Tamlin’s father. So……..Rhysand hated Tamlin because of what his father did, and Tamlin hated Rhysand because he blamed him for his father’s absence.”

“That’s ridiculous!” Elain yelled, before calming herself. “Rhysand didn’t do anything wrong in any of that.”

“No, he didn’t,” Azriel agreed. “But Tamlin didn’t either. Neither did Lucien. They may not have always been the kindest to the four of us, but it was their blood that did the real crimes.”

Elain shook her head. And quietly added, “I’m so sorry.”

Azriel shrugged. “Don’t be. We overcame. Mor and Rhys are both in college. Rhys is even about to get his degree. And Cassian and I are well off, we both have decent jobs and are supporting ourselves. We may have had shitty pasts, but we didn’t let them define us. Most of all, we all got a family out of it. A family who loves one another unconditionally. Who supports and uplifts and trusts. Everything else just led us to that, to what we needed. It sucked, but we survived. We conquered.”

Elain stared at Azriel for a long while – awe and sorrow and desire lurking in her soft, brown eyes.

“Well,” Azriel said, uncomfortably, rising to his feet, the look he was giving her was too close, too intimate. “You should get some sleep. You have a big day tomorrow, it’s your grand opening.”

Elain tried to smile, and Azriel could tell it was forced. “Oh. I almost forgot.”

He held out his hand, and she took it without hesitation. “Will you be there?”

“Before you open, ready to help in any way I can,” he smiled, and brought her close to his chest in a gentle embrace.

She wrapped her arms around his waist. Typically, their hugs were short, sweet, friendly. This time, something was different. She wasn’t letting go. And neither was he.

“Az?”

“Hmmm?” he asked, his chin resting on the top of her head.

“Will you stay with me tonight?”

Azriel could have sworn he’d stopped breathing when he replied, in hardly more than a whisper, “Of course.”

  Rhysand had fallen asleep.

He’d woken with a jolt, fear radiating off him as he was unsure where she had gone.

She left. She was no longer there.

Her stuff was packed up, and absent from where she had been sitting, staring at him, painting.

All that was left was her giant sketch pad, still opened to a page.

Rhys turned on the lamp before approaching, and when he did, his breath caught.

It was a masterpiece.

He found himself ogling, wondering how the hell she could have painted something so wonderful, so quickly.

There was a folded-up note attached to the binding that stated: I’m not done yet. Don’t touch, it won’t be dry for a while. Leave it here. If anything happens to it, I will kill you. I will be back tomorrow night at eleven to finish it. Drink an energy drink or something before I come. You drool when you sleep, and it is not attractive.

Rhysand just grinned, before he realized whose bed she had most likely left his apartment for.

She was funny. She was smart. She was kind, even if not to him. And she was incredibly talented.

And she was his. Tamlin’s.

Rhysand took one last look at the painting. At the reflection of him, sitting on the couch, watching her every move.

Then, he picked himself off the living room floor, and went to bed.

And dreamt of the lover of his greatest enemy.

 Nesta couldn’t sleep.

She glanced at the clock as she tossed and turned for the umpteenth time.

3:58 a.m.

With a groan, she took out her phone and the note she had promised herself she would throw away.

He had given her his number, scribbled on the torn off edge of a receipt.

Text if you wanna say hi. Call if you ever need anything. He had told her, before she rolled her eyes and walked away.

He was annoying. And kind. And stupid. And beautiful.

Nesta was at war within herself.

After a deep breath, Nesta entered his number into her phone.

Hey. She typed. It’s Nesta. What’s up?

She quickly erased it. What’s up? My god, Nesta, it’s four in the morning, he’s most likely asleep.

She took a second attempt: Hey. It’s Nesta……

She erased it, again. It was pointless. She had nothing to say to him. She didn’t even know why she cared, or why she bothered.

And yet…

She held up her phone, one last time, and typed, Hey. It’s Nesta. I’m a bitch and am scared of someone caring about me. Your muscles look good through your shirt when you’re operating your crutches. How about we grab dinner sometime?

With a groan, Nesta tossed her phone on the bed beside her.

She would never talk to him. And she sure as hell wouldn’t meet him at the park. Especially not after she chickened out last time.

It wasn’t until she heard the swoop tone coming from her iPhone that she panicked.

It was the sound of a message sending.

She opened her eyes and shot up in her bed. Hovering over her phone was her cat, green eyes staring at her like he had known he’d just done something he wasn’t supposed to.

“Casper!” she took the old, white cat and sat him on her lap as she snatched her phone from the comforter.

Sure enough, there, below her text she never had the intention of sending, said read at 4:03 a.m.

It was only a few seconds before he’d responded.

Pick me up at 8. ; )

Chapter 7 coming soon.

@wingedillyrian @throne-of-ashes-and-beauty @photofeesh @southern-by-gods-mercy @randomfanficshit @high-lady-of-perranth@ifinallygavein@xmanorianx @eleniherondale @eye-of-elena@feyreismeiamfeyre@littlehoneyybee @turtlesnook@willsrune@gcarroll@tiny1hallie @iwouldtrusthagridwithmylife @my-parabatai-is-a-herondale @highlady-of-slytherin @fireflyangelxx@theantisocialbookworm310 @redqueenfandom @aelinxfeyre @saybell1994@nofantasynolife @priyahayes@fireheartbitch @live-the-fangirl-life @rishorro@literarynonsense@thebookqueen01 @highlady-of-night @beaches-and-books @irrelevant5 @1800-fight-me @itsonlyjess @my-ships-will-never-be-sank @illyrian-leathers @dreamingofazriel

[couldnt-think-of-a-funny-name]

-this bitch.....empty

- G o d okay so we all know I'm an absolutely useless person when it matters, right? that’s common knowledge. that’s public record. 

- When I got there tonight I tried to help out with wires and lights and shit and I am just so,,,,,,,,,beyond inept oh my God I felt so bad

- Couldn’t tape properly....couldn’t find the right wires TWICE so Tom ended up having to come find them himself anyway when he asked me to do it solely so he wouldn’t have to run back and forth......couldn’t set the lights properly.....couldn’t remember where to plug shit into even though I was told moments before.....hit the wrong buttons causing people to think the lights were broken for a solid fifteen minutes.....somehow ended up completely covered in saw dust.....like I’m truly such a hindrance omfg

- it was???? 900 degrees in the theater???? For no reason???? I had the fucking chills yesterday so I dressed in a sweatshirt this wasn’t fair

- They didn’t get through act one...the world is shocked

- The director tried to move 1 (one) set piece and then said ‘I hate doing stage crew, I don’t wanna do stage crew anymore’ and Tom, in a whisper of barely-concealed rage, was like ‘I don’t want to do stage crew and set design and lights and sounds and projections and-’ and I cant even finish this list bc I cant remember every thing he does but I was just dying honestly this poor guy needs to escape omfg

- The opening scene for ‘Magic To Do’ and shit. okay. listen. It opens on a black screen with whitehanded gloves coming out and then Tom’s putting a black light on them, and THAT looks awesome. But....moving the screen and the screen itself look like garbage oh my God

- The kid she cast as Pippin. listen. He’s funny and I like him. If you’ll refer back to my in the heights posts, he was Sonny

- ...remember how I also said the kid playing Sonny was very talented but seemingly untrained and thus the weakest link in the main cast

- O H M Y G O D

- Listen, he’s good, but the kid that understudied for Pippin yesterday was a much better singer, and he literally didn’t even know any of the songs he was singing...I just have QUESTIONS, you know?

- Steven, who’s playing Charlemagne...his mic just decided it Didn’t Feel Like It today

- Oh my God so the two Leading Player’s right. Okay, the one kid, I’ve known him since he was like, ficking 9 or something and he was practically born on a stage. Amazing projection. His mic died halfway through the rehearsal and we literally didn’t even notice. He’s solid. But the GIRL. I love her but she’s so INCONSISTENT. First she’ll sing too quietly, so we’ll turn her mic up....and then she’ll decide to be loud, so we have to turn it down....over....and over....and over...oh my God. And considering her scene partner is SO LOUD like it’s just. Messy. 

- “It’s not even six’o’clock and I already don’t wanna be here“

- A lot of the dances have potential to be good but it just seems like no one in the cast,,,,,knows them

- So much high school musical and bye bye birdie and rent was sung???? But the most unholy moment was when Tom suddenly remembered we were in 13 together a million years ago and fucking went “We alllllll haaaaave....a little more MAAAAGIC TO DO” I almost screamed the worst mashup I could imagine and now its STUCK IN MY HEAD

- There were so many moments where Tom would be like ‘they need to _____’ and it fell on death ears and then less than five minutes later someone else would suggest that idea and he’d be like “OH. OH DO YOU THINK THATS A PLAN???” lmao

- asdfgh they got in their places for ‘War is a Science’ and Tom was like ‘lol they way they’re set up reminds me of La Vie Boheme’ but then they....started doing the dance and we were like WHAT THE SHIT bc it was TOO CLOSE to our La Vie Boehme lmaoooo

- I’m so hung up on the decapitated head that talks to Pippin like I really don’t remember that ever happening and no one will tell me why it’s happening omfg

- The directors baby grandson is Always Here but I got to ‘talk’ to him tonight and like....words cannot truly express but this is literally the most adorable child on the planet??? He deadass has anime eyes, guys, wtf

- We’re trying to get Charlemagne a laser pointer wish us luck 

- “Just give him one and see how long it takes the director to fucking notice. It’ll be the last show I promise” 

- We had an actual discussion on why purple was a ‘royal’ color 

- I swear apart from like the two or three kids I knew for a long time and was like in other shows with,,,,,,these kids hate me or sm like TEENAGERS, man, omfg

- “Ahhh, yes....the company’s official old lady wig”

- “Oh my God. Oh my God it looks like a fucking TED talk”

- “I...okay, kid, I GUESS that was technically a falsetto-” 

- Tom: “If she moves my fucking speaker, I swear to God. Don’t-”

   The director: *all but kicks his speaker out of the way*

   Tom: “JUDITH ESTELLE-”

- I had to explain who Matthew McConaughey is 

- Tom decided today, after 8? 9? years of knowing me, to suddenly start calling me “Moll” but when he’s across the room no one can fucking tell if he’s saying “Moll” or “Mom” so we were confused half the night

- “How do you not know who the Visigoths are?” “Listen I went to Catholic school we just kinda lightly touched on the Crusades okay”

- I got physically ill from how hungry I was

- “Drowsy Chaperone is much better at being a meta musical” “It’s newer, it learned from Pippin’s mistakes”

- There’s been so much staple gun drama for some reason and my mother literally ran into the directors husband at Lowes because of it

- “Imagine going to your Grandma’s house hoping for a fun and meaningful visit but then she just sings for like five minutes then has a group of men carry her away”

- Oh my God,,,,,,,,,,,,,,,,the scene where Pippin’s like banging everyone in the country

- So what’s SUPPOSED to happen: He has a dance with a bunch of girls, some guys come out and join the mix, the dancers pair off and get into ~~~suggestive~~~ poses until Pippin becomes tired and disgusted and decides Sex Isn’t The Only Reason For Living

- What’s ACTUALLY happening: He’s got this weird dance with like twenty girls, right...And then six boys come out...and line up and they do this lean thing while Pippin’s on his knees (”he’s EXPERIMENTING”) and then the girls have another dance break but it’s just like. random dance moves. Like, I’m NOT game for having a bunch of teenage girls pantomime the fucking kama sutra out here but the dance makes no sense and with the fact there’s only six ensemble boys who do Barely Anything it just reads less as ‘Pippin tires of sex’ and more as ‘Pippin gets chased away by a bunch of lesbians who were sending a lot of mixed signals’ asdfghjk

- All the body parts were thrown onto and taken off the stage by the tiny little kid playing Theo and it shouldn’t have been so funny but it WAS omg

- This cast is NEVER CENTERED onstage and it’s driving me INSANE like there’s always a few stranglers on stage right and it looks so sloppy but my complaints are falling on death ears rip

- The foam sun....took like 20 minutes to hang up

- it’s there for O N E  S C E N E

- I can’t type anymore I'm tired and literally still have saw dust on me but anyway: still not considering throwing myself into a fire pit

[mermaidsirennikita]

are you an art historian? sorry if I got that detail wrong but I was wondering if you knew how people know the identity of a person in a portrait? For example, how do you know if a medieval portrait is of the queen or a noble and not an imaginary person or someone unknown? sorry if my question makes no sense

No, it’s a good question!  And I wouldn’t call myself an art historian yet, but I’m a tentatively aspiring one.  I might be one later if I do a fuckton more research and/or… get up the energy for grad school.  But I have my B.A. in art history!

SOOOOOO, spiel below.

Unless there’s an inscription, note, title, etc. written on the portrait it’s technically impossible to be 100% beyond a shadow of a doubt sure about a sitter’s identity…  I actually ranted about this eons ago because people on Tumblr are super desperate to find new portraits of Anne Boleyn (why Anne?  why not literally any other famous lady whose face has been largely lost to history?  because she’s Anne Boleyn, and since several probably authentic images have not proven that she’s super foxy hot people are looking for something that will).  It usually takes years for art historians to come to a consensus about the identities of unidentified sitters, and EVEN THEN, people still argue about it.  I’m sure this painting of Mary, Queen of Scots took tons of effort to uncover and based on what little I’ve read there’s great reason to believe that’s Mary (it even looks like other images we have of her) but I’m sure someone will write an article about how it’s REEEALLY someone else entirely.  I researched Lady with an Ermine by Leonardo da Vinci for my capstone project, and even tho we have letters from Cecilia Gallerani, a mistress of the man most likely to have commissioned the portrait, saying “yeah so you have this portrait of me painted by Leonardo when I was younger” clearly referring to Lady with an Ermine… but there will still be outliers who say it isn’t her.

So.  In more conclusive cases, there will usually be records in place that let us know that a portrait was commissioned in the first place.  In the case of Isabella d’Este, we know that she was after Leonardo to paint her portrait and that it never happened but was in the planning stages–which leads to the conclusion that there are probably preliminary drafts in existence.  You find a preliminary draft of a woman matching Isabella’s general description and age, dating to the right time…  You can probably guess that the woman is Isabella.

Today, we also have technology that can help us guess how old a work is–it’s way harder for forgers to do what they once did because art historians can test for pigments and other materials that were only in use for certain time periods, and that helps narrow down the era.  Before then, there were stylistic notes that could give you an idea of when a painting was made.  For example–prior to the popularization of the three-quarter pose by artists like Leonardo, female sitters of Italy were usually in profile.  So if you find a portrait of an Italian lady sitting in a three-quarters pose, you can probably date the portrait to the late fifteenth century or later–and then you go into things like her style of dress, etc.  Style of dress goes a long way towards identifying a person’s place of origin, especially for women–English women dressed very differently from Italian women of the same era, and so on.

Most European portraits were of a certain class, up until some artists and patrons started playing around with everything from idealized peasant scenes to like... the proto-gritty shit Rembrandt dabbled in.  This is especially true for Catholic nations.  You had to be AT LEAST of the upper middle class to afford to commission a portrait, and for that matter, many artists tended to court a certain specified clientele.  Raphael spent much of the prime of his career working for the pope, and so that meant that he spent a lot of time in Rome, and that in turn meant that he was often in the service of glittery rich Romans.  Now, does this mean that the sitter is always rich?  No.  Raphael also painted a famous nude, La Fornarina, and the sitter was quite possibly his lower-class mistress.  But in that case, the person commissioning the painting was probably a rich guy who wanted a nude, and Raphael was like “fuck yeah getting a chance to paint Margarita naked and get paid for it, life is sweet”.  Patrons normally had $$$, basically, so if we see a typical portrait we know that we’re looking at that class, most likely, and the more expensive the portrait looks, the richer the sitter (and the patron) likely was.  Rarer pigments indicate more money spent, more detail on the clothing equals greater $$$.

When it comes to incredibly important families, there are spmetimes dead giveaways.  Bronzino’s portraits of Cosimo de’ Medici I’s household often featured details like rubies and pearls among the women, which one art historian I read from theorized was a signature of the Medici at that point in time.  It wasn’t unusual for women in particular to wear emblems of their families, because the portraits of them were usually commissioned by fathers or husbands, and essentially these were ownership tags.  That’s what Cosimo was doing, most likely.  If you know the artist–in this case, Bronzino–you probably know where they worked at a certain point in their lives.  If you know when the painting was executed, you know the artist was probably in X city.  Who would be most likely to employ Artist X during that time?  A small cluster of families.  You sort of have to narrow it down.  Most important families of Europe also had coats of arms, which can show up in their paintings–but unfortunately these are often the first to deteriorate and they begin to look similar.

When an artist was painting a famous sitter like Mary, they might include her initials somewhere, maybe in the case of a king or queen with a good Rex or Regina for measure.  Kings and queens are often given little identifiers, too, though these aren’t always consistent.  In several portraits of Mary her hands are emphasized because beautiful hands were prized at the time, Mary was considered a beauty, and so on (also Elizabeth’s hands were rumored to be scarred after her bout of smallpox, and whether or not this was exaggerated I wouldn’t be surprised if this was a dig after her reign began).  Mary is also often depicted in widow’s wear; now, this doesn’t mean that she wore those clothes often, but she was an iconically beautiful young widow after her first husband died, and then she *oh so tragically* lost another…  A lot of artists probably worked off of one painting Mary actually sat for in widow’s wear to have shopped around to potential suitors.  From what I read of this newly discovered portrait, Mary probably never sat for it; it was a tribute/propaganda piece by a support, and most likely the artist was working off of copies.

It’s kind of like how many portraits of Elizabeth I during her reign depict a few of the same things; grand red hair, magnificent clothes and jewels, flawless skin, dark eyes, the same basic facial features.  Did Liz have the time to sit for umpteen portraits?  No!  And she didn’t want to.  She didn’t want the reality of her aging appearance, she wanted the iconic Elizabethan image circulated, and so it was.  Art historians can later pick up on the commonalities between these propaganda pieces and figure out who they’re of.

In the case of this newly discovered work, I imagine the art historian also did a lot of research about the patron’s potential ties to Mary, the political climate at the time, whether or not the artist had materials to work from regarding Mary’s appearance, and so on.  Like I said, the painting looks like Mary, though that… doesn’t necessarily mean much–but the eyes are similar to the other portraits we see, the profile is right, her hair is styled as it was in other paintings, the outline of the clothes seems fine.

Basically, there is soooo much that goes into “proving” a sitter’s identity and even then you’ll never be 100% right in the eyes of everyone.  For years, people thought a portrait was of Katherine Howard, and recently that was debunked.  Everyone shops that portrait of a blond lady with one tit out as Lucrezia Borgia; it’s not.  Identifying people is cool but for a lot of art historians it’s somewhat irrelevant, because we’re more looking at what a portrait reflected about the times and that’s why Mary’s identity IS relevant in this particular case.  Going back to the Secret Anne Boleyn Painting conspiracy theories–people just wanna see a hot Anne there, and that’s what’s frustrating.  By showing us Mary here, this art historian has also given us an example of people showing their support for this embattled queen through propaganda commissions, and for that matter getting scared and covering it up.  That speaks to the political, social, and cultural goings-on of the time.

Some art historians love to find SEKRIT IMAGES because that sells books, but when you ask a lot of professors “do you think that’s a portrait of JANE SEYMOUR” or whatever they’ll probably be like “eh idk man”.  The identity is less important on its own than it is as it relates to the reasons by a commission.  I mean in my case the identities of portraits I studied in school were only really relevant in that I was able to discuss the political constructions that wives and brides became in one Italian court.  Otherwise identity didn’t matter at all.  And tbh, that ambivalence towards identifying people probably makes it even harder for the art historical world to come to a consensus on ANYONE.  But this new discovery sounds pretty solid and honestly, it’s really cool.