#im adding simple color backgrounds now. are you proud of me (should have been doing that the entire time im so sorry)

[chiangyorange]

a couple of comms i got to do!! been fussing with a slightly new lining style that i like

the form is here if youre interested!!

[smoochkooks]

—the (un)holy cock-up (m.)

⟶ pairing: park jimin/reader

⟶ genre: smut, angst 

⟶ word count: 14.5k

⟶ warnings: explicit sexual content, oral sex (m receiving), dirty talk, profanity, unnecessary amount of biblical puns, some critic on catholic church, this is a heavy read be aware

⟶ summary: there is a quite long list of circumstances, with student loan and rent on the very top of it, that led you to work in the sunday’s spirit editorial department, a newspaper overally known among fellow catholic community of busan, with park jimin as your boss.

when your small cock-up goes unnoticeably out of your hand, you find yourself in a situation painted in all shades of wrong.

or, alternatively: when it’s forbidden, it tastes bittersweet.

a/n: please, before you read this: take the warnings seriously. this is not a light read, it touches some heavy and quite controversial topics. tit also involves a scene where a person in charge exhibits inappropriate behavior towards their subordinate which I do not condone, however it’s all done with consent.

ps. im really proud of this work so give me some love please:(

Fingertips typing furiously on the keyboards, sights focused on the computers’ screens, brows furrowed, minds utterly concentrated and all of this accompanied by angelic voices of various religious songs playing in the background.

This is how a typical day at Sunday’s Spirit editorial department goes by.

The newspaper is a local source of information for the catholic community not only in the city of Busan, but in the whole country. Its history starts in 70s, when Park Min-Sung with his wife started publishing the very first version of the Sunday’s Spirit, selling copies in front of churches. Young activists definitely hadn’t anticipated such a big success, especially due to hard times of the military dictatorship in Korea, but two decades later they have become one of the most affluent families in Busan. The newspaper remains the Park’s legacy till these days, being owned by Min-Sung’s son, with the original founder’s grandson Jimin as an editor-in-chief.

Sometimes you ponder how did you end up in this kind of situation. Sitting at your desk with eyes glued to the screen, working for the catholic newspaper with Mary did you know and other holy songs playing from the Spotify’s Blessed Hits playlist.

First of all, you aren’t quite a Jesus stan yourself. Not a regular churchgoer, Bible reader or a person who lives according to God’s will with Ten Commandments written on your heart and soul.

Someone may wonder, what a young, aspiring journalist like you is doing here? Yes, that’s right.

Money is the reason.

The perspectives of wealthy life as a presenter in the national television or a host in the radio were just a mirage, because after receiving your master degree in journalism you realised that, unfortunately, a bright future was bright only in your unreal dreams.

The case was simple. You needed money. Your bank account was literally screaming at you to get your shit together and figure something out before you end up under the bridge. So you started searching for a job, looking over various offers on the Internet for two weeks straight. A waitress? Nah, too clumsy for that. Jewelry seller? Definitely not, since you are a happy owner of a few pairs of earrings from etsy-like online shop that certainly have nothing to do with real gold. You were almost convinced you’re destined to be a sexworker but then you stumbled upon an offer from the Sunday’s Spirit.

It was your chance. A God himself decided to take pity on you.

In that exact moment the genre of the newspaper wasn’t important. The vision of bankruptcy was enough for you to wear knee-length black skirt, white button-up shirt and a pair of high heels you’ve never worn before and go on a job interview with plastered smile on your face, looking delightful like you have just given birth to Jesus Christ in Bethlehem.

All the Hollywood actresses could be put into shame after your Oscar-winning performance you acted out on the interview in front of middle-aged woman in checked jacket that no one wears since 90s. Your enthusiasm and assurance you live good, catholic woman’s life, along with your master degree and motivational letter (you added a quote from The Letter to Philipians at the end of it to spice it up) was enough to be accepted for the position of Ask and you shall find column creator.

The job itself wasn’t complex or tough. The newspaper on its online site has a page where people can create an account and send asks to the author of the column who responds to them. You did something wrong and you aren’t sure it should be considered a sin? Having problems with regular praying on mornings and evenings? Write to us and we will solemnly help you with the God’s blessing, it says.

This is basically how it works. Each week, the said journalist chooses the most interesting questions and answers to make an article to the Sunday’s Spirit’s next publication. Of course, you can’t answer those questions the way you would like. You must do it according to the catholic laws and God’s plan (the True God’s plan, not Drake’s). A woman who interviewed you even gave you a notebook full of already made-up responses and a list of things you definetely mustn’t write if you still want to be employed.

To be completely frank, you don’t hate your job that much. You actually feel kind of nice, helping other people with their problems. You’ve been doing this for six months now and during this period of time you got used to some things.

A ‘Jesus, I trust you’ framed picture you swore your mother gave you on your 16th birthday standing on your desk. Holy beats blasting through the speakers until you leave the office at 5pm. A big-ass cross hanging right in front of the entrance to the editorial. Lee Chin-sun, the Weekly News column author, rushing to Park Jimin’s bureau every day at different hours in her pencil skirts and high heels knocking on the floor.

There’s only the Pentecost in the middle of the office that could actually surprise you.

“Looks like our Mary Magdalene is going to Jesus cave again,” mutters Kim Taehyung, the newspaper’s main photographer, friend from your desk and, actually, the only friend you have here. Very much gay and just like you, in desperate need for money. “It’s her third visit today. I wonder what it is this time. New prayer to Pope Francis she found?” he whispers and you chuckle at that quietly, looking around if anyone pays attention to your conversation, but everyone seems busy doing their own stuff. “Maybe she’s sucking his dick right now and we all think they are playing Who said it? Bible edition,” he adds in a hushed tone.

You start thinking about it for a while. Is that really possible for someone like Park Jimin, the editor-in-chief of the Sunday’s Spirit to have a sexual relationship with his coworker? The man who has a smaller version of Pietà in his office?

“I mean look at him. I would smash that ass too.”

You roll your eyes at Taehyung words, going back to your previous task but every time you try to concentrate, the face of your boss appears in front of your eyes uncontrollably.

Truth to be told, Park Jimin was a sight.

Blond hair, always perfectly styled and simply parted in the middle, revealing his forehead. Dark, sharp eyes that seem to pierce right through your soul and full, plump lips which could only be described as kissable.

He wears only high fashion brands, wandering through the office in Prada and Tom Ford suits that hugs his sculpted body just right. You think that as for a person who never misses Sunday’s mass, Park Jimin has also nice thighs. And a fine piece of ass, as Taehyung would describe it.

Newest Rolex that costs probably more than you will ever earn in your entire life on his wrist, Mercedes who just got brought out to the international market standing on his parking spot in front of the building, an apartment in the most luxurious area in Busan.

Park Jimin inhales God’s mercy and exhales money.

You spoke to him more explicitly only once, on your first day at work. He greeted you and wished good luck, saying that everything will be fine because you know, God’s good. Since that day, Park Jimin seems out of your reach. You contact him only through email, sending articles for him to check and approve, occasionally receiving some short message from him to improve this and that. He rarely leaves his office during working hours but when he does, it’s either for business meetings outside the editorial or for a lunch at nearby restaurant.

There’s also one, special occasion, every Friday, that’s a sacred time for all the employees. The clock hits 12am and so it begins. The angelic voices stop singing and everybody shifts on their sits.

“Oh, Holy Judas. I almost forgot about my favourite part of the week,” Taehyung sighs, standing up from his desk. And by that, he means-

“Friday’s Bible contemplation lunch break, everyone please gather up at the cafeteria.” Park Jimin’s sweet as honey voice says through the speakers.

You stand up from your chair with reluctance. Taking food with you, you go to the cafeteria, following Taehyung.

That’s actually the next thing you got used to while working at Sunday’s Spirit. Bible contemplation meetings are, as you found out from Taehyung, Jimin’s idea after he became an editor-in-chief almost one year ago. Every Friday all the workers sit together, eat their lunches and listen to Jimin as he reads a certain chapter from the book with true admiration written on their faces. After that, he usually asks some questions holding a discussion among the participants who, unlike you, happily takes part in.

The cafeteria looks rather normal, like any other lunchrooms you see in offices. Painted in bright yellow colors, with a few tables and a typical kitchen set in the back. Except for one thing.

A replica of Leonardo da Vinci’s The Last Supper hanging on the wall.

You decided a long time ago that you don’t want to know how much money it cost Jimin to have something like that here.

The newspaper’s workers, almost like the twelve Apostles, sit together by the tables. Lee Chin-sun at the very front, looking completely mesmerized by today’s Park Jimin’s appearance. He’s wearing navy blue suit that Taehyung swears it’s from Hugo Boss. The place next to Chin-sun is always occupied by tall, black-haired guy named Choi Eunwoo, main graphic designer, hopelessly in love with her since his first days at work. Behind them there’s a group from emendation department, with their leader Min Yoongi and other journalists. You always sit with Taehyung at the back, near the kitchen, not necessarily paying attention to what’s happening in the front.

Jimin, as on every Friday, walks to the small podium, designed to look like a pulpit in the church and opens the Bible. But one thing is odd: Jimin ain’t no priest or altar boy himself and he certainly dosen’t look like one, flipping through the pages of what you think it’s New Testament this time.

From your point of view, you could practically see how Chin-sun sighs with content expression on her face, lacing her fingers together on the lap and straightening her back. Eunwoo, on the other hand, shifts uncomfortably on his seat, sending Chin-sun quick glances full of unspoken longing she never acknowledges, to his dismay.

Then, Park Jimin clears his throat and the whole cafeteria goes quiet.

Truth to be told, you never really listen to what he’s reading. This time is no different. You just chew on your avocado sandwich, occasionally taking a sip of coffee. Your boss’ smooth voice reaches your ears faintly but you don’t pay attention to it, focusing on eating and Taehyung’s hushed rumbling instead.

“Look at our Mary Magdalene, she looks like she might burst a nut just by listening to CEO Jesus,” he says, making you peek at the girl.

Mary Magdalene is a nickname that Taehyung made up for Chin-sun when he started working at Sunday’s Spirit, mainly because of her attitude and relationship with Jimin. It’s rather platonic, at least for now. She looks at him with pure admiration on her face and she literally melts everytime he smiles at her. But Chin-sun’s ‘stalking’ isn’t unreasonable. Her father is a well-known philanthropist in Busan. He donates catholic charities, churches and, what’s the most interesting – he has some connections with Jimin’s father, the owner of Sunday’s Spirit.

And here’s the thing: Chin-sun’s hare and hounds definitely have some hidden reason. Maybe the whole marriage thing that has become a gossip in the office is true. Which makes poor Eunwoo’s situation even worse.

“Sometimes I wonder why has he fallen in love with her in first place,” you whisper, pointing at the graphic designer. “He knows he stands no chance against Jimin.”

“What can I say, you can’t help who you fall in love with.” Taehyung muses almost poetically, shrugging his shoulders.

You hum at that, placing your coffee cup on the table and looking around the cafeteria. It seems like Jimin has ended his reading session for today and now he invites everyone to join the discussion about the topic. He flashes Chin-sun a gentle smile and you could swear the girl is biting her lip.

On the corner of your eye you see Taehyung smirking.

“What?” you ask.

Taehyung takes a sip of his coffee lazily (it’s always caramel macchiato), peering at Jimin. “Oh, nothing. I was just wondering if our boss really wants to settle not only with Chin-sun, but anyone in general,” he says languidly.

You furrow your brows. “What makes you think that? I mean, look at him. He probably waits with sex till marriage.” you snort.

Taehyung chuckles at your words. “Ah, sweetheart, you really know nothing about Park Jimin.”

“What do you mean?”

He moves closer to you, leaning towards your ear. “What I mean,” he whispers, “is that Park Jimin isn’t such a prude everyone thinks he is. At least he didn’t use to be.”

You raise your eyebrows at him with disbelief. “What? He’s secretly gay?” you mock.

Taehyung rolls his eyes. “I wish, but no, he isn’t,” he answers with a sigh. “Do you know Min Yoongi from emendation team?” he then asks, pointing at grey-haired man with feline eyes sitting behind Chin-sun.

You nodd your head. Min Yoongi is a hard to read guy. Always suspiciously silent, practically never leaves his office. Something makes you wonder how did Taehyung end up befriending him enough to casually gossip about the boss. You will ask him about this on another occasion.

“So here’s the thing,” Taehyung begins, lowering the volume of his voice. “He used to study at the same university in Seoul with Jimin. They even had been together in the fraternity. Yoongi-hyung told me some juicy details about our boss’ life back then.”

You frown at his words. “And you are telling me this now?!” you hiss.

“I found out literally two days ago!” Taehyung exclaims, maybe a little too loud, so you quickly place your index finger on your lips, shushing him.

“Fine. Continue.” you whisper, looking around to see if anyone pays attention to you.

“Well, Park Jimin used to be a trouble back then. A golden boy of his family in Busan, but a campus fuckboy and obnoxious heartbreaker in Seoul. He smoked cigarettes, drank enormous amounts of alcohol, got wasted on every weekend, missed classes and changed hair colors as often as his girlfriends. By the way, don’t you think he would slay pink hair?”

“Taehyung can you please–”

“Okay, okay. Enough thirsting over Jimesus. So, as you can see, there was no place for Sunday’s mass and Bible contemplation meetings in his life. And here’s the awaited plotwist. His parents somehow found out his son wasn’t living good catholic life on his studies and got extremely pissed off. They simply gave him an ultimatum: if he doesn’t stop his shenanigans, they will cut him off their money and they won’t make him Sunday’s Spirit heir.” Taehyung stops his rumbling for a while, letting you proceed all the bewildering informations about your dear boss he has just revealed.

Your eyes simply widen at the revelations.

Park Jimin, the man who organises Bible contemplation lunch breaks, a regular churchgoer, someone who you always thought has a cross tattooed on his back, was a playboy who slept with a half of the female community in the university?

Interesting.

“Rest of the story is simple. He changed his behavior, got a master degree in journalism and came back to Busan to work here. What is funny, his first position was the same as yours now,” Taehyung ends his story with a light chuckle. “Now you understand why it’s hard for me to believe he really thinks about getting married and having at least three kids.”

You look up at Park Jimin, who’s standing now in the centre of the cafeteria, with his arms crossed over his chest, nodding at one of the journalists words. His gaze is so intense and filled with such an authority that makes you understand why Chin-sun literally squirms when he looks at her that way.

It’s not hard for you to imagine him in much different surroundings.

Him, standing with a cup of beer in his hand in the middle of the crowd of drunken people at some frat party. There’s a leather jacket on his shoulders and he’s wearing tight-fitting pants that hugs his gorgeous thighs much better than his usual slacks he puts on every day before he sets off to work. He scans the room with a mishevious smirk dancing on his features, biting and licking his lips as he looks for his prey for tonight.

He then spots her, his pick for the night. He runs his fingers through his silky locks and approaches the girl, whispering dirty promises to her ear as he sways their bodies to the rhythm of loud music blasting through the speakers. Later that night he has her underneath him, begging him to touch her. He fucks her hard, leaving bruises all over her limp, exhausted body. There will be soreness between her thighs in the morning and a few violet love bites on her neck, a gentle reminder that all of this wasn’t just a dream.

But there’s no warm body next to her she could wake up to, no ‘good morning, baby’ or a second round of love making between the sheets. Because Park Jimin isn’t like that. He waited until her breath slowed down and eyelids fluttered shut, drifting her off to sleep. He left in the middle of the night, a cigarette caught between his swollen from kisses lips. He fumed the poison and smiled to himself, wondering what his parents would think when they found out. A golden boy of his family, future heir of the Park’s legacy, coming back from one of his sexcapeds with girl which name he didn’t even remember.

The Lord himself must have already cursed him and he’s currently planning the punishments for him in depths of Hell. But does Park Jimin look like he really care?

You stare blankly ahead, imagining those scenes in your head. You can’t help but squeeze your thighs because God, yes, Park Jimin is hot, even if he reads Breviary before he goes to sleep. What a shame he has changed. 

A smooth like honey voice pulls you out from your airy-fairy slumber.

“Miss Y/N?”

You jolt in panic after hearing your name, glancing around and praying that wasn’t the person you think it was. But this silky, melodious voice you would recognize everywhere.

God hates you though, he knows what kind of scandalous things you were daydreaming about and now it’s his time to punish you.

Looking up, your gaze settles on no one other than Park Jimin, who stares at you with his left eyebrow raised, pursing his lips. He extinguishes the aura of pure dominance around him and you involuntarily blush, squirming under his intense glare. You’re royally screwed.

You clear your throat, trying to calm down rapidly beating heart. Without success.

“Yes, sir?” you manage to answer innocently. Certainly not like you weren’t thinking about being fucked by him minutes ago. You don’t even have time to be surprised he remembers your name.

Park Jimin looks unamazed by your sweet tone; he almost seems bored, but definitely irritated. “I asked you a question and I’m waiting for your response.” he says lowly.

Fuckfuckfuck. God have mercy on you. What was the question? Shit, you don’t even know what fragment he had read before.

In act of complete desperation you elbow Taehyung for help but this little shit pretends he has no idea what’s going on, looking at The Last Supper with sudden interest.

You are purely, loyally, utterly fucked.

You adopt the most charming smile you could muster, knowing that it will have zero affect on Park Jimin and ask, “Could you repeat the question one more time, sir? I’m afraid I didn’t hear you correctly.” Jesus, when has your voice become so high-pitched?

A cruel smirks forms on Park Jimin’s lips. He shakes his head, tsking. Taehyung mutters something under his breath that sounds dangerously close to “It was nice meeting you, sweetheart.” You gulp, waiting for your sentence and hoping Pontius Pilate will be gracious to you.

“My, my,” Jimin muses. It makes you feel like a little girl being scolded by the teacher due to her outrageous behavior. You bite your lip so hard you might draw blood, waiting for your boss’ next words. “Of course you didn’t hear my question, because you weren’t paying attention to our discussion.”

In the corner of your eye you see Chin-sun shaking her head with detestation. What a bitch, you think to yourself.

You take a deep breath then, nails digging crescent moons on the skin of your palms. You don’t like being in the spotlight, you never did, but now you have no choice but face the consequences. “My deepest apologies, sir. The behavior I exhibited was highly inappropriate,” you say, bowing your head. Jimin eyes your figure from head to toe and you might actually feel his burning gaze on your skin. Your cheeks flush in crimson even more.

The editor-in-chief seems to deliberate with himself for a while, turning his head slightly to the side, not breaking the eye contact with you. Finally, after a moment that seems to last an hour, he speaks.

“I think you need a lesson that will teach you to pay attention to our weekly discussions, miss Y/N. That’s why I want you to write a 4000 words long paper about the role of Mary Magdalene in Jesus Christ’s life which we had discussed today but you, unfortunately, didn’t acknowledge it.”

You freeze. Like a scene in the movie, everything stops. The embarassement you felt earlier is quickly replaced by pure anger and irritation. He wants you to write a fucking paper? What is this? University lectures?

Never before in your entire life have you felt so humiliated. All eyes are on you; you could practically sense how they are trying not to laugh out loud. Eunwoo and Taehyung look at you with apologetic faces while Chin-sun smirks, whispering something to Jimin’s ear.

“I apologize once again, sir,” you grit through your teeth with a forced smile. Jimin nods then, not even bothering to look at you again. You’re dismissed, that’s what his behavior is saying.

“Our meeting is over, you can go back to your work.” Jimin announces and walks away from the cafeteria with Chin-sun by his side.

You wait for everyone to leave and the you let out a groan of annoyance, burring your head in your hands.

“Hey, it could have been worse. He didn’t fire you after all.” Taehyung laughs but he quickly shuts up as soon as he sees your glare. You stand up from your chair with a scowl written all over your face, and storm out of the lunchroom.

And may the God help you.

Later that unfortunate day, you sit by your desk again, scrolling through the Ask and you shall find page absentmindedly and waiting for the new asks to come. Everyone has returned to their work like nothing has happened but it doesn’t stop you from feeling all those eyes constantly on your back. Maybe you weren’t fired but the humiliation and embarrassment of being told off by your boss publicly makes you want to disappear and never show up at the editorial again.

“Y/N,” Taehyung’s deep voice pulls you out of your thoughts. You look up at him and find the man smiling at you lightly. He’s wearing a long, camel coat and a big scarf around his neck with ridiculous patterns that reminds you of Persian diwans. He places his black camera bag on the desk, which means he’s leaving the office. “I’m free of office work for today so I just wanted to say goodbye.” he explains and you just nod.

“Bye, Taehyung. See you on Monday.” you say maybe a little bit to wryly and he feels that, letting out a long sigh.

Taehyung seems to deliberate with himself for a moment before he decides to speak again. He clears his throat audibly. “And I, uhm, I’m sorry. It’s my fault that you are in this situation. I started this conversation and I should be the one writing this stupid paper for Mister Prude.”

You can’t help but chuckle at the new nickname Taehyung gave Jimin. The anger you felt before drifts away from you slowly, and you smile at your friend apologetically. “Oh, God, Tae. I’m such a bitch sometimes, sorry,” you blurt out.”I’m not mad at you, I’m mad at him. Besides, maybe that’s good I’ve got homework. I don’t remember when was the last time I wrote some-”

Your words are interrupted by a loud laugh that resonates through the office. You look in the direction of the voice just to see Chin-sun with her manicured hand on Jimin’s chest, throwing her head back from the laughter, too dramatically for your taste. She seems to have changed her clothes, a black pencil skirt long forgotten and replaced by a red, bodycon dress. Her dark hair is also styled differently, curled and loose. She looks beautiful, matching Jimin’s appearance perfectly.

“Where are they going?” Taehyung whispers to you, furrowing his brows. You shrug your shoulders, tearing your eyes of Chin-sun and Jimin. “Maybe our Mary Magdalene’s plan to win Jesus’ heart is working. Poor Eunwoo,” he sighs, looking at his watch to check the time. “Anyway, I gotta go. I have to drive all the way to some shithole near the city to take photos of an old lady who swears she saw saint Francis or other dude with halo speaking to her,” he grumbles and you giggle at his words. “Good luck with your paper, sweetheart.” he leans and places a small peck on your cheek.

“Bye, Tae.” you say, watching him leave the office right after Jimin and Chin-sun.

You let out a long, tired sigh, counting the time to leave the office and finally be back home, with a bottle of red wine and new season of Game of Thrones that are waiting for you to watch the whole week. Then, when you’re about to stand up and make yourself another coffee, a new ask pops up in your inbox with the title ‘Sex S.O.S’.

You raise your eyebrows because honestly, what kind of title is this? Curiosity wins the battle with a hot cup of an americano and you click the show more button. You put on your prescription glasses and start reading.

Dear Sunday’s Spirit editorial,

My name is Kang Seoyeon. I study medicine at the University of Seoul, I’ve got an amazing group of friends and a loving boyfriend. And here’s where the actual problem begins. I’m from the catholic family with long traditions, and as you can guess, he isn’t.

We’ve been together for almost 2 years now and since my parents don’t want me to live with him before the marriage, there’s also no sexual life between us. I was actually surprised they agreed I can date a non-religious person in first place, so the rules weren’t that horrible at the beginning.

My boyfriend always seemed to be understanding about the fact that I’m catholic and he has never had issues against it because I stated this on the start of our relationship, but lately… he’s been distant. We meet up less often and I feel like simple kissing after 2 years isn’t enough for him. I even thought about initiating something that wouldn’t necessarily involve the real intercourse but I’m too inexperienced and shy for that. We are slowly drifting apart.

I don’t know what to do. I love him so much and I don’t want to lose him just because of some stupid rules I need to follow. I’m scared he will leave me for some other beautiful girl who wouldn’t have anything against sleeping with him, especially after considering the fact that he isn’t virgin unlike me and he experienced this kind of pleasure before.

I hope you will help me.

Yours faithfully,

Kang Seoyeon.

You blink once, twice. Read the message again and then, something snaps in you.

To Hell with these stupid, old-fashioned rules straight from the Middle Ages. To Hell with celibacy till marriage, masturbation prohibition and living according to God’s will. To Hell with Park Jimin and his ridiculous moral code (and his Bible contemplation lunchbreaks).

Unofficial eleventh commandment: If a girl wants a dick, she deserves to have it.

And that’s exactly what your response to the girl is in a nutshell.

Your blood boils in your veins with anger as you’re typing furiously on the keyboard, not even bothering to check if your sudden outburst makes any sense.

Dear Seoyeon,

It’s Y/N here, the journalist who you wrote this message to.

I don’t know what kind of response are you expecting from me but honestly? If you think I’m going to recommend you some praying to Saint Rita then you’re wrong. I’m done with this shit.

Let me make this straight: if you want to fuck your boyfriend, do it. Maybe God wouldn’t approve that but don’t worry, he won’t send you to hell because of some dick in your pussy.

They are plenty of worse things in this world than having sex with the person you love. Look at me. I’m literally writing to catholic newspaper while using words like ‘God’ and ‘Fuck’ in the same sentence. And that’s not even a small piece of what I’ve done in my life.

So you go girl, suck your boyfriend off. Make him beg. He will never leave you after this. You have my blessings and Jesus is giving you metaphysical thumbs up from above. Sex is amazing thing and you don’t have to wait for it until you say ‘yes’ in front of some guy in black cassock. Just go with the flow.

 May the God help you!

Love, Y/N.

P.S. Watch out that guy. He seems suspicious. If he’s been really sex deprived for two years he will die after you give him a head.

Sent.

You exhale loudly, staring at the screen. You did that. Six months into working in Sunday’s Spirit and the time when you lost your temper has finally come. You should probably feel ashamed or have some type of conscience pangs but actually you aren’t even near this state.

Grinning to yourself, you delete the message you had sent to the girl from your inbox and check the time. It’s almost 5pm and it looks like you haven’t even realised you’re the only person at the office right now. Since it’s Friday and Jimin has already left, seems like everyone has decided to set off earlier too.

You turn off your computer, packing your things to the bag. Wrapping a scarf around your neck tightly, you leave the building, welcoming the coolness of the early Spring evening in Busan.

When you’re about to cross the street, your phone buzzes in the pocket of your coat. You stop for a moment, smiling to yourself when you read the message.

[04:23pm] from Tae: hey

[04:23pm] from Tae: i know you are probably planning an evening with mary magdalene n jesus but

[04:23pm] from Tae: wouldnt u want to go for drinks with me tonight?

[04:23pm] from Tae: same place as usual

[04:24pm] from Tae: as a wise man once said: nothing helps better for the writer’s block than vodka

[04:24pm] from Tae: so what do u say?

You don’t need to think twice when you quickly type a response. Game of Thrones and wine can wait till another time.

[04:26pm] from me: how could i say no to kim taehyung and vodka?

[04:26pm] from me: see u there

Kim’s is a place like no one other in Busan.

You wouldn’t even know about its existence if it wasn’t Taehyung who took you there first when you started working at Sunday’s Spirit, solemnly promising free drinks. Who would you be if you didn’t agree to that?

When you arrived at the bar, it eventually turned out the alcohol was costless hence it’s his family business since over thirty years and his brother Namjoon is a bartender, not because Taehyung willingly decided to pay for you.

Kim’s is located in rather industrial part of the city, sandwiched between factories and huge housing estates, not looking really inviting at first glance, but the place has its own, unique charm. There are some stories, shrouding the building’s history in mystery. Some people say it used to be headquarters of the most dangerous mafia in Busan, some even believe it served as the secret arsenal during the Korean War.

But what’s definitely true, it’s the fact that Taehyung’s parents bought this place in swinging times of 80s for a small amount of money and turned the place into disco bar which had become a must-go spot for young people in Busan.

Kim’s on the outside, with its large red neon sign hanging above the entrance, looks more like a night club than a bar, but on the inside the magic of kitschy 80s still remains the same (Taehyung swears retro is in fashion these days and that’s why he didn’t let his parents redecorate when they wanted to).

You always feel like you’re traveling back in time when you visist Kim’s.

The place is quite big, with a large dancefloor in the middle and red leather sofas strewn around the place along with the tables. Walls are made of brick and colorful, vibrant neon lights are shimmering on them. Oh, not to mention the huge disco ball on the ceiling. Everything accompanied with the quality music provided by Namjoon.

There are few billiard and foosball tables in the corner of the bar, always occupied by the same group of middle-aged men on weekdays and university students on weekends. But the thing that attract attention of the customers the most, is the bar with Namjoon behind it.

When you enter the place, you spot Taehyung and his blond mop of hair immediately. He sits on one of the bar stools, talking to his older brother. He’s wearing beige pants and floral button-up shirt that seems to match colors with his pinkish-looking drink he holds. You notice a new pair of sapphire earrings and a huge ring from the same collection on his forefinger. Classy, as always.

Taehyung grins broadly when he sees you. He puts his drink on the counter and stands up to greet you. His breath smells like strawberries and vodka when he leans to place his usual, small peck on your cheek. “Hi, sweetheart,” he says with his signature smirk plastered on his face, scanning your figure. “You look gorgeous. Last time you did this kind of make-up you wanted to get laid.”

You rolls your eyes at his words, sitting on a stool next to him. “Hi, Taehyung. Thank you for appreciating my efforts to look like a decent human being but no, I’m not planning on getting laid tonight.” you answer, waving to Namjoon who makes drinks for a group of girls a few meters from you. He smiles bashfully at you, showing his dimples.

“I’m not saying you want a fuck, calm down. I just assumed since it’s not everyday that you put eyeliner on,” Taehyung explains himself. “So let me do that again,” He takes a deep breath, placing a hand on his chest in a dramatic manner. “Y/N, you look absolutely breathtaking. I could stare at you for hours and I wouldn’t mind that even a bit. My homosexuality is at risk right now.”

You ignore his exeggarated outburst, rolling your eyes. “I’m not using eyeliner everyday because there’s something called dresscode in our work, you know?” you say. “Besides, my mum says you should look good on every occasion because you don’t know when you will meet the love of your life.”

Taehyung puts a hand on his heart and sighs with relief. “Thank God I always look good.”

You chuckle and then your eyes wander for a moment to Namjoon, who seems busy listening to whatever the pink-haired girl is telling him with polite smile on his face.

“Here,” Taehyung nudges your side, bringing your attention back to him. He hands you the same pinkish drink as he was drinking when you arrived. “Hyung told me it’s their new specialty or something. It’s called Flamingo’s Beach,” he says and you take the glass in your hand. “I have no idea what Namjoonie-hyung put here but as long as it looks good, it’s good. Cheers!” Taehyung sips his one and watches you with raised eyebrows as you’re taking a generous gulp of the drink. “And…?” he asks.

You lick your lips, humming to yourself. “Not bad. Tastes like strawberries.”

Taehyung opens his mouth to say something but he gets interrupted by his brother. “Y/N, hi. How are you?” Namjoon approaches you with two beer mugs in his hands.

His hair is back to his natural brown color now, purple strands long forgotten since the last time you saw him. It looks like he’s been working out lately, his posture more bulky and it makes his black shirt stick to his body tightly. Namjoon’s good-looking, you always knew that, but he seems to be even more handsome now.

“Hey, I’ve been good, thank you,” you greet him with maybe too much enthusiasm for your liking. You always had a weak spot for him. “How’s the bar going?” you ask.

“Busy, as you can see,” he replies, chuckling to himself. “I would love to talk to you more but I have some work to do in back room, so…” Namjoon trails off sheepishly, rubbing the back of his head with his hand.

“Oh, it’s okay. We can catch up another time.” You smile at him and you could swear his cheeks flushed.

“I’ll be going. See you.” Namjoon stammers out, not even waiting for your response before he disappears from your sight.

The pregnant silence sets in between you and Taehyung, something heavy hangs in the air and you feel it, tapping your fingers on the counter to the rhythm of one of the ABBA songs, waiting impatiently.

Taehyung looks like he’s debating with himself in his head. You narrow your eyes. He’s adopted a face you know pretty well, too well even. He looks everywhere but keep avoiding your gaze. He wants to ask you something, you’re sure of it, but he doesn’t know how.

Finally, after a moment of awkward quietness, Taehyung finally opens his mouth. “So, here’s the thing,” he starts and you wait for the bomb to drop.

Last time when he approached you like that, he asked you if you would be down for a threesome with him and some guy he met on Tinder. Your eyes almost popped out of your head when you heard his blunt proposition. You were eating lunch at cafeteria and the words casually slipped from between his lips as he chewed on his egg sandwich, like he didn’t just propose you having sex with him and instead asked for a lift to home after work.

Taehyung begged you for a whole week, pleading and convincing it’ll be fun. When you eventually agreed (sex draught make people do stupid things), the other guy didn’t show up. You ended up drinking tequila shots with Taehyung that night in his apartment, and you can’t quite recall how it happened, but somehow you found yourself unzipping your friend’s pants and the rest is history. He passed out right after he came. Now when you think about it, you feel a sudden urge to ask him if he remembers that.

You will do it next time, you promise yourself.

Taehyung though doesn’t ask you about having a threesome or robbing Park Jimin’s house this time. His intentions are pretty much different.

“See, Namjoon split up with his girlfriend few weeks ago,” he says and you prick your ears. “He’s not in good condition right now, as you can see. It was a nasty break up, he found out she’s been cheating on him,” He lets out a long sigh. You bite your lip, imagining Namjoon’s disappointed face when he discovered the truth. What a bitch cheats on someone like him? “So, I thought maybe you could… cheer him up a little bit?” Taehyung ends hesitantly, with a glint of hope in his eyes.

You frown. Cheer him up? Did he just imply what you think about?

“Look, I get it, he’s sad and angry, but what the fuck, Taehyung? What do you want me to do? Do you want me to be his rebound? Make him forget?” you exclaim. Taehyung quickly shakes his head but you don’t let him say anything. “I feel sorry for Namjoon but I’m not going to take advantage of him when he’s literally still hurt.”

“No, it’s not like that!” Taehyung rushes to explain. “Well, maybe it sounded like that but I swear, I didn’t mean that!”

“Then what should I do? Wipe his tears? Tell him a joke? Or maybe-”

“Of course he wants you to suck his brother’s heartbroken dick, doll.”

A sudden, low voice interrupts your conversation. Your eyes follow the direction when it comes from, looking to Taehyung’s left where not even a meter away a very familiar grey-haired man with feline eyes sits.

“Min Yoongi,” you say matter-of-factly.

The leader of emendation team from Sunday’s Spirit editorial raises his hand in which he holds whiskey, greeting you and Taehyung. “Hello, doll. Hello, Taehyung,” he says, not even bothering to look at you.

You elbow Taehyung searching for explanation but he shrugs his shoulders, turning to face the man as well.

“First of all, since when do you call me ‘doll’? We have never spoken a word to each other. Secondly, how long have you been sitting here and listening?” you ask Yoongi.

He snorts, smirking. “Long enough to know how Taehyung comforts his brother after break up.” he simply answers and Taehyung’s cheeks blush in crimson at his words.

“You come here often? I’ve never seen you here before,” you continue, crossing your arms over chest.

Next to you Taehyung lets out a sigh. “Yes, he does. Albeit I haven’t seen him for a while here,” You look at him in confusion. “Yoongi-hyung is Namjoonie-hyung close friend from university days.” he clarifies.

You raise your eyebrows at that. “So Namjoon went to the same school as Park Jimin?”

“Not the same. We met under different circumstances.” Yoongi cuts in.

“They’ve been together in underground rap group, or some shit. Didn’t like each other at first but eventually stuck together till the end of studies.” Taehyung ends and grey-haired man nods.

You can’t help but chuckle at that.

“What’s funny in that?” Yoongi scowls.

“Nothing. I just imagined you and Namjoon in snapbacks, rapping about the unfairness of social hierarchy,” you say, grinning at him.

“Well, you may believe me or not, but we even made a mixtape.” Yoongi reveals proudly, taking a sip of his whiskey.

Your eyes widen in curiosity. “Then what happened? Why aren’t you in Seoul now, still producing music? Why do you work in this stupid newspaper and Namjoon’s a bartender?” you ask interrogatively.

“Life happened, doll. We didn’t have enough money to publish our works so we decided to quit it.”

“Oh,” you breathe out.

You could see the nostalgia written across Yoongi’s face. You feel sorry for him, for Namjoon. Everything is always about the money. That’s why you’re working in Sunday’s Spirit even though it was never your dream in first place. Even though you have much higher ambitions than being Ask and you shall find column author.

Ever since you were little, you loved writing. You never complained, not even once, when your teachers in school assigned you to write something. They kept saying you have an extraordinary talent and it would be a shame if you didn’t do anything with that.

During your high school years, you were the leader of school newspaper’s team, still writing your own works every time you didn’t have something different to do. After that, you got to the university in Seoul, your another dream came true. You got a master degree, an apprenticeship in the Korean version of highly popular, world-widely known magazine. And then, nothing. No job applications available. No newspapers or publishing companies wanting you, dismissing you right away because they didn’t have any vacant places.

This is how Sunday’s Spirit, even if that’s not your dream job, happened. And quite literally saved your ass.

“I’m sorry.” you say after a while.

Yoongi smiles but it doesn’t quite reach his eyes. “Don’t be. What’s in past, stays in past.” he ends the conversation, drinking the rest of his whiskey.

You find this as a perfect possibility to do what you’ve come here for: get wasted, forget about this prick Park Jimin and his stupid assignment. You turn around on your stool to face the bar again, calling for the red-haired bartender named Hoseok who’s substituting Namjoon right now. You order a round of tequilla shots and quickly pours two of them in one go.

“Easy, tiger,” Taehyung teases, still sipping his pink drink as you wipe your chin with the back of your hand. Taehyung has stated a long time ago that he enjoys only casual drinking, which makes you and you lightweightness snort at him.

“Loser,” you mumble under your breath, deep down knowing you’re oh so much going to regret this after.

You focus your attention on the dancefloor now; technicolor lights glittering as the crowd of sweaty people bounce to old Madonna hits. You feel like your spirit might actually experience new kind of awakening during the chorus in Like a Virgin. You mouth the lyrics, the vodka already half-way to your bopping head. Your drunken self almost asks Taehyung and Yoongi if they would agree to be your backup dancers.

You eyes scan the room carefully and then, you spot him. He’s sitting in the corner, his arms splayed over the backrest of the red couch. A devil himself. A black horseman of the Apocalypse. A man who looks like every girl’s next mistake. Taylor Swift’s ‘we are never ever getting back together’.

A true sin.

Jet-black hair parted in the middle, onyx eyes and lucious smirk written across his lips as he bites them purposefully. He’s wearing a leather jacket and you wonder for a while if you would find inked tattoos on his body. He cocks his head to the side, his eyes glued to the same spot as he waits for something, or rather someone.

“Who’s that?” you ask, not even hiding your curiosity at this point.

Taehyung turns around as well, his eyes glancing to the dark-haired man briefly. “Ah, this, sweetheart, is Jeon Jungkook, Park Jimin’s best friend.” he says like it’s the most obvious thing in the world.

You raise your eyebrows, watching as Jungkook’s face expression immediately changes when waitress approaches him. He says something to her that makes her roll her eyes. She tightens her grip around the tray she’s holding, asking him for his order.

“Don’t worry. You are not the only one thirsting over him. I would let him top me too,” Taehyung whispers to your ear and you flinch.

“I’m not thirsting over him! I came her for drinks, not to get laid, I told you.”

“Okay, okay, loosen up a little. Tequilla makes you aggressive. Besides, it looks like he’s got his pick for tonight.”

Jungkook stretches out his hand and fixes the waitress’ glasses that seem to rode down her nose a little. The girl frozes in place because of his action and he grins, calling her cute.

“He’s trying to ask her out for two months,” Yoongi interrupts suddenly, again. It looks like he has nothing better to do tonight. “I’m serious. He’s here every Friday. Normally, he would have given up after the second time she had rejected him but there’s might be something in this girl that makes his dick hard and his heart soft.”

Jungkook’s eyes girl’s body as she bends to pick up the glasses from other tables and maybe that’s the alcohol swimming in your veins but you could swear his face lights up when she sends him another irritated glare when he calls her name.

“Does Park Jimin comes here often as well?” you ask before you could stop yourself.

Both Taehyung and Yoongi shake their heads.

“I don’t think so. Jeon comes here because he lives nearby in this huge ass apartment complex. His father runs a chemical factory and he works there.” Taehyung explains.

Jeon? Chemical factory? Something clicks in your brain. Right, you know who his father is. The King of Washing Powder. Another rich as fuck Busan’s snob.

“God, I hate him. I fucking hate him. What a prick. Douchebag. Asshole of the century,” The string of profanities leaves poor waitress’ mouth as she walks to the counter with tray in her hands. “How’s your day, love? You look beautiful today, love. Fucking leave me alone, love!” she mutters to herself, taking the beer mugs from Hoseok abruptly which makes the bartender raise his eyebrows in confusion.

“How’s your assignment about Mary Magdalene going on, doll?” Yoongi asks then, startling you.

You roll your eyes at him. “I literally got it today, Yoongi. I haven’t started yet.” you answer, gulping another shot.

On the corner of your eye you see Yoongi’s smirking. “I’m surprised, to be honest. You aren’t the only one who doesn’t pay attention to shit Jimin’s says,” he trails off. “I work for him from the moment he started this ridiculous Bible lunch breaks and I swear, he’s never called out someone like that before.”

“What do you mean he’s never called out someone before?” Taehyung joins in curiously.

“Look, I slept through the majority of these sessions and Jimin knows it, but he has never lecture me about it,” Yoongi remarks. “Maybe you’re an exception. Or he’s become more strict because of this bitch Chin-sun.”

You furrow your eyebrows, confused. You know Chin-sun has been making heart eyes for Jimin for a long time but what why it might have an influence on his behavior?

“Lee Chin-sun? What the office’s Mary Magdalene has to do with that? Besides the fact that she’s drooling for his dick every time she sees him,” Taehyung snorts.

Yoongi chuckles lowly. “Oh, so you two really know nothing about what’s going on between them right now,”

“What’s going on right now? Spill.” Taehyung says abruptly. You sigh when you see the way his eyes flicker with mischeviousness. One thing Taehyung loves more than photography and fashion is gossiping (and dicks).

“First of all, Chin-sun is a fucking bigot. And well… she might be closer to being miss Park than we thought.” Yoongi muses.

Taehyung eyebrows practically disappear in his hairline. You’re sure you mirror his expression right now.

Yoongi asks Hoseok for another glass of whiskey and continues. “My friend Seokjin’s wife is Jimin’s personal assistant and secretary. She heard this and that, quite juicy things I must say,” he says in a lower tone, like he’s revealing government secrets to them. You lean closer into his direction along with Taehyung. “Chin-sun’s father recently bought the claims to the most popular, conservative TV station in whole South Korea. But, what is more interesting, it looks like Park senior has some shares in it as well.”

You’re astonished. You knew there’s something looming in the air but you didn’t expect this. A TV station? Even your slightly drunken brain can calculate it’s very interesting.

“So the marriage between Chin-sun and Jimin would be pretty convenient for their families, especially after considering the fact that Jimin is the heir.” Yoongi adds, gulping the first sip of his new whiskey.

“Poor Eunwoo,” you whisper to yourself.

“But why so soon? Why do they want to legalize their relationship so suddenly?” Taehyung asks.

Yoongi lets out a heavy sigh. “There’s a rumour going around that Jimin’s father isn’t in good condition right now. Seokjin-hyung mentioned something about the heart disease. So, if that’s really true, you have the answer why he wants his eldest son to settle down already. Everything’s about the money, I told you.”

Taehyung whistles. “Woah, so Mary Magdalene is really about to be CEO Jesus’ wife soon!” he exclaims, clapping his hands. “Brilliant. Finally something spicy is happening in this boring editorial.”

“I wouldn’t be so enthusiastic if I were you, Taehyung. This kind of business never ends well,” Yoongi says coldly, placing his glass on the counter and standing up from the stool. He glances at his watch and throws a few bills next to his empty glass. “I’ll get going. It was nice talking to you, doll.”

“What about me?”

“Shut up, Taehyung, you’re not pretty lady.”

“I feel offended.”

“And I don’t care,” Yoongi mutters. Maybe that was alcohol swimming in her veins but you saw Taehyung lifting the corners of his lips in amusement. Weird. “Good luck on your assignment, doll. See you all on Monday.” Yoongi glances to your way one last time, adjusting his jacket.

“Bye, Yoongi.” you wave to him and a small, even sincere smile appears on his face when he as well raises his hand lazily and leaves. “Why didn’t you tell me he’s actually nice, Tae? I was always too scared to start a conversation with him because I felt intimidated.” you say after a while.

“I’m sorry, should have I set you up for a date with him?” Taehyung mocks.

A groan escapes your lips. “Could you please stop insinuating things?”

“You need to get laid, seriously. Like soon-soon. You get easily irritated recently. You need a d i c k,”

“I don’t need a dick!”

“A cock, Y/N,” Taehyung emphasizes. “A penis in your precious vagina.”

“Shut up!”

Several shots and a few drunken dances to Cindi Lauper and Bon Jovi, you’re pretty much wasted. And maybe, just maybe, you need a dick. And Taehyung, like a dipshit he always is, thinks that’s actually funny.

“Don’t wanna homff,” you slur, supporting your weight on Taehyung’s arm that shakes with laughter at your drunken antics, as well as his whole body. “I wanna danfce witfh somebodyyy,”

“Holy Mother of Jesus, you must be really drunk if you started referring to Whitney Houston’s songs. And you smell like booze,” Taehyung mutters under his breath and you whine, tugging on his arm.

“TaeTae, Taehyungie, pffleasee, can we go back?”

Taehyung ignores your grumbling completely. He exists the bar, walking (or rather dragging) you to the cab. As he tries to push your body to the car, he sees in the corner of his eye Jeon Jungkook, standing in front of his black SUV. The waitress from earlier accompanies him as well. It looks like he’s trying to convince her to let him give her a lift to home. The girl shakes her head at first but eventually gives up, stepping into the car. Jungkook grins to himself then, clenching his fists in gesture of pure triumph.

“I fuckin’ hate Park Jimin and his stfupid newspaper,” you mutter incoherently as you bury your head in the crook of Taehyung’s neck in the back of the cab. Old, korean songs are playing in the radio when you’re driving back home. Taehyung smiles to himself, hearing your light snores. But then, he falters.

Ah, yes, he almost forgot. It is going to be a long way to the third floor of your apartment building.

Next day, you wake up in the middle of noon with raging headache and an abrupt need to throw everything up. Frankly speaking, you had worse hangovers during you university days but it doesn’t change the fact that the state you’re currently in still sucks.

“Oh, good God, what have I thought?” you mutter to yourself while standing in the shower, letting the water cool you down.

Truth to be told, a drinking escapade when you have a whole ass paper to write in two days wasn’t the smartest idea you could come up with. You know that for sure, when you’re sitting down in front of your laptop with prescription glasses on your face and a cup of tea in your hand.

There’s a blank document opened on the screen, with only your name written in the corner and the title in the middle. You feel pathetic and useless, staring at it for 30 minutes straight. If you keep sitting like this, you might actually call Park Jimin right now and beg him not to fire you due to your incompetence.

“Get your shit together, Y/N.” you say to yourself, clenching your fists.

At first you fought about making some mind-map, outlining the most important parts of your essay, as you always used to do when you were studying. But there’s a huge difference between what you’re working on right now and what you usually did during academic days. Above all, at that time you were writing about things you had more knowledge about, not about Mary Magdalene and her role in Jesus Christ’s life.

“Ah, fuck it.”

You open an online Bible page and quickly type ‘Mary Magdalene’ in browser. All fragments when she’s mentioned shows up in front of your eyes. You fix your glasses and before you could stop yourself, you whisper, “Let’s get it.”

You don’t know how much time has passed since you started reading, but when you glance a the clock it’s nearly 7pm.

You went through every single page in the Bible when Mary Magdalene appears or when for some reason her name comes up in conversations. You read two thesis in which you found quite interesting facts about the heroine of your work. Also, you watched some conspiracy theories on YouTube about her, in which people claim that she was actually Jesus’ wife. You were bewildered, even in your post-hangover state.

And after all of this researching, you have settled a plan. You’re a journalist for God’s sake, you’ve been writing your entire life and none assignment will break you. So you start typing on the keyboard, filling the blank document pages with words, hoping that Park Jimin will approve your efforts.

On Sunday, you look like a ghost.

You’re a mess, cured from hangover but still in bad shape, especially after spending the whole night writing in front of your laptop. There are bangs under your eyes and you hair looks like you could cosplay a scarecrow. Your eyes are sore from staring to the screen for so long and you feel like you might collapse anytime if you won’t drink coffee in five minutes.

In between writing next paragraphs, you answer a call from Taehyung.

“How’s your assignment going, sweetheart?”

You let out a long, exhausted sigh. “It’s fine, I guess.” you respond to him.

“That’s lovely! I knew you would slay this, babe,” you hear him saying.

“I’m not done yet, Tae. I still have like a half to write,” you mumble and then let out a yawn, closing your eyes for a brief second before you speak again. “I would love to talk to you more but I really need to get this shit done as soon as I can, so I could have some decent sleep before Monday. I don’t want to look like an old witch when I hand in the paper to Park Jimin.”

“I know, I know. You got this, sweetheart. I’m sure you will make Mister Prude’s dick hard because of this.” Taehyung assures you.

You crack a tired smile even though you know he doesn’t see you. “Thank you, Tae.”

“Anything for you, sweetheart.” he says and hangs up.

You take another gulp of your coffee and start writing again.

It’s a little past midnight when you’re, with your last amounts of force you posses, typing the last words of the paper. As you look at your laptop screen, eyelids half-closed, you dream about nothing but going to sleep.

You did that. You really did. You wrote this stupid paper for Park Jimin and you’re actually proud of it. You carefully save the document three times (to be hundred percent sure) and as soon as you close your laptop, you pass out.

Little did you know what is waiting for you in editorial in a few hours.

You stare at your reflection in small mirror you hold, thanking God that he has enlightened the person who discovered make-up. You won’t say you look stunning but, after five hours of sleep you had in last two days, you would risk it all and say you appear much more than decent looking. You’re wearing your new black jumpsuit that makes your legs look longer and you even used a different shade of lipstick, painting your lips in crimson red.

And all of this for nothing, because when you stormed into the Sunday’s Spirit editorial to give the paper straight to Park Jimin’s hands, his secretary with polite smile said he’s coming to work later today.

You pursued your lips and handed the woman your blood, sweat and tears (you’re actually sure a few tears rolled down from your face on the keyboard while you were writing it), wishing you saw your boss’ face when you place the printed pages on his expensive desk.

“I changed a little bit the topic of my work while I was outlining it,” you tell Taehyung as you both sit together by your desks later that day. “I focused more on a role of Mary Magdalene character in world ruled only by men. I showed how a powerful woman she was, standing at Jesus’s side even though the church for the centuries referred her to whore,” you explain.

“Wow,” Taehyung muses. “You turned Mary Magdalene into feminism icon fighting against patriarchy.”

“It’s not like that!” You hit him in the arm. “You may laugh as much as you want but I actually got into her story.”

Taehyung smirks. “Looks like being scolded by Park Jimin wasn’t that bad.”

You roll your eyes. “Shut up. I got humiliated in the middle of fucking cafeteria. I still hate him. And also, I don’t know what he thinks about my essay.” you say with a sigh.

“Don’t worry. He’s probably having an epiphany right now while-”

A voice from the speakers that certainly doesn’t sound like gospel choir interrupts him.

“Miss Y/N, please report to the Park Jimin’s office immadietly.”

“-or he isn’t.” Taehyung ends.

Once again, you’re frozen in place. It’s okay, you tell yourself, maybe he just wants to talk about my essay. But what if he didn’t like it? What if your sudden feminism outburst about Mary Magdalene was too much?

“Holy fuck.” you blurt out quietly.

Taehyung gives you an encouraging smile but he doesn’t look much convinced in positive intentions of summoning you to their boss’ office, he just doesn’t say it aloud. “Well, maybe it won’t be that bad! Maybe he wants to congratulate you,” he tries to comfort you, without success. You look horribly pale and scared to death.

“I repeat: miss Y/N, please report to the Park Jimin’s office immadietly.” Jimin’s stone cold voice pierce through the silence again. You shiver. The journalists in the editorial send you impatient glares.

“Whatever happens, remember that I love you.” Taehyung whispers, squizzing your hand, which makes you even more nervous. He gives you thumbs-up and you take a deep breath, trying to calm your trembling body. A whole Sunday’s Spirit team follow your movements with their eyes.

You stands from your desk on wobbly legs and walk to the door with golden sign hanging on its surface.

 Park Jimin

 Editor-in-chief

You take the knob in your shaking palm and twist, stepping into the lion’s den.

The atmosphere seems to shift when you walk into the room. You could hear your heart rapidly beating through the dead silence that lingers in Park Jimin’s office. “You wanted to see me, sir?” you ask after closing the door, subconsciously cursing yourself for sounding so weak already.

“Yes, have a seat,” Jimin says. “Give me a second. I need to finish something.” he adds when you sit down, not even bothering to spare you a look.

Jimin sits behind his desk, eyes glued to the computer screen. His hair is pushed back from his forehead, his jaw clenched. Oh, great, he looks pissed, you think to yourself.

He isn’t wearing his suit jacket like usually, which surprises you. His white shirt’s sleeves are rolled up, revealing a glimpse of veiny hands and his Rolex. This is the first time you see him like this. He looks so… unlike him.

Strange.

You use the time you have to take in your surroundings. Jimin’s office is painted in fair tone of grey. The rumors were actually right, there’s a smaller version of Michelangelo’s Pietà standing proudly on of the drawers. Behind the desk, on the wall, hangs a wooden cross with gold-plated figurine of Jesus Christ, and just underneath it there’s a framed picture of Lady of Fatima, which he once proudly showed to the whole editorial team on one of the lunchbreaks, saying his grandmother brought him this from her pilgrimage.

You focus your attention now on the wall filled with numerous diplomas and certificates, all of them signed with Park Jimin’s name.

You had read some of his works before you started your job in Sunday’s Spirit and you must admit: Park Jimin is a talented, smart journalist you aspire to be one day. It’s actually sad, you think, that he can’t pursue his career, wasting his abilities by working in catholic newspaper owned by his father. And as you know from Yoongi, his situation isn’t going to change soon. Maybe he was right after all. Money really does rule this world.

After a few minutes that seems to last forever, Jimin breaks the silence. “Do you know why are you here?” he asks, finally averting his attention to you. He stares so deeply into your eyes that you feel you might faint from the intensity of his aura.

You clear your throat, and then respond. “I do believe it’s about my paper I handed in to you this morning.”

Jimin raises his eyebrow at that. “Your paper? No, everything’s fine about it. I read it and I must say, you did a great job,” he says and you furrow your eyebrows. So if nothing’s is wrong with your essay then what does he want?

“Then… why did you call me in, sir?” you hesitantly ponder.

Jimin laces his fingers together and leans closer over the desk. “Well,” he begins, “Maybe you forgot or you really didn’t know about it, but I used to run the same column as you do now,” You nod your head, recalling what Taehyung told you recently. Jimin continues, “I was actually the one who created it. That means I am still, for this day, its administrator. Which leads to another conclusion: every single ask that is send to our editorial and your responses to them can be monitored by me.” he explains, gauging your reaction. You still don’t have an idea why is he telling you that, so you just sit still and wait.

Then, Jimin reaches for the paper that lays on the left side of his desk and hands it to you. “Could you please tell me what is this?” he asks, pointing at the paper.

You glance at it briefly. “These are the questions I got last week and my responses to them.” you reply straightaway.

Park Jimin doesn’t seem much satisfied after hearing your words. He then takes another paper and gives it to you as well. “And this particular one, Y/N? Could you please read it and tell me what is this?”

Ignoring his forego of ‘miss’, you take it to your hands and start reading.

Dear Sunday’s Spirit editorial,

My name is Kang Seoyeon. I study medicine at the University of Seoul, I’ve got an amazing group of friends and a loving boyf-

You gasp and immadietly put a palm over your mouth. Under Seoyeon’s ask there’s also, clear as day, your much inappropriate response to her. In which you persuade the girl to suck her boyfriend off.

Holy fuck. Jesus Christ. Shitshitshit!

Jimin said he monitors everything that people send to the editorial along with the responds. Of course he had to read it. Why have you been so dumb? How could you believe that simple deleting from your inbox would be enough? Why can’t you do something properly for once?

You gulp, trying not to cry because good God, he’s going to fire you. He will kick you out and write a bunch of negative letters to your future employees, in which he will explain in details how disobiedent, reckless of a worker you are.

“Did you also forget how to speak?” Jimin asks. You almost cry out right away from the coldness of his voice.

You muster up a courage and look at him, and that’s a huge mistake because as soon as your eyes meet his, you’re lost for words.”I-I don’t know what to say, sir,” you stammer out. “I have nothing for my defence. I can only apologize for my irresponsible and inappropriate behavior I exhibited.” you say, bowing your head down.

Jimin pursues his lips. He stands from his chair and walks to you, leaning his body on the desk. He takes the paper from you to his hands and starts reading. “If you want to fuck your boyfriend, do it. Maybe God wouldn’t approve that but don’t worry, he won’t send you to hell because of some dick in your pussy,“ he quotes your response to the girl and your cheeks flush in red; you wish nothing more than to disappear and never see your boss again. But he’s relentless and continues reading, spilling the crude words, humiliating you even more. “So you go girl, suck your boyfriend off. Make him beg. He will never leave you after this.“ Jimin chuckles to himself darkly and you shut your eyes. “Look at me when you are spoken to,” he demands. You quickly oblige, lifting your chin a little to meet his intense gaze. “Is that really how a good, catholic girl should act?” he asks in a mocking tone.

You shake your head. “No, it isn’t.”

Jimin clicks his tongue. “Do you think he really won’t leave her after this?” he asks out of the blue.

You furrow your eyebrows. What kind of twisted game is he playing now? “I don’t know, sir.” you answer honestly.

Jimin smirks. Devilishly, sultry and completely illegal. He then licks his lips and leans closer to you. You could swear his eyes are darken than before. Something has shifted in his demeanor; he looks daring. “Why don’t you show me then, how this poor girl should suck her boyfriend off, Y/N?” he whispers lowly.

Your eyes widen. Did he just-?

He didn’t. He can’t. Maybe you misheard him, maybe you started imagining things that aren’t real. Oh, sweet Lord, the look of absolute seriousness written on his face tells you very much different.

Park Jimin, your boss, the man who goes regularly on masses and reads Bible, wants you to give him a head. In his office.

May the God help you.

You should probably slap him in the face for his immoral proposition. You should save your dignity, leave and never come back again. But then, you clear your mind from all those twisted thoughts running through it and you realise that you’re walking on a very thin line. Line which is called unemployment and bankruptcy.

You think about your landlord who praised you recently for keeping up with rent every month regularly. You think about your student loans that you still need to pay.

And fuck, you hate Yoongi because he was damn right. Money wouldn’t buy you happiness, but it can provide you that.

That’s why you put away the humiliation, the what ifs. You shut your mind screaming at you and listing the future consequences. Maybe Jimin just tests you, but the way he looks at you denies it. He wants to see you on your knees in front of him. Perhaps he only wants to play before he fires you but you put that thought aside.

You at least need to try.

Jimin searches for any kind of protest in your eyes and when he doesn’t find it, he’s back to his domineering self. “What are you waiting for?” he asks, his voice an octave lower. “Get on your knees.”

He has a calm expression on his face and you wonder for a moment how many times has he been in similar situation before. Having a woman on his mercy and using her the way he likes. And now you know. All those stories you heard about, are actually true. Park Jimin isn’t a prude. He’s dirty.

You fall to the floor with a light whimper. Maybe it’s the last chance for you to leave, but the confidence that emanates from Jimin doesn’t falter your movements. You hate yourself for that but God, you want to see this man being a mess for your touch. Even if that’s fucked up.

And it’s wrong, so, so wrong, when there’s a cross hanging behind you, when he’s your boss who claims to be a good catholic, when you do that because you’re too afraid to lose your job. But in that moment, the morality doesn’t exist.

Jimin stands up to take his belt off, looking at you from the above as he slowly, purposefully pulls it from the belt loops. He doesn’t encourage you or say anything, he just waits. You gulp when he yanks his black slacks down, along with his underwear.

For a few, solid seconds, you just stare.

You aren’t a connoisseur of dicks. Dick is a dick, but Park Jimin’s length is just as perfect as the rest of him, semi-hard against his lower stomach. Your hands move to his sculpted thighs, running up and down, tracing the prominent lines of his toned abdomen. The muscles tense underneath your touch.

You don’t remember when was the last time you’ve gone down on someone. Maybe it was Taehyung few months ago when you were both too drunk to care? You can’t quite recall. Every move of yours is uncertain, but Jimin doesn’t mind. Maybe your uncertainty turns him on even more.

He watches as you take him in your palm hesitantly, hot and already stiff, stroking him several times until he hardens in your hand. The sight is purely erotic, filthy, and you lick your lips before placing a light kiss on his tip. Jimin hisses. That’s a warning. No teasing.

You pump him, trailing a thumb over his slit, spreading precum all over his cock. Jimin doesn’t say anything but from the shuddering breath he lets out you assume he likes it. You take a deep breath, wrapping your lips around his dick and swirling your tongue around the head.

Jimin groans, a guttural sound resonating through his whole body and you take it as a sign to continue. You ease more of him into your mouth, hollowing your cheeks and bobbing your head up and down around his length obediently. Some twisted and fucked-up part of you wants him to praise you, call you good girl with your lips around his dick and throbbing core. He does none of that. His hands tangle in your hair as he withdraws, and you know exactly what’s coming next.

It’s an unspoken question on his lips and your jaw falls slacks on command.

A forceful push of his hips and he’s burried deep inside your mouth till he hits the back of your throat. Tears brim in your eyes and you gag, breathing heavily through your nose. It hurts a little, a dull ache but the content sigh and fucked-out expression on Jimin’s face is worth it. So you let him fuck your mouth the way he wants, let him pull your hair harder, wreck you a little more. It’s so easy to submit to him, to let him overwhelm you in every sense possible.

Your eyes fall shut and Jimin stops his movements, pulling from your mouth. Drool dribbles down your chin and you wipe it with the back of your hand. Jimin lets out a shaky breath, staring down at you so intensely it makes your insides tighten, even if you don’t see him yet.

“Look at me,” he rasps and you do, how could you not. The sight of your boss’ flushed cheeks and sweat forming on his forehead will be imprinted in your mind forever.

You curse yourself for wanting him to fuck you senseless right against his deck, with a hand around your throat muffling your screams, fuck you so hard you won’t remember your name anymore, no matter how wrong it is.

“Good girl. You’re so pretty like this, letting me fuck your mouth,” Jimin nothing but purrs, filling you to the brim again, until there are tears forming in your eyes and running down your cheeks, until he hits the base of your throat again and again and you fight back choked gags every time. “Just like that, fuck-” he moans, lowly and beautifully, head thrown back and mouth parted.

He’s close, you could feel that, so you take him deep once again and when your throat tightens around him one last time, he lets out a gutural groan and comes. You swallow every drop of his bitter release and when he pulls out from your mouth, you nearly fall forward.

Jimin catches you, placing his hands on your shoulders, balancing your exhausted body. You look at him through your half-lidded eyes. He looks so young now, so innocent, his cold demeanor’s gone and replaced by pure bliss written on his face. For Park Jimin, cheeks rosy, disheveled hair and loosen tie, you would do it all over again.

He then does something unexpected. He reaches for your face, brushing your tangled hair away and placing the strands behind your ears. This is a loving gesture, something exclusive he definitely shouldn’t be doing. You’re frozen, you can’t move a muscle while he wipes your cheeks from the reminiscences of your tears. He trails his thumb over your swollen lips absentmindedly, faltering there. For a moment he looks like he might say something, but he quickly shuts his mouth, regaining his previous posture.

You take this as a sign to leave. You get up from the floor, your knees sore from the uncomfortable position you’ve been in. You walk to the mirror that hangs on the wall of Jimin’s office. You sigh, seeing your current state. There’s no way someone would believe you that you haven’t just sucked a dick.

Your cheeks are flushed in pink, there are smudges of mascara under your eyes and your lipstick is smeared in the corners of your mouth. Not to mention your hair is still a mess.

You are painted in all shades of wrong.

In the reflection of the mirror you see Jimin buckling up his belt and straightening his tie. He runs a hand through his blond locks and looks up, catching you staring at him. You quickly look away.

“Don’t worry. No one will notice anything. Everyone should be off for their lunchbreaks by now.” he says. He sounds so pathetically normal, yet there’s still a slight rasp in his voice.

You glance at the watch on your hand and check the time. It’s a little past 12. You brush your hair with your fingers quickly and proceed to leave, but you stop, remembering you have to ask about one last thing. You turn around to face him.

“Are you going to write a bad opinion about me to my future employees?” you ask, flinching at the hoarseness of your voice.

Jimin raises his eyebrows. “Bad opinion? No, absolutely not,” he answers, shaking his head. “I was never going to fire you in first place.”

You fight back the shocked expression that threatens to appear on your face. You quickly rush to leave this damn office and never look in his eyes ever again. What were you even thinking?

“And Y/N,” Jimin’s voice makes you stop with your hand hovering over the door knob. Single tear rolls down your cheek and you gulp. “I’m sorry.” it’s all he says.

You don’t ask him what he meant by that. You don’t deliberate if he was sincere or not. You leave the office as soon as you can, running to the nearest bathroom, closing the door behind you and leaning on it.

He wasn’t going to fire you. He just wanted to use you, demand to get down on your knees and please him the way he wants. It was all a game for him, and you became his plaything.

“I’m so stupid,” you mutter to yourself, burying your head in your hands. “God, I’m so stupid.”

You feel sick, used, but at the same time you can’t get away with creeping feeling that you enjoyed it, wishing he wanted you just as much as you wanted him in that moment.

You sigh, closing your eyes. You’re probably foolish for thinking it won’t have any consequences. You’re just about to face them.

The coldness of early Spring hits you when you exit Sunday’s Spirit editorial. You hug your body tighter with your coat, standing in front of the building awkwardly. You take a few deep breaths, trying to clear your mind, but nothing really works. There’s a vacant space inside your body, like your soul has drifted away and left nothing but emptiness.

You feel hollow.

You don’t know how long have you been standing there, inhaling fresh air and waiting for your blood to start circulating properly in your veins again. When you’re about to head to the underground station, on the corner of your eye you see Jimin’s black Mercedes. You probably shouldn’t stare but you helplessly do.

Probably if you didn’t, it would hurt less.

He approaches the car, looking perfectly fine as always, which you couldn’t say about yourself. And he isn’t alone.

You recognize dark curls of Chins-sun’s hair, contrasting her beige coat beautifully. The corners of Jimin’s lips lift when he sees her. You don’t know if it’s a honest smile or a forced one. You wonder for a while how does he look like when he’s truly happy. Maybe he’s happy now, when Chin-sun is by his side.

What you are really sure about Park Jimin, is that he’s a man of many maybes.

Something which definitely doesn’t look forced are his palms, cupping the cheeks of Chin-sun’s flushed face. He starts tracing circles on her skin in intimate gesture and murmurs something. Maybe he asks her how was her day. Your lips still tingle where he trailed his thumb over it bitten, swollen surface. Maybe he still remembers how they felt around his cock when he was relentlessly bringing tears to your eyes and stabs to your heart.

The way he leans and kisses Chin-sun’s cherry colored lips is purposeful, perfectly measured. Maybe he sighs into her mouth with content, a beautiful sound you have witnessed with your own ears, as you were working him to his climax. Jimin’s hands grip Chin-sun’s dark locks but it isn’t the similar manner he did to you earlier, as he laced his fingers through the strands, when you wished him to do nothing more than pull harder and harder, until the pain in you scalp was replaced by dull ache, until a whimper fell from your lips and eyes squeezed shut. He kisses Chin-sun lovingly and there’s no roughness in that. It’s gentle caresses and soft murmurs.

After a moment he breaks off, soothing his palms over Chin-sun’s shoulders. She sends him a smile and opens the passenger’s door, getting into the car. And then, when you swallow a lump in your throat, when you decide to turn around and go, run as fast as you possibly can, when you dream about nothing more but never seeing him again, you catch eyes with him.

Jimin looks pathetically apologetic. There’s something in his dark brown orbs you can’t read. Maybe it’s guilt, maybe regret. Park Jimin is a man of many maybes, yet he stares at you with expression you could only mistaken for sadness.

You wonder if he sees the way your eyes stare at him blankly. You wonder if he knows how he nearly wrecked your body and made you feel things you shouldn’t. If he hurts the same way as you do now. However, Jimin quickly diverts his head away from you, closing the door to his car behind him as well. You laugh quietly at the ridiculousness of this situation. A bitter laugh that escapes your mouth and deepen the hollowness inside you.

A hand touches your arm and you don’t even flinch, knowing already who it is.

“So you know the news,” Taehyung says, looking at Jimin’s car leaving the parking lot. How long has he been standing behind you?

“What news?” you ask, turning your head to look at him.

“Chin-sun is really going to be miss Park officially,” he replies. “Jimin proposed to her this weekend. The wedding is in may. But that’s not important right now. How’s your conversation with him, sweetheart?”

You feel sick. You excuse yourself, mentioning something about needing to catch earlier train and texting him later. Taehyung calls after you but you don’t listen. You start running.

You run until you couldn’t breathe, until there’s a soreness in your throat from the coldness of air. You run until you reach your apartment, stumbling into it on wobbly legs. Your back touches the wall and you slide off, sitting on the floor.

You don’t cry. The tears don’t strain your eyes. It’s only this damned, dull hollowness.

There’s written in the Bible that a guilty person is the one who broke God’s law, who committed a sin. The said person will be judged by their actions after their death. Because every human being has a conscience, the thing that sets the line between good and bad, so when we did something wrong, we should feel remorse.

When you sit on the floor and stare blankly in front of yourself, you know you have sinned.You both did. You wonder if he, trailing patterns of tender touches on his fiancee’s skin, feels the same as you. You wonder if guilt eats him up as much as devours you. Maybe there’s hollow ache in his chest, just like in yours. Maybe he doesn’t feel anything.

And may the God help you both find your redemption.

[datoneidiot]

Of Paintings and Actors

This was supposed to be a quick 3k fic for @coconut-cluster‘s Sander Sides Hogwarts Au but it turned into a 9k mess. I ended up putting a lot of focus on the Roman Vents To Paintings into it but it’s based off of an anon’s submission: What if Roman asked Virgil to the Yule Ball but thinking that Roman wouldn’t ask him anyways and he really doesn’t want to be the only person he know going aloNe, Virgil gets asked by someone else and we get to witness Roman’s heartbreak.

Very Roman centric, lots of one specific painting, Prinxiety and background Logicality, very long. Im not terribly happy with it but I hope you enjoy!

“I was the only one who didn’t pass the Arithmancy test. It’s like, everytime i go into a room they all turn away and-- I can hear them laughing! They’re not even trying to pretend they’re not-- they won’t help me! I study as much as them, i study more than them but i'm still not smart enough, I’ll never be--”

The painting above the distraught Ravenclaw wished she could do more than just listen but there isn’t anything else to do when you’re stuck behind portraits.

“Now don’t say that. The Sorting Hat decided what house it believed was best for you.”

“What does creativity have anything to have to do with intelligence, Circe?”, Roman wiped at his wet face with the red blanket Virgil had so generously made for his birthday in their second year. No one in his house had even gifted him with a quick Happy Birthday, choosing to ignore the birthday sash he wore all day-- the one he spent a week on making. Roman didn’t know if he cried that night because of how warm his friend’s smiles were or because of how lonely he felt the second the tower door shut behind him.

He looked down at his ice cream tub, desperate for some food comfort, only to realize that his eyes were too watery to even see the spoon. How pathetic.

Roman scoffed, scooping yet another spoonful into his mouth and watching yet another tear fall onto the Magical, Wonderful School of Wizardry’s cold and simple wooden floor.

“I would make a great, uh what are they? They sing and dance and uh shake-- um spear? Spear...the guy who wrote those plays in theater? The muggles doing them? They...pretend to be someone they aren’t?”  

Circe felt her painted heart break with each of the cracks and sobs Roman just managed to keep leveled. The only reason she would’ve even caught them was how often he visited her at midnight in her hidden room.

“I believe you mean an actor, dear?”

And the sad truth was he really would be a great actor.

In his first year Roman was actually excited for the new adventure that awaited him in Hogwarts School of Magic. He used to be so eager to learn magic and make friends and to actually be apart of something. Instead he learned how to walk in a full room and act like he can’t hear the snickers and whispers, how to use water resistant makeup to hide the embarrassing bags under his eyes from studying all night, how to blink away the stinging pain behind his eyes when he got a grade unworthy of his house name, how to break down without making a sound in bathroom stalls and at three in the morning but he still couldn’t get used to the horrible aching feeling of just wanting to be accepted. Of just wanting a hug.

“Yes! I can't even remember what I basically am! I don't..know..who i am..”

Circe had meet his friends before. Logan was leaving from what was probably the kitchen guessing by the bag of treats he was carrying. The Slytherin was quick and precise in his walk, a comfortable pink resting over the smile on his face. He gave a polite nod and apologized for disrupting her by roaming around so late. She wished him a safe trip back to his house. Patton was sweeter than a bag of sugar. He and Roman had passed by before and it only took five minutes for her to understand why Roman had called him Padre so often. She hadn’t met the one Roman had talked about the most. The Gryffindor seemed to be the most interesting of the bunch, especially when Roman said one his thousands of nicknames so fondly. But even Patton didn’t know how desperate Roman was to be away from his house.

Circe looks to her right, tracing over the detailed spaghetti bowl in it’s own, smaller portrait. Each noodle was defined, every mark on the bowl was carefully planned, there were even smaller containers of side options for the pasta and the longer she looked the more life she found.

The color scheme even match hers.

“You're the few who value other people’s feelings and thoughts at the same level as your work.” Though you value their thoughts on your work too much. “I've seen their ways, desperate enough to stab each other in the back just to get top grades on essays. You are intelligent, in your own way. You belong there.”

Another set of tears trailed down his face and Roman rubbed them away quickly, soft laughs barely making a sound in the secret room hidden by the Great Hall at ungodly hours.

He clutched the red blanket to his chest. “Thanks Circe. You’re always there to save my day.”

“If i could i’d turn the whole lot of them into pigs. Imagine how surprised all their dates would be when they found out they were going to dance with a boar during the Yule Ball.”

Roman’s boisterous laugh echoed in the hall, nearly knocking over his forgotten ice cream tub. And it’s bittersweet because only in the dead of night in an abandoned hallway he can laugh like this but in the common rooms during the day he’s too annoying. He’s alone either way. He wasn’t entirely alone though, he could be himself with his friends. If he ignores the growing voice in his head telling him he’s too annoying for them too.

“I was actually thinking of um, asking Virgil if he’d like to...go with me--” Roman looked down at the blanket he was hugging, tracing over the castle emblem Virgil added in a corner. It was red and gold, Roman’s two favorite colors. He marveled at how different they were from blue and white. It felt like it was made from warmth and love, like Virgil was actually there hugging him and telling him that he’s important and ok. Like he wasn’t talking to a dead witch painted by magic, taught to behave like the person they actually aren’t. He just wanted to be someone worth being proud of.

The sinking realization made him nauseous.

Circe wasn’t even a real person. Or at least, wasn’t anymore. Everything she would ever say to comfort him was the personality she was taught. She’s a painting. All of them were.

There wasn’t anyone joking about turning dates into pigs.

There wasn’t anyone supporting him.

There wasn’t anyone believing he’s good enough.

There wasn’t anyone saving him from himself.

There wasn’t anyone who loved him.

There wasn’t anyone listening when he cries about his stupid problems at three am in an abandoned hall.

No one was actually proud of him.

He’s alone.

It’s just him, projecting his stupid feelings into a blanket, abandoned in a hall. The love wasn’t coming from anyone but himself. He didn’t even feel love for himself.

“--but as friends! It was Emile’s idea of course, i would’ve never thought of it. I just...i don’t want to scare him. He’s...he needs to be protected and i don’t want to be the one hurting him. He needs a friend.” He sighed and put the blanket down.

Circe let her hands rest on the side of the frame. Fingers carefully tracing the wooden carving from the sides inching to the top, reaching for the side facing Roman. Ten precise dancers were unable to grace the top, an invisible barrier kept her trapped in the painting. Her fingers fell back to their spot, hands useless and arms empty. Circe growled. Neither of them could move past the truth the wooden rectangle held.

“You need a friend.”

A barely noticeable flinch shakes Roman’s world like an earthquake. The crack of thunder emits from an ice cream tub falling over, echoing through the school.

“You need to tell them everything.”

And this sounds worse than knowing he has nothing. Because he has something and he’s been so ungrateful of them. Logan, Patton and Virgil…

Passionate debates over which forms of magic are the best and lazy over-lunch conversations over which poetic elements are the worst, baked sweets during study sessions and random hugs after classes, snarky comments over Disney and emo bands and playful teasing during quidditch games, hidden smiles memorized and the imprint of purple and gray clouds and safety.

He has them, he has enough, he should have enough and he’d risky it all by saying they weren’t? That Patton’s broken heart over being called a filthy mudblood, Logan’s inability to move past his human imperfections and Virgil’s anxiety waiting to drag him down were so much worse yet he couldn’t even survive this alone?

That he lied to them for years everytime he said he was fine?

And he couldn’t forget Emile, Sabrina and Damien...

“No. I can’t bother them with stupid things, they have bigger problems than me to deal with and i can’t add on to it, they shouldn't have to suffer because me--”

“You help them with their problems...don’t you think they’d like to help you?”

Roman’s face screwed into uncertainty, “I don’t know…”

“They deserve to know Roman. They’re your friends, not the Ravenclaws.” Circe watched him fiddle with a faded corner on his robe. It was long faded from earlier in the year. Each year the one specific corner gets faded quicker than the last.

“You belong with them. You can talk to them, they accept you. Virgil wouldn’t hate you if you asked him, i'm sure you two will have a great time at the Ball.”

Roman’s eyes shined with unshed tears and a mix of doubt and hope, “You really think so?”

And for a second he silenced that stupid voice in his head telling him they won’t, he can’t--

“I will. Well, i mean, i’ll ask Virgil but i’d, i’d like to wait a little before telling them my uh, problems...”

Despite the fear of the future he was excited. Circe said he could, he could, he’s going to ask Virgil to the Yule Ball. They’re friends with him for a reason. They accepted him and everything that came along with him. They loved him. He can do this. It’s only a question, what’s the worst that could happen?

“Thank you Circe. I-I can’t ever thank you enough.” Roman jumped up from the floor, arms opening up on instinct, a buzzing feeling of emptiness in them. He let them fall back to his sides and smiled widely at her instead.

Circe watched Roman start to leave, gathering the ice cream tub and carefully wrapping the red blanket around him.

“Roman.”

The troubled Ravenclaw wrapped in red faced her, curiosity and confusion evident. He’s very expressive, she noted, though she wondered why he was able to bring the room to life and why it was more than just the feeling of it.

“You can do this.”

Roman smiled and smiled so wide he burst into a happy shriek of laughter and quickly turned down the hall.

He could practically feel air beneath his feet as he ran. His spirits were high and he felt high, literally and figuratively. Roman looked down at his feet as he turned down the left of a hall full of empty classes and he couldn’t tell if he imagined it or not but there was a little sparkle of gold from beneath each step he took. He didn’t know why or whatever it was-- maybe he was tired from studying and staying up all night or maybe he wasn’t actually seeing things and he was doing magic without even realizing it or whatever but he focused on this feeling, this wonderful amazing feeling. The feeling of being free and empty, of being full and warmth. Of air and water and fire and stars-- everything clashing together and falling into one and being able to see something beautiful. Of being ok and excited, of colorful futures and possible endings he’s loved in, of laughing with Patton and joking around with Logan and Ravenclaws welcoming him with open arms and smiles, of dancing with Virgil and the hunger for more of it. The feeling of flying and eagerness-- the feeling of previously unknown happiness.

He can do it, he can do it, he can do it

He will be ok

And it ran through his head from his heels hitting the floor to his heart beating in his chest as he ran through blurred halls. It was too much and not enough but he had to let it out before he burst. It started with little giggles and squeals to happy laughs to happy tears.

By the time he made it to the Ravenclaw tower his face was wet and his stomach hurt. He was sure he had woken up someone with how loud he was laughing.

“Are you alright Roman?” The knocker nearly scared the pants off of Roman and he dissolved back into howls and wheezes.

“No, no I’m fine I just-- oh gosh, I'm sorry for being so loud.” He barely managed to say the sentence without bursting into giggles.

“I see” chirped the eagle knocker, “Are you going into the tower?”

Roman was still smiling when he reached for the golden handle, “Yes.” He knocked once and it sounded like a cannon blast. He must’ve woken everyone up, they’re going to be upset--

“You’re in a dark room but how do you get out?” The little voice recited the riddle melodically.

Who cares if they’re upset at him? He’s ok. He’s welcomed. He can do it.

“You have to stop imagining it being dark.”

Roman thanked the knob before it closed behind him.

The pain of grades, the fear of laughs, the ache of loneliness, the numbness of routine. It was gone. Even if for only this night he could live without the stinging discomfort of being red and gold instead of blue and white, he could be happy. And tomorrow would be even better! And he’ll dance his worries away and spin Virgil until he can’t stand anymore then sweep him off his feet. And every day will be happy.

Roman skipped to the stairs and pretended to offer a hand to the Gryffindor up the stairs. He twirled and spun onto his single room-- none of the Ravenclaws wanted to share a room with him-- and whirled right back on to his bed, laughing all over again.

Tomorrow was going to be perfect, he’ll make sure of it. Virgil deserves to be treated like a prince and he had to make sure he wouldn’t trigger his anxieties, so not grand but personal, something that's special to him.

A million ideas spin in his head as he did before. It’s loud and quiet, mixed with the colors of the brightest roses and the coolest lavenders, softly drizzling like rain hitting a window. Sometimes it’s too much for Roman, alone in his room with his thoughts. It’s too big and it’s too small and he just doesn’t fit but now-- thoughts of gray and little smiles flood in, similar to warm blankets and faded robe corners and old an old stitched sweater left at home ground him.

With a gasp, Roman shot up out of his bed. He knows exactly how to ask him.

He would have to use a lot of magic to make it work and a lot of time. His eyes scanned across the room and landed on a stack of books. Studying would have to wait, this was more important. He was more important.

Roman focused on what he wanted to make-- creative conjuring and transfiguration was a higher form of magic he hadn’t learned or tried yet. Despite having no experience, time or sleep, he wove his fingers delicately in the lonely room for hours. He absolutely could not wait for tomorrow. All he had to do was wait till their shared dinner. He could wait eight classes right?

Oh gosh he couldn’t but he’ll have to make do if he wanted to woo the edgy tempest.

He can be happy. He held onto the soft fabric beneath his fingers and laid the sweet flower on top of it before going to bed at yet another ungodly hour. They accept him.

He can do this.

…

Virgil pulled his robes tight around him. Roman usually meet them in the mornings and walked with them, why wasn’t he here? Patton rubbed his shoulder.

“Hey i'm sure he just overslept or something. You know how he is.”

Patton knew him too well. Of course, all he was known to worry about stupid little things like this. Yeah it wasn’t the first time Roman overslept, and it wouldn’t be the last time he would lose track of time but he couldn’t stop the worry bubble in his stomach. Without Roman, without consistency, it felt like everything was watching him. Watching him walk down the hall, alone, without an annoying, loud-mouthed--

“Hi Virgil, Patton, I gotta go, see you later!”

Roman ran past the duo before Virgil even had a chance to speak. Today was going to be horrible.

“Come on let’s meet up with Logan.” Patton urged Virgil, grabbing his arm and bringing him from the opposite way Roman had just abandoned them-- it was a distraction for him, Virgil knew, but he looked back to see where Roman had ran off anyways.

Roman was-- Roman...how does he even start? He’s obnoxious, loud, annoying, prideful and petty...but he was thoughtful and considerate, he was sweet, if not corny, and he distracted Virgil, focused him, on anything but the other wizards and witches in the hall, let him ruin the corner of his robe, and was always first to make sure he was ok even during stupid fights. He grounded him, and Virgil was forever grateful for it because he couldn’t even imagine going a day without Roman looking out for him and protecting himself from himself. It was a big change from keeping defenses up to letting someone else worry for him and look at him like that with those big stupid smiles, and now the Gryffindor couldn't see himself without Patton, Logan or Roman.

And it was so stupid, so so stupid. Everything was stupid-- besides Patton.

“Hey V, four, seven, eight, you can do it. In and out. Like that, good-- where’s Roman?”

And Logan.

Patton eyed Virgil and gave a weary smile to the other speckled fourth year, speaking in a softer voice, “He wasn’t able to walk us today, Virgil got a bit anxious.”

“I didn’t-- i dont want, i didn’t mean to--”

Logan placed his hands on his shoulders. “We know, it’s not something you can control, just breathe. Uh, how does Roman typically-- the Ravenclaw besides the Charms class...adores flying...with, um.. her turtle companion? Named…”, Virgil noticed how Logan’s eyes caughts Patton’s and the smile he gave him, “--Pat! Rick, uh Patrick. Patrick the...Turtle.”

Virgil couldn’t help but laugh when Logan turned an embarrassing pink. Patton giggled, “Just like Roman! I’ll see you second Lo!” and headed off for his first class.

Logan watched Patton leave, sluggishly waving a hand bye. Virgil snickered as they started walking again, “Oh my god L, that was so bad.”

“You will not tell Roman about this.” Logan said half pleading, half threatening. Virgil rolled his eyes but their smiles were still there, “Mm-hmm”

They walked in silence to their shared Potions class for a bit. Virgil pulled at the corner of his robe. “Thanks L”

Logan glanced at the shorter Gryffindor, “Of course, i'm glad to be of assistance. I’m positive you’ll see Roman in your third period.”

Virgil smiled. Maybe today wouldn’t be so bad.

....

It was horrible. Virgil had nearly forgotten about the Yule Ball because of his panic this morning. How could he forget it? Everyone’s been raving about it for the past two weeks.

Potions with Logan was replaced by ballroom dancing with McGonagall. Logan and Virgil were separated by their houses and taken into different rooms. He felt bad for Logan, having to be with Damien alone for a whole period but he had bigger problems now.

The Gryffindors were a mess. None of them knew how to dance and Virgil couldn’t tell if he felt better because everyone was doing terribly or if he felt even worse because to him it seemed like he was the worst of the bunch. He couldn’t stop himself from wondering how Logan and Patton were doing. Logan’s had experience already and Patton could pick up anything easily. They were going to have fun at dancing with each other. Virgil didn’t even have to think about how Roman was doing. He was great at any of the arts, singing, painting, dancing. Roman wouldn’t want to go to the ball with a Gryffindor with two left feet.

The thought alone of Roman dancing with him made him trip over his feet. What was he thinking? Roman wouldn’t-- he was dreaming if he thought Roman, of all people, would ask him to go to the ball with him. Virgil figured they both knew he couldn’t ask him, and Roman was the more bolder of the two, maybe he imagined Roman smiling at him like that, maybe he was just really touchy and gentle with everyone, Roman would never think of him like that but Virgil still placed it somewhere in the back of his mind that if he was going to the ball with anyone, it’d be him.

It didn’t help when he went to his third class, expecting to see his current fixation of the day waiting at the door, his eyes lighting up and the typical big grin the Ravenclaw gave him when greeted him. Roman wasn’t even at the door. Virgil walked in the class cautiously, arms tight around his books like something was going to jump out at him. He felt too open, too exposed. Roman didn’t say hi to him or explain why he was in a rush this morning. He scribbled stuff in his book and to Virgil it felt like he was intentionally avoiding looking at him.

Roman’s voice ran through his head when he answered the teacher’s question. It was taunting him. His brain short circuited right back to the basics. Roman’s avoiding him. What did he do wrong? He’s just overthinking this, Roman doesn’t hate him. He already has to worry about going to the ball and what he’s going to do and how he could possibly ask a certain Gryffindor to with him, at least as a friend. He has to stop jumping to conclusions.

The whole period was a blur of words, a clash of Roman’s voice, the lack of it, and the voice inside his head. It was a monstrous cacophony that made the whole room spin.

“Wait, Roman--”

He didn’t even turn around when Virgil called for him. He had practically scrambled to get out before everyone. Before him. When he got out of the room, kids had flooded the hall and Virgil was left to walk by himself to his next class without having a panic attack.

It didn’t get any better after that.

Virgil spent his classes distracted, worried that Roman was mad at him for something, that everyone was watching him and judging him. Why was he a Gryffindor again?

He only survived to sixth period with Roman and Damien because of Patton and Logan, but now he was alone with those two and Virgil already had enough trouble with them together.

He never really talked with Damien, he just...rubbed him wrong. He looked very similar to Patton, too similar to Patton to have such a polar personality to the literal ball of sunshine. And he wasn’t afraid to cheat or lie and he flirted with Roman every chance he got. And Roman flirted back! It drove Virgil insane, how could Roman just-- like it wasn’t anything-- and wasn’t wasting time or distracting other people.

But what was worse was the lack of stupid annoying flirting. Virgil dragged his feet, prepared to be unprepared only to see Roman and Damien talking quietly. Roman was loud and dramatic and Damien shared that trait with him-- though it was much less tolerable than Roman’s version. They weren’t being obnoxious and laughing at each other pick up lines or excessively touching each others hair and arms or complimenting each other--

Virgil popped out of his stupor, not having realize he was staring-- more like glaring-- at them. He caught Roman’s eyes. They were their normal brown but they looked different, big and worried didn’t suit him well. To Virgil, it just wasn’t Roman. And as fast as he caught them they were gone, Roman had turned away fast and Damien glanced at him. He felt his eyes burn into his brain and Virgil quickly opened his book.

Suddenly Virgil understood exactly how Logan feels about Damien.

Fuming, he tried to focus on his notes, he tried to focus so hard but all he could hear was their hushed whispers. Virgil can’t help but take another glimpse at them. He can see Damien nodding and very clearly trying to block his view of Roman. If he listens hard enough he can hear his sarcastic remarks and half-flirts and it enrages Virgil. Why would Roman-- and then he sees Roman.

He’s jittery, very jittery. He looks like a mess, he’s making sad attempts at extravagant gestures, there’s clearly bags under his eyes, he’s running his hand through his hair and jumping his leg up and down. He looks stressed, and when he sees Roman’s eyes he recognizes something. Roman’s anxious. He’s anxious about something? Damien puts a hand on his arm and speaks leveled, much more calmer than Roman. Why would Roman go to Damien of all people? But here and there after Damien says something and he can see Roman’s eyes he looks...excited. Nervous and excited and anxious. It loops in his head and suddenly he can’t take it anymore. He has to speak to Roman.

It’s agonizingly long but finally, the professor is done with his lesson and allows everyone to pack up before they have to go to their next class. Virgil closes his long forgotten, half scribbled notes and scrambles out of his seat.

He makes his way over to Roman and stops dead in his tracks when Damien glances at him again. It’s a look Virgil can’t stand, it’s one that makes him want to demand to speak and one that makes him want to run. Regardless, it’s a look of warning. A glare that screams back off. Like he was a villain. And it makes Virgil stumble back, his lower back hitting the table behind him. The chair underneath hits his lower leg and makes a loud ugly screech. He backs up. Then he runs.

Somewhere, lost in his thoughts he can faintly hear the bell ring.

Why did he ever think he could go to the Yule Ball with Roman? He’s probably going with Damien, everyone loves Roman, he’s charming, he’s funny, he’s sweet, he has this stupid, stupid smile. He’s probably gotten asked by half of the HufflePuffs and the other Gryffindors or Ravenclaws and Slytherins--

Kids flood the halls.

He’s going to be the only person he knows who’s going alone. Should he even bother going? There’s going to be so many people and dancing and-- he only imagined having fun with Roman, he was comfortable with Roman, Roman was-- he’d hate to see Roman dancing with someone else, smiling and laughing and making them feel special and important and--

Oh my god, he can’t handle this right now, there’s too many people, there’s too many people--

“Hi, Virgil?”

His head snapped up.

“I’m Ethan, we share potions and had ballroom dancing with McGonagall?”

Virgil’s anxiety skyrocketed and his stomach dropped. It wasn’t Roman, he wasn’t coming for him. Roman wasn’t going to help him.

“Well i was wondering if you’d go to the Yule Ball with me?”

Virgil didn’t even know he responded. All he heard was that same voice. Roman would never ask him, who was he kidding? He was so stupid, so stupid, what was he thinking? Why would Roman want to go with Virgil, he’s so stupid--

“The guy i wanted to go with broke his foot and i don’t want to be one of those losers who stay in their room the whole night, y’know?”

Virgil could barely see what was happening. “I--”, he nearly choked on his own breath. He couldn’t think straight enough to give an answer, “I don’t--”

“Are you already going with someone or not?”

“No--”

“Figured, you don’t seem to hang around with a lot of people. Well?”

Roman wasn’t going to ask him out anyway and he really doesn’t want to be the only person he knows going alone.

“Alright, I’ll see you there then, i got to meet up with my friends” and without a blink Ethan’s gone, leaving Virgil alone in the now empty hall.

Virgil doesn’t even know how he managed to say yes. He felt his chest tighten and he stumbled to the wall. Logan and Patton weren’t nearby and Roman--

He heaves trying to stop himself from crying. Four seven eight, four seven eight, four seven eight

At least he wasn’t going to the Ball alone.

...

Roman was convinced Lady Luck was on his side.

His mothers sent in his robes this morning and they looked absolutely wonderful. He was buzzing with energy when he woke up and the smile on his face felt real.

Roman even made sure to stash his gifts for Virgil with Circe so he can get them later. He felt bad for running past Virgil and leaving their classes fast but if he didn’t he would’ve explode and asked him right on the spot and Virgil would be pressured into saying yes and he’d be uncomfortable with everyone around and that was the last thing Roman wanted. He wanted to go so badly with Virgil but he wanted him to be happy and if waiting meant his happiness than he’d wait forever!

It was around Potions when a sudden thought struck him. Virgil could say no. Well, he knew Virgil could say whatever he wanted and he was hoping for a yes but he never considered if Virgil said no. What would he do then?

“Damien i don’t know what to do, what if he says no?”

“Then he says no. I thought not thinking about our problems with each other was our deal?”

“Damiennnn” Roman dramatically flopped on the desk.

Damien rolled his eyes, “You know i’m not good at comforting. Should’ve gone to Patton if you wanted a hug.” Roman half ran his hand through his hair and half pulled.

“Look, anyone would want to go with you. I sure wouldn’t mind.” He nudged Roman.

“Not now please.” Roman put his head down on the desk.

“Fine. You know i just like bothering racoon over there.”

“And not everyone wants to go with me, the Ravenclaws certainly don’t and Virgil might not want to either.”

“Not to vouch for him, but Patton would get mad at me if i didn’t, Virgil will say yes.”

Roman peeked up, “Really?”

Damien gave him a small smile and placed a comforting hand on his arm, “I’m sure, he gets so upset when we mess around. Besides he’d be lying to himself if think he doesn’t.”

Roman sat up again, “Thanks Damien.”

“Sure. Let’s stick to our usual way though, being nice ruins my mean face and i don’t want to be buddy buddy with racoon. I can respect your dramatic but i will not respect him, even if he’s your possible future boyfriend.”

“There’s the Damien i know. I just...i can’t help but worry over it still. What if i do something wrong?”

The class flew by and before Roman knew it he missed all the notes he was supposed to take, the screech of a moved chair brought him back to reality and he headed for his next class. He could do this.

…

Round found himself terrified when he walks with Virgil towards the Great Hall before dinner. He had so foolishly shoved his transfigured purple aster up his robe’s sleeves and he hoped he was hiding his gift well.

Logan and Patton had gotten enthralled in a discussion about some Magical Creature of the Week and he recognises this as the perfect proposal time. It was now or never.

“So”, Roman started not so smoothly, hyper aware of every crack in his voice. What was he doing?

Virgil expected something horrible. Why was Roman avoiding him? Did he do something wrong? Why was he so nervous? “Have you gotten your dress robes yet?” Roman wasn’t even going to mention why he hadn’t seen him all day? Was he supposed to bring it up? “Yeah i got some, it wasn’t the fun-est experience.” Even though Roman wants to ask what they look like, he holds it in. He’d rather see it at the ball and it feels too much like bad luck to see them beforehand-- it was a muggle superstition his mom mentioned before about weddings. Instead he clutches the flower tightly, watching as a petal falls from the corner of his eye “I'm sure they’re magnificent, Virge.” Virgil falters a step but it’s smooth enough where Roman misses it. Virgil was sure something was going to happen. Everything would fall apart in an instant. Roman quickly rushes to continue the conversation. “Was McGonagall the one teaching the Gryffindors dancing?” And then an even worse thought struck him. Roman didn’t want to be his friend anymore. He was avoiding him because was stressed about telling him-- of course he would be, he’s Roman, why would he want to be his friend anymore? Four seven eight, four seven eight. “Yeah, it was a mess.” Virgil blinked and kept his voice as steady as he could, “We were all really bad, it was kind of funny, in a way?” And when Virgil offers him the best smile he can Roman’s heart stutters to a stop for a few seconds. He can’t do this, he can’t ask Virgil, he can’t-- Roman looks ahead and he can see Patton and Logan walking nearly twenty feet ahead of them and he thinks of Circe. They’re his friends. It was just a question. He can do it. He lets the happy, nervous feeling course through his veins, from his heels to his heart and his head.

“I was wondering, Virgil.”

Virgil froze when Roman suddenly came to a halt. This was it, he was being cast off for good. Roman was sick of him and it only took a day.

“If um, if there was any, would you like, um Virgil...would you consider doing the honor of accompanying me to the Yule Ball?”

Roman seemed to magically spring a purple flower in his hand and shly offered it out. Virgil was speechless.

What kind of cruel joke was this? No, Roman wouldn’t, Roman wouldn’t hurt him like this. “Oh”, Virgil wrapped his arms around himself like a shield, he had to protect himself from whatever was happening, “I was asked earlier by one of the Gryffindors and i said yes...”

Roman felt the ground beneath his feet fall. He was too late.

Virgil’s face had turned to stone and Roman couldn’t help but feel to be the receiving end of it. He didn’t even look anxious or uncomfortable he looked...angry. He was getting defensive again. The aster tilted to its side in his hand, unaccepted.

He hated Roman.

“Oh”, Roman cleared his throat trying to level how shakey his voice came out, “I see, i meant, we could go as, together as friends, not--”

The Grand Hall feels too tight, too big, too small. Just like his room. He feels so alone. He can hear his heartbeat in his ears and he was hyper aware of the gift just barely slipping out his fingers.

“Yeah it was just, it was stupid, it was a stupid idea, I’m sorry I-- I’m so stupid--”

“Wait, Roman--”

He can’t read the face Virgil's giving him but it’s enough to push on his spiral. Everything starts to get fuzzy.

Of course another Gryffindor would ask him. Roman wasn’t a Gryffindor, he was a Ravenclaw and he didn’t even belong in that house. Roman never had a chance, how could he have ever thought--

He built up his hopes up and it only took one day for them to break down.

“I’m sure you, you and you’re date you’ll, it’ll be a great time, you’ll have fun i’m sure--”

“What, what is that?”

Roman’s eyes snapped down at his hand. He saw it--

Roman stumbled backwards and he bumped into someone. It was a Ravenclaw. The disgusted face made him sick and their snicker echoed like thunder in the hallway.

“Ro--”

“I have to go, I’ve gotta, i need to, sorry i’ll, see you--”

Roman took another few steps backwards before turning and rushing forward. He didn’t know where he was going.

“Roman?”

He turned towards Patton and Logan, Virgil trying to push pass the crowd to them. Patton and Logan’s usual smiles were gone, replaced with furrowed eyebrows of confusion and worry.

They were upset and annoyed-- he interrupted their conversation. There’s too many people here. Hufflepuffs, Slytherins and Gryffindors and Ravenclaw alike. They were all looking at him like that like-- Roman doesn’t belong in this hallway. He needs to get out now.

Roman turned and ran as fast as he could.

His footsteps felt slow and heavy, like he was fighting against chains holding him down. The feeling of closing walls, locked jail cells and an empty bedroom. Of being squeezed and squeezed until the life was drained out from him, of gray and black and white, dull and painful, of stinging eyes and muffled sobs. Of losing friends and everyone and the feeling of freeing happiness.

How foolish of him to think he could enjoy hope and kept it without losing it as fast as he got it.

And yet as fast and loud as his thoughts clash and his feet run, he thinks he heard someone calling his name and a different set of feet trying to follow his. And it doesn’t help the aching loneliness when he can't hear it behind him anymore.

...

Circe remembers when she first met the ostracized Ravenclaw. A frustrated first year wandered the halls holding tightly onto himself. She asked where he was going. He gave her a smile that was too big.

“Oh, um the Ravenclaws didn’t tell me the password to the tower. But it’s alright! I'm sure it was an accident. They probably just didn’t hear me...when i was right behind them..” his arms tightened their hold.

“It’s usually a riddle. I believe this time it’s ‘Which came first, the phoenix or the flame?’.”

The boy’s big smile fell. “That sounds awfully complicated…there’s too many answers that could be right and even more that could be wrong”, he looked at the floor before looking up at her. There was a smaller but more real smile. “Smart stuff like that makes my head spin, but thanks. Uh what, may i ask, is my heroine's fair name?”

She smiled. “Circe witch-nymph, daughter of Helios, feared by man and boar alike. And what would my fair Ravenclaw’s name be?”

He laughed. “Roman. Roman Walsh. But that's not nearly as interesting as your name. How’d you earn such an extravagant title?”

“I was a nymph alone on a lost island in Greece. Aeaea was said to be a cursed land. There was no life but a single Acacia tree, a handful of boars and a single plant of wheat. I spent centuries growing and flourishing my island but the Acacia tree, boars and wheat crop remained scared to my island, a gift from the Gods. I had everything i needed, but there was something missing. When the first humans landed on my island i wanted to share the beautiful land i made. I let them stay at my home and told them of all i done, how important the single Acacia tree and boars were. I gave them food and shelter and i was happy. I used to hear stories of how humans cared but no one but themselves, how they hurt others to save themselves but i let them stay. We laughed and talked, they offered to bring me back to their land, full of people and friends waiting. They promised the safety of the island. I woke up the next morning to the sound of the Acacia tree hitting the ground. They slaughtered every boar and loaded them on their ship, staining the sands with red. They lied to me. I took a branch from my fallen tree and shouted the first thing that came to mind. They turned into swines. Squealing and running little swines...I destroyed their boat and kept the wand. I spent a year trying to regrow my tree but i couldn’t save it. Wheat had covered nearly every open space. When the next set of humans came and i pulled out my wand...”

Circe laughed, “Ah i'm talking your ear off.”

“What happened after you pulled out your wand?”

“Huh?” Roman had stars in his eyes, nearly falling over from how far he was leaning forward. He was looking up to her, crissed-crossed on the floor with such wonder.

He leaned as far as his elbows on his legs would let him and repeated himself, “What’d you do when the new humans came?”

Roman gasped, “Oh my stars was the first set of humans Odysseus and his crew? Were you that Circe? Was the Odyssey wrong?”

Circe blinked, “I--”

“Did they...oh they’re always doing this aren’t they? They made another powerful women evil? History is always written by the winner isn’t it.”

Circe wasn’t expecting to see Roman so interested and passionate about her story. Especially since it was typically retold wrong in a longer epic. It was...nice.

“You...yes, Odysseus was the one who offered to take me back to the mainland. It was so lonely on that island...i turned half of them back in to humans and banished them off of my island and they wrote me as the evil witch. I thought every human would be out to kill me so when the next set came i pulled out my wand again but...they spoke soft and treated my island the same as i did and they listened to me with the same wonder…” I see in you, “I hadn’t seen in a while. They set up a small camp by my home and asked to use some wheat to make food and i let them. I could see smoke coming from their tent and i went to make sure they weren’t burning but they were fine. Cooking food they said, and offered me some yellow noodles they called spaghetti. It was amazing. They told me stories and praised the land, my land. They said it was beautiful. And they thanked me for letting them stay before they left. I told them they could come back whenever they wanted and they smiled. It’s been so long since i saw them…It’s silly for a witch to miss spaghetti but...I’d love to have another bowl of spaghetti with them. A painting can’t really do that can they though?”

Roman yawned, having moved to lean against the wall sometime in the story. “You’ll get your spaghetti, one day...”

Circe smiled down at the sleepy Ravenclaw. She was happy to see the smile, the big smile on his face as his eyes struggled to stay open.

It was silent for a few moments, the whole castle sleeping in their beds except for a painting and a Ravenclaw. She wondered if breaking the peace was worth it. He wouldn’t get a wink of sleep if she spoke too loud so she waited a little longer until she couldn’t tell if he was awake or not.

“What do you think the answer to the riddle is? What came first the Phoenix or the flame?”

Roman lolled his head to the side, eyebrows furrowing for a split second.

“I think that...a circle has no beginning.”

Circe barely heard his answer. Light snores already starting to fill the new silence and she hummed to herself thoughtfully. She hadn’t heard that one before.

“What a creative answer.”

….

“Gracious morning, Circe!”

Circe blinked. Roman had practically twirled in the hidden room, moving quick enough that she nearly missed the weary miss footings. It had been two weeks since she had meet Roman in the middle of the night...which it was now.

“Oh, i mean, Gracious night!” Roman smiled sheepishly, if not tired, “I haven’t been paying terrible attention to the sky’s faces recently.” He carefully put something against a back wall and turned back to Circe quickly, his robes blocking what looked like a picture frame.

“The sky’s faces?”

“Yeah!” One particular side of his robe had been worn out from anxious fiddling. She wondered if it was from Roman or someone else.

“Oh, sorry; that was loud for this drowsy night.” He ran his hand through his messy bedhead and bounced on his his toes. More like anticipatingly excited than anxious it seemed.

“I like to think of the sky-- like when--” Roman struggled to find the words. He looked up at the ceiling on instinct and Circe guessed he had been doing this often with the blue and gold eagle clad tower’s full window view.

“You know when the sun rises? And it’s just waking up? The stars fade into a light pink, the cold black comforter reveals a wooly blanket dipped in a nearly forgotten blue. And on the light blues and pinks, a soft orange dances on careful toes until the sun shines through to watch, to see the animals wake up and the early morning grace leave from the sky into homes, laying on wooden floors and colorful carpets for cats to nap on, making everything new and different. Or the middlemost face. Rich blues and pastel blues light up the sky in a sundress. Clouds of different shapes, whites and personalities sprinkling the dress, each with its own story of adventures all over the globe. And the sun’s looking over them like a loving mother, shining down on the dirt and exploring every inch of our earth, through water and fire, soon to be covered by clouds as she listens to everything, every bird and story. Or--”

An abrupt silence brought a pink dusting over Roman’s cheeks. “Sorry, i didn’t mean to ramble about stupid whims like that.”

“That was...anything but stupid. How’d you…” she laughed a little to herself, “Sounds just like Aeaea.”

Roman grinned. He messed with his hair again before taking another, slower spin. “I think Logan would like the face of stars…”

“Logan?”

“Oh! Logan’s one of my friends! Well, i think? Hope...We argue quite a bit, and Pat and V don’t like when he fight, but he’s very skilled in poetry. I’d love to write with him sometime, he’s very good. Actually...he’s very good at everything, i think. And he loves to learn, he’s so determined and he’s more curious about the Earth’s water’s than the stars above. He said we barely know six percent of our ocean? That's like-- That’s insane! Outrageous! He can go on and on for ages about how the other planets are great and the stars are amazing but we don’t even bother exploring our own ocean! I agree with him, i think it’s just so interesting and how does he even know that much about everything--” Roman paused again, “..he’d love the Ravenclaw tower. He’s so smart...he should’ve been a Ravenclaw.”

“Who’s Pat and V?”

Roman’s face had lightened up significantly from where it was two seconds ago. The room seemed to come to life again.

“Patton and Virgil! Patton’s very sweet. He’s the best little puffball we’ve got-- he’s a HufflePuff obviously, Padre’s brother is in Slytherin with Logan and my dark and stormy knight cloud is in Gryffindor. Virge hasn’t said much about it but i hope it’s going well. Oh i would’ve loved to be in Gryffindor with him! We’d have so much fun and the emo nightmare wouldn’t have to worry so much. That’d be even better actually. He gets so...anxious all the time. All panic! at the everywhere. I didn’t even know one person could be so edgy and sensitive at the same time, he loves those muggle bands and eyeshadows a lot. I'd stay in Ravenclaw for the rest of my life if my chemically imbalanced romance wasn’t so stressed. He was kind of defensive last week, and it was a bit of a rocky start for us especially compared to when we first came here but he’s J. D-leightful! I think he’d make a good writer too, his work is very inspiring. I still feel awful from when i called him a bad raisin oatmeal cookie and Jerky McJerkface so cruelly the last time we fought. We kind of made up and he said it was fine but i don’t know. I think i pushed it after Incredible Sulk and Robert Downer Jr--”

“Are you two dating?”

Roman stopped abruptly in a dance meant for two, seeing as he was dancing as though there was someone holding his hands instead of empty air, and promptly hit the ground. He hadn’t even realized he was dancing since he started talking about Pocket Protector and Padre, he must’ve started his weird tango-ballroom dancing mesh when he started on Virgil. Impossibly`` messier hair popped back in Circe’s view. His face turned red from embarrassment, Circe guessed it was more the reaction to her suggestion than the suggestion itself.

He blinked, wide eyed. “What?” he said rather dumbly.

“You said my chemically imbalanced romance earlier? And you have uh, what are they called, pet names? For him?”

A beat passed before Roman started cackling. “Me and-- and Stormcloud?”

“Oh my, Circe--”, tears pricked at the corners of his eyes and he had to clutch his stomach, “Oh it’s been a while since i laughed that hard, my stomach hurts. You got quite a humor, that was great but no, Virge and I aren’t together like that. Just friends. Oh gosh, i hope i didn’t wake anyone up.”

He smiled up at her. “I should start visiting you more often. I’d love to hear more about Aeaea.”

“I wouldn’t mind telling you more, if you don’t mind telling me more about your friends. It gets pretty quiet in this room.” She eyed the frame by his feet.

Roman’s legs blocked it again. He thought for a moment, now turning to eye it himself. “Actually, don’t get me wrong, i really do enjoy Virgil’s company. I didn’t mean it like i was laughing at him, i would never, or at least not intentionally. His wit is impeccable and his humors just a tad darker but i haven’t thought of him like...that. I mean--”

“That’s alright Roman. You’re still young, your adventures just beginning.” Roman’s hopeful smile was short lasting before he fixed his hair again, picking up the frame behind him. It was half his height.

“Um, i can’t stay much longer, im supposed to be studying right now but,” he fiddled with the worn out corner of his robe before the smallest little smile broke out. Circe could’ve sworn she heard something along the lines ‘Picking up sunshine’s habit huh’ before releasing the corner.

He picked up the frame and in a much louder voice compared to how he said sunshine he said “For made you-- I made, for-- I made--” Roman exhaled, “I made this...for you.”

He held up the frame, it was a portrait. A painting, rather, of--

“Spaghetti?”

“I know it’s silly but i thought-- i figured that maybe you’d feel better, well you didn’t look like distraught or anything but i don’t know-- i just...i wanted to make spaghetti for you but your a painting so--”

“You painted...Spaghetti? For me?”

“You don't, you don’t have to like it or anything but i tried to make it magic and it kind of worked? I mean, I don’t know what i did, i don't-- but it got this haze and it like, it-- Virgil yelled at me when i woke up, apparently making or attenoting? Yeah, trying to make magical paintings is a more advanced magic and-- i woke up ten hours later, you know the Ravenclaws didn’t even look for me, Virgil he was so-- well i wouldn’t say terrified but he looked like he was really worried, i felt so bad for stressing him out but i really hope you like it-- I mean, you don’t have to really, it’s not, i'm not trying to, but i just--”

“Roman…” The Ravenclaw stopped mid-ramble. His hair was all over the place when he paused and he noticed the suddenly lack of noise coming from his feet. He had a habit of tapping his feet and pacing-- or dancing.

“I'm sorry--”

“I love it.”

“You…” For the second time, Circe was dumbfounded at the disbelief and awe Roman expressed, “You really like it? Like it...really?”

Circe smiled when Roman completely lit up, bringing life into the deserted room and continued rambling. It turned almost melodic in a way and she wondered if he sang when he was excited, blending words together and lightly sweeping them into each other.

“Could i put it up? Maybe you’ll be able to actually eat it!”

Roman was bouncing on his toes with the biggest smile, one he was failing to contain. How could anyone say no?

“Of course.”

It took a bit of struggling seeing how short Roman was but he remembered he had magic and carefully lifted the painting besides Circe.

“I hope it’s ok, i have to go study, i’ll see you later!”

“Goodnight Roman.” She watched him spin out of the room with more energy than when he came in with. Before she could even look at the bowl he came back in.

“Circe?”

Circe tried to turn so she could see Roman from the hidden exit but she couldn’t, instead she just responded hoping he thought she was looking at him.

“Thank you.” The sound of feet running off back to the Ravenclaw tower was the only way she knew he left. She looked back at the bowl. Carefully she slide an arm to the side of the frame. She hit the invisible barrier rather than feeling a wooden bowl.

He was a young wizard and bringing paintings to life was a very advanced magic, still she was beyond grateful for the gift. She waved the tips of her fingers on the barrier. He painted spaghetti for her and used so much magic to try to make it real. Roman truly was something else but it takes years to learn how to--

She gasped, feeling the curve of wooden and the smell of warmth fill her portrait. The front of her arm was gone. She grabbed on the object and carefully pulled back. How did he--

If Roman could do something this advanced...what other kinds of magic can he do? She held the bowl of spaghetti in her hands.

He really is something else huh. Something special…

….

Each step Roman took was an earthquake shaking the ground below him. Thunder and floods drowned and deafened every sense he had and the world’s spinning on a tilt. He doesn’t stop running when he starts heaving or when he starts sobbing, loud and pained, a cry a painting has never heard before, especially before eleven pm.

Circe searches from her portrait, scanning the hidden room for the source. A Ravenclaw runs straight into her room and when he stops, frantic and scared and he meets her eyes Circe immediately reaches out.

He throws something straight to the ground and before it even slides to the wall, he’s gone, running before Circe had a chance to speak.

A single crushed aster and a stitched sweater are left abandoned on the floor. And all Circe can do is stare at it.

Paintings can’t hug behind portraits. And actors want to sing about the faces of the sky, and know that at least one person sees them too.

[dda-unit8]

Overview / Discussion / Final Evaluation

My animation is a nice head bopping, entertaining that ends in a realistic possibility. My main objective that I had from the beginning of the project was to have the character being looped in the city ( or should i say just being looped constantly / technically a GIF ). I was able to stick to that idea to the very end ( If someone plays the video on repeat.  Video start off with black intro is Immediately about smoking which fades into the character driving. At the end it fades back into black and could smoothly transition back into the beginning. The beginning of the animation shows a very quick bright yellow text about smoking. Because  it appears so fast I hope for the viewer to either replay the video or try and keep what the text said in their mind. Later on the character gets in an accident. I wanted the animation to not only be a interesting animation with a guy driving a car but also trying to portray a tiny story. It could be portray and shown on the BBC website for smoking and health for kids. It can also be an ad on you tube that can be shown. Because you tube is one of the top mainstream company's that kids, teens and young adults use, The ad could be seen more. 

When it comes to “ If I understood the specialist are of design my project was centered on “ I would say that I had a pretty big understanding on how Parallax animation worked. Before I even new what the name was for the type of animation, I had known what it was and how it worked. Because I showed interest in animation and how different types of animation works when I was younger, I feel like that has given me an advantage. For future referencing though, I would make sure that even the most unnecessary things that I might not think needs to be in a separate layer, go in a layer. 

When It had come to research, I figured I didn't do a bad job. I didn't just go on YouTube and look for ideas or stuff that Inspired me. I ended up taking my time and relaxing at home. Enjoying what i love, which is watching different animations. All different styles of animations. I even used myself when it came to how I wanted my character to be placed in the car. When it came to the sources that I used for references, I don think I used to much. In fact I would say I used a moderate amount of varied sources. With what I had researched I made sure that I could get the maximum output of it. For example, There was a lot of simple and short tutorials on you tube that would give me an easy way to do a smoke fx or a quick and easy explaining video of parallax animation. I didn't want that . I wanted to get as much knowledge and do the best I can do. I think next time I will actually go and travel to a different place like Birmingham or lecister to see and get better references. I will branch out more, use more fx, tools and create something even better.  

As far as problems, I came across actually deleting half of my progress when I started. I was pretty upset but I could not go back and change the past so all I could do was continue and work harder. I also had the problem of time management and not sleeping. That has always been a big problem for me and Im honestly trying to change that as each day goes past. I would tend to stay up from 24 - 48 hours. If i have learned anything it would be to take breaks a lot more.

What I was also shocked about is how I was keeping a steady pace in my work and not stressing to much over time. Until I had to go to work I was using my schedule and I never lost sight of the due date. I had always kept in my mind when it was due. I even had alerts on my phone to keep me updated. I tried to stay as focused as possible. Even when my idea slightly changed towards the middle / end I didn't want to panic and overthink. I had to focus and relax for a second. For this specific animation, there are indeed things I wish I could have added in if I had not had to start half way over. I would have loved to add ambient sound of highway traffic ( cars going past ) and the song thats playing in the background to sound like its from the radio. I would have also loved to add a night street light that passes every so often ( with starts and a moon in the sky ). But because I didn't add those things, does not mean that I cant create something better or add them later on. This summer I can practice not only my drawings but my animation. I could practice practice practice

I used more than what I had learned in class. 

When it came to the animation, I had to draw everything as a draft as what I envision and how I see it in my head. I had to then make the lines more fine. Add more detail. Add color. Sort out all the layers. Make sure the layers are stacked correctly. That was all in Photoshop. I had to add all the detail in Photoshop and that takes time. I then had to transfer what I made into after affects to ANIMATE it. That takes time. I could have done a simple animation like I had made before but I wanted to exceed that. I wanted to try and add different effects that I have not used before. I wanted to branch out myself and look at different techniques I can use and learn myself. I have attained new techniques and skills because of this animation. I can improve on the new skills and techniques i have learned by practicing this summer. Try and create fun projects, films, animations.

So yeah ... Looking at my animation now. I can see what more I wanted to add. I am proud ( comparing the previous animation I did ) of the animation that I have made. I am still learning but that is why practice makes perfect. I want to learn more effects in after effects and see all the possible effects I can use in animation or even film. I will branch out this summer and practice using the software myself, Practice more drawings on perspective, foreshortening, mecca, human anatomy and even simple shapes. One thing that I noticed was different about my drawing this time, is that i tried to draw less anime / manga related. I tried to focus on a realistic anatomy, head shape and where the eyes, ear, hairline etc would be. Doing so I also took the time in shading.

To ensure that I have a lower chance of making the same mistake again , I will make sure ( If possible ) not work so many days when I have a week of from college. I will try and priorities my time more.

looking at my blog from when I first started Unit 8 ( how well its structured ) it looks organised and labeled pretty decently. I made sure that the topics where relatable to what was being said. I made sure important things where in bold. I will be honest and say that I was lacking a little in screenshots of my progress in the animating side but I tried to remember each time. That doesn’t mean that my idea, experiments and creative process cant be explained and presented in a clear way. I specifically made sure that each section flows to the next and shows what was to come, what I did and how the week was. I do appreciate all the help that the teachers gave me and opinions that they had on my work.

One thing that I think would be cool is to do a collaboration and create something super cool. Yeah you have animators that do animations by themselves but  I can imagine what cool things I can make by doing collaborations and sharing ideas and skills with another person. In doing so Im sure I can create some interesting work. I could do short and narrated stories. I have already done a voice over for my first animation so it wouldn't be to difficult. Because I have gotten used to the software a little more than before, I feel more comfortable in creating different things. 

The cool thing about possibly doing a collaboration is the endless possibility of what we can create. If we wanted too, we could create a music video, short story, fight scene anything. With the skill that I have learned, I can also reach out to different company's and see if they would like to do a collaboration. This would then get me work experience. 

[kenmaiii]

stop being jealous and bitter!

Now i know you cant outright just throw away your jealousy in the art community. You see a really cool popular artist or just someone with absolutely amzing art and you think “wow holy shit their art is so good i wish that was me and that i could do that....” I understand that spite can be a good thing sometimes; it can be what motivates you to improve and do well, especially if the artist is well... not the best person in terms of personality. Great, that’s even more motivation to do well right!? 

But when does all the comparing go too far?

----------------------------------------long post incoming------------------------------------------

Now i’ve had people very close to me do this. I’ve been told that im ‘popular’ which im honestly not seriously. They could probably be reading this right now, but this has been bothering me for awhile so i must get this out there. Let’s step into a certain mindset for a moment:-

You hate your artwork. You hate your current skills. Sure there are artists you like. But then there are ‘THOSE�� ones. You have very specific artists you follow just because theyre so good and popular they make you feel bitter and you still check up on them regularly to fuel that bitterness. You know good and well that they make you bitter and angry and peeved but you just keep going back.

Step back for a moment and think.... why on earth am i fucking doing this???? Comparing and feeling bitter about another persons skill or popularity and letting yourself stay sad and bitter isn’t good for ANYTHING, art aside. It’s good to want to feel validated at the work you spent time on but it WILL get tiring if you keep complaining that ‘your art is bad’, ‘your art isnt good’, ‘its shit’ or ‘garbage’. Your brain is just internalizing that and hindering your work and future improvement. It’s most importantly WASTING YOUR own time, YOU the creator. And not to sound snobby here, i really truly dont intend for that, but some of you know good and well that you keep belitting you work because you only just want people to compliment your art when youre only doing the bare minimum to improve! I can only tell you as a friend or an on-looker that i love your art so many times (as much i really do love it and hope for your improvement) if you continuously decide to still turn around and say you hate your work and tell me im wrong!!!!!!!!!!!!! Why reach for compliments then! Why continuously turn them down?

And i’m not saying you cant ever not like your art (cause it happens) or decline a compliment, but to do it every single time....it leaves a bad image for your work. You either start to believe it, or the person complimenting you will get put off from your negativity!  

It makes people feel bad, especially if theyre also artist AND also your friends. You can’t keep saying you prefer their work and still put down your own. It makes your artist friend uncomfortable. They might not know how to respond when you keep doing it. And im sure they wouldnt want you to keep making yourself feel bad. Personally, i wish all my art friends success and improvement, and i want them to love and feel proud of their work more than the times they hate it. We really need to uplift each other as artists.

Thanks.

What you think and say is what you become and if youre always negative and comparing youre gonna tear down both the person you admire and yourself. Ie, if youre constantly thinking ‘ill never be as good as this person’,’no ones ever gonna like my work’, ‘i cant color as well as they do’ or saying that your work is only ever garbage... newsflash asshole! your mind absorbs that negativity and makes you believe it! u fool!!!!! Because brains are stupid and can be your worst enemy at times! 

Sometimes you just need to stOP looking at certain peoples work completely if it gets you that bitter or angry or sad. Unfollow them! Block them! Delete their name from your search history if you have to! Stop hurting yourself and forget about them, it’s like trying to think about an ex thats moved on. Pointless.

Negative emotions such as sadness and anger are our brains direct ways at trying to reach out to ourselves.

You: seeing cool art Your mind: remembering you dont have some of those skills or popularity + comparing = sadness/ anger/ bitterness at not being able to be at that lvl withtin the same timeframe or less

Your brain is trying to tell you to fix this! But you know you might not have the tools to gain that much popularity or become so good at anatomy, coloring , compositions or backgrounds overnight, so the only solution for your brain is to self-sabotage.

It’s just the same as suddenly feeling sad for no reason. It’s your mind trying to work out a problem you never resolved. Maybe your friends haven’t replied in awhile and you feel ignored. Or you subconsciously remembered a bad experience without really realizing. You’ll get sad. Your mind is is saying ‘Hey asshole im sad. I know it might be out of your control but I’ll stay sad about this one thing until you resolve it somehow. ’ (whether it be blindly distracting yourself on purpose or fully wallowing in the feelings)

So we realized youre feeling intensely about this persons work vs your own...then what exactly happened there? The answer is pretty simple. Some kind of information processing happened in your brain. The result of this processing made the your mind conclude that one of your existing problems (art in this case) can never be solved; whether conscious or unconscious, and this explains why your mood might change all of a sudden without any kind of warning signs (in relation to what you saw). 

Inspired VS Jealousy When youre inspired youre working against yourself in a GOOD way. You’re feeling motivated to make something great! Youre feeling motivated to make something better than the last piece!! And honestly thats wonderful!!!  That is a lot nicer than being in art-block, comparison negativity hell.

YOU are the only one responsible for where you are as an artist. That goes towards every artist of every skill level! There’s always someone better than you and there’s always someone worse than you. People get better at art in different intervals depending on how much they take in or put into practicing. Some people just get some concepts and fundamentals a lot easier and quicker than others but that doesn’t mean they naturally had that ability from birth. They put in the work just as you should be doing instead of feeling so intensely negative! But when you’re jealous and negative all the time, that’s when it starts to go downhill. :/

Jealously is a very human emotion at its core. And im not saying its super easy to deal with and just suddenly get over, but there are things you can do to slowly help yourself do it at least a little less.

Here’s the best things you CAN do instead:- - Write down some of the things you find yourself feeling bitter over about, especially when you look at another artists work? Ask yourself why these specific things? If it’s something you yourself can work on in your own pieces then maybe uh do that?  - Find the time to practice your work. - Practice even more. - If it’s your style that you arent happy with think of the artstyles you like and set aside time to mimic the way that artist might draw something (hence adding that to YOUR style). Take a sketchbook page or two and just draw entirely in those styles. - Practice. I can’t stress this enough. I know artists say this a lot and it can kind of just be thrown around carelessly, but if you keep putting this off and saying you don’t want to practice or talking about how time is going by when you should be practicing things.... and STILL refuse to practice then???? I cant help you sorry. Time waits for no one, so sometimes you need to grab time by the horns and kick its ass for awhile. Put in that effort! - Please use references. Even better if you use it nearly EVERYTIME you draw something, especially yknow...if its a pose, body part or background that you know you have no idea how to properly express! Find a stock image or a variety of websites to use! Save poses that you like from online magazines, other artists and photographs you see anywhere online. I like to look at online magazines from other countries or photographers, and there are tons of places like pinterest or instagram and whatnot. - Stop comparing and being bitter. Ii cant say this enough it gets me so ticked off, but my stubborn taurus self refuses to fully go off until it all piles up and this post is the result lol. If you know you can’t let go hating on a certain artist (for no good reason) then dont hate-follow them! Don’t check up on their work constantly! Don’t even talk about them!!!!!!! Try to get them out of your head for goodness sakes. Majority of the time they dont even know who YOU are so why are you worried about what they’re up to. - STOP SHITTING ON YOUR OWN WORK. - STOP IT RIGHT NOW. - AS THE ARTIST SOMETIMES YOU HAVE TO FORCE YOURSELF TO SAY ‘’hey, my work isn’t exactly where i want it to be at this point in time and it may never be but i can appreciate that i’ve gotten better at a lot of things and im better than where i was a few years/ a year/ a month ago/ even weeks ago.” - ”I’m proud of this piece and can’t wait to get even better.” - Art is a struggle that takes time, effort and a lot of work. There’s always going to be someone better than you and there’s always going to be someone worse than you. You can only strive to get to the level that would make you happiest, otherwise you will get irritated with it and feel absolutely miserable about everything you produce. - PUT IN THE WORK TO GET YOUR ART OUT THERE. Social media has been both a curse and a blessing to artists all around. It’s made it easier for us to share our work around and opened paths for making money online and at home and connecting with other artists, but competition grows everyday as more people post their work in the same market. (ie another reason why it can be hard to get your commissions out there) Also as artists we want that dopamine rush you get from people liking your stuff, i get that its gucci. -But if you aren’t tagging your works well, posting somewhat consistently, not really bothering to talk to people in certain art communities (even people in your fandom because hey potential friends and even partners on future projects), not adding your works to groups (a big problem i see with people on places like deviantart mostly), joining and sharing them in art group chats/aminos/discords, joining events to get yourself out there (such as zines/big bangs/gift exchanges etc), giving tips and advice or even little helpful tutorials to people then how do you expect to be noticed? How.  If youre not doing at least TWO of these things then hoW can you complain about not getting attention. :(

 Of course you dont have to do ALL of this. Im just saying ...if you arent out there advertising how will more people know about you? This leads to you thinking no one likes your art (skill level excluded because even my cringiest old art would have a few comments or encouragements to see my future improvement, and i still want to hide when people like/comment/reblog said old art to this very day). 

I understand mainly OC artists feel this way that no ones gonna like their characters, or it just doesnt get reblogged enough in general but thats understandable too. No one is ‘selling out’ if they only do fanart. No one is ‘snobby or scared to get themselves out there’ if theyre really enthusiastic about their stories and worlds. Otherwise we wouldnt have fandoms int he first place, theyre all someones work. And hell, good for you if you draw both. It really is just a matter of how you put yourself out there!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!

It’ll take some time but there IS always someone out there that likes your stuff. And sometimes you just have to be content with making work for yourself, work that makes you happy. The online art world is tough especially when youre small but once you fall into the depths of bitterness its hard to rewire your mind...

This is how yall should be looking at your/others work majority of the time: You: seeing cool art  Your mind: omg thats beautiful! i wish i could draw and paint like that. i should practice more , try out some poses and anatomy or implement what they do into my work. i wanna make a cool ass piece like this too i feel so pumped to draw and work!! 

And that’s that! Do yourself a favor and be happier you bastards! Its tiring being negative and sad all the time and i want tf out of it. Its so very tiring and annoying to be sad and bitter as shit!!!!! My goD

I can’t really think of anything else to add to this and the text may appear angry sometimes as i was very heated when i wrote this but tried to tone it down a lot hfkds. Im not some ‘art guru goddess with supreme skill uwuw’ but advice is advice! It’s always up to the person listening to take it or not.

I’m gonna end this with one of my favorite art quotes of all time from t h e Arin Hanson himself. Because it really is true. 

Get yourself out there, practice towards a level that makes you content and try to have more fun with loving your work.

It’s taken me a long while to post this, as i’ve been feeling this way for...at least a couple months??? but i finally put it all out there i just needed to do this lol.  Sorry if i mightve repeated info sometimes here and there?

This post is just as much of a call out to my own actions but more so @ those of you that specifically do this!